by Shannah Jay
It might not come in his lifetime, but he would start the changes. And one day men everywhere would revere him as the Avatar.
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***
Sen-Sether sent messengers to each shrine in the claim of Setheron ordering the Servants there to spread the news that the Serpent had manifested itself and was calling on all men to wage a holy war against the hags in the north. In shrines large and small, the Servants cried out the news that the Serpent had risen and an army was to be formed. All able-bodied men of fourteen and over were to join it. The glorious day had come - now was the time to defeat those hags.
Their eyes as they cried the news were feverish, overbright, filled with something that sent fear shivering down the spines of even the most devout of worshippers. It was as if the Serpent had filled the Servants with something that in better times might have been called madness, but which was now praised and lauded. And as for Initiates, well, men trembled as they passed, and women fled to avoid them.
Even the children's games no longer involved pretending to be an Initiate in the shrine. For the children saw more clearly than many of their fathers that something was wrong and they now shrank from these vicious madmen who hurt their mothers or even took them away. Children didn’t go into the shrines until they were old enough to be of use. Their first visit was a day to be dreaded, especially for the girls. But it couldn’t be avoided, because it was attend or die.
The Festivals of Choosing for the Sisterhood had been joyful occasions.
Drilling began everywhere and practice with arms. Men who’d never held a sword or a bow grew calluses on their hands and acquired nicks on their bodies from blades that had slipped. No wooden practice swords were used after the first few days of drill, but real blades, so that real blood could be spilled for the Serpent as they practised.
The first traders were attacked near Setheron, attacked and killed. Their deleff grew wings of blue flickering light and sent some of the attackers flying, but not in time to save the traders, after which the deleff turned and fled into the woods. Word went out that traders were all traitors, that traders passed information to the hags, that every single trader, every member of a trading family, down to the smallest infant at breast, must be wiped out.
In Jan-Halani, the deleff drawing Giff and his family suddenly turned aside and crashed through the woods, crashing on and on in a mad flight towards the nearest portal. And when they dragged the soaked shivering people out again, they were in the High Alder, and Ivo was there to greet his family.
All the traders in Northwoods had their own little gathering that night, as they exchanged news and discussed what they could do now to help the Kindred.
And Giff sat staring at his son in amazement, a son grown tall and powerful, a leader of men now.
'I'm getting old,' he grumbled to Nyris that night. 'My day is over.'
'Older,' she corrected. 'And what do you mean, your day is over. You still have the capacity to serve our Brother.' She gave him a hug and smiled at him radiantly in the moonlight. 'Oh, isn't it wonderful to be here?'
He wasn’t sure. A man didn't like to feel diminished by his son. But then - Giff's face brightened a little - it took a special sort of man to father leaders. A man like him. He began to strut a little and look at Ivo with approval. He talked with confidence about the correct way to rear children. And he didn't see Nyris smiling to herself.
***
All across the southern and central claims the deleff suddenly swung into action, pulling the wagons abruptly off the main tracks, to their owners' amazement, and drawing them along secret ways. Those traders in the more populous areas which were no longer linked by large tracts of wildwoods found themselves passing through portals and ending up in remote places. Those traders who travelled the more remote circuits found they could cover only part of their normal area before the deleff would turn off the track.
But they knew why. Knew and were grateful. Thanks to the deleff, many lives had been saved, saved for the future, saved for the day the Serpent would be defeated and people could start to rebuild their world.
'They'll need us traders then,' they told one another over their campfires. 'They'll always need us traders.'
***
Sen-Sether's fury at the escape of all but a few traders beat upon those nearest him like a many-thonged whip. 'You have failed,' he screamed, 'failed your Dread Lord. How could you not find and kill the traders? How could you let them steal away with wagons full of valuable goods?'
Some of those near him when the news was brought paid a bloody price for that failure.
More families fled from the Serpent's territory. Others stoically settled down to survive. In the villages denuded of men, wives took over the business of providing for their families, coming out of seclusion for the first time in years, as their husbands left voluntarily or involuntarily to join the nearest training group. Or left to hide somewhere so that they couldn’t be called to arms.
And everywhere the new incense wafted, filling people's nostrils with a sickly sweetness as they entered the shrines and damping down thoughts and consciences for days after each visit.
Salvators, they called themselves, the new warriors. Saving the land from the hags. Saving the world from softness, decay and ruin. And if many did not, could not believe that the Sisters had ever done harm to anyone, they were not so foolish as to say so, or even to hint that they lacked enthusiasm for this campaign. They knew how suddenly death could strike - all in the name of the Serpent.
Throughout a stormy spring, preparations were made. Every southern and central claim formed an army, but in the northernmost parts of the northern claims, allegiances were brought out into the open and new borders manned, as some towns and villages did the Serpent's bidding and others did not. The land was divided against itself and poised on the brink of a bloody civil war.
At night people slipped across those new borders. Few went southwards, most headed north. If they were caught by the Salvators, they were killed out of hand, but most weren’t caught. It was impossible to guard every point along the imaginary lines and people had had years in which to hone their cunning, their ability to deceive. Once across the border, they were welcomed by those who still called upon their Brother the God, by those who still loved and smiled and helped one another, by those who shared everything they had with their new brethren.
Many wept as their injuries were healed by Sisters for the first time in years, and wept again as sick children were cured and ran free and healthy in the sunshine, boys and girls alike.
The refugees marvelled that healings were now done in groups, so that Healers didn’t deplete their inner forces as badly. They marvelled at the boys learning the Disciplines of Healing. And some wept openly for joy when Festivals of Choosing were held, even during that turbulent spring, and when men and women, boys and girls were all called to join the Kindred.
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And those not chosen were allowed to learn Sisterhood skills, too, if they had any aptitude. There were no barriers, no secrets, nothing but a sharing and a loving that healed their souls.
So a thread of joy and renewal ran even beneath the darkness of these terror-ridden times.
CHAPTER 18 QUEDRAS'S MARCH
As Quedras's Band left the steamy heat of the Fireflats, he paused and held up his hand to halt those following. Waiting for them on the sandy path that led towards the foothills was a great square wagon, with its canopy rolled up and two huge grey creatures munching placidly on some shrubs beside it. They looked up and moved forward a few steps, as if wishing to greet Quedras.
He turned to Fiana. 'Are they deleff?' he asked in what to him was a hushed voice, but which carried very clearly to all the band. He glanced sideways again, to confirm that the creatures really were as massive as he’d thought. And they were. Taller than he was, they were covered in grey scales which gave them an iridescent look. Their necks were encircled by a frilled
membrane, which looked like a ruff, and their eyes were large and luminous. They didn’t seem like the eyes of animals, but were full of wisdom. He mentally shook himself. He was getting strangely fanciful lately, and that might be dangerous for a war leader.
'Are they deleff?' he repeated, when Fiana didn’t immediately answer.
'Yes,' she blinked away a tear. How wonderful to see some deleff and a trader's wagon again!
Wonderful just to be back in the Twelve Claims. 'They'll be expecting us to go and greet them formally.'
'How do we do that?'
'We go up to them and lay our hands on the sides of their heads. They'll tell us their names and then we'll nod our heads in greeting and so will they.' She frowned as she studied them. 'You know, these are the biggest deleff I've ever seen. They must be very old. They don't usually go travelling when they're this big. Anyway, let's not keep them waiting.'
Quedras took a deep breath and followed her, reaching up, as she instructed, to place the flat of his hands on each side of the great head bent towards him. The sensations that swirled around his mind as he touched the rough dry flesh nearly made him drop his hands, but he wasn't going to betray his nervousness to those he led, so stood firm. Amid the dizziness, he suddenly realised that a name had formed in his mind. 'Hey, Releth! I greet you, Releth.' He felt much relieved by this, somehow.
Creatures which told you their names weren’t nearly as fearsome.
The head tossed up and down as if the deleff were greeting him in turn, but he had a feeling Releth wanted him to keep his hands on its head, so he endured another bout of wrenching dizziness and gasped as pictures started to form in his mind. He saw himself riding in the wagon, saw the deleff stepping out of the harness as they were attacked by a group of what he mentally labelled 'rrascals'.
As the deleff moved forward to join in the defence, wings formed from their backs, sweeping outwards from the nobbly bit behind their necks. The wings seemed to be made of dark blue light, and when they touched the enemy, the 'rrascals' rolled around in agony and stopped fighting.
'Hey, neat trick, that,' he breathed, unaware that he was speaking aloud. The more allies you could find in these troubled times, the better, as far as he was concerned, and these huge creatures were obviously on his band's side.
Another picture started to form, of the deleff leading him and a very large band, which must have contained several hundred people, moving steadily along narrow forest trails. 'If you say so,' he muttered, remembering tales of how the deleff had saved Herra and her companions in the same way,
'we'll follow you anywhere. Don't worry. You won't find me quibbling when someone else knows the terrain better.'
The head nodded again, as if in satisfaction, and pulled slowly away. Quedras staggered backwards and was glad to find Querilla there to support him. 'Makes you dizzy,' he muttered in irritation. 'Rrot my guts, but my head's spinning.'
Fiana, with Quall supporting her, staggered across to join him. 'The other deleff is called Mefron,'
she said. 'Are you all right, Quedras?'
'Phew!' He breathed in and out, trying to regain his equilibrium, but still felt extremely dizzy. 'It talked to me.'
'Yes, Mefron talked to me, too.' Fiana turned her head. 'Look, the deleff are getting into the harness.
They want to set off. You and I had better get on the wagon. It'll be a while before we recover fully.'
He tried to tell her he was Quedras of the Sandrims and didn't fall into a fainting fit just because a nice grey creature had a chat with him, but another wave of disorientation caught him unawares, and before he knew what was happening, Querilla had bundled him on to the driving seat of the wagon and told him to have a little sense, for Quequere's sake.
He sat there with his head against the canopy support, feeling like an idiot, but as the members of the band were looking at him with awe, rather than scorn, he gradually stopped fretting and allowed his body to rest.
Fiana sat beside him, leaning on the other corner pole. 'What did they say to you? Can you tell me?'
'They showed me some pictures. In one they were fighting on our side - only they used wings as weapons.'
Fiana nodded. 'Yes. I saw that, too. Traders say: pray you never see the wings.'
'I'm not surprised. The rrascals who got in the path of those wings in the pictures rolled about in agony. That put them out of the fight, rright out of it. I suppose the deleff were showing me they're on our side and how they fight. Useful to know such things. We'll have to tell everyone to keep out of the way of the wings, though.'
'No need. The wings only hurt those with evil in their souls. If they brushed across you, they'd only tickle you a bit.'
'Yeah?'
Querilla, who'd been kneeling behind them listening intently, nodded. 'We'd better tell our folk that, though, so they don't panic. Is that all it told you, Queddie?'
'No. It showed me a picture of us all going along some narrow tracks - a bit like the Tanglewoods, but not so much greenery - to avoid some pursuers. I don't mind if they take us along secret paths. No use asking for trouble, is there, trying to fight too many at once? Our aim is to find Herra, not get
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ourselves cut to pieces on the way there.'
It soon became apparent they were heading north. When the deleff stopped by a spring to allow them a nooning break, Fiana and a young woman called Brialla, who’d joined them at Outpost, investigated the contents of the wagon. Brialla seemed so competent Fiana suggested she become their cook and commissary, a decision they were not to regret. In fact, within a few days of travelling the group from Outpost had all displayed excellent skills in some area or other. It was as if they were very special people.
As dusk started to darken the sky, the deleff turned along a narrow stony track between fields full of milk nerids and pulled up in the yard of a farm. The man who came to the door seemed surly and only half opened it.
Fiana had been chosen as spokeswoman, because she knew best how things were done in the Twelve Claims. 'We'd like to camp here for the night. Would that be all right? We have some trade goods we could pay you with.'
There was a long silence, then the man sniffed. 'I'll sell you some milk or cheese, but I don't want you camping here.'
'Why not?' demanded Querilla instantly. 'We'll pay you.'
'Because I smell trouble and I don't want the Servant of the local shrine coming after me for harbouring sister-loving fighting bands.'
'Who says we're Sister lovers?' Quedras asked, his usual brash tones very gentle, too gentle.
Querilla grinned. Her Queddie was at his best when a situation got tricky, better than her, she admitted, though she was better at sword-fighting - just.
The door was still only half open. 'Well, you aren't of the Serpent, that's obvious. You haven't got a single serpent emblem on your wagons or clothes. And anyway, deleff don't pull wagons for Those of the Serpent. So you must be Sister lovers.'
By now Querilla's hand was twitching over her sword hilt and she could no longer keep quiet. 'You must be of the Serpent, then. I've a good mind to kill you now and save some poor woman a lot of pain and trouble.'
There was a gasp from behind him, and Querilla shoved the door wider open and peered over his shoulder. A woman was standing behind him, half hidden by the door. 'Would you like me to rid you of this snake lover, lady?' she asked in a cheerful conversational tone.
Quedras grinned and said airily, 'She gets a bit impatient with snake lovers, as you can see.'
As Querilla slipped her sword out of her scabbard, the woman dragged her husband back and pushed herself in front of him. 'He's not a snake lover. He's not! Leave him alone.'
The man turned on her, swinging her round. 'You fool, Tilnith! I told you never to say that.' He pulled her back again, standing protectively in front of her.
Fiana stepped forward, squeezing between her two large friends. 'Clasp my hand for a moment, friend.'
'What?' The man exchanged frightened glances with his wife.
'Clasp my hand. I'll be able to tell whether you're of the Serpent or not.'
Hope sprang into the woman's eyes and with it tears. 'You must be a Sister, then,' she breathed. 'Oh, are you a Sister?'
Fiana hesitated, then nodded.
The woman burst into tears and dragged Fiana into the house. 'Then can you come and heal my child? She's been ill for days and nothing seems to help her.'
'I'm not a Healer.'
The woman began to sob. 'Then she'll die. She'll just die. Like the others did.'
Fiana bowed her head and something seemed to whisper inside her head. 'We could gather around the child and ask our Brother's help. It might do some good.'
'I'll try anything!'
And so it was done. While the husband, a little more co-operative now, showed Quedras and Querilla where they and their band could camp for the night, Fiana, Quall and the group from Outpost went upstairs to the sick child's room.
It seemed strange to Fiana to be leading a Gathering, for she’d never been more than an ordinary Sister, and since her encounter with Sen-Sether, she hadn’t been able to gather fully. But little Hallian was so ill, burning up with fever one minute then shivering uncontrollably a short time later, that Fiana would have tried anything to help. It was bad enough to see grown men and women in pain, but there was something about sick children that tore at your heartstrings.
She cleared her throat, looked round the group and received a nod of encouragement from Quall.
'Let us gather,' she said softly.
Everyone joined hands, forming a semi-circle around the bed, and faces became tranquil, even though they were standing, not sitting in their usual circle.
Fiana took a deep breath and her own voice seemed to come from a long way away. 'Brother, look down upon us and help little Hallian. Brother, look down.'