Kim leaned a shoulder against the doorpost, berating herself for her own stupidity. She realized she had managed to persuade herself that she did not want Lynn as a lover, that the kiss had been a mistake, that she had come on the mission solely for the benefit of the community at Westernfort. And her self-deception had worked perfectly. Right up to the second she had set eyes on Lynn again in the great hall of the temple. But in that second, Kim had known she was more hopelessly serious about Lynn than she had ever been about any woman before, and that in proposing to take the Imprinter back to Westernfort, she was just possibly making the biggest mistake of her life.
But the stupidity and self-deception had not ended there. Kim fought to restrain a groan at the realization. Somewhere in the previous few days, she had let herself start to hope, that maybe Lynn might...
Kim cut off the thought. There was no mistaking the way Lynn had shied away from her hand, the blank expression with which Lynn had avoided the chance to reaffirm her words in Petersmine, the eagerness with which Lynn had agreed that they should stick with friendship. Kim’s hand dropped and she fixed her eyes on the stars. Never had she been so disappointed to have someone agree with what she said, but it had been a foolish dream to hope that Lynn would admit to still loving her.
Kim drew another sharp breath and finally gave vent to her feelings. “Oh, shit, shit, shit.”
*
In the middle of the night, Kim was awakened by the sound of pounding hooves. Instantly, she had slipped out of the bedding and was standing by the loading hatch. Through the lattice of the shutters, she saw half a dozen Guards charge by, their route going directly underneath where she stood, pushing their horses to a reckless gallop in the moonlight. And then they were gone, racing down the silver ribbon of road, heading away from Landfall.
Carma had also been awakened by the noise. She stood at Kim’s shoulder while the hoofbeats faded into the distance and the quiet sounds of the night returned. Then she said softly so as not to wake the other two, “They’ll be carrying the news about Lynn.”
“Probably.”
“So now the fun starts in earnest. They’re in front of us.”
Chapter Nineteen—A Pig Farmer’s Daughter
The alert had gone out to every town Militia. Over the following two weeks, the group lost count of how many roadblocks they passed, but after the first two or three, the barricades ceased to hold any anxiety for them. The Militia was clearly hampered by their preconceptions of the person they were looking for. Initially, when the soldiers in their black uniforms waved the four women by without a second glance, Lynn wondered if they were still naively expecting an Imprinter in blue with a long braid of hair, but it became apparent that their ideas were stuck in a different rut.
Riding the horse was what confused them and provided the best disguise. Although it slowed the group down at first, while Lynn hardened to the exercise, it was their passport across the country. The most difficult part was hiding the amusement as they rode in single file around a cart that was being emptied and searched by the earnest Militiawomen. It was still a question of debate whether the emphasis on wheeled transport was because the authorities thought an Imprinter too spiritual a creature to sit astride a horse, or if the Militia were unable to grasp the idea that an Imprinter might willingly leave a temple and they were therefore looking for a prisoner, bound and gagged. Whatever the reason, evading the pursuit was beginning to seem almost too easy.
The peaks of the western mountains were lining the horizon as they reached the last major obstacle before they left the lands controlled by the Sisters—the river Coldwater. The four women rode over the brow of a hill and looked down on the valley. Below them, a six-arch bridge spanned the winding river and a small town lay amid a patchwork of farmland. The sun was low on the horizon, but even with the glaring light in their eyes, they could see the huddle of black-clad Militia on the distant bridge and the line of traffic waiting to pass. It was an irritation. The day had been a long one, and the group was all looking forward to finding a tavern and a meal with as little delay as possible. However, one more checkpoint was not a cause for concern.
Only when they were in the line and the barrier no more than twenty meters away did they notice the woman in red and gold standing in the middle of the crowd of Militia and scanning every face that went by. The presence of the temple Guard was worrying, but turning around and going back was unsafe. Such an action would have been far too blatantly guilty not to attract attention.
Kim nudged her horse closer to Lynn’s and whispered, “Do you recognize her? Is she from Landfall?”
“I don’t know. She’s a bit far away at the moment, and all Guards tend to look the same to me anyhow.”
“I know what you mean. If it weren’t for Himoti’s ban, I’d swear someone was cloning them somewhere. Uniforms have that effect.” Kim gave a reassuring smile. “And the same applies for you, so don’t worry. The blue suit is what people notice, not the face. The Guard would need to be very familiar with you to recognize you in everyday clothes with your haircut. What she’ll mainly be looking out for is an expression of panic.”
The corners of Lynn’s mouth turned down. “She may well get to see one.”
The group moved slowly up the line. After a long wait, while every sack of flour on the wagon ahead was shifted, prodded, and then pushed back into place again, their turn came to ride onto the bridge. Lynn tried to keep her concentration on the back of Kim, riding in front of her. She felt she was running a gauntlet and could hardly believe it when there was no challenge. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Militia already turning to the cartload of apples that was next in the line. Then, just as it was starting to seem that this roadblock would be like all the rest, the Guard stepped out and held up her hand for Lynn to stop. Immediately the Militia switched their attention from the cart and formed a circle around the group of four women.
The Guard’s eyes were locked on Lynn’s face, but a degree of doubt lurked there. She was not sure of the identification. Long seconds of silence dragged out and then the Guard asked, “Would you mind telling me where you’re heading?”
“To Longhill, ma’am.” Lynn spoke confidently, repeating the story the group had prepared.
“And where are you coming from?”
“Well...Longhill originally. I’ve just been up to Southwater and back with my friends. We’ve been...” Lynn let her voice trail off as she tried to seem innocently confused.
“So. You’re from Longhill?” the Guard snapped.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And what do you do there?”
“I work on a farm.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever the boss tells me.”
Lynn’s reply raised a faint chuckle from the back of the ring of assembled Militia, but the Guard was not amused. She scowled and said, “Get down off the horse.”
Lynn’s stomach was a twisted knot of fear as she obeyed the order. When the Guard was able to better judge her height and build, the suspicions would increase, and little could be done about it. Posture might help, though not too flagrant a stoop. Lynn stood on the cobbles of the bridge in a defensive, inelegant, round-shouldered slouch, and was rewarded by seeing the frown on her interrogator’s face deepen. The stance was not what you would expect from one chosen by the Goddess. Lynn could sense the anxious concern of her companions, but dared not raise her eyes to them. Instead, she tried to force herself into the role she must adopt—the bewildered farm worker, stopped on her journey home.
“It’s a nice horse.” The Guard’s tone made it clear that flattery was not her purpose.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is it yours?”
“No. The boss said I could borrow it because—” Lynn was about to launch into their prepared story, but the Guard cut her off.
“This farm you work on, it’s near Longhill?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s on it?” The Guard’s question
had moved beyond the scope planned for, forcing Lynn into the realm of improvisation.
“Er...pigs.”
“How many?”
“Two hundred saddlebacks and fifty dwarf short tails...and th-there’s a few chickens as well. The b-boss likes her eggs.” With the aggression of the rapid questions, Lynn did not have to worry that acting frightened would seem out of character.
The Guard paused in her interrogation and looked at Lynn thoughtfully, then she glanced across at one of the Militia, a sour-faced woman with a sergeant’s badge on her black jerkin. “Weren’t you telling me that your mother used to keep pigs?” the Guard asked deliberately.
The sergeant looked startled for a moment but then nodded and said slowly, “Yes, she did. She even had a couple of the dwarf short tails, but she lost them to a dose of colic from eating border weed.”
Lynn did not wait to be asked before speaking. “Dwarf short tails with colic? Are you sure? The whole reason you keep the short tails is they don’t mind the coarse stuff, else you wouldn’t bother, ‘cause there’s sod-all meat on them.”
The Militia sergeant pursed her lips. “Maybe they weren’t short tails, then. They were those short dark ones with the long snout.”
“Sicross blacks? They’d have to eat a lot of border weed to get sick, and anyway, they’re finicky eaters. I’m surprised they’d touch the weed. It’s the saddlebacks that are the hungry buggers with no sense and weak stomachs.”
“Is that right?” the Guard said slowly, re-entering the interrogation, while her eyes shifted between Lynn and the sergeant in black.
The Militiawoman had a sneer on her face that was probably intended as a confident smile. “Oh yes. She works on a pig farm. Unless, of course, Imprinters spend their spare time reading up on how to care for different breeds of pig.”
The Guard frowned. Her eyes locked on Lynn’s face, but then she stood back and jerked her thumb toward the horse. “Okay. You can go.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Lynn put her foot in the stirrup and hopped up into her saddle. The four set off in a line, the horses’ hooves clattering loudly on the cobblestones. Each second, Lynn expected to be called back, but the shout never came. Only when they were over the bridge and heading on toward the town did she dare glance over her shoulder. The soldiers had moved to the applecart. A Militiawoman was standing on the tailboard, poking about with a long pole. Even the Guard in red and gold was no longer giving them any attention.
The four rode in silence for a while, but at last Kim cleared her throat and said, “You did well.”
“Thank you.” Lynn drew a deep breath.
Suddenly, the tension seemed to break for everyone at the same time. Lynn had to fight back the urge to giggle like a child. It had been a close thing, but it was over. Ahead of her, Mirle was leaning forward, shaking her head in amused disbelief. Carma started whistling a song that Lynn was fairly certain had the chorus of “Off and Over the Hills.”
Kim spoke again, although this time in a tone of dry humor. “Er...Lynn. Do Imprinters spend their spare time reading up on how to care for different breeds of pig?”
Lynn shrugged. “Well, I can’t speak for the rest, but I never needed to. I’m a pig farmer’s daughter. I spent the first twelve years of my life looking after them.”
Kim’s shoulders shook with subdued laughter. “Right. I should have guessed.”
“Oh, so you know a bit about pigs, then?” Mirle sniffed, making a play of banal gossip. “You might be even more useful on the farm than we expected.”
“You’ve got pigs there?” Lynn sounded thrilled.
“Yes, lots of them. You mean Kim didn’t tell you?” Carma joined in.
“No.”
Carma shook her head in mock censure. “Honestly, Captain. That’s the last time we send you to try and talk an Imprinter into joining us. You left the best part out.”
*
They arrived at Westernfort in the middle of June. There had been a few further encounters with the Militia, but nothing to match the bridge over the Coldwater, and once they were in the mountains, the fear of pursuit was gone completely. Even so, the Rangers set a fast pace through the wildlands. Over four months would have passed by the time they returned, and Kim was eager to know how things had progressed with the valley defenses.
The hard riding was no longer a problem for Lynn, and the mountain scenery was beautiful enough to bring tears to her eyes. Sometimes, lying wrapped in her blankets at night waiting for sleep to overtake her, she was overwhelmed by a wave of disbelief. She had actually escaped; the sense of freedom was too much to comprehend. She would never again be swallowed by the gloom, the repetition, the hopelessness of the temple. It was quite literally true that she would rather die than go back.
Lynn would have declared herself utterly happy, were it not for an awareness that with each passing day, Kim was becoming more distant. The Ranger captain was still friendly and supportive, still fun to talk to, but this only made it worse as it became apparent that Kim would much rather be talking to someone else. The closer they got to Westernfort, the more common it was for Kim to be riding beside Mirle or Carma, joking and chatting with them. In such a small group, the shift in preferred company was painfully obvious, and all the more painful as Lynn felt her attraction to the tall Ranger growing ever stronger. She no longer had any doubts about how much she wanted to give, merely despair at knowing Kim did not want to take it. The daily close contact of the journey made it unbearable. Lynn felt relief when the party finally reached the brow of a hill and a distant barricade across the entrance to a hanging valley was pointed out to her—the walls of Westernfort.
The work on the path to the high village was complete. An easy climb, but so narrow that they were forced to dismount and go in single file. As they walked up, Lynn tilted her head back. The stout timbers of the wall were hanging directly above her. Friendly faces peered over the parapet; scouts had already carried advance news of their arrival. Yet a shiver ran down Lynn’s spine as she imagined what it would be like to fight her way up that path with arrows rather than smiles raining down from above. She pitied any Guard who was ordered to storm the valley—and surely one day an attack on Westernfort would come, and many brave women would die on the very path she was now walking. Lynn’s eyes dropped to the ground. For a second, the rocks beneath her feet seemed red with blood, then Lynn shook her head to dispel the image. She was an Imprinter, not a fortuneteller.
At the top of the climb, they passed under the gateway and saw a boisterous throng of heretics and Rangers standing inside the wall to welcome them. The instant they were through, Kim, Carma, and Mirle were swept away to be greeted enthusiastically by a string of women. However, Lynn sensed the familiar, reserved circle of awe start to grow around her. Once again, she was isolated, on the edge, and then an elderly woman limped over and gave a crooked smile.
“I take it that you’re Lynn?”
“Er...yes. And you must be Gina.”
During the journey, Mirle had spoken much about the elderly ex-Sister, ex-Imprinter, recounting tales of her life, her discoveries, her beliefs. Lynn still was not sure what to make of the stories, except for an innate respect for anyone who would so utterly outrage Sister Dunsin.
The heretic leader gave a snort of amusement. “I won’t bother asking how you recognized me. I do hope you’re going to be happy here, because if not, you’ve got a hell of a long walk back.”
Lynn stopped short and then dropped her head as a smile spread over her face. The brusque humor held more real welcome than any polite formula. Suddenly, she felt part of the gathering, a feeling that increased as Gina linked an arm through hers for the short walk to the village.
At the point where the valley walls broadened out, they paused for Lynn to take in the view; the unbroken sweep of high mountains surrounding the valley, the cliff faces running down to the forest of dark fir trees lining the lake, and the newly cleared fields, planted with grain. The
village was close by. It was mainly a collection of crude round huts, but there was one stone-built construction with a slate-tiled roof and heating flues. Gina pointed to this building.
“We’ve managed to complete our first real house. It’s not too wonderful, but it has a proper floor and roof. And you’ll be pleased to hear that both you and I have been voted a room in there.” Gina paused briefly. “Captain Ramon has as well, but I doubt they’ll wheedle her out of the barrack hut with the other Rangers.”
As if hearing her name, Kim appeared at their side. The Ranger seemed less confident than normal. She took in the village and farm with an uncertain frown and said, “I did warn you it wasn’t luxurious. We’re working on it, and one day it will be...well, a proper village. I hope you don’t think I misled you...”
Lynn smiled. “I’m not disappointed with it.”
“You’re not?” Kim sounded surprised. “It’s not quite as civilized as you’re used to.”
“It’s not quite as much like a prison as I’m used to,” Lynn corrected. She turned through a complete circle to take in the whole panorama. “It’s got mountains and pigs. What more could I want?” But silently she answered herself. You.
*
The stone house had six small private rooms opening onto a communal space. Proper furniture was non-existent, but Lynn and Gina had improvised two chairs in the shared area, and they sat talking together quietly. The morning sunlight streamed in through the open doorway, carrying with it the fresh smell of the fir trees and the sounds of people congregating outside. Sounds that left Lynn feeling unaccountably nervous. Four days had passed since she had reached Westernfort, enough for her to rest after the journey. Now it was time to begin her work. But she was in no hurry to go outside. In fact, she was feeling the childish urge to hide.
The door to her own bedroom was temptingly close at hand. The remaining five rooms had gone to Gina and other elderly heretics since, as anticipated, Kim had chosen to share the rough living conditions of the other Rangers. Lynn was embarrassed to be singled out for privileged treatment, especially as there were many frail old women still in the primitive round huts, but she had less success than Kim in declining the honor. The heretics may well have rejected the idea of a Goddess who had chosen Lynn for her own, but that did not mean that they thought an Imprinter should be treated as an ordinary person.
The Temple at Landfall Page 21