by H. M. Long
Two more days passed in similar fashion. Travelling with the group was an easy, comfortable thing – before the burning of Albor, I’d never truly been alone in my life. The chatter of the group, and lying my bedroll beside Euweth and Nisien each night, kept my loneliness at bay. Occasional smiles crept back into the corners of my mouth. My riding improved and I even mastered the art of springing up onto the horse’s back without aid or a strategic rock.
Yet, despite these gains, worry toyed with my heart. The owl continued to follow me, but for no discernable reason. In the day she would appear in a tree, or on the wing. At night her ululations rippled over the creak of the crickets and stilled the rustle of mice in the grass. But she ferried me no more visions, and when I spoke to her, she only blinked in return.
The landscape changed. The twists and turns of the Pasidon sheltered ever larger stands of fragrant cedar and gave way to the occasional low island. To either side, the scrag and rock of the mountains lowered into windy grassland that rippled like waves.
“Two more days to the border on horseback,” Nisien told me one afternoon as we plodded along something of a road. The river flowed off to our right, broad and glistening under the sun. “One night at home, and then we’ll – or I’ll – take you up to the Spines.”
The rock formations called the Spines marked the Arpa border between Eangen and the Ridings. I gave the barest nod and tried not to think about the fact that, beyond them, I’d have to travel alone once more.
“Will the Empire outposts cause me any trouble?” I asked.
Nisien opened his mouth to dismiss my concern, then hesitated. “I know a quieter path,” he said at length. “You should pass without notice.”
We both glanced up as Euweth wheeled her horse around. She made for us at a canter, the smallest of her braids twirling in the breeze.
“Nis,” the woman addressed her son. “That cave you used to visit, is it close by?”
I saw the man’s brows contract. “Yes…”
Almost at the same time as the word left his lips, the wind cooled. My horse tossed his head unhappily, jerking me forward in the saddle.
“There’s – ach, steady there – there’s a storm coming in,” I said.
Without a word, Nisien nudged his horse into a trot and pulled ahead. His mother and I fell in behind.
“Storms around midsummer are bad out here,” Euweth called to me. “The storm goddess can be vicious. We need a roof over our heads. Fast.”
“We’re an hour’s ride away,” Nisien said over his shoulder. “Follow me.”
FIFTEEN
The temperature plummeted. The air charged with power, raising the fine hairs on the back of my neck and making the horses skittish. A flock of starlings startled from the grasses and wheeled south, undulating ribbons against a darkening sky.
Before long the first flashes of lightning illuminated the western horizon, brief and muffled. The thunder was still too far away to hear, but every flash brought the storm one step closer.
Nisien took us down to the river’s edge. We splashed through a shallow ford and up the opposite bank, joining a little-used path through the shivering cedars.
“How close are we?” Euweth called to her son, up ahead. Her eyes darted up through the trees, searching the consistency of the clouds.
I ducked low to the saddle and peeked out under the boughs. Beyond the rushing expanse of the river, the sky pulsed with a sickly, irregular heartbeat. Thunder billowed nearer; the travail of Esach, Goddess of Storms.
“Close,” Nisien answered.
A few harrowing minutes later, we led our horses into the moisture-laden blackness of a cave. As I entered, the owl swooped low over my head with a muffled flutter of wings and I slowed, watching its grey blur precede Nisien and Euweth into the murk.
I heard, more than saw, Nisien leave his horse and approach. My nerves fluttered as he loomed, visible one moment in a flash of lightning, wrapped in shadow in the next.
“Get this lit?” He pressed a pouch, iron, flint and torch into my hands and took my horse’s reins. “I’ll help my mother with the horses.”
Anything I might have said was drowned in another bout of thunder, so I simply complied. Oil-soaked reeds darkened and flared, and I hefted the newborn flame high.
The cave was enormous, so enormous that my circle of light could only find one of its walls. The horses’ hooves tak-takked as Euweth moved them to the most level part of the cavern, Nisien’s boots splashed as he disappeared into the shadows on the far side, and, beyond them all, the owl’s eyes hung like a pair of harvest moons.
Nisien’s voice called from the black, “Hessa, can you bring the torch here?”
My footsteps echoed as I traversed the chamber, my orb of light illuminating puddles, a flash of Euweth’s focused expression and the anxious walnut eyes of the mounts. Nisien produced two more torches from a crude barrel, lit them off mine and left me again without a word, moving off to wedge the lights into makeshift sconces around the driest area of the cave.
“How does he know this place?” I asked as Euweth passed me a saddlebag.
The woman smiled, but there was a falseness to it. “Hid here every time the legions came. I never knew where it was, just in case…” She sniffed and wrinkled her nose. “Well. The local lads still use it to hide, by the looks of those torches.”
I glanced at Nisien. There was an anxiety about him, an inability to stand still. He moved quickly, stepping up onto a ledge and wedging another torch into a notch on the wall. Judging from the discolored stone below the notch, Euweth was right. It was well-used.
“Here.” The man reached down and pulled the bag from my arms. He set it down on the ledge. “I’ll go out and find us some wood before the rain comes.”
“I’ll come with you,” I offered.
“No, stay and help me, child,” Euweth interceded. She said to her son, “Stay close.”
Nisien ducked his chin and dropped off the ledge with a crunch of rock.
Euweth waited until he was outside before she looked at me. “It’s best to let him go alone. He may be grown, but this place holds no good memories for him.”
We set up camp while I turned the implications of what she’d said over in my mind. I thought of Nisien as a child, spending days hiding in the dark while the legionaries exacted taxes and scooped up boys like him. Had he had a father back then? Or siblings?
Nisien returned four times before the rain hit. On the first, he brought an armful of cedar boughs to layer upon our ledge. On the next two, he brought wood and kindling for a fire. On the last, he hauled a fallen tree and set to chopping it, just outside the cave mouth.
Euweth cast him more than one concerned look, but she didn’t intervene. She and I started a fire in a stone circle – also blackened from use – and covered the cedar boughs with our bedrolls.
“Little use sitting up ’til proper nightfall,” the woman decided. “We’ll sleep as much as we like tonight and get on the road at first light.”
I nodded. “You must be eager to get home.”
She flicked out a travel-worn wool blanket. “More than that. We need to relieve those we sent into the high pastures with the herds.”
“Oh.” I paused. “Will you still take me to the border?”
“Yes. Nis will.” She sank back into her heels and looked over her shoulder at me. “I’ve decided not to come – I’m tired, and I need to get home. You’re all right to travel with my son alone?”
I nodded again.
“Good.” Euweth shifted up into a crouch. “Pass me my pack so I can see to the horses.”
Nisien came in just as the rain hit, raking droplets from his short hair and setting up the last of the wood to dry beside the fire. He didn’t speak and his mother let him be.
The storm settled in overhead and we settled in for the night. As true darkness fell, I sat down on my bed, ignoring the prying eyes of the owl and offering a few scattered prayers. My companions had yet
to complain about the bird, but I did not miss the glances they cast it.
Finally, Nisien looked up at me. “I need to move. Will you train with me?”
I looked between him and his mother. We had two swords and I missed the rhythms of training, but his tone worried me. I saw the tension written across his frame, the way his hands fidgeted and his eyes refused to rest.
Still, I agreed. “Yes.”
Euweth watched without a word as we both took up weapons and dropped down to a smooth section of the cave floor.
“No shield?” I asked, lifting my left hand and waving my empty fingers. “You’ll have me at a disadvantage.”
Nisien shrugged. “It will be good for you to try a different style.”
“Arpa or Soulderni?” I clarified.
He smiled. “Arpa cavalry, mostly Soulderni recruits.”
I nodded in appreciation. “Then you can learn Eangen.” I settled into my feet, letting my mind run over each muscle of my body, calculating the distance between our bodies, our weapons, and the extent of his reach. I was far from home, but this – this was familiar.
“I’ve fought your people before,” he replied.
Cold trickled down my spine. “Oh?”
Nisien inclined his head. “Begin. But please don’t actually try to kill me?”
“I wouldn’t need a sword for that.”
I moved, attacking first like a good Eangen. I darted forward and slashed, met his blade, sidestepped and slapped the point of his sword away as he lunged after me. His blade caught the light in a devious twist of the wrist and the cave echoed with a short clash of steel, our quick breaths, and the splash of my foot in a puddle as I swept past him. I snapped my blade down at the exposed back of his knee – just close enough to press the fabric of his trousers into fine, thin skin.
“Mine,” I declared, opening up the space between us and levelling my sword in a long, extended guard.
He raised his hands out to his sides in concession and turned to face me. I watched him, wary of reciprocal attack, but he simply adjusted his stance. The tension in his face smoothed into focus. His eyes lit, his lips parted, and I saw the anxiety slide from his limbs like oil.
“Eangen tactics work well with a Soulderni sword,” I suggested, loosening my grip on the hilt of my weapon and settling my shoulders. “Or you’re out of practice.”
His eyes crinkled. Slowly, I started to smile back.
Right in the middle of the expression, he attacked. He came in with three strikes, high and quick like lashes, his blade moving so fast that I barely managed two fumbling parries before I darted out of reach.
Nisien came after me. I saw his muscles coil and stretch, his blade begin to arc back and up in a fluid sweep. I blocked, but no sooner had our swords met than I felt the tip of his curved blade hook around the underside of my wrist, gentle, cool and final. I froze.
“Mine,” he said.
I nodded rapidly and backed off. We took stance at distance from one another and I sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to touch my wrist and turning over his movements in my mind.
I could already sense a disparity with Eangen tactics. We found our power in mass, in fear, aggression and intimidation. We burst upon our prey with sword and shield intent on paralysis, ferocity and quick dispatch. But Nisien’s movements were smooth and concise; he refused to be shaken or lose control. For all his confidence, he might have had an entire legion at his back, but his focus was narrow. Two bodies. Two swords.
Frustration flared in my gut. I had no shield, and no hatchet to throw from a distance. Using my Fire would be underhanded. Yet I was fighting a man twice my size.
But did that matter? I turned my sword in two slow, looping arcs, imitating the cuts I’d just seen him perform. I’d overcome greater odds than this before, surely.
“Perhaps some slower drills to begin,” I suggested. “Apparently I’m the one out of practice.”
He eyed me, then, deciding this wasn’t a trick, nodded.
For half an hour, we passed through Arpa maneuvers. I studied everything about him, from the placement of his feet to the direction of his gaze. Outside the cave mouth, the thunder rolled, muffled by the trees and the hill above. All the while, Euweth watched us from the pile of cedar boughs and furs, her expression inscrutable, and the horses shuffled on their tethers.
My body warmed and my movements became more fluid. When I felt that I had a better sense of Nisien’s ways, I stepped back. “I’m ready.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m Eangen.” I shifted into a lower stance. “We’re not a patient people.”
We faced off. I howled. The single note turned and echoed about the chamber, falling into discord with the thunder outside. The horses’ ears swivelled and one tugged at her tether, hard.
A startled, almost delighted grin flickered over Nisien’s face.
I crossed the space between us in two long strides, bringing the sword up to execute one of the cuts he had just taught me. Our blades met and I immediately moved again. Strike. Block. Strike. Sidestep. Block. The blows came fast and quick, and with each one he held back less. Soon I focused on deflecting, drawing him out, tempting him towards the edge of his legionary’s control.
I saw the moment that control broke. Aggression spilled out of him in a frustrated hiss and his whole countenance transformed. I responded in kind. He was still a giant and the blade in my hand still foreign, but now we fought on Eangen terms.
He used me, all the same. I saw it in each new attack. He relished each resistance I posed. He tested my limits, pressing for the point where his aggression was too much: where I would flinch and shy and concede.
More than once, he almost succeeded. I knew there was no way I could actually win – all things were not equal; I was weakening and several of his blows fell too close for comfort. But he needed this outlet, so I gave it to him.
That was, until he nearly took my head off.
“Nisien—” I deflected a blow that sent pain all the way up my shoulders into my jaw. “Nisien, enough.”
“Nisien!” Euweth’s reprimand boomed through the chamber.
He levelled his sword at my face, chest heaving, and blinking sweat from his eyes. “Mine.”
I lowered my sword, keeping my attention on his face. Some of his anxiety toward the cave and the storm – a host of memories I could not see – had already crept back into his gaze. But it was rawer now, closer to the surface.
“Nisien.” Euweth’s voice was edged with iron. “She’s just a girl.”
“There are no girls in the north, Mother,” Nisien replied. He watched me too, as if he still expected another attack. “I think that’s plain enough. I’m going to wash. Hessa?”
Together, we laid our swords on the ledge. Then he strode for the cave mouth, dragging fingers through his sweaty hair as he went. I followed a step behind.
Rain struck my face. Nisien led me to a torrent of rainwater just beyond the cave, where he splashed his face and filled his mouth.
When he stepped back, I stuck my whole head under the flow, drowning Nisien’s startled laughter and the pounding of blood in my skull. I tilted my face up, relishing the fleeting, blissful forgetfulness that came with the cold water.
I spat as I re-emerged. “You would have made a good Eangi. But… I promise I won’t goad you again.”
“You shouldn’t have been able to goad me.” Nisien let out a long breath and turned his face to the thunderous sky. “But thank you, Eangi.”
Lightning cracked overhead; thunder followed instantly.
“Gods!” I grabbed Nisien’s sleeve. “Come on, back inside.”
He let me draw him back into the gloom of the cave.
* * *
A frayed-looking Euweth stretched herself out between Nisien and I in the flickering light. I studied the lines around her eyes as she slipped into sleep, her mirth forgotten in the wake of her son’s troubles – and, I reflected, her own.
; Nisien’s broad shoulder rose beyond her, but I could tell from the rhythm of his breathing that he wasn’t asleep. If I’d been forced to spend day after day in this damp darkness as a child, I doubted I would be able to rest here either.
I considered staying awake out of solidarity, but that was foolish. Nisien was a grown man and needed no such profitless concern. Besides, my body had other notions. I buried my nose into the cedar and drew a deep, steadying breath. Soon, Euweth’s face, Nisien’s shoulder and the sporadic silhouettes of the horses faded into oblivion.
I awoke to the chink of armor and reverberating voices.
“Whose hearth?” an accented voice called.
I snatched up my sword and staggered upright. Nisien already stood, blade in hand. Euweth was a second behind me. I heard the clunk of wood, then the woman’s face glowed as she blew on the low-burning coals and rested a torch inside them.
The torch flared and my stomach lurched. Twenty men came into focus – at least twenty, for the darkness could conceal more. There were half a dozen horses, too, whickering in the shadows.
Light glinted off the finest armor I had ever seen; layered plates streaked with mud and rain, helmets with short crops of sodden horsehair running from forehead to the back of the neck. They bore both swords and spears, uniform and glinting, and slung large rectangular shields across their backs.
Arpa.
One of the men sheathed his sword and, opening his chest to us, took a step forward. As he did, he unclasped the strap that held the cheek plates of his helmet closed. They swung wide, revealing a clean-shaven jaw, flushed red with exertion and chill. “We do not mean to trespass.”
Nisien stepped forward and replied in what I guessed was the Arpa tongue.
Hard-edged relief flickered across the speaker’s face; an expression shared by more than one of the men behind him. They all looked haunted and harried, but hungry too. Their eyes flickered over our supplies and fire.
Their leader asked a question in Arpa. I didn’t understand, but I could guess what he wanted: shelter.