A Hero's Tale

by Catherine M. Wilson

  I listened to the conversation as if I understood not a word of it, and when anyone spoke to me, I smiled and nodded, to be polite, then looked to Maara to tell me, in the language of the forest people, what they had said. They spoke my language so dreadfully that I often did have need of her assistance.

  To my ears the language of the forest people sounded lovely, soft and melodious, so I was very much offended when one woman said, on hearing Maara speak to me, "Stars! What a barbarous tongue!"

  Maara quickly drew attention to herself, before the woman could see that I had understood her.

  "I imagine that to her ears ours sounds just as barbarous," she said.

  In the morning, Maara, who had no scabbard for her sword, fashioned a makeshift sling for it out of deerskin and fastened it to her belt. I would have taken my bow from its case and strung it, but Maara stopped me.

  "Best not," she said.

  Before she could offer me an explanation, a boy came to tell us that the boats were leaving. Half a dozen were to go together. Maara sat at the front of the first boat, and I sat right behind her. Our companions in the boat were three men who had shared our fire for a while the night before. They were traveling together, to look for wives, they said.

  After an hour in the boat, I decided I would have preferred to walk. My legs were cramped and stiff, and the boats, heavy with goods and people, rode so low in the water that, although we were bailing constantly, my deerskin trousers were soon soaked through.

  It was a long day. At twilight we beached the boats and made camp on the riverbank. The next day was like the first. I tried to occupy my mind with studying the country we passed through. We were now beyond the boundaries of Aamah's map, and the countryside began to feel familiar. Though we still had forest on both sides of us and there was no feature of the landscape that I recognized, the quality of light, the fragrance of the air, and the shape of the hills I caught a glimpse of in the distance all felt like home.

  The next morning, not half an hour after we set out, boats filled with warriors blocked our passage. By the style of their clothing and the devices on their shields, I knew them for warriors of the northern tribes. As soon as we spotted them, we beached our boats and stood together, prepared to defend ourselves. I had little confidence in our companions, for they seemed to have little confidence either in each other or in themselves.

  Once again Maara prevented me from readying my bow.

  The northerners were no more eager for a fight than we were. They sent their leader to speak with us. The man who had assumed the leadership of our ragged band of mercenaries went to meet him and talked with him for several minutes. When he returned to us, he pointed to the boat that Maara and I had ridden in and said, "Leave them this one."

  At once our companions began to slide the other boats back into the water. The men who had shared our boat left it and ran in a mad rush to find places in the others. Maara understood what they were doing before I did. She took hold of me and pushed me into one of the boats just as it left the shore, but when she tried to board it, a woman cried out, "She'll sink us," and struck Maara with her paddle.

  My mind could not comprehend such a betrayal. I thought at first the blow must have been an accident, that in her hurry to get away the woman had been careless. Accident or not, when I saw Maara fall, I went into the water after her.

  No one helped us. No one waited for us. Our fellow travelers paddled for their lives downriver, while I lifted Maara's head out of the water and dragged her onto the shore, where the northerners surrounded us.

  71. Turning Point

  The northerners bound Maara's hands. They had no need to. Her sword was gone, lost in the river. She was still dazed from the blow of the paddle, and blood ran down her face from a cut on her forehead. They left my hands unbound. They seemed to think me insignificant, perhaps because I bore no arms. My bow lay unnoticed with my pack, hidden among the cargo in the boat our companions had left behind.

  The northerners waited while I tended Maara's wound. After I stopped the bleeding, they ordered us into our boat and took us a short distance downstream, where they beached the boats and hid them. Their encampment lay a short walk from the river. There they unbound Maara's hands and let us dry our clothing by their fire. In fact they were not at all unkind. When Maara began to feel a little better, they fed us, and one of them gave me a scrap of cloth to bandage her head.

  At midday another band of warriors arrived at the encampment. Their leader came to speak with us. A tall woman with flaming hair, she reminded me of Taia. I knew that Maara spoke a little of their language, but it surprised me when I found I understood a word or two. I heard Maara speak the word for travelers, which was the same in many tongues, and I heard other words with a familiar sound. Although I couldn't follow their conversation very well, by her face and by her gestures I knew what the red-haired woman wanted. She was trying to discover how to make best use of us.

  "Do they have any idea who we are?" I asked Maara after the woman left us.

  Maara shook her head. "They believe we came from the north, like the others."

  "What will they do with us?"

  "We'll have to wait and see," she said.

  All afternoon we stayed where the northerners had left us, by the fire at the center of their camp. They left us unbound, but there were so many of them all around us that it was no use trying to escape.

  Maara pretended to be unwell. She lay down and shielded her face with her arm, as if the light hurt her eyes. All the while she was listening to the conversations of our captors. I tried to listen too, though I learned nothing of value. It was an odd tongue they spoke, the sound familiar but with an unfamiliar cadence. Unlike the language of the trading village, which was my own tongue spoken badly, this was another language altogether, yet sometimes I felt that I caught a thread of meaning, even if I didn't understand the words.

  I tried to take in everything that was going on around me without being obvious about it. From what I could see, at least half a hundred warriors were encamped there. The camp seemed well established. No attempt had been made to hide it, as if no one would challenge their right to be there. I didn't know how far we were from Merin's land or if the warriors guarding our frontier would come this far. Clearly the northerners did not expect them to.

  Late in the afternoon they fed us again. After we had eaten, I looked again at Maara's wound. Anger burned in my belly when I thought about the woman who had dealt that treacherous blow. In my mind I judged her, and if it had been possible, I would have punished her myself.

  I wondered if we might be able to make our escape at night, while the northerners were sleeping, but when darkness fell, they bound our hands and feet and set a watch, and the watchman kept an eye on us.

  For a long time I was wakeful. I worried about Maara's injury and about the northerners' intentions. By now I knew the world well enough to understand how serious was our predicament. Captives were either held as hostages or sold as slaves. Hostages might hope to be treated well, but the value of a hostage was in her ransom, and who would ransom us? We were so close to Merin's house, so close to home, yet the only price Vintel would pay would be the blood price on my head.

  In the night she touched me. Because of our situation, we had not gone to sleep in our usual embrace. We lay side by side, with a little distance between us. Her fingertips brushed the bare skin of my forearm. When she saw that I was awake, she took my hand.

  "Do you trust me?" she whispered.

  "Of course," I said.

  "Will you do what I tell you?"

  "Yes."

  "Good," she said.

  I waited for her to tell me what she wanted me to do, but she didn't speak again.

  "Do you have a plan?" I asked her.

  "Hush," she said. "Hush, before they hear us, and go to sleep."

  I hushed, but I didn't sleep. Nor did she. The backs of her fingers rested against my bound hands. From time to time they moved a little in
a soft caress. Her touch was a comfort, and I thought I understood it. I thought she meant to reassure me. I should have listened more closely. If I had, I might have heard the good-bye in it.

  In the morning two of the northerners unbound us and took us to relieve ourselves. Then they made us welcome to the remains of their breakfast. While we ate, the northerners broke camp. Some were forming into raiding parties. They had seen to their weapons the night before, and their packs held supplies for just a day or two. Others were preparing for a longer journey, their packs heavy with food and supplies. I recognized them as the warriors who followed the woman with red hair.

  Maara seemed on edge. No doubt her wound bothered her, but I felt more at work in her than pain. I knew her moods so well. This one was new. Her restless eyes went from one thing to another, like the eyes of an animal brought to bay. They frightened me.

  The red-haired woman appeared among her warriors and spoke impatiently to those who were still fumbling with their packs. When all were ready, she beckoned to an older man and gave an order. At once he turned and approached me, while she strode away, to speak to someone else.

  The man said a few words to me and saw that I didn't understand them, so he gestured to me to follow him. When I stood up, Maara rose too. The man spoke to her, short and sharp. He must have expected her to sit back down, because when she didn't, he gave her a shove and repeated his order. Maara stumbled back a few steps, but she stayed on her feet. The man went after her.

  Before he reached her, she spoke to him. Her voice betrayed her fear. It was not fear of what the man would do to her. It was fear of something that was about to happen, something she was helpless to prevent.

  Then I realized that they were going to separate us. The red-haired woman's band intended to take me with them on their journey and leave Maara behind.

  The man took hold of Maara and tried to force her to sit down. Her knees refused to bend. The man grew angry. He shouted at her, and she spoke again. They were respectful words. Nothing in her tone justified what he did then. He drew his sword and held the blade against her throat.

  I cried out and took a step toward her. Before I could take another step, someone grabbed my arm and held me.

  Two warriors took hold of Maara's arms and held her still, waiting to see what the man would do. I was terrified, but she had mastered her fear. She didn't struggle. She paid no attention to the sword. She raised her voice and called out several words in that strange tongue, and the red-haired woman came to see what the trouble was.

  At first, when Maara tried to speak to her, she refused to listen. She gave an order, and three of her warriors forced Maara to her knees and prepared to bind her hands. The red-haired woman turned away, and Maara called to her again. The woman turned back, about to lose her patience.

  Maara said something else, and the woman's face changed. She listened as Maara spoke a few words more. The woman weighed Maara's words, careful of being taken in, yet curious to hear what Maara had to say. Then she spoke to her warriors, who pulled Maara to her feet and stepped away.

  The woman approached Maara and began to question her. Maara gave short answers, and the woman's curiosity grew. Maara drew her in. With a guile I never knew she had, she led the red-haired woman down the path she had prepared for her.

  I heard every word without understanding what was being said. Maara stood a little turned away from me, so that I had to try to learn her meaning from her tone of voice and from the red-haired woman's face. For every question Maara had a ready answer, but something more was happening. This was a negotiation.

  Though the red-haired woman held the power here, Maara had something to counter it. They soon reached an agreement. Maara made the woman swear an oath. Not with blood. That would have been too much to ask. A blood oath is sworn only between equals. Because we were her prisoners, it astonished me that the red-haired woman would consent to bind herself by any oath at all. Maara made her swear on her sword. The two of them swore together. The red-haired woman grasped the hilt, and Maara, in an act of trust, grasped the blade. Then it was done.

  What Maara had to bargain with, what she had sworn to do, I could not imagine. Too confused even to frame a question, I waited for her to tell me what was going to happen.

  "You're going home," she said.

  Were they going to let us go?

  "I'll follow you," she said.

  There was nothing in her words to frighten me, nothing in her voice, soft as it was, or in the way she moved, slow and careful, as she took my hands in hers and gazed into my eyes.

  "I'm going with them, just for a little while," she said. "I have something to offer them. In exchange they're going to let you go. Take one of their boats and go down the river. In a day or two you'll reach Merin's house. Do what I told you. Go to your mother, or to your friends."

  At last I found my voice. "I won't go home without you."

  "You mustn't follow me."

  "I will. You can't prevent me."

  "If you follow me, you will break my oath."

  "I never swore an oath."

  The northerners were all around us. The red-haired woman was impatient to be gone. They took hold of us and broke us apart.

  "Don't leave me," I said.

  They were pulling her away from me. When I tried to follow, others held me back. Relying on her oath, they didn't bind her hands. They took her by both arms, a warrior on either side, and led her away. She gave me a last look over her shoulder.

  "Don't do something foolish," she said.

  I wished I could have seen her face, but I was blinded by my tears.

  "Make them take me too," I shouted after her.

  "Go home," she said. "Don't let it all have been for nothing."

  The red-haired woman's band went east, away from the river. The raiding parties went south and west, all but one. Half a dozen warriors stayed to guard me, to prevent me from following Maara. They made me sit still, but they didn't bind my hands or hobble my feet. I was not a hostage any longer. My ransom was agreed on, and Maara's oath was given. Now all I had to do was wait for my captors to release me.

  I did what they wanted. I sat still. What else could I do?

  Over my mind a cloud of doubt descended. This must be some dreadful dream, and soon I would awaken to the teasing laughter of the children, who had heard the murmurs of my nightmares.

  But of course we had left the forest people. We were going home. How had it come about that I sat now in this pleasant place, in the midst of strangers and alone?

  I didn't want to think. Once I began to think, I would know that this nightmare world was real.

  How had it come about? A woman had struck Maara with her paddle. If she had not, Maara would still be with me. We might be home by now. That woman, by her act of cowardice, had changed the world.

  For a time I entertained myself with visions of what I would do to her when next we met. I would strike off the hand that dealt the blow. I would do to her what she had done to me. I would take from her what she loved. I would reach into her breast and break her heart.

  For a time my anger shielded me. Then I began to cry. They say revenge is sweet. Revenge is not as sweet as love.

  An hour passed. I kept myself distracted by watching a patch of sunlight move across the ground. Another hour passed, and at last my courage found me. Maara would have used this time. She would have tried to understand her situation. She would have thought things through. When the time came for her to act, she would be ready.

  I spent the rest of that day trying to make sense of what had happened. Maara said she would follow me, but how could that be so? What did she have to offer the northerners? What thing of value could she deliver that was enough to buy both my freedom and her own? When they discovered she had nothing, they would accuse her of swearing an empty oath and forego her price for the pleasure of taking a savage revenge for their disappointment.

  Did she think she could escape? These people were not fools. Th
ey would guard her more closely now that she was worth two lives.

  Maara could send her mind down many paths at once. That was more than I could do. I would have to take each path in turn, one path at a time. I started with the one I knew I would not take. What if I did what Maara wanted and went home? There I would find my family and my friends and they would join with me against Vintel. Vintel's power would be broken, and the Lady Merin would once again preside over her own house, a house that would in time belong to me.

  It was the path that, should I choose it, fate would roll out before my feet. As I sent my mind down the path of my destiny, I saw all the good things the world would give me -- praise and power, peace and plenty, and all the souls I loved but one.

  One thing my heart knew. If I went home, Maara's path and mine would never cross again. If she had bought my freedom with empty promises, she would pay the penalty. Even if they let her live, they would salvage what they could. She might live out a short and painful life mining salt or tin, or she might become again what she had been in Elen's house, a warrior slave, whose purpose is to take the blows meant for those whose lives have value. Warrior slaves do not live long.

  The thought of Elen's house disturbed me. I made myself think of something else.

  A new thought tempted me. What if I was wrong? Maara was wise and clever, no one more fit to find a way to live than she. The life she'd led had made her so, had taught her to use whatever strengths she had against the weaknesses of others, had given her a power greater than the force of arms. She said she would come back to me. Why didn't I believe her?

  I heard once more the sound of her voice as she spoke to me that morning. She spoke to me the way one speaks to a child, to soften a blow or to conceal a bitter truth the child is not prepared to hear. I am not a child. What truth could be too bitter for me to bear?