“I’m really going to miss her,” Dani said in a weak voice. “When I came to Westernfort, I was fifteen, a bit too old to be called a child, but I was all on my own, and Gina was...not like a mother—more of a substitute granny to me. She used to refer to herself as an irritable old know-it-all, but she wasn’t. She was lovely.”
Natasha also stared at the grave. Gina had made up ridiculous stories about the contents of the temple library. She had infected others with her insane blasphemy, and she had taken advantage of a vulnerable girl and taught her to defy the Goddess. Gina must certainly pay for her sins, but it was impossible not to respond to the pain and loss in Dani’s voice. Natasha was very grateful that it was no longer part of the mission to send the old heretic to the Goddess for judgment. She could not bear to be the one to hurt Dani so much.
*
Throughout the Homelands, Midwinter’s Day was celebrated by eating and drinking too much and generally causing as much mayhem as one fancied. Or could get away with. The heretics in Westernfort were no different, except that none of them would be going to the Sisters the next day to confess their sins and make a suitable payment as a sign of their contrition.
Natasha finished her work with the animals early and made her way to the tavern. She was becoming familiar with most of the young women her age. Two of the blacksmith’s apprentices were squashed in by the door and greeted her when she arrived. Dani’s friends, Madra and Jenny, hailed her from the far side of the room. The tavern was packed solid. It took five minutes for Natasha to get from the doorway to the bar and another five minutes to get served.
She had just caught the barkeeper’s attention when a voice at her neck said, “If you get me a mug of the same as whatever you’re drinking, I’ll be unbelievably grateful.”
Natasha turned her head to see Dani standing behind her. Dani’s arm was the one currently embedded in her back. She bought two drinks, and they pushed their way out of the worst crush around the bar. Even then, there were so many people that they were pressed together, with scarcely enough room to lift the mugs to their mouths. Since she could not avoid the contact, Natasha decided to enjoy it, and Dani was not making any effort to create space between them either. The noise level in the tavern meant they had to shout into each other’s ears to be heard. The faint touch of Dani’s breath on her cheek was something else Natasha decided to enjoy.
Only once did a faint doubt come into Natasha’s head: when she remembered Lynn’s cryptic comment connecting Dani and cloning. Natasha studied the animated smile on Dani’s face. Dani was watching Madra’s and Jenny’s antics on the other side of the tavern, but then she glanced back quickly. For a moment, their eyes held contact. Then Natasha dropped her head, but her doubts had dissolved. Dani had a soul. She would stake her life on it.
They were finishing their second drink when the music began outside. The sound emptied the tavern so rapidly Natasha nearly fell over. It was as though someone had pulled out the plug. The women from the tavern spilled into the main square—quite literally in some cases, due to the combination of snow and alcohol. The sky was dark—the short winter’s day already ended—and flares lit the scene. Women were appearing from all directions, wrapped in cloaks, coats, and even blankets against the cold.
At one end of the main square, a band with drums and pipes stood in the light of a bonfire, and someone was singing clearly enough to be heard over the chaos. The wild activity that ensued could only be described as dancing in the loosest sense of the word. The slippery footing reduced it to the dancers hanging onto each other in a line that moved in one direction or another by general consensus. The music added to the feeling of a party, but fewer than half the women appeared to be paying any attention to the rhythm. Children ran around shrieking.
Natasha was not surprised to find that she ended up with her arm around Dani. She was just not sure whose doing it was. When they passed the bonfire, Natasha saw that the singer was Lynn.
“She’s got a really good voice, hasn’t she?” Dani volunteered her opinion.
“I know. She sings to the cows sometimes.”
“Are they impressed?”
“It’s hard to impress a cow with singing. You have to juggle as well.” The conversation was getting silly.
The music continued for nearly an hour, with the lines shifting and reforming. Several filed off down side streets to reappear from another direction. Revelers would break off and lob snowballs whenever the lines drew close. The air was cold. Breath showed as white clouds in the light of the flares, and noses were red. Even before the music stopped, the numbers in the square began to dwindle as the oldest went indoors to continue their celebrations. When the drums finally fell silent, the remaining lines drifted apart as women collected scarves and cloaks discarded during the dancing.
Natasha and Dani were some of the last to let go of each other. They were close to the bonfire. Dani looked like she was about to speak when Lynn’s voice was lifted once more in song.
The western mountains tower high,
Their rivers deep and cold,
And there dwells—
Lynn got no farther. A mock scream rang out nearby, quickly followed by a snowball.
“Can I take it that Kim doesn’t like the song?” Natasha asked, feigning seriousness.
Dani scrunched her nose. “I don’t think she was too keen on it even before Lynn started amending the lyrics.”
Natasha watched the two women indulging in a snowball fight like a couple of adolescents. Several of their children joined in. I’m going to murder them. The thought shot through Natasha’s head, destroying all her enjoyment.
“Dani.” The voice belonged to Shelly. The young Ranger trotted over. “We’re carrying on the party at the new barracks. Do you want to come?” Shelly glanced in Natasha’s direction. Her happy expression was childishly eager in the light of the bonfire. “You can come too.”
There really was something of the puppy dog about Shelly. Disliking her was impossible. She was far too naively openhearted, but Natasha was no longer in the mood for a party and considered heading off alone. Before she could make up her mind, Dani agreed on behalf of them both and propelled Natasha after the gaggle of young women leaving the square. They walked along side by side in silence, while Shelly scampered on ahead. As the barrack block came into sight, Dani suddenly caught hold of Natasha’s arm and pulled her aside into the cover of an alley.
“Will you give me a kiss for good luck on Midwinter’s Day?” Dani asked.
The drink and the dancing and the need to recapture her good mood overwhelmed Natasha’s better judgment. She intended no more than the lightest, sisterly kiss, but even as her lips brushed Dani’s, she knew it was a mistake. Her arms slipped behind Dani’s back and pulled her close. The softness of Dani’s mouth molded against hers, growing in passion with each nuzzling movement. The first touch of Dani’s tongue ripped through all Natasha’s self-control. Their bodies pressed hard against each other.
“Hey! Are you two coming?” Shelly’s voice was like a bucket of cold water. Natasha sprang away.
Dani drew a deep breath, and her lips pulled down at the corners. “Not quite, but I’m getting there.” She peered around the edge of the alley at the figure silhouetted in the barracks doorway and then turned to Natasha. “Do you want to forget the party and come back to my place?”
“I...I’m sorry. I...” Natasha hung her head. She did not know what she wanted. Or, rather, the things she wanted were irreconcilable. She wanted Dani. She wanted to do her duty for Celaeno. She wanted never to have come to Westernfort.
At the confused misery on Natasha’s face, Dani’s expression shifted to a sad smile. “That’s all right. I’ll wait.” Her voice held a soft sincerity. “I think you’re worth waiting for.” Then she tossed her head in self-parody and added, “Me...smooth-talking...no problems.” But Natasha thought she could see under the glib façade.
They stepped out from the alley and ran into the barra
cks, trying to ignore Shelly’s hurt expression. A large number of the younger Rangers and their friends were present, with beer, cider, and an assortment of food laid out at one end, although the prevalence of bread, cheese, and cold meats indicated that the young Rangers had not spent much time cooking. The atmosphere was excited, but Natasha could not reconcile herself to the laughing faces and soon made her excuse to go.
“This early?” Dani caught her at the door.
“Your clay will happily hang around until you’re ready to wake up tomorrow. Lynn’s animals aren’t so understanding.” Natasha smiled and tried to make her voice sound cheerful, but she failed, and she knew it.
Natasha got back to their room at almost exactly the same time as Cal and Rohanna. The two older Guards were concerned about something and whispering urgently, but Natasha could not summon the interest to find out what it was. She was reaching out to climb the ladder when Rohanna caught hold of her arm.
“We’ve just discovered something.” Rohanna hissed as the three gathered together. “Gina Renamed was gene mother to Lynn’s youngest child.”
“I know,” Natasha said.
“You knew? Why didn’t you say?”
“It was just something Lynn mentioned. Why is it important?”
“Because Gina was originally an Imprinter as well, and so—”
Natasha cut her off. She was not in the mood to be patient. “Yes. Lynn said that as well. They hope the child of two Imprinters will be one as well.”
Rohanna stared at her. “And you ask why it’s important! The heretic numbers are growing here. Which is why Lynn’s execution is our most critical goal. If we only succeed in removing her, we’ll have struck a great blow for the Goddess, but it will count for nothing if they have another Imprinter. The child must be eliminated as well.”
She’s only a baby! Natasha bit back her horrified words and fought to keep the shock off her face. An emotional appeal would not move Rohanna. If Becky’s life was to be saved, it would take the right approach, and Natasha knew she would have only one chance. She forced a slightly confused smile onto her lips. “But the child won’t be an Imprinter, will she? Imprinters are chosen by Celaeno to receive the gift of Himoti. It’s got nothing to do with genes.”
The expressions on Cal’s and Rohanna’s faces froze as they juggled with the idea. Natasha tried to act calm. Overplaying her argument would be a mistake. At last, Cal nodded ruefully. However, Rohanna’s frown deepened. “We can’t take the risk.”
“There’s a risk believing what’s in The Book of the Elder-Ones?” Natasha’s tones reflected incredulity. “How can there be a risk? Celaeno will never choose this child to be an Imprinter.”
Unexpectedly, Cal came in on Natasha’s side. “She’s got a point. Maybe we’ve been here too long. We’re starting to think like the heretics.”
Rohanna sighed and dropped her head. “Yes. You’re right. We must hang on to our faith. The child does not matter.” She put an arm around Natasha’s shoulder and hugged her.
Natasha climbed the ladder and got into her bed, but she could not sleep. We must hang on to our faith. The words echoed in her head. Her sense of relief turned to dismay. Not that she regretted that Becky would live, but she realized that in the debate, she had used the name of Celaeno as a means to achieve her aim, without giving thought to the will of the Goddess, without belief, without faith.
Natasha slipped out of bed and knelt, eyes closed. Desperately, she began to pray.
*
The blacksmith’s forge was in the part of town nearest the main stables. Along one wall, the building opened onto a forecourt, where the bigger items for repair were stacked. Inside, the furnace roared. Even in mid-January, the workers were lightly clothed. The blacksmith herself was a short, square woman who appeared to be composed largely of shoulders. She looked around as Natasha entered the smithy.
“What do you want?” Despite the blunt words, it was a friendly greeting. The blacksmith was a good-natured woman.
“This has snapped.” Natasha held up the broken hook in question. “Lynn wondered if you could fix it.” She paused apologetically. “Quickly?”
The blacksmith wiped the sweat from her hands and examined the damage. “Ten minutes.” She smiled. “Do you want to wait?”
Natasha nodded and backed away from the furnace. Although it was a freezing-cold day, one could have too much of a good thing. She wandered the length of the smithy until her eyes caught on a rack of swords. Rohanna had been working on preparations for the mission. Soon, they were going to need weapons. Natasha forced herself not to dwell on the use they would be put to.
The Rangers’ swords were shorter than those used by the Guards. The weapons on the rack were stabbing blades, intended for use in dense forests and close combat. Natasha picked up one. It was heavier than she had expected, the center of balance two-thirds of the way down the blade. Natasha shifted it in her hand experimentally. It would be useful for hacking blows, but not the elegant thrust and parry of her training. Natasha tried a few more ambitious swings.
“You’re waving that around like a Guard.” Ash’s voice rang out from behind. Natasha froze, unable to speak, as the Ranger sauntered up to her side. “And your grip is all wrong. It’s much too wristy. Here, let me show you.” Ash took the weapon from her hand and demonstrated the correct way to hold the short sword.
Natasha felt her heart thumping. She had been careless, and she had to recover her composure. A guilty expression would only make things worse. She tried to look innocently interested in the lesson.
“A Ranger’s sword isn’t for show; we leave the fancy twirly games for the Guards. When you draw a Ranger’s sword, you should mean business,” Ash said.
“I’m afraid I was treating it like a softball bat.” Natasha tried to sound casual.
“And there I was, thinking it was the way you use a switch to herd cows.” The blacksmith joined in from the other end of the smithy, laughing.
Natasha felt stupidly self-conscious. She did not know how to respond. If she joined in the laughter, it would sound forced; if she grinned, it would look sickly. She wanted to study Ash’s face for signs of suspicion but was sure the Ranger would be watching her. She wanted to shift the conversation onto safer ground, but nothing came into her head.
“Here you go.” The blacksmith doused the repaired ironwork in a tub and held it out.
“Thanks.” Natasha’s heartfelt gratitude was as much for the chance to escape.
“And what are you after, Ash?” The blacksmith moved on to her next customer.
Natasha restrained her urge to run. She left the smithy, concentrating on her knees, forcing them into a purposeful stride, keeping her head up and her shoulders square, and then wondered if she looked too much like a Guard on parade. It was ridiculous. She did not even know if she was being watched. At the far side of the yard, she risked a quick glance back. Ash was talking quietly to the blacksmith, and they both appeared to have forgotten her.
*
Lynn and Kim lived with their children in a moderate-size house on the main square. Natasha had been told it was the oldest building in Westernfort, which still made it less than seventeen years old. It had become the town leader’s residence and had been expanded and modified from its original design to fulfill both its official and domestic roles.
Natasha sat by the fire and looked around. The main room was ten meters long and nearly as wide, able to hold a full council meeting, although currently, it held only her, Lynn, and Becky. Several doors opened on either side to give access to bedrooms and other chambers. Somewhere was a furnace room for the under-floor heating. The fire was for cooking and possibly for the charm. The sight of dancing flames was relaxing.
A long table was pushed against one wall, still cluttered with plates and mugs from a meal. Cloaks and a sword belt hung on pegs by the door. Becky’s toys were strewn across the floor. Natasha was very conscious that she was sitting as a guest in the home of two wo
men she had sworn to kill. She pushed the thought away and tried to concentrate on what Lynn was saying about plans for the next month until Becky began to cry.
“I’m sorry. She needs to go to sleep. Do you mind waiting?” Lynn said.
“No, I’ll just sit here and toast my feet in front of the fire.”
“That’s Chip’s favorite trick.”
The sideways look Lynn gave her, as she collected her daughter and left the room, seemed to hint at something behind the words, although Natasha had too much on her mind to give it thought. As soon as she was alone, she slipped out of her chair and tiptoed to a cupboard. From previous visits, she knew that one shelf held maps of the wildlands, prepared by the Rangers. It took seconds to find the one she wanted: an old map showing details of fords on rivers and mountain passes. The paper was stained and torn in parts, and not likely to be missed soon—she hoped. Natasha folded the worn map and pushed it inside her shirt. Long before Lynn returned, she was safely back in her chair.
Concentrating on details of animal feed and similar concerns was a strain. The map felt as though it had come to life and was creeping over her skin. Fortunately for Natasha, nothing too complicated cropped up, and soon, the instructions were over. She was preparing to depart when the outer door opened and fourteen-year-old Ardis stuck her head in.
“Hi, Mom. Has Tanya been looking for me?”
“No,” Lynn replied.
“Oh, well, if she does, can you tell her I’m at Dee’s?” Ardis’ head disappeared before her mother could answer.
Lynn stared at the closed door. “Have you been introduced to our eldest daughter?” she asked Natasha.
“I’ve met her briefly.”
“If you ever get to speak to her properly, could you let me know what she’s like?” Lynn spoke with heavy irony.
“I think she’s a fairly standard teenager,” Natasha said, reaching for her coat.
The Walls of Westernfort Page 16