Elanraigh - The Vow

by S. A. Hunter

  Thera glanced over to First Sword Alba. Although Sirra Alaine had adjured, then entreated her to remain behind with the wounded, Alba would not hear of it. Even now, her head swung belligerently at any voice, as if expecting a rescinding of the grudging consent. She hobbled about her horse and gear, muttering, “…think I was infirm, to hear them. Huh…”

  Alaine, coming to join Thera and Rozalda, said, “Better to have her along than trying to follow on her own. Hnnh. Stubborn.”

  “She’ll be fine, Sirra,” said Thera watching Alba hop-hobbling around her placid horse.

  “Aye.” Alaine slowly nodded. “So I think. Stubborn—always was.” Alaine swung onto her mount.

  Thera caught the glimmer of Alaine’s headband, the silver Sirra’s emblem glinting in the light of the wall torch as she moved. As a matter of fact, the entire troop wore their dress greens, kilts, and cloaks. The garments looked freshly fulled, and every piece of metal harness and gear gleamed.

  Sirra Alaine twisted back, observing the party; four hands of soldiers and Egrit to serve Thera, ten horses, and a string of five mules. Those that marched afoot were already underway.

  Thera embraced the Healing Mistress and quickly mounted. Mulberry danced sideways, snorting and blowing. Rozalda laughed. “Whatever possessed Duke Leon to give you such a flighty mount, Thera?”

  “Oh, but her blood lines are good. She is always restive at first; she’ll test me a little, and then settle in very well. She’s of good heart.”

  “Aye.” Rozalda looked at Thera a long moment. “Aye,” she repeated. “Elanraigh guard you, Salvai.”

  “I’ll send word as soon as we’re home, Rozalda.” Thera impulsively reached to grasp the Healing Mistress’s arm. “I will remember all your words to me.”

  Rozalda nodded, lips compressed. She stepped back, tucking her hands into her sleeves.

  Thera turned, waving energetically to the Damas clustered at the entrance to Elankeep’s hall.

  Hands rose in formal blessing, their voices small in the heavy fog, the Damas chorused their various farewells. Dama Brytha, though, her bent form supported by Dama Ella, blew Thera a kiss.

  How like her, Thera thought, feeling a tightness in her throat. Blessings on them. She dropped her arm to her side, and turned Mulberry to the gate.

  “Tcht-tcht,” heeling the mare to a trot, Thera rode forward to join Sirra Alaine.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  They rode single file from Elankeep, rising into weak sunlight past Bridal Veil Falls and eastward along the Spinfisher River. Looking back, Thera saw dark treetops spiking through the gauzy veils of fog.

  Thera heard a sudden arpeggio of clear notes. “Elanraigh.” She reined to a halt. Rising in her saddle she saw a trail through the heavy forest, wide enough for two abreast to ride. “Blessings be,” she sent warm thanks.

  “Sirra. There,” Thera pointed. Alaine hand signaled the troop and reined in beside Thera. The two of them waited as the entire troop, wide-eyed and silent, entered the tunnel-like opening through the giant trees. Thera continued to hear the Elanraigh’s singing until after she and Alaine had entered. Looking back, the saw the path obscuring behind them

  Their party made better time then, the horses’ legs brushing easily through moist fern and shining salal. Riding near Alaine and Alba, Thera told them about the people of Allenholme. “I hope you will come to regard them as I do,” she said finally, “and feel at home when there. Though Allenholme is not in the midst of the Elanraigh, it is on its very borders.”

  “Our place is at your side now, Lady. You have pledged to the Elanraigh, and we have pledged to you. It is one and the same.”

  Thera fell silent. Alaine observed Thera’s expression and lifted her brow inquiringly.

  Thera sighed. “All my life I have felt this bond with the Elanraigh, accepted the Elanraigh’s love which seems to be given me unconditionally—never yet has the Elanraigh demanded any pledge or vow from me. I wonder about it. I do not know how the choosing happens with other Salvai. What do tales tell of how it was when Lady Dysanna pledged to be Salvai?”

  Alaine’s chin dropped to her chest as she considered. “Hnnh. It would be better to ask the Healing Mistress such history. Or even Elder Dama Brytha.” Her eyes met Thera’s, “But it is my understanding that there is always a vow taken.”

  “Blessings be!” cried Alba suddenly.

  Thera and Alaine pulled up their horses—the troop fanning out behind them.

  “If the One Tree is to be found anywhere on this earth,” said Alba in hushed voice, as she gazed upward toward the distant tree canopy, “Surely this is where it will be.”

  Mulberry danced her feet nervously as Thera slid to the ground. “Hush now,” she murmured to the mare. Standing at Mulberry’s head, she gazed around her. It is a sight to set the soul singing, she thought.

  Here, far from the pearly mists of Bridal Veil Falls, the sunlight slanted through the evergreens like sheets of molten copper, illuminating the mossy trunks of the largest trees Thera had ever seen. Handing her reins to Alba, who took them silently, Thera walked forward. An eagle whistled high above her, but no mind-voice intruded. Even the singing of the small birds of the Elanraigh suddenly hushed.

  She approached the nearest forest giant. Its base was so wide that all of the troop, finger-tip to finger-tip, could not have spanned its width. The sitka’s huge base spread to grip the earth like the paw of some mythical beast.

  Thera’s breath quickened as she came close, reaching her hand to touch the ancient tree’s bark. Energy, like a shower of sparks leapt into her body. Thera gasped, caught in the tree’s powerful grip. Her breath came quick and shallow as visions began to flow; dappled sunlight, flowing swift as years passed in the single beat of her mighty heart; her roots delving the dark loam to grip the rocky bones of earth itself. Thera was dizzied by the spinning vision of eons of stars wheeling overhead. How many hundreds of years!

  “Ancient One, Blessings be,” Thera whispered her greeting. Never had she felt so small and insignificant. The sitka elemental’s mind-voice merged with the wind that moved through the branches so high above her head.

  “Thera, daughter of Allenholme, your vow will soon be demanded. It must be the true choice of your heart.”

  Thera felt tears rising. “Do you doubt my love?”

  Warmth and understanding enfolded her. “Child, you are our hope, but the vow must be made with full understanding. You must know your heart before you pledge it.”

  “I am ready now.” Thera felt tears on her face. “I will never choose other than to serve the Elanraigh.”

  “No. Soon.

  Thera folded down, leaning against the tree giant. It comforted her—yet, though it surrounded her with its love, it would not yet take her vow.

  Finally she felt a gentle nudge, “Continue your journey, you will be at Allenholme by dark. We guard your way.”

  Drawing a deep breath, Thera bid the sitka farewell. “I will prove my heart to you,” she promised. “I pray to do so.”

  As Thera walked back to the troop the forest sang—it was a paean of both joy and longing. She saw Alba freeze where she stood, one foot in the stirrup. The First Sword’s head tipped upward, her eyes squinting against the dancing, brilliant light. “Lady,” she murmured, “do you hear that?”

  “Yes, Alba. You can?”

  “Aye. Beautiful, yet…” Alba placed her hand over heart, her brow furrowing as she sought the words.

  “Piercing the heart like a spear of light,” Thera responded, remembering the words of an old folk ballad.

  “Aye,” Alba breathed.

  The troop crossed the grove; the forest closed like a curtain behind them.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Even Mulberry sensed that home was near. She tossed her head, continually trying to edge into a trot. Thera patted her neck. “Yes, you fractious child, we’re almost there. Blessing be. Perhaps the climb up Lorn a’Lea will settle you down.”

>   Alaine eyed the young pair and her lips pursed. “Aye, like mistress, like beast, I think. Eager to be home.” She smiled at Thera who laughed appreciatively. “Hnnh. We are close to Allenholme then, if this be Lorn a’Lea point?”

  “Yes. Almost home now.” She breathed deeply. “Do you smell the air?”

  “It is the same good, sweet air I have smelled all along, Salvai.” Thera lifted her brows expectantly, so Alaine shrugged and rose in her stirrups, taking several deep breaths. She sat back, meeting Thera’s look. “Perhaps a touch more of the salt water tang here, than at Elankeep. And something else—”

  “Yes,” Thera beamed, “cailia bloom and salt tang. Home.” She heeled Mulberry up the rising trail.

  Emerging into the clearing at the top of Lorn a’Lea, they were challenged, “Halt! Who travels in ArNarone domain?”

  Thera nearly blurted a happy greeting on hearing the familiar voice, but Sirra Alaine was already responding. “Lady Thera, Heir of Allenholme and Salvai to the Elanraigh, and her escort.”

  “Captain Lydia!” Thera couldn’t wait, she swung off Mulberry and tossing back the hood of her cloak ran forward. “I’ve come home.”

  “Blessing be,” choked Lydia, grasping Thera by the upper arms. “The Elanraigh has just granted your father’s dearest wish.” She took in Thera’s appearance, met Thera’s eyes with a small nod. “I see, Lady,” she said softly, “that you command your own now. These be the Elankeep soldiers by their gear.”

  Thera nodded, “Their service honors me. Captain Lydia, this is Sirra Alaine and First Sword Alba.”

  As Lydia returned the soldiers’ salutes, her glance over them was lively and interested. She jerked her chin over her shoulder, “We have a small watch-fire in the hollow, and some hot tea. It will be full dark soon. Do come and warm yourselves and then I will escort you in.”

  She called to one of the two figures silhouetted against the fire’s light, “Kirten! Come tend to these horses while our Lady Thera refreshes herself.”

  * * * *

  Captain Lydia joined Thera where she stood, hands wrapped around the warm mug of tea, watching sky and sea lit with the sun’s last fire. Lydia glanced at her, then spoke quietly, “It harrowed our souls to hear of the danger you’d passed through on the Coast Trail, Lady.” Thera glanced up, blinking at Lydia’s profile, mauve-shadowed against the dying light. “We sang the Lament for Innic, Jon, and your Nan.” Lydia, sighed, “We’ve sung the Lament too often. A great deal has happened while you have been at Elankeep, Lady. But,” she smiled at Thera, “that will be your father’s tale to tell first.”

  “Some of it I know, Lydia—from father’s letter.”

  Lydia laughed. “Aye. He doesn’t like the writing of them—though he was ever eager to receive yours, be sure.”

  Thera spoke into her tea mug before taking a small sip. “The Ttamarini—are they still here?”

  “Oh, aye.” Lydia glanced at her, then away. “We’ve all come to honor them as allies and friends. They stay to celebrate the victory over the Memteth. Your father has invited the Ttamarini Heir to remain as a guest, if he wishes. The Memteth are gone …”

  “Pardon?” asked Thera, feeling distracted.

  “The Memteth. Gone. No sign of them for days now. The Elanraigh speaks …?

  “The Elanraigh does not feel them anywhere near,” Thera murmured. Father invited Chamak to stay on?

  “Ah,” Lydia nodded. “That is good news. Lady Fideiya thought the Elanraigh might be sending you home. She said that the last two days an eagle has circled the keep, calling. Lady Fideiya said it made her feel you were somehow near. Eagles are good omen to our folk these days.”

  Thera and Lydia fell silent a moment. Captain Lydia watched the Elankeep soldiers as they talked among themselves. “They look like fine companions,” she remarked. Then she laughed, “I can’t wait to see Harle’s face!”

  “Horsemaster Harle?”

  “Aye. The only way he came finally to accept me was when he convinced himself I must be an exception, a freak of nature.” She shook her head and gestured at the Elankeep troop. “All these fine women soldiers will quite overset him.

  “Well. If you are ready, Lady, I will have the great pleasure of escorting you home.”

  * * * *

  Thera saw her father and mother standing with Captain Dougall and the Heart’s Own at the South Gate. Kirten had indeed hurried ahead with word of her arrival. Torchlight and shadows alternately washed over the Allenholme party in the chill night wind—her father’s red-gold hair, glitter of mail and jeweled badges, all swimming before her eyes.

  A small sob broke from her and Thera was off her horse and in her mother’s embrace—scent of sealily and calla. Her mother’s small, chilled fingers touched her face, tilting her head to the light. “Oh, my dear one,” she murmured.

  “Thera!” growled Leon, and her father’s arms surrounded them both.

  * * * *

  Morning sun burnished the copper bowls on Thera’s cedar chest and freshly picked blue hyacinth released their scent. Slowly, lovingly, Thera drank in the familiar sight of her own room. Yet, it was all somehow different now.

  Last night she had been bundled quickly toward her parents retiring room, her mother ordering refreshments brought. “My troop, father,” Thera had protested against her father’s propelling arm.

  “You are weary. Maxim will see to them.”

  “I am not that weary, sir. I will order them settled.”

  Leon paused, dropping his arm from her shoulder. He regarded her with approval. “Well, daughter, that is well spoken.”

  Thera turned. “Sirra Maxim, kindly escort Sirra Alaine and the soldiers of Elankeep to the east wing.” Thera glanced at her father. “I would have them quartered with the Heart’s Own, sir.” Leon nodded.

  Sirra Maxim and Sirra Alaine saluted. After conferring briefly, Alaine signaled the troop, and they followed Maxim toward the east wing.

  In her parents’ retiring room, tucked into a large chair and sipping mulled wine, Thera listened to her father tell the tale of events since she had been gone from Allenholme. As he told of the Memteth assault on the Cythian warship and the battle at Lorn a’Lea, Thera felt the strangeness of hearing the story told from such a different perspective than her own. His account of the bitter fight with the Memteth giant was told in a bright-eyed, vigorous tone of reminiscence. When he spoke of the eagle coming to his aid, he said, “It was as if the very spirit of the Elanraigh formed itself into that shape and fought at our side. I cannot explain it, or adequately describe it.”

  Thera mused, Well. That is close enough to the truth of it.

  Leon’s face darkened. “The Memteth have ravaged up and down our coast. Many good people have died—villagers and townsfolk alike. When I was a half-day’s ride to the north, engaged against a Memteth raid on Brachna village, a small party of raiders managed to set fire to our ships, right here at Allenholme. We lost half the fishing fleet before the flames were beaten.” Leon sat with chin resting on fist, staring at the crackling fire. Thera eyed the pulse throbbing at her father’s temple. She flinched as a blackened log tumbled to the hearthstones.

  Leon stirred, and continued, “Mika ep Narin ordered the burning ships cut loose,” Leon’s breath came harsh as he spoke. “There was nothing else he could do. No one could get near the raging inferno those vessels were by then.” Her father paused, breathing heavily, then continued. “Some youths—children, truth be said, sons and daughter of mariners—knowing what the ships meant to their fathers, defied their Guild Master and fought the flames. They perished, every one. Their fathers netted their charred remains from the sea.”

  Fideiya’s hands clenched on the needlework she held, her eyes starkly fixed on Leon. Seeing her stricken gaze, Leon sighed. He reached over, placing his hand on hers, “Surely the Elanraigh took those brave young souls straight to its heart.”

  Thera felt stunned. She knew so many of the young fisher folk. Bright face
s gathered in a dusty circle, playing spin crystal games. “Thera, I challenge you for the blue quartz!” And there was Thera, as begrimed as the rest, sitting in the dust, at least until Nan caught her. “Blues are worth two whites—let me see your bet, Adon.” The echoes of their shouts and laughter rang in Thera’s memory.

  Again patting Fideiya’s hand, Leon got up from his chair. He crouched before Thera, and reached his hand to touch her hair. “I am a soldier and I have seen death in many forms. It is a terrible thing for a parent to have to bury a child. Your mother and I give thanks that the Elanraigh has brought you safely home.” Planting a quick kiss on both their heads, Leon left the room.

  Blessings be, Thera agreed, that the troubles are at last truly over.

  Chapter Forty

  Thera leaned at her window, drinking in familiar sounds and smells. I have slept late—the sun is well above the tree line.

  High and distant, Eiryana whistled.

  “Blessings, dear one!” Thera sent.

  Eiryana’s mind-touch caressed Thera. “We have been waiting to greet you,” she chided.

  “We”?

  A wind stormed past her, “It is I, Therra!” It swirled chaotically through her chamber, tossing petals from the overblown flowers and fluttering loose the ties of her nightgown in a teasing fashion before exiting the chamber.

  “Sussara!” Thera laughed and retied her lacings, “Blessings of the day, Little Mischief.”

  “I’m going to help Eiryana Sky Weaver to fish this morning.”

  “Oh my,” sent Thera to Eiryana with a rueful smile.

  Eiryana’s mind-voice was warm with affection, “I have learned from my sky-sister to have a fondness for this little one.”

  Thera laughed her agreement and stood enjoying their rapport until Eiryana became focused on the waves below her.

  A melodious trill captured Thera’s attention from Eiryana’s fading presence. Peering over the window’s edge, Thera saw Tenatik, the Ttamarini horsemaster, seated cross-legged on the grass by the stable path. Placing a small reed flute to his lips he blew a low, murmurous sound, followed by a rapid glissando of notes.