by Lori Martin
She clung to the safety of their quarters: Pirri couldn’t coax her out of the building. On their official duties, of course, they had to make the rounds of Lindahne markets and roads, often guarding Mendale officials in a crowd. Sometimes they oversaw lin gatherings, moving trouble-makers along. When necessary, Pirri prodded or poked at the lins, told them to go here, stop standing there. Yet Scayna laid a hand on no one.
Whatever it was, it was becoming an obsession. Even when she rose out of bed, Pirri saw, she was careful to slip her bare feet straight from the army blankets into her boots, avoiding the dusty floorboards. No matter how hot the day, she would not wear sandals; it seemed she refused to touch even the earth of Lindahne. Exasperated, Pirri demanded, “Have you found a way to stop breathing the air yet?” but she received no reply.
The next day Scayna stood outside the chilhi’s offices, waiting impatiently. Though she had sent in a request to see the chilhi early in the morning, others were taken ahead of her, and it was just past high-sun. A heat wave had settled on the Hills and showed no sign of lifting. Her thin black army robe clung to her ribs and back.
The door opened and Reisella came out. A lanky, graceless woman, this archer was given to meanness and spite, and she found Scayna’s troubles to be good sport. They exchanged hard looks. Reisella had a good standing in the Band; she flattered both Chilhi Bhanay and the ranking, and had become a ringleader of the other archers. Even Pirri had taken to following her lead on occasion.
“Still waiting?” Reisella sneered. She despised Scayna’s nobleborn speech. “The chilhi’s better things to do than bother with you, Mistress Nonsense.”
“Get out of my way.” Scayna shoved her and slipped over the threshold, banging the door on an angry retort. The chilhi looked up from her writing. Her mouth closed in a tight line.
“May I speak with you now, chilhi?”
“All right. But be quick, I’m busy. What do you want?”
“A transfer out. I’d like to go back to Mendale.”
The chilhi inhaled angrily. “By the rain, girl, you’ve only just been transferred back into this Band. On your own request to Tribune Haol, I remind you.”
“I know, chilhi, but I can’t stay here.”
“You can if I say you can. Sit down.”
She made a movement and paused. “Excuse me, chilhi, is this chair Lindahne work? The carving looks –”
“What? Yes, it is.” Chilhi Bhanay watched in silence as Scayna walked around it to another chair, farther back and more uncomfortable: an army utility. Scayna settled herself and looked at her, waiting. The chilhi felt the familiar unease. She remembered speaking to this strange girl moons ago, when she had that ugly tarra-cloth on her head. If only she’d dismissed her from the army then –!
“Well now.” The chilhi’s eyes glittered with malice. “Suppose you explain yourself to me.”
“I can’t stay in Lindahne, chilhi. It’s making me ill.”
“You look all right.” This was a lie; the girl was white, her face drawn. “What kind of illness?”
She considered telling at least part of the truth; but a confession would probably get her thrown out of the army, as it would prove her mentally unfit for duty. And the army was still the only refuge she had. Worse, if the chilhi thought she had lost her reason, she might be sent to a spirit-healer. She had once seen a man believed to be possessed by demons, gibbering and wailing; the spirit-healer’s treatment of him had begun with the application of fire-tongs. “It’s an illness in my belly. I’m weak. I can’t concentrate on my work. Perhaps it’s the water here. I’m sure I’ll be fine back home.”
“What I hear is that you’ve been slacking off your duties and disobeying orders. You talk to yourself. Reisella tells me you’re no use at all on patrol.”
She flushed dark red. “Reisella has nothing to do with it. I’m ill, and I’m telling you myself that it’s interfered with my duties. That’s why I’m asking you –”
“No.”
“Chilhi?”
“No. No, I said, and don’t let me hear another word of it! You’re in this Band because the Tribune put you here, and this is where you’re going to stay. You wanted it. Now you don’t like it? Well, neither do I. But we’re stuck with each other, and that’s it. Dismissed.”
Scayna stumbled back to her tent and fell into a black despairing sleep that lasted throughout the afternoon and on into the night. Rough hands pushed her awake at dawn.
“Let’s go, mistress. Or do you expect the rest of us to do all your work for you?”
Reisella stood over her. Four or five archers were clustered in the doorway, looking on; Pirri among them. Scayna sat up.
“You missed your guard duty last night,” Reisella said, “but you’ll put in a full day’s work today. I give you five minutes.”
She rallied quickly. For all her arrogance, Reisella had no authority over her. “I give you nothing. Get out of my room.”
Reisella nearly snarled. She swept out of the entry with her followers behind her.They burst into excited chatter in the hallway. Pirri lingered. She hissed, “Scayna, you have to come with us. Reisella will tell the chilhi and you’ll be on report if you don’t.”
“Where are we supposed to be going?”
“Our permanent posting orders came in. We’re going to be stationed in Fhaen-town. It’s just below the west slope of the First Hill, not too far from here. They say it’s a good post. We’ve got to get the horses ready. Hurry up and come, or you’ll get us both in trouble.”
With trepidation Scayna gathered up her few belongings. So she’d have to live in the very shadow of this accursed Hill – two years or more, if she couldn’t get a transfer. And her strength to fight off her torments was already ebbing.
They reached Fhaen-town while it was still morning. It was a large village; before the War it had been a common stopping place for messengers and other visitors on palace business. The townspeople had been fiercely loyal to the royals, and had suffered for it: half the village had been put to the torch, but it had risen again under the Oversettle. The new buildings, Mendale-influenced, could be marked out at a glance; they were stark and graceless, lacking the serenity of the older Lindahne work.
The inhabitants braved the day’s burning heat to come out for a look at the new Band. They were replacing the Fifteenth Archery Band, which had been posted there three years and had departed only the day before; many of the women had taken whatever suited their fancy – fabrics, food stores, even horses – regardless of Lindahne ownership. As the new Band rode in, the sullen faces watched in silence.
Their quarters were at the southwest end of the town. Scayna felt a surge of hope: the building was an Oversettle construction; Mendale archers had been living in it for years. Surely there were no Lindahne memories in it to harm her.
Her excited companions flung their packs on their cots and rushed out to size up the town. Fhaen was one of the grainery passage towns, overseeing the distribution of Lindahne wheat and oat crops. Its chief administrators were Mendales, who worked out of a main hall near the center of town, tagging the harvests for Mendale use. Many of the lesser bureaucrats, however, were Lindahne nobleborn. They worked to keep peaceful relations between the Oversettle forces and the local townspeople. Such service was all they had to put their pride in.
It was soon evident that their ranking considered herself too grand for the Band’s plain quarters. As soon as it was known that previous officers had had comfortable apartments in the town proper, she decided to follow suit. Most of the archers were off on their explorations. When Chilhi Bhanay looked into the Band’s quarters, she found only Pirri and Scayna, still unpacking.
“Here, you two. Go down to the inn and tell them the ranking expects private accommodations, starting this evening. Make sure everything’s in order for her. Can you handle it?” she said straight to Scayna.
“Certainly, chilhi.”
There were three inns on the main avenue but they had
no trouble picking out the right one. It stood three stories, with a golden tile roof and luxurious hangings at the wide windows. The rider-hitches outside were shaped as gleaming horses’ heads. Lindahne work. Scayna paused at the threshold.
“Come on,” Pirri urged. The room was crowded; many of the townspeople who had watched the Band’s arrival had decided to follow up with a drink. Adding to the swell were many of her fellow archers. An invisible line slashed across the air, separating them from the Lindahnes, who had been pushed to the corners. At the very center of the archer group, laughing raucously, was Reisella.
Scayna and Pirri delivered their message to the innkeeper, a plump red-faced woman who boomed a greeting at them. She had long since found Mendale business to be profitable. “Now, never you worry. I know just what your ranking will be wanting. Miora sees to everything,” she said, apparently meaning herself. “Here now, you do look parched. Ale? Wine? Sparklewater? We keep rentar here too, for your people, you know. Only Lindahne house on this Hill with it. What can I get you?’
Pirri asked for ale. Scayna eyed the much-used goblets hanging on the wall and requested rentar, which came, as she had supposed, in a Mendale flask. She stood very straight, maintaining a cushion of air around her in the crowd. Pirri looked meaningfully towards a table. She stared off and pretended not to notice.
The thirsty archers had downed their ale drinks too fast; their laughter ran foolishly. One high voice soared over the rest, telling a new joke, which revolved around a “lin priest.” Reisella thought it hilarious, and added one of her own. Lindahnes on all sides glanced over, but they were used to such insults, if not resigned. The innkeeper Miora bustled back and forth, refilling glasses and trying to spread good humor.
Sudden giggles broke in on her. She looked up from her drink and found Reisella planted before her, hands on hips. The archers behind her elbowed each other, squirming with held-back laughter.
“Seem to be enjoying your drink,” Reisella purred, eyes wide open and crafty, but ale-blurred. Scayna glared, and risked no answer. The archers were whispering, grinning. Scayna raised her flask to her mouth. Reisella’s hand shot out and gripped it. “You’re quick enough to slack off,” she said loudly. “Always dreaming. Wake you and you jump like a kicked cat. But where are you when there’s work to be done?”
“That’s right,” urged on one of the archers. Another added, “Tell her what we think of her!”
Scayna yanked back her hand, splashing the rentar on the other woman’s robe. She smiled at Reisella with disdain. “I beg your pardon.”
Pirri sidled away. She had braved the enemy for her friend, but she would not face down her own companions. Scayna saw but couldn’t blame her. For her part, Reisella’s taunts produced not fear but weariness. The dislike of the Band was nothing compared to the hostility of the very air around her.
The innkeeper, who like all members of her trade had a nose for trouble, appeared at Reisella’s shoulder. “Pardon me, mistress,” she boomed genially. “Anything I can help you with? “ Her question was directed to Reisella, but it was Scayna who answered.
“No, thank you.” Her courteous tone seemed to infuriate Reisella, who looked back and forth between them.
“You know what you are?” Reisella spat. “You’re a lin-lover. Always on about Lindahne this and Lindahne that! And talking to the guide. We’re sick of it, do you hear, lin-lover? Sick of it!”
“Here now,” the innkeeper protested, but the archers shouted in agreement. Some of the Lindahne townspeople had risen to leave, muttering; at Reisella’s epithet they paused, men and women frozen in motion. Scayna decided she’d had enough. She’d have to deal with Reisella soon, that was clear, but this wasn’t the place. To the innkeeper she said, “Good day to you,” and held out the unfinished rentar. The innkeeper took it automatically. Suddenly, as she turned to the door, Reisella made a swing at her head.
She jerked back reflexively, putting out a hand to steady herself. Her fingers clutched at the smooth worn banister of the staircase behind her, which had been laid by careful Lindahne hands three generations before.
Tiny, tiny hands, precious little hands were warm on her own. The child sobbed, clutching at the banister, begging, and refusing to let go. The woman wept too, trying to pry open the fierce little fingers. She wanted to run, she knew they must flee; the soldiers were coming and coming, there was no end –
Scayna was shoved away from the banister and into clean air. The room came back into focus. She gasped for breath. Reisella had her by the hair. “And this!” she was shouting “What’s this?” She took a great fistful of the glitter-dusted black strands and pulled as if to take it out by the roots. Scayna yelped and kicked out, missing her. The archers were laughing again, pointing.
“Lin-lover! Lin-lover! You’ve no right to be with decent Mendales. You’ve no right –”
Scayna hauled back both hands and boxed Reisella’s ears. The two women broke apart; she stumbled backward and fell against the far wall.
Harsh iron nails bit into her back. Ceremonial swords were hanging beside her; they were decorations; they were very old. A despairing hand grabbed at them. Eyes of panic and hatred met her own. She saw herself as in a dark mirror; pain reflected back. Horse hooves thundered outside and the walls shook with the vibration.
“Reisella,” Pirri squeaked in protest, though she was standing with the archers. She could see that Scayna was dazed: one of her sick times again, and no wonder. “Why don’t you leave her alone?”
“—no fighting in my house,” the innkeeper was saying firmly, arms crossed. “Now I’ll have to ask both of you to –”
But Reisella was in an ugly rage. Her followers were no longer smiling. The innkeeper stepped forward, the forgotten rentar flask in her hand. Reisella’s eyes went from the drink to Scayna’s face. She shouted, “You’ve no right to even have a Mendale drink. It’s lin liquor for you from now on!”
“Let’s give her some, then,” another archer called. The women, all drunk and on edge, shouted approval. They surged towards her. The Lindahne townspeople scrambled out of the way; the innkeeper was nearly knocked down. Pirri thought, At least it will get us out of here. She followed.
Hands grabbed Scayna from all sides, pinching into her arms, encircling her wrists, digging into her waist and even her thighs, to pull her along. They half-carried, half-dragged her, knocking her clumsily into tables and chairs; a cloak-holder tilted and rained Lindahne sun hats and scarves on her face. She was jolted into the doorframe and hauled out between the hitching-posts.
She struggled, hitting out, until her arms were pinned. As each new Lindahne object met her skin it blinded her with an exploding memory. Between the glimpses of the real shouting faces over her she saw ghostly ones, crying, screaming; she felt the spirit bodies rushing past in their long-ago urgencies; she knew the searing pains of their wounds and dagger burns, their flesh cut by sword and pierced by arrow; she felt her own heart heaving as it struggled to pump a copious stream of blood through endless veins.
There was a waterhole behind the inn, used for horses.The archers decided it would be the perfect drink for Scayna. They were fired with enthusiasm, shouting to each other at the sport of it. She was dragged across the stony earth. Her robe was shoved up to her thighs and her bare legs, cut by the rocks, streamed red from a dozen cuts. Pirri, galloping behind, panted, “But she isn’t well!”
Reisella hissed, “Shut your mouth. Or you’re next!” Pirri blanched and fell back.
Scayna, trapped in nightmare, no longer knew where she was. The archers lifted her bodily over the waterhole’s edge and paused. Reisella gave a triumphant cry. They flung her in.
She was plunged into sun-warmed water. Her body turned and spun in it, without effort or restraint. Her knees lifted to her chest. She curled in on herself. Sounds vibrated in her ears. She heard a steady thud, thud, thud of comfort, like a mother’s heartbeat. Fluid cradled her, swirling around her without resistance, bathing h
er with soft darkness and forgotten protection. Her mind carried no thought.
The women waded in and held her down. She never felt it. She was the unborn, life yet unknown, a being immersed once and for all time in Lindahne waters. And when the Waters delivered her, she would be created anew.
Chapter 21
The innkeeper Miora was clucking, repeating the same refrain over and over. “Never in all my years! The Fifteenth Band never got this bad even at the solstice drinkings. But now!
On your first afternoon here. Never seen it, in all my years.” “I’m sorry,” Pirri said at every pause.
The young woman they had pulled from the waterhole was stretched
out on the ground with her head in the innkeeper’s lap. She had become so still in the water that the archers, sobering, had taken flight, thinking they’d drowned her. Reisella had been the first to run.
“Cleared out all my customers,” Miora continued in an injured tone. She patted the girl’s face again and this time her eyes opened. “There, there,” she clucked. “You’re all right now, my dear. There, there.” The girl’s pupils were contracted to slits. “You just try to sit up now, dear, there’s a good girl.”
“Scayna! Are you all right?” They propped her up. She turned her head and coughed up water. Her hair was dripping, plastered to her neck and cheeks. When her breathing was clearer they lifted her to her feet and walked her, propping her on both sides, back to the inn, with Miora keeping up a stream of soothing noises all the way. “Let’s just get her upstairs here, let her have a little sleep... just one more step now, dear, you can do it. That’s it. Here, in here. Right on the bed, dear, that’s it, nice and comfy. Shia!” she suddenly bellowed. Pirri jumped. A girl of fifteen or so answered the summons.