Empire's Legacy- The Complete Trilogy

by Marian L Thorpe

  Half-way around the circuit the dogs began to whine, and then growl, hackles raised. I hadn't brought a bow, only my secca. What did they sense? A little further along, the brindle bitch began to bark, leaping up at an evergreen tree. I peered up into the dark foliage. About twice my height up, poised on a thick branch, a large cat crouched.

  I'd never seen anything like it. It was more than twice the size of the wildcats of the Empire, and spotted, not striped, with a short tail and large ears tipped with tufts of fur. It stared down at me, golden eyes almost unblinking. Huge feet gripped the branch. Every muscle was tensed, ready to spring.

  I called the dogs to me, ordering them down. They shivered and whined, but obeyed. The black dog, I noticed, stared ahead down the trail, not up at the cat. I followed its eyes. The carcass of a gemzē lay in the snow, half-eaten. The cat's kill. We must have disturbed it.

  The snow around the gemzē was pocked with prints, one set leading to the tree where the cat crouched. I bent to examine them. The prints around the carcass had claw marks; the cat's did not. Wolves had taken the cat's kill from it before the dogs and I arrived.

  When had the wolves been here? I wasn't a good enough tracker to tell, but the fact the cat had not left the tree told me it hadn't been that long ago. Going on would be dangerous. The snares would just have to wait. I turned, calling the dogs, and retraced my steps.

  Eryl and most of the men were still out when I returned to the village. I found Ludis and told him what I'd seen. “How many wolves?” he asked.

  “I couldn't tell,” I told him. “More than one, though.”

  “They should not be this close to the village, this early in the winter,” he fretted. “And taking a lūši kill, instead of hunting for themselves. Young wolves, I think, without the skill to hunt well.”

  I'd done what was required of me. I took the small animals from the snares to Audo, accepted a mountain hare as my share, and warned him of the wolves. “I will finish the high snares tomorrow,” I told him, “if Cillian is free to come with me.”

  In the falling dusk, the hunting party returned. I went to help with the kills: this was something I could do. The men had brought back six gemzē, hanging from poles. Disembowelled and bled in the field, they would be hung tonight in the open, and butchered tomorrow, except for one. That one would be a feast for the hunters tonight.

  Eryl came over to me as I was helping to skin the gemzē. “Wolves, you think?” he asked.

  “Yes. Up on the ridge.” I explained what I'd seen.

  “A different hunt tomorrow, then,” he said.

  We both turned at shouting from where the other gemzē were being hung. “I want that hide!” Ivor berated Vesna. “Be careful with it.” The carcass had slipped as Vesna had handled it, I assumed. As I watched, he slapped her hard across the face. Ivor's behaviour had changed towards me after Cillian's intervention, but not towards other women.

  “Ivor!” Eryl strode over to him. Vesna bent back to her task, but I could hear Grêt scolding her. Supporting her son, as usual, I thought. I wondered if he would have acted so cruelly if Vesna had a husband to protect her.

  I finished skinning the gemzē, leaving the butchering to others. I would help with the rest tomorrow; the snares could wait another day. The fire had already been lit; the hunters gathered around it, mugs of the thin beer brewed here in their hands. I didn't see Cillian. He'd probably gone to talk to Aivar.

  “Come eat with Aetyl and me,” Kaisa said from beside me “The men will all be at the fire until late.”

  I walked back to their hut with them. “Why does Ivor think he can act like he does?” I asked Kaisa. She shrugged.

  “Because no one stops him. Grêt lets him do anything, and Ludis is old and has no control over him. Only Aivar could, once, but since he became ill, Ivor ignores him, too.”

  “The other men don't object?”

  “Eryl does, and Fél, but not many of the others. They think he has power because he is the headman's son. But he will not be headman after; Eryl will. Maybe at midsummer he will find a wife and go to live at her village.”

  “Is that usual?”

  “Sometimes women come to their husband's village, sometimes men go to their wife's. Either way. I think Ivor might go, because once Eryl is headman, he will have no status here.”

  I hope so, I thought. Not that I would be here, but for the sake of everyone else.

  I was nearly asleep when I heard Cillian come in, the raucous laughter of men at the fire still audible, the beer flowing freely tonight. The men on sheep-guard would have just joined them, I thought. I wondered how sober the replacements would be. Cillian, I knew, would have made one mug of beer last and not accepted another, his self-discipline too ingrained.

  He slipped into bed beside me. “Are you going wolf-hunting?” I asked sleepily.

  “No. Eryl is only taking two other men. I am going to need to get warm, Lena.” As it had grown colder we had begun to share body warmth again, always telling the other if it was needed. Pragmatism had eclipsed reserve in this.

  I felt his hand on my back. “Gods, you are cold, Cillian.”

  “I stood talking to Fél too long, away from the fire.”

  “Well, get closer, then,” I said, wriggling over to let him put his arms around me. I rubbed his hands. “Didn't you have your mittens on?”

  “I did. It's just very cold tonight. And,” he said, clear amusement in his voice, “my hands are not as cold as my feet.” He placed one foot against my leg. Even through the thick socks we both wore I could feel the cold.

  “Cillian!” I almost shrieked, before I started to laugh. What was happening? He was never playful. I wondered if he'd gone past his one drink limit tonight. “You're wicked. If you're going to come in this cold, I'll have to ask Audo for a dog.” Audo, unmarried and on the fringes of village life, slept with his dogs for warmth.

  “Please don't. I dislike fleas,” Cillian said, drily.

  “Are you, perhaps, slightly drunk?” I asked.

  He laughed. “I don't think so. No, Lena, I am just happy tonight. I enjoyed today, the hunt; I find I like being good at something physical. And I enjoy Fél and Eryl's company. That's all.”

  We flew falcons together, and talked of ideas, and he did not care I had no father, he had said of Alain, weeks ago in the mountains. Here he was finding the same companionship, without the shadow of his parentage that had darkened his life in Linrathe. What if, come spring, he wants to stay? I thought suddenly. What would I do?

  He raised one hand, pushing my hair back off my face. Very gently, he kissed my temple, his lips lingering briefly. “No, that's not all. I enjoy knowing I am coming home to you, too. Different sorts of friendship.” The unexpected gesture took me completely by surprise. The beer must have been stronger than usual tonight, I told myself. For a moment, I wondered what would happen if I moved the hand I was warming to my bare skin. But no, I thought, that is not right. Even if he responded, it would not be right.

  “Mmm,” I murmured. “Just keep them straight. I doubt Eryl or Fél would appreciate being kissed.”

  He laughed. “Probably not. Although men do, in friendship, in Linrathe.”

  Well, I thought, that puts his kiss just now in a different light. “Are you warm yet?” I asked.

  “Not enough to sleep, no. But the furs will be sufficient.”

  “Stay close,” I said. “I may fall asleep, but you don't have to move.” I liked feeling him beside me, his arms around me.

  “Then I won't,” he said softly.

  Eryl and his companions did not find the wolves, unable to follow them into the high mountains. Two, Eryl reported, probably both young ones. He increased the guard on the sheep, both Cillian and I taking our turns. Neither of us were paired with Ivor or Karel, I noted. The snow continued to fall and the river ice thickened. Both wood and water collection took longer every day, and I was away from the hut for much of the shortening light.

  I came home one
afternoon to find Cillian teaching Fél the basics of xache. I watched them for a few minutes. “You play too, Cillian tells me,” Fél said. “I always thought it was an officer's game.”

  “I learned from my aunt in Tirvan,” I said. “Maybe she learned it from a lover; I never asked her. But I played very badly until Cillian taught me how to think about the game. Not that I'm a lot better now.”

  “You are better than you know,” Cillian said. “Against most players, you would win much of the time.” He spoke without arrogance, making a simple statement of fact.

  “That would be a change,” I said.

  “You can play me when I know enough,” Fél suggested. “Cillian, why don't you teach Eryl, too? I think he might like it.”

  “He might,” Cillian agreed. “He has the right sort of mind. A good suggestion, Fél.”

  After that the men were often at our fire when their duties allowed. If there was food enough, Eryl sometimes stayed to eat with us. I grew to like him very much; he was thoughtful, with a leader's understanding of the people of the village. He was learning xache quickly; he was better than Fél at seeing the tactics involved, but it was Cillian's writing that truly intrigued him.

  “You do not need to remember the stories? The marks on the bark tell them to you?” he asked. Cillian used birch bark to record the stories. I knew he found it unsatisfactory, but there was nothing else.

  “Yes. Each mark makes a sound, and put together they make a word. Enough marks, and you have the words of the story.”

  “And anyone can learn this?”

  “Almost anyone. I doubt Audo could. But most people, yes,” Cillian assured him.

  “Can you teach me?”

  “I could.” Cillian ran a hand through his hair. “But I would be teaching you to read the stories in Lena's language, which is also Fél's, not yours. I could teach you the sounds, but the words would not mean anything to you.”

  Eryl gave him a questioning look. “Lena's language? Not yours?”

  “Not the language I spoke first, no. She and I were born in different lands across the mountains.”

  “How many languages can you speak?”

  “Four, with yours,” Cillian said. “Or perhaps five.”

  I did not know there were so many,” Eryl said. “Fél can read these marks? Then he could read the stories in his language and translate them to ours.”

  “He could.”

  “Aivar may die before midsummer,” Eryl said bluntly. “Someone needs to keep the stories until we find a new vēsturni. Especially the ones that belong only to this village. If you write them, Fél can tell them to me, and the new vēsturni, and keep them from being lost. Will you do that?”

  The fire for midwinter began to be built, in the centre of the village. Each woman brought logs and branches, and I was allowed to contribute to the pile. One or two pieces of wood each gathering; the fire needed to burn all night. At its very centre was a huge stump, turned so the trunk pointed down into the earth, supporting the roots. The men had dragged it there with ropes made of vines. It had been drying since the spring, I was told.

  I hung tunics over the rope I had strung across the hut. They would take several days to dry, and smell of smoke when they were, but at least they would be clean. I had lifted the bucket to take it outside when Cillian opened the door. “Give that to me,” he said. “I have boots on.”

  I let him take it, glad I didn't need to go out into the cold. Cillian returned, taking off his outdoor clothes, moving to the fire. I was drying my hands and arms.

  He did not sit. I became conscious he was watching me. I looked over. “What is it?” I thought he looked troubled, or sad.

  “I am sure now Aivar is dying,” he said. “His chest hurts and his breathing is noisy, and his coughing worse.”

  “The cold will not help.”

  “No. I am saddened by it, Lena, even though it is as nature wills.” He made a small movement towards me. I understood, and went to him.

  “I'm sorry this makes you sad,” I said, as I put my arms around him. He didn't reply, holding me tightly for a long minute. He relaxed his hold, but did not let me go.

  “I am not sure why I am sad,” he said. “Aivar has enjoyed his life, he tells me, and he is respected in the village and among the other vēsturni, according to Ludis. And he has children, both here and elsewhere.” Vēsturni did not marry, but to bear a child to one was an honour, and their sons often became vēsturni in time.

  “I didn't realize he had children here,” I said.

  “Yes. Eryl is his son.”

  “Eryl?”

  “Can you see it?” I thought about Aivar and Eryl. Something about the eyes, maybe?

  “Perhaps,” I said. “Let me think about it, look at them again. Sometimes it takes a particular expression, for me to see the resemblance. With you it was anger.”

  “Which I so rarely let show.”

  “Nor Callan,” I said. “And I happened to be there to see both.”

  “And here we are, because of that. Lives turn on small things.” He sighed, and, surprising me, pulled me close again. “Lena, one reason Aivar's impending death saddens me is that he has lived alone almost all his days. As have I until this year. I have begun to value—” He checked himself. “No, that is unfair. I have valued for some time having you to share my life, day to day, and he only briefly had an apprentice. I am sorry for him, for what he has missed.”

  I didn't know what to say. I hugged him harder. “Be sad for Aivar,” I murmured, “but be happy for yourself, that you have what he has not.”

  He kissed my hair, lightly, affectionately. I raised my head to kiss his cheek in the same way. Very slowly, he turned his head. Our lips brushed, the lightest of touches, and a second time, still just barely meeting. Desire flooded through me. I forced myself not to deepen the kiss.

  “Lena,” he said, “what do I have?”

  “A friend,” I whispered, “who would gladly be more.”

  “This is not unwelcome, then?”

  “No. Not unwelcome at all.”

  “Even knowing I might not be able to go further?”

  “Even so.”

  This time our kiss was not brief, although his lips remained gentle, undemanding. When it ended, he looked down at me, his eyes serious. “Now I need to think,” he said. “As you should, too. I can do nothing lightly, Lena.”

  “I know that,” I replied. “I wouldn't want you to.”

  When he came back in the dark of late afternoon, nothing more was said, and we did not touch. We played xache for a while after eating, but I found it hard to concentrate. Picking up the pieces to put them away, our fingers brushed.

  “There are things we need to talk about,” Cillian said softly. “Is this the right time?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  He got up, put the game away, made us both tea, unhurried and deliberate. Before sitting again he added wood to the fire. I watched him, part of my mind appreciating the care with which he did all things; part of it acknowledging his physical grace, and the rest apprehensive about what was to be said.

  Cross-legged, he sat on the fur, regarding me. “This will be a difficult conversation,” he said, “and not one for which my training has prepared me. There are questions I need to ask, which you may not like.”

  “I won't know until you ask them,” I pointed out.

  “True. Then, to begin: what were you told about me, in Linrathe?”

  “About you? I've told you what Sorley said. Jordis told me you were a student, and Dagney told me a bit. That's all.”

  “Nothing more?” he asked.

  “No. Is there more?”

  “There are things you should know, yes.” He looked distinctly uncomfortable now. “My past encounters with women, save one, have been brief, and increasingly unsatisfying. In how they made me feel, you understand? All were initiated by the woman, not by me, and my motives in accepting were sometimes linked to my role as toscaire. There were
whispers about me, in Linrathe, some of which were true. I am not proud of this, Lena. I traded my integrity cheaply, for too long. Catilius wrote 'never value anything as profitable to oneself which causes the loss of self-respect', but that is what I had done.”

  “Is this why you—abstained? The reasons you did not want to tell me, before?”

  “Yes. Earlier, they did not concern you. Now they may.”

  “Are you telling me you have never been with a woman just for pleasure, or comfort, or because you like each other?”

  “Pleasure, yes, when I was younger. Not the other reasons, no.”

  “And never in love.” I didn't need the shake of his head to tell me the answer. “You said questions, Cillian?”

  “Yes. This is the harder one to ask, because it will seem as if I doubt you, and that is not my motive. Will you believe me if I tell you I no longer know, if I ever did, how to judge why a woman would choose to—”

  “To be your lover? You want to know why I would?” I studied him. He seemed so uncertain. Did he really not know?. “Not like this,” I said. “I am not going to sit across from you and coolly list the reasons.” I moved over to sit by him. “You can't hold me sitting like that,” I said, “and I'm not telling you unless you do.”

  “Is that wise? Will we not be distracted?”

  “Cillian, this is not a diplomatic negotiation. If I am going to tell someone why I would like to make love, I want to be touching them.”

  He unfolded himself and stretched out on the fur. I lay beside him, fitting myself along his body.

  “That's better. Now listen.” His hand rested on my stomach. I entangled my fingers with his. “Why would I be your lover? Because you make me laugh, and you make me think, and you are considerate and gentle and honest and kind. Because I like you, very much. Will that do to start?”

  “Laugh and think?” he said. “I am honoured.” I looked up him, catching the hovering smile before he sobered again. “Lena, this is no small decision for me. Can you tolerate one more question?”