“I wished to gauge their sympathy and the strength of their resolve. Both are worth consideration for the future. I had also hoped to negotiate some sort of trade agreement, but we have been better served by the Moresidhe thus far — certainly as long as our focus remains this far north. In time, though, this may change.”
“Soon…” Adria frowned.
He nodded, but said nothing more to deny or affirm, and they spoke of other things.
“How long have I been here?” she asked. For awhile she had counted the months, but now, her sense of time had changed, and she had to find a new way of adding it up.
“Two years,” he said, even as she arrived at the number. “A little more than.”
She nodded. “How old am I... sixteen?”
“I believe so,” he agreed, and they sat in silence for awhile.
“We spoke before,” she began again. “About... leaving the Aesidhe in order to save them.”
He said nothing, but waited for her to continue.
“You have people watching Windberth,” she said, only half a question.
Preinon nodded. “We do.”
“Not Runners... not Aesidhe. Moresidhe, perhaps, or old allies... you are reluctant to mention them, I know... and it doesn’t matter just now, anyway.”
Again, he said nothing, and allowed her to formulate her thoughts. “Regardless of the source, you will know when Hafgrim is knighted.”
“I will know.”
Adria nodded. “Then I would know, as well.”
He sighed his understanding, or at least the understanding he thought he had. “If you had been born male, you would likely be knighted this spring.”
Adria shrugged. “That is not what I want, Uncle. Not anymore. Not why I ask.”
“I know,” he nodded. “And I understand. You miss your brother.”
“I do.” And she hesitated. “But that is not what I mean to say, either. I did not tell you of something, for it once seemed remote, and now it seems merely foolish.”
Again he waited her out.
“I made a promise to Hafgrim, when I left, that I would return to him when he was given his first duty as a knight. Now, I feel I have pledged myself to our enemy, out of childish sympathy for my brother’s equally childish hurt feelings.”
After another long silence, Preinon simply smiled a little and nodded. “I understand.”
They said no more of this, though Adria realized, despite the tension growing between them, that he spoke the truth.
Adria watched as Preinon taught the new Hunters to fight, or allowed those who had served them to teach them. A rank hierarchy slowly began to form, and soon Preinon named some of those who had begun to command as lieutenants, calling them Shémaphho Chetopaya, They Stand Above.
Preinon never showed the abilities he and Adria shared to anyone else, and did not attempt to teach these to either Hunter or Runner. And though they had not discussed it, there seemed an implicit assumption that Adria would not either.
She did not even properly understand it, though she sensed, somehow, that such ability was not meant to be used lightly.
“It may be something in our blood,” Preinon reasoned as they spoke together quietly after a day of marching and training. “Something in the blood of kings.”
Adria nodded. Perhaps it gives some reason to the Sisterhood’s obsession with our family, with family trees. Something that Taber knew in my father, my uncle, and fosters in Hafgrim and I.
“The Mechushegiya think of time as a river,” Preinon continued. “It is always flowing, but not always at the same speed, or with the same force. And although it is always easiest and often best to flow along with the river, still it is possible to row, to move more swiftly than the water alone, or even to turn against it, and slow the pace, and more clearly see the distant shores.”
He paused, then smiled a little. “I have heard them say it better, in Aesidhe.”
That is… a remarkable explanation… Adria nodded. “So they can do as we do? Shísha?”
“I… really do not know.” He sighed thoughtfully. “Not in the same way, I don’t believe. It is something that is taught to them, I know, by Elders among them, or by Spirit Helpers. Sometimes they use certain foods to bring it about. It is nearly always used for healing.”
“We use it for harm,” Adria nodded. “That is why you have not spoken of it directly with anyone, not even Shísha.”
He motioned with his hands, an Aesidhe way of shrugging, almost. His mood seemed amicable, receptive. And yet, Adria was not quite ready for the conflict she knew must come. She looked about at the army camped all around them, already nearly two-hundred strong, and shook her head.
“What is it?” he asked her.
She smiled and shrugged. “I was only thinking of Shísha,” she half lied. “She should be here with us.”
He nodded. “I miss her too, but she has her own path.”
Adria nodded as well, thinking, Yes, and I must be the one to walk both webs at once. A Hunter and a Healer.
It felt like small moves on a grand scale.
The Runners stayed their course, scouting within and at the edges of the borders, watching for what now seemed only subtle signs of enemy movement.
The Hunters in Rows moved more slowly, from camp to camp, from cache to cache. They gained more fighters by the pair or the handful, and where they did not hunt, they brought supplies out of the ground where Runners had left them in seasons before.
Preinon brought forth enemy swords from these caches, and awarded them to his lieutenant Shémaphho Chetopaya, and to the best fighters among the Hunters, and trained them in their use. This caused some envy among the Hunters, but Preinon assured them, “What we do not find in coming camps, we will take from the hands of the slain.”
Always, they took part of what was buried, but not all. And Preinon taught Adria how to remember each of them, much in the same way she had learned many of the games of chess with her father.
Slowly, a broad map of the Wild filled in blanks of the image of Heiland already in her head from her education at Windberth. The image once dotted with Aeman towns and roads and rivers broadened to include camps, caches, and the ever-shrinking borders which contained them.
Closer to the wilderness edge, Runner scouts brought more accurate and recent word of the Knights’ movements. As Preinon drew their position in the earth beside the fire, he showed only confidence, but the look of his eyes as he examined upon the ground what was clearer in his head betrayed his concern, and Adria realized why as she followed his movements and her memory.
Despite all he has done, it is still only the opening of this game of chess, she thought. No one makes forward motion... they only reposition themselves behind their lines for better advantage. He is ready for an offensive, and there is none yet to be made.
“We are waiting, Uncle?” she said, ambiguously.
He said nothing as he erased lines in the earth with his foot and turned his face to the fire. But in a moment, he nodded, his jaw set, before turning to other concerns.
There were no legions of Knights, no great clashes, no glorious battles to whet the new blades of the Hunters.
Mateko was one of those who had last returned from the border, and Adria had some difficulty restraining herself from an embrace in the presence of others, of her uncle.
“Even with the other Runners here, it has not been the same as before,” she confided in whispers as she walked him to his tent in the Runners’ camp. “Tension grows worse between the camps. And Watelomoksho… does not see so clearly. Without Shísha...”
“Every camp needs its Mechushegi,” he agreed.
“But not every army?” she shrugged. “Is this why she is not here?”
He half shrugged, frowning. “They cannot be healed who did not wish for healing.”
&
nbsp; She nodded. “This I understand, but what of the Runners? Why can she not stand with them?”
Mateko raised his hands in a sign of surrender, and offered, in broken Aeman, “Shísha... stony... makes.”
“Yes... Shísha plays stubborn with Uncle,” she agreed. “It is their battle of wills, and the rest of us are caught between.”
“They are two spiders in one web.”
Adria sighed to hear her name and purpose echoed again, but she nodded at his wisdom, and bid him goodnight, with just the hint of a kiss, and with great reluctance.
Mateko was gone the next morning, making Adria’s hasty good night even more painful.
When she learned he was under the orders of Watelomoksho, she did not even bother to hide her anger.
“Why did you send him away?”
Preinon blinked and shook his head swiftly, “Do you mean Mateko?”
It was an honest question, and a sincere reaction, and Adria felt immediately ashamed, especially since there were others around. “I am sorry, Uncle. I mean Mateko. Yes.”
He nodded, waving his hand in his own apology. “I had need of a messenger, and he is the best for this task.”
“I understand.” Adria sat beside him as he ate his breakfast, and adopted a more serious tone. “What is this message?”
He paused, then said simply, in Aeman, “I have sent for Tabashi.”
Adria swallowed, and a nervous sensation climbed up her spine. She had visions of arrows at cross purposes, and her hand moved to the scar on her breast. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and allowed herself to resettle for a moment before continuing. “You will barter with him again?”
“If he will come, I will.”
“You would bring him here, after everything?” she asked. “Are you so able to trust him again?”
“Certain, no…” he shrugged, and turned his head to face her. “But it is time we have a better vision of things, Mélitali.”
Chosen Daughter... it is the first time he has called me that in some time, she realized, but did not allow the endearment to distract her. “And if he is false, what then? He will have seen our army and our location. He will know how to counter us.”
He nodded for a moment, frowning. “I know what you must feel, Adria, but there is much you do not know... I know that if the Moresidhe truly wished for us to fail, it would have happened. I cannot pretend to understand Tabashi’s plans in full, but I know that he has come when I have called. I know that he has helped more than he has harmed.”
“He saved my life,” Adria admitted. “Even if he caused the attack, he saved me from it.”
“It is true.” And Preinon gave a long sigh, and looked about the camp for a moment. “We have need for what the Moresidhe can give us, and we may have something to give him in return. It is never an easy bargain, but... as long as it is to our strength, and not to the strength of the Knights, it can be done.”
“And what is my place in this?”
He nodded. “You can see the spirit of a man. It is a gift you share with Shísha. A gift that I do not. Compared to her, to you, there are times I am truly blind. I know this. You will know the truth of what he speaks.”
Adria was shaking her head, but she sighed, and stilled. “I... will. I will do this.”
He took another long breath, nodded slowly. “It is good.”
Adria was less certain. “I am not a Lichushegi. I would be a fool to think myself so.”
“I cannot ask her back.”
Adria shrugged. “She walks her own path, Zho wateli limiyati. But why can she not walk it here? You would lead us into battle without a Healer? You can summon the Moresidhe, but not Shísha, and ask me to take her place, even if just a little….”
“Mélitali…”
“You command. You bring order. You raise an army, but you also divide us…”
“Lilene,” he nearly shouted, and the Hunters about the fire looked to them with greater interest. Preinon took another long breath, and Adria followed the motion.
Finally, he nodded. “When this business with Tabashi is set, I will send Mateko for Shísha as well.”
Adria was half satisfied, half disappointed, though she nodded her head, and reached over to touch his arm in thankfulness.
It was my task to heal… and too easily I fail and beg for the help of another.
>Preinon had already sent Ihala to speak with Shísha by the time Mateko returned, and so there was time for Adria to share with him.
“Hwel medt,” he raised his hand as he found her while she stood watch in a Hunter’s blind. It was a rare moment when he did not sneak up on her.
“Shush… you will scare away my food,” she laughed as he leaped upwards, swinging from limb to limb to reach her. “To whom have you been listening now?”
“Aeman travelers greet each other this way.”
Adria shrugged, then embraced him as he hunched down onto the platform. “Hail and well met to you, then, traveler.”
“Only squirrels near now…” He motioned out into the trees. “But I did not know you considered them food instead of enemies.”
“Either way. They steal the walnuts.” She shrugged. “The enemy of my food is my enemy. Or my food.”
Mateko laughed.
“And anyway, I think this is more a way for me to practice patience. And it is a good time to think.”
“What do you think?” he wondered.
“Did you bring Tabashi?”
“No,” He shook his head. “But he will follow soon.”
“Do you trust him, Mateko?”
Mateko swallowed, looked into the distance, and then back. “He saved your life, Lilene.”
“He brought an enemy.”
Mateko considered this, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. “He saved my life also.”
Adria did not want to dwell. There would be time enough. She let her doubts drain away as she watched him watching the world.
If we were both saved from death, perhaps we are both meant to be here… No matter the cost.
As she watched him, she grew dizzy in a way the height of her berth could no longer cause. She searched for the words that danced giddily just out of her grasp, and fought in vain to calm her beating heart.
He turned back to her, and she realized just how strong her feelings for him had become. The sight of him, the scent of him, and the closeness of him intertwined with all her present anxieties.
He seemed to symbolize, suddenly, all that she wished for herself among the Aesidhe. He smiled, just a little, as one who had seen enough death to fear it, and enough love to embrace life.
I love you... she realized simply, but could not make the words. Instead, she closed her eyes and turned from him, hoping he would reach out to her, hoping a little he would not.
Perhaps this is why Preinon paired us so often, and Shísha, she thought, a little helpless, a little angry. They knew that if I fall in love, I will never leave. This is how they decide my life.
But in a moment the thoughts and excess of feelings subsided, and she managed to slow the pace of her blood and regret her blame. Aloud, she said, while pretending to watch the squirrels, “Watelomoksho has sent for Shísha.”
“He is wise,” Mateko said. “It is time.”
She nearly blurted out that it was her idea, almost her insistence, that he do so, but thankfully stilled herself as she turned halfway back to him, then looked down at her hands, shaking her head.
“I thought to turn him from this course myself, Mateko.”
“I know,” he said soothingly.
“I thought my wisdom as strong as hers, but I choose small battles, while the great one waits, just out of reach.”
“It is not too late. You must prepare yourself to make a choice, and Shísha may not even come.”
> “She will. I know she will.”
“But this battle may yet be yours.”
Adria shrugged.
“I know you spoke an oath,” he said, and Adria grew nervous.
Does he know of my promise to Hafgrim? It now felt like a seed of betrayal that she had not told him. I am foolish and selfish…
But Mateko continued, “I know you promised to teach your uncle. And again, I say it is not too late. In my way, I have known him longer than you, and know that there are moments of weakness and strength in him. But you know him in ways none of us can understand. You will see the moment when it is true. If you are strong, he will gain your strength. Shísha believes in you, and I believe in you.”
She looked back at him, and again her emotions overwhelmed, and when they kissed, Adria could already not remember if he had reached out to her, or she to him. She was thankful to find such a balance between them, between action and reaction, between strength and weakness, at least for a little while.
Late one warm summer morning, Tabashi entered a camp unlike the last. Adria watched him from a distance, from the hill at the camp’s center where Preinon, Adria, and their closest Hunters had raised their tents.
By then, the army itself had Hunters from nearly every Aesidhe tribe in Heiland. If nothing else, Preinon’s message had succeeded on this level. And with the nearly-full complement of Runners patrolling the perimeter, Adria took comfort that any approaching enemy would find a far greater challenge than they had before, and have no chance at surprise.
The Moresidhe approached with little haste and seemingly less interest. He shaded his eyes in the bright sun of the sparsely-forested glade. Even as he walked among the main row of tents where the Shémaphho Chetopaya were quartered, he remained focused upon his destination, the small rise where Preinon and Adria awaited him with open palms.
He trades in information, Adria thought. And yet he does not bother to take in the scope of our forces. Either he waits for an opportunity, or he already knows.
Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 Page 51