“I was gon’a open a pub with the ale when we got back.”
Both women sat down across the fire on a log that had been brought into the cave. They looked at one another, and then back to the two men. Tabatha spoke with the first real sense of friendliness in her voice.
“If you truly would aid us in such a way, then we will aid you as we may. Do you need direction in your travels?”
Simper munched on his piece of beef, but spoke first in answer, “We know where we be heading. But if you need more than salt, it’s there in Widley for the taking.”
Mordon pulled two more pieces of the salted beef from his pack, and handed them to the two women. He watched them add to the pile of salt on the leather swatch. They cleaned every speck of the seasoning from the meat before they ate.
“The two of you look healthy for living in the woods,” commented Mordon.
The women glanced at each other and then looked steadily at Mordon. Tabatha spoke as if she, or they, had come to an unvoiced decision.
“On the morrow at sunrise, we will take you to our village. It is east and slightly north of here . . . a long half day’s journey.”
Mordon must have had a questioning look on his face, for the woman continued speaking.
“If it is not the direction you wish to go, we can hasten your journey back in the right course by giving you the best and shortest route. One of us can guide you if you think it necessary.”
Mordon looked to Simper, who nodded, “It will only add a few hours to our journey. We thank you for bringing us to this safe camp.” He had hoped to find others still alive. This chance meeting with unaffected people, male or female gave him hope for their island and for Widley. He wasn’t about to turn his back on aid of any kind. These two had survived just as he and Simper.
Mordon wondered still how safe a camp this would be. He did not know these women. They seemed honest and without guile, but were they? He would not get much sleep this night. He suddenly realized he felt no attraction to these women. How could this be so, with more than two years without a woman? Was his attraction to the princess already so strong that he no longer thought of other women in that way? Mordon wondered at the women’s lack of provocation. It was an unusual experience.
No doubt these women were hesitant about sleeping in the same cave as them. Regardless, neither appeared timid, nor did they seem frightened by their presence. Perhaps he should try to settle any misgivings they may have. “We will not harm the two of you. I would like to know your name, lady of the salt. If you fear giving me your name, we will just have to call you Salt . . . and you look more like a Tamara to me.” It made them both smile.
“If you must know, my name it is Tacindra. My friends, if I have any, call me Tess. Tonight, we will share guard hours . . . no one will need concern themselves with who is awake and who is sleeping . . . agreed?”
Both men answered, “Agreed.”
CHAPTER 4
Mordon took the first watch with Tacindra. They had stayed close at hand to the cave mouth, and had both walked to the lip of the swale after mid of night, listening to the sounds of the forest. The stars were thick in the dark sky. The crisp air made Mordon long for the cloak still packed in his canvas pack. They had spoken quietly of the mountains, and what life had been like before Poltarc had come into their lives. Tacindra and her sister lived in a village some distance to the east, and had never traveled to Widley. Mordon spoke of what it had been like living in the castle’s cistern tower, making the woman laugh quietly.
“We, my sister and I, are the huntresses of our village. We have spent the night in many caves, but we never had running water or a store of food close at hand. Your bed sounds heavenly. Maybe you can retrieve it sometime in the future.”
They were ever wary, but had quietly talked of many things before it was time for Simper and Tabatha to take watch.
After a well-deserved rest, Mordon awoke with a start. He stood and stretched, surprised to find no one else in the cave. There were still pinpricks of orange and red showing from the embers of last night’s fire. Walking to the entrance, he saw Simper holding the hind leg of a slain deer. The two women were gutting the animal with practiced ease. When they noticed him, both women smiled as Simper waved him over. Cutter had his tongue hanging out, and looked completely satisfied with himself. Simper gently chided him when he arrived at the lip of the swale.
“You slept like a log, boyo. Even Cutter was out helping us this morning. He chased the deer back to us after we spooked it down in the woods ah ways.”
Mordon was impressed, “Doesn’t look like you people need my help.” Tacindra stood after wiping her hands on the grass.
“You can help by carrying a portion of this animal to our village.”
Mordon shook his head when Simper commented, “Mordon could carry us all to your village and be smiling when we got there. Mordon was the biggest, quickest, and most respectful soldier King Widley had in his army. Why, I can remember Mordon lifting a horse off our captain! Fool of a man got his leg broke in the process. That was during one of the battles with the Picts. We were struggling to reach….”
Mordon cut the air with his hand, “Enough, these women are interested in getting this deer to their village, not listening to your war stories.”
Both women turned to Mordon, and Tacindra spoke evenly, “I thought you said he was a nobleman, Captain Simper.”
Simper dutifully hung onto the leg of the deer, “You see, we are both new to our stations. The princess made us captain and nobleman just a few days ago.”
Both women looked at them with shock in their eyes. Tacindra spoke with hope in her voice, “The princess is alive?”
Simper let go of the leg in hesitation. How much should he say? Mordon was looking at him, wondering the same thing. These women seemed like good folk, but what would the princess think of his divulging any information? “We should wait until we get to your village. Maybe we can get together with you, and the men in charge of the village, that way we won’t have to say things more than once.”
Tabatha stood up straight, “There are no men in the village. There are fifty women doing just fine without men telling us what, and how, to do what needs being done.”
Mordon held up his right hand, “Simper meant no offense. If fifty women have managed to survive, and are as healthy as the two of you, they can be proud of what they have accomplished. The last two years have been difficult for the survivors. We will tell our story to whoever is in charge, and to any interested in listening.” Simper gave him a grateful expression. Mordon still wasn’t sure how much he and Simper should tell these women.
He was certain any mention of Raeah, and how she had been changed by Poltarc, should be left out of any commentary of what had happened to them. Mordon would have to talk to Simper in private, and make sure they set boundaries on what could be told, and what was to be kept in secret. Even if these women were glad Raeah survived, they might know and tell other surviving groups, and word might get back to Poltarc and what they planned. They couldn’t afford to tell everything they knew to anyone.
The men listened as Tabitha spoke, “Your apology is accepted. We will not question you further. Madeline Tadsworth is in charge of the village. She will want to know about the princess, and what has brought you to us.”
Nothing more was said. The deer was cut into quarters and tied to the men’s packs. Both women carried their quarter as if they had done this hundreds of times. The women led them away from the cave, on a trail leading north through the forest. They hiked until they came to a rushing trill cascading down the side of the mountain. All of them unburdened themselves, and cleaned their faces and hands in the clear stream. They left as soon as they ate a small portion of the goods in Simper’s pack. The women continued to carefully save the salt from each portion of the preserved meat.
They followed along the s
teep grade of the mountain until coming to a massive tumble of boulders. The whole face of the mountain had sloughed off, and settled in a heap. Here Tacindra led them into a narrow crevice behind a towering slab of rock.
Mordon could see no exit, it was as if they were beginning a journey into the solid wall of the mountain. The narrow cleft opened into a slightly wider crack of solid stone. He did not, at least, need to turn sidewise. The walls of the cleft towered over their heads, showing only a narrow slit of sky far above. It was difficult for Mordon, with his wide pack maneuvering within the narrow space, as the trail had not been cleared of loose stones. He concentrated on maintaining his balance to such an extent, he did not notice they had stepped out onto a shelf above another valley.
When Mordon realized, the others had stopped, he looked up to see why they had come to a halt. They stood on the cusp of a broad declivity, spanning at least 10 miles. Mountains ringed the entire basin. The dark green of the forest stood out in bold relief against the blue of the clear sky, and the pastel blue of the far mountains. The forest looked so thick, Mordon guessed it would be a natural barrier to the floor of the depression. An eagle flew across their front to the east; gliding on silent wings and invisible up drafts of air. Mordon heard the bugle of a stag off to the south, somewhere within the thick conifers. Another answered a little higher on the side of the slope. Small birds flew from near thicket to thicket, in search of insects and seeds. If he had known the way to this valley, he would have left Widley immediately after the attack.
Mordon could have lived here, happily unaware of what was occurring to the remaining lives in Widley. But then he would not have known Simper still lived, or of the killing of those left by Poltarc to scour the debris clean of life. Most importantly, Mordon would not have discovered the enigma that was Raeah.
As Mordon stood with the others, looking down into the forested bowl, he wondered about destiny and fate. He thought he controlled what happened in his life, but looking back, he was not certain anymore. Fate had found him Raeah, a person who he never considered would be available to a soldier such as himself. Her making him a nobleman was done so she could direct him; offering him a very rare carrot indeed.
Mordon believed himself a simple man. He had never asked for anything, even as a child. His skill as a swordsman would never have been developed had it not been for Wicliff and Simper. Wicliff had intrigued him enough about life he was certainly no fool. Being maneuvered by Raeah was something he let happen. Without question, he would now place his very soul at her disposal. He was still cognizant of his motives, and could only guess what Raeah’s were.
It was with wonder Raeah had saved his life. She was not so far in Poltarc’s grasp that she was unable to think and reason on her own. How had she been able to resist such a man? Someone capable of subverting so many people of their wills had to be powerful. Powerful may not describe the man accurately. He must be persuasive, and depend on the magic of the powder. Whatever was in the powder made people thrall to his voice, making him the most dangerous of individuals?
Simper and Mordon would be extremely fortunate if they could keep what was in the powder from their bodies. They had miles to go before confronting Poltarc. The powder must have been introduced to every supply of fresh water in the land, at least where ever the invading army had passed through. Having Raeah with them would increase their chances of staying free of the powder’s affects. One unwitting mistake could place them thrall to Poltarc’s destructive hands.
Mordon came from his thoughts with the sound of Tacindra’s voice ringing clear, with a note of pride tingeing her words.
“We have made this place our home. The Raver’s army never found any of the entrances to our valley. We have built homes, and raised the foods we need. We lack for nothing.” She bowed her head and turned to look up into Mordon’s face, “Your presence here should tell you much of our trust. The salt is something we can live without.” She blushed and turned away.
Tabatha had listened to her sister, and knew her frustration and torment the same as her. She pulled her eyes from her sister’s face, and searched the faces of the men. “What she means, Mordon and Captain Simper, is we miss our lives, and the men who were part of that life. We have learned to do all things we need to survive . . . but surviving is the least of living. Come, we will make our way down to the village. It is behind the near edge of the forest below us.”
Simper shrugged under the weight of his hindquarter and pack. These women must be made of tough stock. They carried their share as if it were a small rabbit. Simper wondered what was going through Mordon’s thoughts. He had noted a pensive air about the man as soon as they came to stand before this valley. Tess must have made him feel a little uncomfortable by the insinuation her plain words portrayed. Simper was interested in learning more about how these women had congregated in this beautiful place. Their stories would make interesting listening.
Tacindra led them down a steep, much-used trail. The trace was, thankfully, not so steep they found footing difficult. Where the trail dropped into the trees below the ledge where they had stood, steps had been cut in the earth to ease the descent. They spoke very little as they followed the path winding among the trunks of the massive trees.
Mordon had never seen such trees as the ones they walked among. The base of the trunks would easily girth 10 feet. He had seen the fern that seemed to fill the space between trees many times in the broadleaf forests, beyond the cleft they had entered. Walking here made him feel he was exploring another land. He vowed that one day he would explore the world growing in his awareness. That is, he would explore if he and Simper did not die trying to withdraw Raeah from Poltarc’s grasp.
Time flowed past the trekkers until near midafternoon, when they stepped out of the forest and into a hamlet. There were nearly 30 solidly built log houses; none very large. Beyond the hamlet, the valley opened into tilled fields. Late season produce could be seen growing from healthy vines. There were small fruit orchards, an area off to the right was producing grapes, and grain was near harvest in more than a half-dozen small fields.
Mordon stopped next to Simper, who was staring at the healthy land. The scene reminded Mordon of the fields outside Widley, or, what they used to look like two years in the past.
Tacindra and Tabitha stopped as soon as they realized the two men had paused behind them. They waited patiently for the two to immerse themselves in their surroundings. They experienced the same feeling when they had first arrived in the valley. They had gotten so used to seeing destruction that the sight of this village and tilled soil had made them weep. The women who had preceded them here had turned a very small portion of this valley into what it was today. They had been here for over a year, yet, they too still paused upon the return from a hunt to imbue the valley’s beauty in their hearts and minds. They watched, knowing just how the men felt.
Mordon shook his head, “Simp, if we didn’t have to meet Raeah, I would build my own home right here. I must miss what it was like more than I thought. These women have built something with pride. This is the most perfect little village I’ve ever seen.”
Simper had to chuckle, “Yeah, boyo . . . like you’ve seen a lot of villages.” Simper took hold of Mordon’s arm, and gently forced him to step in the direction of the two women waiting patiently for them.
When Mordon saw Tess and Tabatha waiting, he stepped ahead to where they were standing. He realized women everywhere were watching them. They were standing on door stoops, walking the clean dirt street, and some were sitting on hewn benches. There were others coming in from the fields with hoes on their shoulders. More than one put a hand over her mouth in surprise.
Tabatha led them to a log cottage looking much like all the others, except this one had a placard with letters carved on the surface, reading HEALER. The sign swayed gently in the breeze. Tabatha knocked on the door and waited. A few seconds later, a woman with graying hair
and bright eyes opened the door to stare at the two men. She looked fit and used to work. The smile that started to spread across her face ended as quickly as it had started. The brightness of her eyes instantly faded into scorn and mistrust.
“Did you bring them, or did they bring you?”
Mordon could feel the hesitancy in the woman. Tess spoke from beside Simper.
“We brought them, Madeline.”
“The one is big enough to pull a plow shear all by himself. Are you sure no arms were twisted?”
Tess continued, “They have salt for the taking, Madeline.”
Surprise, and then anger, bathed the woman’s face, “Are you telling me you gave up our whereabouts for salt?”
Mordon could see the disbelief and fury building in the eyes of the older woman, “Ma’am…” The woman snapped all her attention to his face.
“Did I request you to speak? No, I did not. Keep your jaw closed, young man, or I’ll have these women run you through with a pitchfork.”
Mordon was used to women of this ilk. They had grown bitter with age . . . perhaps because they saw their lives ending instead of beginning. This woman’s terseness fell from his shoulders as the fall leaf fell from its tree. Arguing with her would only fuel her anger. If Tess or Tabatha couldn’t reason with her, they would leave as they had come. Other women were beginning to gather in the street. Some showed the same displeasure of their presences as Madeline. He was not surprised when Tess stepped forward to end the confrontation.
“We will take them to Lizbeth. She will treat them with the respect they have shown us.”
“Oh please . . . I’m the one in charge around here. They can just turn tail and take their troubles with them.”
Mordon watched the irritable old woman turn and step back into her cottage. Tess turned and walked further into the village. Tabatha nodded to the old woman’s back, and followed her sister. Nodding was the least courteous thing Mordon could think of to excuse himself from the woman’s front yard.
Mordon of Widley Page 20