Elanraigh

by S. A. Hunter

  Thera called Ella in to help her to bed. She closed the chamber door on their voices.

  “Ella, where have you been keeping! You know I nap after noon meal.”

  “Blessings, and me likely to get my head bitten off if I so much as look in the door.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Thera walked to the window, flexing her arms forward and back, until she felt a deep satisfying pull on her shoulders.

  By the One Tree! I ache!

  A few days ago Swordswoman Enid had offered to help Thera improve her weapons skills.

  * * * *

  “Lady Thera!” The soldier jogged to where Thera stood by the herb garden, and saluted.

  Swordswoman Enid’s forehead still glistened with salve.

  “Enid. Blessings. How is your healing?”

  “Well enough, Lady, when I recall I was preparing to offer my soul to the Elanraigh as that Memteth swung his blade, about to cleave my skull.”

  Thera nodded somberly, remembering.

  Enid shifted to a slung-hip stance and jerked her chin toward the courtyard where some of the troop practiced weaponry. “Lady, you too were overpowered by a Memteth raider and most certainly he would have killed you had not the Elanraigh sent the grey wolf.”

  “I…” Thera flushed deeply.

  Enid quickly interjected, “Lady, I do not say this to pain you,” her color deepened also. “It is we who should be ashamed, who are sworn to protect the Salvai. I wish to offer my service to teach you any fighting skills you might wish to learn.”

  Thera stared at Enid, intent on her own thoughts.

  “Salvai Thera. I do not mean to offend—I know weapons craft is not a Lady’s task.”

  “Enid,” Thera lightly touched Enid’s tense forearm, “I am grateful for your offer, I was just…thinking within myself. You see, I was once told that the sword would not be my weapon. The shade of my great-grandfather told me this, but I would like to be stronger of body. Could you help me train as you do?”

  Enid’s features, still swollen from her injuries in the Memteth battle, cracked into what must have been a painful smile. “Elanraigh bless you, Lady! It will be my honor.”

  * * * *

  Thera rubbed at her shoulders again. Enid kept her promise all too well. She had worked Thera hard the last few days.

  Yet this physical exhaustion did not relieve the restlessness Thera now felt.

  No word from Allenholme in eight days now. What does it mean?

  Her mouth drew down ruefully, her father’s missives had always been brief, but Thera needed those few scrawled words of home.

  She lifted her head, sniffing the air and sending her thoughts out. Even the Elanraigh forest mind seemed distant from her right now, as if it were preoccupied.

  Well. It seems I’m forgotten.

  Outside her window, a dreary grey mist darkened the keep’s walls and moisture dripped from the trees. Thera bounced a light, determined fist on the stone sill.

  “I swear I will trek back to Allenholme. By the One Tree, I will go if I have not word of them by tomorrow.”

  A gust of wind swayed the hemlock trees with a sound like waves, and homesickness washed over her.

  Mieta and Enid, dressed in light kilts and linen shirts, appeared in the courtyard below. Thera called to them.

  “Enid…Mieta, Blessings!”

  The swordswomen paused in their stretching routine. “Lady Thera, blessings of the new day! You are early to rise.”

  “No earlier than you, it seems.”

  Mieta grimaced. “We’re a little ahead of the others this morning. We go on our run soon.”

  “I would like to join you!” Thera called.

  Mieta looked so startled that Enid barked a laugh.

  “Aye, Lady, do.” Mieta called, recovering. “We’ll be glad of your company to be sure, and perhaps the Sirra will choose an easier path than she threatened us with today.”

  Thera dressed quickly, in the same kilt, shirt, and leggings she had been wearing for her training sessions with Enid. She smiled. Enid couldn’t wink with her eyes as swollen as they were, but she had flashed a conspiratorial smile as Thera spoke to Mieta.

  She had asked Enid to keep their training sessions a secret, “No need to upset the elder Damas, Enid.”

  So, she continued to improve her penmanship and knowledge of courtly protocols with Dama Ainise, and, with more enthusiasm, studied healing lore with Mistress Rozalda.

  In addition, there were welcome summons from the Elanraigh. On the latest of these quiet retreats forest-mind had taught her the Bear’s Sleep Trance. Thera learned how to slow her body’s functions; how to draw needed minerals from her bones, and how to break down her own body’s wastes and reuse them, thus rebuilding what she had drawn from. This way, the Elanraigh explained, when she projected out of her physical body, even if for many days, she would not be so weakened and ill when she returned.

  Thera ran down the main stairs, feeling the stretch and pull of the muscles in her legs. At the main hall she turned left and pushed through a small postern exiting into the north courtyard.

  Mieta smiled an upside-down greeting from her spine-flexing bend. Thera followed Enid’s warm-up moves until she no longer felt the morning’s chill on her bare arms. As others straggled out, they gave her friendly nods and salutes.

  When Sirra Alaine strode into the courtyard, she stopped by Thera’s side. “Salvai?”

  Now why did the Sirra choose to use her title? Did she mean to side with the Damas and point out that it was undignified of her to be here? Thera studied the Sirra’s dark-oak features.

  “I feel the need to—to be doing something, Sirra. The troops don’t mind me joining them.” Thera knew she jibbed like a restless colt, but she couldn’t help it. She felt that she needed to fill her lungs with air and fling her body against the wind.

  Sirra Alaine nodded.

  Mieta grinned broadly, as did others.

  Alaine, observing this, spoke dryly, “We plan to run hard today, Lady. There has been much lolling about close quarters, what with convalescents to tend and the Elankeep itself needing repair.”

  Mieta groaned dramatically, “My shins hurt already, Sirra. Bruised and sore, that’s what they are. The way Alba flails those walking-sticks of hers.”

  Thera laughed with the others. Alba’s rapid recovery had lightened many hearts around the keep.

  “Sirra, I ran with you before, if you remember the day I first came to Elankeep.” Thera’s gaze swung around the group. She drawled, teasing, “I won’t prevent the troop from being exercised to your liking.”

  * * * *

  The sun had almost burned off the morning mist, when the small group returned toward Elankeep. Rhul panted, “It’s going to be a steaming mug of Ella’s blackberry tea, warm barley bannock, and creamy cheese for me!”

  Thera felt no need of food. Her body felt light as the sea hawk’s adrift on the wind—her blood ran hot under her wind-chilled skin. I could run forever!

  “Alba!” Somebody behind her shouted.

  Thera narrowed her gaze toward the keep. There was Alba, tottering on her walking-sticks and waving enthusiastically.

  Alba is waving something—a letter! It has to be a letter from home!

  Thera lengthened her stride. Edred laughingly matched her pace. They drew ahead of the others, who cheered them on. Thera reached for more speed as they passed the amazed guard at the gate, skidded past Alba, and collapsed against the keep wall. Their laughter echoed under the great stone arch.

  “Cythian Hell!” Alba spun on her crutches as four hands reached to steady her.

  “There is no one else here…” panted Edred, “…who can beat me at a foot race, Lady.” Edred, a lean sliver of a woman, cast an amaz
ed look at Thera.

  Thera paced the small paved area by the door, one hand holding the stitch in her side. “I would be…hard put…to say whose foot first reached the entrance, Edred.”

  Edred smiled, and patted Alba’s shoulder. “Which was first foot, Alba?”

  “Do not be asking me to judge! All I saw was a whirling storm of arms and legs coming straight at me!”

  Thera wheezed a laugh. “What have you…there, Alba?” she eagerly eyed the small scroll Alba held.

  “Something important enough that I stood in such unexpected danger to get it to you, Lady.” She handed the paper to Thera, “A carrier bird from Allenholme came in just now.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Daughter,

  Be assured that your lady mother and I are well.

  The Memteth invaders increase the frequency of their harrying attacks on our shores. At Kenna Beach, a band of Ttamarini scouts fought to repel a landing of three Memteth ships. This battle was bloody, as the Ttamarini scouts who first encountered the Memteth were greatly outnumbered. Word came to me by way of a wounded Ttamarini sent to alert Allenholme and the Ttamarini encampment. We rode out after the Ttamarini warriors with such dispatch as our heavier horse and armor would allow. By the time we of Allenholme arrived at Kenna Beach, the scouts had been joined by the Ttamarini, and together we forced the raiders back.

  We fought with the tide lapping at our feet. A line of Memteth took a stand at the water’s edge and fought so fiercely that we were withheld while many of their number escaped to their ships. Our archers, lead by Sirra Maxin, did set afire one ship and men cheered to see its black sail catch and burn. Another of the Memteth ships did cut sail to take on crew from the burning ship. I do not believe this was compassion for endangered comrades as much as a practical wish to preserve numbers. Teckcharin, however, believes it bespeaks some code of honor.

  Teckcharin did slay many invaders—as many, almost, as I. Our Ttamarini is grim and silent in battle, unlike my Heart’s Own whose war cries fire the blood. I did only hear Teckcharin call out once—when his son fell. After the battle, Teckcharin was as a man possessed until the boy was found and the old Maiya pronounced the wound not likely to be mortal. The lad fought well. Indeed, he rode to defend Dougall, who was trapped under his slain horse. Two Memteth were about to finish him as he lay pinned. What honor there, I ask you? Chamakin took his blow after killing the one Memteth and mortally wounding the other. I am grateful to this young warrior for saving the life of one so dear to me, though the incoming tide almost accomplished what the Memteth failed to do. Dougall was half-drowned when we did get to him and the fallen Ttamarini youth. I will tell you plainly, that I wish we had pursued peace with these brave Ttamarini before now. The lad, Chamakin, seemed feverish from his wound but after I spoke to him of your being safe at Elankeep, he fared better. Perhaps, it was Cook’s possets that did the deed.

  Your mother bids me tell you how it eases her heart to know you are safe in the Elanraigh’s care, but she is sorely grieved to learn of Nan’s death. The names of your escort have been inscribed, into the scroll, with honor. Sadly, the Lament has been sung for all too many.

  We grimly prepare for attack on Allenholme itself. The raiders grow ever bolder. Teckcharin feels these raids have been but to take our measure. I have instructed Mika ep Narin, Fishing Guild Master, to organize the fishing fleet—they cargo rocks to the harbor entrance and there off-load them. Some Memteth ships are rigged to sling fiery projectiles. These fearsome spheres hurl flaming fragments in all directions when they strike. We lost Arnott’s father, Goodnath, as fine a fellow as I’ve met. Young Branson also—struck by one of these cursed flaming rocks before his sword was even blooded. Some others have since died of their wounds. We lost too many a fine horse as well.

  These ships must not be allowed to approach Allenholme. Mika ep Narin has vowed he will sink the fishing fleet itself, if he must, to form a barrier against the Memteth. I stared to hear him utter such words, for all know what each mariner’s ship is to him. Yet I saw Mika’s eyes as he pledged the vow. Elanriagh forbid. Yet, the old man’s spirit did make my heart swell.

  Be well, my own.

  Your loving father,

  Leon

  * * * *

  Hot tears burned her eyes and her hand clenched, damaging the thin parchment of her father’s letter.

  Chamak wounded! She stopped, and smoothing the letter on her dresser, read it again.

  “No, no, and no. I will not hide away here when my people are fighting and dying. Elanraigh Bless! What does all this mean if I do not fight for my home, my people, the ones I love.” Her throat tightened.

  Chamak. Chamak had been hurt and the Elanraigh had not told her!

  Her hands gripped the window ledge, her arms aching with tension, “How could you not tell me?” She sent.

  No response. Thera felt a frisson of foreboding. The Elanraigh felt elsewhere.

  Sussara, however, swirled outside her window, the small wind elemental sounded worried. “Therrra?”

  “Sussara. Blessings, it isn’t you I’m angry at.”

  Sussara curled about her. “Fly soon?”

  Thera’s fingers relaxed their tension. “Yes, Sussara. Now. We fly now. Meet me at the top of the tallest tower.”

  She tried to ignore the clenching of her gut, as an increasing sense of urgency threatened to cloud her thinking. “Yes, I must see how things fare at home. I will call the sea hawk,” she affirmed aloud, “I will enter the Bear’s Sleep Trance. When they find me …” her brow puckered, and she felt a pang, “…well, they will worry.”

  Thera paused, her hand gripping a thick woolen cloak, “Well I can’t help that—I must go. I’ll be back before anyone really misses me, and if I’m found, the healing mistress will know I am in trance, surely.” She moved swiftly about the chamber. I just want to see home.

  Thera shrugged into a warm jersey and threw on the cloak. Opening the chamber door, she listened for sound. She heard voices; however, they were far below. She was left in privacy to read her missive from home.

  She ran along the hall and up the steep stairs that spiraled to the north tower roof.

  Brisk winds had come and blown the morning’s grey clouds away. Feeling the need of some kind of ritual to steady her, Thera turned to face the Elanraigh. She raised her arms and asked for Blessing.

  Sussara was so excited by this time it was shouting in her mind, “Therraa! Want to go with you. Go now?” The small wind elemental swirled in tight circles.

  “Hush now!” Thera bid the elemental as she tried to confine her hair into the hood of her cape.

  The wind dropped to a small cajoling breeze that buffed affectionately against her skin. Facing north, the Elanraigh and home, she sent her call.

  “Why not just Thera fly?” whispered the wind elemental.

  “It is not safe for me to be formless for long. I get tired.”

  “Wings.” Thera imaged. “To fly home.” An image of Chamakin lying wounded flashed painfully behind her eyes. Her eyes snapped open. Thera rubbed the skin at her temples. “Something’s different!”

  Visions, not her own, began to fill her mind; Farnash on a rocky hillside, turning his pale, smoky eyes to her. Slowly, his head tilted and from his mouth the long “OOO,” of the wolf’s song.

  She envisioned enormous wings beating golden against a cobalt sky. The raptor’s shrill cry pierced her to the bone and filled her skull with its sound.

  “...an almost human aura!” The response Thera felt was full of emotional nuance, unlike her hawk’s simple sendings.

  “Recognition…love…welcome.”

  Thera yearned, body and spirit, toward what came closer with each beat of huge golden wings.

  “Oh!”

  “Therra!” whispered Sussara, its
voice awed and small. “Eiryana comes.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Pulling the sheepskin cloak about her, Thera slumped back on the rough planking of the watch tower deck. Her eyes fixed on the bright swatch of azure sky above, her body already slipping into the Bear’s Sleep rhythm. A winged shape drifted in to the patch of blue sky framed by the battlements.

  “Thera.” The voice in her mind was feminine in tone and touch.

  Not Teacher. Not the Elanraigh. Thera wondered,”Who…?”

  “Come, Thera. I am Eiryana Sky Weaver.”

  Thera’s consciousness spiraled upward. Sussara trailed, for once subdued, behind her.

  The eagle tilted her head, seeming to watch their progress toward her.

  Eiryana. The name rolled like thunder through her soul. Thera remembered the Ttamarini Dream-speaker’s words to her, ‘When you fly as an eagle, child, then will you be fully fledged.’

  Thera swirled below the span of Eiryana’s great wings that spread a full pike length, wingtip to wingtip.

  “Such beauty and power!”

  “Know that you are beautiful to me as well.” The eagle’s eye gleamed like sunlit amber. “The Elanraigh has promised this joining since I was a nestling—I am in my first year of power, and you now enter yours. Let us be together.”

  The warmth of Eiryana’s welcome drew her.

  “Oh the difference in this joining!”

  Thera felt Eiryana’s chest muscles momentarily tense in a reflex of surprise, and then her wings stroked powerfully. Thera understood.

  The small wind elemental puffed out from under her wings like a bouncing ball. Sussara sent Thera and Eiryana the equivalent of giggling, joyful laughter.

  “Eiryana. Are there many like you who can speak with a human?” Thera wondered.