Overheard in a Dream

by Torey Hayden

  A pause.

  Torgon lowered her head. “Aye. Well said.”

  A long silence fell across the hut.

  “I should have told you what I intended here and let the choice be yours.” Torgon looked at the girl. “If you do not now wish to stay, so be it. I understand. I will not command it of you and I will not hold the decision ill against you.”

  “I wasn’t meaning I would leave you,” Loki said. “Of course, I wouldn’t leave you, holy benna. It’s just that I fear my aid will be a paltry gift. It would be much wiser to have the aid of those more accomplished than myself.”

  “You will do for me. If I or the babe dies tonight, it will only hasten what will happen anyway.”

  The child was born in the darkest hour of the night. It came easily, sliding wet and steaming into the cold, candlelit darkness of the hut. Loki lifted the baby up to show Torgon. “A boy,” she said and smiled. “A big, strong boy, anaka benna. And look at all his hair! He is shaggy as a calf.”

  The cord was cut and Torgon had him in her arms. She fingered over him, touching his cheeks, his tiny hands, his plump genitals. He whimpered and squirmed against her warm skin, searching for her nipple.

  “Here, holy benna, put this cloak around you. The labour’s over now and you will soon grow chilly, for the room is very cold.”

  Torgon didn’t hear what else Loki said. For the moment there was nothing in the universe other than the babe.

  Loki knelt down beside her. “What would you have me do now? Go with a secret message to the holy Seer that you have been delivered of a son?”

  “No.”

  The girl’s brow furrowed.”

  “No. I will stay here with the child until he’s had his three-day feeding. During that time it will be between you and me alone that he is come.”

  “Anaka benna! Anaka benna! Awaken, please!” Loki cried.

  Deep in exhausted sleep, Torgon roused only slowly.

  “Wake up!” Loki jostled Torgon roughly.

  The sudden motion startled the baby and he gave out a cry. Torgon raised her head. Day had come. The hut was filled with sunlight made brighter by the snow.

  “I see warriors. They are far off, but they are coming in this direction,” Loki cried.

  Torgon drew the baby close. “Did you recognize them? Were they of your father’s band? Or cariuna warriors? Or anakas? Could you tell?”

  “They are warriors of our people, but they were not of my father’s band. From a distance it was hard to make out the colour of their cloaks.”

  Torgon drew in a sharp breath. “If they find me unprotected, they will kill me now and take the babe.” She glanced around the room. “You must hide me.”

  “Hide you, anaka benna?” Loki cried in alarm. “Could not you get to the high holy place in time?”

  “I bleed heavily with the birthing. Their dogs would scent me easily and move faster than I could do. No, you must hide me. Quickly. And then keep them and their dogs outside.”

  Torgon rose up with the baby and crossed the small room. “Here. I will lie over here and keep him at my breast so he won’t cry. You must pile the straw over us. The soiled straw first, so it is not obvious there is blood. Then the clean straw. Quickly, Loki. Do as I say.”

  There were seven or eight of them, with two of the holy brothers – Maglan and Galen – among them. Opening the door of the hut, Loki came out into the dappled sunshine that filtered through the leafless trees.

  “Ah, Marek’s daughter,” Maglan said. The other warriors came up to stand in a semi-circle around Loki. Their dogs shifted restlessly about them.

  “What finds you here?” Galen asked.

  “I have accompanied the anaka benna. She wished to go to the high holy place to commune with Dwr in preparation for the holy birth, but the Seer felt it unwise she go alone so deep in winter. So, the Seer has bid me come here to the hut to keep a fire and provide food, should the divine benna need it.”

  “I hear you are of unusual piety,” Galen replied. “Do you find this then a joyful task?”

  “Oh no,” Loki replied quickly. “It is only that I am eldest now among the acolytes, and so the chore falls to me. Fact is, it’s cold and lonely here, for the anaka benna seldom comes, and when she does, she keeps a vow of silence. She is preoccupied with thoughts of Dwr and of the coming birth.”

  “I see,” Galen said.

  “She is close then to the birth?” Maglan asked.

  “Aye. Another week or two, the Seer said.”

  The dogs kept moving. In and out among the men, around Loki, around the foundations of the hut. The warriors made no effort to control them.

  Loki endeavoured not to watch the dogs, but it was hard to ignore them since they were so active. In turn, she was aware of Galen watching her. He scrutinized her face closely.

  “It is in my mind that you feel fear,” he said. “Your skin gives away your nervousness with blotches.”

  “It is the cold,” Loki replied.

  “I think not. I saw you at the door. You did not wait to greet us, as a warrior’s daughter should.”

  “Your father has been too lax with you,” Galen said scornfully. “You lose control of your emotions.”

  “I am sorely afraid, holy sir. I’m afraid of you, if you must know the truth. For when I saw you at a distance, I did not know who you might be. And I am here all alone and unprotected. You frighten me with all your swords and threats.”

  “Put your sword away, Galen. She’s but a girl and understandably afraid.”

  “Your father is of the warrior kind, so you need have no fear of us,” Galen replied. “We wouldn’t think to do you harm.”

  Loki took in a deep breath and nodded. “I am sorry to have acted in such a foolish fashion, but at first sight I knew not who you were and I am of the age when girls must be most careful of these things. My chastity is all I have, so I put much value on it.”

  For the first time, Galen smiled. “Yes, it’s clear you’ll soon take your rites of womanhood. I find it pleasing to discover you are prudent with your worth.” He resheathed his sword.

  Loki managed a weak smile back.

  He tipped his head and looked Loki up and down. “Six brothers to defend you and you are your father’s only daughter. You will command a lordly price.” He continued smiling. “Perhaps I shall consider you for a son of mine. Your blood is good and your piety no doubt has made you biddable. Too bad you have not a more comely face.”

  “My heart makes up for that,” Loki replied.

  “Aye, I’m sure it does.” Then he turned to the others. “Call up the dogs, that we may go. The stag runs far ahead.”

  Loki waited until the warriors had disappeared from sight and even then she remained at the doorway of the hut until the forest all around had fallen silent as the snow. Finally going in, she barred the door behind her before crossing over to the straw heaped in the far corner.

  “Anaka benna?” she whispered and began to pull the straw back. “Are you all right?”

  From midst the soiled straw Torgon struggled into a sitting position. The baby, pressed against her skin inside her shirt, was sleeping peacefully.

  Seeing them safe, Loki burst into tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but I cannot help but cry. They made me so afraid.”

  “You did very well,” Torgon replied. She leaned forward to pull the girl against her. “Here, take the comfort of my arms for I do not find your tears unseemly. You showed great resourcefulness in dealing with the holy brothers. You were very, very brave.”

  “I didn’t feel brave at all. I felt only very, very frightened.”

  “Aye,” Torgon said and smiled, “but that, sad to say, is how true bravery feels.”

  Chapter Forty

  On the third day, Torgon stood in the doorway of the hut. Dawn had coloured the sky a pigeon-feather grey, but through the leafless trees she could see threads of red marking where the sun would rise. Coming back inside, she closed the door and in
the dim gloom lifted the baby up.

  “This morning I shall go to the high holy place and present the child to Dwr,” she said to Loki. “He needs a name and we can not wait for a naming day.”

  “What have you chosen for him?”

  “I shall call him Luhr, after the great cat, that Dwr may grant him the great cat’s strength and valour.”

  “What will the Seer say? It’s not a holy name.”

  “No. But it is a name of power and he will need that more.” She looked over at the girl. “While I am gone, will you make your way to my sister? Go discreetly and to her alone and not to my parents. When you have safety to speak privately, tell her the babe was born this day and none yet knows. Tell her I wish to see her and that she should bring her daughter Jofa with her, so my son may meet others of his blood. Tell her also to bring food. Say we have not enough here and I dare not send you to the compound, so we need food for at least three days.”

  Loki’s expression grew perplexed. “There’s not much truth in what I’m being sent to say.”

  “Aye, I know, but say to my sister only what I’ve told you. Don’t add anything else yourself.”

  The snow began to fall even before Torgon reached the top of the escarpment. She’d come many times before in winter, but never burdened with a baby meant to live. Tying the child close within her clothes, she used both hands to clamber up over the icy rocks.

  She was well supplied with holy tools, as they had been the only things she could bring from the compound without risking the Seer’s suspicion. Now Torgon laid the deerskin bag down and opened it. The naming oils were all there, the holy knife, the sacred clay. Item by item, she laid out the things that she would need.

  As she worked, the snow fell in large, soft flakes, a beautiful snowfall. She paused, watching it drift down, and marvelled at its beauty.

  As she undressed him, he cried at the cold and made water, as all new babies seemed to do when suddenly unclothed. Taking up the sacred clay, Torgon painted holy marks across his face, down the length of his body and over his penis. So sad that this was done alone, she thought, and the thought intruded over the state of holy trance she should have been maintaining. So sad, on this, the most joyous celebration of his life, that the holy child was not surrounded by the loving circle of friends and family who should have attended on his naming day.

  Torgon uncorked the naming oils, anointed his forehead, his chest, his genitals, and touched it to his lips. Then she lifted the naked baby up, high above her head in offering to Dwr. I give you this child: Luhr, the Great Cat.

  Concerned for the welfare of the baby after exposing him to such intense cold, Torgon bound him close against the bare skin of her chest and warded off the bitter wind by removing her shirt and doubling it over his body before putting her outer clothes back on. When she reached the hut at dusk, she was herself miserable with cold.

  Loki had long since returned. The small fire was burning cheerfully and a pot of broth made from dried deer meat was steaming over it. She helped Torgon to remove her outer garments and took the baby. Gratefully dishing up a bowl of broth, Torgon sat down cross-legged before the fire.

  The door rattled.

  A look of terror went between the two of them. Loki quickly put the sleeping baby down in a far corner in the straw.

  “It is only I,” Mogri called. “Let me in.”

  Loki unbarred the door.

  A whoosh of snow came in with her. “There’s no danger of being followed on a night like this,” Mogri said and shook her garments. “My tracks were covered before they could grow cold.”

  Her own baby was tucked deeply into the folds of her clothes. On her back was a sheaf basket. “I’ve brought you bread and cheese. There wasn’t much else for taking.” She dropped the sheaf basket to the floor. One eyebrow quirked upwards as she regarded Torgon at the fire. “You’re looking well, sister, but I say, you take a relaxed pose for a woman newly come from childbed. Was it such an easy birth as that?”

  “I bore him three days past.”

  “Oh Torgon,” Mogri cried with disappointment. “And you have lied to me?” Then sudden concern. “What’s going on here, you two? Where is your babe? Is he all right?”

  “Aye, he’s fine.” Torgon went to lift the baby from his nest of straw.

  Mogri opened her arms to take him. “Oh, look at him, he’s big!” she cried. “Well done, Torgon!” Sitting down, she lay the baby on her lap and examined him more closely. “So much hair. But will it go red? It’s quite dark now, but look. I think it has a ruddy tone. Does he have your eyes? Open up, sleepyhead, so I can see you properly.”

  “I don’t think he does,” Torgon replied.

  “Well, it’s hard to tell in one so young. All babies’ eyes are dark.” Mogri pulled back his wadding. “You’ve done well, though, to have a boy. The Seer will be pleased with you. And so too her holy brothers. Perhaps at last this will bring peace among you all.”

  Torgon wiped her eyes.

  “Aye, I see now you’re right about three days. You’re crying, poor love,” Mogri reached a hand out to push her sister’s hair back. “But it means more milk. More tears, more milk.” A pause. “But what was your idea in coming here alone? When you bade me make the hut ready for you, I assumed that others would come with you. Is this how the holy do it? Not wise, I think. You should have the company of other women at a time like this. Perhaps it works for the high and holy born, so spiritless are they, but it won’t suit a woman of our kind, shut away like this.”

  “It is not that.”

  “Why do you fight your tears so, Torgon? Your body would have you shed them. You have workers’ blood and are not meant to show a lifeless face.”

  “Mogri, please. Don’t go on at me about such simple things. I have matters of a graver nature I must say to you tonight.”

  Mogri regarded her.

  Leaning forward, Torgon took the baby from Mogri’s arms and pressed him to her.

  “What Ansel said to me that night is true. There is no longer any holiness among his kind.

  “My spilling Ansel’s blood is not why they hate me. Were I naught but his wife and had knifed him in a lover’s tiff, there would have been an awful scene, a public flogging in the square no doubt, because I am a worker and a woman, but as I was his choice and bore his first-born son, it would have ended there. The holy brothers would have accepted a crime of passion, for it’s a human failing, and this they understand. It is what is not human about me which disquiets them. When that wicked man who sired them sent me forth to call the Power down, I did. And it is this they find unbearable in me, for they know my holiness is real.

  “Because of this, they will not let me live. They can not let me live. Because I am proof the Power exists; that there truly is something greater than ourselves we can call down. But more than that, the Power cares not for caste or class or gender. Or even piety, but simply for the ability to listen openly and the strength of will to follow.”

  Mogri said, “There’s no doubt the holy brothers wish to take revenge on you for Ansel’s, but they will not kill you. The council ruled firmly in your favour and the holy brothers would never go against the elders. They know it’d bring us into civil war. And kill the divine anaka benna? Torgon, they wouldn’t dare.”

  “They would. They will. And in their heart they already have.”

  Mogri sat back.

  “And they shall succeed for I’m no longer holy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Torgon lowered her head. She had the baby to her breast and she regarded him. “Since Ansel’s death my Power’s waned. I fear now my holiness is broken too.”

  “Oh, Torgon, surely not.”

  “It’s so, Mogri. I don’t know why. Sometimes I can still feel the Power there inside me, but now, unlike times gone by, it very seldom speaks to me. I do not wish to be like Ansel and his kind, using my own voice when the sound of Dwr’s voice grows dim …”

  Silence.
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br />   Torgon looked down again at the baby. He slept, his mouth gone slack against her breast. Gently she lifted a finger and wiped away the milk that dribbled from his lips. “My fear is for the babe,” she said softly, “for yes, I think you’re right. When I am killed, there will be civil war.” She stroked the baby’s head. “His parentage means he will be neither holy born nor worker kind and yet he will be both. Both sides will harbour those who’ll think his death judicious. And babies die so easily …”

  Torgon raised her head. “Loki? Would you bring my bag of holy tools?”

  The girl rose and fetched them, carrying the bag to Torgon. With her free hand, Torgon opened it and spilled the contents out onto the floor. Among the bottles of oil and ointments, she took a smaller bag. “Here, Mogri, undo it for me, for I can’t manage with one hand.”

  Mogri knelt and picked the knot undone. Pulling the leather thong out she emptied the bag onto the floor. Her eyes grew huge with surprise.

  “Aye, it’s gold,” Torgon said.

  “Where has it come from?” Mogri asked in a hushed voice. “I’ve never seen so much.”

  “I’ve been melting down my holy ornaments, for it is unlikely I shall have much need of them again.”

  Apprehensively, Mogri looked across to her. “I see this has been well-planned … I am worried now.”

  “And now I am going to plead with you on the life of my newborn son …”

  “Oh Torgon, no –”

  “Take my son and set forth tomorrow morning at first light. Go to the kingdom of the Cat People. When the king was here last, he showed himself to be a man of wisdom and great piety. He honoured Dwr, even though Dwr does not walk among his gods, and he saw to it that his warriors all did likewise, so he is also a king of strength and power. Tell him that it now goes very ill with me and this is the holy child. Give him the gold that I have here and beg that he protect my son.”

  “No, I can’t!”

  “Ask him to instruct Luhr in the ways of a good and noble man and to keep him safe until he comes of age to reclaim his rightful place. I think the king will do this. He was much distressed when we last met, for he and his queen have been denied the holy gift of children. He asked for my divine intervention, that they might be blessed with royal fruit. If his queen has since given birth, he will take my babe from indebtedness. If she has not, he may welcome the chance to take the baby as his own, particularly as it may also mean a future kingdom. If nothing else, leave the gold to speak, for it is not a paltry sum.”