Fires of Aggar

by Chris Anne Wolfe

  As far as Llinolae could tell, the Amazons’ tea mugs hadn’t even gotten refilled since the dishes had been done. So much for brewing the fresh pot.

  Mae n’Pour! Of all the tales she’d ever heard sung of Amazons, not one had mentioned the discord of sullen tempers and stubborn musings. Llinolae sighed. Well, short of being openly rude and giving yet more fuel to Brit n’Minona’s ire, she couldn’t very well avoid the Sisters for much longer. Reluctantly, she left the tent’s comforting seclusion.

  Further down the canyon then, she noticed something. The amarin in the evening’s growing twilight shimmered — something not quite right moved beyond the caravan, drawing slowly nearer. Oh — Sparrowhawk, Llinolae recognized her absently. Then a frown touched her brow as Llinolae began to watch the approach of the smaller Amazon more intently.

  Of the two new arrivals, Sparrow was the one Llinolae had found the least approachable. Yet she had felt the most affinity for her.

  The woman had been polite and gently clear in all of her dealings with Llinolae. Unlike Brit, Sparrowhawk was neither resentful nor judgmental of Llinolae’s overtures. In truth, she seemed merely exhausted from her condition and eager to be left alone whenever possible. And that was certainly a desire Llinolae could respect.

  Tonight though… tonight was overwhelming. The woman was pushing herself punishingly hard.

  Llinolae halted a few feet behind Brit and Gwyn. Ty’s head came up expectantly, sandy eyes challenging the Dracoon’s approach. But Llinolae’s attention was fixed on Sparrowhawk as the Amazon drew nearer.

  And then with a sudden chill, Llinolae realized what the strain of that fatigue was on the verge of causing! She rushed forward in alarm, crying, “Sparrowhawk!”

  Both Brit and Gwyn looked about, startled.

  “You can’t do this!” Llinolae snatched the heavy water skin from the small woman. “To be so exhausted! Yet carry so much!”

  Grim-faced and still, Sparrow refused to answer. But her burnished, darkened skin was more than telling, and Llinolae took no notice of the silent rebuke. Abruptly Sparrow found herself relieved of her arm’s load of firewood as well.

  Gwyn glanced at Brit, puzzled. Her friend was tight-lipped and stern, almost as deeply browned as her shadowmate.

  “At least sit down?” Llinolae pleaded gently, her hand hesitant in reaching out. Even with the water and wood set aside, her concern was unwavering. But the woman seemed on the verge of refusing even that simple act of self-care, and Llinolae grew desperate to break through that dangerous wall of dulled apathy. “What? Why? Do you want to miscarry?”

  Sparrow’s head snapped up — sandy eyes widening in horror as her hand rose protectively to press against her stomach. A sudden stillness stunned the camp and told that — for all of them! — this was a secret bared without proper warning.

  Llinolae felt the others’ jolt of near incomprehension, belatedly realizing none of them had even suspected this Sister was pregnant. But how could that be? Hadn’t Gwyn said Brit was Sparrowhawk’s mate?

  Her blue eyes flew to Gwyn for guidance. But the whittling knife was poised motionless above the flute wood, that copper-bright gaze was fixed on Sparrow, and Gwyn’s sun-kissed tan was slowly turning from its apricot hue to the deep, deep burnished brown of shock. Then Gwyn’s own gaze started — jumped to Brit, then back to Sparrow as the younger woman began to step away, almost stumbling. And suddenly Sparrow was spinning about blindly to run.

  “Soroi! ” Brit’s bark halted Sparrow in her tracks, but Brit’s tenor grew caring and low in her next words. “Ti Maez….”

  Llinolae felt her throat tighten at the sheer gentleness in Brit’s tone… such gentleness could only have spoken of love and commitment — of unjudging reassurance.

  “Sae Soroi — tizmar?”

  Sparrow glanced back. Feet frozen in their place, she could only stare searchingly at the woman who sat so quietly on the camp chair, holding that tea mug with such a steady hand. Her breath caught with a shudder and she twisted away again. Both her arms came ’round her waist to hug herself as she slumped forward. Her sobs rose as the tears finally flowed. Only then did Brit put down the tea and rise, going to her beloved and gathering her tenderly into a strong embrace.

  Brit’s lips brushed across Sparrow’s temple, and then she simply stood there, holding her treasured love. The moment thinned, drawing on through the dimming twilight, but no one dared to move for fear of interrupting the two. Even Ty merely watched, eyes peaked in muted concern and understanding.

  The warm palm of Brit’s hand came to lie against a wet cheek, and she brought Sparrow’s gaze upwards to meet her own. “Come….”

  Fear flickered through those still tearing eyes, and Brit’s lips softly touched Sparrow’s own.

  “Now come,” the older woman repeated as she wrapped an arm about her lover’s shoulders, turning them towards the home of their caravan. “It’s time to talk.”

  Her shadowmate nodded, swallowing painfully, but the unwavering, unconditional support of Brit’s strength did not abandon her. Her trust in that steady strength began to rekindle despite the past days of mounting fears, and silently she let Brit lead them away from the camp’s fire.

  “I… I didn’t know…,” Llinolae murmured, heart aching as she watched the two go — the blur of their amarin blending. She brought a near helpless gaze back to Gwyn. “I wouldn’t have said anything if… I didn’t know!”

  “It’s all right.” Gwyn smiled gently and stretched a hand out to Llinolae. “It will be all right.”

  The Amazon drew Llinolae down to sit beside her then. With a faint squeeze, she shook Llinolae’s hand a little in emphasis of her words. “I promise you, it will be better between them. They’ve been grappling with the silence of this secret since their arrival — and longer. And for them, such silence could only have become more painful — and destructive — the longer it lasted.”

  Ty’s ears flicked back at that. Her nose dropped thoughtfully to touch a curled-under forepaw. Then her sandy gaze rose to focus intently upon Llinolae.

  The Dracoon turned abruptly at that unexpected touch from the sandwolf’s empathy. For the first time since they’d met, there was no bitterness nor challenge in Ty’s demeanor. Her blue eyes narrowed in concentration, and slowly, Llinolae recognized Ty’s reassurance for what it was. The sandwolf was not only agreeing with her human packmate, she had — for whatever reasons — decided to extend a tentative truce; something in Llinolae’s manner tonight had won Ty’s respect. And in return, Ty extended an honest assurance that she believed Llinolae had done nothing wrong here, and that — just maybe — Ty could trust her to genuinely care as much for what happened to Gwyn’s heart.

  Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and Llinolae blinked them away as Gwyn’s arm encircled her gently. Shaking — warily, she dared to accept the physical offer of reassurance and leaned into Gwyn’s shoulder. Ty’s amarin didn’t waver; she still offered only approval.

  With a grateful smile, Llinolae sent a silent ‘thank you’ to the sandwolf. She had nearly given up on ever earning any degree of acceptance from Ty. Yet ultimately, she had known how important Ty’s acceptance was to the pack, especially to Gwyn. The faint trust Ty now gave was all the more sweet for the waiting. She pledged to both the sandwolf and herself that she would do her utmost to hold this new faith unbroken.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Llinolae stirred restlessly on her bed pallet, well aware that the midnight moon had risen and that its early Twin was nearly gone. Dawn was yet a ways off, but she was reluctantly beginning to believe that she’d still be awake to greet it.

  That dream — that damned, haunting dream of poisons and death just wouldn’t let her go. In truth, the nightmare itself had not come again. But since Brit and Sparrow had arrived, the images seemed to be lingering, almost lurking, at the shadowy edges of her awareness. They were always waiting for her concentration to lapse just a little, before surging forward with all their vile horr
ors again.

  She rolled onto her back, stifling a sigh. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ty’s head lift in query. This wasn’t fair to either of them. And if she wasn’t careful she’d be waking Gwyn completely too.

  At that, she did give up and pushed the coverlet aside. She pulled on the ruddy leather breeches and didn’t think to bother with stockings nor boots. The night was more than mild enough for the light tunic and the breeches to suffice.

  Ty’s nose returned to the pillow of her curled paw as Llinolae slipped out of the tent. Then her eyes peaked in wrinkled little triangles of worry and the mismatched points of her ears flicked towards her human packmate.

  Only half-asleep, Gwyn slowly turned over. She stared at the sluggish ripple of the canvas flaps as they settled. Outside the night seemed quiet in the way a forest’s night is, yet isn’t. The breezes moved leaf bits. The creek gurgled nearby. Yellow crickets, night birds, the odd snuffle or snort from the mares all mingled.

  Gwyn could hear no footsteps. She could not follow Llinolae by any sound. She hadn’t expected to be able to. She was sorry for that, though. She regretted she couldn’t even offer that small bit of solace in dispelling the woman’s aloneness. And sometimes, she knew, the gifts of Blue Sight could seem so very isolating.

  Ty nuzzled the back of Gwyn’s hand, and the Amazon smiled faintly. “Dumauz, thank you. It does help, knowing you’ve grown to judge her less harshly.”

  Gwyn sighed and rearranged herself on the pallet, Ty rising in answer to the tacit invitation of hers. The sandwolf stretched out atop the blanket, crowding close to her bondmate. Without shedding a tear, Gwyn buried her face in the warmth and comfort of Ty’s ruff. It wasn’t the kind of melancholy in her that stirred tears, really. It was just a hollow, helpless feeling. She didn’t know what to do or say.

  Ty nosed Gwyn’s chin in gentle reproach.

  “That’s true,” the Amazon smiled weakly. “I don’t know what I can give yet, let alone if it’d be what she needs.”

  “Llinolae…?”

  The hesitant voice was soft, uncertain in identifying the Dracoon’s presence; and Llinolae looked ahead with a welcoming warmth. She had forgotten how sensitive Sparrow’s lifestone made the woman to the amarin around her, even if that sensitivity was not on a wholly conscious level.

  “Aye — it is you.”

  Llinolae nodded, climbing up to join Sparrow as the woman slid a little further along the stony seat to make room.

  The night sparkled around them with the spray of the waterfall, the moons’ light turning the mistiness to silver. The air smelled clean. The crescent of the midnight moon peered into the gorge. While around them all the dark honeywoods rose height upon height, setting the trees’ crowns far above the rocks and waterfall.

  “The Great Forest has settled with peace tonight,” the small Amazon murmured.

  “It has.”

  “I…,” Sparrowhawk paused, rethought her words, then laughed with an awkward shake of her head. “Thank you doesn’t seem quite the right thing to say.”

  Llinolae touched the back of the other’s hand lightly, understanding well enough. “I know. Part of me wants to beg your patience while another is happy for you — for both of you. What you share with your healer, Brit, is very precious. And I’ve Seen how much better things have been between you two since… well, since my less-than-tactful announcement the other day.”

  “Yes, everything is much better. Thank you. It was… I simply didn’t know how… to… tell her.”

  Blue eyes only turned to Sparrow with compassion; there was no pressing to continue. Sparrow drew a deep breath and let her tensions go with a sigh. “I was so frightened, simply because I am pregnant. Yet I was so afraid, too, of hurting Brit in telling her. I’d waited… hoped that Gwyn could help her through the pain it would bring. But I don’t know….” Candidly, Sparrow looked to Llinolae, “I am grateful to you. I know now that I couldn’t have done it myself.”

  Sparrow’s grasp folded about hers, and thoughtfully Llinolae turned their hands over. Fingers entwining, she held on tightly as she searched for words and clearer images amongst the woman’s amarin — searched for what Sparrow appeared to be so desperate to share with her. But Llinolae was not as good at deciphering the complexities of an individual’s amarin as these Amazons seemed to expect her to be. Only Sparrowhawk’s sincerity was clear to her; the sources of those earlier fears remained elusive.

  In the end, Llinolae settled for something of a shrug and a smile, covering their clasped hands with her free one. “I understand probably too little of what you’ve been struggling with. But if I’ve helped, then I’m glad to have given you that. In truth, I am.”

  A ready grin and a great wash of relief swept over the smaller woman, and Llinolae found her own smile growing in return. Apparently, there were some things Sparrow was quite relieved in not pursuing further. Then the Amazon invited questions of an even rarer sort, “I know that dey Sorormin’s ways can often seem strange to an outsider. I remember having a daunting amount of questions, when I first met Brit.”

  Disbelief, then gratitude at the open trust Sparrowhawk was offering held Llinolae silent for a long moment, until the subtler humor of it all registered. What hung unsaid was Sparrow’s rather impish acknowledgment of Llinolae’s attraction to Gwyn — and the rather obvious expectation that Llinolae’s curiosities about the Sisters’ customs were plaguing some of the sweeter dreams Llinolae had concerning Gwyn.

  Llinolae couldn’t help herself then, and her laughter rang bright, sparkling with the joy of the silver water mists. With an amused shake of her head, she thought Sparrow’s suspicions couldn’t be further from the truth of what kept her awake tonight. “Ah — I do thank you. But… Gwyn’l is not the problem I’ve been pondering.”

  “Oh.” Sparrow blushed faintly in the dimness. “Seems Brit’s rubbing off on me. She’s always been accused of being an old gossip.”

  “No, you’re not starting rumors,” Llinolae amended more softly. “The affection is there between us. Where it will lead… it’s too soon to say.”

  “Fairly noted. Gwyn would want it that way, I can see. Something with evoking the honor of the Niachero, no doubt.” Sparrow tipped her head to the side a bit. “May I ask then, what has kept you up so late?”

  The question spawned a more sober response, and Llinolae’s gaze dropped to the pooling waters below them. “A dream… or maybe the ghosts of a dream would be a better way of explaining it.”

  “A nightmare?” Sparrow ventured tentatively.

  “Yes… no.” Llinolae shook herself slightly. “I remember it as a dream, but it has the vivid qualities of a real memory.” She shrugged again, “It’s not one of my own.”

  Sparrow understood memories well enough, even blue-sighted ones. She squeezed Llinolae’s grasp, giving what reassurance she could. “At the Keep, the Council’s shadow trainees — the Blue Sights I mean now, not those such as I — they often spoke of dreamspun visions. Sometimes they would describe things that had not yet happened, sometimes things that had already happened. But usually, it was a thing they’d not witnessed personally. Although the dreaming was always about a thing which would eventually affect them very, very deeply.”

  Llinolae considered that, nodding. “It certainly does… deeply.”

  Sparrow pursed her lips a moment, feet swinging absently where they dangled over the waters. But before she had decided to speak again, Llinolae closed a hand over hers. And at Sparrow’s gaze, the other’s smile grew only more sad. “I know what I must do. I need counsel less than courage. But thank you — for the offer of knowledge from your understanding of the Council’s friends.”

  “All right,” Sparrow lent her a gentle smile in return. “I’m of a mind to brew some midnight spice teas.”

  “The sort with the llinolae moss blossoms in it?”

  “Aye, it is a rare skill for a northerner or a desert nomad to have, seeing the stuff grows only in Khirlan. But when
we arrived and I noticed the moss blanket beyond the pool there, I couldn’t resist a few little harvest-and-brew experiments with the dustiest of my old recipe notes.” Sparrow chuckled at the disbelieving look the Dracoon gave her. “The Council taught Brit and me much more than simple healer or troubadour skills. When Brit lets me, I’m even a fair cook myself!”

  “Then perhaps I’ll join you fireside in a bit.” Llinolae held Sparrow hand tightly for a longer moment, before seeking her eye with a humble admission. “I once shied from the Council’s associates completely. Now I find that may have been a rather biased view to take.”

  “You’ve seen nothing but the worst of Brit and myself. You may yet—”

  “No, I’m serious. Distracted and irascible as n’Minona was, she was never the monster so many believe the Council folk to be.”

  “It’s a fear found only in Khirlan and the Clan’s areas,” Sparrow corrected without anger. “The isolation has begun to create bigotries again… just as the isolation of different beasts and people split Aggar’s unity in the beginnings.”

  “Bears thinking about,” Llinolae noted.

  “Llinolae, if you ever have need…,” Sparrow hesitated, but with a squeeze of a hand was encouraged to continue. She shared a fluttering bit of a grin and shrugged. “I am bound to Brit by the stone as your Blue Sight has shown you.”

  “Aye.”

  “Well… we — Brit and I — would lend you the aid of Sisterhood, healer or troubadour.”

  “I know.”

  “If ever we could offer more… Brit and I spoke of it earlier and not many know this, but should you wish the Council’s help someday, Brit is empowered to speak for them. She’ll not carry them tales without your knowledge, and never without need, but if you should ask for their support or advice?” Sparrow glanced at her again, still wary. “She was an Archivist for a time among them and has their trust. I thought…”