by Bryn Colvin
Somehow it did not surprise her when the statue itself began to move. There was a dreamlike inevitability to it all; that this intriguing figure had to be more than mere rock. The transformation was startling, as the shades of stone were absorbed into living colour and the static object became a moving, living force.
“You know me,” the statue said. “I am in your blood and your bones. I am your dream and your nightmare, your past and your future.”
“Who are you?” Liss asked.
“Ah, little one, would that you had chosen the other question. You should have asked who you are, but it is too late now. I am Iylla and there may come a day when my name alone will save you. Do not forget it. I am the wearer of skins and the taker of forms. I am the mask maker.”
Questions pressed in Liss’s thoughts. She wanted to know why she should ask who she was: She was Liss Crowfeather, daughter of Math Wolfstrong and that was enough, surely? Perhaps this strange creature could have told her something of her mother’s blood and heritage. Liss wondered if she was only allowed one question, or if she could ask other things. Before she could ponder this further, the strange figure before her pulled a mask from a bag and raised it to cover her eyes. Liss recognised the curve of a beak and the darkness of feather, the crow mask. In a moment, the woman was a bird and she soared high above the stone place, disappearing into the distant sky.
A second of the figures began to move, one of the barely formed ones. Liss wondered what she should ask it if it could tell her who she was, or if it might offer some other intelligence.
“What would you tell me?” she asked it, wishing she had posed a similarly open query to the wild woman.
“I may be you in years to come, or another of your choosing. I am the future you have not yet found and proof that it is not always the past that makes our way for us.”
She waited, looking at each figure in turn, wondering if any of the others might speak to her or move again, but all was still and silent.
~*~
“What do you remember?”
Sena’s hand was cool against her forehead. Liss felt her throat burning from thirst and her head ached as though she had been ill. Struggling to grasp the fleeting, dreamlike qualities of her memories, she reached for the cup of water that had been pressed into her hands and drank greedily.
“I was in a strange place made all of stone. There were people who spoke to me, a woman who turned into a crow. She said she was my blood and bone, my past and future and that I should have asked her who I was, not who she was. The other said that the future is not always born of the past, or something like that.”
“A crow woman,” Wren said nervously. She glanced around at the other women.
“Her father won’t like that.”
Liss nodded, she had guessed that much a long time ago. Crows were not creatures her father cared for and her choice of name would not please him, much less the subject of her vision.
“What do you think it means?” Liss asked.
“I don’t know, girl,” Wren answered thoughtfully, “most visions don’t make much sense until after the event. Sometimes they can give you ideas of who you are and what you might be going to do. I would say that you should keep fighting. If we were back in the old country, I’d send you to a vision worker or a wise woman to see if you’ve the makings of that in you, but there’s none of them in this number, only me and I don’t know anything much worth teaching. You might be touched that way, we’ll have to see.”
Wren scratched at her dry scalp and opened her mouth as though she meant to say something else, then thought better of it and kept her own council. Liss was too weary to challenge her and too busy trying to piece together the sense of her elderly guardian’s previous words. The speech had startled Liss, giving her an unsettling picture of the world her father came from and a sense of traditions lost. It was evocative but largely meaningless to her and she wanted something that made more sense. Not knowing what else to do, she dared a foray into a taboo.
“Was my mother touched that way?”
It was the first time Liss had asked anyone outright about her absent parent. Wren turned away and no one else spoke in her place. They could not tell her. Some of the older ones knew but were bound not to speak of it. Liss could tell from the looks on their faces that some of them knew something and that they were choosing to keep it from her. Anger blossomed up in her, but she fought it back, knowing it was pointless. She could not demand that they break oaths and guessed they had accepted some geas against speaking of her lost mother.
“Oaths bind us to keep your vision secret,” Pallan suggested.
There were nods from the other women.
“It is no matter,” Liss replied, “I am what I am, what I prove to be, I’ll make no secret of that. And as my vision said, the future is not always born out of the past. Whatever I am, that matters, doesn’t it.”
“You’ve a wise head on your shoulders, girl,” Wren said kindly.
Walking out of the tent and into the day, Liss felt disorientated. She had made the journey from child to woman and she had been given her vision. In many ways she felt much like her old self, save for the fact that she now carried a burden of knowledge that she did not begin to understand.
Chapter Two
The forest made Math wary. The dense trees could give cover to anything, or anyone. You could hide a vast army on its fringes and out on the plains there would be no evidence of their presence until it was too late. There was no knowing what manner of beasts might lurk there or what dangers might hide. He disliked trees. In small numbers they were useful enough but in vast swathes they struck him as having a slow and certain intelligence. It was intelligence that he had the impression did not like him at all. He tried to concentrate on the pragmatic issues—the ones he did not have to feel ashamed of thinking. Fighting in such terrain was nightmarish, after all, when horses lost all advantage and anyone with local knowledge could spring fatal traps upon the unwary. He had only seen one campaign in forested land and had only barely survived it. The experience was one he had no desire to repeat.
They had camped far enough from the forest’s edge that no foe could attack them easily. Nonetheless, Math posted extra guards, just in case something used the cover of night to break from the trees. He decided, as they made camp, that in the morning he would have men go out and cut back the first yards of the undergrowth, taking fuel for the fires, wood for fresh bows, arrows, tent poles and other useful impedimenta. It would not do the young ones any harm to learn that there were ways of acquiring things other than simply stealing them and it would lessen the threat of the trees. The trouble was that the men who followed him saw the resources of the forest and not its innumerable threats.
Vik was rolling in the dust outside his tent, her pale hair filthy and her face streaked with grime. Crouched down on her hands and knees, Liss was tickling her younger sister’s stomach. The blended sound of their laughter seemed innocent and playful. Math kept still, watching his two daughters and marvelling at the differences between them. Vik was a delicate, pale child, who might have Sena’s tranquil beauty in time. Liss was already showing signs of the striking, compelling features that had made her mother so alluring. Her dark hair contrasted with the delicate white of her skin, she was strong boned and her face already had something of her mother’s mystery in it. To look at them, he realised, you might never think them sisters, or even knowing they had been born to different women. Math wondered if his second child would prove as troublesome as the first.
As though sensing his presence, Liss turned, facing him defiantly. The playful childishness fell from her face and she tensed her jaw. He saw his younger self in the straight determination of her posture. She was strong, fierce and undoubtedly his own—as wilful and dangerous, as he knew himself to be. There was nothing he could do about her choice of name. Math had no reason for thinking she had picked it to spite him. Even so, the mere fact of it was enough to make his blood seethe whe
never he was reminded of what she had so thoughtlessly done.
Neither of them spoke. He had yet to challenge her over the matter of her adult name and he had not found time to discover the nature of her vision. Wren had sent her back to train, Liss was a skilful fighter, but he had wondered if there might be more to her than that. Given what he knew of her blood lineage, anything might be possible.
“Say it and be done,” she suggested, her tone low but harsh.
He could not help but laugh at that, but was careful not to mock her newfound dignity with an excess of amusement.
“I do not like the name you have chosen, but if it is a dark fate you want, that must be your business. I cannot keep you from it.”
“You may think as you please,” she replied, steadily.
“Yes, that I may, Liss Crowfeather.”
She nodded. Math’s approval was something she had not expected, but this gesture of respect was more than enough to satisfy her pride.
“And what of your vision?”
“It made little sense. Wren said I should train and that I might make something else, but that you haven’t got any of them so there would be no one to train me anyway.”
“Did she, now?”
It was evident to Math that his daughter’s vision had told her guardian more than it had her. He resolved to speak with the old woman, see if he could glean any sense from what his daughter had seen.
“Where is your mother, filthy one?” he enquired of Vik.
“Fetching water I expect,” Liss answered, Vik being too young to speak for herself.
Math nodded. Unlike some of the women he had kept in the past, Sena always did her fare share of work and expected no favours. She had turned out to be both helpful and reliable. He liked those qualities. Still, his eye wandered from time to time and he wondered if she would grow difficult should he toy with some other girl for a while. He scooped Vik up in his arms, letting the grimy child explore his beard with her fingers. Her barely-blue eyes were fixed with intent and he smiled down at her, thinking how well she deserved her name. Thus far in her short life, Vik had proved a pleasant source of amusement to him. Helping him to forget his cares, much like the mildly narcotic herb for which she had been named.
Chapter Three
Liss had seen the young man only from a distance in the past. He was a few years her senior and kept himself apart from new warriors like herself, as did most of the older ones. He showed no signs of any interest in her company. She had no idea if he was shy, proud or just distracted. They walked together in silence, eyes alert to any signs of danger.
As a student of combat, Liss performed her various duties alongside more experienced hands. Learning the dull rigours of patrol and watch-work, the duty of horse care, the art of fire building and the discipline of accepting orders. For a few hours every day she trained with blade and bow and learned to fight with nothing but her hands. Like her father, she was strong and lively, but she had a graceful speed that gave her more advantage than force alone might have blessed her with.
Walking the perimeter of the camp was dull work by day and hot when the sun burned brightly. There would be watchers staged within, but the walking was important to let enemies know that the camp was prepared. Her father knew many tricks. His attention to such details had allowed him to thrive as a war leader, where less focused men would have floundered eventually.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Dothrin.”
“What about your chosen name?”
He chuckled humourlessly.
“Some of my companions call me ‘Dothrin the Dog,’ but I would rather it if you didn’t.”
They continued for a few more paces and Liss asked if he would ask the same question in return, or if her reputation and parentage preceded her. That he had not seen fit to reveal his adult name was curious enough. She supposed he must have picked something a little foolish and that his friends had mocked him for it: Once taken, a name could not be revoked, no matter how misguided it proved to be.
“Who are your family?” she asked after a while.
“I would rather not speak of them.”
Liss supposed he must be slave-born, or unnamed and decided to pry no further. If her companion did not want to pass the time in amiable conversation, it would probably be better not to talk to him at all.
The grass they walked through was long, as the feet of Math’s hunters and fighters had not yet worn it away to dust. Between the camp and the dense cover of the woodland an abundance of tall plants and shrubs grew, such that there was scope for imagining some hidden danger might meet them. Liss did not expect anything much would lurk here in broad daylight—a few birds perhaps, some of the pretty coloured lozzies that sang up the sun each morning. They were not much good for eating so she tended to leave them alone.
A peculiar, trembling feeling gripped her stomach and her flesh seemed to crawl, as though a horde of tiny insects were brushing their delicate bodies against her. Liss stopped.
“What?” her companion asked, looking around.
“Touch of the sun, nothing,” Liss told him.
Not knowing the source of her discomfort and imagining she must have eaten something unhealthy, she remained on edge. The last thing she wanted to do was have to run into the bushes to evacuate her bowels with someone close by to observe her. It was hardly becoming of a young warrior. She took a few hesitant steps forward, conscious of her comrade’s scrutiny. A sound from the nearby undergrowth caught her attention and she froze, motioning Dothrin to be still. Her senses strained and the sound came again, one of movement. It might be some wild creature. If so, they were allowed a little game hunting on their patrol so long as they did not stray from the boundaries too far. For an instant she imagined it might be some lurking enemy, but quickly doubted it. What few people there were who occupied this land had learned to be wary of her father’s people.
With a few considered gestures, she silently communicated to Dothrin that she had heard something. His hand was on his axe as she crept forward. The buzzing sensation against her skin grew more intense as she approached, making her giddy. Going unheard became harder with every step as she fought to remain in full control of herself. Liss was sweating and scarcely able to breathe, wondering all the while what dark enchantment was overtaking her. Dothrin was far enough behind, she supposed, that he could run for help if it proved too much for her. Her father would commend her heroism facing this thing herself, for clearly it posed some danger, whatever it might be. Perhaps some part of the flora was deadly, or some weird beast or person had the power to assault the senses. Either way, she knew she would find favour in his eyes for facing it alone.
Sunlight danced across bare, moving skin. The young man was tall and lean, his waist slender and his buttocks perfectly rounded. They pulsed rhythmically. Beneath him, Liss could see a young woman, her face buried in the man’s shoulder, her breasts visible, crushed against his body. They rocked together. She had chanced upon nothing more deadly than a pair of errant lovers. While they should not really have been there, it was hardly more than a minor indiscretion and not worth anything at all. There were hands sliding over sensitive skin and lips tugging at lips, where bodies joined there was heat, pleasure and need, the constant rocking out of urgent rhythms that caught Liss and held her captive. She knew how it felt to be that girl, touched and entered, kissed and smothered and equally how it was to enter and command, to own and overpower. Her mind threatened to burst at this flood of sensory information. It seemed to Liss that her own body was caressed, that she lay naked beneath the sky, passionately ministered to. She trembled, unable to move or think.
Dothrin’s hand on her arm seemed part of it all, as though he had also become her lover alongside these secretive two. He crouched beside her, watching, a guilty smile upon his face. At last, when the sensation wracking Liss seemed to be more than she could bear, the duo ground to a halt, to lie gasping in each other’s arms. The madness that h
ad gripped her mind began to ease its grip on her. As soon as she could, Liss crept away, her cheeks reddened and her thoughts in turmoil.
“Shall we leave them be?” Dothrin asked.
She nodded, wondering what he thought of her watching like that and if it had moved him in the same way. She did not think she had ever been around people who were fucking before and did not know what to make of her reaction; but whom could she ask? Not the young man at her side whose long tunic had been pulled out of shape by the erection beneath it; not her father, certainly; Sena, perhaps, or Wren.
For a while they continued to make their way along the edge of the camp, startling the odd bird in the bushes and whisking up clouds of yellow pollen from the grass and sedge. Dothrin, she realised, had been quite affected by what they had seen. He wanted to do something very similar. His desire was not focused on her, particularly, but was vague, drifting out of him like smoke. She shivered involuntarily, conscious of this aura of lust. The urge to pull him down into the grass and re-enact what they had witnessed was surprisingly strong. Liss risked a glance at the young man who walked beside her. He was unremarkable. His hair was dark enough to bear out the notion that he might not be pure blooded. His brows were heavy, his mouth full, his skin darkened by a hint of stubble. He was a thumb or two taller than Liss and she guessed that, if she caught him off guard, she could probably take him apart before he even knew what had hit him. There was nothing in his looks that fuelled her desire. Instead, she had the peculiar feeling that his wants were permeating her skin and infecting her mind. Altering her path, Liss moved away from him and, once they were a few paces apart, the effect lessened and she was able to breathe easily again.