“But Olluhm hasn’t claimed me,” I protested. “You know that. I am no one’s mate.” I looked at my hands and wondered if it was my destiny to be forgotten, forsaken Alluria. Alyon took pity on me, and offered what advice she could.
“I will tell you this, little sister,” she began, “many, many priestesses take lovers, not just those of us who are barren. And no, Olluhm won’t strike you or Caol’nir dead if he touches you, but then I assume you’ve already learned that.” I protested but she held up her hand. “Say what you’d like, but I know enough of these matters to realize he’s touched you somewhat more than is proper.” Sufficiently abashed, I shut my mouth and let her continue. “Also realize that if you decide to pursue something with him, he has his own oaths to consider.”
“And his oaths were sworn to the Prelate,” I finished. Caol’nir’s father, whom I could never ask him to betray. “What should I do?”
Alyon grasped my hand, and smiled at me. “I think you should be careful. You may just be infatuated with him, or with the idea of taking a lover, as he may be with you. Do not throw away all you’ve learned for this man unless you’re sure that what you feel is real. Remember, if you choose to leave the temple you cannot return.” I was acutely aware of that, and it was one of my fears. What if I did leave the only life I had ever known, expecting Caol’nir to love me and me alone, and I was wrong?
“And…if it is real?” I asked, for I so desperately wanted it to be.
“Then you should speak with Atreynha. She would help you in anything you wanted to accomplish, even leaving the temple.”
I thanked Alyon, and assured her that I would wait at least a moon, maybe more, before I made up my mind about Caol’nir. In that time, we will have gone to the meadow again; well, if he keeps his word we will go again. I hoped he would.
We began to speak of lighter topics when a new question came to the forefront of my mind. “Will you perform the fertility rites here?”
“Sarelle has decreed them unnecessary, since there are no crops grown nearby. And there are no priests in the Great Temple, anyway.” Alyon eyed me for a moment, then asked a question of her own. “Do you find it odd that while all the priestesses were relocated to Teg’urnan, the men were left behind?”
“Yes. It is passing strange.”
Asherah speaks…
I may as well call myself Asherah now, since it’s what everyone else is calling me, thanks to Torim. When I try to correct them, they just smile and say I’m being modest, calling myself by such a mundane name as Hillel (after all, my name does mean cloud, and one can hardly be more common than that), and they go on about their way.
We spent that first day, and the next, at the tiny cottage, which retained its palatial feel compared to the filthy cells we were used to. On the third morning, Harek and I climbed a nearby hill to survey the area. While we could find no evidence of our being pursued, we still made the decision to move on. North was our chosen direction, for no better reason than we were already north of Teg’urnan and it somehow made sense to continue on that path. Once we descended from our perch, we informed the others, and after we had packed up every morsel of food and item that could be carried, we left Rahlle’s most generous gift behind.
Our journey north was neither calm nor swift, and we continued our nomadic existence for nearly three seasons. I had been amazed to learn that there were more such slave camps (Harek later told me they were called dojas). My amazement was quickly replaced by determination to burn them all to the ground. We rescued nearly all of the slaves from the first two; sadly, the third camp we encountered held less than twenty women, all of them used without care or mercy. By their leave, I slit their throats and burned them with what dignity we could manage. After the nightmare that was the third doja, the others called me Asherah the Ruthless.
The fourth doja was the largest yet, with more than one hundred fae enslaved to vermin. It was also the most difficult fight we had yet encountered, and we managed to liberate only thirty. Our bittersweet victory was tempered by the fifth doja, where we rescued all sixty of the captive fae. The seventh and the eighth were much the same, as was the next, and the next, until they formed a blur across my memory. While each and every individual was offered the opportunity to take what provisions they needed and a map to their home, invariably they chose to remain with us. In time, our ranks swelled from twenty-four bedraggled survivors to hundreds of rescued fae.
Now, as the lot of us trudged northward, the question remained: where in the north were we ultimately going? Rahlle still left his gift of cottages along our path, filled with food and supplies in quantities that always matched our ever-growing ranks, but I wondered how long his generosity would last. I considered heading to the north and west to the land of the dark fae, our brethren. Yet (if such tales were to be believed) our great and noble King Sahlgren, the very bastard who had ordered our enslavement, was of the dark fae.
That was reason enough to avoid them, for who knew if this demonic pact wasn’t a means for the dark fae to usurp Parthalan for themselves? The legends say that Nibika’al, the goddess of night, had grown jealous of Cydia’s beauty, and the beauty of her children, and conspired to seduce Olluhm away from Cydia’s bed. Nibika’al succeeded, and thus the dark fae were born of night’s union with the sun. Some said that the dark fae had inherited their mother’s jealous tendencies and coveted all that Parthalan held dear.
So, rather than attempting to seek refuge with our distant cousins we continued northward, guided by Harek’s excellent navigational skills and maps that Rahlle thoughtfully left in our cottages. We only veered off course to burn more of those accursed dojas to the ground. As winter fast approached, we were so far to the north I worried that we would not be able to find adequate shelter for our ever-growing numbers. Some of the survivors, still healing from their torture, couldn’t camp outdoors as Torim and I usually did, and I didn’t want to rely on Rahlle’s generosity to feed and shelter us all. What if we suddenly fell from his favor?
Yet another reason made me want to find my own solution instead of continuing to rely on our benefactor; no longer merely the survivors, the rescued had become my people. While I will never understand why they saw me as their leader in the first place, I had nevertheless accepted the charge, and I was now honor-bound to guide them safely through this land.
I stood upon a rise one morning, looking out over the valley as the elder sun greeted the earth, and wondered aloud where we were to find shelter before the cold season found us.
“Why don’t we go to the elves?” Harek asked. I hadn’t realized he was standing there, and I wondered how much of my disjointed rambling he had been privy to.
“Elves?”
“Yes,” he replied. He crouched low and drew a crude map of Parthalan’s northern border in the dirt with a stick. “The elflands are just beyond this valley. Here is the Seat of the elf king, and here is the southern keep,” he added, using small stones to mark their locations. “While the elves are allies with Sahlgren, I doubt they’re involved in the dojas.”
I studied the faint scratches and considered his words. We had nothing to lose by approaching the elves for asylum; the worst they could do was turn us away. If they did we could continue north and leave behind the lands of elf and fae alike. However, I suspected Harek’s true motivation.
“You mean to ask the elf king to rally against Sahlgren?” I asked. The elves were renowned as warriors, their skill and cunning making them such formidable foes that would-be opponents usually surrendered rather than engage. As such, their borders had never been breached by the mordeth-gall, a fact the elves were more than proud of.
“Have you a better plan?” Harek countered.
“Why would the elves bother to get involved in fae business?” I pressed. “It would be wiser for them to remain safe behind their borders.”
“Do you think Ehkron cares where the border lies?” Harek retorted. “Elves can be enslaved just as fae can, and the horrors
no less wretched.”
“Very well,” I stated, “we go to the elves.”
Onward we went, burning more and more dojas until I began to wonder if any fae were left at liberty in Parthalan. As our numbers continued to swell, another phenomenon occurred, one that always happens when a large number of people spend their days together: the former slaves began to pair off and seek cozy, secluded spots to while away the night.
At first, I was shocked that they would be so bold, then amazed that these women wanted to engage in the act of love at all. I couldn’t imagine a man’s skin against mine—the very thought turned my skin cold and clammy—yet these women practically leapt into bed with whatever warm man would have them. I confided my thoughts to Torim, and she laughed away my concerns.
“They are reminding themselves that they are alive,” she replied softly, “in the simplest way possible.” We were nestled deep within our bedroll; her touch I did not mind. Rather, I welcomed it as one parched would welcome a rainstorm.
“But how can they want that?” I asked. “Inviting a man’s touch after what was done to us…” My voice trailed off as I spied a solitary figure across the fire. “Harek remains alone.”
“I believe there is a special reason for that,” Torim whispered, her eyes glinting. “I’ve spoken with some of the other women, and it seems that our captors went to great lengths to make sure we only bore their whelps.”
“What do you mean?” I could not imagine what she was hinting at. What did they need to do other than confine us in a tiny cell and chain us to the floor as they violated us?
“Many of the guards were unmanned,” Torim replied. “Not all, but a fair few.”
“Ah.” My gaze returned to the lone silhouette of Harek as I considered this revelation. “That certainly explains a few things.”
Torim grabbed a section of my hair and twined it with hers. “You as pale as the stars, I as golden as the sun,” she murmured in a singsong voice. It had a familiar feel to it, as if it was a song I’d learned long ago…meaning in that hazy time before I was captured, when I imagined that I had a family who cared about me and wondered if I still lived.
Or, maybe I’d never been anything but a slave.
“Hillel.”
Torim’s soft voice snapped me free of my reverie, and as my memories faded away I was met by her soft brown gaze. In that moment she reminded me of nothing so much as a fawn, with her large, innocent brown eyes and golden hair, and I wanted nothing more than to protect her. That overwhelming protectiveness is what made me wonder if I had known Torim before our enslavement; at times, it even made me wonder if she was my child.
“If you question the state of Harek’s manhood, I’m sure he’d oblige you with an answer,” Torim said, loudly enough for Harek to look towards us.
“I’d like nothing less,” I murmured. Torim sat up and stretched, the blankets falling away from her torso as she arched her back. The moonlight outlined her small waist and taut breasts, and I felt a familiar warmth in my belly.
No, not my child, I thought as I wrapped my arms around her. Torim was pliant in my arms and let me drag her deeply into the blankets.
“What are you thinking?” she asked softly.
“About the elves,” I replied. “What do you think we’ll find there?”
“Help,” she replied confidently. “Help, and hope.
Chapter Six
Despite his misgivings, and the danger posed to both him and Alluria, Caol’nir was true to his word. He took her to their meadow so often the palace buzzed with gossip concerning the Prelate’s son and his mysterious saffira. Caol’nir did nothing to stem the flow of rumors, and to those who dared to ask him the name of his lover he demurred, claiming that she was a modest girl and wouldn’t like such attention. What no one realized was the truth of his words.
Summer’s heat gave way to autumn’s chill, and still no one knew the identity of Caol’nir’s girl, least of all his brothers. Caol’nir contemplated this fact as he watched Alluria sort the few herbs they had gathered that day.
“We collected very little today,” Caol’nir observed as he helped her organize the meager pile.
“Yes, they typically die back as autumn approaches.” Alluria looked up from her work. “I would have told you, but I’ve so come to enjoy these outings. As soon as you return me to the temple, I look forward to the next.” Caol’nir reached across the mound of plants and gently squeezed her fingers.
“Then we will continue to comb this meadow for your plants, and once we have rendered it barren we will move on to the next.” She returned his smile as she gripped his hand, and Caol’nir silently thanked the gods for bringing Alluria into his life. After long moments, she withdrew and resumed sorting their measly haul.
“Fiornacht seems to be harassing you less and less,” she mentioned, if only to fill the silence. “Has he finally decided that you won’t disgrace him?”
“Thanks to your lovely dress he thinks I’m bedding one saffira after the other,” he replied, nodding at the garment Alluria donned for their outings, “and while he still finds that disgraceful, it’s much more acceptable than spending time with a priestess.”
“Your brother doesn’t even know you. You would never harm one you’re sworn to protect,” Alluria muttered. “Why is he so hard on you?”
“He misses our mother, and he blames Caol’non and me for her death.” Alluria said nothing aloud, but her compassionate, inquisitive eyes made him continue. “When my brother and I were born it was hard on her; she was a small woman, and my father says she never properly recovered. A few winters later, the spring thaw came late and Teg’urnan saw snow for the first time in centuries. She was too frail to withstand the cold, and the healers couldn’t save her.” His voice trailed off, and Alluria could see that not only Fiornacht blamed the twins for their mother’s demise.
She put down her bundles of herbs and took Caol’nir’s hand in both of hers. “Do you remember her?” she asked softly as she traced patterns across his palm.
“I do,” Caol’nir replied. “She was kind and generous, and she smiled often.”
“I’d smile often as well, if I was blessed with a son like you.” Caol’nir nodded, but still didn’t meet her eyes. “How was she called?”
“Iseult,” he replied.
“Meadow,” Alluria stated, translating his mother’s name from the old language. “Then it is fitting that we speak of her here, now.”
“Her eyes were green like a meadow in spring,” he explained.
“Like yours?”
“Like mine.”
“I would have described them as leaf green,” she said, but Caol’nir didn’t acknowledge her remark. “You cannot hold yourself responsible for something the gods chose to do. To call your mother home was their choice, no one else’s.”
He nodded slightly. “My head realizes this. My heart…my heart just knows that she’s gone.”
Alluria pushed the herbs aside and knelt in front of Caol’nir, placing her palms against his cheeks. “It’s one thing to grieve, another to shoulder blame when you’ve done no wrong. I absolve you of your guilt, Caol’nir.” She held his gaze, and again he felt himself falling into her endless blue eyes. “Your mother smiles upon you still, and she wants your heart to be light.”
Caol’nir drew Alluria against his chest, and she melted into his arms. It was the first time he held her since the day he returned her hair clasp. She knew that Fiornacht watched the both of them closely, and that Caol’nir didn’t want to give his brother any cause to suspect Alluria of compromising her vows. Now, as he took her into his arms, she wondered if he could ever let go.
Indeed, Caol’nir held her so tightly she could hardly breathe, and as Alluria shifted against him he fell backward to the ground. They laughed as the grass in the once-lush meadow, now brown thanks to autumn’s chill, crunched beneath them.
“Dea comora,” he said as he tucked her hair behind her ear, “she who knocks me to t
he ground with her embrace.”
“I suppose I don’t know my own strength,” Alluria said as she pillowed her head on Caol’nir’s chest and gazed up at him.
“You’re so lovely,” he murmured as he stroked her hair. Alluria looked away, hiding against his jerkin.
“I look like every other priestess,” she began, but Caol’nir hushed her as he tilted her chin up to face him.
“No, you don’t,” he said. “The rest all look the same but you…I could look at you until the end of time.”
“Is that why you continue to put up with me?” Alluria asked in a small voice.
“Rihka, all this time I thought you were putting up with me!” Alluria laughed, and tucked her face against his neck. Caol’nir ran his hands down her back, pausing when he reached the curve of her hips. His hands were on her waist often—for how else was he to get her on and off the horse?—but now that she was lying atop his chest… Caol’nir kept one hand at the small of her back while he brought the other up to cradle her head as he rolled to his side.
“You never pull away,” he murmured as he wound his fingers into her hair.
“I like it when you hold me,” she said softly. “You haven’t in so long...I thought you couldn’t, because of your oath.”
“I know better,” he admitted. “Somehow, you make me forget.” The thick braid of Caol’nir’s hair had fallen over his shoulder, and Alluria busied herself with studying the tufted end when she spoke.
“I forget, as well.” She hid her face against the hollow of his throat.
“What would Sarelle say if she caught us?” Caol’nir asked at length.
“I don’t care,” Alluria proclaimed, her voice muffled by his chest. “Let her be indignant and cruel and miserable. I know the truth, and that’s all that matters to me.”
“And what is that truth?”
“That when you hold me, I wish I was not a priestess.”
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