Shadows of Aggar (Amazons of Aggar)

by Chris Anne Wolfe

  And what of her own hopes? Gifted with Sight, Elana could seldom keep secrets from herself; the Sight presented the depths of her own amarin more clearly than any other’s. Aching, Elana feared that she had lost any chance of touching… of sharing the closeness of their bodies. Of loving her, she admitted silently, and she closed her eyes as the tears scalded her browned cheeks. All those nights of watching Di’nay move, seeing her laugh — ride… all that time of waiting, seeking patience against impatient excitement… poised so tightly for her coming. So sweet and so long in coming, and the denial hurt so now.

  The wind blew chilly against her face, and Elana rebelliously rubbed her cheeks dry, taking herself in hand. But she resisted the temptation to open her eyes just yet. The Amazon did not need the added pressures of knowing exactly how she felt; if she opened her eyes now, every living creature for a league would know it.

  Slowly Elana drew in the evening air and began to concentrate. Beneath the suede cloth on her knees she could feel the rich dampness of the earth and the faint warmth of flowing amarin. The sapling branch in her hand whispered of a still tangible strength. Outward, her reach ebbed through the close-cropped stems that had known the blunted teeth of too many horses… through the briar and brush near the clearing’s edge. Purposefully she skirted around the shelter and horse to the bubbling creek beyond and then finally into the towering heights of the trees… those silver, smooth-barked giants of such aged strength. Elana stretched her awareness to meet the brooding, massive stance of the ageless Mother and her children. The calm depths of the trees rushed back along the living lines, flooding her being with their strength. Somehow the emotional fuss of her humanness could always be tamed when entwined with the sheer force and sheer beauty of the living cycles.

  Her blue eyes fluttered open. Abruptly she was aware of the horse dozing behind her and of Di’nay standing within arm’s reach at her back.

  “I’m all right,” Elana said softly, breaking the evening’s subtle whispering with reluctance. She did not have to turn around to feel the indecision and concern with which Di’nay was struggling.

  “You have been still for a very long time,” Diana ventured cautiously.

  Elana looked down to find the branch still in her hand. She tossed it away, saying, “I’ve been talking to the trees.”

  Diana did not try to understand that remark. Slowly she stepped around to squat low beside Elana’s kneeling figure. “Would you like to talk?”

  “I don’t need to,” Elana reassured her truthfully. Then impulsively she opened her palms to the woman. Without hesitation the Amazon placed her hands atop the smaller ones and returned the strength of the grip.

  “I beg your patience for the Council,” Elana said in earnest, gazing across the beautifully strong face before her. “I fear they’ve made life very difficult for you, Di’nay.”

  “No less for you,” Diana returned quietly.

  “Perhaps,” Elana forced a smile, “but it was by my own choosing. You were somewhat more cajoled by the Fates, I think.”

  “Let us call a truce? Agree to disagree. Tolerance for our… contrived circumstances?”

  Hesitantly Elana nodded, her tongue moistening her lips before she took courage to rush on. “And if I am too forward, you will tell me? Yes? I don’t wish to create discomfort — or regret. I do not know your ways as well as the Council would have you believe. It is Aggar I understand. But I would like to understand… to know you. If I tread off the proper path, you must tell me, please?”

  “I will tell you,” Diana assured her, growing solemn in response to the urgency and plea in her companion. Then she breathed, “In return for an answer.”

  The tension that flowed between them warned Elana to be cautious. She nodded, uncertainly.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  Her nervous qualms vanished. She smiled but managed not to laugh. “No. How could you think such a thing?”

  Diana studied her mutely. It was so difficult to tell without meeting her gaze in the evening’s dimness.

  “What have I done that you suspect I fear you, Di’nay?” Elana questioned more seriously.

  “There are times, when you seem afraid that I will strike you.”

  “But I am not.” Elana frowned. “When do I look that way?”

  “Our first night together in the Keep — when I handed you the dagger at the hearth. And this evening, when you left me at the shelter.”

  Her dark head shook somberly. She lifted Di’nay’s hands, curling them in her clasp and she stared at the slender strength in their lines. Again her head shook. “No, Di’nay. You would not strike me. This I know. When you have seen me ‘afraid’ as you say, I am not frightened as much as I am concentrating — attempting to separate myself from your amarin. When you become abruptly angry, it is difficult for me… not from fear, but… your amarin are very powerful and it is those that I must deal with.”

  “Are you that way whenever anyone is angered?”

  Elana smiled then. “Oh no. I would go mad, I think, if that were so. It is just that I am more sensitive to some persons than to others. And then, the lifestone magnifies sensitivity to you.”

  “It’s a wonder that you don’t lose your mind.” It was staggering to realize just how many levels and sorts of feelings this woman could be forced to juggle inside a normal day.

  “I do not,” she assured Diana, calmly. “Sometimes it requires more concentration not to be eclipsed, that’s all.”

  “What happens when we’re — if we’re forced into a sword fight?”

  “That is entirely different,” Elana said quickly. “My attention won’t be centered on you, and my defenses will be as intact as usual. But when we are alone — I don’t know how to explain it. I am open to you… overly aware perhaps? It becomes easier as I come to know you. It is already easier than the first night I — ” Elana bit off the end of the sentence. She was not prepared to disclose that the first restless evening had not been during Diana’s brief stay at the Keep. “But no, I am not afraid of you.”

  This was not all of it, Diana knew, yet there was no reason why Elana should share her life’s story. Diana found herself amused then, realizing she did want to know everything there was to know about Elana and her life before they’d met.

  “There is something else?” Elana pressed softly.

  Diana shook her head, unwilling to voice that particular desire. Instead she asked, “Could you explain about talking to the trees?”

  Elana felt the strength of the neighboring silverpines and soil reach out to embrace them both. Gently she released Di’nay’s grasp and took the Amazon’s face in her hands.

  Diana felt Elana’s pale gaze more than she actually saw it in the moon’s light, but she found herself growing very still. Slowly the sparkling depths… like falling into the shimmering facets of a blue gem… absorbed her. Light grew amidst the swirling scents of pine and wood and leaf… the length of her body relaxed — the dampness of the earth crept into an all-consuming awareness. The touch of silver-rooted tendrils steadied her pounding heart. The stir of the topmost needled wisps calmed the rushing flow of her thoughts, and the power of the immortal, cycling life of tree and soil and Goddess engulfed her.

  Diana blinked and, vision still blurred, saw a low, slanted roof above her. The smell of hard ridden leather touched her nostrils and she placed herself — the shelter. She was warm beneath the thermal blanket, her boots off. And Elana?

  “Here,” a soft voice murmured from somewhere beyond her head and outside. A moment later the woman crawled in, stripped to the soft, black undergarments. She was almost invisible as the moons’ light was dimmed by the wooden slats.

  “Is your tea good cold?”

  Diana nodded, realizing her throat was parched. She half-sat and took the offered drink. It was delightfully fresh, and her mind drew images of frothing streams dancing over the roots of a willow.

  “Is that a tree you know at home?“ Elana queried almost t
oo softly to hear.

  “Yes.” She returned the cup and sank down again. “What did you do to me?”

  There was only curiosity in the question, and stretching out beneath the blanket beside her, Elana said, “I showed you how to talk to the trees… through me. You began telling them about home, I think. Or perhaps they were merely talking to you in ways that fit your mind’s own pictures? I will have to be careful with you, Di’nay. I did not think you were so easily ensnared by the non-scientific. You did not want to leave them.”

  Diana could almost hear the laughter the other suppressed and she grinned. “My Sisters are often disagreeing there. We of n’Athena are supposed to be too technically minded, especially after working offworld.”

  “N’Athena? That is your mother’s name, yes?”

  “My mother’s House — and mine.”

  “Do you hurt anywhere?” Elana stroked the soft hair from the woman’s brow. “Your head, does it ache?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Good. Then you must tell your Sisters that they are wrong. At least about you.”

  “It was… nice.” The words seemed so trite when she voiced them. Not at all the right ones. “I thank you for — sharing that with me. It was… peaceful,” she fumbled. There simply were no words.

  “Nourishing,” Elana supplied, still speaking very low. “I am pleased that you liked it.”

  “It was — beautiful. Do you do that often?”

  Elana breathed, feeling that poignant sweetness even here from the rough walls of the shelter. “It is less a matter of doing. Every piece of wood I touch or blade of grass I bend sends me a piece of this. Always I can draw from its strength. There are times, however, when I chose to do nothing else.”

  “Can all of Aggar do that? Or only you of the Blue Sight?”

  “Only those with the Sight.” Elana traced a finger in an unseen pattern on the blanket before she said, “Not all of us are so strongly connected, I am told. But — ”

  Diana reached out a hand to find the softness of her face. “But?”

  Elana drew her chin away from the tender touch and clasped Di’nay’s hand in her own. “Sometimes it feels like I am isolated because of these eyes. But then, it seems that to live so alone, never — or rarely — touching this flowing strength of life… that seems perhaps to be more lonely and desolate than any imposed social distance could ever be.”

  To know your place in the universe, Diana thought, nodding slowly.

  “Now — you must sleep, Di’nay,” Elana ordered solemnly. “We have far to go tomorrow.”

  “Agreed,” Diana said as she shifted into a more comfortable position. Sleep would feel good; she did not begrudge it. But the calm Elana had shared with her had done more than any number of night’s slumber. Beneath that caressing ebb of life, she found some of her cynical fatigue fading. With a warm sense of belonging, she slipped into dreams of home.

  † † †

  Chapter Twelve

  The sun had become a white, heatless glare as the noon hour approached, and the woman stepped gratefully clear of the sweltering kitchen into the outdoors. For a moment she stood shading her eyes, unaccustomed to the brightness after the dim interiors. Her face was rounded and dark, glistening with sweat from the morning’s baking and exertion. A late autumn breeze arrived in a gusty puff, swirling the dry leaves, but winter was still a ways off and the leaf dancers soon skittered back to the ground.

  The woman smiled with satisfaction at the line of mill and yard that stretched outwards from the stone buildings. Her small garden had yielded well with vegetables and a few fruits. Now the soil was dark and rich, turned and fertilized, already blanketed for the winter. Her husband’s field beyond had been harvested too; the sturdy bunt grain had long since been separated and ground at their mill. It had been a good season not only for them, but for the entire district. For a time, they had even taken on extra hands to work the mill. Today, however, the stone hut was shuttered; it too was ready for winter.

  A gray eagle cried and the woman looked skyward. The creature soared and dipped and was lost in the dark silverpines of the foothills. Two rather chubby, pale ponies munched contentedly on the husks in the emptied field, and she chuckled. The animals undoubtedly felt quite accomplished at their escape from the mill’s corral, but they were doing no harm and saving feed besides, so she let them be. She gave a sigh of pleasure and lifted her apron to wipe her brow, but the white flour encrusted there stopped her. The child she carried often resulted in more flour settling across her protruding waist than across the kneading board. Cheerfully reminded of her charge, the woman shook out her apron and brushed dark, bound hair back with a sleeve. Her hands were still sticky from the last batch of breads.

  With a hand to sturdy her aching back, she took up the wooden pail and went to the well. Its roof had been newly thatched and gave a sweet smell of damp and dry straw, and it was cool there in the shade with the dampness rising from the waters. An almost disbelieving smile came to her as she attached the bucket and cranked it below. It was still very hard to believe she was here — part of this.

  “Maryl!”

  She glanced over her shoulder without a pause in the cranking. The husky young man that ran from the kitchen reminded her of an excited colt. His face was clean-shaven and easily kept so, and his black, straight hair was freeing itself from the thong at the back of his neck. She caught her breath again at the sight of him. It was clear that she was his senior by at least the eight seasons that actually separated them, but the devotion in his handsome, boyish face assured Maryl of a different sort of youth.

  “Yes, Bowgyn?”

  “I’ve done it! Settled! This very hour in fact.”

  “The arrangement with the commons?”

  With a massive hug from behind, he wrapped himself about her voluptuous curves, half-lifting her from the ground. “On the next morrow we begin delivery. Two weight of the seasoned loaves and half again of the dumpling bits!”

  “And the price?”

  Bowgyn stood before her proudly. “I held exactly to what we spoke on.”

  “And he took it?”

  “Aye!” He held his arms wide, saying, “Just as you knew he would!”

  “Oh Bowgyn!” Maryl laughed and collapsed gleefully into his embrace. “I knew ye wou’ do et! I knew — ”

  “Ah… careful,” he whispered wickedly into her ear, “your accent is slipping.”

  She forced a laugh and hugged him quickly, “We Southerners are allowed our moments too.”

  Bowgyn’s teasing gentled, and he placed a tender kiss to his wife’s mouth. “Your past does not concern me. Our home, our child — does.”

  Maryl blinked back her tears and pushed her young ruffian aside. “But I am proud of you, Bowgyn. So very proud. You’ve done so well.”

  “I have, haven’t I?” He brightened even more, if that was possible. He bounded to the well side, still talking as she went to wind the bucket up. “You know what this means, do you not, Maryl? We’ll be able to keep the extra kitchen help.”

  “And the housegirl?” she asked anxiously. With the child coming she was poignantly aware of the work that needed to be done at the public tables as well as in their own house.

  “She’s yours, her time bought and papered! It was the only place I stopped at on my way ’cross city.”

  “Not rented?” Maryl breathed in amazement. It had never occurred to her that their home would come before the business.

  “You do not mind?” Bowgyn leaned across the well suddenly. The awful thought struck him. “You did not want another? She works hard enough, yes? She minds manners and all?”

  “It’s a beautiful gift!” Maryl cried, shaking her head, and the bucket sloshed onto the stone ledge. “There’s not a thing wrong with her. Not a thing!”

  He rounded the well and awkwardly put his arms around her. “Maryl, you’re cryin’?”

  “I’m pregnant, foolish boy!” she wailed and slapped him
across the chest. “I’m allowed to cry when I’m expecting.”

  Bowgyn grinned and kissed her. “Then I wish you years of tears, pretty wife.”

  She choked on her laughter and pulled out of his hold. “Don’t you have duties in the bakery, Tad? The books haven’t been tended since the milling stopped.”

  “Such a scolding.” He laughed and kissed her again. “Then I’m to be a good lad!” And with a backward skip and a wave of the hand, he disappeared into the shadowy kitchen.

  Maryl leaned herself back against the gray stone of the well and stretched her aching muscles. The contract had been signed. After all his hard work and planning, it had happened. She glanced down at her swelling body. The time couldn’t have been more blessed if the Mother had decreed it Herself.

  Pride filled her and with a sudden burst of energy she pulled the bucket to her. Startled to find it almost empty, she laughed at herself and lowered it again.

  A nervous neigh carried across the field from their ponies. Her dark eyes lifted. Worriedly she spied the two figures and horse emerging from the outlying forest.

  “Min!”

  Maryl twisted to catch sight of a slender girl, who was barely seven, disappearing from the upstairs window. Less than a moment later the girl was racing down the outdoor steps. Her auburn hair was streaming behind her, covered only with a tattered kerchief. She was their responsibility now, Maryl thought. She wondered if they could afford a few new clothes for the lass. It was a disgrace to see her filling form bursting through the old linen kirtle, and she did work so hard and honestly.

  She saw the freckled face was smudged with soot, and Maryl remembered casually mentioning that the firehearth in the guest room badly needed attention. She smiled warmly as the girl skidded to a stop, grabbing her mistress’s arms frantically.

  “Calm yourself, Szori. Nothing can be so distressing.”

  “But… but there!” She pulled her mistress away from the well, pointing across the barren fields. “Strangers, Min!”

  Maryl’s hands rubbed the lass’s arms reassuringly as her eyes again sought the visitors. Their steady pace continued towards the house, yet the distance allowed few details to be discerned. The taller one wore a cloak that swirled with the lifting wind; the smaller one — it was not a cloak but hair. It was a woman with her hair blowing behind. Maryl’s gaze returned to the taller form. Her heart thudded painfully, fear and pleasure springing alive as she recognized the ghost from her past.