“What you have heard of the horse folk is not true of my band,” I said at last.
“Do you speak truth?”
“Can I lie in the Lady’s presence?”
He frowned as he considered that. “You might shape your words so that you do not utter a lie and yet conceal the truth.”
“I swear this before the Lady.” I pitched my voice as low as it would go. “We do not seek your land. We want only peace with any who live here. I would pledge a truce if you pledge one for yourself and your band, one that would protect us both when we leave this holy place.”
He scowled. “You are only a boy. How can a band be bound by the truce of a boy?”
I had no answer to that.
“Perhaps your horsemen seek new lands, and you are here as scouts. Perhaps I should leave your bodies outside for your band to find, so that they will know this is not their place. You may be willing to pledge peace for now and wait for a battle to come later.”
“If you kill us, others will not rest until your band is dead, until any band in this region is dead. Would you bring that upon yourself from horsemen who do not seek your land and do not wish to act against you?”
He stroked his brown beard as he considered this.
“We have horses,” I continued, “and men on foot are no match for those on horseback.” My terror had made my words harsher than I had intended. “You will only bring death to your band.”
Narid lowered his eyes to my hands; I suddenly wanted to hide them from him. “I see your weakness, lad. Your wrists are thin; your hands are not strong. You cannot fight me.” He reached for his belongings and stood up. “I go outside to await your companions. There cannot be more than two, perhaps only one judging by the signs I see. He will not be expecting attack. Do not think you can warn anyone, for if you set one foot outside, you will surely die. I offer you this, since we are in a holy place. Stay here, under Her protection, and you will live until hunger and thirst force you to leave. I can wait. Perhaps when your friends lie dead, and I have eaten of your food, my spirit will grow more merciful. I might take what you have but leave you your life.”
He backed away, keeping his eyes on me until he reached the door; it opened and then closed behind him.
I put my feet under me and rose. I could reveal myself to him; he would spare us both then. But then there would be another man who could betray me in shrines, or who would tell his band of what he had seen here. Unless I dwelled with them, I could not protect myself, but if I did, I might never reach a refuge.
I walked toward the door, knowing what I would have to do, wondering if I could find the courage for it. Arvil might die if I did not act. It was not only fear of my helplessness without him that drove me, but also the thought of his body lying in the dirt, of the loss of my only friend.
The door slid open. Narid was moving toward the trees to the south, preparing to conceal himself. He spun around and lifted his spear, aiming it, ready to hurl the weapon. “You heard me, lad. You will die when you step from holy ground.”
“Your spear might miss me,” I said, unable to keep my voice from quavering. “Then I will have a chance to strike. But I know you are more able than I, and maybe you’ll take my life. I will be certain that, before I die, I stain this wall with my blood to warn my companion of danger. I will cry out with my last breath, and he will hear, for he has not gone far. You won’t surprise him, and he will hunt you for killing me.”
This man, in order to surprise Arvil, would have to drag my body away and hide the corpse. He would strip off what he could steal from me, and then he would know what I was. The shock of that would make him believe he was cursed. His fears would chase all thoughts of lying in wait for Arvil out of his mind. I thought of my mother then, of how she had died outside a shrine, of how one of her murderers had screamed in despair.
“Don’t be a fool,” Narid said.
I took a breath and stepped from the door, ready to dodge his spear however I could. I knew there would be no chance to reach for my sling before he threw.
He stared at me for a long time, then lowered his spear as he strode toward me. I shrank back as he slapped me on the back with such force that I staggered and almost fell. “You show some bravery, lad. I see what your band must be if it has such boys. I have no wish for a battle with such men.”
My legs were weak with relief, but somehow they carried me inside. Perhaps he had only been testing me; maybe his words had been as empty as mine. We walked toward the altar. “Will your companion grant me a truce?” he asked.
“I swear to you that he will, and that you have nothing to fear from him,” I answered.
“Then I shall swear one to you, and, when I return to my band, I will tell them they are not to harm you as you pass through our land.” We swore our oaths in front of Hecate’s image, and then Narid began to move toward a couch; I realized he was about to put on a circlet. He looked back at me, apparently noticing my apprehension.
“What is it, lad?”
“It is nothing.” He knew me only as a boy called Spellweaver; he could not betray me. I moved away from him and sat down by the door to wait.
Narid said little to me, and I kept my distance from him as I watered the horses and gathered wood. He sat down outside the door, cleaning and sharpening his weapons as he watched. Arvil would, I knew, take care in approaching the shrine, but if he saw me outside, unharmed, he would know I had a truce with the stranger.
He returned in the afternoon with two ducks; he and Narid went inside to pledge their truce. The two were soon talking freely as they plucked the ducks; I carried wood to the fire and breathed on it to set it ablaze.
The evening air was cooler; Narid rubbed his hands as he warmed them by the fire. “I came here from an enclave,” he said. “This is the second time I was called, and yet I have no boy. I pray that there will be one for me before long.”
Narid’s talk, filled with digressions and stories of his band’s exploits, finally revealed that he had traveled for nearly two months to reach an enclave. “So far?” Arvil asked.
“It is not so hard as it may seem. A band with whom we have a truce lies some twenty days to the south, and I hunted with them before going on. It is hardest during the cold season, when food is not so easily found, but I made my journey then.”
“It would be hard to return on such a long journey with a boy,” Arvil said.
“A boy must show what he is made of early. One with a boy can stay with that other band for a time and allow him to learn a few things before traveling on. In this season, my band begins to move south, through these lands, so it is good you have a truce with us. The other band will move north to join us. We hunt together in summer until it is time to return to our camps and prepare for the cold time. There is enough for us, for few men dwell here. It is why we choose to live here, even so far from the enclave. But I have spoken enough of myself. Let me hear of why you have traveled to this place, for few come here from beyond the Ridge.”
“We have heard,” Arvil said slowly, “that there are bands east of here, near a great lake, who have seen a holy vision. Because our Headman seeks holiness, he has asked us to learn the truth of this tale.”
Narid turned his head toward Arvil; rage flickered in his eyes. “You will find no holiness in the east,” he muttered.
“I was told that those by the lake knew of such a vision, and that they cannot be far from here. Did the man who told me this speak falsely?”
Narid stood up. “I wish now I had not sworn a truce with you, Arvil and Spellweaver. It would have been better for you to die here than to go to a land where you’ll only stray from the Goddess’s path.”
He stomped around the fire, scowling and moving his arms; I was afraid to look at him. Arvil motioned to the man. “Please tell us what you know, Narid. What you tell us might help us shield ourselves from unholiness. I was told that the men who dwell by the lake won’t harm a stranger who comes to them in peace, and that a
holy vision of the Lady was seen there. That is all I know. I would hear what you know now.”
Narid sat down and gazed at the roasting fowl, as though his hunger was battling with his desire to be away from us. “You will not turn back?” he asked.
“I cannot turn back,” Arvil said. “Whatever is there, I must see it with my own eyes before I return.”
“You may never return. Should you wish to go on this foolish journey, you must travel south for one rising and setting of the sun, and you will come to land where the trees are not so thick. From there, go east to where the oaks jostle the pines. I cannot tell you how much farther you must go from there, for that is as far as I’ve traveled.”
Arvil nodded. “I am grateful for this knowledge, Narid. I’ll happily share our meal with you in return and will give you some of our dried meat so that you can return to your camp more quickly, without the need to hunt.” Narid glanced at him suspiciously. “I swear to you that I’ll think on your words and will not be deceived by unholiness. I would know why talk of this lake stirs your anger.”
“It is this way,” Narid said as he began his story. Long ago, before Narid had been taken from an enclave, his band had traveled east. They had come to a land of felled trees and stumps, a land scarred by unholiness, where his band was set upon by a great horde. Many had died; the rest had fled back to their own lands, and their anger against those in the east had grown, for they had no way to take revenge against the horde for the lives that had been lost. Much of his tale was mingled with curses, but I understood that his band had been attacked by those Ilf had said would meet strangers in peace.
“My band heard from a traveler of this vision you seek,” Narid went on, “and yet he could say little of it, only that by the lake there is a camp that few men see and none who enter leave again. It is said that the vision appeared there, but he could not tell us anything about it. I think it’s a lie used by the lake bands to make others fear them.”
What could this tale mean? I did not know whether I could hope or should feel fear. “Did your band go to this lake in peace?” Arvil asked.
“It is said unholiness marked their land, that they did not live as men should. We could have no peace with such men, and without peace, a band should take what it can from those who are weaker. There were few of them, and then suddenly there were many, more than my band could count, and my guardian’s guardian was among those who fell.” Narid spat on the ground. “You see now why my anger is kindled against you. I made a truce with you, and you travel toward those who took lives of my band.” He smiled grimly. “But I’ll cool my anger with this thought—they may take your lives as well.”
“They may not harm two travelers who seek only word of their vision.” Arvil sounded uncertain.
“I have pledged you a truce, much as I curse myself for it, for I could have slain you both, but we are bound by our oath. It is said some go east. It is said that almost no one returns. It is said that even the Goddess turns Her eyes from what lies beyond the lake.” He gestured with one hand and made a sign. “You should pray hard before you leave this shrine, for you will need the shield of the Lady.”
Narid sulked in silence until Arvil handed him some food; he stared at it sullenly before taking it. “It may be,” Arvil said, “that we will not go to the lake. I shall ponder your warning, for I am thinking of turning back.” I looked away, wondering if Arvil was only trying to soothe Narid or if the story had made him more fearful.
Narid relaxed a bit, and soon he was telling us tales of the spirits in the woods who sang when the wind moved the pines, of the joy the Goddess took in their song, of how the first tree had appeared at the beginning of time. I barely listened, hardly noticing what he was saying, as I worried about what Arvil might be planning.
We slept in the shrine that night; Narid had said there was no need to keep watch. He was gone when we awoke, and we found he had taken nothing from us, not even the dried meat Arvil had promised him.
ARVIL
Narid did not frighten me with his talk about how few men returned from the east. Birana and I could not return, whatever happened. But I was worried about his story of what had befallen his band. Ilf had said that the men of the lake would not harm strangers, but Narid knew more about them than Ilf had, and he feared them. I told myself that Narid’s band had not gone to the lake in peace, that they had brought their deaths upon themselves. I thought of the vision and what it might mean, of Birana’s hope for a refuge.
“What shall we do?” Birana asked as we left the shrine.
“You must say what we are to do. Will you risk traveling to this lake? Perhaps one of your kind appeared there, and perhaps those men know where you might find safety, or it may be only a tale with little truth.”
“I know one thing,” she said, as she carried her belongings to Flame. “Any refuge I can reach would lie somewhere to the east. We’ll have to go on.”
I touched her arm lightly. I had not come so close to her for the past days. I kept my hand on her. She did not pull away, and then I remembered what she had said, that my desire for her would bring her suffering and death. My hand dropped. “I haven’t heard how you reached a truce with Narid, though he said you spoke bravely.”
I tried not to smile when she spoke of how she had stood up to his threats, of how she had dared him to kill her outside the shrine. “He was all bluff and arrogance,” she finished.
I grew solemn then. “He was not, Birana. He could have followed his threats with deeds, while you couldn’t. It may be all that saved you from him was his weariness and not your brave words. Brave as you were, you risked too much.”
“Even if he had killed me, you would have been safe. He would have seen what I was, and then he would have been no match for you. He would have thought himself cursed; he might have welcomed his death then.”
I stepped closer to her. “You think so much of me, to save me in that way?”
“I couldn’t… without your help, I wouldn’t have lived long anyway.” She looked away before she mounted Flame, and I knew that she had left other words unsaid. My heart leaped.
We came that evening to rolling land where high grass grew and where the trees to the east stood with much grassland around them. Birana fetched kindling from the edge of the wood while I found stones to set around the fire. What Narid had revealed of this land in his rambling way had told me that we did not need to fear men, and the fire would keep other creatures away.
The air was cold again, and we put on our sheepskin coats. With wood and my old coat, I set up a shelter above us, then stretched out on the ground. Birana crawled out and began to lie down a few paces away.
“I didn’t make this shelter only for myself,” I said.
“I can sleep here.”
“The night grows colder. We would be warmer if we lay together.”
She sat up. “No.”
“Do you think I forgot what you have told me? I want only warmth, no more.”
She came back and lay down next to me. I moved toward her until my chest was against her back. She tensed, but did not push me away. I put one arm across her, around her waist, over her coat.
She did not protest but accepted this. My soul sang with that triumph, and then it came to me that there might be caresses we could share while I kept my seed from entering her. My member hardened as I thought of the touch of the spirit-women, of how their hands had stroked me, of how mine had roamed over their bodies. It was my joining with her that would bring her harm, not my touch.
It was hard for me to put such thoughts from my mind. It might be even harder for me to resist joining with her if I shared more with her. I steadied myself, and at last my weariness brought me sleep.
As we rode, I pointed out plants to Birana and told her which ones could be eaten. I discovered that pokeweeds and dandelions were plants Birana had once scorned.
“When we find such things in the city,” she said, “and we still do sometimes, those who garde
n pull them out and throw them away.” I was struck by that, the notion of her kind throwing away plants that could feed them. Their magic seemed to grow greater, the more I knew of them, while they themselves grew less fearsome. Only their magic gave them strength—that, and the power they held over life.
Birana’s eyes grew sadder as she spoke of the enclave. Whatever I had awakened toward me in her soul, she would have forgotten if she could have returned to her home. She sought a refuge. I wondered if there would be a refuge for me without her. Perhaps if she found one, I would not be welcome in it.
We could have remained in the land where we rode. I could reach an understanding with Narid’s band, one that would allow us to dwell apart from them so that they did not discover Birana’s true nature. I could convince him that my band, who lived only in my false words, would not follow us east, and he would be pleased that we had turned from seeking that which was unholy. With our horses, we could aid his band and the other they sometimes joined, and I could teach Birana how to hunt and track. This land was nearly empty of men. We would be as safe here as anywhere. This might be as much of a refuge as we would find.
I dreamed of this but did not speak of it to Birana. I feared that, if she believed there were no other refuge but this, she might lose the will to live. We would have to go to the lake, whatever that quest brought us.
I counted the days as we rode, and by the seventh, we had still seen no sign of the lake. But we had come to a land of more trees and, as Narid had told us, giant oaks stood among the towering pines. The days had grown colder, as they will in the spring before the warmth of summer drives the spell of the north away, and from time to time, the clouds released their rain.
A wind would blow, and the trees would release their seeds, undulating as the wind stirred their limbs. Their seeds dropped around us, to lie on the ground and take root. Since hearing of the truth from Birana, I saw these trees with new eyes. A story Narid had told came to me.
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