“But... tell them that our long retreat is over. If you run with us, you run to take back what is ours, to hunt the hunter and to return his walls to dust.”
An ultimatum, Adria nodded. But who does he speak for? Surely not the People... but... even the Runners? Even Adria knew, at this point, that the Aesidhe did not have warlords, did not have kings or princes. Even the elders bore no absolute authority. Can Preinon claim such a place among them, even merely a band of them?
The spark of joy and pride paled a little.
Tabashi was right, Adria realized. He is still Lord Preinon.
“He would build an army,” Adria whispered, as the green-faced men rose, as they left the circle of fire and the circle of camp, a pair of Runners following a little behind.
“Still it is all he knows to do,” Shísha said, nearly startling Adria, who had at this point almost forgotten her presence, even though she had translated every word.
Adria nodded, turning her head to the Holy Woman. “But… is he wrong?”
Shísha was slow to react, to speak, and Adria somehow wondered even if she deserved an answer — if she could even understand what Shísha might say.
“There is right in him, and wrong,” she said at last. “As there is in all of us. And who can know the difference in every single moment? In such moments as this, moments we share out of blindness... He has said what he will, and he will do what he will. And we will follow, or we will not. If he is to be our guide, he is not the first, or the last.”
Adria didn’t fully understand, but she felt the Truth of it, still.
“But you are a Runner,” Adria pressed. “Will you follow him, as a Runner?”
Again, she was slow to answer. “If there is to be a river of blood and fire, he may yet be the bridge to cross it. Who knows what actions he will take, when the fire in his own blood has cooled.”
“I feel that fire,” Adria said.
Shísha nodded slowly. “We all do, Lozheskisiyama. But some of us know what is left when the blaze of its glory is ended.”
As Adria considered her words, Shísha rose and wandered off, toward where the nearest of the seriously wounded still lay, and Adria smiled a little, wondering if she would ever get used to half-understanding the words of the world.
“Is it wrong that I am here?” Adria asked Preinon as they sat again beside the fire of the Runners’ reconstructed camp.
Preinon distracted as she spoke, then shook his head slowly. “The Moon Lodge is for the tribe. The Runners do not fear the wildness of a woman’s blood. And anyway, in these times…”
Adria nodded. She had questions, she ached, she was so exhausted that the act of sleeping seemed remote, half-impossible, as if she had somehow forgotten the method. Her thoughts wandered, muddled, with all the images and words and emotions of the past few hours and days.
“We call ourselves one People,” Preinon said first. “But in truth there are scores of Aesidhe tribes in Heiland — so many camps, not unlike this one, scattered across the remains of the wilderness. Any of them might be made to turn against brothers just as they did today. We have grown that afraid. Perhaps it is easier, somehow. Easier than the Long Retreat. Easier than waiting for the fire and the smoke, like the fire of the Hollow One.”
“The Hollow One?” Adria had not heard this name. She still had so little knowledge of the People, had no real understanding of their scope.
I have thought of them as a kingdom, she realized. Spread over vast distances, maybe, but nonetheless united. They just... never build roads between them, or raise the same flag over every camp.
“A legend,” Preinon nodded. “There is a mountain that lies to the north, between us and Windberth. I don’t know the Aeman word, have never heard an Aeman refer to it as the Aesidhe do. Generations ago, this mountain cracked at its top, it spilled forth fire and smoke, destroying forests and camps for a great distance, blotting out the sun. For generations, Aesidhe Hunters watched and waited for the fire to return, but now… now we watch for the Knights.”
“The dark fire of my father.”
Preinon nodded.
“Scores of Aesidhe tribes… and how many Hunters?” Adria asked, a little timidly. She suddenly felt all of this to be well beyond her understanding. “Can they be united, as you have the Runners?”
“An Aesidhe would ask, ‘will we unite?’” Preinon sighed. “These thoughts are all too Aeman.”
“It is what I know,” she apologized, ashamed, though she knew he had thought and spoken similarly more than once that evening. “But… I am learning.”
“I am only reminding myself.” He shook his head and smiled a little, reaching out for her hand, which she placed in his. He looked at it, still pale and fragile in his own. He squeezed it, then leaned over and kissed it, and she felt some of her negative thoughts recede a little.
“I will learn, Uncle,” she whispered. “I will fight for the People.”
Just a moment of sadness crossed his face, and then he blinked, smiled, and nodded.
He squeezed her hand again, patted it with his other, and let it go, turning back to the fire to contemplate, and they were almost their former selves. She wanted to speak of Tabashi, of what he had said and done, but could not find any words yet.
“Do you ever miss it,” she asked. “What... who we were before?”
“I don’t know…” he sighed. “Sometimes. Some things. It… all seems a lifetime ago.”
“It does.”
Preinon chuckled. “Of course… you’re long-lost childhood.”
“Fair enough,” Adria smiled. “Oh, it was so long ago, I cannot possibly hope to remember.”
Preinon shook his head, still smiling.
Adria shrugged and sighed. “Honestly... it does seem a long time ago that I left. So much…”
“When we are young,” Preinon nodded. “Life happens slowly, one moment creeps into the next. But now… the hours and the moons cycle with the speed of a Runner. No matter what ceremonies we choose to celebrate its passage, life… races to our ends all too readily.”
Adria swallowed, frowning into the fire. “That makes me sad.”
“I cannot ask you to fight this war, Adria.”
Her stomach turned, and she hesitated, but found her center and her strength. “It’s too late, Watelomoksho. I am at war.”
He looked from the fire to her, and she realized her hand was pressed to her shoulder, to the bandage of her wound. She did not remove it.
“When the attack began, I drew my blade,” She explained. “I meant to use it. I did use it, though Tabashi overcame me. And… then the arrow.”
“He was not there to harm you,” Preinon said. “Tabashi came to protect you. I think you understand that now.”
“I do. Still, he betrayed us. He betrayed the People.”
“It would…” he hesitated. He had long been considering this, it was clear. “He did.”
“And my father knows that I am here,” Adria added. “Knows that we are here. The Knights moved unexpectedly, and it was a distraction.”
“It was more. They are calling me out,” Preinon answered. “This is the speech I did not, I could not give. They know that the Aesidhe tribes, even the Runners, will retreat from the Knights. We are not prepared to stand toe-to-toe. And so they turn as against ourselves. And the only way to fight this is… is to unite all the People in a way they never have before, against the Aeman. To become the adversary they want and need us to be. They… know just how to do this. And they… know what I will do next.”
Chess. Adria sighed. And yet… Preinon was often my father’s match.
“And… what will happen now?” she asked.
“It has been decided,” he nodded. “We have no choice but to take the gambit. The tribe will remain here, and the Runners will make certain that there will be no other a
ttacks. Moving would be a signal of defeat to any other tribes, and to the Knights. If we stand strong here, they will know we cannot be so easily frightened. I will remain here for awhile, along with some of the others, to organize our efforts. I have sent scouts to the nearby tribes, to inform them of what has happened, and to determine if any others have been induced to betray the People.”
Tabashi’s words began to resurface, as well as her father’s, and Adria’s doubts rose with them. She formed her next words carefully.
“And what is my part in this?” she asked, a little nervously. “If it is known that I am here, shouldn’t I leave?”
“Is this what you want? Or will you fight this war, as you’ve said.”
“I didn’t…” she hesitated. “Is it even my choice? Uncle… In a span of hours I have been betrayed, protected, wounded, and healed. I have seen men die and a child saved from death. I… I drew my blade. And still… have I even been making my own decisions, or have they been made for me?”
“Are mine?” his voice rose, and Runners looked to them from around the fire.
It seems almost unfair that we have a language they do not know… Adria thought. An enemy language.
Preinon sighed and quieted again. “We live in the world around us. Lead and are led. It is never so easy to know which is which.”
“You said nothing, when you found me... in the cave,” she nodded. “You... knew what had happened to me, didn’t you? Knew where to look for me.”
“I knew that Tabashi had taken you,” he nodded. “The Moresidhe have done much for our people, but always at a price. And they have done much for our enemy, as well — now, it seems, even more than I would have guessed. But… I knew that you were saved. That Tabashi would protect you with his life today.”
“He knew…” Adria whispered. “He knows so much.”
Preinon nodded. “The Moresidhe have a unique culture. They live in clans among and within the mountains. They are very structured, very organized, and very guarded. They are a reclusive people, but at a certain point in their lives, certain chosen males leave their home to travel the world, as Tabashi does. When they are ready, they settle among a distant clan to make a family. In this way, the knowledge of each clan is shared with all the others by the settling males. But while these males travel, they are considered the emissaries of their people. They trade their wares, their information, and even form limited alliances.”
“Then Tabashi is unlikely to be acting purely in his own interest?”
He hesitated. “It would be unusual.”
He is not going to say more. Adria realized. Her mind flooded with all the questions she wished to ask, all the curiosities and conflicts brought on by the events of the day. What were Tabashi’s promises? What happened to me during the attack? Why was I protected?
But Adria now believed that Tabashi was right — Preinon knew things he did not wish her to know, and in many ways he led her, as her father had, even as he now led the Runners.
Lead and are led, she repeated in her thoughts. It is never easy to know which is which.
She would have willingly followed him without hesitation. Now, suddenly, just as she had felt with her father in their final argument, Adria realized she did not have to follow Preinon to whatever end.
She had withdrawn for some time, turning the thoughts in her head, and when she glanced up at Preinon again, she found that his gaze had softened, his face brightened a little. It seemed as if he sensed some of what she was thinking as he began the conversation again.
“You are a woman, Adria.” he said. “And I am proud of you today.”
Adria blinked, a little confused by his change, and by where her own thoughts had taken her. “You are... proud of me? Why?”
“I did not take the time to attend you after the attack, and still you found your way.”
“I did little,” Adria shrugged. “Shísha commanded me.”
“Because you had proved your worth. And you followed her, and you learned. Not all have done so well so quickly. You served the People.” He reached into a belt pouch, then held his hand out to her. “She asked me to give you these.”
He dropped two beads into her hands, one red and one white. “You described these already. It was… a day of blood and a day of healing, and you proved true in both. You helped to save the life of a child.”
She undid her small side braid to weave these in.
“And your blood spilled for the People,” he continued. “That holds great meaning for us. It is a sign that you will be a great warrior one day. And you drew your blade, which proves your will.”
“Does one… get one each time they… draw blood? Or each time they spill it?” She glanced to the many he wore, the mostly red, the fewer white.
“No, Lózha.” His eyes flickered, knowing where hers had gone. “These beads are intended for moments of particular worth. It is not intended to measure one’s greatness, nor to number one’s actions. It is meant to remember.”
She nodded. “You have much to remember.”
“All our People do. We are meant to know each other’s lives, not only our own.” He nodded. “This is why we take the braids of the dead. It is what we keep to remember those who are fallen, those who are loved.”
“I was simply wounded, just as a stray child might have been. What does that matter? It is not so heroic to be struck down.”
Preinon smiled after a brief puzzled look. “No, we have not understood each other. I did not mean the arrow which wounded you... I meant your other wound, your first Moon.”
Adria shook her head.
He blinked, realizing Adria did not understand him. “Shísha... did not tell you?”
She only shook her head again and shrugged.
“No wonder you feel wrapped in mystery.” Preinon smiled. “As you said, the Knights used their change in movements to lure the Runners away from the tribe, so that the Shíme Hoshegi Bobeya could attack without our interference. Because of your ceremony, Shísha and Mateko were well behind us, and they found the Shíme Hoshegi Bobeya preparing their attack. Because the rest of us had waited for them, they were able to find us quickly, and we returned in time to save much of the tribe.”
Adria blinked. “That… what is the chance?”
“Perhaps we are truly led,” Preinon shook his head. “Coincidence is not chance, but design.”
Adria was not sure this reduced the mystery at all.
“The Aesidhe believe that all our ancestors live on among us, as a part of us, and as a part of our influences.”
“Like gods?”
“Perhaps, but… this is just a point of view. We lead and are led. Our mothers lived and were led, and theirs. If you make a choice which affects the world, which affects your future, how can you believe that those before you did not? Generations of generations. Creators and created. Call them gods or god if you like. Most do.”
Adria blinked, dazed with the beautiful and obvious simplicity.
“Webspinners,” she whispered. Walks Both Webs at Once. Tabashi had placed doubts in her head, and yet Preinon was somehow speaking directly to these. Adria wanted to hunt, to Run, but now she was beginning to understand what it meant to walk first. To act, and not react, I have to understand the difference. The causes and effects. The way a girl becomes a woman, is born and dies. The way of change.
Suddenly, things slowed again, and her head throbbed, the blood in her temples pulsing. Before her, the fire stilled and paled almost to frozen.
She remembered the voices calling her names, known and unknown. Strands of web. The world seem to stretch out around her, distant, then close. She could not have touched her uncle if she could have reached. Beyond and between them trees and seedlings and trees became again. Mothers and their daughters. Suns and moons and winds and rain. Hunters and their prey.
She saw
the spirit web of the burned boy, the dragon of fire being drawn out. She saw arrows, paused in flight, and her chessboard, its pieces still, awaiting her or her father’s next move, and then again, and then again, and then again.
“For every wound, there is an arrow,” Adria whispered. “For every move, a myriad of counter moves. Forwards and backwards. How many lives, for how many times, all intertwined? It is... too much to be a part of...”
“Mélitali, you have only to choose your aim, and decide where the arrow flies.” Preinon clasped her shoulder, and whatever spell she suffered was broken. “One move at a time. One arrow and one wound can change the world.”
Adria smiled and nodded her acceptance, and focused again upon him, and time passed. She blinked and shook her head. “The... world doesn’t... seem to be moving right, lately.” She couldn’t think of a better phrase.
He considered her, and seemed to understand. He rose, with a groan of half-feigned effort, and then stretched. “It has been a long day, Lózha. You must be exhausted. We should rest. And when we awaken tomorrow, I will show you the first step in the firing of an arrow. I will show you how a Hunter makes her bow.”
The bite of an arrow... the rush of falling... and the drowning.
No... dream.
She was too warm, even with the curtains of the bed open, and the walls felt far too close, the air stale. Her senses were dulled and her body sore from having slept too deeply in the comfort of her old bedclothes. She sat with a pillow clutched to her breast, but the reason why faded as quickly as the sounds of wind and water, leaving only the slight rustling of skirts from the bedchamber doorway, and the footsteps of Twyla, now easily recognized.
“Highness?” the girl asked, a little worriedly.
“I’m all right,” Adria smiled, hiding her drawn knife amidst the blankets for fear of frightening her friend or looking foolish.
Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 Page 37
