by Loki Renard
“Aisling is not ‘the woman,’” Rikiar corrected her. “She is my bride.”
“I must have missed the wedding,” Merla rasped.
“We do not need to have wed for her to be my bride.”
“Actually, you do,” Merla said. “Until you are declared wed, she is but the princess you have been ravaging.”
“Then we will bring the wedding forward. Do it this very day and deprive him of the chance to claim her back.”
“The king will declare your union illegitimate. He will call it nothing but pagan witchcraft.”
“Then we’d best capture one of his priests to perform the ceremony.”
“No ceremony is going to stop the man from taking what he believes is his. For two and a half months you have made free with his daughter. His wrath will be terrible. His vengeance will be great.”
“And ours will be greater if he dares come within a hundred miles of this place,” Rikiar growled. “Please leave us be, mother. We must make plans to defend the village.”
“There is no need to defend the village if you are willing to give the girl back.”
“Aisling is not a chair, or a pen. She is not something I can give to another man. She is mine!” Rikiar’s voice shook with contained rage. “She belongs by my side. She belongs here, with our people.”
“And our people will bleed so you might enjoy her tender flesh. You condemn them to death.”
Rikiar stared amber daggers at his mother. The woman was impossible. No faith at all, that was her problem; she believed whatever her mushrooms told her, whatever her birds chirped in her ear. She did not see with her heart as he did.
“I should like to meet this woman for whom we will all die,” Merla said, ignoring his scowl. “It is about time the mother met the bride, don’t you think?”
* * *
Aisling was sitting at a window and wishing for sun when Rikiar came to her presence, along with someone new.
“Aisling, there is someone I would like you to meet.”
Aisling looked upon the short woman who had Rikiar’s eyes and knew immediately who she was. But that did not stop Rikiar from introducing her.
“This,” Rikiar said with a woeful tone, “is my mother.”
“Oh, how lovely to meet you,” Aisling said, curtseying with a smile.
Rikiar’s mother did not return the expression, nor the formality. She looked coldly down her nose at Aisling and sniffed—as if Aisling might be a piece of dust she could dislodge if only she’d remembered to bring her handkerchief.
“She is pretty enough. Is she worth the lives—”
“Mother,” Rikiar growled.
“Whose lives?” Aisling was naturally confused. The unfriendliness of she who would be her mother-in-law was quite unexpected. Aisling had never met anyone who didn’t like her before.
“Your father is sending an army to reclaim you,” Rikiar explained.
“Oh,” Aisling said.
“Not the brightest star in the sky, is she?”
Aisling cast a curious look at Mother Ravenblack. The woman really was quite determined to find fault at every turn. There would be no winning with her, Aisling could sense that immediately.
“You are here to meet Aisling. You are not here to insult her.” Rikiar was quick to come to Aisling’s defense. That, Aisling was grateful for. It meant she did not have to respond to the woman’s jibes.
“How long have you been a witch?” Aisling asked the question as politely as possible.
“One is born a witch,” Merla said. “It is in the blood.”
“Does one start casting spells in the womb?”
It was an innocent question, but it made Merla’s golden eyes gleam with irritation. “Your pretense of simplicity will not save you.”
“Save me from…?” Aisling was genuinely confused. The hostility seemed entirely unnecessary.
Rikiar put an arm around her shoulders. “Save your words,” he murmured in her ear.
She took his advice and silently bore the brunt of Merla’s withering stare while Rikiar addressed his mother.
“Would you have left my father and returned to a man who kept you imprisoned if he sent an army to take you?”
“Lives did not depend upon our marriage,” Merla said.
“Is it not up to the people, whether they wish to fight or not?”
“It is not up to the people if their homes are burned, their belongings plundered, their women taken…”
“It is up to them,” Aisling disagreed, rather boldly. “It is up to them whether they win or whether they lose. It is up to us whether we fight well or allow ourselves to be overrun. If they are coming through the mountains, then we should meet them there. We need not cower in the village, waiting to be attacked. We take the battle to the aggressor.” She shook as she spoke, quite overcome with passion. The news that her father wished to reclaim her had been a shock, but that shock had quickly turned to anger. She would not allow the man who had stolen the first twenty years of her life and locked it away to take another second. “I will stand and see my father’s face and I will tell him that I am his no more!”
“You will do no such thing,” Rikiar said. “You will be as far from the battle as is possible.”
“But Helsa has trained me…”
“Helsa has trained you not to cut yourself with your own blade. There will be real battle. You will not be involved in it.”
Merla looked at Aisling triumphantly. “One is what one is. A witch is born a witch, a pawn is a pawn and a princess will always find herself locked in a tower of some kind.”
“If this war is to be waged because of me, I will be a part of it,” Aisling insisted.
“You will not.” The words fell from Rikiar’s lips with a certainty like no other. He was more than firm, he was completely determined. He was the chief, and she his humble slave. She fell silent, knowing that argument would not serve her at all.
Rikiar left that night. He bade Aisling a fond farewell and told her to stay at home where she would be safe. No wandering outside the village, he said. No making trouble. She did not promise to honor either of his requests, but he was too busy organizing the village’s warriors to notice. He left her with a searing kiss and a promise to return—a promise Aisling did not place much trust in. It was not up to men whether they survived wars. It was up to forces far greater than they.
She cried herself to sleep that night. The bed was very empty without Rikiar in it beside her. It was suffused with his scent, but that only served to remind her of her solitude, and of the fact she may very well never see him again.
The next morning, Aisling went for a walk about the village. It was strangely empty. Many of the stalls were closed, and there were no familiar work sounds coming from the forge. Women passed hither and thither, but without their male counterparts Ravenblack was a much subdued place. Sadness hung in the air, a worried yearning for those departed.
To Aisling’s extreme surprise, she found Helsa and Dalon in the arena. They were both cleaning weapons. Neither of them looked happy.
“Helsa? What are you doing here?”
“We are the village defense,” Dalon said, looking more than a little bitter. “Rikiar took the men and left his war maidens here.”
“I suppose somebody has to defend the village.”
“Yes,” Helsa said. “But the staunchest defenders are not those with three holes instead of two between their thighs. The decision should have been made on merit, not sex.”
Aisling agreed. “Well,” she said. “I was going to follow along anyway. If my father is leading his troops against Rikiar, then it makes sense that I should be there. Merla the witch said as much. I have not seen her, so I can only think that she has gone with the men. And if an old crone can safely go to war, then a princess surely can.”
She waited for Helsa to say that it was a ridiculous idea, that she should go back home and do as Rikiar had ordered. Instead, Helsa and Dalon exchanged looks, the
n nodded.
“We will act as escort,” Helsa said. “There is no way you would survive out in the wilds on your own. There are many predators, not all of them men.”
“Thank you,” Aisling said, beaming with relief. She had been most concerned about going on her own, though she would have done, even if Helsa had forbidden her to leave.
“And you will do as you are told,” Helsa added. “We are on a war footing. There will be no time for your misbehavior. If I give an order, I expect it to be obeyed immediately, without question. Understand?”
“Yes, m’lady,” Aisling said. “What of the village?”
“There are many able-bodied women here,” Helsa said. “All of them can use a blade. But if we are successful, they will not have to.”
“That was what I told Rikiar. He agreed with the strategy, but not my participation.” Aisling cocked her head to the side and gave Helsa a curious look. “Are you truly going to ignore an order from your chief?”
“Rikiar has always been forthright in saying we Ravenblacks take control of our own destiny. We pay no fealty to any king. We forge our own paths…”
“Yes,” Dalon interjected. “We are going to ignore the order, because it’s a senseless order.”
“You will need proper clothing for battle,” Helsa said, changing the subject for more practical considerations. “Your light dresses will do nothing against a blade. Leather is what you need, leather and steel.”
The rest of the morning passed in preparation. Helsa was twice as domineering as she usually was, to the extent that even Dalon seemed to bristle from time to time. But Aisling did not let Helsa’s rough speech distract her from the task at hand. Two armies were about to meet because of her.
Having clad Aisling in attire more suited to a man, Helsa tugged at the back of her britches, wedging the material up between her legs in a way that was not entirely comfortable. Aisling squeaked and gave her an inquiring look.
“Checking the fit,” Helsa explained abruptly. “Cinch your belt tighter.”
Aisling obeyed, though it was not easy pulling the rough leather through her still tender hands. She had the hands of a princess, soft and well formed. They were not suited to the carrying of heavy weapons, and though Helsa strapped a short sword to her waist, Aisling was not entirely sure she’d be able to use it. It banged against her leg as she walked until Helsa repositioned it a little further back.
Meanwhile, Dalon had organized supplies into three packs, the largest for herself, a slightly smaller one for Helsa, and a much reduced one for Aisling.
“We have a few supplies, but we will need to hunt along the way,” Helsa said. “We cannot carry enough food with us and still make good time.”
“But we have time to hunt?”
“Don’t argue,” Dalon murmured under her breath.
It was good advice. Helsa was already strapping her pack to her shoulders. Dalon followed suit, so did Aisling. She had never carried more than a plate of food before, so the weight was quite strange. It was uncomfortable almost immediately; she couldn’t imagine what it would be like after a few hours of walking.
“We leave now, we can make camp at the Silver Stream tonight,” Helsa said. It was noon.
They left the village single file. Helsa led, Aisling was in the middle, and Dalon took up the rear. The pace they set was fast. Faster than Aisling could really keep up with. The months with the barbarians had toughened her a little, but not nearly enough for a war march. Within half an hour, Aisling was slowing.
“Helsa!” Dalon called out behind Aisling. “We need a break.”
Helsa ignored the cry. Dalon repeated it twice more before she responded, and then it was only to look back over her shoulder with an irritated glare.
“We just started!”
“We need a break,” Dalon insisted.
Helsa came to an abrupt halt. “What is the problem?”
“We. Need. A. Break.” Dalon plopped down on the ground and motioned Aisling to do the same. Aisling was grateful for the excuse to stop.
“Thank you,” she said as Dalon helped her take the pack off.
“What are you doing?” Helsa snapped the question.
“Repacking,” Dalon said. “She can’t carry the weight.”
Aisling felt bad as Dalon all but emptied her pack, and put most of it in her own and moved a few supplies into Helsa’s.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Dalon said. “Each woman lends her own talents. You are not a pack mule.” She shouldered her now much heavier pack back on her broad shoulders without evincing any obvious discomfort. “Let’s go.”
It was much easier to keep pace without the weight on her back. Dalon and Helsa didn’t seem to resent her for her weakness, but she felt it keenly nonetheless. She scolded herself mentally for not having spent more time on the exercises Helsa had assigned her. If she had done as she was told, she would have been more ready. She would have been a help, not a burden.
Though her feet hurt and her legs ached, she did not dare complain on the three-hour walk to Silver Stream. The relief she felt when Helsa finally declared that they should make camp on the banks of the glistening waters was great, but it was nothing compared to that which she felt when she pulled off her boots and sank her feet into the water.
“Let me see them.”
Helsa was suddenly by her side. Aisling did not know what she was referring to at first, but it soon became apparent that Helsa was interested in her feet. Reluctantly, Aisling drew them out of the water and presented them to the warrior, who crouched before them with a frown on her face.
“Why did you not tell me your boots were rubbing?”
“I didn’t want to complain.”
“If your feet blister, we will lose days. Your feet are important,” Helsa scolded.
“I’m sorry,” Aisling whimpered. Even when she tried to do right, she somehow managed to do wrong. Tired from the walk, and disheartened by what she considered to be failure, she felt the sudden urge to cry. She forbade herself from doing so. It would not do to add tearfulness to her growing list of sins.
“Put them back in the stream. I will come and wrap them when Dalon and I are finished making camp.”
Aisling put her feet back in the stream and tried not to cry.
A warm hand closed over her shoulder. “What is wrong?”
Dalon did not speak a lot, but she noticed everything. With Dalon’s warm, keen brown gaze on her, Aisling felt free to speak.
“I am holding you back,” she said softly.
“You are not holding us back,” Dalon corrected her quickly. “You are the reason we are going at all. We travel at your pace.”
“We should have brought a donkey,” Aisling said. “Why did we not bring some kind of mount?”
“Rikiar took all the donkeys and horses with his party. Even Helsa’s stallion is headed toward the battlefield.”
“She’s upset about that.”
“Yes,” Dalon agreed. “I don’t fancy being in Rikiar’s shoes when this war is over. She’s too good a warrior to argue during conflict, but once this threat is neutralized…” Dalon let out a stream of breath and shook her head. “She’s going to have his balls.”
Aisling snorted. “I don’t think Rikiar is going to give them up.”
“I suppose they’re yours,” Dalon smirked. “Anyway, it’s not going to be pretty.”
“I look forward to the day Helsa can be angry at Rikiar,” Aisling said. “Because that will mean my father is no longer pursuing me.”
“You really don’t wish to be saved?”
“Saved? From the man I love?”
“From the man who bought you,” Dalon said not at all diplomatically.
“Rikiar has made me happy from the day we met. He has always been kind. He has shown me freedom beyond any I could have imagined. My father wants to lock me back up in his tower.” Aisling drew her feet up to her bottom and rested her chin on her knees.
> “You know, if you stayed back in the village, there is much less chance he will put you back in that tower,” Dalon said.
“I know if I stay back in the village that Rikiar and the other men will fight for me. They will fight until either Rikiar is dead, or my father is dead. I cannot just sit there and allow that to happen. I have sat and let things happen for far too long. This time, I will do something,” Aisling vowed.
Her brave speech was interrupted by Helsa’s return. “Three rabbits and half a sack of roots,” Helsa announced. “Tonight, we eat well.” She had a smile on her face and a dash of blood on her cheek. The rabbits hung from her waist, fuzzy, limp, and glassy-eyed. She dumped them down next to the fire, along with a wicker basket full of roots pulled from the earth. The woman had managed to acquire the makings of a hearty meal in less time than it had taken for Aisling to make her feet feel better.
“Put them out,” Helsa said, crouching down in front of Aisling. Aisling giggled a little as Helsa took her left foot in her hands. Her touch tickled.
“Easy,” Helsa said. She applied a liniment to the sole of Aisling’s foot, which was more than Aisling could bear. She ended up flat on her back, wriggling in the dirt and giggling at the top of her lungs. Helsa hung on with a long-suffering expression, patiently daubing the healing cream onto Aisling’s feet until she judged them to be properly treated. Then she wrapped the soft bandages around and around. Aisling started feeling better almost immediately.
“Thank you,” she said, sitting up.
“You’re welcome. Make sure you take care of your feet from here on out.” There was an abundance of kindly warning in Helsa’s tone. “I’ll check them in the morning.”
Aisling nodded and watched as Dalon slit the unfortunate animals down the belly and separated the edible parts from the bones and the fur. She used a knife with impressive alacrity; in mere minutes she had prepared all three rabbits and stuck them on a spit over the fire.
“How did you learn to be so good?”
“Practice,” Dalon said, pushing a longer strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been doing this since I could walk, near enough.”