It was the greatest praise I could bestow. I heard the murmurs of agreement as others moved up to stand behind me.
Rserker appeared at my side. “You have proven your borh-hand, today.” He smiled at the giant with pride.
But still, Nethaz did not speak. We waited patiently, wondering if he were in shock. Finally, his eyes met mine.
“It is not to me you owe the life,” he said, raising his hands in front of his eyes as if to read his palms. “I was bestowed with the goddess’ light.”
Silence blanketed the group as those around me digested his words. Nethaz dropped his hands and looked to the badgerdom.
“It was the goddess who felled the beast!” The giant’s voice boomed into the silence.
Rserker’s eyes slid to mine. He knew what Lumen could do, and he had heard my command to the disc. But I did not counter the giant’s words. It would do well for the Horde to believe the goddess had saved me. It would do well for all to believe we were in the goddess’ favour.
Dorn moved to my side and spoke to the Horde, “We are blessed in our journey!”
Another cheer rose up. I looked to my people, pleased to see their hopeful joy.
Among the cheering and laughing of the others, one dour face stood out. One who was not hugging or shaking hands with a comrade. It was the girl—the chronicle ward. She slipped behind a group before I could be sure of her expression, but I thought she had looked my way with a hateful scowl.
Chapter 12: The Water Weirn Sacrifice
As the sun’s rays lengthened, we left the plains and entered another wood. The shade in the forest was welcome, but there was no cool moisture in the air to greet us. The never-ending heat floated around the trunks, baking the leaves into orange and yellow wisps that drifted down on the windless air. Soon this forest would also collapse, and the terrain would become a new territory for the badgerdoms.
We were not a silent Horde, and the dried leaves created a crackling that would alert any enemy of our arrival. So, we stayed alert, expecting attack. I leaned against the inside of my bullsaur’s basket, trying to brace a sore shoulder. Being driven into the dirt had scraped my skin, but worse, it had pained the joint. Later, I would have Hinfūs heal it, but for now I ignored the throb, and pondered Nethaz’s assumption on the light. The giant was quick to believe he had been blessed. I did not know if I could fault him after the goddess’ vision he had shared with me. Obviously, our oversized wúsc-bearn had a connection to the Hall that was stronger than mine. That thought pricked my pride, but only for a second. As long as the giant was a member of the Horde, sworn in loyalty to me, I could wield any power he might have.
Dorn’s voice hailed me from below. I leaned over the side of the basket and looked down on his Alacrite mare, prancing gracefully to keep pace with my beast. Dorn tilted his head and smiled up at me. His presence warmed me even more than the afternoon sun, if that was possible.
“I know this place,” he called.
I peeled my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “What do you know, Dorn?”
“I know there is a water weirn nearby,” he grinned at me and reined in the horse as it tried to step away from the bullsaur. He had my full attention.
“Search for it,” I ordered.
Dorn raced ahead on the Alacrite, moving past the front beasts who led single file through the trees. I could imagine his mind sorting through the chronicles for the right tale that would guide him to the weirn. Hopefully, the record was intact.
We travelled for four more hours, weaving in and out of the trees to find passage for the wide beasts. I did not like to think about the distance we lost on our meandering way. As the sun started to descend, we came to a clearing within the wood. The treeless area dipped down from the edge of the forest and became a valley. It was good for hiding firelight, but a bad place to be under bow fire. The hill did not entirely surround the valley for the north end opened into the forest once again. This escape route swayed my decision about setting camp. We were not easy to hide, and we had left a trail a child could follow. But, within the valley there was protection from the damaging winds, and a way out. The sides of my mouth cracked, as I gave the word to halt. I ordered watchers on the hill’s edge and pacers in the forest.
While the cooks prepared the evening meal, I walked to the crest of the hill. We wouldn’t set up tents, but we would build cooking fires and lay out hides around them. The outer edge of camp was ringed with the bullsaurs, horns facing out, as a first defense. I watched the great creatures lumber into position, egged on by the Julees and their sticks. Once the animals were in place, the Julees would find a tree to bury their kinswoman under.
The hounds were loping and gathering. Their desire to hunt was not driven by hunger for they had quenched themselves on the badgerdom’s flesh. Its meat stunk like the tunnels it dug, so it was no good to us as a food source. Before leaving the field, the Cooks had cut off the choicest meat from the fallen bullsaur, and then we had released the hounds on the carcasses.
Four groups of warriors, bristling with spears and arrows, broke away from the Horde and moved into the forest. They would sweep for danger and take whatever game came their way. I was edgy, waiting for word of the water weirn from Dorn.
From a good vantage point on the hill, I scanned the four horizons. There was no sign of him or the Alacrite. I dared not use Lumen in case it alerted the unknown to our location. I scratched at the back of my shoulder where Hinfūs’ healing still itched.
I was anxious for Dorn to find water, for nothing binds loyalty like satisfying the basic needs of a people. As we set up camp, the others spoke of the badgerdom’s death and the “goddess light” bestowed on Nethaz. Such things were not soon forgotten and not easily dismissed. I stood and took one last look for the Alacrite, before walking back to camp.
IT WAS JUST AFTER DAWN when Dorn arrived. I was back on the hill, squatting beneath the protection of my cloak. Before Dorn passed the beasts, I used Lumen to gently flick his attention and then quickly shut it down. The mare turned and raced toward me. The Alacrite took the hill on diagonals, like a tacking ship. Its energy was a wonder. Dorn slid out of the saddle and landed lightly on his feet at my side. He squatted and quickly drew his cape over his head and back against the last of the night’s heat.
“The wind never howls—it just pushes and burns,” he said by way of greeting.
“If it howled, then it could bleed, and I would slaughter it gladly.” I made my face pleasant under my cloak, though I was impatient to know what he had found.
Dorn drew his hand across his mouth to free it from dust, before taking a drink from his water flask. He offered it to me, but I shook my head, eager to hear his words. The air tried to suck the very gel from my eyes. I risked blinking my third lids under my hood.
“I have found the water weirn,” Dorn said.
“Thank the goddess,” I answered, “How far?”
“A half-day North West.”
North West... further away from my path to the serpent. There was nothing I could do. We needed water first—vengeance second.
Dorn’s face was creased with dirt-sketched lines branching out from the corners of his eyes. His lips curved at my observation.
“I did not pause to wash.”
Dorn knew the thirst upon the Horde and would never put such needs first.
“Eat and then we will leave,” I stood.
“No need,” Dorn put his hand against the leather sporran hanging at his side, “I had pack.”
RSERKER COMMANDED THE groups to break camp. The Julee’s roused the beasts, driving them into a line. It took us over an hour to begin moving. The wound-hounds raced out in front, their bugling a blood-curdling sound to any within hearing.
Heading west, we crossed an open plain of lichen-covered rock. It was as if we walked on the top of a great helmet. Cook had ripped out the softer lichen and made masks that allowed some of us to breathe easier. Only those who were on foot wore them. Nine warriors l
oped beside the beasts. I was one of them. I tossed my cloak to the flanks, and they happily lined their basket with it.
Today, I carried my bow instead of my long sword. My shoulder was still healing and was not ready to wield my heavy blade. The bow was better, for game was always startled out of hiding by our travel. The hot air did not sear our lungs through the masks we wore over our mouths. But it pulled our sweat from our skin before our leather armour could chafe. Even an enemy could be a friend.
Dorn was mumbling on the Alacrite’s back as he led our column. He was composing the chronicle, filling his mind with our journey. His ability to memorize was instinctive—each event was stored, and then later, he would weave the words into a tale of delight for the Horde.
I stopped watching him and concentrated on the pounding of my sandals, the lungful of each burning breath, the pumping of my heart. The wind picked up, and my senses sharpened until I could smell the messages on its back. My eyes stalked the sky, the ground, and my muscles were ready to defend, should we be attacked on our way to the weirn. When the way was clear, we turned our column north and continued taking the path that would present the lesser challenge.
As hunger for the mid-day meal began to build behind my ribs, Dorn pointed out the edge of a dry riverbed. Ahead, it was split by a stone and mortar dam twice the height of a man. On both sides of the dam, the river was dried out.
Dorn spoke to the Julee’s who halted the beasts back from the river’s edge. The warriors and I moved ahead with Dorn. They had spread out to guard against attack. With heaving chest, I stood by the bank. The jogging had winded me, even with the mask.
Moving to the dam, I took in its mechanics. On the top of the stone wall was an iron wheel. Each of the wheel’s spokes had five rings and each ring was stamped with a symbol. The spokes of the wheel were like an old woman’s fingers—too small for its rings.
“Do you know what to do?” I asked Dorn, as he walked past me toward the wheel.
RAISING HIS HAND, HE pointed to the right side of the dam. “The beasts must be kept from this side of the riverbed. It draws its water from the sacrifice of life. But we don’t need to make one, for I know the code to open the dam and invite the water.”
Dorn spoke proudly, secure in his knowledge, and in the power of his chronicles. I left him and hollered to the flanks who were still lazing in the basket. They threw down my whip. Curling my tongue, I let out a three-note whistle. Hinfūs perked his head from the pack of wound-hounds sniffing and circling near the edge of the dry bank. Then he burst from the pack and retrieved my whip.
I met him at the river bank’s edge and cracked the whip’s leather tail above the hounds’ heads. They growled and snarled but slunk back to a safe distance. Dorn was standing by the wheel working at the mechanics with his head down. He slid the iron rings on the spokes until the places matched the ancient memory in his mind. I counted each clink but kept my attention on the hounds, cracking the whip whenever a crafty one ventured forward.
Then, Dorn called out in surprise. I twisted to see him teetering on the edge of the dam as the wheel spun and the iron plate pushed up against him. He swung his arms out to regain his balance to avoid falling into the deadly side of the riverbed. I cried out as he slipped down the side of the dam, his fingers grasping the edge as he fell. For a terrifying moment, he hung there while my heart beat three times. And then, I ran.
I cried out, dropped the whip and raced along the river bank towards Dorn. He tried to pull himself up, scrambling with his sandals against the wall. I leapt the side of the dam and ran along the top as he got his elbow over the edge and inched himself up.
Sliding the last few feet on the top of the dam, I grabbed Dorn’s other wrist. Then, another pair of hands joined mine as we grabbed his elbows, then his shoulders and finally, Dorn was lying face down, gasping beside me.
“The sacrifice of my Chronicle Warden may not be worth a few drops of water,” I said past the relief that made me shake.
Dorn turned to smile at me, but his expression changed to alarm at something he saw behind me. My hound’s yip sounded out as I looked to see Hinfūs bounding into the deadly side of the riverbank. His great paws landed in the dry leaves that quilted the bottom. I yelled, and then Hinfūs howled, and I knew the sound of his death cry.
I raced back the way I had come, thinking I could use the whip to pull Hinfūs from the riverbed. But his body began to crumble as I made the bank. I dropped to my knees and stretched for my hound. But he was out beyond my arm’s reach, and all I could do was watch as Hinfūs caved in on himself. Everything good and alive was sucked down into the dirt until all that was left were fluffs of grey fur blowing with the leaves. I burst into a hoarse scream as the lifelong connection was ripped from my insides like a gutting.
Time seemed to freeze as my cry echoed in my mind and I clawed my fingers into the riverbank.
I felt Dorn at my side before I saw him kneel beside me. “Laywren.”
His voice held no compassion—only finality. His tone reflected my houndless state. Hinfūs’ death was a fatal stroke, for the wound-hound was my guarantee of life. No warrior lived long without a hound. I looked up at Dorn and read the concern in his face. Behind me I could hear the murmurs of a growing crowd. I needed to stand up. I needed to look strong. What has happened is past.
Get up! Get up, damn you!
I stood, stretching to my full height before those who would see the loss as an invitation to challenge my rule. My lifeless eyes scanned the scene, taking in the stillness of my people. I saw the concern on Rserker’s face as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. I saw old grandfather leaning on his staff, but he dropped his head before I could read his expression. I saw Nethaz slowly lower a water barrel from his broad back. And I saw the chronicle ward smirk as she stared boldly at me.
I turned back to Dorn. He did not look to me with pity. But rather bowed low. Then he straightened and spoke clearly for all to hear.
“You have saved me and as a result, you have saved the knowledge that will make the river flow,” he said.
Dorn was turning this loss into a victory, once again shoring up my rule as incontestable.
“Prepare to fill the beasts,” I commanded, before I walked to the crowd as firmly as I could on legs that trembled.
The warriors stood on the dry bank, looking at the riverbed where my wound-hound had been slain. They mumbled among themselves. Without Hinfūs, I would be prey to infection, disease, death by wound, and now that I was vulnerable, by challenge for leadership. All these thoughts were in their minds. I had to take control immediately. I walked straight up to the warriors and ordered them to return to their defensive positions. There was a slight hesitation. I narrowed my eyes, and then they moved.
The flanks slipped in close behind me. Their clicks had turned to hisses. Their instinct for danger was heightened, but I calmed them with a touch from Lumen. Their aggression could trigger a hostile reaction from a Horde member, and it made me look defensive. As if a battle for leadership had already begun.
The river gurgled, drawing us all away from the moment as the much-needed water began to rise on the safe side of the damn. The welcome sound drew them out of shock and into action, and they became busy with survival.
I could relax my guard, for now.
The hounds bounded into the water, drinking and splashing. Some lay down in the water, spread-eagled to cool their bellies. They seemed to know to stay away from the dry side that had consumed Hinfūs. Dorn ordered the Julees to drive the bullsaurs to the river. Once the water was deep enough, the great creatures would dip their wide mouths into the cool river. Sucking, they would fill their second stomachs with two weeks’ worth of water.
I convinced the flanks to return to our bullsaur. Then, I moved away from the group, slipping into the forest. Once in the cover of the trees, I ran, fast and silent until I was far from the Horde. I ran until my feet burned, while the sun waned, and my heart had to stop breaking to
feed my blood.
STAGGERING TO THE BASE of a tree that could support my weight, I leaned on the rough bark and gagged, but there was nothing to throw up into the leaf-peppered soil. I stripped off my sandals and tied them to my belt. Then, I climbed high, digging my toes into the flaking bark. Finding a snug spot high in the forest, at the very base of a thick limb, I leaned my back against the trunk. My temples were cold with shock.
What has happened?
“What has happened?” I asked the wind.
I waited a long time for an answer.
Reaching into my fur pouch, I took out my statue of the goddess. I raised her to my forehead rubbing the wood against the beads of sweat on my face. “I devote my thoughts to you, Goddess,” I whispered.
I lowered her to my breast, “I pledge my heart to you, Goddess.”
I held her out, my arms straight before me. The moon shone on her rounded sides.
When had it become dark?
“I bend my will to yours, Goddess.”
But did I? Hadn’t I ignored her will when I had chosen Dorn over Nethaz? It was then, I saw Hinfūs’ death just as the Horde members would see it—as a sign of disfavour. Only I knew what had caused the goddess’ displeasure. Alone, in the tree, I began to pray for forgiveness. I begged the goddess’ blessing and instruction.
“Use me as your sword. Let me strike down those who would betray you,” I breathed out the words in the rhythms I had been taught as a child.
“Lead me to do your will, for my journey is in your service, and my glory is in your name.”
AT SOME POINT, THE prayers and the past merged, and I was back in the Outlander village. I remembered the night the Firslain had winged down on their Griffains while we children had slept. The Guardians had delivered a special gift to the elders and a ceremony was to follow at dawn. For once, I was to be included with the other Outlander youth.
The Precious Quest Page 12
