by S. A. Hunter
With horrified fascination, Thera studied him; his teeth clenched, his face in a twisted grimace as he fought to survive. The slash her sea hawk had torn in his face ran from brow bone, past the corner of his eye, to his upper lip.
“It will be a very ugly scar. Could anyone be so tenacious of life!” She swirled closer. He grunted with effort as he kicked behind the log, his eyes steadily fixed on the rocky shore of the island.
Riptide might accomplish what she could not. He may never make shore. It must be enough.
Suddenly, Thera felt an extreme lethargy. So tired. Feeling frayed and thin, she wove slowly upward.
“Therrra! You must not sleep. Stay with usss, and we will take you home. Yesss?”
Her two elementals were worried and swirled around her, creating an eddy to keep her in one piece. She felt them buffeting her toward shore.
When she was once again above Shawl Bay, she saw her body just as she had left it lying on the beach and with the sighting, she experienced again the stunning force of rejoining with her own body.
Her physical pains quickly prodded her to consciousness. Wiping sand off her face, she flinched in pain. Her skin was afire with sunburn on the left side of her face, her lips were so dry and cracked. And oh, the thirst!
Thera moved her stiffened limbs, dragging herself upright. Startled crows fled squalling from their perches on the sitka remains. She swayed dizzily a moment. With her first deep breath, she gagged on the odors rising from the beach.
Nan, Innic and Jon, my dear friends, I do not have the strength just now to build you stone cairns to honor you as you deserve, but it will be done. Tears filled Thera’s burning eyes.
She must get into the shade and the protection of the Elanraigh. Nausea boiled up from her stomach and burned at the back of her throat; she fell to her knees and vomited. Her head pounded. Slowly she rose, and one foot in front of the other; her progress halting and meandering as a drunken soldier’s return to barracks.
As the trail steepened she was on all fours more often than not. The throbbing in her head worsened and her vision blurred. At the last part of the climb, she collapsed, pressing her aching forehead against the seeming coolness of the granite rock.
However, the Elanraigh would give her no rest. “Rise. You Must!” The Elanraigh sent her visions of her dark haven, the hemlock tree cave. The rivulet of cool green water that bathed the hemlock’s roots would soothe her forehead and burned cheeks. It was an irresistible argument. She rose and climbed the last few feet.
Sussara caressed her, twining about her like a cat. “Therraa! Tree cousin is home again, you are home again. Just a little farther.”
Thera remembered nothing more of her staggering progress until she became aware that the tree cave was before her, and with a groan of pleasure she slid forward, elbow deep in the fragrant humus, and buried herself in its darkness.
Chapter Seventeen
“Thera. Thera, wake up!”
Thera groaned and licked dry lips. “Unn.” Teacher’s voice was in her head. Head hurts.
“She’s slept too long, we must wake her!” Teacher’s voice was anxious.
“Did you not teach her the Bear’s Sleep?” rumbled the Elanraigh.
“No. How could I? I hadn’t time; she had just done the first joining. I kept telling you she was too young for all this. Look at her now, poor child. Help me to wake her.”
“We must teach her the Bear’s Sleep,” replied the Elanraigh.
* * * *
Between them, the Elanraigh entities prodded her awake.
Thera’s eyes felt swollen. She opened them just enough to see as she crawled from the tree cave and lay belly-down by the rivulet. Its sweet water was balm to her dry mouth and throat. With a small groan of relief she laid her face on the cool moss.
Thera returned to her tree cave and slept.
A wolf howling or perhaps she dreamt it. Perhaps it had howled a long time ago, and she just now remembered it. Thera slitted her eyes open. Her head felt clearer. Dappled light fell across the tree cave’s floor.
The air was alive with bird song. She heard bush robins, tree pipers, and waxwings, all mingled with the harsher counterpoint of crows and jays.
Thera came rigidly alert, a chill wave of alarm washing over her. She also recognized the distinct sound of booted footsteps and the creak of leather gear very near her tree.
Remaining absolutely still, her heart pounded as she reasoned, Surely no Memteth could penetrate the Elanraigh, certainly not without her receiving a warning. She sent a quick question to the Elanraigh and received no sense of alarm or an answer.
Thera crept cautiously from her cave and found herself facing the boiled-leather shin greaves of a soldier. Her startled upward glance quickly took in the green-brown dappled cloak with hood, worn over a layered leather breastplate and green kilt. The dappled cloak should have identified the person as a forester, except this person was heavily armed with sword and dagger, as well as bow. There were others, dressed as the first, and they came swiftly toward her.
A suntanned hand was extended down to assist her.
“My thanks,” Thera murmured. The soldier’s grip was warm and dry. With the swift movement to her feet, her vision suddenly darkened and dazzling sparks swam before her eyes.
She must have wavered or looked stricken, for there was a sudden furor of voices and she felt herself carried swiftly to where her hemlock’s rivulet joined a tiny creek. She was lowered to the ground and someone splashed her face and wrists with cold water.
Thera felt humiliated by her unexpected weakness and struggled to steady her vision. Though still blurry eyed, she could make out the several figures standing about her. Their postures and voices indicated concern for her well-being. Their accents, though different than hers, were of the coast. If these soldiers were not known to her, they were at least not hostile. Thera became aware she was supported against a soldier’s knee propped behind her back.
She straightened.
“Lady, are you injured?”
Thera could finally focus her sight and she examined the soldier’s features. A woman’s visage—tanned, scarred, and rough as bark. The eyes that returned her regard so steadily were the color of coppers.
“No.” Thera croaked, though she felt a feverish sort of sweat break out over her clammy skin.
The soldier nodded to one of her company and she was handed a water skin. “Drink. Not too much.”
The soldier made as if to hold the spout for her, but Thera took it, though her fingers shook, and drank gratefully.
She handed the water skin back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I thank you.”
Thera rose to her feet, this time with no ill effect. The company about her came to a loose attention. Their leader was a head taller than Thera, and Thera was tall for a woman of Allenholme. The soldier pushed back the hood of her cape, revealing grey-brown hair pulled back to a single thick braid. She wore a headband; its silver disk badge proclaimed her a Sirra, Master at Arms. Embossed on the badge was a cedar tree emblem. The workmanship was very fine.
“Lady, I am Sirra Alaine of Elankeep, and these others are of my command. We serve the Salvai.”
“Sirra,” Thera’s nod included the company. “I am Thera ep Chadwyn Ned’ArNarone.” Very little change of expression showed on Sirra Alaine’s face, but Thera read relief. “My party was on route to Elankeep, when we were set upon by Memteth. I…I alone survive.”
“We found your party, Lady Thera,” the Sirra’s lips compressed and a scar at the corner of her mouth paled, “and built a cairn above their remains.”
Thera dropped all formality, and clasped the Sirra’s rough hand in both of hers. “Blessings on you! I thank you all.” Her voice shook with emotion. Tears threatened to spill over and Thera felt ashamed to seem so weak in front of these soldier women. She withdrew her hands and wrapped her arms about herself, rocking slightly. With effort, she firmed her voice, “I was not able to build a cairn, and I th
ought I would have to give them to the fire. However, after I returned from the joining I was weary and sick. I don’t know how long I have lain here in the Elanraigh’s care. I have lost all account of the days.”
“‘Joining,’ Lady?”
“Yes.” Thera suddenly felt the time was right to reveal her gift. “It is my gift from the Elanraigh. The joining. You see, first I joined with the sea hawk, to pursue the Memteth who killed Nan, Innic and Jon, but the hawk was wounded by an arrow.” Thera paced a bit. “It was my fault she was wounded. When I saw the Memteth leader with Innic’s tobacco pouch on his belt, this terrible rage came over me.” Thera suddenly became aware she must seem to be gabbling. She felt her cheeks flame.
A sturdy woman at the Sirra’s shoulder, murmured something to her companion. The Sirra flicked her a quelling glance.
Thera saw the sturdy soldier appraise her. Her cheeks warmed under that scrutiny. She squared her shoulders and stopped pacing to face the Sirra. “I left the hawk on Dog Leg Island, where she could rest and mend, and set out again in disembodied form, like the wind,” she added, wondering if they understood her at all. “Of course I couldn’t have done it without the help of Sussara, a wind sprite, and the tree elemental. They saved my life more than once.” She clenched and moved her hand demonstratively, “We made a wave, the three of us, and sank the Memteth ship.” The clenched hand smacked her other palm.
The Elankeep troop shifted, and some exclamations were uttered, which the Sirra hushed with a wave of hand.
Thera continued. “I left my body lying on the beach, and when I returned to it, well, I think I suffered from heat stroke as well as the usual weariness I seem to experience after a joining. I don’t know how long I lay ill.”
Thera’s voice dwindled as she took in the varying expressions around her. Then she blinked. Though the Sirra’s face was as stolid as stone, Thera read a fierce exultation barely held in check.
“You speak the truth,” declared the Sirra. The sturdy soldier on the Sirra’s right eyed Thera in surprise.
Thera knit her brows at the tone of the Sirra’s assertion, “Do you have the gift of reading hearts then, Sirra Alaine?
“No, Lady, my gift is small compared to the gift of reading hearts, but from the day I swore to the Elanraigh that I would serve its Salvai, I have been able to feel truth when it is spoken.”
“That is a great gift, Sirra,” said Thera, regarding her in some surprise.
The corner of the Sirra’s mouth tipped upward. “Aye. Blessings be.”
The soldier to the Sirra’s right side grinned openly. She and the Sirra exchanged a speaking look.
“Lady, I suggest we make a night camp here and proceed at dawn to Elankeep.”
The Sirra hung on her heel apparently waiting for some sign from her. Thera nodded agreement. Sirra Alaine swung her gaze around the gathered troop, who, Thera now saw, were all women, quickly dispersing to duties.
The Sirra walked Thera back toward the more level ground at the hemlock tree. She gestured toward the sturdy soldier at her side, “Lady, this is First Sword, Alba NedArywn.” The swordswoman saluted Thera, hand to brow. Alba was a younger, shorter version of Sirra Alaine.
“We will have a fire, Elanraigh permitting, and some food…” the Sirra paused to appraise Thera’s appearance, “…you have the look, my Lady, of one who has marched overlong on short rations.”
Thera allowed them to cosset her. She leaned back against the hemlock, with a warm blanket between her buttocks and the damp ground, the ends wrapped over her legs. The Sirra’s troop had a camp quickly in order, with a small boulder-ringed fire pit dug, and a crock of stew with dumplings bubbling over the cheery flames. Someone handed her a steaming mug of herbal brew. Thera inhaled its fragrance with pleasure. The moist steam soothed her sunburned skin as much as its taste pleased her. The women spoke softly to each other. Their voices were homey and pleasing to her. Duties done, they came to gather about the fire. The sky had darkened to deep violet. Stars flickered between the waving branches of the evergreen trees. Nocturnal insects creaked in the bushes. The Elanraigh itself purred contentedly along her nerves.
Someone awakened her. “Lady, you should eat.”
Her stomach growled in true feral greed and she reached for the cup. She paused, aghast at the lapse in her manners, “I thank you!” said Thera, spoon poised before her lips.
“Indeed!” laughed the young woman who handed her the bowl. Her laughter was rich and warm, making Thera feel as if a friendly arm had been thrown over her shoulder. “You will find no dainty appetites, or formal manners, in this group, Lady. Blessings on you!”
Sirra Alaine hunkered down beside Thera. She was already mopping up gravy from her bowl with a heel of bread.
“I would hear your story from beginning to end, Lady, if you will tell me.”
Thera glanced round the faces, firelight reflected in their eyes and a hush came over them as they waited.
“Yes, Lady,” prompted the young woman who had given her dinner. “What weapons do the Memteth use?”
“I would know what it is like to fly as a hawk,” said another wistfully.
“I wish to hear if it’s true that Allenholme has made peace with the Ttamarini,” came the Sirra’s prosaic voice, “and whether they be all legend has them. So, let the Lady speak.”
Thera placed her empty bowl beside her and rested chin on bent knees. She decided to begin with the first joining in her mother’s garden…
* * * *
The moon had climbed far past the topmost branches before all but the watch took to their bedrolls.
Chapter Eighteen
“Sirra Alaine, how did you find me? Did the Elanraigh show you where I was?”
The Sirra continued to pace her troop single file along a forest track that twisted through the mossy rainforest. Alaine had told Thera that they had a two day journey ahead before they would reach the fortress of Elankeep.
Sirra Alaine shifted her shoulders. “The Elanraigh does not speak to us as it does to a Salvai, Lady. No.” She slanted a look to Thera, and then studied the ground as she walked in silence a moment. “The Salvai sensed something was amiss in the Elanraigh, and surmised it must be your party in trouble.”
Alaine’s brows lifted, “Hnnh. It was a grey wolf who led us to you.” She shook her head. “We felt strange and uneasy at his seeming to seek us. He showed himself soon after we set off to find you. We wondered if he might be half tame, perhaps the friend of some forester or hermit. However, though he shadowed us, he would not come close.
“We soon learned he had his own idea of the direction we should hold to. His howls would lift the very hairs on our heads if we moved other than the way he wished us to go. We felt finally that he must be sent by the Elanraigh.”
Grief, like wind across water, stirred the Sirra Alaine’s features. “We came upon your dead, yesterday, and feared you were lost or taken, Lady. But the wolf stayed near us as we gave your folk their death rites, though he would pace restlessly and then disappear from time to time. Immediately after we had sung the Lament, he appeared again to lead us to the tree cave where you lay.”
“Farnash.” murmured Thera, and her heart swelled with thanks.
* * * *
The pale sun shone through the cloud cover on the second day of their march. Thera had to push herself to continue. She had thought they would surely have taken a rest stop at that last small clearing, but the Sirra had pressed on. Her head was beginning to pound from the mugginess of the overcast day.
I am hot and tired. Nan would have noticed and cared, but Nan is gone. The corner of her mouth jerked down. So. So stop whining like a…a…what was it Shamic called the recruits’ complaints?...the squeals o’ the last suckled piglet!
Thera grinned at the memory. She began to hum an old marching tune that Captain Lydia had taught her. Her stride lengthened to match that of the Sirra’s ahead of her. Sirra Alaine’s brown, muscular legs worked steadily—ever sure-
footed, stepping easily over twisted roots and deadfalls. Thera admired her strength as she mentally tallied the weight the Sirra carried. A bulky pack as well as her sword, bow, quiver, and dagger.
Thera sighed and shook her head, “I thought I was strong enough to be a warrior. A boyish hoyden, Nan always called me.”
Her steps faltered as she remembered. Nan’s many sayings would be with her all her life. “Blessings be, Nan.”
Thera hoped Nan’s spirit would know she was remembered with love.
Swordswoman Alba, marching just behind Thera, must have heard her sigh. “Be you tired, Lady? We run a path worse than this daily, as part of our drill.”
Thera turned, and met Alba’s droll grin.
The Sirra responded without looking around, “You braggart, Alba,” she drawled, “and mightily do you complain about it daily, also.”
* * * *
“We should be at Elankeep before dusk,” said the Sirra after they’d marched long in silence. Her voice startled Thera out of a meditative calm induced by the rhythm of their march.
“We will rest here,” continued Sirra Alaine, slipping her pack from her shoulders and flexing them. “We have made better time than I thought we would.” She bestowed on Thera her almost-smile which was little more than a shimmer of light in the eyes.
Thera flushed. She was glad she had not held the troop back, though now that they halted, she could barely stand on legs suddenly wobbly as a loosely strung puppet’s.
Alba, wiping at the sheen of sweat on her brow, passed Thera a water skin. Damp tendrils of Alba’s dark hair corkscrewed around her face.
“The forest leans close today. I would you had the gift of calling breezes, Lady.”
Though Alba spoke in jest, Thera paused, water spout halfway to her mouth. But no, she decided, it would not be right to call on the elementals just for personal comfort.
After Thera finished drinking and returned the water skin to her, Alba sluiced her neck and poured the tepid water over her head.
“Cythian Hell!” she sputtered, “I’m going to peel off my skin an’ rest my bones in the coldest, deepest part of Elankeep’s springs…” Alba abruptly stopped speaking.