Finally, the crowd settled down to listen, though Kalie could see that Kariik would soon lose them. “The priests have read the signs for the coming winter. It will be the worst in living memory. Few who remain here will even live to see the spring. Therefore, on the eve of the next full moon, a mighty federation of tribes…” Kariik clasped arms with the two kings who flanked him, “…shall begin the journey west. It will be a long and difficult journey. We will not arrive before winter.” Haraak was at Kariik’s shoulder now, growling a warning. “But winters are far milder there than here,” the young king hastened to reassure his men.
“If we are true to our gods and our ancestors, before the feast of midwinter, every man here will be as a king in that new land! With more gold and slaves than your fathers owned in their lifetimes! You will drink wine as if it were kumis, and your wives will roast whole cows as if they were sheep!”
Since she left Riverford, Kalie had wondered what she would feel when the invasion she foresaw finally became a certainty. Now it had come, and for a long time, as the cheering and dancing nomads swirled around her—she felt nothing. Then she met Alessa’s eyes across the crowd. A quiet certainly shone from them, as can only come from someone committed to her beliefs beyond all doubt—or even reason. Alessa would bring the Goddess to these people or die trying. It was simple as that.
And while Kalie longed to share in so beautiful a vision, she knew she could not. She would keep these monsters from her home, even if she had to kill them to do it. And as absurd as both of them would undoubtedly sound to anyone who should happen to overhear, Kalie discovered a warm glow of calm growing inside her. She was ready. Let the battle begin.
Rumors flew over the next few days. News was brought to Kalie by an ever- expanding network of spies. It soon became clear that many small fractures already existed in the three-tribe alliance. The best solution, Kalie decided, would be to exploit those weaknesses so the tribes turned on each other.
The challenge would be convincing Alessa.
Three days had passed before the two women had the chance to speak again. The huge camped swarmed like an angry hive of bees, as they prepared for their longest journey ever.
“We have twenty-four days, not three years!” Kalie had cornered Alessa inside Riyik’s tent. “No matter how strong your faith or how great your vision, that is not enough time to turn these savages into civilized people! Or even people ready to consider the concept!”
Alessa was troubled. She would not meet Kalie’s eyes—but neither would she back down. “I keep praying for a sign. If the Goddess would just give me the slightest hope that She would perform a miracle along the way…”
“And has She?” Kalie pressed.
“Not yet.” Alessa finally looked up, her eyes serene as ever. “Perhaps it is a test of faith.”
“Perhaps the Goddess is fading from the world, and what happens next is up to us!” snapped Kalie. She hated to say such things, things that she knew would hurt Alessa, but she had to get her to see reason.
Alessa, however, showed no sign of being upset by Kalie’s words. Perhaps she knew that Kalie herself did not believe them. She was a priestess, after all.
“I did have one dream, that I’m certain was sent by the Goddess,” Alessa said. “It was about you.”
Kalie could not hide her interest. Alessa seemed pleased by that.
“I saw you, surrounded by warriors and firelight. You were telling a story of things they value: honor, loyalty, glory. It seemed to be one of theirs, but as I listened, I heard it was really a spell of some kind. Their laws and our faith, woven together in a web that trapped them.”
“I don’t suppose you remember any of the words I was saying?”
“No. But then, I’m not the storyteller, you are.”
“Barely!” Kalie stared through the open door of the tent, lost in thought. “It’s strange. When I decided to come back here, I planned to gain a reputation as a storyteller in the hopes of being given to the king—then slaying him. I saw early on that wouldn’t work, so I began to craft stories that I hoped would cause the men to turn on each other, or do rash things in a wild quest for glory.”
“That seems to have worked,” said Alessa. “I heard that Yuraak’s clan was wiped out by outcasts, trying to get to the Motherlands before anyone else.”
Kalie shook her head. “I can’t take credit for that one, much as I’d like to. It was Haraak and his endless boasting of his exploits that inspired Yuraak.”
Alessa smiled. “And I like it much better that way. There’s good in knowing that Haraak himself is helping to bring about the downfall of his people, while your stories are serving a higher purpose than enflaming violent men to greater acts of violence.”
“I know you think the Goddess would have been displeased at the corruption of one of Her own beloved art forms, Alessa. But I hardly think failure is the same as a higher purpose.”
“I’m talking about where you’ve succeeded, Kalie. With your stories to the women.”
Kalie thought about that, then laughed. “Funny, isn’t it? The place where I put all my energy and effort turned out to be a waste of time. But where I was barely paying attention—not even telling stories, but simply the truth—that did have an impact, didn’t it?”
“A very big impact.”
Kalie shook her head. “It’s not going to change anything. For most of the women here, the Goddess is just a passing diversion; perhaps a way to get excitement by partaking in the forbidden. It might even change how the women treat each other. But they’re never going to make any real changes in how things are run here.”
“But some of them will follow you when you leave. I’d say that’s impressive.”
“They joke about it. But when the time comes, are there any who actually will?”
Alessa smiled. “When the time comes,” she said, “I think you will be surprised. Funny, as you said. In the very thing that all the rest of us failed at, you have succeeded. And you’re the one who said it wasn’t possible.”
For the first time in a long while, Kalie thought about the others who had left Riverford with her, more than a year ago. Many had come to minister to the women, to teach them a better way. Kalie had scoffed, and told them the women would fight them harder than the men. Had she really succeeded in carrying out their work?
“Can we agree to this, at least?” Kalie asked. “Both our purposes would be served by dividing this alliance. If you are right, the smaller their numbers when they reach our homes, the easier they will be to assimilate into our world. And if I am right, there will be fewer of them to fight.”
Alessa thought about it for a long time. At last she looked up, her face once again troubled. “I will agree to that. It is the means we use to accomplish it that concerns me.”
“Then let us both think about it, and work together for a solution we can both live with.” Let’s just not take too long, she thought. “And in the meantime, I will work on discovering this story the Goddess wants me to tell.”
“I will do all I can,” said Alessa, and Kalie knew she would have to leave it at that and wait—and pray.
Haraak sent emissaries to the Hansi, despite earlier promises that he would never sit in the same tent with his ancient enemies. Rumors of yet another tribe—the Axe Men—Kalie found even more intriguing, for they were the only tribe that dwelt in the barren land to the north and west. If those two tribes could be brought here, there would be no one standing between this gathering and her homeland. And if a five-way battle were to occur…
With Agafa and Varena to manage the household and organize their departure and Yarik mastering the art of walking in the greatly improved shoes Alessa had made for him, Kalie had little work to distract her from the task at hand. Riyik was equally busy during this time, looking for men to join them on the journey west—as well as solid evidence that Haraak had murdered the former king. While much was being accomplished, Kalie and Riyik saw little of each other. She was s
urprised at how much it bothered her—and at how much she looked forward to what time that had together.
A summons to the tent of the king caught Kalie by surprise. She and Varena were preparing stew for supper—meatier and tastier than anything either had eaten in Maalke’s tent—when two of the king’s own guards appeared at the open door-flap.
“Kalie, wife of Riyik, you are to come with us,” called the shorter one.
“What for?” Kalie asked, ducking outside, and looking the speaker in the eye.
Clearly not expecting that reaction, the man stared, then repeated his order.
Kalie smiled, although Varena looked worried. She was about to ask if they wished to speak with her husband, when the second guard spoke. “Nelek’s witch-woman said she needed you to assist her in curing the king of a minor illness.” He made the sign against evil. “But we can tell her you refused—“
“Let’s go!” Kalie said, hurrying past the guards and leaving them to catch up with her as she ran to Kariik’s tent.
Kalie had to admit it: the king’s tent was much improved since the change of ownership. It was cleaner and better organized. Newer luxury goods were in evidence as well: cushions and furs were tastefully arranged along with treasures from the west: carved wooden boxes and furniture; a golden goblet on a low table. The women working or lounging about were all young and beautiful. Kalie wondered where the older women had gone; she knew they hadn’t all been killed to accompany the old king.
As Kalie reached the inner sanctum of the king’s private sleeping area, she found Alessa kneeling beside Kariik, who lay upon a bed piled with rich furs. Despite the luxury, the king looked anything but comfortable. He was feverish and clutching his stomach.
“Kalie, good, thank you for coming,” said Alessa. “Help me rearrange these furs and get him cleaned up.” As Kalie hurried to obey, Alessa called to the women who hovered outside, “Get me something to catch his vomit!”
A moment later, a frightened looking girl came in with a tightly woven basket. She gave it to Alessa, then scurried away. No sooner did Alessa have it than it was needed. “Give us privacy, or face the wrath of Nelek’s witch!” she shouted with obvious distaste, but Kalie could hear the whisper of skirts and slippers as the women hurried from the tent.
When Kariik finished retching, Alessa covered the basket and helped the king lie on his side, sponging his face with compress of soft leather. Automatically, his legs curled up, reminding Kalie of a new baby, and telling her that the cramping and soreness inside him remained.
“Grind those herbs,” said Alessa, indicating a mortar and pestle. “Two parts chamomile, one part mint.” Kalie nodded and set to work. It was exactly the tea she would have prescribed herself. A pot of water steamed on the brazier. Alessa poured half of it into a cup of shredded willow bark, leaving the rest for Kalie. The healer added honey, and, when it reached the right temperature, gave it to Kariik. Kalie followed with her cup a few moments later. Kariik sipped the tea and looked at Kalie, as if noticing her for the first time. “Couldn’t you have brought one of the pretty ones?” he asked Alessa.
“All the others from my country who know healing are dead,” Alessa said, examining the contents of the basket. “And you can trust Kalie. I think we both know how important that is.” Kalie’s head jerked up in surprise. What was Alessa doing, speaking to the king this way? Yet Kariik only nodded bleakly, as if this were the continuation of an earlier conversation.
Alessa completed her examination, then set the basket aside. Kalie and Kariik noticed the relief on her face at the same time. “So…?” Kariik asked, his fear and misery palpable.
“Not the poison that killed your father,” Alessa said.
Kalie gasped, but Kariik showed no reaction. “But poison still?” he asked in a flat voice.
“Only if you consider bad meat poison. King or slave, all stomachs will behave as yours if meat spoils, or is badly prepared.”
“Kings are rarely served spoiled meat,” said Kariik, sounding more like his usual self. “One of the few things that makes living with this charade worthwhile.”
“But in this weather, it happens quickly.” Alessa did not drop her gaze, as would have been proper. “Your father had the finest cook in the tribe. What happened to her?”
“I sent her back to her family. I don’t like having old women about.” Kalie thought briefly of Kariik’s mother, and for the first time, felt a stab of sympathy. “Shayla said she could run the kitchen.”
“And how has your food been since Shayla took over?” Alessa asked sweetly.
Kariik seemed about to get angry, then laughed. “I will send for Etria, and anyone else she needs.”
“In that case, I think your stomach will soon be much improved,” Alessa said.
Kariik gazed intently at Alessa, with more thought than Kalie would have believed him capable of. “If I could buy you from Nelek, could you keep me safe?”
“From poison?”
“Poison, curses, ill-wishes, my own stupidity...” Kariik rolled onto his back and stared morosely at the tent-poles. “The list is endless.”
Alessa waited until the king turned his head to see her. Kalie, it seemed, had been forgotten. She didn’t care; she only hoped they would continue speaking.
“Haraak will not dispose of you until he has someone to replace you, which he does not have,” Alessa said. “Your people are far too afraid of this journey to accept another such change. For now, your wit serves you best—simply continue to act the fool as you have been doing. When the time comes to make a change in your advisors, you will know.”
“Playing the fool is my one true talent,” Kariik said bitterly. “My father always said so.”
Kalie could tell Alessa was searching for the right thing to say, but Kariik was already drifting into sleep.
Alessa carefully gathered up her tools, then led Kalie outside.
They walked quickly, to avoid listening ears. “It seems you know more than I gave you credit for, old friend,” Kalie said. “What was all that about?”
“Kariik has it in him to be a great king,” Alessa said.
Kalie was certainly surprised by what she had witnessed, but she shook her head. “I saw his greatness when he threw Yasha to the mob to be stoned.”
Alessa nodded sadly. “Compared to the men we are used to, he seems like less than an animal. But considering where he came from, and what has been forced on him…Kariik is weak and frightened, but underneath, there is so much more to him…” Alessa stopped as they reached the edge of Nelek’s camp. “I did not want to admit it, but you’re right,” she whispered in Kalie’s ears while noisy chaos swirled around them. “I might be able to work with Kariik, but not two other kings, and not while Haraak controls him. Meet me in front of Nelek’s tent tomorrow before dawn. Come dressed as a slave.”
“I will,” Kalie breathed back.
Alessa seemed about to slip away. Then she hesitated. “Take this.” She slid a bundle of dull brown plants into Kalie’s hand. “Boiled down to a heavy syrup and mixed with any liquid, they bring forth visions—to those with the training.”
“And those without the training?”
“Drunkenness, stupor, terrifying nightmares, and if too much is consumed—death.”
Kalie’s hand closed tight around the plants. “Alessa—I know I have asked for this, but if it is betraying your oath…you don’t have to—“
“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to,” Alessa said, then hurried through the crowded field back to her master’s tent.
Chapter 26
The tent seemed to sag in the still air of late summer. Kalie felt a stab of guilt, and something more, as she realized she had barely seen Brenia since they had arrived at the Summer Gathering nearly half a moon span ago. And now she came, not out of friendship, but because this was the one place where she might find more of the plants that the Holy Women of the west called datura. She squatted down and scratched at the door flap.<
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Kalie could hear muffled sounds from within: angry words, then the crying of a child. Abandoning propriety, Kalie pushed open the flap and crawled inside. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw nothing to connect this tent with the pleasant, orderly home it had been last winter. Clothing and tent furnishings were strewn about haphazardly, and the remains of several meals were rotting beside the unlit brazier. Over and above it all, the smell spoke of oppression and despair. It was a smell she associated with Altia’s tent.
Brenia lay on her bed. Beside her, Barak sat whimpering.
“Brenia, what’s wrong?” Kalie asked, hurrying to her side. “Are you sick?”
When the older woman didn’t answer, Kalie threw back the tent flap, the fastest way to get light to see by.
“Close the flap!” Brenia shrieked, shielding her eyes with her hands, but careful not to actually touch her face.
As soon as Kalie saw her, she understood why. Brenia’s face was battered almost beyond recognition. Both her eyes were swollen shut. Gently easing Brenia’s robe open, Kalie found more bruising, although the greatest damage was to her face.
“Did Hysaak do this?” she asked pointlessly.
“It’s Elka,” Brenia wailed. “She has turned him against me!”
Kalie went to the water bag that hung from the rafters and found it empty. “How long have you been like this?”
“Since yesterday. After he beat me, he took her and rode off, like some sixteen-year-old with his new bride. My little boy has been guiding me, finding things for me, but…” Brenia’s voice trailed off.
“I will take him to my tent,” Kalie said. “Varena will feed him, and watch him for as long as you need.” She scooped up the crying boy, ignoring his feeble struggle at being taken from his mother, and hurried back to her own tent.
Shadow of the Horsemen (Kalie's Journey) Page 19