Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy

by Marian L Thorpe

  “We need to call the cohort-leaders together to explain about Garth,” she said. “He looks enough like Maya, and like his father, for those who remember, that tongues are already wagging.”

  “What will you tell them?”

  She shrugged. “The truth, as much as we know. We are inclined to believe his story. Casyn told us there were spies, but we are waiting for his story to be confirmed by Dern.”

  My thoughts had started to clear. “How is Tali?”

  “Confused,” Gille said. “Angry at him for deserting, proud of him for taking the second chance, if he is telling the truth, that is, and happy that he is alive. She’s with him now.”

  “What guard will you want tomorrow, for the burials?”

  If my question surprised her, she did not show it. “If you do not find the last man before then, we will need archers and horsewomen, in a circle around the graves, facing out. And two from your cohort, to guard the dead and their bearers, on their way to the burial ground.”

  I calculated. “That will mean only two from our cohort can bear Tice’s body.” Four women usually bore a body to burial. In the absence of family, the cohort would do this instead.

  “I realize that,” Gille said, “but it will have to be. Half-a-dozen women will have to remain behind, on guard. I have asked for volunteers, and one to guard Garth, as well. Although I think Tali will do that.”

  I left the hall to walk to Tice’s cottage. Casse sat beside the still form. She said my name in greeting, but nothing more. Tice looked peaceful. I touched her cold face.

  “I am sorry,” I whispered. I said goodbye to Casse, walking up the hill. The forge was now only a pile of ashes and burned timbers, the anvil and stove sitting blackened in their midst. The guard walked back and forth near the cottage, sword in hand. Through its open door I could see Tali and Garth sitting at the table. Two-day old stubble darkened his jaw, blurring his resemblance to Maya. I stopped at the door.

  “May I come in?”

  “Surely,” Tali said. I entered, leaning against the wall. Garth smiled at me. I looked away, and then back.

  “Tice is dead,” I said bluntly. “She was stabbed in the back, in the willows.”

  He closed his eyes. “I am sorry.”

  “There is only one man left at large. Do you have any idea who it is?”

  He thought a moment. “How many were with Dann?”

  “Four.”

  “It may be Cael,” he said. “He was one of Dann’s men, but he always kept apart from the others, somehow. Dann and the other three had served together for some time, but Cael was a stranger to them and did not always seem to take his orders from Dann.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  Tali stood. “I have stayed long enough. Lena, I will walk with you.”

  We left Garth at the table. Outside, the guard came over to speak to me, words of consolation. I responded, somehow.

  We walked some distance from the cottage before Tali spoke again. “His first questions were about Maya.”

  “Do you believe his story?”

  She considered. “Yes,” she said finally. “Perhaps it is just a mother’s blindness, but I do.” She did not ask me what I thought.

  Chapter Twelve

  We did not find our man that afternoon, or that night. Late in the afternoon, we lit the pyre at the water’s edge. Gille escorted Kolmas, shackled like all the other men, to the site, so that he could speak a few words over his dead kinsman and bear witness to the flames. He surveyed the pyre, and the bodies, nodding solemnly.

  “This is good,” he said. “We burn our dead, or, if death finds a man at sea, we give him to the waters. They will go to our gods this way. I thank you.”

  He said a few words in his own language, raising his shackled hands up to the sky, as far as he could, then bowing to the ocean. Gille strode forward to push the lighted torch into the wood of the pyre. Drenched in oil, it caught quickly. The wood crackled. Smoke rose, almost straight up. For a while, it smelled only of wood. Then a smell of roasting meat overpowered the clean smell of the woodsmoke, and I could hear the hiss of fat. Around me, women turned away with hands over their mouths. I swallowed the rush of cold saliva but did not move.

  The stars shone in the western sky before the pyre had burned to the strand. The incoming tide would wash the beach clean. Tomorrow, we buried our dead.

  I slept for a few hours between dawn and mid-morning. When I woke, the first of the heavy autumn fogs hung, grey and cold, over the village. I washed in cold water, shivering, and dressed in clean clothes before walking up to Tice’s cottage. Salle met me there, along with Casse and Dari, who had volunteered to be the other two bearers.

  “I spoke to Gille and Sara about postponing the burials because of the fog,” Casse told us. “They debated it and decided we must go ahead. The fog could last for days, and we need to bring the mothers and children down from the caves. They cannot stay there indefinitely.”

  “They’re guarded,” I said, “and Cael does not know the village. The fog will provide protection for us.”

  “Let us hope so,” Casse answered.

  We wrapped Tice’s body in a woven sheet of deep blues and reds, the colours of her pots, and placed it on the stretcher. Then, each taking one corner, and, guarded by Aline and Camy, we carried her up to the burial ground. We walked carefully and slowly, gauging where we walked by the familiar curves of the path and the shapes of trees and boulders that loomed out of the fog. Focusing on my steps took my mind away from our burden.

  As we neared the burial ground, I heard the voices of other women.

  “Lena?” I heard my sister ask.

  “Here,” I answered, stopping. Kira stepped out of the fog.

  “Let me guide you,” she said, glancing down at the stretcher. “The graves are to your left. Come up higher, this way.” We followed her, laying the stretcher where she indicated. The other dead lay in place.

  “You’re the last,” Kira said. “We are all here, now.”

  “Thank you, Kira.” I heard my mother’s voice but could not see her. Droplets of water condensed on my hair and ran into my eyes. I put a hand up to brush them away. My mother appeared in front of me. “Lena, will you do the rites for Tice?”

  “I will.” She handed me a small, stoppered flask containing water from the sacred spring. I would place a few drops on Tice’s forehead, eyes, and lips, and then place the flask between her hands before we buried her. I slipped the flask into the pocket of my tunic, wondering as I did what the rites of Karst were, and whether it mattered.

  Voices and the sound of hooves and jingling harness floated down from above us as the women from the caves, and their guard, descended the path. A baby cried. Suddenly, a woman shouted, and a child screamed. I heard Grainne snapping commands amidst more screams. I ran, past the dug graves and up the hill path, pulling my knife from its boot sheath.

  I found the women not more than fifty paces above the burial ground. They had formed a ring around the children and Minna, and they too had drawn knives. Dian sat her horse just above them on the path.

  “What happened?” I asked, panting.

  “The Lestian snatched one of the children,” Dian said grimly. “Grainne and Rasa have gone in pursuit.”

  “Which one?”

  “Pel,” Mella said from the circle. She held her child with one arm, her knife in the other hand. “He was supposed to be in front of Ranni—we were keeping the children between the adults—but someone slipped on a wet rock, jostling him, and he ran out of the circle. Cael grabbed him almost at once.”

  “How did Cael know we were here?” Kelle asked. Other women from the burial ground had reached the group now.

  “He must have been following us,” Dian said. “In this fog, we wouldn’t have seen him.”

  Rasa rode up. She shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “I think he’s gone into the caves, with Pel as hostage.”

  “Get the rest of them to the burial grou
nd,” Dian said. She turned to me. “Where is Pel’s mother?”

  “On guard duty at the hall,” Gille said. “Take them down to the burial ground. We will bury our dead,” she said grimly. “There is little we can do in this fog. He won’t harm the boy if he wishes to bargain.”

  We brought the women and children down to the graves. Lara ran to Dessa, burying her face against Dessa’s breast. Dessa rocked her, tears streaming down into Lara’s hair. Around them, mothers found their children, comforting the little ones who sobbed with fright and cold. It was some time before we could begin the rituals.

  Dessa stepped forward first, holding Lara’s hand. She knelt beside Siane’s body, uncovering her face. Lara sobbed once, then controlled herself. Dessa handed her the flask, removing the stopper for her. Guiding Lara’s hands with her own, together they let a drop or two of sacred water fall onto Siane’s forehead. Lara touched it. “Be at peace, mother,” she said, her voice barely audible, but not breaking. Dessa, too, touched Siane’s forehead. “Be at peace, my love,” she said. Then she dropped water onto her own fingers to touch Siane’s closed eyes and lips. Then they drew back the covering blanket to tuck the flask into Siane’s hands, before covering her again and stepping away.

  Other hands lowered the stretcher into the grave. We repeated the ritual three more times. Tice was the last. Carefully, I rolled back the blanket to touch the water to her forehead. “Be at peace, Tice,” I said, “my friend, my cohort-second.” I touched her eyes and lips with my wetted fingers and placed the flask in her hands.

  The council and the cohort-leaders gathered at my mother’s house in the early afternoon. The sun, a pale disc, barely showed through the fog. We gathered around the fire in my mother’s sitting room. Tali sat with a shawl over her shoulders, staring at the flames.

  Gille had ridden with Grainne and Dian into the hills, hoping to find the cave where Cael held Pel. My mother made tea. Subdued by burials and loss, we said little as we sipped the hot, sweet liquid. Finally, Sara spoke.

  “Some of you know what I have to tell you already,” she began. “Two nights ago, Lena and Tice took a prisoner. This man is not Lestian, though he sailed with them as part of their force.” She glanced at Tali before she continued. “This man is Tali’s son, Garth.”

  “What?”

  “Are we sure it’s Garth?

  “A traitor?”

  I felt a wave of anger at this comment. Sara held up her hand, and the group quieted. My mother sat beside Tali, putting an arm around her. “Hear me out,” Sara said. “He is Garth, and he claims to be a spy for the Emperor, under Dern’s command. This is consistent with information that Casyn told Gille and that Dern told Lena.”

  “Yes,” I confirmed.

  “We are inclined to believe him,” Sara went on, “but until we hear from Dern or Casyn, we hold him guarded at the forge cottage.”

  A harness jingled outside announcing Gille’s return. She strode in, water droplets condensed on her wool cloak. “Cael is in the large cave,” she announced. “Pel is unharmed, but Cael will let him go only if we release our prisoners and give them boats to sail to Leste. He gives us a day before he kills Pel.” My mother took her cloak and hung it to dry.

  “Could Kolmas reason with him?” someone asked. Gille shook her head.

  “We could try,” she admitted, “but he is not one of Kolmas’s men. Kolmas says he barely accepted Dann’s leadership. I don’t think it is worth the time it would take.”

  The cave, defensible from inside, had no other entrance. Cael had Pel for hostage and shield. For all my cohort’s skill at stealth and the knife, we faced an opponent at least our equal, and more likely our master. Sara spoke. “Garth is our only chance.”

  “Explain,” Gille said.

  “We send Garth to the cave. Cael will think only that he has also eluded capture and will not be on his guard. Garth can kill Cael, or wound him, and let Pel escape.”

  “Or we will find ourselves up against two holding Pel hostage, not one.”

  “I think Garth is telling the truth,” I said, “but Cael may have seen him captured. We would have to make it look as if he had escaped. I agree with Sara. Garth is our best chance.”

  We debated for another twenty minutes, but in the end, even the most reluctant agreed. Gille stood. “Who will go with me? Tali? Lena?”

  Tali looked up. “No,” she said lifelessly. “I can’t. Lena, you go.”

  I found a cloak, and Gille and I walked up the hill to the forge cottage through the fog. Garth sat in the kitchen, playing cards with Salle. “Leave us, please,” Gille said to Salle. When she was gone, Gille began. “Cael holds your brother, Pel, captive. He took him this morning at the burials.”

  “What does he want?” Garth asked.

  “He is giving us a day to release the prisoners and give them the means to sail away, or he will kill him,” I answered. “We need your help.”

  “How?”

  “If we release you,” I said, “and make it look like you escaped, will you go to the cave and set Pel free?”

  “Kill Cael, you mean?” He said softly.

  “If that is what it takes.”

  He hesitated for a few heartbeats, looking from me to Gille, and then back to me. He raised his chin.

  “I will.”

  We cut the leg chains, leaving the shackles around each ankle and a small piece of chain trailing. We unlocked the shackles on his arms, tying the hasps with blackened string. He would say that he had overpowered his guard on the way to the privy and fled into the fog.

  We could not follow him. The fog shifted as we waited with our questions. Would Cael believe Garth’s story? How long would it take Garth to find the cave in the fog? Would be able to overpower Cael? Would he even try?

  When it grew dark, we fed the animals and the prisoners. Tali sat in my mother’s kitchen, watching her make bread. I stayed for a while, then went out into the night. I could not be still. The breeze had risen, and the fog thinned. I walked up to Tice’s cottage, lit a fire in the kitchen stove, and opened the window. I waited.

  With a soft chirrup, the tortoiseshell cat jumped onto the windowsill. I put the fish I had brought into her bowl. She jumped down to feed. When she finished, I stroked her gently, my hands smoothing her fur, accustoming her to my touch. I picked her up, feeling her muscled warmth. She struggled a bit. I held her tightly with one arm and bent down to pick up her bowl with the other. “Shhh,” I said.

  I carried the cat, with some difficulty, down to the house I shared with Tali. I put her in my bedroom, with her bowl, and closed the door. Tomorrow I would bring a rug or two from the cottage. Perhaps the familiar smells, and food, would convince her to stay with me. I realized I did not know what Tice had called her.

  At midnight, I went to do guard duty at the hall. My sister tended the wounded, two of whom had died earlier in the day. She looked up as I came in.

  “No news,” I said. “Will these men live?”

  “I think so,” she said, brushing her hair back from her eyes. “One or two have a mild fever, but there is no other sign of infection, and they’re responding to willow bark tea.” The wounded men lay on pallets, bound by chains at their wrists or ankles. Most slept. The other prisoners slept around the outside of the room, huddled in whatever position of comfort their chains allowed. They had a blanket each, and a thin sack of wool for a pillow. Fires burned in the fireplaces. They would have little to complain of, I thought, when we turned them over to the Empire.

  The night passed. When I took one man outside to the privy, the fog was mostly gone and the air was frosty. Inside, I locked his chains again, making a tour of the room before joining the other guards playing a game of chance at a table.

  We had played three games when Dari came to the door. “They are back,” she said. “Pel is safe and unharmed. Go to them, Lena. I’ll take your place, here.”

  I ran through the night to my mother’s house. In the sitting room, Tali held Pel. He cr
ackled with excitement, self-importantly the centre of attention. As I came through the door, he squirmed from his mother’s arms to run to me.

  “Lena,” he said, hugging my legs, his words spilling over, “the enemy captured me and took me to the cave. This man rescued me! He killed the other man. I saw the blood on his knife.” Pel looked up at me. “He says he’s my brother.” I looked over Pel’s head to where Garth stood. He smiled, and this time his smile reached his eyes. His eyes, not Maya’s. A faint warmth, a barely glowing ember, flickered in the void inside me. I picked up Pel, holding him close, and buried my face in his hair. When I looked up again, Garth was still watching me.

  “He is your brother,” Tali said. “His name is Garth.”

  “Who do you serve with, Garth?” Pel asked, always the first question of the boys to the men, spring and fall. Garth hesitated.

  “He serves with Dern,” Gille said, from behind us. “Welcome him home, Pel.”

  †††††

  Two days later, I stood at the top of the village, waiting for Garth. Below me, women went about their business, save for those on guard in the meeting hall. We had prevailed. Much of what we had feared and made ready for had not happened: no barns had been burnt, no animals slaughtered, no women raped. But we had lost four women to death and one to exile, and we had killed nearly twenty men. Could we go back to tending fields and catching fish, to Festival and raising children, and slowly forget?

  Brilliant sunshine washed the village. The last of the heather shone purple on the ridge where Sella and the smaller girls herded the sheep. Garth climbed the path to join me. I had asked him to walk with me, sending Pel to tell his story of capture to Freya. Pel had, not surprisingly, attached himself to Garth. His new brother was a prize to brag about to his friends. Garth took patiently to being followed by a gaggle of small boys, but I had spoken firmly to Pel, and we walked through the fields alone. I had one more duty, apart from the guard rotation, to fulfil.

  Tali had cut his hair, which diminished his resemblance to Maya, but I could still see her in the tilt of his cheekbones, and in his eyes. The palpable tension that had marked him during his first few days with us had faded. We walked along the edge of the fields, eating handfuls of berries from the brambles that grew there, climbing higher, away from Sella and the sheep. As the rocks grew steeper, I held out a steadying hand to him. His skin was warm and dry. A buzzard hunted over the ridge, its screams loud in the clear air. At a group of rocks, warm in the sun, I stopped. “Shall we sit?” I asked.