by Jane Yolen
The second type of armed force was the provincial troops that served under a governor appointed by the king. These troops were called Queensmen, a sop perhaps to the matriarchal system so recently overthrown, though they owed their allegiance not to the queen but to the provincial governor(s). Arguably, this was a dangerous system, laying as it did the groundwork for insurrection. Several times in the early history of the Garunian rule of the Isles, according to the BB and corroborated by folk tradition, governors (or Lords) revolted against the king, and the basis of their power was the loyalty of the Queensmen. (See Cowan’s “The Kallas Controversy,” Journal of the Isles, History IV, 17.)
The third type of armed force was the Mercs, or mercenaries, a small but significant soldiery. Fearing to arm the conquered peoples of the Isles, the Garunians banned mass conscription, turning instead to hirelings from the Continent. These soldiers of fortune often made vast amounts of money fighting for the king, settling afterward on the land and raising families who were identifiable by their patronymics as sons and daughters of mercenaries. The BB cites several names as typical of such soldiery: D’Uan, H’Ulan, M’Urow, the initial letter identifying the company in which the mercenary had served.
THE STORY:
Jenna awoke first out of a shallow sleep and realized it was the moon that had awakened her. In only a day or two the moon would be full, and in the clear night sky it was a beacon. The hollow tree was on the edge of a clearing, so the clearing itself was well lit. Something dark and small moved past the tree cautiously, turned once, then seeing Jenna’s movement, raced away.
Her first thought was to her stomach. They had eaten only handfuls of mushrooms and nuts for days. But a fire and hot food would be impossible, and she did not dare light a torch. It would be another long period of hunger before they came to the Hame.
She touched Pynt lightly on the shoulder, and the touch was enough to wake her.
“Hush, come with me,” whispered Jenna.
Pynt was careful not to wake Carum, slipping her legs out from under his. She followed Jenna to the clearing.
“Are we leaving him now?” Pynt asked.
“What do you think?” said Jenna.
“Just checking.” Pynt laughed quietly.
“While he sleeps a bit longer, we should see if we can find something to eat.”
“Would you believe I have a pocket full of nuts?” Pynt asked.
“No,” said Jenna.
“Just checking again.” This time Pynt laughed out loud.
“Hunger makes you giddy,” Jenna remarked.
“And it makes you sour,” said Pynt. “For that alone we had better find some food.”
They separated quietly, Pynt moving northward into the forest and Jenna searching the clearing’s edge.
Pynt found five potherb plants and pulled them up. The root bulbs were small and round and sharp-tasting, but delicious. She nibbled one as she continued searching. She came upon thistle in the usual way—by backing into it. But she remembered Catrona’s verse about it:
Downy head and thorny spine,
On the roots you safely dine,
which meant the young, tender roots would be good to eat. Avoiding the prickers, she cut away the roots and chewed thoughtfully on a piece. It tasted a great deal like celery.
Meanwhile, Jenna had found some birds’ nests, all but one empty. There were three eggs in that nest and, hoping the young birds had not yet begun to develop, she stole the eggs. A handful of walnuts, still in their coverts, completed her share of the feast.
They met back at the tree and woke the sleeping Carum, who grumbled until they mentioned food. Luckily the eggs were liquid. After showing Carum how to bore a hole in the shell with a knife point, Jenna and Pynt each took an egg themselves and eagerly sucked out the contents. After only a moment’s hesitation, Carum did the same.
“I never thought such a meal would taste good,” said Carum. “But it’s greater than any feast I’ve eaten.”
Jenna smiled, and Pynt said, “At the Hame it is said that Hunger is the best seasoning. I do not think I ever understood that before.”
Carum laughed. “I understand it, too.” He chewed on the thistle root a while, then said, almost to himself, “In the moonlight you two look like shadow sisters, black and white.”
Jenna clapped her hands. “We are,” she said. “Did you know that Pynt is called ‘shadow’ in the Hame because …”
Pynt stood up abruptly, tumbling her share of the walnuts onto the grass. “It is time to go. Before—Jo-an-enna—you give away all our secret, private things.” She threw a shell angrily and went back to the tree to pick up her pack and sword.
“She is tired and hungry and …” Jenna began.
“She is jealous,” Carum said.
“Jealous of what?”
“Of you. Of me. Of us.”
“Us?” Jenna looked puzzled for a moment, then said very slowly, “There is no us.” She stood up.
Carum reached up for her hand and she ignored it, so he stood on his own. “Jenna, I thought … I felt …”
“There is only a woman of Alta and a man who cried her merci. That is all.” She turned her head away quickly, seeking out Pynt, who stood silently waiting by the tree.
The silence stretched out endlessly as they walked through the midnight forest, Pynt in the lead. They cast long shadows whenever they crossed open ground, the shadow limbs touching in intimate ways none of them dared consider. As if to underscore their silences, the forest seemed alive with small noises. Leaves dropped mysteriously to the ground, crackling. Little animals scurried unseen through the undergrowth, rustling the grass. A night bird called over and over from a low, overhanging branch, in ever-descending loops of sound. And their feet kept up a steady susurration.
They walked hours in the same speechless way, their mouths stoppered by their feelings. Jenna turned time after time to say something to either Pynt or Carum, and found she could not begin, sure that whatever she said would be wrong. So she continued to say nothing, her head down. Trudging through the woods, she scarcely noticed her surroundings until a single, high, fluting birdcall stopped her.
Carum, unalerted, continued walking and crashed into her back. They both leaped away, and Jenna fell against Pynt, who had already turned.
Pynt caught her and whispered, “It is too early for thrush. The sun is not yet warming the woods and there is no light save the moon.”
Jenna nodded, signaling to Carum to be still.
The birdcall came again, tremulous, insistent.
“Ours or theirs?” Pynt’s question threaded directly into Jenna’s ear.
Jenna’s response was to put her hand to her mouth and whistle back a darting, twittering reply.
“Good call!” whispered Pynt.
A shadow unwound behind them and hissed. “Sssslowly. Turn slowly so that I might identify you.”
Jenna and Pynt obeyed, raising their hands and making the goddess sign quickly with their fingers, but Carum did not move.
The shadow laughed and when it came full into the moonlight, resolved itself into a tall, youngish woman with a vivid brown scar running down her right cheek. Her hair was cut in a high crest and she was wearing the skins of a warrior. Unnocking the arrow, she put it carefully into the quiver on her back in a single fluid motion. Then she struck her breast with her fist. “I am Armina, daughter of Callilla.”
“And I am her dark sister, Darmina.”
Carum turned to look behind them and there was a second woman, almost a twin of the first, with her hair in a high black crest and a dark scar on her left cheek.
Armina spoke again. “You two are, I think, missioning. But who is this scarecrow you have with you? A boy but not a boy. A man almost. Quite pretty.”
Darmina laughed. “For a scarecrow.”
“He might be fun in the dark,” Armina said.
“Or with a candle by the bed,” her dark sister added.
“If he is a bothe
r to you, we could—” Armina stopped speaking suddenly but her grin continued.
“He is a bother,” said Pynt.
“But a bother we take on willingly,” Jenna added quickly.
Armina and Darmina nodded.
Pynt struck her own chest in imitation of Armina’s greeting. “I am Marga, called Pynt, daughter of Amalda.”
Jenna followed suit. “Jo-an-enna, called Jenna. Daughter of …” She hesitated, swallowed, then began again. “Daughter of a cat-killed woman, daughter of Selna.”
Pynt added, “And daughter of Amalda, too.”
“He is Carum,” Jenna said, gesturing with her head.
Armina and Darmina walked around Carum several times, clicking their tongues against the roofs of their mouths as they did.
“Close enough to make him interesting, sister,” said Darmina.
“There are several in the Hame who like bull calves,” Armina replied. “But—alas—he cannot come in. Too close to a Choosing.”
“What a pity,” Darmina said.
“Pity, my pretty,” Armina added.
Jenna pushed between them. “Leave him alone. He cried us merci.”
Carum laughed. “They’re only teasing, Jenna. I like it. No one has ever admired me for my body before, just my mind!”
“Merci?” Darmina shook her head.
“You have not taken vows yet,” said Armina. “Am I right?”
Pynt nodded.
“So—it means nothing. Just a boy and a couple of girls at play. But if you two have spoken for him already …”
Pynt looked over at Jenna, and Jenna’s face was stone. “We may not be fully vowed yet, but we of Selden Hame take such pleas to Alta’s altar seriously. We have killed a man for him already.”
“A Kingsman,” Carum added suddenly.
“Are you sure?” Armina asked, rubbing her hand up through the crest of her hair.
Darmina echoed her, “A Kingsman?”
“If Carum says it is so,” Jenna told them, “it is so. He is a scholar and he does not lie.”
“Think you scholars do not lie, little sister?” asked Darmina.
Armina chuckled. “One may lie by saying or by not saying.” She glared at Carum. “Tell us of this Kingsman, boy.”
Carum squared his shoulders and stared back at her. “He wore a helm and rode a cross-grained gray. He carried a sword and a dirk at saddle and at knee. Does that identify him for you?”
Armina looked over at Pynt. “True?”
Pynt nodded.
“And what did the helm look like?” Armina asked.
“It had antlers,” Pynt said.
“Antlers?” Armina shook her head. “I know of no Kingsman who wears an antlered helm.”
Jenna interrupted. “From afar they looked like antlers. But I held the helm in my hand and can say different. Not antlers but the great chewed ears, lifted, of a giant hound. With a snout and snarling fangs.”
“The Hound!” The sisters spoke together.
“So he said.” Pynt’s head jerked at Carum for emphasis.
“You killed The Hound!” Darmina’s voice was low.
Jenna nodded. “We did, Pynt and I. It was not … pleasant.”
“I can believe that,” Armina said. Her mouth worked without sound for a moment, the scar stretching and bunching in an ugly fashion. “So you killed The Hound. Well, well, young missioners. Such news you bring. We must go to the Hame, and at once.”
Darmina put her hand on her sister’s. “What of the Choosing? And bringing him in?”
“We will take him directly up to Mother Alta’s chamber by the back stairs. She will know what to do.” Still clutching her sister’s hand, Armina turned to Jenna. “I wonder, young missioner, what terrible thing you may have brought to our doorstep. And I wonder, too, whether we but compound it by bringing you in. Come.”
She threaded her way through the forest, with Darmina, visible only when the moonlight pierced the canopy of trees, right behind. Pynt followed after. Jenna, leading Carum by the hand, made up the rear.
It was fully light by the time they reached the Hame, and only Armina was there to guide them. Where the forest ended, there was a wide clearing rimmed around with berry bushes and several plantings of herbs in straight, marked rows. A wide road ran by the wood-and-stone gates, but it was empty of travelers and the dirt, hard-packed, not recently disturbed.
They walked quickly to the gate and Armina called up a password in the old tongue. Slowly the gates were pulled inward, but not before Jenna had gotten a good, long look at the ornate carvings on the front.
“Jenna,” whispered Pynt, “it is the same scene as the tapestry in Mother Alta’s room. Look—there is the game of wands, and there Alta collects the children, and there …”
They were ushered inside and the great gates slammed shut behind them. Now they stood in a vast, almost deserted courtyard. Only one sister hurried across it, her back to them, holding a full basket of breads heaped high. From the corner of her eye Jenna could see another yard, somewhat smaller, off to the right where three girls her age were lined up with their bows. The steady thunk-thunk-thunk of arrows hitting an unseen target squarely came to her, but Armina had already disappeared through an archway on the left. Pynt pulled Jenna to the door and pushed her through.
“Come on,” Pynt urged.
Carum followed without a word.
They trotted after Armina through a maze of halls and rooms, more than four times the number at Selden Hame, and climbed two flights of stairs as well. For Jenna and Pynt this was a new experience, for Selden Hame was all on the flat, and they exchanged delighted glances. But Carum mounted the twisting stairs with an air of knowing.
“Castle-born,” Pynt muttered at his back, as if that were a curse.
Jenna was still marveling at the complexity of the Hame when Armina stopped suddenly before a door and signaled them with a raised hand. They moved cautiously up to the door, which was even more ornately carved than the outside gate. Only instead of figures, the door was inscribed with symbols: apple, spoon, knife, needle, thread …
“Eye-Mind!” Jenna said. “Look, Pynt, the signs are all from the Game.”
Pynt traced around the knife sign with her finger.
“Now we go in,” Armina said, nodding at them, and her great crest of hair swayed slightly. “In to speak with the Mother.”
Jenna drew in several long breaths, ending the Spider breath with which she had climbed the stairs and beginning the deeper latani breathing. It soothed her. She could hear Pynt matching her breath for breath.
Armina smiled. “Frightened? Of the Mother?” She pushed through the door into a darkened chamber and dropped to one knee so quickly Carum stumbled into her. The girls, still breathing deeply, walked in more slowly and knelt by Armina’s side.
Jenna peered into the dimly lit room, trying to follow Armina’s gaze. Between two covered window slits was a large chair. Something—someone—stirred in the chair.
“Mother, forgive me this intrusion, but I come with three whose presence may be a danger. It is for you to say.”
There was a long hush. Jenna could hear Carum swallowing. Pynt swayed a bit by her side. Then the figure in the chair gave a sigh.
“Light the lamps, child. I was just napping. Your sisters damp them when I sleep—as if day or night has meaning for me. But I can smell that the lamps are out. And I like the small, hissing sounds they make.”
Armina stood and lit the lamps with a torch she fetched from the hall, then drew aside the cloth from each of the windows as well. The light revealed a small, dark figure in the chair, as small as a child, but old. Older, Jenna thought, than anyone she had ever seen, for the woman’s face was as brown and wrinkled as a walnut, and crowned with thin, white hair. Her blind eyes were the color of wet marble, gray and opaque.
“Forgive, Mother?” Armina said, but her question carried no deference.
“You scamp, Armina, I always forgive you. You and you
r dark sister. Come here. Let me feel that foolish head.” The old woman smiled.
Armina moved over to the priestess and knelt before her, lifting her face to the old woman’s touch. “I am here, Mother.”
Mother Alta’s fingers, like little breezes, brushed across Armina’s face, ran down the scar, and then floated up to the brush of hair. “Who have you brought me? And what the danger?”
“Two girls on a mission, Mother, and a boy they say cried them merci,” Armina replied.
“The girls, from what Hame?” the old woman asked.
Armina turned and looked at Jenna.
“Selden Hame, Mother,” Pynt said before Jenna could answer.
“Ah, the small Hame in the Borderland Hills. How many there now?” She stared at them as if she could see them.
“Forty light sisters, Mother,” said Jenna.
“And forty dark,” Armina said, chuckling.
“Thirty-nine,” Pynt said quickly, delighted to have caught Armina out. “One, our infirmarer, is a Solitary.”
“And four missioners and five girls,” Jenna finished.
“We have four hundred, light and dark,” Armina said. “And many, many children. Many missioners, too, though I doubt they go to so small a Hame as Selden.”
“We have only once or twice seen a missioner,” admitted Jenna. “But we know about missioning. We know about …”
“Girls!” Mother Alta said sharply, and raised her hands, which had been hidden in the voluminous sleeves of her robe. Jenna saw with a kind of fascinated horror that each hand had a sixth finger stretching straight out from the side. She could not keep her eyes off the hands. They seemed to be weaving dark fantasies in the air.
“Now, Armina, you are the older by several years, for your mission is five years gone. Act as a guide and a guard; be my eyes. If there is danger, we must be ware afore time.” Her hands disappeared again into the cave of sleeves.
Armina’s face darkened for a moment from the scolding; then the mischievous grin reasserted itself. “Mother, the taller one is the one with the lower voice. She stands nearly as tall as I do.”