by Cat Bruno
“And if he has no memory at all?”
“The boy will at least be safe,” she hurriedly answered.
A look of understanding crossed Gregorr’s face as he said, “You want Conri to mind-lock him.”
When she nodded, he asked, “What then?”
“We leave Cordisia until it is safe to return.”
“Giving Jarek time to learn the dance of swords,” Gregorr whispered, letting his hand fall away from his face and running his fingers through the long, silver hair that hung past his narrow waist.
After a few moments, he said, “You will pit brother against brother, Caryss, and the one who you want to win has no army.”
“There has been no peace between Crispin and Delwin for moon years,” she huffed, “And, besides, it is not our battle to fight. We are five, Gregorr, and need time to build an army that can hope to defend the girl.”
He said nothing, but his nod was agreement enough.
For a moment, her life pulse raced, and Caryss reached for her stomach. Beneath her fingers, she could feel her body tighten.
With a leap toward her, he placed an arm around her back, asking, “Does the babe come?”
“Soon,” she mumbled, bracing herself again.
“Is it time yet?” he asked, still holding her.
With a shudder, Caryss mumbled, “Near enough. Can you help me find Sharron?”
The small fennidi was only as tall as her chest, but he looped a thin, green arm around her and helped her as she slowly walked across the fading field and into the home of the Wolf Tribe. They encountered no one until they neared the kitchens, where Nahla nearly ran into them. In the moon since Gregorr had been there, the woman’s belly had grown, too, and it was near the size of Caryss’s, even though her own babe was nearly four moons from being born. As she looked upon Caryss, her eyes widened with surprise.
“The babe comes!” she cried, reaching for the pale-skinned healer.
Together, they helped Caryss until she was seated on her bed, more clear-eyed as the pain lessened.
With a steady voice, she told them, “I will need motherwort and skullcap, and ginger as well. Sharron should have most of it readied. Nahla, will you find me some linens?”
When the woman rushed out, Gregorr asked, “What of the High Lord? He will need to be told.”
Caryss paid him little heed, only realizing he was gone moments later when her eyes opened.
Alone, she nearly sobbed.
*****
Sharron was with the King, as he suspected, and he wasted no time telling her of the babe. Before he left, he noticed that she ran across the room, grabbed two large pouches, and made her way down the long hallway to Caryss’s room. As she rushed off, the glass jars housed in the pouches banged into one another, sending twinkling sounds through the hallway, as if in song. With each step that Sharron took, the jars clanged and chimed until Gregorr was too far to hear them anymore.
In the far corner of the complex, Conri had a section of rooms, ones that few were permitted to enter. With little choice, Gregorr quickly found the rooms, hearing voices as he neared. The doors around him were all closed, and heavily warded, he guessed. Unsure what would happen if he touched the warded door, Gregorr stopped steps outside the room where he heard Conri’s voice, his arms hanging at his side.
From a pocket sewn into his loose, brown pants, he withdrew a stone. It was no bigger than a coin, dull and round. As Gregorr turned it over in his hand, he eyed the small engraving on it.
Three interlocking circles.
With little time to waste, he opened his mouth, placed the stone on his tongue, and walked closer to the door. Drawing a deep breath, he placed his hands on the door, murmured, and closed his eyes.
When next he opened them, he was inside the room, and Conri’s eyes were large and dark as they gazed upon him.
Rising from a chair, he growled, “You dare to cross my ward!”
The fennidi and the Tribe had a long history, one that had been fraught with battle and peace, and Gregorr had lived too long to fear the High Lord. After removing the rune from his mouth, he calmly explained, “Your daughter comes, Wolf Lord.”
Shock crossed the man’s face, his eyes nearly purple, as he cried, “Caryss is not yet in her ninth moon!”
Gregorr repeated, “She comes. Swiftly. Sharron is with Caryss now.”
Conri disappeared before Gregorr’s mouth closed, and the fennidi looked toward Conall, who shrugged, but smiled.
“And so we finally meet this Wolf Queen,” Conall called out, rising slowly from his chair.
When Gregorr said nothing, Conall further explained, “It will be strange to have a babe about this place. You must excuse my brother, Gregorr. This is his first child, and I need not tell you how long he has waited for this one.”
Conall walked toward the door and gently placed his hand on it, opening it, and both men walked the same path that Gregorr had just run.
Halfway back to Caryss’s room, Conall laughed, “What a sight it will be to see the girl as a crying, suckling babe!”
With a smile in return, Gregorr replied, “Careful what you say, or she might hear you.”
Laughing louder, Conall said, “A time-walking half-breed who can kill or heal, live in shadow or bask in light. Who will have the fennidi on her side and the Wolf Tribe to guard her back. And, if Caryss has guessed true, the sky overhead to keep her safe. What will Eirrannia think of her, Gregorr?”
His silver hair flowed behind him and his eyes twinkled, gray, green, and gold.
“Some will fear her and some will hate her. Most will worship her. All will serve her if she frees them.”
“And Rexterra and her allies? What of them?”
“They will want her dead.”
Frowning now, Conall sighed, “As I feared. The Tribelands will be her only home then.”
“War comes, as we both know, Conall. Perhaps not now, or for moon years yet. But, still, she will not be safe here, not until she is of an age to control her power.”
Grabbing the fennidi’s arm, Conall asked, “What are you saying?”
“What you already fear. We must take her from Cordisia. Until she is ready to return.”
“My brother will not allow it.”
With a snort, Gregorr replied, “It will not be his choice. But, he, too, must know it is the only way. If he doesn’t, you must convince him.”
Conall slammed him into the wall and hissed, “What is in it for the fennidi? I know your kind and know that nothing comes without cost.”
Gregorr could see purple rimming the outer edges of the Tribesman’s eyes, but he looked at him openly and answered, “We have been promised freedom, and you were there to witness it. To that end, we will do what we must to keep the girl alive.”
When Conall released him, Gregorr shrugged. The men walked on, reluctant allies, awaiting the birth of the babe who could save them both.
*****
As she sipped on a warm glass of raspberry leaf tea, Caryss closed her eyes. The skullcap that Sharron had mixed with a ginger tonic was helping to ease some of the pain. The tea would prepare her for when it came time to push, she knew. The motherwort would become necessary as her birthing cramps increased, and Sharron had readied it, too. A tincture of yarrow, cayenne, and crampbark was nearby in case of excessive bleeding, Sharron explained, reminding Caryss of their preparation. All the others had gone from the room and it was only the two women who remained, although Caryss did not doubt that Conri, Willem, and Aldric were nearby, and perhaps the others, as well.
As she lay on her side on the large, down-filled mattress, Caryss called, “I am still in my eighth moon. The babe will be small and perhaps come out quickly.”
“Maybe. Do not worry, Caryss, she will be strong and healthy. You have seen what she becomes.”
Sharron’s words were spoken softly, as most were, but there was a depth to them that Caryss heard as well. When last they had all seen the girl, she was only
a few moon years younger than Caryss herself, and to next see her as a blood-covered babe would be odd. Yet, for Caryss, nothing had been normal since Conri had unlocked her memories, and this was no different, even if it was much more painful.
The room was dark, except for several small candles, and Caryss asked, “Has the sun set for the night?”
Looking out the window nearest to her, Sharron answered, “Yes, but the moon has not yet risen.”
It was not the first time that Caryss had asked, and both knew why she did so. She wanted the babe born under the watch of Luna, mother to the Tribe and mother to Eirrannia. Under her watch, the girl would be safe in the darkness, and safe from the god that she would not name. None spoke of him, but he was known and feared, and Caryss had long wondered what he would do with the babe. Once, she nearly asked Conri, but he had silenced her, making her promise to never speak of him. It was one of the few times that she had listened, and she laughed aloud at the memory.
Her thoughts were interrupted with another painful burst, and she gasped, wrapping her hands in the blankets that covered the bed.
Through gritted teeth, she moaned, “Sharron, it will not be long now. There is little time between the birthing cramps. Now is the time to leave.”
“Leave?” Sharron cried.
In between bursts of pain, Caryss rose, wrapping a crimson-hued blanket around her as she walked across the room. “I will not have her born in his house. There is little time to go anywhere but the courtyard. At least there she will be in full view of star and moon.”
“It will grow dark soon, Caryss.”
“Are there not many here who can strike fire or orb-light?” Caryss laughed.
Sharron smiled, shaking her head, and sighed, “Willem will not approve.”
Both women laughed as Sharron pushed open the door. Several chairs had been brought outside the room and placed in the hallway, and from each chair heads snapped up until several pairs of eyes stared at the women. She had expected Aldric, Conri, and Willem to be there, but she had not thought to see Otieno, Jarek, Conall, and Nahla. Further down the hall and lying on the floor was Gregorr. He hurriedly jumped up and ran to join them.
“Have the birthing cramps ceased?” he asked, walking beside her.
Caryss paused, reaching for Sharron’s arm, and when it became clear that she was again cramping, the other healer told him, “She wishes to birth under the night sky, as the priestesses of Luna do in Eirrannia.”
From the corner of her eye, Caryss watched the High Lord rise from his chair and walk toward them. Silence remained, but it did not stop him from picking up Caryss.
“Where shall I take her?”
Through clenched teeth, Caryss cried, “Release me at once!”
When he did not move, Sharron looked at him and said, “It will help with the pain if she walks.”
Caryss watched as Sharron stared at Conri, as if daring him to challenge her words. When he gently placed her on the ground, she reached for Gregorr, balancing herself as she made her way to the courtyard.
The pain was strong now, and she longed for the calming tea. As she panted and moaned, someone embraced her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Only when she opened her eyes did she realize that it was Conri.
“How long until the moon rises?” she nearly wept, her words a whispery plea.
Without taking his arm from her, he answered, “Nightfall has come.”
Forcing her eyes to open, Caryss looked to the sky, casting her eyes about until she saw the shining, silver orb, a sliver missing as Luna hung low and heavy. Uncertain why, Caryss felt tears slip from her eyes, wetting her cheeks and landing bitter and salty on her lips. With one hand on the ground to hold her weight, she brought the other to her face, wiping with shaking fingertips.
When next she looked to Conri, she saw much, their darkness unable to hide what she had come to learn of him.
She had not expected to see his fear, and she hurriedly looked away, knowing not which to believe.
The babe was coming, rushing into the night, impatient and fiery, Caryss mused, her mind wandering as another cramp gripped her.
“Sharron,” she whispered, her voice low and rumbling as she fell to her knees.
As the woman knelt down beside her, Caryss, feeling Conri’s arm still across her back, said, loud enough for both to hear, “The babe is coming.”
Crawling to where someone had placed blankets, Caryss looked about, searching for Gregorr and Sharron. Even Conri stood apart now as the other two neared.
“What of the tea?” she pleaded, reaching for Sharron’s hand.
Her words were hardly spoken before the healer offered up the mug, warm and sweet. As she sipped at it, she whispered, “Sharron, if something happens to me, I want you to promise me that you will take her from here. Take her away from Cordisia until she is strong enough to return.”
“Please,” Caryss begged, “Promise me that you will teach her of the North.”
Still on hands and knees, Sharron embraced her and murmured, “She will know of the North and more. She will know of plant and tree, of sea and sky, of fire and earth. She will know the words of her people and the songs of the land. Caryss, she will be what we have both seen and more. You have my word, with the mother of us all as witness, that the girl will be safe.”
In a sterner voice, Sharron told her, “Let me help you rise. The night is fine, and it will do you well to walk for a bit.”
Gregorr was still beside her and helped lift her from the ground, taking the mug from her as she slowly strolled beneath the star-speckled sky.
Willem and Aldric stood at the edge of the courtyard, as if they could not decide where to be. Sharron busied herself next with neatly arranging clean linens and lining up several large bottles, some clear and some tinted brown. Caryss watched as Nahla joined Conri, coaxing him a few steps from them.
The fennidi walked with her, shimmering in the light from the moon, and sung, “A sheonn, chonnair cheo, asla salah, tua la faine, tua la faine, tua la faine.”
Five times he repeated the words before switching to the Common tongue as he sang, “Oh child, come home, through the mist and to the light. To the light. To the light.”
His voice was airy, as if the wind carried it to her, yet it throbbed, pulsing and fast, dipped in the waters of the Northern rivers.
As an intense burning tore through her stomach, Caryss howled, digging the heels of her feet into the cool grass. She could not recall when her shoes had been removed, but beneath her toes, the ground was comforting, soft, and soothing. Unlike the other cramps before, this one did not end, and the pain spread deeper until it felt as if her midsection was ablaze, bone and veins crackling in the flames. Her skin, lighter now that she had been gone so long from the Tretorian sun, smoked and smoldered. To her eyes, she saw red and orange leaping, as if her skin was afire.
When Gregorr put a hand to her own, she cried, “Do not touch me!”
He hurriedly pulled it from her, and, when she looked at him, his eyes were a dark shade of green, and she shook herself free from the flames.
“I feel as if I am burning,” she whispered, in apology.
“I am here, Caryss, and shall be. I will burn with you.”
With a choked cry, she told him, “Just before you reached for me, I thought I saw flames of gold shooting from my skin. I know not what it means, but I feared you would be set ablaze as well.”
With a smile that made his pointed ears curve high, Gregorr laughed, “Do you know the tale of the juniper?”
Breathing quickly through open lips, Caryss murmured, “We have long used juniper at the Academy.”
Sharron joined them, listening as Gregorr explained, “For healing no doubt. But my people have long used berry and bark. Will you let me show you, my lady?”
When she nodded, he reached into a small, leather satchel tied to a braided rope about his waist. After a moment, his hand reemerged, several small blue berries clutched in his g
reen-hued fingers. Caryss watched as he crushed one of the larger berries between his fingers until they were stained and wet.
Once the color of the trees, his fingers were now tinted like nightfall, blue-black and shining.
“Can you kneel?” he asked softly.
Nodding, she dropped to her knees as he lifted his stained fingers to her forehead.
As if she was parchment, one of his thin fingers trailed across her forehead, painting on pale skin that glowed ivory under Luna’s kiss.
Caryss could not see what was written there, but she could feel him trace two intersecting lines.
Loud enough that only she and Sharron could hear, he told them, “First, I mark you as loved.”
He removed his hand and crushed another berry. Again, he lifted his finger to her forehead and chanted, “Now, I fill you with strength.”
His fingers drew a square, each edge meeting in union.
With the next berry, his finger traced a straight line, from one side of her face to the other, just beneath her hairline. “With this comes peace.”
Continuing, he crushed another berry, dampened his fingers and drew a line down the middle of her forehead, from the edge of her forehead to the tip of her nose.
“Memory will always be yours,” he told her.
The next mark connected two slanted lines with the long one that divided her face in two. In his eyes, she watched him write, the reflection clear and shimmering.
“No evil will touch you here,” he whispered.
As he worked, her pain lessened until it seemed to not exist at all. After the fourth rune was drawn, she thought him to be finished.
But, again, he crushed a juniper berry.
On each of her cheeks, she watched as he painted a triangle, a trinity of lines of equal lengths. When he was done, his lips lightly touched her own.
“For you, I call for balance,” he sung.
When his hand, stained and sweet-smelling, fell to his lap, his eyes joined hers, and, without words, she thanked him, bowing her head. Across her body, the fires cooled.
And she knew it was time.