She stood, ready to go out the door to find out what was going on, because the noise had only grown. However, one of the younger warriors tasked with building the signal towers rushed in, his chest heaving. He steadied himself against the doorframe.
“There’s been an accident.”
Her heart clenched. Connall!
But no…it would be too soon for his return. “What happened?”
“Teàrlach slipped while hauling rocks up the signal tower ladder. He fell, and the basket of stone fell, too, nearly crushing him.”
She gripped the door frame, leaning into it—relief that Connall was unharmed whacked aside by guilt for feeling relief and then worry for Teàrlach making her a tad unsteady. “Where is he?”
He glanced over his shoulder, his brown braids swinging in an arc. “They’re bringing him in on a litter.” He brought his hand down over his face and then looked at her, his eyes pleading. “Do ye know how to heal? Our healer was taken in the raid, and Mungan is still absent.”
“I thought you had more than one druid?”
“Yes, but druids have different specialties—the one who trained as a healer is gone.”
Her stomach turned queasy as the responsibility he was hoping to place on her hit.
Her? A healer? She started to shake her head but stopped. “Not by training, but I can try divining. There’s no guarantee I can find the answer, or even if I do, that I’ll know how to apply the knowledge.” Holy hell—she could hear her siblings laughing, and possibly her dad as well. They expect you to do what now? Her—the baby in the family everyone called spoiled.
Her—the coddled wife of an investment banker.
Her—the overworked coder slash Etsy shop crafter trying to pay off that scoundrel’s legal debts and running from his illegal ones.
But the man stepped forward. “It’s more hope than we have now, isn’t it?” He sprang through the door, speaking over his shoulder. “Follow me. They’re bringing him to the courtyard now.”
Eithne shooed her out, and Ashley ran after the warrior. A trail of men worked their way up the incline. They’d be here in minutes. “I’ll be right back. Let me get my divining leather.”
She dashed down the slope to the hut she shared with Connall. What if the man was so severely injured nothing could help him? What if she couldn’t think of the right search terms to come up with an answer? What if she failed?
Her hands trembled as she grabbed her divining equipment. It had to work, it had to. People looked up symptoms all the time on Google. Okay, sometimes that led down a rabbit hole of increasingly worse diagnoses, but she needed to keep her head.
She darted back up the slope. So, so glad that’s easier now.
She arrived just as the men were lowering the wounded man onto an open grassy area near the north wall. One of the men was completely naked, because they’d used his kilt to carry Teàrlach.
Averting her eyes, she rushed up to the group and the men parted, making room for her. She knelt beside Teàrlach. Sweat plastered his dark-red hair to his skull and dirt streaked his too pale face. She quickly scanned his chest and limbs but couldn’t see any obvious injury. “Where is he hurt?”
They pointed to his ankle, which was already beginning to swell.
Teàrlach spat. “It’s only been turned.”
“Then why did ye go fainting the moment you were putting weight on it?” Sionn asked.
Oh God, she had no clue how to tell if it was broken or sprained. She closed her eyes and thought of how she’d search for this on Google. As a question formed, she gathered a handful of dirt and threw it across the leather. It took several tries to narrow down and adjust her questions while she also had him move his foot. Her audience stole glances at her while they looked on their friend or neighbor with concern.
Please work.
“It’s just a sprain,” she concluded. “He’ll need to stay off it for several days and keep it elevated.”
“This means we’ll have to stop working on the signal tower,” one said.
“Why?” she asked.
“With half our warriors off fighting for the Romans, we didn’t dare send too many to work on the project. It’s why he was injured—too few to help.”
She turned to the guy who’d alerted her. “So you’ve been without a healer since the raid?”
He nodded.
“Do we have any onions? We could make a poultice to help with the swelling.”
“No. We’re out and haven’t scavenged for more.”
“I wish the council would have granted my request to speak with them. This is exactly the kind of thing a woman would prioritize and bring up.”
An older man she knew sat on the council cocked his head at her. “What do ye mean, lass?”
She shook her head in frustration. “I’m sure the men on the council are aware we’re low on onions, but they might not realize they—”
“No. I mean what request?”
She sat back on her haunches, willing herself to remain calm because it was probably just her Universal Translator not getting her meaning across. “Connall said he’d ask you and the other members of the council if I could address them.”
Several people around her gasped, but the older man gave nothing away in his expression. “Interesting request. But Connall never asked this of us.”
He what?
Disbelief, followed by a shot of anger, surged through her, and she plopped down onto her butt.
Ooh, if he wasn’t off fighting in a damn battle, she’d hunt him down and give him a battle of her own.
He’d promised.
A frustrated grunt as Teàrlach tried to sit up and failed brought her focus back to him. She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Color was beginning to return to his face, which she assumed was a good sign.
“Does he live with anyone here?” she asked the concerned faces peering down at her.
An older woman stepped forward. “I’m his grandmother.”
“All right. Make sure he gets plenty of rest and that you keep him off that foot for several days and keep it elevated. I’ll check in with you every day, but you need to understand I’m not a healer.”
“You look like one to me,” she replied. “I’m grateful to you. He’s my only family left.” She blinked, and her lips rolled together.
The others murmured, but all she saw reflected back at her was awe, gratefulness, or respect.
Phew.
As she packed up her divining leather, though, she couldn’t find pleasure in her small victory here. All she could think about was the fact that Connall had not talked to the council.
How could she live with a man who didn’t respect her?
Chapter Thirteen
Ashley wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, careful to keep the flour off her face. Light from a rare sunny day poured into the kitchen from the slits in the walls. Man, kneading dough was tough work. Forget doing upper arm reps on a cable curl, this shit would get her Michelle Obama biceps in no time.
Ever since she’d found out Connall hadn’t talked to the council, she’d been chatting with the women she worked with every day, getting a feel for their opinions. One of them had told her early this morning that the council would be meeting today, when the sun reached the zenith. Which was soon.
“Are you in?” she asked.
Eithne nodded—her normally gentle face firmed into battle-axe mode—and set aside the supplies someone had just brought in from the storage room. Ashley turned to Affraic, who also nodded, her narrow head matching her narrow shoulders and hips, though Ashley had learned she could be just as tough as Eithne. They circled down to the lower terraces and collected some of the other older women who’d also agreed to Ashley’s plan—crash the council.
They climbed up the incline, six of them total, ex
hilaration and excitement powering her muscles. Exhilaration at the prospect of demanding they have a say and excitement at the possible changes this would effect for the tribe.
At the closed door, she turned to the others. Worry clouded their eyes, but also determination. “Ready?” she asked.
They nodded. She held out her fist, and they stared at it, foreheads crinkled. “Put your fists on top of mine.”
One age-spotted hand followed another until they looked at her with “what now?” expressions.
“One for all,” she said, pausing, waiting for them to finish, but of course they didn’t know the rest. “And all for one, that’s what you’re supposed to say,” she finished with a mutter. She was about to pull her fist away, but several piped up, though not at the same time, so the impact was a bit anticlimatic, “And all for one.”
She smiled. “We’ll work on that, all right?”
Girding her proverbial loins, she pulled open the door and stepped inside. Torches set into the walls cast a yellowish glow over a round table filled with older men. Conversation sputtered to a stop as the council members twisted in their seats to stare, their faces a mixture of surprise and puzzlement.
“Here goes nothing,” she whispered.
Confident her compatriots were following, she strode inside until they were arrayed in front of the assembly.
Connall’s father stood—Eachern, she’d learned his name was. “What is the meaning of this? We’re in the middle of council.”
She raised her chin. “That’s why we’re here. We’d like to address this body.”
Shock registered across the chief’s face, and the other men muttered. He glared.
Ha. Bring on the Intimidation Tactics, mister.
If he wanted them to leave, he’d have to bodily remove her. She wouldn’t slink away.
His head bowed slightly. “Have your say.”
Oh wow, okay. Heart beating like mad, she said, “I’d like to request the council to add several of the older women into their number.”
Now the rest of the men stood, but Eachern motioned for them to sit back down. They obeyed, but their eyes trained on her, some narrowed, some wide with curiosity.
The chief clasped his hands behind his back and widened his stance, facing her fully. “And why do you wish this?”
“Because it’s not right that women aren’t represented on the council.”
“The men represent them well enough. We see to the needs of everyone in the tribe. If some have concerns to be addressed, they can ask their menfolk.”
“But they can’t adequately represent them. It’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are some issues that are unique to women. And does every woman in your tribe have a male family member? What about those who don’t? We can also bring a unique perspective to whatever issues you face. We contribute to the welfare of the tribe just as much as the men do, and we should have a vote on the council.” She took a deep breath at getting that all out. She’d memorized what she wanted to say, knowing she might only have one chance to lay it all out there.
Shouts erupted. Each seemed determined to make their opinion, and voice, the loudest, and so none of them were heard clearly.
“Gentlemen,” she said, stepping forward. She waved her arms. “Can we get the discussion back on track?”
But none paid her any attention. She lowered her arms. It was pointless. They needed time.
She didn’t have much to give them, but she’d made her point. The other women looked at her with wide eyes, and some with tremulous smiles.
No. They’d made their point. Together.
She turned her back on the men and silently marched to the door. Once outside, Eithne fell back against the closed door and exclaimed, her voice breathless, “Oh my, that was exciting. I almost peed myself.”
“Eithne,” Affraic chided.
“Well, I didn’t. So no harm done.”
They all laughed at that. When their laughter died down, they turned to her. “What next?” Eithne asked. It was a heady feeling having them—anyone—look to her for guidance.
Ashley contemplated the closed door, the men behind it no doubt still shouting at each other, completely unaware that they’d left. “I don’t know what they’ll decide, but I know our next step.”
“What’s that?” another asked.
She faced the other women. “Until they get their panties unwound, we should form our own council. The six of us. We can discuss what needs we have and work to resolve them however we can.”
Eithne smiled. “I’m unsure of what these panties are, but the rest sounds like a grand idea.”
A head bobbed into view from the terrace lower down, and when the newcomer fully appeared and caught sight of her, he made straight for her.
“Can you do a divination for me?”
“I can try.” More and more of late, different members of the tribe approached her to divine something, and her reputation as an oracle grew.
It was thrilling to have such value, to be useful, but what would happen if she left?
As she followed the man down the slope, with the vast landscape as her only handrails, an odd feeling stole over her, and goose bumps danced along her skin. This was so exactly opposite of her old life in San Francisco.
Sure, she felt useful—a bit—with her tech job, but mostly she was drowning, unable to work fast enough to rid herself of her ex-husband’s debts.
But that life felt more and more like a dream. This felt more and more like her reality.
…
Connall nodded to a guard along the perimeter of the Roman encampment and worked his way through the maze of caltrops, an earthenware jar of precious oil in his palm. He glanced back over his shoulder. Not for the first time, he marveled at the Roman army’s efficiency. All day, they’d marched, and when they stopped, they’d erected a village of goat-hide tents in neat rows along an east-facing slope and dug an encircling trench for protection. All before they’d bedded down for the night.
Work that would be for one night only, according to the commander, Silanus, for they would continue their march northward before the morning was over. Word from the Roman scouts relayed that the enemy would be met by midday.
Silanus had also gifted him with this expensive oil made from olives, whatever those were—a rare commodity, he was told, that had traveled from a land so distant their vegetation and climate were different.
When he received it, his first thought had been to give it to Ashley, and he wondered if she valued the oil from olives and whether she would be pleased with him for bringing it. And that’s when he knew it was the perfect sacrifice. Earlier, the Romans had gathered around a stone altar and poured wine over a hot brazier. As the wine sparked and hissed into the air, the soldiers lifted their hands to the sun, their heads covered, and prayed to some god named Mithras.
He would feel better if he did a proper sacrifice, however. Up ahead, the river rushed along, cutting through the rocky landscape, its waters jumping and frothing in its eagerness and fervor. Connall smiled. The goddess of these waters would be strong indeed. He picked his way upstream until he reached a particularly lively spot and knelt on a patch of grassy shore. He held the jar up in offering and bowed his head, sending a prayer to the river goddess that his men would fight brave and true and all would return safely to their hearths.
When he finished, he strode into the onrushing water, ignoring the chill hitting his calves, and lodged the sacrifice as best he could amongst the rocks. That accomplished, he sloshed back to the shore and sought Silanus to receive instructions for his men.
The Roman, who’d been leaving his tent, motioned forward. “Follow me. This is an opportunity for you to learn more of our ways.” Thankfully, the leader of this army spoke his own tongue.
“Should
I gather my men?”
“Not necessary. It will take but a moment. You can relay it back to them.”
Some of their ways were intriguing, and he avidly observed those which would help his tribe. But some were altogether strange. At a clearing, another Roman squatted by an iron cage. Inside were several chickens.
Silanus spoke. “It’s a portable auspice kit.”
“Auspice?”
He nodded. “We never go into battle without divining the outcome.”
Ah. This Connall understood, though the methods were different. How were the chickens to divine anything?
The diviner placed pieces of cake along the ground and stepped back, his expression grave. Frowning, Connall studied the cage, but the chickens only poked their wee necks through the bars and partook of the meal.
The diviner raised his chin, a satisfied cast to his features, and said something in their tongue.
Silanus slapped him on the back. “Victory. Let us break camp and meet the enemy.” Conversation started up as the Romans departed, their expressions ranging from happy to smug.
Connall stared at the cage. “How could you divine that from what we just saw?”
Silanus folded his arms, pride evident in his thrust-back shoulders and widened stance. “The sacred chickens ate the cake and allowed bits of grain to fall from their beaks.”
“And that is good?”
“Very.”
The diviner carefully draped a cloth over the cage and lifted it from the ground with extreme care. Connall had his doubts of the Roman method, but Silanus and the Romans seemed well pleased. He’d have to take their confidence as his own.
As efficiently as they’d encamped, the Romans broke it down. Knowing they’d fight this day, Connall and his men circled around their campfire and brewed wild thyme for vigor and courage. When the call to march sounded, Connall and his men joined the middle ranks. Excitement hummed through his veins at the prospect of battle and a sure victory, for they had both his sacrifice to his own goddess and the divination of the Romans on their side, if their method of divination were valid.
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