Elanraigh

by S. A. Hunter

  “Bravely done. Oh bravely done.” Her dark eyes, though glazed with shock, met Thera’s squarely. “I would not like to have died in the jaws of that beast.” Alba’s eyelids drooped and her head sagged back across Thera’s arm.

  Biting her lip, Thera gently loosened Alba’s hand and ran outside to obtain the materials she needed.

  * * * *

  It was full dark by the time Thera had bound Alba’s wound and splinted her leg. The dislocated arm she bound to Alba’s torso. Repairing that was a procedure best left to the healer. Alba had not regained consciousness. This was well, as the only way Thera had of moving the heavier woman was by dragging her on a blanket, over the same improvised ramps they had made in order to move the ship’s cargo onto the beach.

  Thera managed to drizzle some water down the swordswoman’s throat, but though Alba mumbled, she did not waken. A small fire made from driftwood and bits of lumber from the Memteth ship was enough to keep them warm, but was not what she needed to summon assistance. The others from Elankeep would be searching for them by now, but they might confine their search to the ancient grove.

  Thera tucked the blanket securely around Alba, then taking two brands from the fire, she waded into the river.

  The ship anchored farthest out she fired first. She spilled lantern oil over its deck, and even as she waded on to the next anchored ship, flames were crackling and shooting sparks into the air.

  Thera’s body was so stiff and sore, she could barely haul herself over the side. Her jaws clenched as she again set foot on the deck.

  The dead caravaners on this ship; it could have been us. It could have been Alba and I whose bodies now lay half devoured.

  Thera stood a moment, eyes wide to the night, gripped by the horror of what might have been.

  Again Farnash’s voice rumbled in her mind, his tone matter-of-fact.

  They died. We live. All is well.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The burning ships lit the sky above the river. Thera was sure the Elankeep troop would find them quickly now, but she fretted as she constantly checked on Alba. The lizard creature’s mouth had been so foul. Alba’s wound might soon go bad without a healer’s care. She sat, knees drawn up to her chest, rocking slightly, then reached over to lay her fingers on Alba’s pulse just once more. Sighing, she lowered her head onto her bent knees.

  A hand dropped on her shoulder. “Lady.”

  Her body flinched in reaction, though in the same instant she recognized the voice. She had not heard them come up behind her and here she was sleeping as soundly as a babe in its cradle. Her relief was tainted with chagrin. Yet, there was no reproof in Sirra Alaine’s eyes.

  Thera grasped the Sirra’s hand. “Alba’s hurt.”

  Sirra Alaine nodded slowly. She jerked her chin to where Mieta and Rhul worked at securing Alba’s limp form onto a litter for portaging back up the steep trail.

  The brackets at the corners of the Sirra’s mouth deepened as she watched the swordswomen snugging Alba’s form in blankets. Then she twitched her shoulders, looking down at Thera.

  “It’s a fine field dressing you made, Lady. Good as any a healer could have done.” The Sirra squatted down and peered into Thera’s face. “What happened here, Lady Thera?”

  Thera saw that the Memteth ships had burned down to blackened framework. She collected her thoughts and began to tell Alaine what they had encountered here.

  * * * *

  Thera sighed shakily as the small rescue party re-entered the silence of the ancient grove. We’ll be home soon.

  She felt the forest greet her.

  “Thera.”

  “ Teacher?” Thera felt strangely awkward. How do I address this Elanraigh companion? Thera now knew that in life, Teacher had been Lady Dysanna. If what Chamakin and Salvai Keiris had told her was true, and why should it not be, then Lady Dysanna had suffered much because of her…their…ancestors’ bigotry.

  “Teacher.” Thera projected the love and empathy she felt into her mind voice. “You are…were…my elder-aunt, the Lady Dysanna?”

  “Ah,” the voice sighed. “Thera. It is so and yet I have for so long been one with the Elanraigh, that my mortal lifetime seems to me as something seen from a mountaintop, distant and small. You are to be Salvai now, my dear, and a woman grown. I must no longer be ‘Teacher’.”

  “Do you leave me”? Thera was struck with dismay—not another loss!

  “We are always here for you. You are Salvai and we are the Elanraigh.”

  Dysanna’s voice altered even as she spoke, deepening into the familiar rumble of the Elanraigh. It is as if a soloist stepped back to join the chorus, Thera mused.

  * * * *

  There was a confusion of welcoming voices as they returned through the gates of Elankeep. Their torches had been spotted by the watch as they emerged from the ancient grove. Willing hands reached to relieve Alba’s stretcher bearers. Questions were called out, which Alaine deflected.

  “The wounded need attention and the Salvai needs rest. Leave be. You’ll hear enough of rumor tonight. The story will be told when our Salvai is ready to offer it.”

  Egrit clawed her way to Thera’s side.

  “Lady!” Egrit’s eyes widened at the blood stains on Thera’s tunic.

  Thera spoke quickly, to forestall her alarm. “I am well, Egrit. It is First Sword Alba who has paid the price of our adventure.”

  “Oh! Not Alba! Lady, did she fall?”

  Dama Ainise barely glanced at the form on the stretcher as she too, pushed forward. “Alba is a strong, sturdy soldier, my Lady. The Sirra will see to her care. Do come with us, I pray you,” her anxious eyes ran over Thera, “Egrit will draw you a bath and see to your meal.”

  Thera’s brows drew down and she brushed from Ainise’s light grasp. Too angry to trust her words, she turned to follow Alba’s stretcher. Ainise lifted her gown hem and trotted after her. “Oh, my Lady, you should not go to the soldier’s quarters.”

  Hissing a small sound, Thera spun on her heel, and was suddenly restrained by something in the elder Dama’s face.

  Calling on all her mother’s teaching, Thera kept her voice kindly. “I will stay with swordswoman Alba a while, Dama Ainise. I am hungry, though. A bowl of soup would be good, if you would arrange for it to be sent to me in the infirmary. Enough soup for all, if you can manage that. Then you go to your rest, there are hands enough here for now.”

  Ainise reddened, curtsied, and turned to hurry about her errand. Thera watched after her a moment. “So.”

  “Pardon, Lady?”

  Thera realized Egrit waited at her side.

  “Egrit.” Thera dragged the girl along with her. “Healing Mistress said she would be perhaps two days away, so she might return by tomorrow’s eve. I pray so, for Alba’s sake.”

  Egrit’s eyes never left her face. “Lady,” she spoke shyly, “I know something of healer’s arts. Mistress Rozalda found me helpful when I was small, and could fetch and carry for her. She said I was quiet and did not get in her way.

  “I learned much and she was patient with my questions. She said I had a healer’s touch.”

  The girl flushed brightly, as Thera turned a warm gaze upon her. “Blessings be,” murmured Thera, and further flustered the girl by grabbing her into a quick hug. “Come quickly.”

  They caught up with the stretcher bearers as they turned into the large chamber used as an infirmary. A fire crackled in the open-oven fireplace. A large iron kettle simmered on a hook. Herbs hung in fragrant clusters from the rafters. The walls of shelves were loaded with clay jars sealed with wax, other shelves held scrolls and leather bound tomes. In a corner by the window was a worktable and stool.

  Clean white linens were folded neatly in a cedar wardrobe. At the far end of the room were four cots, one oc
cupied, and the rest freshly made. Two women in woolen bed robes were relaxed in chairs by the fire, sipping a steaming brew from tin mugs. They rose to their feet as the small group entered and murmured in concern as Alba’s stretcher appeared.

  Sirra Alaine waved them to their seats. “Let us get her settled,” she warned them.

  Swordswoman Mieta walked over to the two convalescents, and they spoke in low tones as the others carefully transferred Alba to a cot.

  Sirra Alaine and Thera then found themselves standing awkward and somewhat astonished, as the usually diffident Egrit began to issue brisk orders.

  Her small hands quickly felt over Alba’s head, neck, and limbs. “Out of my light,” she demanded of Sirra Alaine, who immediately shuffled back.

  Egrit stood with hands on hips, and chewed her lip a moment.

  “I can repair the dislocation of the shoulder, but I will need help. Sirra, hold here if you please.”

  Thera found herself pressed back as the two others reset the shoulder. If she had not been so anxious, she would have been amused at with what alacrity the Sirra wordlessly jumped to little Egrit’s soft commands.

  “That is good.” Egrit murmured, with a nod, as she rebound the shoulder and arm.

  “Who did this splint?” she asked then, pointing to Alba’s leg.

  “I did.” Thera replied, anxious.

  “It was well done,” Egrit commented. Her small fingers moved with a firm competency as she removed the splint to examine the wound.

  Even the Sirra paled. The odor and color were unmistakable.

  They both turned and looked at Thera.

  “Lady, what did this?” Egrit’s small face was bitter.

  “A foul creature to be sure.”

  Egrit continued to stare bleakly at Thera.

  “What?” Thera demanded. She glared, alarmed, at the two of them. “We have poultices for healing, do we not? You can draw out the poison.”

  Egrit spoke then, quiet and slow. Thera recognized the tone. Her father used it with his witless, high-bred racing horse.

  “Lady, I will do all I can. But if the poison does not draw out by tomorrow, we must take her leg.”

  * * * *

  Thera paced the south tower. The sharp night wind lathed the sweat sheen off her skin.

  Alba to lose her leg. Unthinkable. It was my doing. I insisted we go onboard the ship.

  Hearing the steady shuff, shuff, of footsteps approaching up the steep wooden stairs, she marched back and forth angrily. Blessings be! Can I not have a moment’s solitude?

  The guard on duty glanced at Thera briefly, then discreetly turned her back and kept her distance across the tower.

  It was Sirra Alaine who emerged from the trap door. Alaine regarded Thera, who continued her pacing.

  The dullest bovine cud-chewer in father’s fields would sense that I do not wish company right now. How not the Sirra?

  The Sirra strolled over to the granite balustrade, and leaned there, her attitude contemplative.

  “We are from the same village.” Alaine finally said.

  Thera jerked her shoulder at the intrusion of Alaine’s voice, but halted her pacing. She stood hunched, hugging herself against the wind’s chill.

  “Alba be younger than I, of course.” Alaine continued in her stolid voice.

  Thera made an effort to quell the queer temper that kept rising like acid bile.

  Alaine half turned, leaning on one elbow. “She sought me out here, at Elankeep, after she had wandered some on her own. You see, when she told her elder brother she wanted to soldier, he tried to…dissuade her.”

  Thera felt some of the tension leave her shoulders and she turned to join the Sirra at the parapet. She clenched her hands before her. Shamed by the tears that glazed her eyes, she could not look at Alaine. Tears seemed a childish response to the trouble she had caused.

  “Hnnh.” Alaine cleared her throat. “When beatings didn’t work, when she still said she would go, her brothers scarred her, with a knife.”

  The Sirra met Thera’s shocked gaze steadily. Alaine’s own scar, a thin white line over her upper lip, distorted her bitter smile.

  “A common enough practice, Lady. You see, in some places they think that forcing a woman to stay home as an unmarriageable drudge is more respectable than allowing her to seek such unwholesome independence.”

  Alaine turned from Thera’s gaze. She leaned forward again, looking over the grassy field now seared silver by moonlight. “Not all are fortunate enough to find a place like the Elanraigh,” she said, her voice reverent.

  “The people from my part of the country are not a very forward thinking folk. Not all are like your people of Allenholme, Lady.”

  Thera bowed her head, scrubbing her fingers through the mass of her hair. “My folk have their blind side as well, Sirra,” she said, her lips barely moving.

  Alaine turned a sapient look on Thera. “Hnnh. So.” Though the Sirra did not move, Thera felt as if a comforting arm had been thrown about her shoulders.

  After a moment, Alaine continued. “Alba ran off finally. I can guess what that year on her own must have been like—her a scarred woman, penniless, of no name.”

  Alaine’s voice turned droll. “She had some considerable sword skill by the time she found me. That be her gift. She’d worked with the caravans, I think. She’ll not talk about those times much.”

  The childish tears would insist on coming. Thera wiped at her cheeks and blurted, “It is my fault she’s in trouble now. I made her go on the ships. She wanted to burn them right away. She knew something was wrong. I did as well, but I was determined to go.”

  Alaine was silent. Bitterly Thera realized how much she would regret it if the Sirra and the women of Elankeep should shun her for her headstrong ways. Thera scrubbed at her face, her voice blurred behind her hands. “Some Salvai I prove to be. I’ll never be as wise as either you or Alba.”

  Alaine proffered a neatly folded cloth from her belt kit. She gestured to Thera’s now streaming eyes and nose.

  “Wisdom. Hnnh. Seems to me, the best lessons learned come hard. Think on it. We were young as you once. We carry our scars to prove it.” The Sirra shook her head. “Alba is strong, in ways I cannot even begin to describe. She will survive this, with her spirit intact. Elanraigh willing.”

  “I will pray for that,” said Thera in subdued voice, and turning, she strode to the trap door and down the steep spiraling stair.

  * * * *

  The gate guard was alarmed.

  “Lady?” The swordswoman cleared her throat. “Do you have an escort?”

  Thera firmed her voice. “I will not be far. Be at ease.” She strolled casually around the wall, out of the guard’s line of sight, then ran lightly down the south side, toward the ancient grove. She could feel forest-mind driving her .

  To what, she wondered.

  It was very dark. Clouds obscured the stars and the wind hissed as it rushed through the dry grasses of the field.

  Thera groped with her senses, but knew only a feeling of the grove awaiting her.

  I’m right, she thought. Something calls me there.

  She jogged on.

  * * * *

  The route she took was the same they had followed early that day. It was not as dark inside the grove as Thera had expected, for the ancient trees’ bark gleamed like polished pewter. She felt a prickling on her skin as she neared where they had found the first Memteth body. On approaching the tree she was driven to her knees by the strength of forest-mind.

  Her breath came fast as she extended her hands, but there were no dusty Memteth remains, just a profusion of cool waxy-green vines. The vine’s roundish leaves were starred with delicate white flowers. Thera’s fingers tingled pleasantly as she pinched off sev
eral long strands of the vine. She sniffed the broken stem; a clean, astringent aroma. On impulse she ran to another site where Memteth remains had been found. The vines lushly thrived there as well.

  “Blessings be,” sent Thera, clenching the vines to her. “Oh, Blessings be.”

  * * * *

  It was change of watch as Thera returned to the front gates. The two guards, who were conferring, saluted her with obvious relief.

  Thera felt almost giddy as she ran to the infirmary room, the bright green vines held close to her chest.

  Egrit looked up from Alba’s bedside as Thera burst in the room.

  Carefully placing Alba’s hand back down, Egrit rose, and moved to meet Thera at the healing mistress’ worktable.

  “Egrit! Look!” Thera extended the vine and watched anxiously as Egrit pinched a bit of leaf and sniffed the bitter-sweet aroma. She looked at Thera wonderingly. “Lady, I do not know this vine, I have never seen it before.”

  Thera shifted from one foot to the other. The heady scent enveloped the two of them. “Neither have I, Egrit. However, the Elanraigh led me to it. It was in…a special place.” She rushed on, “I feel it will heal Alba’s wound.”

  “You are the Salvai. Elanraigh bless us.” Egrit held out her arms for the vines and without further word, turned to work.

  Thera breathed in the scent lingering on her fingers and crossing to Alba’s bed, laid her hand on the swordswoman’s forehead. “The Elanraigh cares for you, Alba, and so do I. You will be well.”

  She lay down on the vacant bed beside Alba’s, and as she watched the swordswoman’s sleeping profile, her own lids drooped.

  She awakened once, to see Egrit applying a poultice made from the waxy green leaves to Alba’s wound. She drifted asleep again with the sharp, clean scent filling her nostrils. A warm sense of well-being enveloped her.