“You were exhausted,” he answered, smiling a little as she sat upon her haunches beside him, moving somewhat more slowly than normal. He offered her his water skin. “We made it far enough to rest. How do you feel now?”
She shrugged, rubbing her hands together before the fire. “I feel well enough to take a watch.”
And then she began to remember what had happened, as she blinked away the mists of sleep.
She retched, suddenly, but produced nothing. Her stomach knotted again two or three times, and she had to brace herself with her hands upon the ground to keep from diving into the fire. Preinon was beside her, then, holding her by the shoulders.
“Where is the child?” she asked as she regained her composure a little.
“She is fine,” Preinon consoled her quickly, in Aeman. “She sleeps as you did, as one welcoming a small death for awhile.”
Adria sorted the images of the night before, trying to put the whole story together. She whispered, “I don’t really understand what happened.”
Preinon nodded, speaking slowly and carefully, and watching her for her reactions. “We were too late. The camp was taken by the Knights. It could not have been helped.”
“Were there no other survivors?” Adria asked weakly.
After a moment, Preinon shook his head. “This was meant to be a total slaughter. You found the only survivor.”
Wait for the call… she remembered.
“I disobeyed, Watelomoksho,” she said, hesitating, pleading. “It seemed too long to wait. I knew, somehow, that I could do what I had to do. Or maybe I didn’t care. Almost like it… had already happened.”
She had to switch to Aeman to finish her thought.
After a moment, he nodded. “We were only just in place when you called, Púksha. It was Ektito who told the story. He saw everything.”
Adria swallowed. “What is… what is everything?”
“Do you not remember?”
Adria blinked a few times. The pain in her head, she knew, still waited at the corners of her vision. Storm clouds and lightning. Circling crows.
“How many did I kill?”
Preinon poked at the fire a moment, exhaled heavily. “What did you feel as you fought? What did you think? What did you see?”
“As I fought...” Somehow, it seemed a bizarre question, and she knew she couldn’t really answer it entirely, in retrospect, though she felt certain she could have described herself perfectly at the time. “I... felt like it didn’t matter if I died.”
She paused, fought off the crows with a long steady breath. “And then I realized, somehow, that I would not. I saw the way to kill them, and knew they could not react swiftly enough to defend themselves.”
She was shaking her head, and she realized the words did not make complete sense, but Preinon only nodded, frowning, and asked, “You moved more quickly than you have before?”
She shrugged. “It... did not seem that way to me. It... feels like being underwater, seems like… everything else slows.”
“You said ‘seems.’ This has happened before?”
She nodded. “Yes, when I... fought the Knights in the clearing. And also when I fought Tabashi during the attack on the camp. It... seemed like... tainábe, as Shísha teaches.”
He nodded again thoughtfully, but said nothing more, and Adria was left to consider in silence.
Preinon sighed again after a time. “Adria…”
“Are they buried?” She interrupted him, afraid what he might say next.
She meant the tribe, and she meant the Knights. She turned her head, and he nodded once.
She nodded as well, turning back to the fire, trembling, and whispered, “How many?”
He shook his head again. “Adria…”
“No.” Her voice found its strength. “How many of the People? How many Others? I am not counting beads, Uncle. But I will say a prayer for each and every soul who died last night, and by any god, the crows will taken them all.”
As they returned to the Shema Ihaloa Táya, they were obliged to rest more frequently. Though just old enough to walk, the child seemed to have lost the will to do so, and refused to be carried by anyone but Adria. Unaccustomed to the burden of carrying a child, Adria’s arms and back ached, though Mateko and others carried her pack in turn.
Still, they found no sign of Méneshno as they journeyed.
“He likely mourns at the camp’s ruins,” Preinon suggested. “And if he is wise, he packs up what we did not, and will join us, or else find another camp to join, and live his life in peace.”
“It would be good for him to know he was not the only one who survived,” Adria whispered, the child asleep within her arms beside the fire.
Preinon nodded sadly, leaning to stroke the child’s straight dark hair gently.
Adria spoke with her at intervals as they walked, or sang to her some of the Aesidhe songs she would likely have heard, but the girl did not speak. Her eyes seemed intelligent enough, and even the slowest Aesidhe children were likely to communicate some with their hands even if they were reluctant to learn speech.
Her spirit is wounded, Adria decided, The horror of the attack has made it withdraw.
Still, she clung to Adria with affection, and found some comfort in her arms, and after that first night slept curled up against her, turning incessantly in her dreams.
“Hush, náme,” Adria would say, when the girl awakened in the night, or when she dozed in her arms as they walked. Soon, the other Runners even called her this, instead of the more typical Méli, “girl,” for one whose name was not known. By the time they arrived at the Shema Ihaloa Táya camp, it was how she was known.
Náme, Adria smiled, when she first realized it had stuck. Quiet One. It was not until Shísha pointed it out that Adria realized that to an Aeman, the girl’s name would look like the word “name,” despite its pronunciation — Nah-may.
Though she still favored Adria from then on, other women of the tribe were soon able to soothe Náme similarly, especially Imani, who reasoned to Adria, “She knows that we are sisters.”
Shísha, with the help of Imani and Adria, among other women of the tribe, performed a healing ceremonial for the child, and Adria watched as the spirit of the child separated from her parents and bound itself to the spirit of the tribe.
Adria remembered the dead father, and the mother who died moments later, the blood on the floor of the tent, the furs wherein the child had hidden. She closed her eyes upon the memory, and only the spirits of the mother and father remained, and Adria knew that they had found peace.
Náme also seemed more at peace afterward, and began to use her hands to speak, but still did not make any words.
“When she needs her voice, then she will find it,” Shísha said, and otherwise seemed unconcerned.
Other tribes had abandoned their camps that season, and Náme was not the only one making a new place for herself among strangers. Still, as the tribes settled together, and the Runners were able to begin their more relaxed winter routine, it was obvious that the Shema Ihaloa Táya were now too large to sustain themselves easily through the coming season by hunting alone.
“We will find enough food,” Preinon insisted at council, and pledged the Runners to this task. All knew, though he did not say, that the food would be stolen from the Others. The tribe already feared that the recent destruction of the camps were reprisals for the Aesidhe Hunters who had clashed with Aeman, but there was no alternative. “Ask the Spirit Helpers and all our ancestors to send the Runners guidance, and we will not fail you.”
Ateglokala, an elder among the tribe who rarely spoke, looked about at all the new faces, and asked for her granddaughter to help her rise.
“I see poorly. My eyes are weak. But I listen well, and I hear many tonight who I did not know when the youngest among us was born. And many m
ore will be born to all of us in the moons that we follow through the sky.”
“It is true,” many agreed.
“I am among the few who remember our naming, Shema Ihaloa Táya, They Watch the Walking Birds. We were those who survived the great flood by following the birds to find a safe camp, far from here.”
“It is true.”
She breathed slowly. Her eyes watched the fire, and Adria knew that her milky eyes could only see great changes in light and darkness.
“So many born in so many seasons, and though we may flee floods one day again, we now flee fire, and smoke, and those with swords. We survive many things in many moons and many places, and so we are new People.”
“It is true.” Many nodded respectfully and in agreement.
“There would be a ceremonial for this, in other times, and perhaps there will yet be. But I will not see it. And before I join my stars again, I will speak a new name for all the People here. We are new People, Shíme Okshowaniya. We survive.”
There was silence for a long time, and many who had joined them in recent months wept now openly. And many more. Preinon, Mateko, and Adria herself.
Slowly, singly or in groups, Adria was certain that all present old enough to understand Ateglokala’s words nodded, and spoke the same.
“Yachaiotosu… Shíme Okshowaniya.” It is true… We Survive.
For days, Adria debated whether or not to tell anyone on The Echo of the note she had found. The possibility of danger itself was an obvious concern, but Adria had lived so long under the threat of possible violence that it had become something of an innate assumption.
Of more interest to her was the warning itself — who aboard felt not only the need to warn her of an assassin, but to keep their identity a secret.
If an assassin sees that I am cautious already, Adria had considered. They might even feel some advantage in confirming my fears, in increasing my distrust of all those aboard. An enemy without allies is an easier target.
Given this, and given what she had learned so far of those aboard, she decided to do the exact opposite.
Captain Falburn kept the wheel steady with his left hand while he turned the note over in his right, though there was little more to consider than the seal and the handwriting of the single written word — assassin. He nodded and met Adria’s eyes without expression.
“When?”
“Three nights ago,” she admitted. “I hesitated to inform anyone. I have been… estranged from my family and from Windberth for three years.”
He said nothing, his eyes on the note again.
“But you surely knew that,” Adria nodded. “Even without your… informative Novice.”
Falburn nodded again slowly, returned the note to Adria. “Your Highness, I might make my own suggestions, but… I believe you may very well answer this better. Is there anyone you trust to guard your door?”
He met her eyes openly, honestly, his hand returning to the wheel as she folded the warning back into her belt pouch.
You… Adria knew, her eyes fluttering just a little as she looked through his flesh to the thread of his spirit. I would trust you.
And so she decided to test his trust of another.
“No doubt there are men of yours you trust with your life, Captain, and I would honor that trust with my own. Still, when this ship embarks, I will be left with a contingent of Knights, of Sisters, and with a good deal of mutual wariness…”
Falburn smiled a little, nodding.
“So tell me, Captain,” Adria asked. “What do you think of Sir Elias?”
She could see that he reflected, that it was not a simple or an obvious answer. Given the likelihood that they have had only small acquaintance, but that the Novice has likely given an estimation… a quick answer would likely be a bad one, Adria reasoned.
After a moment, he nodded again slowly. “Who else has seen this note?”
Adria blinked, a little surprised at the response, though it seemed reasonable after a moment’s thought. “No one.”
Falburn nodded more quickly. “You use it as a test of trust. I am, if I may say, impressed. And I am honored I have seen it first.”
That seemed to be, perhaps, the end of the conversation, but Adria was not finished.
“And Elias?”
Falburn chuckled. “You will give him the note next and see what he says, M’Lady. I’ve no doubt of that.” He paused. “But you have already decided to trust him. If I had to choose one among the Knights to guard your cabin door, it would likely be him.”
Adria nodded slowly, and they watched the sails, the top flag, and the horizon for some time.
“And what would the Novice say of Elias?” Adria asked finally.
“Your Highness,” Falburn said after a long steady breath. “I see the storms as they come, and remember the signs that predicted their approach, so that I will know a little sooner when to turn the wheel, when to raise the sails. There is only a moment’s grace before the lightning strikes. A breath.”
Adria nodded slowly.
“A storm is coming, Adria Idonea. You are safe upon my seas, but…” Falburn frowned. “I cannot say well what storms may strike the land.”
“We walk together today,” Preinon told her one autumn morning soon after their return to camp. He led her in a different direction than usual, away from the Shíme Okshowaniya, away from where the Hunters in Rows had trained.
They walked wordlessly, at a steady but relaxed pace, and Adria enjoyed the colors, sounds, and scents of the autumn life. Dried pine needles and broken leaves littered the ground, birds and squirrels prepared for winter’s long slow rest.
When they came to an area of relative clearing, Preinon nodded his satisfaction, and turned to consider Adria with an expression she had not seen before.
“Tell me what you think.” he said simply. It was an odd phrase in Aesidhe, the closest in Aeman being, name your spirit.
What does he mean? Adria wondered, glancing around at the knee-high grass, the surrounding mixed trees, and the late morning sunlight. She answered, “It is beautiful.”
“That is what you say,” Preinon said in Aeman, then repeated in Aesidhe, “Tell me what you think.”
She blinked several times, an uncertain smile growing on her lips, but nodded, saying, “I try to think what you want to hear, and then choose something to say.”
“And do you think in Aesidhe or in Aeman?”
Now she began to understand a little, even as she had to think about the answer. “I think in both,” she realized, with a little pride. “Sometimes in one or the other, but often with whatever best suits my thoughts.”
“Do you always think in words?” he asked, now in Aeman. Still, his tone was neutral, even searching, as if the questions came to him only as he asked them.
She shook her head, but out of effort instead of denial. This is a difficult question.
Then she realized, “Yes, I suppose I do, mostly.”
“There is an Aesidhe saying you would do well to remember,” Preinon said, after nodding for a moment. “At’e so wateme choacho, tegoni wateme watemeio thhuksho. It means, the divided mind can only defeat itself.”
She nodded. “I should think in Aesidhe.”
He smiled, shaking his head.
Adria frowned. “Then what…?”
And she was lying upon the ground, filled with vertigo. Preinon stood above her, reaching down to offer his hand to help her up. Even as she took it, more sensations came, along with pain — she had fallen.
No… he has pushed me down.
“The ground is soft here,” he explained. “And no one is around to distract you.”
“I don’t understand…” she said, as the vertigo subsided and she massaged her elbow, which must have taken the brunt of the fall.
“You think you don’
t understand,” he said, releasing her hand when he was certain she was not too dizzy to stand. “That is why you don’t understand.”
Before she could make any sense of his words, much less ask her own question, he had walked past her and started back to the camp.
Apparently that is the lesson for today, Adria sighed as she turned and followed.
For the rest of the day, Adria considered what had happened in the clearing. She realized that it had something to do with what she had done while saving Náme, and the times before.
This must be what it seems like from the outside, Adria realized. The Knights who moved too slowly, the arrows which seemed to suspend while I fought with Tabashi…
Obviously, this was something she shared with Preinon, and he was trying to teach her something about it, but strangely.
It is something I can learn to control, as he has… she reasoned as they walked to the clearing the following day. And it is some sort of thought process.
“Do you think in words?” he asked.
“Yes...?” she said, uncertainly, already bracing herself for the blow. What am I supposed to say? How am I supposed to think?
“Who are you talking to?” he asked, his mouth curled in the slightest of smiles.
A riddle? She wondered, and answered aloud, even as she flinched in expectation, “No one…”
And it was the same as before, and she followed him home, elbows and ego bruised. She seemed the worst, even, for having prepared herself for the blow.
Adria considered many answers before the next day, each a little more crafted from the last, each a little more clever, until she was not even certain which question she was meant to answer. By the time they arrived, her head was filled with cacophony, a storm of ravens.
“Do you think in words?”
“Yes...?” She answered, half uncertain, half defiant.
“Who are you talking to?”
Adria was so prepared for the blow, and so filled with answers in circles, that she now found herself exhausted when at last she had need of her wit. She blinked, already flinching, and then simply gave the most obvious answer, even if it seemed ridiculous.
Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 Page 49