“Finished,” Wolf shouted and Arabella stepped away from him. Wolf walked over to check on him, he breathed and would only suffer from a headache. She motioned at him and two men carried him away.
“After lunch, it will be your turn,” Wolf said, turning to Wynn. She gulped and nodded; her stomach tight with fear.
The lunch Wynn had eaten an hour ago sat like lead in her stomach. Hora had not kept his eyes off of her while they ate. He was intrigued primarily at the stark difference between her and his tribe’s women. Appearance wise they looked the same, but Wynn was sure she looked especially vulnerable. The tribeswoman all carried weapons and Wynn knew they knew how to use them. Wynn ate slowly, irritated that he was assessing her weaknesses. You have many to pick from, Wynn laughed morbidly to herself. Desperately Wynn ran through the simple forms of combat Arabella had taught her on their way through the forest, to block an attack and dodge a weapon, yet Wynn had still not mastered taking a weapon from an enemy and it felt decidedly foolish to go up against Wolf’s best trained fighters without the rudimentary skills of combat.
Yet it was happening, despite Wynn’s assurances she was not able. Wolf’s emotions were fluid like the wind and Wynn knew that Wolf heard her verbal and mental disputes, but Wolf had passed it off as humbleness. Wynn had no idea how she would last against a fighter and now as they made their way out to the fighting area and it seemed the whole tribe had stopped work to witness their fight; Wynn’s reputation of being the Foreseen was working against her now. She gulped fear down and stood to face her opponent. She held two daggers, one in each hand, as did Hora. His weapons looked like extensions of himself, whilst she looked like a clumsy child, experimenting with danger.
He bowed to her and she did likewise. Magic was forbidden, but she could not help the thoughts and emotions that radiated from him, it was her job to try and ignore them. This fight relied on gut instinct and she did not want to disappoint Arabella and Wolf by cheating. Hora threw a dagger in the air and caught it by its point. He is showing off, Wynn thought bitterly, taunting me. The lessons Arabella had taught her as they walked ran through her mind again, she might be able to disarm him, but they were not using sticks, they were using daggers. Wynn gritted her teeth in fear; the fact that she never did manage to take Arabella’s stick from her in their practises pressed upon her like an itch she could not scratch.
“Begin,” Wolf said. Wynn heard it blearily, she was focusing intently on Hora, on his movements, which way he was leaning, she was good at that. Her years at Oprend Manor had made it easy to read body language, when a man was joking, adjusting his weight for better balance and preparing to fight, when to leave them well alone and when was safe to speak. Hora was relaxed, his shoulders low and his limbs loose. He had not bothered to raise his hands in defence, or shift his weight in case Wynn reacted quickly. She knew she should be offended, but he was right not to fear her.
He smiled then, seeing her fear. Wynn clenched her teeth and moved closer to him, her daggers hard and cold in her grip. He did not move. Wynn moved closer still and wondered how to start; she was not angry and could not act on impulse. It did not matter, Hora moved then, so quickly she missed it and was close enough to touch her, he swung his arm and Wynn managed to step hesitantly back so that his blade just brushed her nose. She felt it slice like a line of fire, and felt the warm blood trickle down her face. She wanted to lift her finger to touch it, but Hora was slicing the air again and she did not want another wound. She ducked and stuck her foot out, hoping to trip him.
Hora stepped over it easily and smiled as his blade nicked at Wynn’s shoulder. More warm blood dribbled. Wynn could not win, she knew it but she took her advantage of being lower down and hit his hand with the heel of her palm, the move that had disarmed Arabella a few days ago. Hora’s hand opened unwillingly and his knife flew from his grasp. He scowled and increased his attack with his one dagger. He was furious and his hands and blade fast. Wynn succumbed to them, receiving cut after cut until she lost her balance and he forced her to the floor. He pressed his dagger to her throat and she looked up at him coldly.
“Done,” Wolf said. Wynn jumped, she had forgotten Wolf was there and the tribe. They were watching her, their emotions ambivalent, they crowded on her now she was free of the fight and she took a breath to steady herself. Hora lifted his dagger from her throat and offered his hand; Wynn took it, her lips tight. He bowed and motioned for the rest of the tribe to get back to work. Wynn felt his happiness as he walked away and felt herself blushing.
Wolf smiled, “You should not be embarrassed; you did well. I can help you with your combat. It is why I offered you and Arabella places with my tribe, combat is essential, and here we have the knowledge to train you. But of course Arabella is also skilled; together I am sure you will become fearsome.”
“Thank you,” Wynn said gratefully as Wolf motioned that she was excused. None commented on her defeat, at least aloud, the thoughts she heard were not complimentary but she had expected it. None dismissed her completely however, so there was hope at least for respect to grow. Wynn wished Wolf had never made the connection that she and Arabella were travelling in order to fulfil the Foreseeing. Was it so readily known or did Wolf piece the information together from rumours and hearsay? Anyone could make the connection if Wynn and Arabella were not careful. Wynn hoped that now they had entered the forest and would hopefully be in the protection of the Seminary soon, none would be able to follow them and remember the Foreseeing.
Why did Wolf accept Wynn’s defeat with good humour? Did the Foreseeing not demand a certain person to shoulder it? Why did no one doubt Wynn as much as she doubted herself? Her short comings were painfully obvious, her inability to defend herself or attack others without instead coming to harm; her malnourished frame and sickly exterior, her lack of confidence and grasp of magic. Lady Fate was playing a colossal joke and the Nations would pay for her twisted sense of humour. Wynn ran back to her tent to avoid the stares from Wolf’s people.
That night Wolf held a feast in Wynn and Arabella’s honour. A large bonfire was set and wild hares and roe cooked slowly over it, the smell of the meat wafted around the camp, along with the smell of fragrant burning wood. Wolf’s tribe chatted between themselves, eating and sharing spiced wine. The children of the tribe were in the tents asleep, there were not many, not that Wynn had seen. She hoped the celebrations would not wake them.
She listened to the sound of the fire cracking, the wind blowing through the trees and light-hearted laughter. The sound warmed Wynn’s heart far more than the fire ever could. Now that they were all at such close quarters, Wynn took the chance to inspect Wolf’s clothes. She was used to dark, dull colours, as these were the easiest to make. All of Woodstone’s clothes were made in the dye baths in town using a mix of three basic dyes, madder, weld and woad. Lord Oprend and his wife had clothes specially made, in brighter colours but even then Woodstone’s dye baths could never have provided anything like the clothes Wolf’s tribe wore. Their clothes were dyed with madder root, Buckthorn berries, logwood, woad and many other assortments of berries. It seemed that Wolf’s clothes were re-dyed until brightness and richness was achieved. Wynn felt very plain in her travelling clothes.
It was Wolf’s body art however that intrigued Wynn the most. The cropped top and skirt hid some of Wolf’s tattoos but there were plenty more to see. Along Wolf’s cheekbones were three thin swirling black lines of ivy, starting from the bridge of her nose and ending beside her ear. On her forehead three circles, each above the last, lined the centre of the forehead. The ivy then began from below her ear, worked its way down her neck, across her shoulders, down her arms – on her hands she wore thin fingerless gloves of deerskin, dyed black – but on her fingers more body art appeared in the shape of ivy. Then starting again from below her armpit, and sliding down her ribs and stopping at her hips, more of the black writhing pictures of ivy danced across her skin. Wynn guessed that the tattoos, like the ones on her face would
be completely identical on each side of her body. This theme extended down the side of her thigh, swirling down and around her ankle and finally stopping at her toe, where a small flower finished the design.
Wolf looked up then, having sensed she was being watched and saw Wynn inspecting her tattoos. She smiled to herself, got up and walked over to her, squeezing in next to her.
“Excuse me for staring,” Wynn spluttered, fearing she had offended Wolf.
Wolf laughed, “I am flattered by your staring; my body art is something sacred to me. Each new branch of ivy represents an obstacle overcome in my life. The three circles on my forehead represent the sun, moon and earth. I respect nature and it respects me. The ivy is a family tradition; ivy can survive through the harshest of weathers and is poisonous.”
Wynn nodded eagerly, insatiably interested in the body art. She questioned Wolf on the process and it seemed each tattoo could take weeks to complete using an awl, a pointed tool for making holes in wood or leather and rubbing either blue clay found deep within the ground, or collecting herbs and using the dye it exuded. The piercing of the skin would allow the dye to sink deep into the skin and the picture would take form. Wynn looked at Wolf’s intricate tattoos and wondered at the whole process.
The men of the tribe’s tattoos were lines scored one above another, starting from the side of their hand, just below their little finger. These tattoos, Wolf explained showed a battle won. Many men had one arm completely covered with lines, though few had both.
Wynn was glad that in the spirit of celebration her failure earlier in the day had been forgotten and she inwardly sighed with relief. No matter how harsh Wolf seemed, Wynn knew instinctively it was not to be cruel. It was to teach and mould. Wolf was the most interesting person Wynn had ever met and she was drawn to her like no one else she had ever known. With Wolf distracted, talking to others of her tribe, Wynn took the opportunity to question the man she was sitting next to, on Wolf’s hair. She had never seen a young woman with hair as silver as Wolf’s and it did not look like she had prematurely aged. The tribesman that Wynn asked smiled at Wynn’s question.
“Ah, that is a tale that our tribe is proud of. Wolf’s father was chief of the tribe and had been for thirty summers, his wife, her mother, after having seven stillborn babies was told by the tribe’s midwife that she would never be able to have children and she gave up hope of ever having a child and continuing the line. She feared her husband would find another woman to continue the line, but he loved her fiercely and refused to do so. They lived happily for a while and it seems that Lady Fate smiled upon the woman, for she became pregnant once more. Throughout the pregnancy she prayed to the moon to let the baby live. On the night she was due the sky was clear and a full moon shone down on the camp. The birth was troubled, Wolf’s mother was ill with a fever and all feared mother and baby would die.
“The midwife worked tirelessly to bring down the fever and deliver the baby safely. When Wolf was born she was set in a makeshift cot by the mouth of the tent. By then the stars and moon were shining and their light fell like liquid down onto the newborn baby. Under this gaze the baby’s hair and eyes turned silver as though the moon and stars were blessing it. Many believe this tale, although some argue that because Wolf is the only one of our tribe with magic that it was this that changed her appearance. Either way one cannot argue that she stands out in all the best ways.”
Wynn nodded, a tale of blessing from the stars was a beautiful but farfetched tale, and yet she had never seen hair and eyes such as Wolf’s. It really did seem as though starlight had been captured in them. Wynn felt even more in awe of the tribe’s leader.
“What happened to her mother and father?” Wynn wondered, having seen none lead the tribe other than Wolf.
The man’s face changed in a flash, “They were killed in an attack by the half breed creatures many years ago. Wolf was thrust into leadership at the tender age of twelve and has ruled us fairly for almost ten years.”
Wynn nodded, awestruck at Wolf’s strength. Tradition was important here and instead of passing leadership of the tribe onto someone older and more experienced they had followed the bloodline and given complete control over to a twelve year old. It was strange to Wynn but who was she to contradict such a tribe? But why did the Hybrids hunt them?
“How long have Hybrid creatures been attacking you?” Wynn asked the man, watching his expression and sensing his emotions carefully, so as not to upset him further.
His answer was instantaneous, “Ten years.”
Wynn nodded and turned her head away to gaze into the fire. The timeline of attacks mattered to her, but she could not understand why. Ten years, which meant the first invasion of Hybrids, had happened seven years after That Night. It clicked into place then, seven years after That Night the Gypsy clans had been decimated, it seemed the Manti tribe had suffered the same fate. Was it magical heritage that had doomed them? Aerona had been thorough in her eradication of magic, or at least, that had been her plan. Remnants of the old time still lived in Arabella and Wolf.
The sound of a drum being beaten woke Wynn from her thoughts and as more joined in a steady rhythm was created. Women of the tribe suddenly stood and began to sway in time with the beat. Wolf began to clap, Wynn and Arabella beside her copied, each drawn to the slow steady sound of the drum.
Arabella exuded happiness and Wynn knew her Gypsy roots were being awoken by the dancing and the tribe. Wolf turned to her and nodded and Arabella stood up and joined in with the dance. Her bare feet stamped the soft earth and her hips and belly moved fluidly around. Wynn felt a burst of pride in her heart and could barely contain the happiness. Despite everything Arabella could still find happiness in dancing. The tribe was full of only one feeling, happiness, and Wynn found her eyes prickling with the emotion, magnified so many times for her, her face was fixed with a smile and she clapped all the harder.
Wolf turned to Wynn and motioned for her to dance but Wynn shook her head furiously, “I cannot dance, and the women who dance now are so beautiful.”
“Then you shall sing,” Wolf insisted and would not hear any arguments, “even if you cannot sing the flow of the beat and the beauty of our home should inspire you. We will not judge for tonight is about nothing but happiness and freedom.”
Wynn’s stomach knotted for Wolf did not know she could sing, sing so powerfully that fear was banished and the darkness was subdued. She stood shakily up and let the beat of the drums lull her and the sound of the men clapping envelop her. No song she had ever learnt fit in with the happy and respectful beat and so she sent her senses out and felt all the animals around them, the peacefulness of the forest, the never ending spirit of the land, and slowly a song formed in her heart. She took a breath and began.
“Sing for the morning,
Sing for the night,
Dance under the stars
Feel the touch of moonlight.
Earth ‘neath your bare feet
Arms open wide,
Feel the steady drum beat,
Dance all night.
Moon washing down me
Staining my glad soul
Stars humming gladly
In this moment I am whole
So dance to the drum beat
Dance all night
Darkness cannot move me
The light shines brightest from me
When the earth is ‘neath my feet.”
Wolf sat beside Wynn, gazing up at her, her mouth open in surprise. The drum beat had silenced and the dancers stood still. Even Arabella froze, for she had never heard Wynn sing and it had been such a beautiful song. Every single person of the tribe had been affected and touched in a way they had never experienced before by the beauty and peace of Wynn’s voice. It had trounced all self doubt, and lifted their spirits.
“You did not mention you could sing,” Wolf said quietly, too stunned still to do more than whisper. Wynn sat quickly down, her face reddening under the gaze of the tribe. The rag
ing fire hid her from some of the tribe and she hung her head slightly in embarrassment.
“I did not think it important,” Wynn whispered back. Wolf suddenly laughed and clapped her on the back.
“You are really quite something!” She almost bellowed and the tribe began to clap in appreciation for the owner of the angelic voice. Wolf motioned to the drummers and the beat began again, and Wolf now stood and began to dance, all trouble gone from her serious expression. She held her hand out to Wynn and pulled her up into the twirling dance, and encouraged by their leader the rest of the tribe joined in. So they danced until dawn, twirling and leaping and moving their arms like snakes until the last embers of the great fire burnt out, till the face of the morning sun was visible over the horizon, until all the drummers could beat no more and the ground beneath them had flattened under the pressure of their soles
.
***
Wynn watched Arabella fight with the men and women of the tribe for the next few days, never offering or being invited to join in. She knew she should be offended but she could only muster relief that she did not need to embarrass herself again so publically. Arabella was wonderful to watch, she won all of the bouts and earned a formidable reputation, and it was easy for Wynn to forget herself when she stared at Arabella’s dancelike movements. Wynn watched Arabella’s skill grow too; she became quicker and more fluid under the watchful eye of the tribe. If Arabella was deadly before then Wynn was sure now she had become more animal than human, like a viper or panther; graceful and completely vicious.
How could she ever hope to match Arabella’s skill? Her limbs felt like a dead weight and she just could not force herself to attack with such determination. Fighting came naturally to Arabella but there was no doubt she had worked hard to achieve the amazing level of strength, speed and skill. Wynn could hardly envy her when it was not something she had been handed to her, years of hard work had moulded Arabella. Maybe it was why she was so respected; no one admired someone who did not work for their achievements. Yet Wynn was jealous of Arabella, not for her abilities but for the respect they had earned from the tribe. The tribe had treated Wynn with newfound admiration after the feast, but it was respect for her voice and not her abilities of the Foreseen. Not that she had expected praise for nothing, but still it rankled to see Arabella excel.
Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing) Page 33