'Tulumar was a great warrior,' Atara said. 'One of the greatest of the Sarni. But Kadar the Wise tricked him.'
Master Juwain, rubbing his bald head as he rode along, looked at her in surprise, 'if your story is true - and I should say it's nowhere mentioned in the Saganom Elu or any of the histories of the Elekar dynasty - then it would seem that Tulumar owed much of his success to this Kadar the Wise.'
'No, Kadar tricked Tulumar,' Atara said again. 'For Kadar was really Morjin in disguise.'
'What!' Master Juwain called out He rubbed his gnarly hands together as if in anticipation of a feast. I had never seen him so excited. 'The Red Dragon began his rise more than two hundred years after that!'
'No it was Morjin,' Atara said. 'This is known. The stories have been told for two ages. Morjin tried to use Tulumar to conquer all of Ea. He tried to make a ghul of him, and in the end this killed him.'
'The Saganom Elu tells that Tulumar died of a fever after preparing an invasion of the Nine Kingdoms.'
'If he did, it was a fever born of poison and Morjin's lies.'
I thought about the poison burning in my own veins and what it might eventually do to me. To distract myself from these dark thoughts, I said, 'Tulumar's son was Sagumar, I believe.'
'Yes,' Atara said. 'Morjin tried to enslave him, too.'
'And this was the same Sagumar, wasn't it, whom King Elemesh defeated at the Song River? If what you say is true, then King Elemesh defeated Morjin as well.'
'For a time,' Atara said bitterly, nodding her head. 'Morjin has always posed as the Sarni's greatest friend, but he is our greatest enemy. Even now, he is trying to win the tribes with promises of diamonds and gold. This is the key for him. If he wins the Sarni, he wins all of Ea.'
Although the sun was a bright yellow disk in the west, the world suddenly seemed cast into darkness. I asked Atara, 'Are the tribes listening to the Red Dragon then?'
'Some of them are. The Danladi and Marituk have practically pledged their swords to him. And half the clans of the Urtuk, it is said, favor an alliance with Sakai.'
At this news, I ground my teeth together. For the Urtuk commanded the steppe just to the west of the mountains of Mesh. 'And what about the Kurmak?' I asked her.
'Will your people ride with the Red Dragon?'
'Never!' Atara said. 'Sajagax himself would slay any warrior of the clans who even suggested following Morjin.'
She went on to tell us that this fierce, old chief of the Kurmak was her grandfather, and that he favored finding the Lightstone as a way of defeating Morjin. As did Atara.
As we made our way through the lovely afternoon, I thought about all that Atara had said. I thought about her as well. I liked her forceful and sportive temperament, and I liked her passion for justice even more. She had a wisdom I had never seen in a woman her age. And this was not simply a discerning knowledge of things unknown even to Master Juwain, but a keen sense for the ways of the world. Her eyes seemed to miss no detail of the forest we passed through, and her feel for terrain was even better than mine: more than once she was able to guess what streams we might find or how the road might turn beyond the wall of the hills before us. And that evening, as we halted by one of these streams, I discovered just how deep her understanding of animals ran. She told me that since I was wounded, I should rest and allow her to do much of the work of making camp. She insisted on unsaddling Altaru and brushEg him down. WhenJ insisted that my unruly horse might kill her if she drew too close to him, she simply walked up to his side and told him that they must be friends. Something in the dulcet tones of her votes must have worked a magic on Altaru, for he nickered softly and allowed her to breathe into his great nostrils. She stroked his neck for a long time then, and I could feel the beginning of love stirring in his great chest.
I was forced to admit that it was good that Atara had joined us; she was good company, and we all appreciated her enthusiasm and easy laughter. But she managed to vex us as well. Over the days of our journey, Master Juwain, Maram and I had grown used to each other and had established a certain rhythm in making camp.
Atara changed all that. She was as meticulous in performing chores as she was precise in shooting her arrows. Water must be taken from a stream at its exact center so as to avoid collecting any unwanted sediment; the stones for the fire had to be set around the pit in a exact circle and the firewood neatly trimmed so as to fit the pit perfectly. She seemed tireless in making these devotions. For Atara, I thought, there was a right way and a wrong way of doing everything, and she attended each little action as if the fate of the world hung in the balance.
It must have been hard for her to demand so much of herself. I sensed in her a relentless war between what she wanted to do and what she knew she must do. At those rare moments when she relaxed and let down her guard, her wild joy of life came bubbling up out her like a fountain. She liked to laugh at even the most ridiculous of Maram's stories, and when she did, the peals rang out of her without restraint. That night, over a warm fire and a nip of brandy, she laughed and sang while I played my flute. I thought it was the finest music I had ever heard, and wished that we might have the chance again to make more.
The next day dawned bright and clear with the music of a million birds filling the forest. We traveled down the road through some of the most beautiful country I had ever seen. The hills were on fire with a deep and pure green, and glowed like huge emeralds; the sun was a golden crown melting over them. Wildflowers grew everywhere along the side of the road. With spring renewing the land, every tree was in leaf, and every leaf seemed to reflect the light of every other so that the whole forest shimmered with a perfect radiance.
Everything about the world that day touched me with astonishment at its perfection.
It pleased me to see the squirrels scurrying after new shoots, and the sweetness of the buttercups and daisies filled my lungs with every breath. But I took my greatest joy from Atara for she seemed the greatest of the world's creations. As we passed down the road toward Tria, I found myself looking at her whenever I could. At times she rode ahead of me with Maram, and I listened to them talking spiritedly. When Atara laughed at one of Maram's rude jokes, my ears couldn't seem to get enough of the sound. My eyes drank in the sight of her long, browned arms and her flowing yellow hair, and were unquenchably thirsty for more. I marveled at even her hands for they were graceful and finely made, with long, tapering fingers - not at all the hands of a warrior The image of her whole being seemed to burn itself into me: straight proud, laughing, wise and allied with all the forces of life, a woman as a woman was born to be.
On the next day of our journey, we left the hills behind us, and the forest grew flatter.
With nothing but wild land empty of human beings before us, we all began to relax a little. Around mid-morning, I found myself riding beside Maram while Atara and Master luwain went on ahead us some thirty yards. Atara was telling Master Juwain of the Sarni's greatest stories and feats, which he was furiously scribbling down in his journal as he rode. I couldn't keep myself from admiring Atara's poise in the saddle, the way that the play of her hip and leg muscles seemed to guide Tanar effortlessly along. And Maram couldn't keep himself from noticing my absorption -
and commenting upon it.
'You're in love, my friend,' he quietly said to me. 'At last, in love.'
His words caught me completely by surprise. The truth often does. It is astonishing how we can deny such things even when it is in our eyes and hearts. 'You think I'm in love?' I said stupidly. 'With Atara?'
'No, with your pack horse, whom you've been watching all morning.' He shook his head at my doltishness.
'But I thought it was you who loved her.'
'But what made you think that?'
'Well, she's a woman, isn't she?'
'Ah, a woman she is. And I'm a man. So what? A stallion smells a mare in heat, and it's inevitable that the inevitable will happen. But love, Val?'
'Well, she's a beautiful woman.'
'Beautiful, yes. So is a star. Can you touch one? Can you wrap your arms around such a cold fire and clasp it to your heart?'
'I don't know,' I said. 'If you can't why should you think I cant?'
'Because you're different from me,' he said simply. 'You were born to worship such impossible lights.'
He went on to say that the very feature I loved most about Atara unnerved him completely. 'The truth is, my friend, I can't bear looking at her damn eyes. Too blue, too bright - a woman's eyes should flow into mine like coffee, not dazzle me like diamonds.'
I looked down at the two diamonds of my knight's ring but couldn't find anything to say.
She loves you, you know,' he suddenly told me.
'Did she say that?'
'Ah, no, not exactly. In fact, she denied it. But that's like denying the sun.'
'You see,' I said. 'She couldn't possibly love me. No one could love another so soon.'
'You think not? When you were born, did you need more than a moment to love the world?'
'That's different,' i said.
'No, my friend, it's not. Love is. Sometimes I think it's the only thing in the world that really is. And when a man and a woman meet, either they open themselves to this heavenly fire, or they do not.'
Again I looked at the stones of my ring shining in the bright morning light like two stars.
'Aren't you aware of the way Atara listens to you when you speak of even little things?' Maram asked. 'When you walk into a clearing, don't you see the way her eyes light up as if you were the sun?' 'No, no,' I murmured, 'it's not possible.'
'It is possible, damn it! She told me she was drawn to your kindness and that wild thing in your heart you always try to hide. She was really just saying that she loved you.' 'No, it's not possible,' I said again.
'Listen, my friend, and listen well!' Here Maram grasped my arm as if his fingers might convince me of what his words could not. 'You should tell her that you love her. Then ask her to marry you, before it's too late.'
'You say that?' I couldn't believe what I had heard. 'How many women have you asked to marry you, then?'
'Listen,' he said again. 'I may spend the rest of my life looking for the woman who was meant for me. But you, by rare good chance and the grace of the One - you've found the woman who was meant for you.' We made camp that night off the side of the road in a little clearing where a great oak had fallen. A stream ran through the forest only fifty yards from our site; it was a place of good air and the clean scents of ferns and mosses. Maram and Master Juwain drifted off to sleep early while I insisted on staying awake to make the night's first watch, la truth, with all that Maram had said to me, I could hardly sleep. I was sitting on a flat rock by the fire and looking out at the stars when Atara came over and sat beside me. 'You should sleep, too,' I told her. 'The nights are growing shorter.' Atara smiled as she shook her head at me. In her hands she held a couple of stones and a length of wood, which she intended to- shape into a new arrow, 'I promised myself I'd finish this,' she said. We spoke for a while of the Sarni's deadly war arrows which could pierce armor and their great bows made of layers of horn and sinew laminated to a wooden frame.
Atara talked of life on the Wendrush and its harsh, unforgiving ways. She told me about the harsh, unforgiving Sajagax, the great war chief of the Kurmak. But of her father, she said little. I gathered only that he disapproved of her decision to enter the Mansiayer Society.
'For a man to see his daughter take up arms,' I said, 'must come as a great shock.'
'Hmmph,' she said. 'A warrior who has seen many die in battle shouldn't complain about such shocks.'
'Are you speaking of me or your father?'
'I'm speaking of men,' she said. 'They claim they are brave and then almost faint at the sight of a woman with a bow in bet hands or bleeding a little blood.'
'That's true,' I said, smiling. 'For me to see my mother or grandmother wounded would be almost unbearable.'
Atara's tone softened as she looked at me and said, 'You love them very much, don't you?'
'Yes, very much.'
'Then you must be glad,' she said, 'that you Valari forbid women to become warriors.'
'No, you don't understand,' I told her. 'We don't forbid women this. It's just the opposite: all our women are warriors.'
I went on to say that the first Valari were meant to be warriors of the spirit only. But in an imperfect world, we Valari men had had to learn the arts of war in order to preserve our purity of purpose, which we saw as being realized in women. It was only the Valari women, I said, who had the freedom to embody our highest aspirations. Where men were caught up with the mechanisms of death, the women might further the glories of life. It was upon women to approach all the things of life
- growing food, healing, birthing, raising children - with a warrior's passion and devotion to flowingness, flawlessness and fearlessness.
'Women,' I said, 'are the source of life are they not? And thus it is taught that they are a perfect manifestation of the One'
And thus, I said, among the Valari, it was also taught that women might more easily find serenity and joy in the One. Women were seen It more easily mastering the meditative arts, and were very often the instructors of men. Of the three things a Valari warrior is taught - to tell the truth; to wield a sword; to abide in the One - his mother was responsible for the first and the last.
I stopped talking then, and listened to the stream flowing through the forest and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. Atara was quiet for a few moments while she regarded me in the fire's light. And then she told me, 'I've never known a man like you.'
I watched as she drew the length of wood between the two grooved pieces of sandstone that she held in her hand, smoothing and straightening the new arrow.
Then I said, 'Who has ever seen a women like you? In the Morning Mountains, the women shoot different kinds of arrows into men's hearts.'
She laughed at this in her spirited way, and then told me that healing, birthing, and raising children were indeed important and women were very good at them. But some women were also good at war, and this was a time when much killing needed to be done.
'A time comes to cut wheat and harvest it,' she said. 'Now it's time for the more bloody harvest of cutting men.'
She went on to say that for three long ages, men had ravaged the world, and now it was time for them to reap what they had sowed.
'No, there must be another way,' I told her. I drew my sword and watched the play of starlight on its long blade. 'This isn't the way the world was meant to be.'
'Perhaps not,' she said, staring at this length of steel. 'But it's the way the world will be until we make it differently.'
'And how will we do that?' I wondered.
She fell quiet for a long time as she sat looking at me. And then she said,
'Sometimes, late at night or when I look into the waters of a still pool, I can see it.
Almost see it. There is a woman there. She has incredible courage but incredible grace, too. There hasn't been a true woman on Ea since the Age of the Mother.
Maybe not even then. But this woman of the waters and wind - she has a terrible beauty like that of Ashtoreth herself. This is the beauty that the world was meant to bring into life. This is the beauty that every woman was born for. But that woman I will never be until men become what they were meant to be. And nothing will ever change men's hearts except the Lightstone itself.'
'Nothing?' I asked, dropping my eyes toward her arrow.
Here she laughed nicely for a moment and then admitted, 'I said; before that I sought the Lightstone to unite all the Sarni. And that's true. And yet, I would like to see all men united. All men and all women.'
'That's a lovely thought,' I told her. 'And you're a lovely woman.' 'Please don't say that.'
'Why not?'
'Please don't say that the way that you say that.'
'My apologies,' I said, looking down as she slid the arrow between h
er sanding stones.
Then she put down both her arrow and her stones and waved her hands at the darkened trees all about us. 'It's strange,' she said, 'here we are in the middle of a wood that has almost no end, far from either the Wendrush or any city. And yet, whenever I come near you I feel like I'm returning home.'
'It's that way for me, too,' I said.
'But it shouldn't be. It mustn't be. This isn't the time for anyone to be making homes together. Or anything else.'
'Such as children?'
'Children, yes.'
'Then you've no wish ever to be a mother?'
'Of course I have,' she said. 'Sometimes I think there's nothing I want more.' She looked straight at me and continued, 'But there are always choices, aren't there? And I was given the choice between making babies or killing my enemies.'
'So,' I said, 'if you kill enough bad men, the world will be a better place for babies?'
'Yes,' she said. 'That's why I joined the Society and made my vow.'
'Would you never consider breaking it then?'
'As Maram breaks his?'
'A hundred men,' I said, staring off at the shadows between the trees. Not even Asaru or Karshur, I thought, had slain so many. No Valari warrior I knew had.
'A vow is a vow,' she said sadly. 'I'm sorry, Val.'
I was sorry, too. I put away my sword then and took out my flute. The world about me was more peaceful than it had been since Mesh. The trees swayed gentiy beneath the starry sky while the wind blew cool and dean. On the other side of the fire, Maram snored happily and Master luwain moved his lips in his sleep as if memorizing the lines from a book. And yet beneath this contentment was a sadness that seemed to touch all things, the ferns and the flowers no less than Atara and me.
It was in recognition of the bittersweet taste of life that I began to play a song that my grandmother had taught me. The words formed up inside me like dried fruits stuck in my throat Wishes are wishing you would wish them. What wish, I wondered, was waiting for me to give it life? Only that Atara and I might someday stand face to face, as man and woman, without the thunder of the war drums sounding in the distance.
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