Calling Up the Fire

by Lori Martin

  Renasi looked back quickly, ducking his head to see beneath the forest of branches. “Thank Nialia.”

  “Someone’s with her.” He turned it over in his mind. “Three horses? I didn’t send out that many riders.”

  There was a commotion in the trees. Branches crackled and bobbed. A sentry’s deep voice shouted, “Stand!” They heard the whistle of an arrow.

  “Discovery!” Samalas hissed. “They’ve captured her, forced her here –”

  Renasi plunged into the growth just as blurred figures dropped down from the waving boughs. One directly in front of him was taking aim. “It’s Mejalna, you fool!” he shouted, and batted at the woman’s upraised arms.

  Over Mejalna’s voice, which was raised in fury against the onrush of guards, Samalas boomed out from behind. “Surround and hold!”

  By the time Renasi reached the outer clearing the order had been obeyed. The group was hemmed in by the Defier sentries, all with arrows or swords at the ready. Mejalna stood at her horse’s head flushed with anger. Behind her two cloaked riders sat in silence.

  “Mejal –” he began.

  “Get back,” Samalas barked, and Renasi melted obediently into the circle.

  A tense quiet settled over the ring of watchers. Samalas threw her a quick, uninterested look, then took slow measure of her companions. “Lindahnes.”

  “Yes,” Mejalna answered for them, and he turned to her.

  “No one is allowed here. No one. They could be Mendale spies.”

  “Please.” She had been trying to decide, all through the long afternoon, how to approach him: but pleading couldn’t be the way. “I have my reasons. You’ll have to listen to these people – I think we all must.”

  “Do you realize bringing outsiders here could destroy us? Do you?” Some of the Defiers murmured, in fear or dismay. Samalas continued, “Even if they are Lindahnes, they –”

  “Let me bring them in and explain to you why –”

  “No.”

  “Samalas!”

  “No.”

  “All right.” Mejalna shrugged her shoulders. She waved a graceful hand, in parody of an introduction. “Leader Samalas, I would like to present Mistress Pillyn, daughter of Boessus and of Meyna of the Third Hill. She is the wife of the Third Tribune.”

  Cold anger came into his face, anger of such intensity that she had a bewildered thought he would strike her. Instead he gave her a smile of ice, ignoring the woman on the horse, who had cleared her throat to speak.

  “I see,” he said to Mejalna. “And who is this gentleman?”

  She looked over her shoulder, as if she were considering that question herself. Paither’s eyes met hers. They were clear and determined, and she made her answer to them.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  One of their guards, a servant named Kel who evidently had taken part in the abduction, brought in their supper and an evening candle-lamp. In the new camp Nichos and Scayna were being housed together: the Defiers found that under the Tribune’s influence the troublesome archer behaved better. They had been moved just that afternoon to their new quarters, a tiny shack with two cot beds. Scayna, sitting on the dirt floor, sat up straighter at Kel’s entrance. She was no longer bound, and inside their little prison they were permitted to remain without blindfolds.

  “Good even’,” the guard said. “We’ve had a bit of luck today. Got some rabbit and some venison.”

  Tribune Nichos was stretched out on his cot, on top of dirty blankets, smoking his pipe. His black face was shrouded in scented smoke. He waved to Scayna, and she accepted the bowls from the Defier.

  “What’s all this hammering we hear?”

  “There’s no table to spare for you,” Kel said. “You’ll have to eat off your laps. Hammering? Well, we’re trying to get more shelters put together. It’s a little crowded since we all had to move here.”

  “I’m sorry to be the cause of your discomfort,” Nichos said with humor.

  “Tribune?” Scayna offered a bowl timidly.

  “In a moment. Go ahead, you needn’t wait for me. Yes, yes, it’s all right. Any word from the Assembly?”

  “No,” Kel said.

  Scayna took a hesitant bite of the dark meat, which was fragrant with spices. It didn’t seem right to eat before the Tribune did. She was anxious and uncomfortable in his presence, though strangely these rebels seemed at ease with him. Kel often answered his questions – surely not wise, from their point of view? – even while ignoring the few she ventured to ask.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to be our guest for some time, Tribune, at this rate.”

  “You haven’t achieved your ends, have you?” Nichos said. “Of course if you had taken the First Tribune instead of me, the results might have been different.”

  “Our queen is still alive,” the Defier answered.

  They sounded for all the world like two friends debating a village election. This fool is a lin-lover, she reminded herself. Of course he gets on with them.

  She took another mouthful. The guard set their lamp, muttering something under his breath; Nichos raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s a prayer,” Kel said. He had almost forgotten that their captives were heretics. “Good even’ to you.”

  Nichos said, “May Nialia hold you beloved.”

  Scayna and the guard both stared. Kel’s mouth lifted slowly into a smile. As he pulled the door bolt he responded, “May her grace light your path.”

  Silence settled again on the little room. Though the Tribune seemed not to notice, Scayna couldn’t decide whether speaking or not speaking made her the most uncomfortable. In a few minutes she’d have to ask to be let out (in front of him, too) to crouch in some bush blindfolded while a bored lin stood by.

  “It’s humiliating,” she burst out, surprising herself as well as the Tribune. “I’m sorry, sir. I meant being a prisoner.” She wiped up the last of her supper with a hunk of bread. “We’re not even able to bathe properly.”

  “We’ve done nothing dishonorable, nothing to be ashamed of. I’m here – by accident, our people would say, by design of the gods, the Lindahnes believe. You’re here because you tried to do your duty. And did it better, I might say, than all the others who were on duty that night.” He sat up and reached for his bowl and cup. Before drinking he spit the first swallow aside, to pay the wine spirit. She’d forgotten.

  She retreated to the other side of the room, a scant few steps away. The obliging Kel had hung a battered rug around her cot, to give them each a little privacy.

  She ducked behind the curtain and climbed onto her cot. Something skittered up the wall but she didn’t bother to look. In her childhood she had gotten used to living with night creatures. When Quienos’s temper had lost them yet another position, they would move on to the next town; often they had to sleep by the side of the road. It had been rough, crude and uncomfortable, but at least she had been outside in the air, free of restraint. Not locked in four walls, not choked in a room the size of a grave . . .

  A bolt of panic shot through her. She stiffened, trying to hold herself together, lest her body fly apart into pieces. Her mind snatched out at any distraction, and settled on the image of her parents. Yes, she’d think about them. What were they doing now? Would the chilhi have notified them, or would her capture be kept a secret? Had she been given up for dead?

  Stay away from him. Name of Nichos.

  She drew back the makeshift curtain. “Tribune? Sir, may I ask –? That prayer –”

  “It’s a formal saying. Nialia is their supreme goddess, the goddess of Fate.” He paused. Scayna, grateful for distraction, arranged her face in a show of interest. He told her a little more of the Lindahne religion, explaining as much as he knew of the pantheon of the gods and the divine protection over the Hills. His mistakes and omissions would have made his wife wince, but he did know the truth of Nialia; he knew, too, of the Twain, her immortal children.

  As she listened the tightness inside her
relaxed. Slowly her eyes grew fixed and vacant. She was concentrated on the power beneath his words, as a deaf child who hears no music but feels the vibration thundering underfoot. Later she said timidly, “Sir, do you believe in the lins – the Lindahnes’ gods?”

  “No, not often.” He puffed out smoke. “But over the years I’ve sometimes wondered. They’re a wiser people than we are.”

  “Wiser?”

  “Simpler. Yet they go deeper into the heart... We’re of the mind, you know, in Mendale, all thought and speech. The Lindahnes are made of feelings.”

  How strange he is, she thought, but a sudden yearning came over her. Imagine being truly tied to one’s country, watched over by unseen protectors, cared for. Belonging. A green Hill in the sun.

  “We’re still paying for the War’s destruction,” the Tribune continued meditatively. “These Defiers can claim some justice in their fight. You’ve probably heard that my wife is a Lindahne, so you see I understand them.” Suddenly he laughed “All the same, I’m a Mendale. And I do get tired of ever-lasting Lindahne laments. Have you ever been there?”

  “To Lindahne? No, Tribune.”

  “I suppose your parents served during the War?”

  She was silent.

  “Scayna?”

  “My mother wasn’t in the army, sir, she’d only just had me. My father – was a soldier. He didn’t like Lindahne.”

  “In the middle of a War? Of course not. What Band was he in?”

  Stay away from him. By the howl of the wind, what had her father done? Why couldn’t she talk to this man?

  Cover your hair. Hide your shoulder. Be silent. Be blind.

  “He was in the Tenth. I believe he served with you, Tribune.”

  “I was ranking of the Sixth. What’s his name?”

  “Quienos, sir.”

  “Quienos. Quienos.” He mulled it over. She waited. Now she’d find out, for once she’d have the truth.

  “Oh, yes. I remember.” The Tribune’s voice became a little distant. “I believe he was actually serving with Teleus, another listtel and a friend of mine. But our Bands were posted together much of the time. Your father – let’s see, I put him on watch duty, I think, and he’d go out with companies sometime... After the surrender we spent some time off the Second Hill, by the woodlands, chasing the poor Lindahnes who were trying to hide out there. Yes, Quienos. I remember him.”

  She dared to say, “But not with liking?”

  There was a startled pause; she feared she had offended him. But he laughed again. “I remember him as being rather blunt-spoken,” he admitted. “Is he still in the army?”

  She told him, in as few words as possible. Plainly whatever ill deed haunted her father from those years meant nothing to the Tribune; he didn’t even remember it. She curled up into a ball and hoped for sleep, brushing aside the urgings to go out. Even her father’s mysteries, it seemed, were a sham.

  “By Sanlin,” Renasi cursed, calling on the goddess of pain and death: the harshest oath in Lindahne. “What are you doing, Mejalna? What are you doing?”

  “Dressing,” she retorted, clutching an over-robe in front of her. She was wearing only her flimsy long underslip. “Do you mind? Get out of my tent.”

  “Samalas will kick you out of the Defiers, if he doesn’t have you hanged as a traitor. Bringing spies here –”

  “They’re Lindahnes.”

  “The man’s a halfer!”

  “That’s not what he says. Never mind. Come to the truth-seeking,

  that’s all, like everyone else, and hear what I’ve been doing for yourself. The other camps were notified, they’re sending their officers. Now will you get out?”

  “How could he have found you? Followed you?” “He saw me once, wearing the bread baker apron, and figured it out. He was waiting for me outside the Guild when I got there.”

  “And you just tamely agreed to lead him here?”

  “In the name of Nialia, will you leave me alone!”

  Renasi’s good arm shot out and he snapped the garment away from her, flinging it behind him, leaving her exposed in her pale slip. Her chest heaved with shock and anger. She gasped, “He has a claim!”

  “Which you decided to honor?”

  “I decided to let him make it, that’s all. How dare you burst in here and question me? Get out. I’m telling you, get out, or I’ll have you thrown out of my Squad. I’m ordering you!”

  Before he could answer the tent flap lifted. Paither appeared. His hair was matted to his scalp with sweat and grime. As he half-turned to Renasi, his eyes caught Mejalna’s and his look slid slowly down her form. All three took in breath.

  “They won’t let me see my father,” Paither began, but the air was too charged. He fell silent.

  Straight to Mejalna, Renasi said, “He isn’t worth it. He isn’t worth the cost.”

  His words doubled her embarrassment. She made two fists and pounded them into her thighs. “Get out! Will you get out!”

  “Do you know what they’ll call you? Do you know how you’ll end? As a traitor. A cooperator. I’ve already heard whispers, ‘there’s one in her own fam –’”

  Her control vanished. She flung herself at him, but it was Paither, startled, who caught her. She called down a violent rain of curses, struggling in his locked grip. Renasi whirled out of the tent.

  “Stop, wait,” Paither said. Her long hair whipped his neck. He had a confused memory of another struggle; she had had a knife –

  “Daiv!” she cried out, and was still.

  He hesitated, his hands still on her shoulders. He released his grip reluctantly, running his hands along her bare arms down to her wrists. She hunched over. Misery was in every line.

  I was invisible to Renasi, he thought. And there’s a camp full of his kind to face. I have to make them see me.

  “It’s going to be a hard fight,” he said. “Harsh companions you have, Mejalna.”

  “He’s trying to protect me. Where’s my robe?”

  He bent and retrieved it. “Here.”

  She decided she had too many real worries to concern herself with modesty. She pulled the robe over her head, feeling a tug on the hem as he helped her. The woolen folds bunched up over her nose. “You’re causing me a lot of trouble,” she said as her head emerged.

  “I know. But I’m doing, finally, what I should be doing. And so are you. We’re in the hands of the goddess.”

  “Oh, so it was Nialia, was it, who decided I should trust you, listen to your wild stories, and ruin myself by bringing you here? That’s good to know. Here I thought all this foolishness was my own idea.” She pulled the sash and tied it. When she looked up he was smiling.

  “Why did you do it? I know you don’t believe what I told you, do you?”

  “No. I don’t know.”

  “Then why?”

  He had come to her with eagerness and determination, with a certainty of righteousness that appealed to her. The pride of an independent, confident will had always attracted her, perhaps because of her father, who had once been a priest of Armas. Steadfast in his faith. As a child the tales of Armas were her favorites in the Book of the Gods, and she had fought off sleep many evenings, listening to these stories, and to those of Lindahne’s brave last king, King Raynii. When she was older she had looked again for courage and dedication in the warm feelings of Thayner, her once-betrothed. She had even been drawn to Samalas when she first knew him, attracted by the fierce spirit that listened only to its own guidance. Of course, she had given no sign. Later, she had been glad: Samalas’s blazing drive did not, after all, contain the heat of a heart’s emotions. One could as soon love the pulsing cold waves of the Sea.

  “Then why?”

  Her eyes traced the ragged ugly edge of the scar on his cheek, wondering what man he really was. He didn’t have – he probably would not even understand – the cold core of someone like Samalas. With his hard eagerness and hope, his ferocious love for a Mendale father, his soul must be a fi
restorm. She remembered his impassioned cry: “I am a Lindahne!”

  And what else was he? What else?

  “Mejalna.” He put out his hands – she noticed the confidence of the gesture – and smoothed down the sides of her ruffled hair. “Maybe Renasi’s more than a friend?”

  She blinked. For the second time, she brushed aside his question. “Come,” she said. “The meeting’s starting soon.”

  The listless commander of Scayna’s Band decided that it would be becoming, as one of their own archers was missing, to volunteer her women for the job. Pirri, Scayna’s friend, promptly put herself forward, through the arrow wound she had received during the fight at the Southwest Gate still smarted. Her new watch companion and two foot soldiers from the Fourteenth Squad were chosen to go with her. Chilhi Bhanay, who did not care if she ever saw Scayna again, wished them luck and sent them off.

  In the Assemblage House, the disappearance of the Third Tribune’s wife and son had been quickly noted. Some people claimed Haol had had them under watch all along, which was thought prudent, considering that in the end they were only god-chanting lins.

  In fact, Haol hadn’t been quite so far-seeing. Watchers had been attached to Mistress Pillyn only as an after-thought, and Paither’s trips to the Bread Bakers Guild had gone undetected. But when Pillyn was followed beyond the gates of the city, she and her son were seen to meet up with another woman. The meeting was almost certainly pre-arranged, the spies reported. Haol decided on action.

  Pirri and her companions were sent to take up the trail. The unknown woman was definitely the leader, and seemed to know what she was about: several times she evaded their vigilance and they lost the group. But in the end they traced them to a line of trees that seemed to mark a boundary. There were sentries of some kind posted there.

  They settled down in thick cover and kept track of the comings and goings along the tree line. As dusk came on that evening there was unusual movement, and more than a dozen Defiers arrived almost together from various directions. The tree sentries let them pass, and after, all activity stopped. There was no sign or sight of horse or walker. By full night her companion archer, bored, fell asleep on Pirri’s shoulder.