by Ann Boelter
Nena stopped the mare within feet of him. She felt the eyes of both men on the star and lightning bolt on her arm as they verified her identity.
“Follow me,” the short one grumbled, and turned back into the underbrush.
After almost an hour of following him through the dense green foliage, they broke out of the bushes on the crest of a hill. Though the warrior in front of her did not pause before dropping over the edge and continuing on the winding trail below, Nena pulled the mare to a stop. The Great Sea spread out before them, even more vast than she remembered. It filled her view and extended all the way to the distant horizon. The breathtakingly beautiful water sparkled like a blue jewel. Nena felt Exanthia stiffen behind her and heard her gasp.
“It is wonderful, is it not?” she asked the girl.
“Yes,” Exanthia replied, her voice filled with awe.
“That is the Great Sea,” Nena explained.
From their vantage point on the hillside, Nena could make out the two long spits of land she had recognized on the map, though she could not see all the way to their tips. There, nestled between their bases on the shores of the protected bay, was her aunt’s village. Nena would have liked to linger, to further admire every aspect of the panoramic view, but she tore her eyes away and pushed the mare down the hill toward the village below.
As she followed the warrior between the tents, villagers stepped out of their way and watched as they passed, more curious than alarmed by the arrival of a single strange Dor woman and child. Nena wanted to shout out her warning so they could begin packing or preparing their defenses, but she continued to follow her escort in silence. It was not her place as an outsider, and certainly not as a woman, to address these people. She knew her news would alarm them soon enough.
It had been many years since her previous and only visit, and Nena was unfamiliar with the layout of the village. Still, she recognized the tent with the gold banner and blue wave on top as the one she sought. Only a chief’s tent would be so adorned. The short warrior indicated for them to wait and disappeared inside.
A barrel shaped man with graying hair and shrewd eyes exited the tent shortly thereafter. He looked vaguely familiar to her, but she had only met her aunt’s husband once before. She glanced quickly at the extensive tattoos that identified him as the chief, then slid from the horse and knelt with her head bowed. Nena felt his eyes on her arm verifying the stocky warrior’s report of her own identity.
“Rise, daughter of Meln. To what do I owe the honor of a visit from the daughter of my most powerful ally?” the chief asked.
Though she was sure the warrior had already told him she had an urgent message, a fact further supported by her soiled appearance from hurried travel, the chief kept up the pretense of formality, giving no indication he was anxious for her news.
“I bring you warning of great danger,” Nena began.
“Has your father sent you?” the chief asked.
“No. I have come on my own. I, and this child,” she nodded at Exanthia, “have been held captive by powerful Northmen for months now, and only days ago made our escape. In that time, I learned of their plans to attack your village within the fortnight. With you being a friend to the Teclan, I could not in good conscious return home with this knowledge.”
“I see. And you are certain they are coming here?” he asked.
Nena wanted to scream at him to dispense with propriety and sound the alarms, to begin moving his people to safer ground this very second, if they even had such a place. Neither of them could afford to delay right now. But this was the stoic way of the Dor and she knew it well. Her father would have probably reacted much the same.
“Yes, I am certain,” she said. “I have overheard their leader making plans and seen their maps. The two spits of land extending out into the Great Sea were unmistakable,” she added for emphasis.
The burly chief took stock of her for one long moment, then spoke to the short warrior who had escorted her. “Summon the council immediately.”
“Yes, my chief.” The stocky warrior ran to do as he was bade, leaving the one with the thin blade scar across his forehead.
The chief turned back to Nena. “You must be tired and hungry. I will have Heldor show you to a tent, and he will have someone bring you food and water. It will take some time for everyone to pack, so you should have the remainder of the day to rest. Under the circumstances our hospitality will not be as gracious as we would normally extend to the daughter of Meln, but once we are safely settled, and I can spare the warriors, I will have you escorted home to your father.”
Nena chose her next words carefully, having no intention of remaining in this village for a single second longer than necessary. She hoped he had too much else on his mind now, dealing with her news, to be insulted or to disagree.
“This woman greatly appreciates the chief’s kind and generous offer, but must refuse. If I could ask for any hospitality, it would be only for travel food, a sword and spear, and an extra horse for the girl.”
The chief eyed the mare with the child still aboard. Nena saw his eyes widen slightly as he evaluated the animal. “Of course,” he said. “And I shall do better. I shall give you two horses. One for the girl and one to replace the tired animal you are riding.”
Nena fought back another wave of irritation. Even after she had risked her life to save his, he would still try to take advantage of her, hoping she did not recognize the value of the mare. She focused on the good news—that he was letting them go.
“Again, I appreciate the chief’s most generous offer, but this mare is a gift for my father, when I return.” She hoped the mention of her father would stem his greed, and that he would not risk angering Meln. It worked.
“Of course.” He looked at the mare with resignation. “Give my best to your father. And thank him for your warning. I am in his debt.”
Nena nodded.
After the chief relayed his new instructions to the other warrior and both had left, Nena’s aunt, Darna, arrived in a rush. “Nena. It is true.” The two women embraced, then Darna held her out at arm’s length. “I have not seen you since you were but a girl. It was your first summer as a warrior, as I recall.”
“Yes,” Nena agreed. She looked at her aunt who so resembled her father, not necessarily a good thing for a woman. Her face was round and flat and her nose a little too large, but her eyes were honest and warm.
“And here you have grown into such a beautiful woman, so much like your mother,” Darna said, then glanced at Nena’s arm, “and chosen.” She nodded in approval before she looked closer and realized there was no lineage of a husband in the marks below it. She tipped her head and shrugged to cover her mistake. “There will be many fine warriors awaiting your second choosing.”
“Gratitude for the kind words, Darna, but you must not delay. You must pack and leave this place at once. It is not safe.”
“My husband has heeded your warning and is summoning the council as we speak. Are you sure you will not stay with us until the threat is past? You will be safe here among our warriors. We could become reacquainted and then send a proper escort with you back to your father.”
“Gratitude for the offer, but I cannot stay. I must resume travel immediately. And you must press your people to make haste. Do you have a safe place to go?” Nena asked.
“I’m not sure what they will decide. Either the winter grounds in the hills, or an island that is not far out in the Great Sea. We have avoided danger there before, but it is only suitable for short stays. We cannot take many of the animals in the boats.”
“Anything you leave behind will be lost. And I fear from this particular threat, the island might not be the safest place for you either. These men are very powerful.”
“I know you do not trust the Great Sea, Nena, but it protects these people—now my people.”
“It’s not that. The sea also protects these Northmen. They navigate its depths even farther and easier than you.”
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nbsp; Darna shook her head, disturbed. “We’ve never faced an enemy also favored by the sea. Perhaps the winter lands would be better. I will speak to my husband. Is there anything else you need?”
“I would have a travel hide, if you can spare one—just large enough for the two of us.” Nena motioned toward Exanthia. “Your husband has already made arrangements to provide an extra horse and provisions, but the weather has been so favorable, I forgot to ask for a hide.”
“Of course. I will have one sent to you immediately. Anything else?”
Nena hesitated. “I would also have root of the Taymen.”
Darna stiffened and examined her closely.
“I am not a habituate.” Nena reassured her. “You may check my eyes.” Nena stepped closer and lifted one of her upper eyelids with her finger, then looked down to expose the surface of the white of her eyeball. She wanted her aunt to know her eye did not show the characteristic purple streaks that came with prolonged use of the addictive root.
All Dor knew of the Taymen root. Every Teclan warrior carried a small piece in their war packs, but only to be used in extreme situations where prolonged awareness was needed. Other tribes used it for rituals and even for festivals. Unfortunately, the stimulus of the root was too much for some to resist. Habituates, they were called, partook of the root regularly, and soon became unrecognizable to all those who knew them. No shame, no honor, no care for anything in life other then obtaining more root. Worse, there was no saving them once they reached that point. No bringing them back, even with extreme measures. Because of this, the Teclan banned all non-emergency use of the Taymen root. Any who were caught breaking that law were punished severely. Though her aunt was no longer Teclan, and the Sea Tribe’s laws were known to be more lax, her disapproving frown clearly expressed how she still felt about it.
Darna nodded after examining Nena’s eye. “Why do you want it then?” she asked.
“I believe we are being pursued. I need it to stay awake until we reach the safety of the Teclan mountain.”
“You cannot stay awake that far,” her aunt disagreed. “To use the root for that long could kill you. Your body will need to sleep.”
“I know. I would not use it every day—only in an emergency.”
Her aunt looked unconvinced. “They are but men who pursue you, Nena. They will also have to sleep. The root is too dangerous.”
“I cannot be recaptured,” Nena whispered.
Her aunt wavered.
“I will be careful and only use it sparingly, if I use it at all,” Nena added to further persuade her.
“Very well,” her aunt conceded begrudgingly. “I will find some and have it delivered with the hide.”
“Sincerest gratitude,” Nena said.
“Travel safe, Nena.” The two women embraced again.
“And you, Aunt.”
True to her word, Darna sent a young slave woman to deliver the hide and a small leather pouch. After the woman left, Nena untied the thong on the pouch and peered inside. There was a short chunk of the gnarled pale gray Taymen root. Nena tugged the string, resealing the pouch, then tied it to the sash of her dress at her waist.
When there was still no sign of the scar-faced warrior with their provisions, Nena led the mare into the shade between tents. The grass grew taller there, and she allowed the mare to graze while they waited. What was taking him so long? Had he gotten sidetracked? Or been given some other order?
Nena tried to remain calm and not fidget, but it was almost as if she could feel Jarl’s army bearing down on them—the great warhorses pounding across the plains, drawing closer with every second she tarried.
Stop it. Even if they are coming, you had at least a half day’s head start and you were rested. They would have started tired, their horses tired. With the speed of the mare, you should have at least a day’s lead on them by now. And you are assuming Jarl will even waste the time to chase you. You may be already dimming in his memories as Altene replaces you in his furs.
Before she could proceed any further down that line of thought, the scar-faced warrior appeared leading a horse with two travel packs of food, extra skins of water, and a sword and spear. Thankful for the interruption of her thoughts, Nena took the second horse’s reins from him. He did not address her, but nodded and turned away.
Without wasting another second, Nena took a quick inventory of the food in the packs. If rationed properly, there would be plenty for her and Exanthia to make it back to the Teclan mountain without having to hunt. Nena then turned her attention to the weapons. They were not the highest quality, but both were smaller and well-balanced. They would suit her purpose if she had need of them. Her last inspection was of the horse. Compared to her mare, it was a disappointing creature, but its legs were clean, its wind sound, and its temperament appeared to be suitable for a child. After she made sure Exanthia was safely mounted, Nena swung aboard the mare and led them out of the village, heading due south.
Jarl’s stare burned holes in the back of the tracker’s neck as he bent over the deep tracks that crossed their path in the soft soil. The man stood up and reluctantly turned to meet Jarl’s eyes. “The tracks are hers, approximately half a day old, and she has a second horse now.”
“Half a day?” Jarl exclaimed. “How can it still be half a day? She started with little over a half a day’s lead. Though we lost ground initially, we should have shaved off all the time it took her to ride the additional distance to the village, and whatever time it took her to convey her warning.”
The tracker only looked down, waiting for Jarl to finish his tirade.
A sense of helpless rage filled Jarl so completely, it threatened to consume him. He had fully expected to cut her off here, or at least be close. His stallion reared beneath him. Even though Jarl knew the horse was only reacting to his own chaotic charged feelings, he had to fight to keep from disciplining the animal harshly. Something had to pay. He needed an outlet. He dismounted and dropped the great horse’s reins before stalking out into the sand away from the group. His hands itched to throw something, to beat something, to kill something. Barring some miracle, they would never catch her now. He had to pull himself together. He had to think. Jarl ran his hand across his forehead. Unless…
He returned to the group and remounted before making his announcement. “We ride south. The mare has already carried two riders with little rest.” Before Tryggr could point out the condition of their own animals, Jarl continued. “Even more importantly, the second horse will be a common tribe horse. From now on, she can travel only as fast and as far as that second horse can keep up.” It could be just the anchor he needed.
Nena glanced at the sun and the shadows on the grass to gauge her direction. Since they had left the lush vegetation of the coast, the terrain had been much of the same; dry grasslands merged occasionally with the sand and stone of the edge of the desert. She knew it would remain that way for the next few days. Then she would see the first of the low mountains in the distance. As she continued south, those mountains would become taller and closer together. Navigating would be easy from that point, but for now, she had to double check her bearings frequently.
After finding her tracks and realizing they had lost more ground to her, Jarl became even more merciless with the pace. Horses and men started to show the effects; horses were gaunt, men silent. As he saddled the stallion in the first light of dawn, Tryggr approached him. He pointed to Altene, struggling to lift her saddle.
“This pace is too hard for a woman, Jarl,” Tryggr said.
“And yet it is a woman we are unable to catch,” Jarl responded as he tightened his cinch.
“A normal woman.” Tryggr glowered.
“With a child,” Jarl countered abruptly and turned to face him. “Can our men not even outride a child now?”
Tryggr did not respond. Jarl looked to Altene and shook his head. “I will not slow the pace. She’s tougher than she looks.”
Tryggr scoffed and stomped away towar
d Altene. Jarl watched him lift the saddle and secure it to the horse for her. They exchanged a few words that Jarl could not hear, then Tryggr walked to his own horse and packs, before returning to her with a small vial.
“Here, rub this ointment on the raw spots. It will help with the healing and the pain,” Tryggr said as he handed her the vial.
“Gratitude, Tryggr,” Altene murmured, clearly surprised by his offering.
“None required. It’s just a simple cream and some I had left over,” Tryggr said gruffly as he turned away.
“Gratitude all the same,” Altene said to his retreating back.
Since leaving the village, Nena had increased their brutal pace. Her energy was boosted by the relief that no obstacles that hinged on anyone else’s actions remained in her path. Her anxious worries over whether Jarl’s guards would be sufficiently negligent for her to escape, or if the Sea Tribe chief would insist she delay, were all behind her. Her destiny was finally in her own hands and all she had to do was ride—something she was born to do. Nothing could stop them now.
Her thoughts moved ahead to what things would be like at home. For most of the tribe, life on the mountain would be relatively unchanged. Even though it seemed like a lifetime had passed since she had left for the tournament on the plains that spring, it was still within the same summer. The tribe would be preparing for winter—drying meat, tanning hides. Life would be going on as it always had. But what would that mean for her? She was a far different woman now than the warrior who had left only months before. And what remained of her family there?
Ruga would be gone and that thought pained her deeply. She knew she should not mourn him—that he was riding among their ancestors in the afterlife, but she couldn’t help it. She would miss him, miss his fun-loving carefree attitude, his antics, his teasing. It had been easier before when she was in Jarl’s camp, to imagine that he was home and alive, but when she returned home, she would have to face the truth. Life without him on the mountain would never be the same.