Anala peered at it, not being able to make out what it was supposed to be, and smiled at her sibling. "Tha's very nice, Mara. What is it?"
Mara giggled. "It's a Carrick Bend. It took me a while, but I can finally tie it properly. Right, Uncle Merry?"
Anala blinked at the honorific. Tha' was quick.
Merry's smile got wider and he ruffled Mara's hair affectionately. "Tha's right, Mara. Ye'd be as quick as me own niece."
Anala could not help but notice Mara's face fall a little at mention of Morgan Meriweather. She resolved to ask Mara about it later, for she was sure there was a problem between the two girls, and that her sister had lied when she'd denied knowing Morgan. Anala could read Mara as easily as the girl could read a heavy tome from the Library.
"Anala -- tie knots with me. I'll show ye how ta do it!" There was such eager hope on Mara's face Anala could not but agree. Besides, the best way to test one's knowledge of a subject was to teach it, and knots would be important for Mara to know inside and out. That was just a feeling that tugged in her gut.
They passed the time happily tying and retying and untying knots, bonding as sisters should but as they'd never had the chance before. Merry disappeared at some point, realising the two women needed some time alone.
Anala didn't know how long they'd sat there, playing with rope, but by the time the shouts of Land ho! reached her ears she was confident enough with knots to be able to tie and untie all but the most complicated with her eyes closed, and she made sure Mara could as well. At the announcement of land sighted her stomach jumped and she dropped the knot she was working on. Her eyes connected with Mara's and she could see the other's realisation that their time together was coming to an end.
The bellica smiled, putting a brave face on for her sister. "C'mon," she said, rising and reaching a hand down to Mara. "Let's go see what there'd be ta be seen, eh?" Together they walked to the prow of the ship, where they stood beside Merry, staring at the smudge of land that was becoming rapidly larger on the horizon.
"Through the Valley I walk, ever the Lady at me side, though I'd be not afraid, knowing I come to rest forever in Her embrace, home, home, home at last," came Merry's voice, quieter than usual. Surprised, Anala looked up at him. She'd not expected to hear that particular prayer, though she supposed it fit. Most of the Paixemortiennes' prayers did, when one was at sea.
Merry caught her glance and gave her a grim smile, mouth half-quirked. "Surprised? Aye, I read from tha Book from time ta time," he said. "Brings me comfort." He went silent, staring at the land ahead. What shadows haunted Merry, Anala wondered, that he would follow Paixemor? It was a fringe religion of Athering, with most of its followers in its birthplace of Harbourtown, though she supposed there were a few more across the nation.
Paixemortiennes were monotheistic, believing in the one true Goddess, the Lady Ocean, or Mare to the rest of Athering, who had sent Her only daughter Muerta to ease humankind's suffering, and to absolve them of their sins in the eternal embrace of death. It was a view of the Goddess of Death rather different from that held by the rest of Athering. Paixemor also had a Book, a collection of prayers, stories, moral parables and some accurate history, that its followers had been reading and printing for at least several centuries.
Despite its small following, Paixemor was a very old religion, almost as old as the teachings of the Aradian Order which the rest of Athering more or less followed.
Anala shrugged. Merry being a Paixemortienne didn't change anything. After all, their small numbers offered no threat to the loosely theocratic power in Athering. Even if they did, she couldn't bring herself to care. Divine right of Queens, me arse. If the Goddesses did have a hand in the royal ascension, then Yarrow'd be Queen, not tha' bloody treecat.
Merry stood silent, on guard. Anala placed a hand on his arm and squeezed gently, letting him know he need not worry about judgment from her. Doubtless he worried about it enough already.
After a time Merry followed his crew back to their jobs, leaving Anala and Mara to watch the now large mass of volcanic rock before them.
"Ye've never seen tha place afore, have ye?" Anala asked her sister, keeping her tone light.
Mara shook her head, eyes never leaving the island. "Nae. I've read its history, though, ancient and recent...." She trailed off, and Anala heard what she didn't say: I've read of the Battle of Voco. Was it really like the book version?
Anala bit her lip and turned to look at the mountain, looming black and ominous. She did not want to speak of the battle. She did not want to think of the losses.
Isidora.
She swallowed a sigh and pushed the memories away. How in Bellona's name was she going to keep her temper in check when faced with Isidora's killer? How on Althea's green earth was she to ignore the past and focus on the mission?
Grudgingly she acknowledged Zardria's cunning. Of course, the empreena expected these feelings would arise in Anala. That was why she was sent.
Ruthlessly she pushed her thoughts away and vowed to keep the mission -- and only the mission -- in her mind's eye. Let that be her focus. She would not give Zardria the satisfaction of making her squirm.
"'Nala?" She started at Mara's use of her childhood nickname.
"Aye?"
Mara hesitated, biting her lower lip. "Are ye...are ye scared?" she said in a rush, desperation and her own fear clear on her face. Anala saw her sister's hope, that if Anala admitted her fear, she wouldn't have to go. That was the real test -- admission of emotions.
The bellica felt her heart break in the face of her sister's innocence. She hoped Mara would discover the truth of life gently, for she wanted no pain for the tender girl.
"Aye," she said honestly. "I'd be terrified."
"Then tell the empress. Maybe she'll send someone else!" Mara's eager words tumbled on one another.
Anala sighed. Looked as if she would be the one to crush her sister's innocence. "It doesnae work that way, child. In books, maybe. But no' in real life." She said it as gently as possible, but Mara looked crestfallen, beaten into a reality she'd never wanted to face. Anala cast about for something to say to lighten the mood, maybe even make the girl laugh. Anything but this sorrowful silence. "I'll be fine, Mara," she said with more confidence then she felt, and was rewarded by hope in Mara's eyes. "Have I no survived our parents in anger?" She let her eyes twinkle and Mara let out a hesitant giggle. Good.
The bellica put her arm around her sister's shoulders and they watched the land speed up to meet them. Now Anala could make out a few details: the white of the lighthouse in Auport; glitters of light from the mica in the houses in the towns of Perch and Precarious; the Eternal Flame of Tellangia; and a large sparkle from the palace at Clifton.
Her stomach clenched. She well remembered that palace, that black hole of pain and suffering. Had it changed much, she wondered, or was Isidora's blood still on the black floors, pooling and glistening in the lights of the torches?
She shook her head violently. She would not do this. Not now; not later.
"'Nala?" hesitantly spoken, like a decision after a long period of deliberation.
"Aye, child?" Her stomach roiled: what loop would Mara throw her for now?
"Ye said...afore ye said our parents. Well...they're not."
The deck seemed drop out from beneath Anala, but she stayed calm and collected as her reputation dictated. "What do ye mean, kiddo?"
Mara sighed, as if regretting her decision to speak. "I heard Mum and Dad arguing the other night. They said...Mum said they no' should have taken ye in, no matter what Tenea said. They said it was tha worst decision they'd made; that ye did no' deserve the family ye'd gotten." She looked up at Anala in misery before plunging on. "But they'd be wrong, Anala. They dinnae deserve ye! ...I don't deserve ye!" She said the last a whisper, and burrowed her head into her sister's chest, sobbing.
Automatically Anala's arms went around Mara, stroking her hair, and she made soothing noises in her throat.
&
nbsp; Her world tilted. She was sure there was no ground and no sky, just a terrible exultation-rejection-sorrow-anger-relief-clarity pulsing through her.
Taken her in, Mara had said.
Foster-parents, then. The pang of loss was small and momentary before it was pushed aside by a wave of relief. No parents could hate their child that much, she was sure. Suddenly the past twenty-eight years became clear as the sea on a summer's day, and she felt confusion and pain lift from her heart.
Who were her parents then?
No matter what Tenea said.
Was her aunt her mother, who'd convinced the Tanners to raise Anala alongside their own son (and, later, daughter)? Who was her father then? Would not Tenea have told her? Thinking on it, she dismissed the notion outright. She didn't even look like Tenea! Or the rest of her family, for that matter.
No, it was unlikely she was Tenea's child. But her aunt had convinced her foster-parents to take her in, meaning Tenea knew who her real parents were.
Or I'd a been left on a doorstep wi' naught but a note, she thought, and immediately dismissed that idea too. It felt wrong.
Resolved to corner and grill Tenea upon her return to Athering, she came back to the present and the crying girl in her arms. Mara's sobs had lessened, though she still shook.
"Shh, shh," said Anala, stroking Mara's hair and back. "Mara, dear, calm yerself. I'd not be upset, so ye no' should be either."
Sniffing, Mara drew back and wiped her eyes, looking up at Anala. Her nose was as red as a cherry and her eyes looked puffy. "Ye're not?"
Kneeling to wipe Mara's face of tears, Anala shook her head. "Nae. And yer parents were right." Anala took the girl's shoulders in her hands and looked the girl in the eye. "I dinnae deserve a sister like ye," she said solemnly, and instantly regretted it, for fresh tears sprang to Mara's eyes.
"Hey, now," said Anala, increasingly awkward with all the emotion in the air, "no more tears, kiddo. Let's go finish up yer knot lesson, a'right?" She got up and took Mara's hand, heading to the mast and the pile of ropes they'd left there. Mara nodded, dried her eyes on her sleeve, and followed her big sister willingly.
Anala sighed inwardly and offered a silent prayer to Mare, that the day would hold no more surprises for her. I dinnae think I can take another.
~
The tension in the air was thick when they dropped anchor in Auport's harbour, flying a blue and green flag to signify they were on a diplomatic mission and, therefore, enjoyed amnesty from the cold war between their nations.
Whether the Vocans would respect the flag remained to be seen.
The crew was skittish. They'd not been to Mt. Voco for years, as long as the cold war had continued. Anala didn't blame them. She herself was nervous.
Soon a small rowboat left port and made its way to where their ship waited. It held a party of six men, all armed with swords and...some other thing Anala couldn't identify. Surely it was a weapon. Curving at one end to create a short handle made of polished wood, it attached to a long metal cylinder. Anala stared at the weapon in the man's belt until her eyes watered, but she could not make heads nor tails of it.
The boat pulled alongside of them and the man in front, obviously the leader, stood to address them.
"These waters are closed off to Athering. What business have you here?" He spoke as if he had better things to do than to deal with a bunch of uncouth barbarians from the nation across the sea. Anala saw the men bristle, fingers twitching over their cutlasses. She stepped forward, forestalling Merry's response with an upraised hand, and spoke as civilly as possible to the Vocan man.
"Bellica Anala of Athering's second regiment on a diplomatic mission to Lord Exsil Vis of Mt. Voco. I'd be having a message for 'is Lordship."
The man smirked at her, and though she could guess what he found fit to laugh at, Anala felt angry all the same.
He gave her a deep mocking bow and addressed her directly. "Ah, Bellica Anala, was it? Welcome to Mt. Voco. Unfortunately I cannot let a host of Atherians into our fair land, diplomatic mission or no, so if you'll just give me that message I'll be sure to bring it to my lord...."
"Ah, no, sir, I'd be afraid I cannae do that, fer ye see I'd a been told ta deliver it into 'is hands personally, Monsieur...." She paused for his name. When he did not provide it, she pressed on testily. "I'd no' be leaving until 'is Lordship gets tha message and gives me a response in turn, so if'n ye'd be so kind as ta let me go ashore I'd be much obliged." She stared the man down. She was not going to tuck tail and run from this rude man. Whatever awaited her in the clutches of Lord Exsil Vis would be nowhere near so bad as her reception in Athering should she return empty-handed.
The man returned her glare and they remained locked in a battle of wills, neither giving any ground. Anala's eyes burned and she was about to give in when a large swell hit the rowboat. The man stumbled to regain his footing and their eye contact broke. She'd won.
He looked up angrily, flipping the queue of his hair back over his shoulder, and glared at her, daring her to gloat. She kept her face carefully neutral.
"Very well," he snapped out, not pleased. "You and three of your men may come ashore. Three only, mind you -- any more and your lives are forfeit. An escort to conduct you to Clifton will be waiting at the edge of town. Do try to make haste," he added superciliously, raking her with a disapproving glance.
Anala inclined her head graciously. Now the man glared, upset that she'd not risen to the bait. He barked out some commands to his men. The boat started back towards shore and he took his seat in a huff.
Anala sighed once she was sure the man was out of earshot. There was no honour in her victory, but she felt triumphant all the same. The sooner I get tha' treaty signed an' get out a here the better, she thought. Voco was corrupting her already.
Merry was shouting orders, and with a start Anala realised he'd been asking for volunteers for her escort ashore. She protested.
"Merry, I dinnae need an escort. I'd be appreciating the thought, but -- "
"Not a word more, child!" He cut her off. A sweep of his huge arm took in three men standing at attention, some of those who'd been friendlier with her and to whom she felt kindly. "Now, Dagon, Trent, an' Merrik here will guard ye as if ye were their own sister. Good men in a fight." The men sketched sailor's salutes at her, eagerness lighting their eyes.
She shook her head vehemently. "I cannae accept the offer, Merry. This'd be my mission an' mine alone."
"Aye, an' in order ta see ye complete it I'd be sending me men wi' ye." Merry said this in a tone that brooked no argument -- to one under his command. Anala suffered no such disadvantage and returned his stare evenly, unwilling to be worn down.
"If there'd be a trap -- which I do expect -- then yer men'd be no good ta me -- no offense," she added with a glance to the three. "Vocans outnumber us here and tha only chance I'd have o' escape would be if me whole regiment were here! And I dinnae think we would at that. I willnae endanger yer men, Merry," she said, in a bellica's command tone.
One of the men -- Dagon, she thought he was -- cleared his throat. Both Merry and Anala rounded their glares on him. "Wi' all due respect, Bellica, we'd a volunteered fer the honour o' escorting ye. We'd a wish ta be o' service ta ye."
Anala narrowed her eyes and moved to stand in front of the man. They were of a height, but Anala'd been a bellica for years -- she could make herself taller than any one of a lower rank. Even Aro, who towered nigh a foot above her--she could make him cower in fear.
"Oh, really?" she asked, her voice low.
"Aye, Bellica," Dagon didn't flinch, but Anala could see him perspiring.
"Tell me, soldier, as I'd be oh-so-curious. Just what did ye expect ta do when we'd be surrounded by a score o' Vocans, mayhap more, armed wit' no' a damn thing 'sides our sword and cutlasses, just the four o' us, and they'd got reinforcements at the ready an' what ever in Tyvian those strange weapons on their belts'd be. Tell bawdy jests till they die o' embarrassment?"
&
nbsp; She was in it now, the space she entered when lecturing her troops. She was not the kindest of bellicas, not by a long shot, but her soldiers stuck to her like deathtree sap, and would not let an insult to her go by without incident. Bellona knew they'd been involved in most bar fights in Atherton in the past decade. Anala didn't understand it. She called them maggots, scum of the earth, sorry excuses for Atherians, treecat dung. She insulted them until some cried and she was just plain mean, for Bellona's sake! But it worked. Her regiment was loyal to her to Tyvian and beyond. So Aro said.
It was working again. Despite his fear, the man's eyes shone with that same admiration and loyalty. She glanced at Trent and Merrik and saw the same look in their eyes. Briefly she wondered if all she ever attracted were masochists, but suppressed the thought for future speculation, as Dagon was speaking.
"Nae, Bellica. Me an' the boys here -- we'd be the assurance of yer safety -- no' our own."
A moment passed before the meaning of his words hit Anala, like a slap of salt water in the face. "Ridiculous," she said, unable to believe it. "Ye hardly know me; ye cannae know what ye'd be offering."
"Aye, Bellica, we hardly know ye, but we'd be quite sure o' what it is we offer. See, we'd been sailing wi' Merry fer nigh on thirty years an' -- " He broke off, looking nervously at the captain, and Anala saw that Merry was levelling a hard glare at the man. Curious, she thought as she turned back to Dagon and raised her eyebrows, prompting him to continue. " An' we'd all be proud of our very own Harbourtown Hero, is all. We'd been there, at Voco -- we'd heard the stories o' the battle from who'd seen it. We know what ye'd offered."
It was obviously not what he'd been going to say at first, but it effectively distracted her. How many of her regiment had seen what happened there in the palace? Enough, it seemed, if news had reached a guilded merc ship that had merely served as transport for the army. Was that the source of their devotion, then? The source of Aro's?
She expelled a rush of air, not wanting to think on things long past, and tired of arguing the point any longer. She'd wasted time enough already.
Bellica Page 22