by S. A. Hunter
As they rose from the table, Thera turned toward the arched window. “Sirra Alaine. A moment, if you will.” The Sirra came to her side. “Do you have carrier birds here?” Thera asked wistfully.
The Sirra shook her head slowly. “The birds’ roosting pen was destroyed in the Memteth attack. Most all the birds escaped…,” her glance crossed Rozalda’s who nodded confirmation, “…and will return when the stench of smoke abates.”
“I must tell my father of the death of our folk at Shawl Bay. My mother may have sensed the Salvai Keiris’ passing. She will be distressed. They both need to know that I am safe here at Elankeep.”
Thera’s fingers were white as she clenched her hands together. “Elanraigh bless,” she sent, “I need to know how fares Allenholme, and the folk there.””
Sirra Alaine grunted a laugh at the others’ expressions when at that very moment a white carrier bird landed on the stone sill of the window, folded its wings, and stretched its iridescent neck toward Thera.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Lady Thera!”
Thera glanced over her shoulder. It was Rozalda who called. Thera rose and quickly swiped her hands clean. She had been inspecting the trampled vegetable garden with Eryn and Rhul, hoping to find Mulberry a carrot treat. Word had come from the stable that her mare had been found. “Aye, Lady,” Eryn had confirmed, “found her, sweet as you please, sauntering by Bridal Veil Falls.”
Rozalda, dressed for travel, waited at the keep’s main gate to speak with her. Thera picked her way through the rows of tubers. Her smile of greeting wavered as she saw swordswomen Lotta and Mieta exiting the gate with her aunt’s linen-wrapped body carried on the bough-woven bier between them. Lotta’s eyes looked bruised and weary, her expression grim.
Last night, at the sea cliff’s edge, the assembled women of Elankeep had gathered to sing the Lament. They sent their voices into the wind both for the Salvai, and for swordswoman Avra, Lotta’s closest companion, who had that day died of her wound.
To Thera’s mild surprise, it was shy Egrit who stepped forward to lead them in song. She called out the ritual greeting, “Elanraigh bless. Beneath its boughs may they rest. May their voices sing to us on the wind.”
The assembled women answered, “Blessings be.”
That done, they waited as the sun set, their lit torches roaring in the wind. The Lament would be sung when the evening star rose in the west.
Red clouds like wind-tossed plumes faded from the sky. In the deepening amethyst hue gleamed the first faint pulsing of the evening star. The winds lapsed and Thera felt a prickling of anticipation. Egrit lifted her voice. The girl sang the Lament in an ancient dialect, the notes rose like seabirds on the wind then descended, evoking the rich, dark depths of earth. The Elanraigh’s hymn vibrated along Thera’s bones. She felt forest-mind bending benevolent and close all that night.
* * * *
“Lady Thera!” Rozalda called again, startling Thera from her thoughts. The Healing Mistress smiled.
Thera quickened her pace. She had already been told that the Salvai’s body was to be carried into the forest. The Healing Mistress was in charge of the small funeral procession. Rozalda was cloaked and booted for her journey. Thera looked after the small, solemn group that had passed, carrying the bier northward.
“Where will you take her?” asked Thera.
“The Elanraigh will guide us to her resting place.” Rozalda craned her neck, trying to adjust the harness of her travel pack. “I know only that Keiris’ place of meditation was a tree cave somewhere above the little falls.”
Thera paused in the process of assisting the Healing Mistress in the settling of her pack harness.
“A tree cave?” repeated Thera.
“Yes.” Rozalda shot her a look from under her heavy brows, then turned her head to slip on the pack’s shoulder straps. “Every Salvai is guided to some special retreat in the forest, usually a tree cave. It is a place she can always go to when she feels the need to be alone. When the Salvai dies, the tree will take her in, and then will seal itself.”
Thera stared.
Rozalda studied her a moment, then lifted her gaze to the forest. “What greater comfort, I think, than to be laid to rest in the living forest’s heart.
“Well. You are to be Salvai now. All here will serve you well.”
Thera blushed, “Mistress, the Elanraigh has not yet proclaimed me Salvai.”
Rozalda was still a moment, “Well. Even if it awaits the proclaiming, it has shown us clearly that you are its Anointed.” She glanced behind her, her expression thoughtful. “I do not like to leave you with Elankeep in disorder and wounded still under care, but all seems well on the way to being mended and I should not be more than two days away. Sirra Alaine will best assist you in all things. I would have you feel confident to trust her judgment.
“Dama Ainise is the highest ranked of Keiris’ ladies, but she is not practical. I say this though I am fond of her, mind you. She has had many disappointments in her life.
“Her brother, you know, managed to ruin the family estates. He survives by attaching himself to those in a more elevated a sphere of influence. He communicates gossip regularly to Ainise, some of which is useful, and we in turn relay it to your father.
“Ah, I’ve surprised you,” she gave Thera a wry smile. “We do not spend all our days tending gardens and sheep. Our duty is to protect the Elanraigh, and knowledge of what goes on beyond the Elanraigh’s southern border is of importance in this task.”
Thera laughed and shook her head.
“Now,” continued Rozalda, “I see Egrit, in her own quiet way, has established herself as your attendant. Are you content with this?”
Thera was still bemused at Rozalda’s picture of the Elankeep attendants winnowing through Bole and Cythian court gossip. No wonder there was such a very large flock of carrier birds kept here.
“Oh yes.” She nodded in answer to Rozalda’s last question, her eyes dancing. Quiet and determined, Egrit had set about making herself indispensable. “Very much. Her ways suit me—she seems to anticipate all my wants as if that were her gift.”
Rozalda pursed her lips in a small smile, and nodded her understanding. “She is a good girl,” the Healing Mistress added, “I’d thought to apprentice her to healing, but she is like to be an excellent maid to you. She was always such a shy girl, but she is a wildcat where your needs are concerned.
“Hmm. Well.” She eyed the bearers who waited for her at the forest edge. “I’ll be on my way then.”
Rozalda waved her walking staff over her head, “Blessings be,” she called out. Answering cries and waves came from those on the tower and in the gardens.
Eryn and Rhul drifted up beside Thera, as did other Elankeep folk. They stood together, watching in silence as the small cortege entered the forest.
* * * *
Thera had just dropped her arm from its final wave, when Alba trotted over to her side.
“My Lady, Salvai Thera. Could you join us in the south field? There is a difficulty.”
Thera turned and walked at Alba’s quick pace past the keep’s east wall. Rhul and Eryn had silently fallen in behind them. Thera glanced sideways at Alba’s face. Her expression was stern and pensive, but not alarmed. As they crested the rolling ground of the south field, Thera could see a knot of guards from the keep standing at the forest edge. Past these trees would be Bridal Veil Falls. Thera looked in awe; the trees here were old giants.
As they neared the others, Alba spoke rapidly. “We knew from what the Elanraigh told you, that there be Memteth dead in there. We meant to cleanse the forest of them,” she gestured to a pile of dead wood ringed with stone, “but I sense something amiss. I am not sure enough of my sensing, Lady, and we do not wish to offend by entering here if we be not wanted.”
Thera knew immediately what it was Alba and the others had sensed. Old trees are slow to wrath, but the heaviness of the anger stirred against the Memteth still hung in th
e air. She directed her thoughts to the ancient trees.
“Old Ones, if you will, we come to remove the bodies of those who offended you and yours. We will send their dust home on the sea across which they came.”
“Child. We know you, and all who are our own. Seek what you wish.”
The forest-mind voices were somber, but not forbidding. Thera met Alba’s enquiring gaze with a brief nod, and the small group fell in behind Thera and Alba as they passed into the darkness of the ancient grove. Once again Thera experienced a sensation as if a curtain had fallen behind her, shutting out all sound. The green-tinted gloom was unrelieved by sunlight; the ancient trees were so closely grown. Their coarse bark was hung with grey moss, resembling the beards of ancient patriarchs.
There was heaviness to the air that Thera knew was not natural to the Elanraigh. She saw Alba wince and mutter an appeasement when her foot snapped a limb from an old deadfall. There was no sound of the waterfalls, but Thera felt the vibration in her feet and knew Alba angled that way. Then they found their first Memteth body.
Or, what was left of it. It could be known only by the body armor. Of flesh there was nothing remaining but piles of chalk-like dust. Alba dropped to one knee, her hand hesitated, and then she pinched a small amount of the grey dust between her fingers. Alba’s face was pale in the dim light of the forest as she looked up at Thera.
“No burning…” she whispered hoarsely, her brow furrowed, “…no matter how hot the fire, could reduce bone to this.” The fine dust floated from her fingers, coating the top of a small bulbous fungus.
Thera held Alba’s gaze, then turned to the others. “Quickly,” she whispered, “gather together Memteth gear that’s been left. The other bodies will be close by. We will not dally here or disturb the grove any further.”
Nine Memteth dead were found the same as the first. The Elankeep women collected armor and weapons, all that the ancient grove had not taken into itself, and assembled the unwieldy gear into manageable loads.
Thera was troubled. “Where would the Memteth ships be anchored?” she asked Alba.
“They be smashed upon the rocks by now, like as not,” replied Alba. “Why, Lady?”
“We could learn more about them.” Thera gestured to the dust under the trees. “Or find out where they come from, if they have maps as we do. I feel it could be important, Alba.”
Alba shifted her shoulders, glancing around her. “The only way to the falls, be through this grove, Lady.”
“Yes. You and I can carry on to the falls. It’s less intrusion on the grove that way. We will send the others back with this collection,” she gestured to the pile of armor and weapons. “Alba, we can be back at Elankeep by noon meal.” Thera smiled her brightest smile.
Alba frowned and shook her head. She bent to pick up a Memteth spear and hefted it appraisingly. “Well…” she drawled finally, baring her teeth in something not a smile, “let us be seeing, then.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The walk to the falls took longer than Thera or Alba had judged. At times, as they travelled past the ancient trees, Thera felt as if she were wading through knee-deep water, so oppressive was the mood of the grove. When they came out upon a rocky ledge above the falls, the roar of the plunging river burst upon their ears.
Standing bathed in the sunlit spray from the falls, Thera was cheered and exhilarated. She smiled at Alba, who grinned in return and saluted lightly, spear tip to helm.
Bridal Veil Falls dropped from a sheer, ten pike lengths height, down to a foaming, turbulent bowl. From there the Spinfisher River ran swift, but navigable, to the ocean.
Alba leaned close and shouted, “The old caravan bridge is around the next two bends.”
Thera nodded and shouted back, “Who built the bridge?”
Alba’s dark brows drew downward and she rubbed a blunt finger across her chin. “I have heard the Salvai Keiris say it be the Cythian Works Masters who built it, by King Erod’s order. That would be in your grandfather’s time. All of the caravan trail was built at the King’s command, in return for some service to do with the Ttamarini.”
Alba turned and walked westward along the rocky verge. The faint path they followed declined steeply. As they rounded the first bend, Alba puffed, “They will likely be moored around the next bend, Lady. The river widens greatly there. The beach is broad and accessible. We will be cautious—in case they left a guard to watch the boats.”
Thera compressed her lips, a slight crease between her brows. Surely this caution would not have been given to a member of the troop; it would not have been considered necessary. The knowledge caused her regret. Thera was surprised to find in herself a great desire to earn the respect of the Elankeep soldiers. Not the deference given due to bloodlines, or position. Something more like the respect her father had from his captains.
Ah, well. Respect must be earned.
They slowed their downhill pace. They were only two pike lengths above the water surface now. Concealed behind the rocks, they gazed down at the two Memteth ships. Thera felt a clenching in her gut as she observed the now familiar lines of a Memteth craft. These black sails were furled, and the decks appeared deserted. They were anchored bow and stern, but on one ship the stern line had broken and she had swung onto the rocks of the river’s shore. The raider ship listed, aground. There was no sign of life.
“Lady, let us not go aboard. Let us burn them. Here and now.” Alba spoke through clenched teeth.
Thera moistened her lips. There was something unsettling here, Thera could feel it too. She placed her hand on Alba’s shoulder and spoke with more confidence than she felt. “We shall burn them, swordswoman, after we have examined their contents.”
There was sweat sheen on Alba’s forehead. Her brown eyes squinted as she studied the scene below.
However, she only said, “I will go down first, then. I do not smell wood smoke, but there may be guards camped near the river’s edge.”
Quietly, Alba slipped away. Thera waited impatiently, her mind probing at her own sense of unease, to no effect. It is probably just a very natural repugnance at being close to anything Memteth, Thera thought.
Thera was just about to descend to the river of her own accord when she saw Alba’s helm appear below. The swordswoman moved further out on the boulder shore of the Spinfisher, and cupping her hands either side of her mouth, she whistled the unique call of a bush skree.
“Come forward,” Thera recognized the signal. “Blessings be.”
Alba waited for her in the shadow of a twisted tree growing out of the riverbank. They stood together a moment, observing. The river rush drowned out most sounds. Alba pointed to the rope ladders over the sides of both craft.
“Shallow here, no more than thigh deep,” she said. “They must all have waded ashore. No sign of Memteth left aboard, or on the shore.”
Thera and Alba waded toward the grounded Memteth boat. The water numbed Thera’s legs and sunlight dancing off the water’s surface dazzled her eyes. She lay her hand on the hull. Dead wood. Not like the ships of Allenholme folk—that wood sang with the strength and spirit of the Elanraigh.
Alba’s brown hand reached past Thera to clench the rope ladder. She straddled the top rail as she drew sword, her head swinging fore and aft. Finally she leaned over, nodding to Thera.
Large numbers of barrels covered the deck, lashed together in the bow and around the pilothouse. Thera saw piles of oily coiled ropes and rusty grappling hooks along the sides.
Alba was approaching the dark opening that led to the pilothouse and, presumably, crew quarters and below deck. She took a step backward.
“Pagh! What a stench!”
Thera, gasping, clapped a hand over her nose. She turned to go back outside, when she saw chests with distinctive markings upon them, piled in the pilothouse.
“Alba! Look, these chests are from South Bole.”
Alba ran her fingers over the markings. “Ahh. I fear they took the caravan, then, Lady. They
were a merry crew, the caravaners from South Bole. There was a brown-skinned man with dark, laughing eyes that I took a shine to last Verdimas. I had hoped to see him again. Well…may his gods look upon him.”
Alba turned. “So,” she said brusquely, “what have we here, Lady?”
Alba’s sorrow touched Thera, and she gazed one more moment at the First Sword. Alba’s glance at her was bright and hard.
Understanding, Thera turned and lifted the top from a large barrel. “Oh look!”
Gleaming Bole pottery and plate lay nested in straw. They sifted through the top layers.
Beautiful workmanship! “Why would Memteth bother with such as this?”
Alba shrugged. “For trade, perhaps, Lady. Who knows?”
“Who do Memteth trade with? None in this land know of them as anything but marauders.” Thera gently replaced the jewel-toned pieces. Was it possible that Memteth admired and coveted beautiful things for their own sake? It did not match her understanding of them.
Stacked beside the barrel were four small chests which held a fortune in spices. Thera recognized the stenciling on the stoneware jars. These spices were so costly that Thera’s mother kept them under lock and key, and they were used only on very special feast days. She sniffed experimentally. Hmm.
“Alba…” Alba was not beside her. “Alba?”
“Below.” The swordswoman’s voice was muffled and strange. “Do not venture down here, Lady. I’ll come up.”
Thera rose to her feet, staring at the stairwell where Alba had gone. Amber lamplight appeared on the wall and then a distorted darkness leapt within it. Thera reached for the spear Alba had left with her.
Alba emerged from the narrow door; her face pale and shining with sweat. With slow, deliberate care she placed the lantern on the chart bench by the pilot’s wheel. With a small groan, she leaned, stiff-armed, over the top of the pottery barrel. She sagged a moment, then her somber gaze met Thera’s concern.