Fires of Aggar

by Chris Anne Wolfe

  “You thought right.” The quiet tone held no malice or pain, and Llinolae moved nearer to offer a light hug. “The Council’s aid may eventually be of some help with this escapade, I don’t know. But thank you.”

  “The offer will stand, even after this venture is sorted out, Llinolae.”

  It was a pleasing honor, Llinolae acknowledged with a nod. Then a sudden thought occurred, “Does Gwyn know? Or should I take care not to…?”

  “No… she knows now.” Abruptly Sparrow shifted, a hand going to her midriff. “My stomach is needing that tea, I think. I’d best go.”

  “Do you want help?”

  Sparrow rose, cheerfully denying it. “I enjoy mixing bits of moss and herb and spice to taste.”

  “You are sounding proficient!”

  “There’ll be enough, if you want it later.”

  Llinolae watched the woman lithely scramble off, and she was reassured that her help was decidedly not missed. Then she turned back to the peace of the tumbling falls. Sighing, she drew herself up and focused her concentration. It was time to follow this dreamspun vision to it’s inception.

  She knew her answers might not be reached tonight as her experience in untangling the amarin of people and places from the past was less practiced. It was not a journey she anticipated enjoying either.

  Yet the answers would not come by themselves, she rebuked herself gruffly. Whether it took a handspan of nights or a monarc of attempts, the doing would not be done any faster by avoiding it.

  She sighed and folded her legs beneath her, shaking the remnants of tension from her shoulders and neck. Deeply she drew in the air, settling among the rhythms and flows of the life cycles about her. Her eyes slipped shut. Her head tipped back, face bared to the night sky and the waterfall’s mist. A breeze drifted by, brushing her lips as lightly as a kiss. And then in her mind’s Sense, she gazed outward along those shimmering tendrils of Life’s amarin, gathering finely coiled cords of it, moving upwards beyond the honeywood ancients, and then reaching — flinging — those silver-blue lines out to uncoil. Further back through the tenmoon seasons… further back to that bedroom and time of death.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  Chapter Nine

  ”Still no sign of them?”

  Llinolae shook her head, amused at Brit’s fussing, and put the wooden bread bowl she’d filled with brushberries on the camp table. Since the two Sisters had arrived, the amenities of the ‘civilized life’ that the wagon stocked hadn’t ceased to impress the Dracoon. From the folding tables and chairs to tunics already tailored to fit Niachero-tall Amazons, the tinker-trades’ goods had easily supplied all of their needs — and even a few of their whims! But it was Brit’s own cooking and the available seasonings she had to work with that Llinolae most appreciated. Having spent more of her life out on patrols or housed at inns across the Clan-ravaged west-district than she’d spent in the Palace, Llinolae had come to measure ‘good’ in terms of quantity, not quality. Brit’s penchant for mixing and brewing extended far beyond a healer’s recipes, however, and now that she knew of Sparrow’s pregnancy, she had taken on the task of “feeding them proper” with a true zeal. For this talent alone, Llinolae could see why Sparrow might have pledged the unending allegiance of a lifebond to the Amazon.

  “You’re movin’ pretty limber today,” Brit noted, adding another handful of flour to the cheesecloth before punching down the dough again. “How’re the ribs feeling?”

  “Good.”

  “Good. ’Fraid you’d broken something there, when Gwyn first told me. They gave you quite a beating… barely tell anymore. Scarcely a bruise left it seems.”

  “I’ve always been a fast mender.”

  “Most Blue Sights are. It’s all that nurturing you tap into with the Life Cycles’ amarin.”

  Llinolae grinned outright. “I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to hearing you three say that.…”

  “Say what?” Brit caught her eye. “Oh—” The healer chuckled and reached for another handful of nuts and dried berries. “Never mind me, I just rattle on. Safe enough ’round strangers, though. Don’t have to worry about your secret breakin’ loose… no one else’s business anyway.”

  A grateful pride warmed inside her; Llinolae was glad to discover that she was no longer considered a stranger.

  “Strangers…,” the healer tisked with a shake of her head. “Wish I knew if Sparrow’s worryin’ about nothing or not.”

  The complete lack of anger in Brit surprised Llinolae almost as much as the confidence being shared with her; Sparrow had seemed so completely convinced that there would be a terrifying blaze of anger and rejection. She leaned back against the wagon wall, folding her arms as she propped a foot up on a wheel spoke. “You’re merely curious?”

  Brit blinked, startled that she shouldn’t be. “’Course I’m curious. Wouldn’t you be?”

  Llinolae frowned with a puzzled admission, “You’re worried about her still. I can See that, but… but you’re not angry. At least, not the sort I can recognize through your amarin.”

  “Why should I be angry? She can’t help it, if some sadist took her.” A touch of bitterness crept in then, but Brit shrugged it off in favor of practicalities. “If she gets to remembering that was the way of it, then we’ll deal with it. ’Til then, we’ll wait and see. Couple of months we’ll know anyway, won’t we?”

  “Months?” The odd reference distracted Llinolae for a moment. Then she recalled that Valley Bay still kept records in years as well as tenmoon seasons, for the sake of their communications with dey Sorormin’s home world. But Brit’s assumptions were still confusing her, and she gestured down the creek towards the trail Sparrow and Gwyn would presumably return by. “She’s worried because she can’t remember —? Remember what about some sadist?”

  “My same point.”

  “Your same…?” Llinolae stared at Brit and suddenly — finally — understood. “Sparrow’s scared she was raped?”

  Brit looked at Llinolae with the uncanny assessment of a true Crone and, abruptly quit her kneading. “What’s your Sight telling you is different?”

  “She’s not pregnant because she was raped, Brit.”

  “Goddess’ blest!” The elder woman squeezed her eyes shut with the whisper. “You can See that… you know it for truth?”

  “In truth,” Llinolae readily answered that faint waiver of doubt. “Brit, I may not be able to decipher much about the subtleties of an individual, but the baby she’s carrying is several ten-days along. I can See the child well enough to know she’s yours and Sparrow’s, no other’s.”

  A sigh, then a faint, satisfied smile suddenly burst into a broad beaming grin of shining joy. And Brit blinked, the tears dancing in her gray eyes. “Thank you, Dumauz, thank you.”

  Llinolae touched that strong wrist reassuringly.

  “It’s just so rare….” With a sniff and a slight shift in her weight, Brit found her balance again and assessed the dough lump before shaking a few more nuts into the kneading. “You know… for the women on Aggar? In dey Sorormin, yes. Well, between the lifestones and our long herstory of gene selections before we ever, even dreamed of settling Valley Bay… you could say it’s half-expected. Among us it’s always considered a possibility. But…. uhn… now that’s an arrogant prejudice against Aggar’s women, isn’t it! Since when has rare meant never?”

  A gleeful laugh shook Llinolae’s tall frame, but Brit just grinned all the more, totally unabashed. Feigning some bare measure of politeness, Llinolae managed to cover her mouth with a half-curled hand before gulping out, “What are you talking about now, n’Minona?”

  “Parthenogenesis,” Brit rejoined just as cheerfully.

  “Which to us poor, uneducated folk outside of Valley Bay is…?”

  “When a woman’s egg doesn’t divide completely in developing — it can fertilize itself. Spontaneous reproduction… a type of identical twin, only as a daughter. Oh, arguably the risks for Aggar’s women to miscarry ma
y be higher in those cases, but Sparrowhawk…,” Brit grinned and shook her head in an amused tolerance for her dear lover. “Sparrow could no more sit still for a single day than a hawk could resist flying for its whole life!”

  “You’re still wrong.”

  Concern flashed across the other’s face, but Llinolae raised a quieting hand, “No, not about Sparrow being all right. She’ll do just fine, I’m certain.” An impish sort of smiled sprouted from Llinolae then as Brit relaxed, and she added, “Actually, the night after you two arrived — it seemed the exception to the usual.”

  “The entire ten-day was!” Brit sputtered in exasperation.

  “But you’re wrong in thinking this is Sparrow’s daughter alone. It’s yours too.”

  “Mine?”

  “Quite clearly,” Llinolae nodded. “Your amarin and Sparrow’s both run through this baby.”

  “That’s… that’s just because we’re so close, lifebonded and all.”

  “No.” Llinolae moved her head silently, lips pursued in absolute denial.

  “You mean…?” Brit’s dough went forgotten again.

  “She’s yours — as much as she’s Sparrowhawk’s. Genetically, yours. ”

  “But… how?”

  A smile cracked at that as Llinolae shrugged in guileless innocence. “You’re the healer, Brit. You’re the one who knows the customs of Valley Bay, Council — and even my own District better than I do! I’m just some lost Dracoon. How would I know how?”

  “But that’s just it. We didn’t…,” Brit stopped mid-sentence, the answer ringing through her mind even as she knew it was impossible. Yet, ultimately, there was no other explanation to be had.

  “What is it, Dumauz? What’s gone wrong?” Llinolae straightened, pushing away from the wagon’s side.

  “The lifestone — it must be the lifestone.” Brit turned a perplexed but amazed sort of gaze on her. “We’ve used the things for generations now, to create our daughters. It — it was safer than the ways before. We learned it was possible from the first lifebond of the Sisterhood, but only because she was a Blue Sight like yourself. Yet the only cases of spontaneous conception between lifebonded partners has come about because the Blue Gift and the lifestones meshed the amarin — which then altered the egg’s development to create the child! For that matter, conceptions guided with the lifestones still require a blue-sighted healer to intervene….”

  “Until now?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Until now.” Abruptly the flowing amarin around her nudged Llinolae into an awareness of much more that had happened here, and a softer smile gentled her humor. She slipped an arm around Brit’s shoulders and bent to press a kiss against the older woman’s temple. “Welcome into the Life Cycles of Aggar, Soroe.”

  “As Daughter of Mothers, child! Valley Bay isn’t…,” Brit’s laugh caught, and she took a moment or two more to turn the idea around in her mind. Then she smiled, almost surprised by what she found. “Aye — though Valley Bay is dey Sorormin… even the Council once suggested that eventually….” She glanced to Llinolae, still bemused, “We have become such partners of traders and scouts… of healers and protectors among both the Northern and Southern Continents since our Foundings. So much a part… so much caring, have we barely noticed how deeply we do care?”

  “You were a part of Aggar even before then. Dey Sorormin took Aggar’s hand the day the Blue Sight was carried to your home world.”

  “It is possible.” Eyes narrowed and slowly the herstorian n’Minona within Brit surfaced, and she glimpsed something more of the patterns. Then that childhood training shifted her perspective again, and she bit her lower lip in a sarcastic, little chuckle. “Strange tapestry in these weavings, Soroe, to have the amarin first engaging the Amazon strangers. Would have done Aggar more good to embrace the Changlings for a few seasons. At least, the Life Cycles might have given it a try! Z’ki Zak! Half the northern folks’ problems come directly from poor communications.”

  “Or rather the total lack of any,” Llinolae muttered. With little humor, she thought of the troubles with the Clan.

  “Now, the winged-cats have the sense of understanding, if not always the responses we humans can grasp. And the sandwolves have the feel of understanding, even if they often seem so odd to some people. But how the Changlings will ever have a chance…? At our best, Sparrow ’nd I could barely manage a basic exchange of food or cloth with them. Always the concrete, never any of the abstract concepts at all.”

  “I could only hope the Clan turns out to be so concrete about their needs.” Llinolae scowled briefly as Brit shook her head. “What then, n’Minona?”

  “Your hopes for the Clan? I don’t see anything but hopes and air there, Llinolae.”

  “And did the Changlings seem so poor a prospect to you too?”

  Brit chuckled, unperturbed. “Changlings are different.”

  “So are the Clan folk,” Llinolae persisted. “Respect and patience—”

  “You have! As well as honor. I don’t mean to mock you. Don’t take it that way. But we’re a long way from the Council, and we’re even a longer way from merely talking to work our differences out with the Clan folk.”

  “I have to try.”

  “I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Brit admitted with sincerity. “I just wouldn’t be too ready to count on doing things the easier way.”

  Unfortunately, Llinolae mused, she couldn’t either.

  ◊ ◊ ◊

  The amarin stirred without a breeze of warning, and Llinolae paused in the clothes washing. Concern concentrated her Blue Gift as she looked downstream, until suddenly the tension broke. Her soft lips quivered with amusement.

  Quickly, she turned to rinse the soap from the last of the garments and wrapped the lot loosely in the canvas carrier. Then heedless of how damp her camisole knit would get, she scurried off with the load to find Brit and tell her of the others’ return.

  “Humpf — ’bout time,” the stocky woman grumbled and fished a few more of her mumut dumplings out of the pot to roll through the crystallized honey-spice. “Can you See if they’re bringing anything edible with them?”

  “You sent them out hunting,” Llinolae muttered good-naturedly. “You think they’d dare come back without meat?”

  The wooden spoon went ‘whack’ against the ceramic pot’s edge, and Llinolae jumped more than the boiling water but her grin only broadened. Brit scowled, then went back to her cooking and mumblings. Llinolae laughed as the woman feigned another annoyed grimace. She took herself off behind the main tent then to hang the laundry to dry. As she secured the extra lines for the bedding, the friendly noises of horse and Amazon drifted in to her, and she wasn’t surprised to find Ril come ’round shortly to greet her.

  “It’s good to see you too.” Llinolae knelt and hugged the great beast, laughing when Ril’s calm suddenly gave way to excitement — her coarse curls and silky ears arched backwards up against Llinolae’s neck as a lapping tongue wetly found her ear.

  “Ril!”

  The sandwolf started guiltily at Gwyn’s outcry.

  “Oh she’s fine!” Llinolae assured them both, rubbing the furry tummy emphatically. “Aren’t you, my friend?”

  Ril wiggled from her shoulders to her hips in eager agreement, nuzzling Llinolae’s chin happily as the Dracoon hugged her again. Gwyn’s chuckle had them expectantly pausing to glance at her, but only briefly. Then amusement faded into something more intense as the Amazon drew nearer, and neither Ril’s nor Llinolae’s empathic sensitivities could ignore the silent soul ache.

  Llinolae stared mutely at the booted feet planted on Ril’s other side. Her throat tightened. She swallowed and dared to look up at Gwyn whose color deepened to a golden flush, and Llinolae’s gaze shifted quickly back to those shiny boot tops as her own desires swept through her in a caramel blush.

  Sandy eyes met her squarely, and Llinolae’s heart dropped at the frankness Ril shared with her. The sandwolf flipped over ne
atly and rose to her feet to trot off, leaving Llinolae squatting there… feeling rather stupid at being so overwhelmed.

  Gwyn’s hand reached down to take hers. Somehow, she found herself on her feet staring into those questioning copper-bright — lovingly bright eyes. Eyes that turned gentle, banishing the nervousness, eyes that invited, coaxed — and Llinolae went willingly. Arms closed about her as sweetly as Gwyn’s lips took hers, and for one heart-stopping moment she felt she was the most preciously treasured, respectfully cherished, most beautifully amazing woman Gwyn had ever held…. Then her blue eyes slipped shut, and her heart started pounding, because the feeling only grew — Gwyn was all those things and more to her in return.

  Her senses melted, only to discover the wonderful strength beneath her hands as palms pressed — fingers kneaded — into Gwyn’s back beneath that suede jerkin. Dust and horse and humid heat clung to skin, yet beneath — beyond? — that was the woman’s own scent, an intoxicating, warm hint of…. Llinolae gasped without breaking their kiss and found surrender was given as freely as hers had been taken, and so in turn she took command. It was Gwyn’s strength that seemed fainter, and grasp tightening, she drew Gwyn against her in reassurance.

  Hands slid across Llinolae’s shoulders to her neck and up into her hair. Fingers spread wide to slide through those tantalizing short bristles. And helpless to the nibbling lips against her neck, Llinolae tipped her head back. Gwyn gave a throaty growl of pleasure, and Llinolae found herself answering it, losing herself to the tongue tracing along the skin line of her camisole. They stopped then. Arms folding them each near, crushing nearly in their withdrawal. Skins flushed dark in cocoa-black sheens… faces buried in desperation against quaking shoulders.

  “I…?”

  “It’s all right,” Llinolae murmured quickly, tightening her hug in reassurance. She pressed a kiss against Gwyn’s neck, and repeated, “Whatever you can manage is enough. Always.”