by S. A. Hunter
“It was a different bonding I craved. I always envied my older half-sister’s relationship with the Elanraigh. It is your other aunt I speak of, Dysanna. Have you heard of her? She was dead long before you were ever born and when I was just sixteen. I dreamed of being so loved by the Elanraigh. Everyone wondered that the Elanraigh would accept no new Salvai after Dysanna died. The Elanraigh mourned. As I grew I sensed the Elanraigh’s need. I persisted in my prayers and finally the Elanraigh accepted. Blessings be. It was a good arrangement, I felt useful and at peace here. Though I knew the Elanraigh grieved as the hostility between the Ttamarini and Allenholme continued.
“Then one day, years after Dysanna’s death, some Ttamarini came to Elankeep. Dysanna’s son, Teckcharin, proposed a ritual union between us.
“By the One Tree! A half-bred savage! He must have sensed how I despised him, and how I cursed his father for ruining Dysanna.
“He stood silent, while their witch-woman spoke at length about a union between his folk and mine, as if such a thing could be. My sister suffered because such an alliance would not be tolerated by our people. She and the Ttamarini offers of peace were rejected out of hand. Your great-grandfather, Leif ArNarone and the Allenholme Council declared Dysanna as dead.
“As we stood there facing one another, that surly boy and I, I asked the winds of the Elanraigh to come and destroy them for their presumption!
“When my anger had stilled enough for me to once again sense my beloved Elanraigh, I felt only that it was both wounded and displeased by my outburst.
“So strong was my wish to please the Elanraigh that almost, for a moment I could bow to what it envisioned. Then I imagined that manling touching me—my mind went to darkness. I could not.
“I felt as if I smothered, and I flung the Elanraigh my refusal. The Elanraigh could have demanded my life of me, and I would have given it, but I could not do this. I do not remember what my rage and fear drove me to say to the Ttamarini’s young chief.
“My women came and I was led away in their care. When I awoke the next day, the Ttamarini were gone.”
The ghostly Salvai trembled, and the thin hands came up to cover her face.
“That was almost twenty winters ago. I have tried my best. Though the Elanraigh and I were loyal to each other, I was never its beloved. Not like Dysanna was, not like you are. I am the withered seed,” whispered the frail voice. “Yours is the life force it waits for.”
Thera’s brow puckered slightly as she stroked the cool hand she held. She knew there were women like her aunt Keiris who would never be life sworn, or joined with another. However, instinctively, she knew this withholding of self was disastrous in a Salvai. She considered the way she had responded to Chamakin, and felt heat rising to her skin. Yet, what if the first time she had faced another’s desire had been the bestial Memteth on the ridge. How then? She shivered.
The Elanraigh gently nudged her attention; forest-mind’s will lay like a mentor’s hand on her shoulder. She knew what the dying Salvai needed to know, and was too proud to ask. “The Elanraigh welcomes you, aunt,” Thera sent, “as beloved sister. Be at peace. We shall all meet again at the One Tree.”
Wind gusted through the latticed window and shadows crowded along the wall.
Surprised, Thera heard the voice she knew as Teacher’s call softly, “Keiris.”
The vision of Keiris turned with her pale arms reaching and thin face transfigured.
“Dysanna!” Keiris cried in joyful recognition.
Chapter Twenty-Three
At last her aunt had the union she craved. The Elanraigh winds blew joyously in the chamber, tossing Thera’s hair and dancing the flames. Thera released her aunt’s cold hand. “Peace to you Salvai Keiris. May the One Tree guide and bless you.”
Wearily, Thera rose to her feet, stretched, and moved to close the shutters against the wind. Enough, she admonished, as the shutter pulled from her grasp. The winds wrapped her in a caress and then careened toward the darkness of the Elanraigh. The sudden silence pressed itself against her as she gently drew the coverlet over her aunt’s body.
* * * *
The Salvai’s women were waiting outside the chamber door, some wept softly.
“We heard the wind,” Mistress Rozalda explained.
Thera leaned against the wooden door frame, too tired to wonder. “She went to the Elanraigh. She’s with Teach– the Lady Dysanna now.”
“Blessings be,” was the women’s ragged response. Dama Ainise sobbed and with trembling fingers, pressed her gauze scarf to her lips.
The women clustered, as if irresolute, in front of Thera for a moment. One turned a raised brow inquiringly to the Healing Mistress. Rozalda shook her head, and with a brief gesture of her hand waved them on.
The ladies filed into her aunt’s chamber. Thera swayed, her bones felt liquid with weariness. The Healing Mistress placed a firm arm about her. “I will show you to a room where you can rest, Lady. We will take care of Lady Keiris now.”
* * * *
When Thera woke, she lay a moment, taking in the details of the room where she rested. The wood furniture was of simple design, gleaming with the hand-rubbed glow of a bride’s treasured heirloom. There was a bedstead, washstand, copper mirror, trunk, and desk. An intricately carved spinning-wheel chair stood in one corner. Thick, woolly sheepskin rugs lay scattered on the smooth planking of the floor. Someone must just have been in to replenish the fire against the morning chill, for though the flames snapped cheerfully, the air in the chamber was cool.
Thera inhaled deeply of the moist air, rich with forest scents, wafting through the one window. The chamber was homely and pleasing. All she remembered of it from last night was the bed’s welcoming softness.
Flinging back the cover, she rose briskly. A kettle of water was simmering by the fire. Thera ladled some of the warm, herb-scented water into a ceramic washbasin. Stripping off her outer garments, she lathered herself with the fragrant soap.
“Ssst,” Thera hissed at the pain. She lifted her hands from the stinging water and eyed the numerous cuts and abrasions.
A Lady is known by her hands, Nan would say. Thera paused, then plunged her hands back into the warm water. I will be their Salvai, and something more. Like Teacher, and like the Ttamarini’s Maiya. A lady, yes, but also a warrior and a wise woman. She sighed. Someday, with the blessings and help of the Elanraigh. The corners of Thera’s mouth lifted a little. She could almost feel Nan’s presence, like a warmth at her back. It was a good feeling. Abruptly she sluiced away the soap and dried with the fire-warmed towel.
A green gown, trimmed with amber at neck and cuff, had been laid out.
“Amber!” she murmured, reverently touching the beads, “Sacred gift of ancient trees.” Biting her lip, Thera smoothed her fingers over the gown’s material; a very fine wool, sliding like silk between her fingers. She held the gown against her, and then slipped it over her head. Raising her arms to lift her hair free, she twirled in front of the polished copper mirror. The gown clung to her breast and hips, its silky length brushing her ankles delicately. Her hair was wild, not braided or groomed as Nan would have had it.
Thera suddenly paused in her twirling; I’m someone else, someone exotic and beautiful. The woman in the mirror smiled seductively. What if Chamakin could see me now? Running her hands over her hips, she coyly turned, looking back over her shoulder at her hair hanging long and thick to the small of her back.
In the shining copper mirror, she saw her red tunic reflected, neatly folded, on top of the cedar chest. Someone must have retrieved the Elankeep troop’s packs from where they had dropped them. She walked over and touched the garment. She felt her eyes well, an intense rush of love and homesickness. Someone had also cleaned her kidskin shirt and pants. In addition, her boots were supple and shining again.
Thera stared. Through most of her life she had thoughtlessly accepted, just such kind of services, today she felt warmed by the quiet thoughtfulness of these unbid
den attentions.
With a small sigh, she pulled off the lovely gown, laying it aside. That elegance is for some other time and place. Instead, Thera slid the leather tunic over her head, and turned again to the mirror.
I am changed, she observed. Reflected in the polished copper sheet, her hair was still a dark, cloudy nimbus framing her face. My face, this piercing, direct gaze, which is different. Thera blinked. I’m thinner. She leaned forward, poking at her cheekbones. My eyes seem bigger somehow and more green than before. Well, perhaps that is because my skin is darkened from the sun. Thera touched her cheekbone again. Nan would have been scolding and applying goat milk to her skin in attempt to lighten it.
Her lips quirked ruefully. So, she thought, I’m no Cythian Beauty, that is certain. She fingered the upward sweep of her brows, like dark wings, rather than a fashionable arch. She watched her lips curve to a smile, a mouth too large to ever inspire Cythian songs of rosebud lips. “So. Well, it balances my chin.”
She tilted that chin slightly. Chamakin admired her and wanted her. She knew that. She remembered the feel of his fingers on her skin, and the way his breath had quickened when he had touched her.
With a shaky “Huhh” of dismissal, she made vigorous use of a hairbrush. The pain of the tangles and knots soon diminished the disturbing sensations her thoughts of Chamakin had aroused.
She worked her hair into a single braid and then swung open the chamber door. An Elankeep guard was on duty outside her chamber.
“Blessings.” Thera greeted her. She did not recall meeting this woman last night. “Where will I find the Sirra Alaine, or Mistress Rozalda?”
The guard limped as she turned; her face was swollen and blue with bruising. Her hairline was shaved back on the right side, exposing a sutured gash.
Thera’s eyes widened as she recognized her. This was the same woman whose Memteth attacker Thera had killed with the stone.
The guard nodded stiffly, and she spoke from one side of her swollen mouth, “The Elanraigh’s blessings on you, Lady. I will escort you to the dining hall. I believe the Sirra is still there with the Damas.”
“I thank you.” They turned to walk. “Swordswoman…?”
“I am Swordswoman Enid, Lady.” The guard’s gaze met Thera’s firmly, “My sword is in your service.” Thera nodded. The young swordswoman had uttered the ritual pledge with heartfelt warmth. The Swordswoman continued down the passageway. Thera followed Enid’s limping progress, her brows creased in thought. Father inspires just such looks from his soldiers, I have witnessed how his troops regard him. Thera felt a heat burning her face. These are my soldiers? If I am Salvai, it will be so.
At the foot of a steep and narrow stair they turned toward a wider hall. Swordswoman Enid stood to the side of the arched entrance and drawing a deep breath, announced, “Lady Thera ep Chadwyn Ned’ArNarone, Heir to Allenholme.”
Thera’s cheeks kept their glowing warmth as she entered the hall on the heels of such formality. She was further disconcerted to find the Sirra, Alba, and all but one of six Damas standing, to honor her rank.
Only one elder Dama remained seated. Her withered-apple cheeks puffed as her head swayed inquiringly to the women on either side of her.
“What be amiss now?” she demanded. She spoke with the loud, quavering voice of any deaf elder. The plump Dama standing beside her bent to whisper in the elder’s ear.
“Eh? There’s what? I have not finished my tea, Ella.”
At that moment, the elder Dama caught sight of Thera in the doorway, and clasped her hands in a childish gesture of delight. “Ah, ‘tis my Lady Dysanna come back. Blessings be!” The old Dama’s hand scrabbled on the table for her linen. She dabbed at the tears that quickly filled her eyes. Then her gaze became worried and confused. “How can this be now?”
Thera moved forward with a nod to Sirra Alaine and the company in general, and crouched by the elder Dama’s side.
“My name is Thera, Dama.” Thera patted the hand which clasped and clung to hers. The old woman’s bones felt thin under the loose skin.
“Lady Dysanna was my elder-aunt. I am the daughter of Lady Fideiya ep Chadwyn and Duke Leon ArNarone.”
The Dama’s pale blue eyes examined Thera’s features. When she finally met Thera’s smiling eyes, her own gaze seemed more lucid. She disengaged her hand from Thera’s light hold, and moved it to touch Thera’s face. Then the elder shot a look at Dama Ella, “I remember Fideiya,” she stated, “a winsome, dutiful, girl she was. This be her child?”
“Yes, Dama Byrtha, yes,” affirmed Ella. “Come now. Let me take you to your room for a nice rest.”
Byrtha snatched her arm away from Ella’s grasp. “I’ve yet to say to the girl.”
Dama Byrtha turned her shoulder on Ella’s long-suffering expression and leaned toward Thera, “I was Salvai Dysanna’s First Lady, a long time ago.” The old woman’s eyes were soft with tears again, “Elanraigh bless her sweet soul.” She grasped Thera’s hand and tugged Thera toward her, “Will you come and talk with me?”
“Of course I will,” replied Thera in the same conspiratorial tone.
The old woman sighed contentedly and patted Thera’s cheek. “They be always taking me off to my chamber, you know,” she said with a recriminating look around the table.
As Dama Ella assisted the elder woman from the dining hall, Thera turned to the others. “Please do be seated, all.” Thera eyed the chair at the head of the table that sister Rozalda indicated for her.
“It is your right by birth,” insisted Dama Ainise, “you are Lady Thera, daughter of Allenholme, and your lady mother is connected to the Royal House.” As Thera sat, the others resumed their places. Ainise beckoned to a slender, brown-eyed girl, who placed a bowl of hot tea and a small loaf and cheese in front of Thera.
“Is that all there is for Lady Thera, Egrit?” demanded Dama Ainise of the girl.
It was Rozalda who answered in her calm voice. “The cookhouse is as yet in disorder, Ainise, and we wish to give the injured some days of rest, then we may present meals more suitable.”
“The injured—of course. Very well, then.” Ainise nodded and dismissed the brown-eyed girl with a wave of her gauze linen. Her fine brows arched inquiringly as she surveyed Thera. “I had laid out a gown for you, Lady. Suitable for a Salvai’s own. I thought it would please you to change from your…riding clothes.”
Thera had just bitten heartily into the nutty loaf. Chewing and swallowing, she considered her response. She had no wish to offend her aunt Keiris’ former Lady companion.
Thera answered straightly, “I dress to be useful here.” She wiped her fingers, and laid her hands flat upon the table. “I am not accustomed to being idle.” Her glance crossed Sirra Alaine’s, who regarded her with some inscrutable, half-smiling expression.
“I am good with the horses, even our old Sirra at home has found no fault with the care I give them, and I am a fair fisher.” Thera did not miss the expression on Dama Ainise’s face. Feeling some rising annoyance, which soon dissolved into amusement, Thera observed that elegant Dama dabbing at her lips as if in distaste. By the One Tree! I’ll have all understand I am not a useless ornament.
She eyed these folk of Elankeep, her folk, should the Elanraigh proclaim her. Thera’s gaze rested a moment on the brown-eyed girl, Egrit, who had brought her tea. The girl smiled shyly. Thera smiled back. “I cannot cook, however.” She glanced to Sirra Alaine. “I hope that Sirra Alaine might allow me to study more of weaponry. I do not intend to be a soldier, but I would like to be stronger, and more skilled.” She smiled to the gathering, “I hope that, except when necessary on High Days, we may dispense with formalities at table and hall. I intend to be a student here—yours and the Elanraigh’s. I know I can learn so much, from all of you.” An amazed expression still flexed Dama Ainise’s delicate brows. Mistress Rozalda nodded attentively. Thera hurried on. “When I was at Allenholme, it was my particular wish to learn many such things, you see. My father could see
no harm in my learning more of the daily tasks of our folk. Indeed, he was proud of me for wanting to learn.” Thera’s chin lifted slightly.
She saw the Sirra Alaine exchange a satisfied look with the Healing Mistress.
Dama Ainise’s shapely fingernails tapped the table, “Really! Dear Lady Thera, you were a child then and it seems your father indulged you. Believe me, in the south, in Cythia, no gently reared young woman would …”
Rozalda placed her large square hand on Ainise’s arm, who turned an annoyed frown on the Healing Mistress, but subsided.
“Lady Thera,” said Rozalda, blandly ignoring Ainise’s annoyance, “we, here at Elankeep, will honor your desire for learning and appreciation of the life paths of others.”
Mistress Rozalda’s homely face glowed as she leaned toward Thera. “The Sirra Alaine has related to us what she knows of your gifts, Lady. It seems to me, the Elanraigh has declared its intention. You are the Elanraigh’s choice to be Salvai.”
“The Elanraigh knows what saplings grow in its shade,” intoned a small rosy Dama to Rozalda’s left.
“Blessings be,” murmured the Damas.
“Indeed,” replied Rozalda. She looked at Ainise, her hand lightly patting that lady’s arm, “and no one here will interfere with your chosen life path. Or the way you choose to serve, as Salvai of the forest.
Thera relaxed a little. She turned to Dama Ainise, with a smile that had won even Shamic over to many favored projects of hers. “It is also true, Dama, that I have never been to the King’s court in Bole, or to Cythia. It would be good for me to learn what I must of courtly manners, so I may be a credit to my people of the northern holding.”
Dama Ainise brightened immediately. Tipping her head, she observed, “You are a beautiful girl, my dear, and not in the ordinary way. And innately graceful, I have observed. It would be my pleasure to instruct you in courtly refinements becoming to a Lady.” Dama Ainise’s smile froze just a little as she glanced at Sirra Alaine, “When you are finished with your other pursuits, of course.”