Until love and peace are constant, our purpose is not fulfilled, said he.
ALMOST TWO YEARS HAD CYCLED SINCE YOUR ARRIVAL IN THE SETTLEment.
Three years had passed since the war had begun, and at last it was over. The end came almost as abruptly as it began. Violence had reached far beyond the boundaries of the settlement across the river from the kingdom you had left behind. The remote settlement that had accepted you was spared destruction but not loss.
You couldn’t conceive why the fighting had spread as it had. You couldn’t imagine the shock of the reclusive Guardians suddenly invaded. The warriors of the trails fought to protect Egnis from harm. They endured random acts of violence. Their settlements had never been attacked in this way, not according to any remembered history. Many of them had been betrayed by villages who had been neutral neighbors before. You wondered what the armies of aggressive men thought when they found enough to loot but the misperception of threat.
Several people of your settlement were relatives of warriors who never came back. Although these warriors had returned for brief visits during the war | gift of the gaps | they were otherwise missing or dead. Hope turned pale.
You twice saw a warrior knock upon the door of a waiting family. The news brought grief and shrouded bodies. Worse, grief and no body. Worse still, no word.
There were ceremonies for the bereaved. If a body returned, a ritual took place near it before it was cremated. A fire was built in a large iron cauldron for each person and tended by companion warriors until the ritual’s end. Anyone could speak or share an offering. Friends and family sat nearby while words were spoken or gifts were given to the fire. Most heartrending were the children, who had received tender care from those who had died. He taught me, he showed me, I loved him because, said they. Some did not speak. They fed the fire with gifts made with their own hands. Dolls, carvings, sculptures, with meaning special to the person and the warrior. When the ceremony ended and the fire died, the family took the ashes to scatter in private.
You attended each of the ceremonies. These warriors you had not known. You were tempted to hide, but you faced the consequences of your actions. Long glances forced your eyes to the ground. They knew who you were.
Once, before you were fluent in their language, Aza said that a group wished to speak with you. They had lost their beloved in the war. She hoped to bring peace to you all. You agreed. Aza prepared you for the meeting. She assured you they didn’t wish to persecute. When you sat in the circle among them, all wept. Aza translated as they spoke of their pain and confusion. Their people had lost warriors before but never so many in so short a time. They wanted you to explain what events had taken place before the first attack. They wanted to know why the war had begun. They wished to understand what made those born away so hurtful.
You told of your involvement. Beginning to end. You revealed your husband had been the prince, then King, but that seemed to matter little to them. Your explanations of what had taken place, of your world away, fumbled as excuses which you didn’t agree with or believe. No more than they, could you make sense of the cruelty. You told the truth as you knew it. It was all you could give.
A woman who hadn’t spoken leapt into a pause of silence. Aza translated.
You didn’t kill my spouse, but a shard of your deeds was in the blow, said she.
You rose and knelt next to her.
Yes, it was. I am sorry. I am sorry to you all, you said.
She bowed her head, then embraced you. Together, you cried. You couldn’t bear her forgiveness.
YOU AWOKE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FREEZING NIGHT. NO NOISE HAD startled you. No sounds disturbed your return to sleep. Yet you went to the window and looked down to the road. A lupine shadow carried moonlight on its shoulders. You crept back to bed, stalked the image in your mind like a dream.
The next morning, word passed from one and all that Leit had slipped in through the darkness. He wished for tempered greetings. That is to say, he didn’t want to be swarmed. The adults honored this. They waved or bowed their heads with respect, but the children couldn’t contain themselves. They ran and leapt toward him. They shouted his name. He accepted their affection and returned it. The first time you saw him, from a close distance, you thought he winced with pain each time he was embraced.
You had heard people speak of him.
He was known as the warrior without a deliberate kill.
He had been away longer than the other warriors. He was dispatched soon after the war had begun. His role was to train those who had never before felt called to take up arms. His gift was discipline. He was adept at self-control. Under his guidance, the angered men | some women | would learn cool restraint and conscious action. Mindless violence and bloodshed offended his nature. No warrior took life lightly.
The people had believed he would return. They couldn’t conceive that he would not. They honored him for his bravery, kindness, and composure. None was more skilled to maneuver the perils of the world.
As well, Makha the wolf accompanied him. Her loyal presence gave many comfort. She had been Leit’s companion since his voice had changed. He had saved her as an orphaned pup. Some thought her not quite mortal. She was old for a creature of her kind, but her body and mind did not fail her. She protected Leit, kept to his side.
Within days of his arrival, the entire settlement felt brighter, as if a cloud had drifted away.
Leit requested a time of transition. He didn’t hide but did not reenter a peaceful life again at once. Although he had a home of his own, he took refuge with an elder warrior and his spouse. If he was seen in those first weeks, he was often entering or leaving the forest with Makha or tending children at a nursery.
The next occasion you saw him, he stood with an infant asleep on his chest. The baby rested against the copper breastplate on which it lay. Leit’s eyes were closed and turned to the sun.
YOU WERE CURIOUS ABOUT LEIT. ALTHOUGH YOU SAW HIM WHEN YOU passed nurseries or the smithy, sometimes in the fields, you hadn’t found the courage to speak. You wanted to experience for yourself why he evoked such affection and respect. No matter that you were accepted among them, you were still the woman who had caused the war. That made you responsible for his pain, the depth of which you would be horrified to learn.
The daily work you chose had little connection to what you had done in your life before. You found pleasure in making bread. Precise measurements harkened what you once marked on a plane. Repetitive kneading brought to mind trudges on monotonous terrain. What you had done before fed no one, but it had satisfied a sort of greed.
Then came a morning when a mother and her twins stopped for a large loaf. The girl and boy were no older than four. You and your fellow bakers had made small dried-cherry buns for the visiting children. You gave the girl and boy their treats. They thanked you and smiled through the crumbs. The mother looked at them as they ate. Her expression was content and filled with love. In that simple moment you thought, I never looked at the twins that way.
You began to watch parents with their children, mothers in particular and their young ones in response. You had told no one of the girl and the boy. Your neighbors knew where you came from, that you had been a mapmaker, and that you had been married. For whatever reason, you couldn’t speak of the twins.
Troubled in mind and heart, you found sleep elusive. Some nights, you walked to a location that overlooked the plain. The land was elevated and surrounded by trees. The low plateau had been worn bare by contemplative others drawn by the quiet and the view. Mountains rose in the far distance. On occasion, wild horses raced and grazed in the valley below. There was no escape from the moon.
On late summer night when you arrived at the plateau, you saw a figure sitting in the space. You decided to turn back. Your movement caused a rustle. A low growl froze your blood.
Thank you, said a man’s voice. The growl stopped. The figure split into two forms.
I meant no intrusion. I will leave, you sai
d.
You’ve come for a reason, said he. He didn’t stand. He turned his body to slip a shirt over his head.
There’s room enough. Sit, said he.
You approached. The moonlight brightened the two forms, a large man and a wolf.
I don’t recognize you, said he.
You spoke your name and admitted that you knew who he was. You had seen him in the settlement.
Did you come for silence? asked Leit.
Yes, you said.
Please, may we share it? asked he.
You sat away from him and Makha the wolf. The moon was high and bright, almost full. Cloud shadows drifted on the plain.
The wolf sat next to him with her body pressed against his left side. Her shoulder met the back of his shoulder, her hip at the base of his spine. Her muzzle and throat were brilliant silver, the rest of her coarse fur burnished.
She regarded you with a gaze wild and wise. You remembered the shadow in the road on the night when you had awakened. Surely that had been her. You dared to look her in the eye. Only for a moment. What kind of beast shows such devotion to a man? you thought. As you turned toward the open land, you noticed a stain on Leit’s shirt. He wasn’t wearing the copper breastplate. You knew then it wasn’t ceremonial or official. The thin armor covered a wound.
NEITHER OF YOU PLANNED TO SEE ONE ANOTHER ON THE PLATEAU BUT you encountered each other there often enough. Some nights you spoke. Other nights you agreed to sit in silence.
Of course, in time, the familiarity extended beyond the viewpoint on the plateau. You began to speak together in public places. People noticed. You’ve made a new friend, Aoife. What a fine man he is, said they.
You knew this to be true. He was not prideful or superior. The regard others had for him could have shaped him so, but did not. He welcomed questions of the Guardians’ ways. | our ways | He replied with kindness, a willingness to teach. He spoke of his life before he became a warrior and before the war.
You replied to questions about your place of origin. This inquiry didn’t disturb you. As your ability to speak the language improved, you were asked about your former home. Those born away—the exiles, the foundlings—told of customs and beliefs they remembered, in some instances still held.
Leit’s questions remained open. In time, you perceived that he was trying to make sense of a greater matter. He wished to understand the war he had witnessed. He wanted to know what had ruptured like an abscess and spread from mind to heart, mind to heart, of a few, then to many.
He didn’t delve into your own story. He gave you quiet and space. You said little on your own, limited yourself to facts. Your father was an adviser of high status in the kingdom. Your mother kept a tidy house with organized servants. Ciaran, your brother, was a smart, reliable man who planned to fill your father’s role. As a child, you liked to draw maps. You were trained to do so and charted large portions of the land. You married the prince, who became King. You were exiled because you were believed to be a traitor.
Leit spoke of his father and mother. They died before the war. His father died of blood poisoning from a wound that wouldn’t heal. Leit was a young warrior on the trails then. His father had a strong body, quiet nature, and focused mind. Leit received those from him. His mother died in a gentle sleep a season before the war. She shared with her son watchful dark eyes, skill with a hammer and anvil, and distaste for disorder. Both his parents expressed love with words, embraces, and acceptance. Leit had been a rough, physical boy with a tender heart. They recognized the warrior in him. They told of ancestors whose path he followed. He received guidance early. He proved to be a boy capable of discipline and restraint, of quick reflexes and mind. His teachers expected great tales to be told of him.
YOU NAVIGATED AROUND EACH OTHER’S PAIN. YOU APPROACHED THE edges but did not enter. His pain was too close. Yours was too deep. The reverse was true as well.
Leit was your friend, and you loved him as such. You hadn’t tried to hide the nature of your exile and assumed many in the settlement knew the reason. Whether he had been told, you had no way to know. He didn’t ask. Because you loved him, because you knew the pain he hid was linked to yours, you chose to tell him the truth.
When I was a mapmaker, charting a border of the kingdom, you said, I chose to step upon the bank across the river.
You said you were brought to a Guardian settlement and treated with kindness. Never had you felt such peace. You sensed an abiding goodness all around. The calm unnerved but beckoned you. Two men on your crew attempted to find you, and they, too, experienced what you did. You three agreed not to speak of it to anyone, but one did. He confessed to the riches he had seen in the settlement. He told of the little Voice who spoke of the dragon and the hoard. Your people chose a feat for Prince Wyl, a quest to find the dragon. You followed him. You both saw the hoard, but there was disagreement about its purpose. On the journey home, you became lovers at last. After the return, you married him.
Later, you learned Wyl’s brother and four other men had gone to the settlement while you and Wyl were away. There were inquiries among those who had visited. Suspicions festered. You traveled to warn the Guardians of a potential attack. You wanted to protect them. When you returned home, you admitted what you’d done. No one heeded your arguments. They were inclined to think the worst and take action. Then the King died. Your husband took the throne and authorized the first blows. You were imprisoned and ordered to draw a map to the hoard. After it was complete, you were exiled, sent away with two armed men. You suspected you were to be killed, but one of the men let you go. You traveled until you stopped at this northern settlement and felt you’d found your home. You were grateful to be accepted, in spite of who you were.
I’m the one who caused the war, you said. I would understand if you didn’t wish to speak to me again.
Leit turned his eyes from you to the plain.
What makes you think you have such power? asked he.
You expected no answer as that.
There are forces far greater and more dangerous than the curiosity to see what’s on another side, said he.
But if I hadn’t been … You couldn’t finish the thought.
He rubbed his chest with his palm.
There’s not one straight line between cause and effect. Many roads lead to the same place, or not. The choice depends on the travelers. As a mapmaker, you understand, don’t you?
Yes, you said.
Makha focused her eyes on you. Never once had you tried to touch her. You were somewhat afraid of the wolf. She stretched her head beyond her crouched forelegs and sniffed the air near your face. She raised her ears, then settled again at Leit’s side.
She accepts you, said Leit. He spoke as if the wolf ‘s gesture meant more to him than any word you ever said.
One night at the plateau, he didn’t wish to speak. He was in your presence but far away. His eyes glazed. His body seemed heavy, immobile.
You had never touched him other than in the customary ways. As you learned, the Guardians were an affectionate people who greeted and parted with kisses, handshakes, and embraces. Yet that night, your hand reached for the back of his neck.
He flinched but didn’t pull away. His dark hair brushed your skin. His flesh was raised but not raw. You tried to read the relief without moving your hand. You turned your mind to each place where your fingers touched. You realized there were permanent whelps on his skin. He had been branded.
He remained still.
Please, don’t ask me now, said he.
YOU WANT TO REPEAT THE STORY OF HOW YOU CAME TO LOVE HIM. YOU want the tale of the woman who feels passion again, but this serves no purpose other than diversion. Remember, old woman, be sparse with nostalgia.
What emerged between you and Leit was not the bloodthick wildmind rut you had with Wyl. No matter your higher feelings for your first spouse, it was that at its core. Whereas with Leit, you loved the man before you loved his body.
Leit wasn’t a
man you thought physically beautiful at first. You had a different idea of masculine beauty. Wyl embodied that. The proportioned angles of his face. The length of his limbs in relation to the rest of him. The width of his shoulders. The shapes of his hands. Had you drawn him yourself into being, you could have done no better. He fit you in all the right places.
Leit had a slant to his eyes. He had a suspicious look. He was a big man. Tall. Thick-muscled. His back wide and meaty as an ox. He appeared hewn from stone. Like the blood-born men of their region, he grew his own dense coat of dark hair from his head to his legs.
Yet you came to appreciate the qualities within. These softened his brute shape. You had watched him beat metal to leaf thinness and appreciate the delicate result. His broad arms held little children with warm gentleness. He gave thoughtful counsel when asked for his opinion. To his warrior companions, he was affectionate and devoted.
Both Leit and Wyl were good men. Neither was compelled to do harm on purpose. Wyl was good the way a steed can be good. Reliable, strong, harmless unless provoked. Leit’s sense of honor held him at his center. Your first spouse’s weakness was of will. He questioned his own. He was easily swayed. Leit was firm in himself. There was a core to Leit that there wasn’t in Wyl. Wyl could be manipulated.
Tell the truth.
You didn’t respect Wyl for that reason. You hated Raef for the undue influence he had over his brother, but Wyl allowed it. What you despised about Raef, you possessed as well. You rationalized that you deserved to work with the old mapmaker. You did. You proved your skill. Yet your place in the apprentice’s chair came through guile. Subtle and suppressed as it was, you had no right to wield it.
In slow progression, your bond with Leit strengthened. Still, he didn’t fully trust you to touch him. Within the settlement, you came to greet and depart as anyone else did. No more, no less. In time, your affection deepened to holding hands and close embraces. | he withdrew at the hint of amorous possibility | The instances happened only within the forest’s cover. Neither chose to consciously hide this. Yet the closeness wasn’t lost on others. Many could see you had formed a special friendship, although few dared to inquire of its nature.
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