The practicalities of her new life, and also the urge to share more personal information, would not easily wait for Adria to conjugate every Aesidhe verb. Perhaps even more, she was not yet ready to answer questions, to share the details of herself with the People.
For many weeks Adria and Preinon had spoken almost completely in Aeman, and he seemed to welcome the chance to renew his familiarity with her and with their shared tongue. It was when they readied for bed, or what passed for bed among the Aesidhe, that they had the best chance to speak at length, and Adria welcomed these times as well.
Preinon had changed from what Adria remembered, his good humor no longer so pronounced, frivolity and wit somewhat replaced with those Aesidhe adages which tended toward the soberly pragmatic — the lessons of survival of a People who grew more embattled each year, the Hunters hunted.
His name had been Perinon at birth, but it had turned to a more Aeman-sounding Preinon as he grew into adulthood, and this was the name Adria had remembered from her childhood. She remembered his name, and his size, and his voice, which had once woven strange stories for her. She had been no more than seven when a war divided her father from his brother, and her family from the world, even as Heiland was united.
But for his voice, her journey might not have continued as it had.
“Would you have known me, Uncle?” Adria wondered. “Had I not known you?”
Preinon nodded, but it was not an affirmation as much as an acceptance of wonder. “Seven years, Adria… it has been hard for me to imagine who you might be, but…” he looked her over with a smile. “Your star-white hair has goldened. Your eyes are deeper waters, but still blue. And you are stronger, and far too tall to sit upon my knee as you once did.
“Still… even in those servant togs you stole, you are unmistakably Idonea, and one look at you in the light betrayed you. And yes, your voice…”
He shook his head, still smiling. “Tell me of Windberth, Lilene. Speak of your brother and of mine. I have been made an enemy, but it cannot unmake my memory, or my love of those I once knew as family.”
When she hesitated, his tone grew less light. “You need not say anything you feel betrays them, Adria. Please understand this now.”
“It is not that,” she frowned. “I know very little of military matters.”
“I would not ask it, even if you did,” he assured. “You must remain a friend of your family, and a scion of the House, whatever may come.”
“I…” Adria hesitated. “Thank you, Uncle.”
Preinon sighed as they stared into the campfire. “You know, they have called me Watelomoksho here. It is a strong name, and shows the respect of the People and the Runners, but it is only half true.”
“Hwathey...” she grappled with the word. “I cannot remember the rest.”
“That is very good,” he nodded. “Hwa tay low mowk show… the sounds don’t all exist in Aeman.”
Although she still thought of him as Preinon, and called him “Uncle,” she would remember the name after this. “It does seem a strong name. What does it mean?”
“It means ‘Wars with His Brother.’”
Adria nodded. “Not a child’s name.”
“No. I was never a child among them, and never named one even when their ways were strange to me. And it speaks to something they cannot truly understand, not yet. I warred with Ebenhardt once, it is true. But I am not at war with him among the Aesidhe.”
Adria shook her head. “No?”
He shook his own head. “The Aesidhe are not at war with Heiland. We are in retreat. Any violence we wage is not war, but simply defense. We do not burn their villages or tear down their towers. We do not even guard our borders. We merely watch them from the tops of the trees and the edges of the wild. We look for them to come, and we move our camps when we must so that they find no one to harm. When we must, we defend, but nothing more.”
Adria considered his words carefully. “I understand, and yet…” she hesitated to frame the words. “I wonder if it is a distinction my father’s Knights understand, any more than the Aesidhe.”
“Huh,” Uncle frowned, and then smiled a little. “And yet you say you have no military knowledge. That very consideration could sway the will of generals.”
Adria glowed at the compliment.
“But we were speaking of your family, not war.” Preinon said. “No doubt it is difficult for you to have left them. From what I am told, your father is none too well of late.”
“Perhaps, but… Hafgrim is the one I will truly worry for,” Adria said. “He does not always adjust well to his life, though he has all the ambition of a warrior prince, and the temper to match.” She smiled a little, but it was not truly a jest.
Preinon nodded solemnly at her words, joking or not, and helped her unroll and shake out her new bedroll. It still smelled of the tannins they had used to cure it, a smell which had nearly made her stomach empty when she had first helped her uncle pour it over the skin-side of the hides. But she could stand it now, and could even resist the urge to wrinkle her nose in silent protest.
“You will miss your father as well, of course,” Preinon sighed, leaning back onto his haunches to inspect her bedding, reflexively searching for the odd bug — though these were even more offended by the slowly-fading smell of tannins than the young girl who seated herself cross-legged upon the hides.
She was already learning not to answer automatically, though it was yet only an imitation of the deep thoughtfulness with which an Aesidhe approached any question. She counted, as she had for Matron Taber’s answers not so long before.
Perhaps it is religion, in general, that gives people such a thoughtful pace, Adria considered, but did not give it much thought at the time. They were talking about Father and it was not polite to distract from conversation.
“I will miss him.” And as she said it, all the feelings came to her at once — the love, the loss, and the sense of anger and betrayal which she held for him. They seemed like a deep, secret knot in her stomach, or a coiled serpent, ready to strike out through her limbs at...
...at nothing, I guess, Adria frowned.
“I am angry with him, and I miss him,” she whispered and glanced up at her uncle. His face was half amused, half concerned — though the change in his features was subtle, even as he nodded.
“You have a right to both, Adria.” He smiled a bit more obviously. “You will resolve them in time — accept them both. Your enemies are best kept outside, not within.”
“And yet I have followed you…” she smiled. “Crossed into the wild.”
He breathed deeply. “Is it me you followed, truly?”
Adria shrugged thoughtfully. “I don’t know. I just… had to see more. I knew you were exiled, and I suppose I had hoped, in some small way. But… it felt absurd that I should spend my life receiving gifts of spices from Ierusca, mosaics from Kelmantium, suitors from every corner of the world, and yet…”
She sighed, feeling a little too much self-pity.
“And yet never see anything beyond the frame of your oriel window,” he nodded. “We deal great injustice to women, I’m afraid, even royal. Hafgrim, caged as he is, will at least be given a year or two to roam, most likely. You have a right to be angry. The will to learn cannot be fully served by dusty books and second-hand messages.”
Adria nodded. “It is very different here. I can see that many elders are revered, but… there seem to be no ruling class. Women mostly cook and keep the home, but… there are also women hunters.”
“Just so,” Preinon smiled. “Even among the Runners. It has always been thus, at least since the White Wolf Woman. She was a woman among the People, but she was born a Hunter.”
Adria nodded. “I hope I am able to understand the stories soon.”
“You will learn,” Preinon laughed. “I did, and you are far smarter than
I.”
“Thank you, Watelomoksho,” she smiled.
He raised her coverings to her chin and kissed her forehead. “Tomorrow, Lilene, we will set you on a surer path. And in the evening, we must speak together in earnest.”
Beginning the next morning, Adria was involved more in the day-to-day routines of the tribe. Mostly, she was led just to imitate simple tasks, fetching water with younger children, stirring a soup to keep it from sticking, picking berries. It was never very hurried, and the expectations were light, but it allowed her to contribute, and to begin to at least get a feel for the language and the culture.
In the afternoon, as Adria was intending to join some of the older children in a game at the edge of camp, a woman’s voice interrupted them. Adria did not hear the words at first, but the other children lowered their eyes, and one of them near her tapped her on the wrist, motioning to the woman, who stood beside the door of a tent within a small separate camp.
Adria lowered her eyes as the others had, but then the woman called again.
“Tiniya p’o… Mateko…” The woman called, and made a motion of summoning. “Zho boshala heye.”
She is speaking to me, Adria realized, but as she came forward, so did another, the young man who had startled her while bathing. He must be Mateko.
The woman nodded as they both neared, and her eyes seemed to wash over them without focus. Her hands moved oddly as she turned and waved to a pot she had rested beside her fire. Again, her eyes remained distant and unfocused as she spoke again in Aesidhe. Adria could not understand any of it, but Mateko was nodding, and Adria could see his eyes still remained downcast, even though…
The woman is blind, Adria realized. But how…?
“Wo Lichushegi molapi,” Mateko answered more than once.
The woman had fallen silent, and Mateko was now obviously trying to get Adria’s attention, though he hesitated to touch her. Adria turned, and Mateko flashed a quick smile and tilted his head away from the camp.
He was silent as they left the camp and turned away into the woods, walking slowly, waiting for her to make her way through brambles he had somehow avoided. He moved so easily, despite the fact that he carried a pack, just as she had seen Preinon and others do, even when they walked about camp.
As they got further away, and the sounds of the camp stilled, Adria grew a little nervous.
Should I just be following a stranger into the woods? She considered.
About this time, Mateko stopped and looked up and about into the trees and whistled, exactly as a bird might. The sound was returned, faintly, far to the left, and again some distance to the right. Mateko looked back at her and nodded, though he did not yet meet her eyes.
Sentries, she thought, though she could see no one. We must be passing beyond where the hunters protect. He knows they are there, and they know that we are. I will be safe…
And from that point, Mateko moved even more carefully, and mumbled in Aesidhe a little, pointing ahead or at the ground to warn Adria of obstacles.
She followed as best she could, imitating every motion — each careful step, each hand searching for the easiest break between branches and vines. She was gaining confidence in her passage, and he did not need to slow himself as much for her sake. He glanced behind only every so often, to be certain she was keeping up, and when Adria realized that she was moving quietly enough that this was necessary, she felt a burst of pride.
And then her pride diminished nearly as quickly, as he motioned for her to still, and without hesitation, he leapt up to take hold of a limb, then worked his way quickly up among the branches to gain a better vantage of the way ahead. He spoke to her then, pointing, but of course she still had little idea of what his words meant.
He dropped back down suddenly, repeating his words with a smile. “Zho wazazeya ta.”
“I don’t understand,” Adria said.
He shook his head, frowning, when an idea came to him. He made a sign with his hands, fingers wiggling in a wider and wider pattern, while he hummed at a higher tone then his voice usually managed.
“Oh…” Adria brightened. “Bees. We’re looking for bees…”
“Beezh…” Mateko repeated, a little closer to a “z” than an “s”.
“Bees,” she corrected. She was not even sure she could say the word he was using.
“Ka,” he nodded happily. “Beezh.”
Adria shrugged. “Close enough.”
Ka means yes, Adria thought. “Ka,” she said aloud, and Mateko nodded. Fortunately, nods and shakes of the head were motions their people shared.
Mateko spoke very slowly now. “Gna Tiniya ka suwela.”
Adria nodded. Gna indicates a question. Tiniya are my people, the Aeman, and ka seems to mean yes. Suwela must mean speak. He is asking how my people say yes.
“Yes,” she nodded.
Mateko imitated. “Yesh.”
Again, she realized they did not have the same pronunciation, so she simply smiled and nodded again.
Excited, he patted her wrist and then grew thoughtful again.
“Gna Tiniya be suwela?” And he shook his head as he emphasized be.
“Bay?” she smiled. “Tiniya say no.”
He shook his head. “Say.”
Adria blinked, confused. It is not so easy just to learn two simple words. But then she realized Aesidhe have their verb at the end.
“No,” She repeated, shaking her head again. “No.”
He nodded. “Lilene yesh p’o no say.”
Ah, Lilene says yes and no, Adria thought. Close. She tilted her head back and forth. “Ka, p’o Mateko ka p’o be suwe.” And Mateko says ka and be…
“Ka! Ka!” he laughed, touching her wrist again before inexplicably turning and starting off again.
Mateko soon signaled a stop just beside a particularly thick grove of white pines, where he knelt down and swung his pack around so he could open it, then removed a torch made from rolled birch bark tied with thin vine. He picked through the pine needles on the ground until he had gathered a handful that were both dry and relatively fresh, and then stuffed them down into the hollow of the torch.
Mateko rubbed a hardwood stick quickly along a hollowed-out softer wood. At the end he had placed some of the drier pine needles. When they at last began to smolder, he blew gently upon them, and fire was born, to their welcoming smiles.
He lit the torch, and the bark burned brightly and slowly. Embers fell from it as they went, but died out quickly in the cool air, but as they continued on, the torch began to smoke heavily when the fire reached the needles deep inside.
It chases away biting insects, Adria knew, now that she had been in camp for awhile. Will it chase away bees?
Their destination was not far, an ancient oak with many split branches and open areas, perfect for hiding or climbing — as well as, it seemed, an ideal home for bees. Mateko’s eyes followed a path up along the trunk, nodding.
Adria offered her hand to take the torch from him, but he did not seem to notice. Instead, he leaped up and grabbed with his one free hand, then neatly swung his leg up to wrap around. Somehow, he scrambled about halfway up the tree this way, managing to keep his torch aloft the entire time.
Adria shook her head and smiled, now certain he was trying to impress her, at least in part.
Mateko poked his head partway into an opening where the trunk was half split, just before breaking into the thickest of its higher branches.
Just like a bear, Adria thought, smiling.
The torch was smoking terribly now, and Mateko closed his eyes and turned away as he furiously fanned smoke into the tree cavity.
Well... perhaps not so much like a bear.
A chunk of the bark broke free of the torch and fell among the branches, landing finally at Adria’s feet, where there was rather more tinder than was good
for it. She stamped it out quickly, and when she looked up again Mateko gave her an apologetic look.
Then the bees came out, and his attention returned to his task. Strangely, there weren’t many of them, and they wandered about, seeming more aimless than furious.
The smoke doesn’t chase them away, Adria realized. It puts them to sleep.
Mateko moved very slowly, remaining calm, as he reached inside the trunk and, after a few moments, pulled forth a chunk of honeycomb, dripping with honey and covered with bees. At this point, he looked at the beeswax, then at his torch, then down to the ground, and cast Adria a look of mild alarm. She laughed quietly, shrugging, and held out her hands, as if to catch him. He smiled and nodded first to the wax, then to the torch, as if asking her to pick one.
Adria sighed and shrugged and shook her head, and Mateko dropped the torch. He climbed down, very slowly, while Adria tried to keep the smoke rising up around the honeybees until he reached the ground.
As they returned to camp, trying both to move slowly to keep from disturbing the bees, but quickly to shorten the trip, the torch burned out, and the bees slowly began to stir. Mateko had been whispering to them all the while, and she liked to think he was begging them not to sting them. Regardless of the nature of his discourse, instead of frenzying, the bees slowly left to return to their hive, and she and Mateko returned from the wax hunt unscathed.
The blind woman was already prepared for them when they brought back their prize. Her clay pot hung from a tripod over the fire, and the water within already steamed in anticipation.
The woman leaned in over Mateko’s offering, eyes closed, sniffing the honeycomb. She nodded her satisfaction, and spoke a few words as she took up a nearby bowl to hold it beneath the honey. Mateko squeezed the comb, letting it drip into the bowl as well as he could. After a moment she stopped him with a word, took the honeycomb for herself, and handed him the bowl, with another word and motion for him to depart.
Mateko did as asked, smiling at Adria in silence as he turned away. Adria assumed she was intended to stay, so she watched as the blind woman took the honeycomb to the pot, now at the boil, and then looked about, as if searching.
Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 Page 25