Fires of Aggar

by Chris Anne Wolfe

  It was a comfortable walk, with a bit of haymoss clumped here and there. This lower limb was too old to branch leaves and too far from the forest canopy to get proper sunlight anymore. She gave Gwyn credit for a gamble well made. They could have trotted a horse along this limb, and it certainly offered a wide view of the forest floor.

  And it was, in truth, the lost Clan scout out there. Llinolae crouched low, more from habit then from risk of discovery. His amarin was unmistakable from this angle which might mean another scout was near who might be searching for this fellow’s trail?

  She spun a little on her boot soles, gaze narrowing as she searched off to the left beyond the tree’s great trunk. The second scout was barely discernable, riding into the distance… riding away at an easy canter.

  There was too much satisfaction and purpose in that direct line of departure, however, and Llinolae didn’t particularly like it…. It could mean a search pattern finished with an anticipation of eventide — or it could mean signs of the lost scout had been discovered. The latter meant the whole patrol could be descending later.

  She frowned and made her way to the trunk’s shelter. The arrow steps were not going to be easily missed unless she intervened with her Sight.

  Still hidden below, Ty prodded Llinolae encouragingly with a light brush through her awareness. To Ty’s senses, all was well at least for the moment.

  It would have to do, Llinolae accepted. If the scouts returned, hopefully the sandwolf could alert her soon enough for her Blue tricks to conjure something useful. Right now, Gwyn was waiting.

  She scampered up the last few feet, but as soon as she parted the haymoss, Llinolae realized the sluggish rhythms to Gwyn’s body were not from sleep but from a concussion! The jumbling of amarin was a chaotic mesh, blending Gwyn’s life signs with those of the Ancient tree. Like blood from a poorly stanched wound that flows into an icy creek with washing, Gwyn’s uniqueness of self was quite literally bleeding away in the wash of the greater tide.

  “Thank you for giving her shelter, but neither you nor Aggar can have her yet!” Llinolae announced, and the flare of her own Sight burst bright. In a whirlwind of blue light, her amarin raced about the perimeter from either side of her until at the far end of the craggy chamber the sides met and sealed. Sparks and jagged bits of indigo protested for a brief moment, but the seam held and the cocoon was spun. A warmer blue rose then to surround the outer shell and offer reinforcement. A smile fluttered across Llinolae’s features, and she acknowledged the tree’s shift of intent with a nod; she could do with the aid.

  The humidity eased as the temperature rose to a more comfortable level. Llinolae shed her cloak and weapons, making her way carefully across the spongy mulch bed of the so-called floor. With approval she noted Gwyn had not only managed to climb to this haven, but the Niachero had stayed coherent enough to bring her pack above as well.

  Gwyn lay stretched out awkwardly on a blanket. Her feet had once been propped atop the small pack, though one had since slipped, while her head was gingerly raised by a wooden knob and her rolled-up cloak. Obviously, she had known she was going into shock. But from what?

  Llinolae straightened Gwyn’s legs gently, propping both feet a bit higher. She threw her own cloak over Gwyn, knowing it would be a while before the clammy chill would recede — even in the rising, toasty warmth of the tree’s nest. Fingers made sensitive by Sight and experience found the bruising to Gwyn’s shoulder despite the clothes hiding it. The swelling behind Gwyn’s ear was even more tender. Llinolae bent low, a hand moving very, very cautiously as she peered closer. She found she had been right not to move Gwyn’s head; the woman’s wound was bloodless only on a skin level. The pressure — the swelling! The jolt to the skull must have been horrendous. They were lucky nothing had fractured. Llinolae knelt a moment, hands on her thighs and a scowl on her lips as she considered their options. Yet at the edges of her mind, she kept pondering the cause. From the lingering traces of amarin, some sort of log or branch had caused the injury. But she was decidedly suspicious that it had been a simple accident. Maybe the Clan scout had not been anticipating honors for finding signs of their lost apprentice, but for boasting of a Marshal’s kill!

  With a physical shake, Llinolae pulled herself back to Gwyn’s immediate care. There actually was not much to wrestle over. Gwyn’l needed the swelling to go down without blood clots or nasty complications, and her body’s natural rhythms to be restored. If Brit were here, Llinolae would have quickly turned the task over to the healer, because though Llinolae’s mentor had taught her about off-worlder physiology — ‘just in case’ — Llinolae would be the first to admit she understood healing very poorly.

  A great pulse of amarin throbbed and dispersed, rivulets of rainbows dancing along the soft blue glow of her Sight’s cocoon. An amazing simulation of a human hug, Llinolae smiled. Again she felt the reassurance of this Ancient’s wisdom. Mechanics in amarin were intricately woven, they both admitted. But amarin were not solely physical nor metaphysical; amarin were truth and light, life and death — intermeshed yet distinct. There were many, many ways to intercede through the Life Cycles. Healers knew of the most concrete. With the strength and guidance of this Ancient tree, Llinolae’s Sight could mend through less tangible means than splints and medicines. She knew Gwyn’s patterns. Her Sight of Gwyn could recreate what once was. The Great Tree would lend her the power to reshape Gwyn’s amarin to that inner vision and temper the shifting to match Gwyn’s tolerance for rapid body changes.

  Llinolae dipped her fingers into the rushing wall of lights that spun their cocoon and brought her the Ancient’s Gifts. Using touch that glowed with the rainbow radiance, she began to paint a new pattern of amarin along Gwyn’s cheek.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Ril slipped into the rooted niche, coming to stretch prone next to Ty with a soft bunt from her nose.

  Ty flicked her tattered ear towards her.

  Ril grunted shortly, understanding her Sister’s impatience all too well. The whole trek with Cinder had been a worthless venture. The scouting apprentice was so haphazard in his attentions that he had repeatedly lost their trail. Eventually she had been forced to abandon the attempt. Instead she had taken Cinder back to camp, leaving the mare for Brit and Sparrow to find in the morning. Then she returned to stand watch with Ty. The trail she had purposefully laid from camp to here had been subtle enough that few, save Gwyn or Southerners like Sparrowhawk, could have been expected to follow it. But it was the best she could do by way of a message for help. Anything more obvious and the Clan’s patrol might find it first.

  And unfortunately, those more experienced scouts were already bringing themselves in this direction. Llinolae was not going to be pleased.

  Llinolae stirred. She sat up, rubbing a hand over her eyes to banish the sleep. Immediately her thoughts turned to Gwyn, but the woman’s breath was steady and her pale skin was the hue of golden apricot. Gwyn’s slumber was just that now and nothing more. She probably wouldn’t even wake to a headache.

  The warmth and scent of green, living things surrounded them. Llinolae’s smile was gentle and appreciative as she gazed around the openness of the tree’s chamber. While she slept, the glowing cocoon had drawn more and more from the Ancient’s strength, leaving Llinolae to rest more completely. The temperature had risen to that of a balmy summer’s day. The light had become tinged with the coolness of lime-mint, easy to the eye but keeping the darkness well at bay. The more usual inhabitants had crept back as well, sliding into the nooks and crannies between the cocoon’s wall and the tree’s timber. Even the spongy dust and mulch of the carpenter mites had grown more solid beneath the blanketing coat of that amarin cocoon; her nose no longer tickled with a yen for sneezing and her breeches were clean of the stuff again.

  There was much she had yet to learn of amarin, Llinolae ruefully reminded herself.

  She nearly felt the tree chuckle — or the equivalent of whatever such Ancients did.

  A sense of
Ril and concern became more acute, and her smile fled. Now she recognized what had awakened her.

  With a glance to Gwyn, Llinolae left her to sleep and made her way back across the chamber to the haymoss. The cocooning light parted and sealed behind her as she slipped through. She’d sensed the danger of the approaching scouting party before she descended the short distance to the broad limb.

  “Fates’ Jest!” She swore under her breath. There were nearly a dozen of them. Though still a few leagues out, they were moving with a systematic thoroughness and an undeniable direction. She recognized that spread formation only too well: sweep and corner. Whether they were looking for an injured Marshal or a wayward apprentice, she harbored no doubts they would know Gwyn’s signs when they did come across the tracks.

  Ty’s sudden alertness sent her into a spinning crouch, and her Sight searched to the west.

  “This is not good.” Lips set with an irritated scowl. She worked her way out further along the tree limb.

  Both she and the sandwolves had been so preoccupied with the patrol in the southeast, they had forgotten that meddlesome apprentice who was still nearby.

  Fates’ Cellars! Why hadn’t the boy settled in for the night? For that matter, the lot of them should just turn in!

  A boot barely scuffed, and Llinolae recognized Gwyn’s approach more from a Sense of amarin than noise. The Amazon came out, keeping low, then settled on one knee beside her. Llinolae smiled at that confident pose, Gwyn’s elbow braced on the upright knee and her hand dangling loosely; she doubted she herself could have awakened in a strangely lit tree hole, mysteriously freed from pain and concussion, and so calmly gather herself together for duty.

  “What is it?” Gwyn nodded into the shadows of the forest before them. The silvery sheen of the Twin Moons shone brightly through the overhead canopy, but the scout was not quite near enough yet for normal vision to help. “Is it that foolish apprentice again?”

  “So nice to see you too,” Llinolae quipped, sliding a glance Gwyn’s way. “And yes, it is our favorite young scout.”

  Gwyn had the grace to blush. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Llinolae took pity on her and squeezed her hand reassuringly. “He’s over that way a bit,” Llinolae pointed. “But over there, the patrol is our real problem. They will be here by moonset of the early Twin.”

  A sigh whispered through the dimness. Gwyn understood: there would still be more than enough light for them to discern tracks and trails. “We could try it on foot — ?”

  “Not a thrilling idea.” Llinolae agreed with the hesitance Gwyn’s tone implied. “I would rather be cornered up this tree than caught in a flat-footed race against their horses.”

  “Where is Cinder? For that matter, where are Ty and Ril?”

  “Hush! They’re all fine.” Llinolae pressed a kiss to the curled fingers still in her grasp. “Ril got Cinder back to camp. She had to give up the attempt to get the lost scout to follow them back around the east canyon side to Sparrow and Brit.”

  “Not surprising.”

  “Ty fetched me while they were off trying, though. Neither of them thought you could wait too long for help.”

  A crooked grin acknowledged the truth in that. “So they are playing sentry somewhere below?”

  Llinolae tipped her head, unconsciously adapting a very sandwolf-like manner. “Is your head all right?”

  “Yes. Yes, whatever you did, it worked wonders.”

  “But your packbond isn’t working? You can’t tell where they are?”

  “Oh no — I know they are hereabout someplace. But they are being overly protective.” Gwyn grinned broadly. “They have shut me out of their scheming perceptions for a time. They tend to do that when they are adamant about me resting.”

  “Wise harmons, the both of them,” Llinolae approved.

  The two of them fell silent. Their gazes drawn again to the forest steps. There were troubles to be dealt with yet.

  Wind driven and being herded to the east, the clouds eclipsed one of the Twins, deepening the shadows. Glancing at them, Llinolae dismissed them as the moon reappeared, but then something whispered across the back of her mind.

  Gwyn started slightly as Llinolae’s hand withdrew from hers. But as Llinolae pressed both palms to the tree limb, Gwyn realized some path of the Sight was being pursued. She waited uneasily, anticipating worse news of the Clan folk or some note of an entirely new danger. Concentration furrowed a crease between Llinolae’s brows and Gwyn began to relax; she was beginning to recognize that scowl. White teeth gnawed absently on a lower lip as Gwyn watched. She felt anxiety yield to satisfaction then she prodded, “You’ve got an idea.”

  A slow nod answered her. Then for a long silence, there was nothing more. Until finally, Llinolae’s clear blue eyes turned to Gwyn. The Amazon grinned again at that measured air of consideration. “You have more than an idea. You have a solution.”

  “Perhaps — it may work. Are Ty and Ril up to a good drenching?”

  “A what?” Gwyn cocked her head in puzzlement then she realized what Llinolae was suggesting! Never — never! — had Gwyn even heard of a Blue Sight so great!

  For the first time in their acquaintance, Llinolae saw the Niachero balk with fear and amazement at her Blue powers. It hurt. Until suddenly, her lover was chuckling in self-derision and fingering the non-existent bruise behind her ear, and Llinolae’s pain vanished with the shake of Gwyn’s head. Their eyes met. Gwyn’s smile broadened and then they were laughing together quietly, warmly.

  “I beg patience,” Gwyn amended, eyes still bright with mirth. “I am finding I might not be as enlightened as I thought.”

  “So I See.”

  Their hands met halfway, fingers entwining strongly.

  “I love you,” Gwyn murmured.

  It was said so simply. But it was so much what Llinolae needed to hear. Her throat tightened. She almost had to blink away tears… how could Gwyn have known that saying more would have belittled the sweet sincerity of her apology? The grasp of their hands strengthened as Llinolae managed to nod. With a swallow, she found her voice, “Heartbound.”

  “Soroi, ” Gwyn agreed.

  Enough — ! Llinolae pulled herself to duties, and both turned toward the forest.

  “What now?”

  Llinolae gestured in the direction of the apprentice scout. “He will be here before I can bring the rains. But I am not certain of precisely when.”

  “He is still combing for signs?”

  Llinolae nodded.

  “Ril and Ty could play basker pack again and hound him into the scouting party. If you just want to be done with him?”

  “Tempting idea,” Llinolae allowed. She sighed.

  “You would rather not toss away the plan quite so soon,” Gwyn saw. “Good. Neither would I.”

  “All right then,” Llinolae glanced at her with a impish smile, “We are agreed.”

  “We are.”

  “How well do your packmates mimic the baskers?”

  “Even Southerners can not always tell the difference.”

  “Might be helpful.”

  “Already has been.” At Llinolae’s raised brow, Gwyn explained. “They chased him off earlier with the trick after I got hurt.”

  “He presumes you are dead then?”

  Gwyn shook her head, “He never saw me. A hunting cat was stalking him — more for mischief than hunger.”

  “They do seem to have a malicious sense of humor, don’t they?”

  “Just be thankful they are so stupid.”

  “So he was nervous because of the cat?”

  “I pulled Ril and Ty way back, he was so jittery. Had his fire weapon unsheathed and was striking at shadows every now and again.”

  “Mother…,” Llinolae hissed.

  “What I had not realized was that damn cat had worked its way ’round towards Cinder and me. Startled it out of its wits in the tree above me. Thing screeched and he started shooting. Cinder went one way. I went
another. Haymoss, smoke, whole tree limbs exploded! Don’t know where the cat went. Ril and Ty took off like baskers from the Cellar, and his horse gave him little choice but running. By the time I had worked my way clear of debris and realized I was not going to stay together long enough for Cinder to get me back to camp, I barely had enough sense to get clear of the area before hiding.”

  “I’m not certain, Niachero, ” Llinolae drawled, “but it might have been easier to tie yourself to Cinder than climb this tree by hand-over-hand knife stabs.”

  Gwyn glanced below, not quite understanding the concern. “I don’t remember much aside from the last few falls from the saddle. Or maybe…,” she scoffed at herself, “…it’s only the one tumble that’s playing and replaying in my memory!”

  Llinolae smiled wryly. She pointed a thumb back at the tree trunk. “You should get inside. It is going to get pretty chilly and damp soon.”

  “I would rather wait for you. Unless I’ll be a distraction?”

  “Never an unwanted one, Soroi.” Pleasure danced warmly across Llinolae’s smile, and Gwyn’s own answered her. “But don’t complain to me if you end up wet.”

  “Understood. How do you start?”

  “I already have.” Thunder rolled in on the last of her words.

  The wind whipped down with cold vengeance suddenly, and a cacophony of rattling leaves and creatures shrieked loose. Roosts and nests and higher burrows were swiftly sought as thunderous black rumbles cracked in ground-shuddering glee.

  Hair tore from its short braid, blinding Gwyn a moment. She gasped at the fury of the gathering elements, then caught her breath at the beauty of the small shea crouched beside her.

  Blue eyes fastened outward, unseeing — uncaring of the raging press against them. Gwyn watched, almost feeling the exuberance — the eagerness of Llinolae’s harmon as it called those primal forces. Power pairing with power, respect meeting respect — differences binding to mold passions into purpose! All singing! Rejoicing! All things alive in her!