Unfinished Song(Book 4): Root

by Maya, Tara

  Dindi had never seen her save in Visions, but she knew that beauty by heart. How had she not recognized the woman before? How had a few wrinkles, a bent back, hidden that glory, even for a moment?

  “It is the White Lady!”

  Dindi thought she had cried it aloud, but the words had not come from her. The warriors on the raptors shouted it to one another. They gaped and pointed.

  “Cease this fighting!” The White Lady’s voice carried over the whole battlefield without effort, more like a song than a shout. Warriors on both sides lowered their weapons. Dindi could not tell if magic compelled them, or merely awe.

  The White Lady angled her floating body toward the Raptor Riders.

  “If it is me you have come for, then take me. Leave these clansfolk alone.”

  “No, my Lady!” objected Finnadro. He and his wolves formed a circle around the area where she hovered, though he could no more reach her than her foes.

  “Let us treat and truce,” called back the leader of the Raptor Riders. The voice was rough and cruel, but higher pitched than Dindi expected. The rider in the feathered helm and padded leather armor was a woman. “No one else needs to die. We only want to talk.”

  The White Lady inclined her head. “Agreed.”

  Kemla

  Kemla had missed the battle. That was bad enough. Her male cousins jogged close to her, those useless fools, clucking their tongues like hens. They hadn’t wanted her to come with them, because they didn’t want her exposed to bloodshed. Fa! Who had been through a war? She or they? Just because she had hips didn’t mean she couldn’t spear a man in the spleen.

  Besides, all their clucking had been for naught, because the moment the warriors from Full Basket arrived, the cowardly attackers yielded to a truce. Kemla could not believe that the war leaders of Full Basket and Broken Basket agreed to let them off so easily. But flags of truce were waved on top of lances and spears, and each separate group of warriors withdrew to its own side. Most of the clansfolk of Lost Swan were held prisoner by the crazy bird-riding outtribers in the center of the burnt out clanhold, which the outtribers made their camp.

  A few Lost Swan clanfolk had escaped capture, and these joined the rest of the Corn Hills warriors on one side of the clanhold. One of them, to Kemla’s sour surprise, was Dindi. She popped up out of nowhere and trotted to the Corn Hill encampment. Dindi’s cousin Hadi had also evaded the attackers. Apparently, he and some younger boys had been driving goats to pasture at the time of the attack. They herded their gaggle of goats yet. Tamio and Yodigo clapped Hadi on the back and welcomed him with yelps. He looked dazed and unhappy. The smaller boys looked excited. The goats nuzzled each new body they met, hoping to find food. Those goats would be lucky if they didn’t end up as food themselves, if the truce devolved back into a siege.

  The Corn Hills war leaders, a mix of old men and young men, did not seem to know what to do once the combatants had withdrawn to their respective sides. An old woman and a rover strode toward them. Mangy dogs surrounded them. Kemla recognized the beggars she had turned away in the woods. What were they doing here?

  The dogs glowed green and shifted, turning into shaggy, bearded men, bare chested despite the chill, above fur legwals.

  The Corn Hills warriors gasped and took a collective step back.

  The young nephews of the clans, among them Tamio and Yodigo, bristled like so many porcupines with their spears. The seven strange men, in contrast, were not armed, except the center one, who wore dark green leather. He was the only one of his band who had no beard, just the bristled shadow of a day old shave. He carefully kept his hands away from the bow slung over his back. Kemla sensed he could have that bow ready soon enough if he’d an itch for it.

  The bunch had an untamed air.

  The bowman of the wolves stepped forward. The graybeards restrained the youths from any rash reaction. The outtribesman clapped his hand to his chest and bowed his head.

  “We trespass without malice upon your hospitality,” he said. “By your leave.”

  The clansfolk deferred to Abiono, as leader of the Tavaedis, to speak for them.

  “Without malice you say you came, but malice has come in your wake. Was it you and this auntie who brought battle to our holds? For we have not known any quarrel with those bird riders until now, when we find them here, and you, uninvited among us.”

  “Uncle, we were not uninvited,” said the rangy outtriber.

  Dindi stepped forward, right between the negotiators. She had no business being there, but Dindi seemed to like best to be where she did not belong.

  “Forgive me, Uncle, but they had my invitation to stay at our clanhold.”

  A very pained look passed over Abiono’s face. He muttered something under his breath before he told Dindi, “I will deal with you later.”

  Then he turned back to the outtriber. “Strange warrior, your mother’s name is not known to us, nor does your clan meet with us.”

  “Uncle, if you allow, I will remedy that. These men and I hail from the Green Woods Tribe, in the Hidden Forest. I am Finnadro the Wolf Hunter, son of Obran and Finna…”

  “Are they men, these men?” inquired Abiono, with an arched brow.

  Finnadro continued in tones that hinted of challenge, “I am the Henchman of the Green Lady, and at present, in the service of the White Lady.”

  He stepped back and bowed to the old woman with him.

  Heads bobbed and shook among the Corn Hills folk. The whisper ran up and down the crowd, The White Lady!

  “That old coot!” Kemla said out loud. “Impossible!”

  Several heads whipped in her direction, but she glared them down.

  Then the lady slowly spread wings behind her, gossamer, shimmery things that refracted a thousand colors. Age fell away from her. Kemla saw the memory of youth in the ancient face, impossible beauty, a glimpse of eternity. Kemla felt a chill that had nothing to do with the snow. Tears of shame stung her eyes. As if driven by an unseen force, she sank to her knees.

  All around her, the other Corn Hills tribesfolk fell to their knees as well, ripples down the rows, until everyone prostrated to the White Lady. She glittered and gleamed, too bright for them to bear. Then she withdrew into herself, shut her wings, withered and waned and folded back into a dim old lady, looking a tad tired, a bit doddering.

  Kemla shook off whatever madness had come over her. She struck the tears from her face. But she could not forget her shame, that she had turned away the White Lady from her home. This horrid fact burned inside her. She hoped no one knew. She felt she would kill anyone who knew, and if the White Lady were to point to her, and proclaim this fact aloud for all to hear, Kemla would take her own life rather than live with their horror and scorn.

  But the White Lady did not point to her or even seem to notice her. Instead, the White Lady inclined her head toward Dindi and said softly (yet, somehow her voice carried to all in the crowd), “My thanks to this child for giving us shelter.”

  Dindi turned pink. Abiono cleared his throat.

  “Just so,” he said. “My Lady, you are most honored by all Rainbow Labyrinth tribesfolk, but we still do not understand what brings war to our humble holds.”

  More talk, more chatter. Kemla hardly heard. She stared hard instead at Dindi, seething inside. The little schemer. How had Dindi known who the old woman was, how?

  Dindi

  To Dindi’s relief, the elders pushed past the whole matter of her offering hospitality without permission from her clan aunties, because more pressing matters had to be discussed. The Corn Hills folk had no choice but to ally themselves with Finnadro and his strange coterie of wolf-turned-men, for the only other option would be to turn the White Lady over to the Raptor Riders, which was no alternative at all.

  The morning turned to afternoon before negotiations opened with the Raptor Riders. A place had to be chosen, and representatives, and food, for no truce could be discussed without food, and messengers had to go back and forth between
the two sides to discuss all this before the official discussion between the two sides could take place. Peace negotiations, Dindi remembered from her trip to the Blue Waters tribehold, took more effort than war, and even then there was no guarantee it wouldn’t end in fighting anyway. Dindi hoped this truce would proceed more satisfactorily than the last she had witnessed.

  The Raptor Riders sent seven leaders and their seven slaves and the Corn Hills sent seven leaders and seven servers (having no slaves) to set up a feast mat, bowls and corn meal, fires and torches, and a tent overhead to keep out the snow and wind as much as possible. Dindi asked if she might serve the White Lady. Abiono wanted to refuse, but the White Lady nodded. He grimaced a smile at Dindi, but as soon as the White Lady wasn’t looking, he grabbed Dindi by the shoulders and hissed in her ear:

  “For the love of mercy, don’t do anything crazy! You could start a war!”

  She could have reminded him that her own kinfolk remained hostages, but she just nodded and promised to behave.

  The White Lady, Finnadro and Abiono made three, plus an elder warrior of Full Basket and an elder warrior of Broken basket—five—and there were no elders of Lost Swan, since all had been captured, so a younger man, Tamio, was allowed to go, given that he was a Tavaedi and a blooded warrior. Then the White Lady suggested that a warrior woman be chosen also, which led to Kemla stepping forward. She looked surprised and almost guilty but she adapted quickly to the honor. She even snapped a few commands at Dindi. For once, Dindi did not mind.

  The White Lady led the procession from their side to the tent where the feast had been set. An old man led the procession from the other side. This surprised Dindi, since she had been sure it was a woman in a feathered helm that led the Raptor Riders. Indeed, except for the old man, all the Riders were female. They wore tough leather and war paint like warriors. Yet they were not tall or heavily muscled, as with some women who fought as warriors and even took female wives as men did. These Riders were all petite, almost elfin. A few were quite lovely, though not their leader, who wore the most elaborate feathered helm.

  The woman in the feathered helm stood at the old man’s side, as Finnadro stood beside the White Lady. Despite his white hair and leathered face, the man still looked rather dashing, but the younger woman had a terrifying face like the sharp end of an ax or the dull end of a goat. He beamed at his enemies. She scowled at them all.

  The old man looked eerily familiar. Dindi recognized him just before he introduced himself.

  “Vessia knows me already, of course, but for you others, I am Vumo the One-Horned Aurochs,” he said jovially. “Green Zavaedi of the Rainbow Labyrinth. This is my daughter, Amdra the Toad Woman.”

  Zumo’s father and sister, Dindi realized. Kavio’s uncle and cousin. They were chasing the White Lady?

  Zavaedi Abiono shared her confusion.

  “I do not understand,” he said stiffly. “If you are both from our tribe, why do you fly giant birds, as outtribers from the Orange Canyon do? Why do you pursue our Lady, and why do you attack us, your own tribesfolk?”

  Vumo dismissed that with a wave. “A misunderstanding, nothing more.”

  Finnadro said angrily, “Men have died from your ‘misunderstanding.’”

  “That’s usually the result,” agreed Vumo. “Shall we drink to peace and clarity?”

  “Shouldn’t we discuss terms before we drink ourselves silly?” Amdra asked her father acidly.

  “Nonsense,” he said. “Inebriation before negotiation, always.”

  He poured beer into his own bowl and passed the jug. Dindi poured for the White Lady, and other servers who sat behind the leaders at the mat did the same. The seven slaves on the other side did not pour; they did not serve their mistresses at all. All were male, powerfully built, with muscles emphasized by crisscrossed leather harnesses and feathered epaulets. And all were leashed and blindfolded.

  Their mistresses did not drink.

  Vumo did not care. He downed his bowl and a second one.

  “Let the prisoners go,” said the White Lady. “And pay these people for their losses.”

  “They slew half a dozen of our Raptors,” said Amdra. “Those birds were worth more than seven worthless holds like this. Let them pay us, in an equal number of slaves.”

  The Corn Hills warriors bristled.

  Vumo patted Amdra’s hand. “Fa, dear, don’t agitate them. We can still work this out. Vessia, we came to rescue you from this Green Woods bandit who abducted you.”

  He jerked his thumb at Finnadro.

  “I am not in need of rescue. Thanks to Finnadro,” the White Lady said.

  “Prove it. Come home with us quietly, and we will release the farmers and pay for their lost sheep.”

  “Go back to the Labyrinth to be Zumo’s prisoner again?” scoffed the White Lady. “You must be mad. Do you want to fight me, Vumo? I will not surrender. I will not submit. I am no man’s slave, and no man’s captive. I am not one of your blinded birds. I am no tamed hawk. I fly free, now and forever. Kill me if you dare, but I warn you: Take me on at your own peril. Old I may be, but I have fire in me yet. I will burn you and yours to ashes if you corner me. I took down the Bone Whistler and I can take down you.”

  She filled up with light, as she had during the battle, as when she had revealed her true identity to the warriors of the Corn Hills. In her fury and pride, none could look her full in the face. Amdra winced and even Vumo cringed.

  “Vessia, Vessia, you speak as if we are at war, as if we were enemies,” Vumo complained.

  “You dare demand my submission and then claim you are not my enemy?”

  “We don’t demand your submission,” Vumo said. “Not at all.”

  Amdra scowled.

  Vumo swigged another bowl of beer. He swiped sweat from his forehead. “We want only what you want. To find the Vaedi. My son and yours made a pact before witnesses to hold a Vooma for the Vaedi and let the winner choose between them. That’s all we want.”

  “Then our path is easy.” Vessia smiled with no joy. “I am heading to the Green Woods tribehold, to recruit young maidens from all the tribes to dance for me. Those whose magic is strong, I will send back to the Labyrinth, to dance in the Vaedi-Vooma. You and your allies from the Orange Canyon are also invited.”

  “Since when are the Raptors of Orange Canyon allowed to fly in the forbidden forests of the wolf people?” demanded Amdra. “They are ancient enemies of ours.”

  “Of yours, Amdra?” the White Lady asked. “Is Orange Canyon your tribe?”

  “They are kin of mine, and I claim them, since I went through Initiation there,” Amdra retorted. “Why hold your contest in such a remote tribehold? Why not in the Labyrinth, or in Cliffedge, our tribehold?”

  “Because I seek maidens with six Chromas,” said Vessia. “And your Orange Canyon kin have spent the last several generations destroying every Imorvae they could lay talons on. In the Green Woods, however, many Imorvae run free.”

  “Run wild, more like,” said Amdra. She sneered at the wolf-man who stood silently behind Finnadro. “Beasts and bitches.”

  The man behind Finnadro yowled and shifted into a wolf, leaping across the mat toward Amdra. The wolf would have torn out her throat, but Finnadro caught it by the scruff of the neck and hauled it back, barking a command. The wolf, with obvious effort, shifted back into a man, still panting with rage.

  “You should keep yours on a leash, as we do,” said Amdra, with a cruel laugh.

  “I need more beer,” said Vumo, to no one in particular.

  “We do not need leashes,” said Finnadro. “Our pledged word is good. We will let you trespass on our lands if you come in peace for the White Lady’s contest. If any man or woman, human or wolfling, born of my tribe, does any of yours ill, I will give you the transgressor’s head and heart in a bowl. And you do us likewise.”

  Amdra bored into Finnadro with her gaze, as if her eyes were two drills and she would mine him.

  Vessia said wi
th a touch of amusement, “You cannot eat his thoughts, Amdra. He is too wrapped in Green love for his Faery Lady. You must trust his word.”

  “She is a thought-eater?” Finnadro asked. “Like her mother?”

  “Even stronger than her mother,” said Vessia. “Amdra? Have we a pact?”

  “Very well,” said Amdra, looking sour. “I hold you as a man to that promise, Wolf Hunter. Betray me, and I will seek your head and heart myself.”

  “And as goodwill gesture,” added Vumo, “We will free the captives. We have both suffered loses. Let us call it even and neither side seek further retribution.”

  “Agreed,” said the White Lady.

  All the leaders at the feasting mat added their voices to hail the agreement. Dindi and the other servers poured more beer. This time even Amdra and the grim women Riders drank to the pact.

  Dindi

  With their clanhold destroyed and their winter stores burned, the matriarchs of the Lost Swan clan decreed that it would be best for those of their clan who could to journey with the White Lady to the Green Woods tribehold for the winter. The elders and families with small children, who could not travel so far, would spend the winter with their allies, Full or Broken Basket. In the spring, the clan would return to rebuild.

  Fewer members of Full Basket and Broken basket elected to go, but still a substantial number of the younger members wanted to make the journey. Finnadro assured them they would be welcome. All of the Tavaedies would go of course. Whether that included Dindi was fortunately a moot point. She was just as glad to leave it ambiguous. People liked to forbid things, if given a chance, so she preferred not to give them the opportunity.

  However, when it came down to putting one foot in front of the other, Dindi realized that some folks would inevitably travel faster than others. The Tavaedi troop was likely to arrive half a moon sooner than the slower aunties and uncles, and whichever young folk had to carry their packs for them. Jensi had just succeeded in drafting Dindi to help her and Tibi pull an overloaded toboggan, when rescue appeared from an unexpected source.