“It’s everything.”
Ira sighed, she did not say anything, only held her tight. She then understood. There was something about Ira, she, also, felt a little different. She did not know what was in her mind, but the way she had winked at her, invited her and supported her like nobody else had, showed Alana that she was different. Strangely connected.
During that tight hug, with Ira’s black hair against her cheeks, and a slight aroma of cheese, she remembered all the people who supported her, how she had not given up even through times harder than those.
“Why can you understand me so well?” Alana said.
“Who says I do?” Ira whispered.
“Why did you decide to help me?”
Ira let go and leaned back.
“Maybe I saw something in your eyes, that I cannot describe with words.” She took a deep breath. “I heard what you went through, and I know what it feels to lose, and to have the world put their weight upon you.”
“Tell me more about yourself, Ira, please.” Alana doubted that Ira had ever held any responsibility higher than hers.
“I do not think my experiences compare to yours, believe me. And I hate war with all my heart. I hate it. I hated it fifteen years ago, and I will hate it forever. But our people were born for war.”
Alana was silent, with her gaze low.
“I was born in the East, in Parzia. My mother was Gadalian, and my original father. I did not meet my father, like you, but the other way around.” She cleared her throat and curled her lips. “She was pregnant with me when the Itruschians first attacked her village and killed him in front of her. It was an awful time. But it passed. I grew to ten years, milking cows and goats, and when I thought life was getting better, my village was taken again. They caught my mother and I, burned the house while we hid in the barn. She was holding me, whispering in my ear. Telling me to be as silent as a lamb. I was soaked in my own tears. I thought it couldn’t get worse, I thought it couldn’t but it did. They broke down the doors, and the fire was all around. They pulled her out, did what they wanted to do quickly, not to get trapped in the fire, and they beat her so badly that she stopped reacting before the whole horrible thing was done. I was paralysed. They pulled my hair and dragged me out, and then I had fears. So many fears . . . And I can’t remember . . . And . . .”
“I am sorry to hear that, Ira.” Alana swallowed, her eyes moistening.
“I did not want to fight. The famous Virnas, the Parzian horse master, took me. He was one of my mother’s customers, he liked the cheese she sold. He thought he could make a great warrior out of me, and raised me as his daughter. I think he thought I would like to avenge them, but I only liked to train because my mind could fly away and forget it all. He made me the fastest, the one with the best reflexes, the best connection with my horse, and yet, I only wanted to ride and eat cheese. I wish I could ever taste goat cheese as good as the one my mother made. I only wish.”
“Life was not fair to you, but you are strong.” Alana hugged her tight, but Ira didn’t move. “I am proud to meet you. Really.”
“It’s not about who suffers the most, Alana. Now, let’s get ready. We have to get going.”
They rode on, riding farther away, every second further from her loved ones. The existential pain had subsided.
After hours of galloping and short breaks for the horses and them, the yurts of the Hunatians appeared in the plains. Triangular flags of red and yellow fluttered, and Alana could hear the chattering of men and beasts.
Three sentinels rode toward them, their manner of dress was different from that of the Gadalians, as their clothes were simpler and practical. Leather trousers covered their strong legs, their feet covered with high leather boots. Their helmets were of bronze, with a brown crest made of horse hair emerging from on top. Their armour looked heavy, made of many segmented plates, each of them seemingly made of bronze, attached to a long shirt of blue silk or hemp, and thick fur covered their shoulder pads. Their horses were also armoured with fish-scale type armour. Long arrows stuck out from the quiver on their backs. Their shields were round, adorned with a sigil-like design.
“Who goes there?” asked the first. Alana noticed a golden ribbon tied to his arm. Perhaps a sign of leadership.
“Gadalian allies,” Ira said, bracing her horse. The three Hunatians kept riding, then the two who rode on the sides surrounded them. The one with the ribbon stopped in front of them.
“Huntress Ira,” the Hunatian said. “I did not recognize you from afar, come with us.” He continued, pulling the reins and spurring toward the camp.
“They’re nice,” Ira simply said, winking at Alana and followed the man on her horse. When they reached the camp, Ira dismounted and helped Alana down, Alana threw a glance around the place. The yurts were colourful and tall, ornamented with flowing patterns and flowery symbols. A tall menhir stood in the middle, carved partly in the shape of an unknown ancestor or god. A few women walked about carrying vases of water, their long black hair tied in parallel braids and kept in place with colourful brooches. Their clothes were also of fine linen, colourful and filled with floral motifs, their hips covered by wide laces of silk. Some, especially elder women, walked around with headdresses as long as half their bodies. The men wore clothes similar in shape to the Gadalian open jackets, but favouring silk instead of hemp. The men wore their black hair long and untied. Their skulls were rounder, their eyes small, and their skin colours ranged from pale like milk to dark like copper.
Ira greeted the men and women with a warm smile, as she lead her horse to their shared stable,
“How come they all know you so well?” Alana muttered.
“I buy cheese here every once in a while,” she whispered, as if safeguarding a deadly secret.
As Ira tied Tistriya and petted it goodbye, the initial sentinel stood behind her, holding a small lance. She turned, and faced him again.
“What are you looking for here, Ira?”
“This time it’s urgent Kharkai. I need an audience with Chief Mundzuch.”
“An audience?” the man asked. “So rapidly?”
“Believe me when I tell you it is an urgent matter,” she said.
Kharkai cleared his throat and turned around, signalling one of the young sentinels to go, and the man trotted away into the yurts.
“What is it?” Kharkai asked, narrowing his eyes.
“The Adachians were decimated. Our people down the river, my tribe are suffering illness and disease, and we need to find some help to reclaim the Adachian lands.”
Kharkai cleared his throat.
“Help? Is it to fight the Itruschians?”
Ira nodded.
“Are you implying we should go and battle again?” Kharkai asked. “I doubt they will do it, considering the truce and . . .”
“The Adachians need help. Their people are suffering under Itruschian rule.”
“Well, I’ve never seen you this committed to a conflict.”
Ira took a deep breath.
“Well, it’s because our friends have been unfortunate. Betrayed by the Empire that promised protection. We can’t leave them to their fate after what happened to them.” Ira signalled Alana to come. She approached shyly and Ira circled an arm around her.
“This is Alana.”
“Hello, there,” Kharkai said with a silly smile, as if addressing a small child.
“Hello, sir, it’s nice meeting you.”
“She is the leader of the Gadalians,” Ira declared.
“Leader?” Kharkai asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, she’s young, but very brave, and you’ll see what she has achieved,” Ira explained, as horses’ hooves echoed behind them. It was not the young sentinel, instead, a man with a silk robe with folds on the shoulder.
Ira turned around and bowed her neck in front of the mounted man.
“Head Eunuch Harmann, may the Sky Father give you strength,”
she said.
“May the Sky Father protect you.” The eunuch saluted. “The Chieftain may meet you before noon, you may take rest under this pleasant sun while we prepare.”
“Thank you,” Ira said, with a slight bow.
Before they walked out of the stable, two women with yellow robes approached carrying straw baskets and wineskins.
Ira elbowed Alana softly and winked her eyes at her. The woman opened the basket and revealed square pieces of cheese.
“Cheese again?” Alana asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Special mare cheese,” Ira said, and Alana reached out her hand to try it. It was salty, a bit musky and strong, but it immediately filled her with energy. Then, she drank a mouthful from the wineskin. It was kumis, fermented horse milk, one of her favourites.
“Thank you,” she said. Then, she wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat.
The welcoming party led them to the chieftain’s yurt. Its outer panels were blue and almost twenty-five feet in diameter. Dragons of gold were set on top, their expression fiery, flashing golden fangs.
They sat crossed legged in front of the yurt, below a wide canopy. The Sword of Ares hung from her back and weighed on her strained spine. Men and women kept coming, placing small baskets in front of them. Alana kept looking around; the welcoming she had received made her smile and forget her worries. She liked those Hunatians. She loved it when people were welcoming and kind.
Soon, when the sun was almost at its highest point, a eunuch with braided hair and a funny looking headdress stepped out from the yurt and invited them to come in.
Alana cleared her throat. So far, Ira had done the talking and even explained what Alana was expecting. It was obvious that those people knew her and appreciated her. But in case Ira gave her time to speak, she did not feel prepared.
The inner walls of the yurt were adorned with beads of gold and silver depicting sacred flowers and serpent-like dragons. Long flower-patterned mats covered the ground, and the chieftain sat in the centre. He was old, his grey beard and moustache were long, but disconnected, his beard flowed down only from below his chin, skin wrinkled, his grey hair pulled back, and a red headdress on his head.
The chieftain held a small staff with a dragon motif in hand. He pointed at Ira.
“Chieftain Mundzuch, thank you for your audience.”
“It is always a pleasure to have you,” the man answered with a pleasant voice and a thick accent. “How are your people doing? Is there anything I may do to help them now?”
“Our families have seen much struggle, Chief Mundzuch, however, now I do not come to you to speak of the Varalkians, but our sisters beyond the river.”
“Do you speak of the Gadalians in the Empire? I have heard of what happened to them, very gruesome and sad. Many of my friends have been lost, and of their families I know not.”
“To that end, I wish to introduce to you this young woman, her name is Alana of Adachia, daughter of Head Artisan Alan. You’ve met him before.”
“I have, indeed,” the old chieftain said.
“As you know, the Gadalians were decimated, only their women remained. This young lady here led a revolt and killed the Itruschian governor, then led a small troop out of the borders of the Empire and searched for us for help. Unfortunately, the Council of our tribe refused to assist her.”
“To help her doing what? Riding into the Empire’s borders?”
Ira nodded.
The chieftain looked at Alana in the eye.
“So you are in charge of the people of Adachia.”
Alana felt her tongue stuck against her palate. She shook her head and cleared her throat.
“I am leading our troop, that is all. But I have many excellent advisors.”
“Tell me of your plight,” the chieftain said, his small eyes open wide in sincere curiosity.
Alana cleared her throat and spoke slowly:
“It happened three months ago. They attacked us at our meekest, they entered through the main road, like travelling performers. They set us up, attacked us unarmed, and killed without mercy. The men and women fought with what they had. And still, we lost them all. Even my father died fighting against them. Interrupted in his forge, he fought and battled as he could. The women of the tribe were abused and forcibly married to their men. My half-blood husband and I were spared, him being the son of an Itruschian citizen. But when our burden was at the heaviest, many women rebelled. We fought back, and were persecuted for it. We found a hiding place in the woods and attacked. The gods . . .” Alana cleared her throat again. “Gave us a sign.”
She released the sword from the canvases that held it. “Ares guided my husband, and we reforged the sword of Ares, the one used to battle giants, as a symbol.”
The man extended his hands, demanding to receive the sword and look at it.
Alana carefully held it with both hands, from handle and blade and gave it to the chieftain. He grasped its handle and held it upright, paying close attention to its angles, then, he ran his hand through its blade.
“What is this green jewel that shines like a star?” he asked.
“The Green Tear of Venus.”
The chieftain lowered the sword, and placed it over his knees.
Alana lowered her glance.
“My husband prayed and fasted for days, begging the Gods of the sky to guide him to a treasure that could serve as a token, he guided him through caverns underneath the city, built by ancient peoples, and there, where his visions took him, he found it.”
“I see.” Mundzuch offered the sword back. “The sword of Ares, is it not? The bane of giants.”
Alana shook a little when that word was uttered, as if it carried a magic she desired not to touch.
“So what do you intend us to do?” Mundzuch inquired.
“To ride with us,” Alana said. “Help us take our land, avenge our husbands, and liberate our sisters.”
“Alana, daughter of Alan the Artisan, you have the sword and bow of my people. We will help you liberate your sisters.”
Chapter XVI - When the Stars are Right
Chieftain Varalkas coughed again. He shut his eyes and hit his own chest with a clasped fist, then, he reclined forward in his seat and coughed again, and again, as dull pain filled his chest.
The eunuch behind him offered him a vase with medicine. He took it with one hand and swallowed a mouthful. The beverage was bitter and pungent, with only a slight touch of honey to mitigate its gall.
He looked forward again.
“I am sorry,” he said with difficulty, and sat straight on his silver stool. The members of the council were all cross legged before him.
Master Ghabas raised his hand to talk, the chief wearily raised his to signal him to speak.
“My chieftain.” Ghabas lowered his green eyes. “Thank you for letting me speak, once again, in favour of our people. As I have said before, these Adachians who come here are a nuisance. They must not be allowed here for long. They put us in danger.”
“I protest.” one of the women raised her hand. “We have a commitment to our relatives and friends. They are even of our own stock, and even if they were not, we should be welcoming and fair.”
“Is it wise to let other people in when your own people are struggling?” Ghabas said.
“We still have enough to feed them, and they may even join our workforce,” she said. “The young mute boy is a woodcutter and knows a bit about planting.”
“We don’t need more plants in here, they destroy the soil for our cattle,” said another rugged woman.
“But that is not all.” Ghabas looked forward, toward the chieftain. “They keep poisoning or youth! One of our fellow men told me how his son mocked him for not joining that girl into battle, the boy called his own father a coward, and derided you, my beloved chieftain.”
Varalkas coughed again.
“I am sorry,” the chieftain said, blinking again. To
hear such a story was unfortunate, but he was sure it was a minor incident. Children those days were rebellious and wild, but the times were dire, and they did not really hurt anyone. That wild cough, however, was starting to worry him.
“Believe me, my chieftain,” Ghabas continued. “It’s a calculated strategy, they know our people are weak, and want to manipulate our weakness and vulnerability. And . . . Once again, we have heard that insidious conspiracy being spread from mouth to mouth.”
Some of the counsellors looked at each other.
“Yes, that dangerous thought that can lead us into great trouble,” Ghabas went on.
“That is worrisome.” Varalkas scratched his beard. He knew precisely what he meant by conspiracy. Last time that rumour had spread, it was discussed openly by their paid border guards, it got many Gadalian youths in trouble with the Itruschian authorities in the border.”
“So, in view of all this, I would like to offer just a small modification of the current law. For our land, for peace.”
“What do you propose?” Varalkas asked, clearing his throat again.
“To forbid speaking ill of the Empire, and isolate the Adachian fugitives. Arrest them and keep them within one place, no mobility, no contact with our youth.”
***
Six days had passed since Alana’s departure, and Kassius had been closer to the gods he’d ever been. Every day he studied with the Priest of Jupiter, who would instruct him in the ways of magic and divination.
“I had never realised that,” Kassius said, his legs crossed, a square piece of hemp paper in front of it, where the priest and him had drawn a magic circle.
“I could have just told you,” the priest muttered with a sly smile.
Kassius cleared his throat and placed his hands over it. He had drawn sigils for years, trusting in their power, but they sometimes failed, he believed in them, he believed in the magic that made the world and carved magical weapons incapable of being broken, he believed in the magic that defended armies and defeated magical beasts, but he knew not what the greatest secret was, the secret to make all magic effective.
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