Lightnings Daughter

by Mary H. Herbert

  The quiet voice replied with intense relief. "Yes, Lady, I am here. No! Don't move yet. Help is coming."

  Gabria obeyed willingly. She lay still on the cold, hard ground and felt the rain pounding on her body. Tam had to be shielding her face, but Gabria could not see.

  The sorceress reached out for the girl's hand. "Tam, where is the gorthling?"

  "He's gone,” Tam answered excitedly. "The lightning you threw disintegrated him! There isn't even a finger left."

  Gabria could not help but smile. Tam had certainly found her tongue in the midst of all the chaos.

  Another person joined them, and a familiar voice said, "Gabria, let me help you." The clan priestess of Amara wrapped a warm cloak around the sorceress and very carefully eased her to a sitting position.

  "Can you stand?" the priestess asked.

  Gabria swal owed hard and shook her head. Pain and nausea coursed through her head and her stomach. Every muscle she had was trembling. She felt as weak and blind as a newborn kitten.

  "Never mind. Sit here a moment," the priestess told her. "I wil tend to the others."

  Gabria heard her walk toward the place where Athlone had fallen. Nara came to stand upwind of the sorceress to block some of the wild wind and rain that lashed across the island. Tam still held her cloak over Gabria's head.

  "Nara, are Athlone and Sayyed badly hurt?"

  They are exhausted, but wil recover, I believe.

  Gabria turned her sightless eyes toward the mare. "Your thoughts are strained. You sound weary.

  Are you all right?"

  I am very weak. The strength needed to protect us from the lightning was almost more than I had.

  The woman reached out and felt the mare's strong foreleg. "Thank you, Nara."

  The mare nickered like a gentle laugh . It was a good battle. The gorthling is gone, and we are stil here.

  Gabria sighed. "What is going on out there? Is a healer coming to help Athlone and Sayyed? Afer's leg is broken. Is anyone coming to help him?"

  Tam answered, her young voice high with anger. "The priests and priestesses will not allow any more uninitiated onto the island, but they won't cross the river themselves to help. Only the priestess of Amara from your clan had the courage to come."

  Gabria's anger stirred sluggishly in her thoughts. She and her companions had faced death to save the clans, but now that they needed help, the people would not even come to their aid. Her nausea faded a little, and she sat up straighter, stirred by resentment.

  Before she could think of a suitable angry response, an image of what she had done came to her mind. Her anger retreated while she considered how the entire arcane battle must have looked from the clans' point of view. They were probably terrified out of their wits.

  Gabria realized she had an excel ent opportunity to make a positive impression on her stubborn, skeptical, suspicious people. They had seen the horror of the gorthling's cruelty and the terror of his magic. Now she could show them the other side of magic: the pleasure of victory and the comfort of healing.

  Strengthened by her resolve, Gabria painfully pulled herself up Nara's iron-strong foreleg until she was standing, dizzy and gasping, by the mare's shoulder. The cold rain poured down her face, but she did not care. She concentrated on staying upright, gritting her teeth against the exhaustion that rocked her, and held on grimly to Nara's mane.

  A strong arm was laid across her shoulders and steadied her.

  The priestess's calm voice said, "Gabria, please. You need to rest."

  The sorceress refused. "Not yet. Where is Athlone?"

  "I'm here." Lord Athlone's voice was strained, but steady. It sounded wonderful to Gabria. He walked wearily around the big mare to say something more and hesitated when he saw Gabria and the strange expression on her face. Her eyes were closed tightly, and her head was tilted to one side in a concentrated effort to hear.

  "Are you hurt?" Gabria asked the chieftain.

  "Just a knock on the head, but I feel exhausted,” He rubbed his temples and looked around, bleary-eyed. "What happened?"

  Tam replied, "The sorceress destroyed Branth with a lightning bolt."

  "Good gods,” he exclaimed.

  At that moment, the King Stal ion cantered through the water to the island and pranced up to the smal group. The Hunnuli herd gathered behind him, their black coats glistening in the rain.

  "Athlone,” Gabria whispered. "Help me up."

  Willingly the chieftain gave her a leg up onto Nara's back and stood aside to watch as the tall, slim woman turned to face the huge stallion.

  The black Hunnuli shook his mane. You have done wel , Sorceress.

  Gabria gestured to the herd. "Thank you for your help. It means more than I can ever say."

  Valorian would be proud. Suddenly he lifted his great nose to her face. His nostrils flared gently . Are your eyes hurt?

  "I cannot see," she said simply.

  Athlone felt his heart grow sick.

  The lightning's brightness burned your eyes.

  "Will they heal?" Gabria asked with more hope than conviction.

  The stal ion snorted softly. Perhaps. In time.

  She nodded once and changed the subject. "What about Afer? Is there anything we can do?"

  At that the King Stal ion bowed his head. We Hunnuli can withstand the greatest arcane powers in the universe, but we are as vulnerable to bodily injury as any other horse. Your magic wil not affect him, for good or il , and your healers cannot mend a horse's broken leg.

  Gabria felt her voice choke, and she had to force herself to ask, "Then we must put him out of his misery?"

  "No!" Sayyed's cry echoed through the circle of stones. The tribesman, a rag tied to his bleeding head, was trying to put a temporary splint on the stallion's broken leg.

  Tam quickly went to help her friend as he stepped forward in front of the horse.

  "You can't kill him,” Sayyed said forcefully.

  "Sayyed, his leg is broken,” Athlone said, trying not to be harsh. "You know no horse can recover from that."

  "One has! My father's prize mare. She broke a leg in a race, and my father could not bear to kill her. He suspended her body from a sling until her leg healed enough to bear her weight. It's not easy, but it can be done. Please,” Sayyed cried, "give him a chance."

  They were silent for a long moment as they thought about the enormity of that task. However, to Gabria and Sayyed, the effort was worth the chance if it would save a Hunnuli.

  "We'll try it,” Gabria said.

  Thank you, Sorceress. Then we wil gladly leave Afer in your care. The King Stallion lifted his head and neighed a call that rang to the hills and shook the stones of the temple. He lifted his massive body up high to paw the air in a salute of honor to the magic-wielders. The other Hunnuli reared also. Every human watching thril ed to see the majestic Hunnuli at the height of their pride and glory.

  As one, the black horses fol owed the king up out of the river and west toward their home in the mountains. The thunder of their passing faded away into the storm, but the wonder of their presence stayed with the clanspeople for many days to come. Nara, Eurus, and the colt neighed a long farewell.

  Gabria's fingers clenched her pantleg, and tears slipped out of the corners of her closed eyes. She could not see the Hunnuli leave, yet she felt the aching loss of their disappearance.

  Abruptly she shook her head to clear her mind. The pain shot through her eyes, and she gasped.

  "What is it?" Athlone asked, the worry plain in his words. "Are you truly blind?"

  Gabria tried to push the pain aside and smile. "For the moment. It should pass. Can you ride?"

  He looked up at her and was not reassured by her off-hand reply. He decided not to push her and merely answered her question. "Yes."

  "Then, come. Tam, Sayyed, you come too. We have to face the clans."

  The others obeyed. Athlone quickly understood what Gabria was trying to accomplish, and he helped Sayyed onto Nara's ba
ck with no further questions. He mounted Eurus, with some difficulty, and waited while Tam scrambled onto the colt. Afer hopped painfully over the short distance to stand between Eurus and Nara.

  "Priestess,” Gabria called. "Will you bring the mask?"

  The priestess of Amara went to find the death mask of Valorian. At the same time, the eight hostages stopped in front of the magic-wielders. Guthlac saluted his chieftain with respect; Lord Wortan stepped forward and blinked into the rain to look up at Gabria.

  "Thank you, Lady,” he said with sincerity. "Is it all right if we go?"

  She nodded in his direction.

  The eight clanspeople gratefully started out for the river. They walked at first, then their joy and relief broke loose and they ran through the muddy water to the far bank where the crowd of onlookers and their families welcomed them back with open arms.

  The priestess of Amara found the golden mask of Valorian lying on the stony ground of the temple, its handsome face still and lifeless. Her hands trembled as she picked up the heavy gold mask. She carried it to where the magic-wielders waited and stopped before Gabria.

  "Truly,” she said, her voice ringing with gladness and respect, "you are the blessed of Amara. Go now, Sorceress. The clans are waiting." The priestess raised the golden mask high above her head and began to sing a hymn of praise to the Mother Goddess. Her song reached out to the watching people on the riverbanks and stirred their hearts with a strange feeling of reassurance.

  The watching clanspeople did not understand exactly what had happened on the island. They had seen and heard many strange things, things both wonderful and horrifying. Now it seemed that Branth, or whatever he had been, was gone; there were four magic-wielders instead of one, all apparently alive and wel ; the entire Hunnuli herd had honored them before al the clans; the hostages were free; and a priestess of the Mother Goddess was offering her oblation of song to praise their deeds.

  The clanspeople did not know what to think. This spectacle of good and evil, courage and cruelty, honor and treachery was hardly what they had expected from magic. Magic was supposed to be entirely evil, corrupting, and heretical. Many people had been willing to accept. Gabria as an aberration. Yet here were three other magic-wielders, two men and a child, who had the same decency and courage and the willingness to lay down their lives for their companions and their people. That was not supposed to be the way of magic.

  Emotions were mixed as the four riders and the four Hunnuli waded across the river. The group came very slowly, for Nara and Eurus were supporting Afer between them as he hobbled painful y through the water, so the people had ample time to study the strange party. No one knew whether to cheer or throw stones at them.

  The crowd silently watched as the horses angled toward the cluster of chieftains gathered at the tip of the council grove. At the edge of the shore in front of the lords and warriors, the Hunnuli stopped.

  They stood before the wal of men, their fetlocks deep in the swirling brown water and their manes hanging limp with rain.

  There was an uncomfortable pause as the chieftains looked up at one of their own peers and at the woman who had captured the lightning. Quiet hung over the camps while the people waited and watched to see their lords' reactions. Thunder rumbled far to the east, the wind slowed to wayward gusts, and the heavy rain faltered to a drizzle.

  Gabria saw nothing of the gathering around her, but she sensed the tension and confusion as surely as if she could see the peoples' faces. She had hoped to influence the clan chief tains to change the laws against sorcery, but she had never thought to go so far.

  She heard the men shift reluctantly, then a voice said, "Welcome to the gathering, Lord Athlone. I did not get a chance see you earlier." It was Lord Hildor, the chieftain of the Wylfling.

  His pleasant words and genuine welcome broke the tense stand-off. The chiefs stood aside to allow room for the four Hunnuli to pass, and every lord came forward to voice his greetings to the magic-wielders. The crowds of people broke apart too, into talking and wondering groups that made no move to go back to their camps.

  With a sigh of relief, Lord Sha Umar came to Nara's side and helped Gabria dismount. Like the others, he wondered at her closed eyes, but he made no comment. He only put her hand on his arm and led her to the council tent. The others fol owed.

  Secen, Valar, and Keth had already arrived and were waiting at the tent. The three warriors saluted the magic-wielders with obvious pleasure and relief. Secen told Gabria that Piers was already at work with his healing stone.

  Athlone watched while his hearthguard raised his golden banner beside the other chiefs' flags above the tent. He had to swal ow hard to fight down the strange mix of relief, pride, and nervousness that rose within him.

  The battle with the gorthling was won, but the battle for the survival of sorcery would continue.

  Athlone and Gabria both knew the clanspeople were too stubborn and their beliefs were too ingrained to be wiped out in a short time. They might be grateful for the defeat of the gorthling, but they were not going to forget two hundred years of hatred and suspicion.

  At the entrance to the council tent, Lord Sha Umar, the chieftains' council leader for the year, raised his hand and shouted for attention. "Tomorrow, if Lord Koshyn and Lord Athlone are able to attend, we will begin the council of chieftains. My lords, we have a great deal to discuss this year.”

  A loud murmur of assent met his suggestion.

  He continued. "If all of you are willing, I would like to call a special meeting in the afternoon to learn more about sorcery. Lady Gabria, the Turic, and the girl, Tam, should be allowed to attend."

  The other chiefs readily agreed, and so it was decided. Gabria felt weak with relief. She curled her arm up around Nara's throat and pressed her face into the mare's warm cheek.

  She nearly jumped when someone said beside her, "Lady Gabria? Lord Koshyn asked me to find this and give it to you. He thought you would need it.”

  She felt a heavy leather bag being pressed into her hand. "He's awake?" she asked, feeling into the bag.

  "Only a short time ago. Healer Piers says he will be . . ." The Dangari warrior's voice faded away at the expression of disbelief and rueful dismay that settled on the sorceress's face.

  Gabria began to laugh. She did not need her vision to recognize the old, faded smel , the heavy leather binding, or the faint tingle of power that tickled her fingers from the ancient tome. Now, when she could use it the least, the Book of Matrah was in her hands.

  The chieftains recognized the book, too, and they stared at her apprehensively. That book had been the cause of strife and death. They wondered what Gabria would do with it.

  "Thank you,” the sorceress said gently to the warrior. "Would you please give this to Lord Sha Umar until the chiefs can decide what to do with it?"

  Sha Umar met Athlone's grin with a shrug and a chuckle of relief. He put the book under guard for safekeeping.

  *****

  Shortly after the Book of Matrah had been passed to Sha Umar, Gabria went to find Piers. She found the healer among the people stricken by the gorthling's arcane blow. He had just finished using the healing stone on the last victim and was talking to the overjoyed relatives when he saw Gabria. He took one look at her, bustled her off to his newly erected tent, and put her to bed.

  For that night, the next day, and the following night Gabria slumbered in a peaceful, recuperative rest that not even the uproar in the camps around her could disturb. When she woke in the afternoon of the second day, her first reaction was fear. The world was still completely dark. Her hands flew to her eyes and grabbed at a cloth bound around her head.

  "Easy. It's all right,” Pier's calm voice soothed her panic. His hands took hers and gently laid them aside. "I've bandaged your eyes for now to let them rest.”

  She drew a long breath and slowly relaxed. "Is it possible my eyes will heal?"

  "I really don't know if you will see again,” he told her sadly. "I've neve
r had any experience with this kind of blindness." Piers frowned. He did not like being so unsure about something so important. "I have examined your eyes and I can find no damage. We'll just have to wait."

  "I hear voices,” someone cal ed outside. "Is she awake?" Sayyed sauntered in, bringing in the smel s of sun, wind, and horses. He smiled at Piers, then strode over to Gabria's pallet. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to sleep through the whole gathering,” he said, sitting beside her.

  "Before you two talk all day, I have something for Gabria to drink." Piers handed her a cup. "Nara said it is for strength and healing."

  The sorceress sat up and raised the cup to her lips. She smiled. The cup was ful of the Hunnuli mare's rich, warm milk. Gabria drank every drop and felt her energy flooding back. "What has been happening?"

  With pleasure Sayyed and Piers told her everything that had occurred the past two and a half days.

  Sayyed immediately began with Afer, and with delight in his voice said, "No one expected my idea to work." He laughed. "They kept saying no horse would tolerate being slung by his bel y for days on end.

  They didn't take into account the intel igence of a Hunnuli. We have him supported in a special framework under the cottonwood trees. His leg is splinted, and Tam is spoiling him with treats and handpicked grass. He seems to be doing very well. Even your herdmasters are shaking their heads and saying the sling just might work."

  Gabria was delighted to hear that news. The men went on, telling her that Lord Koshyn and the clanspeople Piers had treated with the healing stone were doing well. The chieftains' council had met as planned, and Lord Athlone had explained the details of the gorthling's vicious nature to them all.

  "I don't think they ful y comprehended what we were fighting until Lord Athlone told them about the massacre of the Bahedin,” Sayyed told her. "When they came out of the council tent yesterday, every man among them was as white as the moon." He slapped his knee. "I wish you could have been in the camps last night. The tales of Branth, the gorthling, and our journey to Pra Desh spread from one end of the gathering to the other."