by S E Turner
'Water!'
Lyall scrambled for a cup of warm liquid and threw out his instructions. 'Skyrah, go and get Meric and Chay, he's awake.'
'Is he all right, Lyall? Please tell me that he's all right!' She grabbed his arm.
'He looks fine to me, but we need Meric right now.'
Laith was bent low as he staggered over and fell at Namir's side. 'My son, my son.' He clasped his hand in his own.
Lyall held Namir's head up to the vessel and gently let him take the life-giving nectar.
'What happened to me, Lyall? How long have I been here? '
'You have been here for weeks, escaping death, dear brother. You have suffered a terrible injury.'
Namir winced as he tried to sit up. 'To my stomach, I'd say.'
'Yes. We have all been praying for you. Meric and Chay have been looking after you with their expertise and potions. Skyrah and Laith have kept a vigil.'
Namir smiled at his father and squeezed his hand. Lyall had difficulty in deciding who was the frailer.
'And you have been taking care of everyone else, I am guessing.'
'Yes, it seems that the tables have turned, doesn't it, from when I was the injured lad laying here and you were the one looking after everyone.'
Namir had to stifle his amusement as the action pulled on his stomach.
'Careful, Namir. Don't try anything until Meric has seen you.'
'What, I can't even laugh?'
'You can't even sniff, brother.'
They shared a smile before Skyrah burst into the hut with Meric and Chay. Lyall squeezed his hand and moved out of the way to make room for them all. Meric gently washed Namir's face with warm spring water and checked his eyes. He then looked inside his mouth before listening to his heart. 'Everything is as it should be, Namir. I am now going to take the dressing off. Stay calm and just relax.' Namir lay very still as everyone watched the physician slowly removing the first layer of ground leaves and mashed bark. He then started to painstakingly peel away the dried tar. With slow and careful movements, the edges of the black scab were lifted away to expose fresh new skin peeping out from beneath like a vulnerable pink newborn. He finally got to the centre and lifted the last piece away to reveal a perfectly clean wound. Chay then placed the pulp of fermented maple leaves and pure white birchwood on his skin to aid the healing. Lyall remembered having the very same cooling mesh on his own torn body.
By now it was dusk, and Zoraster came to collect Laith. Lyall went to help his father from his coiled position and steadied him as he stood up.
'I can never repay you, all of you, for saving my son's life,' Laith's voice was gravelly.
'The gods have been kind,' sighed Zoraster. 'Blessings and peace of mind to all.'
'I will see you in the morning, Father,' assured Namir. 'Rest well tonight.'
'I will, my son.' He turned to hug Lyall. 'My brave boy, thank you.'
Lyall hugged him back and gave his arm to Zoraster. 'Take care of him for me.'
'I always have, and always will,' came the humble reply.
Namir managed to smile loosely at the two old men as they left the hut, but the muscles in his jaw ached. Skyrah tilted his head up slightly and held the cup to his lips. 'Here, my love, sip this. It will make you strong again.' He tried as best he could but then sank back again.
'You are strong… with the heart of a leopard,' applauded Meric .
'I am that, I know, and I thank you for saving me Meric. And I have so much to live for; especially alongside my courageous, strong, loyal brother.'
Lyall flashed a thin smile in his direction as Namir continued.
'My comrades, my father. Where I live, my animal totem that gave me strength. There is so much to be thankful for.'
Skyrah was cradling his hand.
'But this lady here—my beautiful Skyrah—she is my life and I owe her so much.'
Tears were rolling down her cheeks now.
'I love her. I have always loved her, and I know I can not live without her. I should have asked her a long time ago, but now is as good a time as ever.'
She kissed his hand.
'Well?' asked Namir.
'I think that is a marriage proposal,' said her mother, beside herself with joy.
'Really?' she said as tears ran down her cheeks.
'Yes, really.' Namir wiped them away.
'Yes,' she beamed. 'Yes, of course I will marry you.'
Chapter Three
It was always dark now. The great stone flanks of the mountains hid the sun for most of the day, so activity was slow in these cruel winter months. The breath of the living steamed in the biting air, and icy fingers of water trickled down the roof tops and swelled into small frozen pools that cracked and broke beneath awkward-moving feet. Dwindling piles of logs were constantly covered in snow, and even the dogs didn't venture out in these extreme blasts from the north.
The clan were eager to see the thaw again, to let the bright sun soak through their clothes and chase the chill from their bones. To release the soil for growing again, and to hear the joyous gurgle from the river, but most of all—there was a wedding on the horizon.
The fire was always warm and inviting in Namir's home, and while he lay convalescing, Lyall filled a cup of tepid nettle tea and handed it to him.
'How are you feeling today, brother?'
'I feel much revived, Lyall. I do believe the remedies that Meric and Chay constantly give me have much to do with my recovery.'
'Yes, I believe they do. Zoraster is very frail now, so we are lucky to have such equally skilled people amongst us,' agreed Lyall. 'Meric has been treating poor Bagwa every day as well; his leg has been playing up most of the winter.' He finished pouring himself a brew and sat down next to Namir. 'His range of medicines are amazing. I took Bagwa to the hut Meric shares with Chay for some healing potions, and it is very impressive in there.'
'How so?'
'Well, for a start, he has built a three-tier shelf, which circles the entire hut.'
Namir smiled.
'And then you have rows upon rows of stopped vials, and bottles containing various coloured liquids, countless jars of dried herbs, boxes of pressed flowers, bowls of every type of leaf; as well as piles of stripped bark, and rolls of parchment everywhere. It is truly amazing.'
'That must have taken some time to accumulate.' 'I think it has, brother. Both he and Chay work tirelessly to keep the stocks high.'
'I should like to see it when I am able.'
'If there's anything left. I think most of it's gone on you.'
Namir's laugh turned into a hearty cough, and Lyall gently lifted him forward to rub his back. 'Is Skyrah happy staying with Arneb? I hope she knows that it wasn't my decision that she should go. '
'Of course, she knows,' said Lyall, still rubbing Namir's back. 'Kal suggested that she go and live there, as Arneb’s father died in the battle and her mother just recently passed away. She is on her own now, so it makes sense for her to have some company.'
'My thoughts are with Arneb,' said Namir sympathetically. 'How tragic to lose both parents within weeks of each other.'
'Whenever we celebrate our own good fortune, it seems it is always tinged with sadness from someone else's pain,' lamented Lyall.
Namir bobbed his head in agreement. 'I can see that both women need each other right now, but it seems strange that Skyrah will be confiding in another woman and not me.'
'You will have time enough for that; and mark my words, one day you will be glad of Arneb's friendship.' Lyall rolled his eyes as he conjured up the image. 'Since Tali married Norg, she hasn't been able to spend as much time with Skyrah, so right now it's good for Skyrah to have a female confident and close friend. You know how the clan women are; chatting about everything, giggling about nothing, and then there's the deciding what Skyrah should wear on the big day. That's a lot of talking that we don't know anything about.'
'Yes, you are right,' Namir smiled. 'I sometimes wish that things didn't
have to change. There's something so refreshing about the innocence of childhood, and I wish that we could stay just as it was back then.'
Lyall supped into his mug and agreed by way of a low 'hmmm' from the back of his throat. He hadn't told anyone yet about his decision to leave in the spring. The clan were all too raw, and most were still recovering from the battle. It needed to be the right time to share his news. These emotions stirred familiar feelings, when, not that long ago, Laith had revealed his true parentage amid claims that the time was never right. He was beginning to understand more than ever the need for such revelations to be timed just right. But more often than not, the time can never be right.
'I haven't seen father for a while,' said Namir after the pause. 'Is he all right?'
'He is fine, brother. The ground is unsteady for him and the air is too cold, so he sits by the fire covered in layers of fur wraps. You can be rest assured he is well looked after by everyone.'
But Lyall didn't want to burden Namir with the truth. In fact, the past two years had taken its toll on Laith. Finding out about the death of his brother and the woman he loved had drained him beyond recognition. Then losing his sons and youngest clan members to the Emperor for nine months—not knowing if they were alive or dead—had aged him further. And now, with every last drop of strength and courage, he had willed the life back into Namir.
It was as if he had made a pact with the gods to take his life in exchange for the life of his son. And beside him throughout it all was Zoraster: his aide, his companion, his closest friend. And everyone knew, that come the awful day when one went, the other would follow soon after.
Chapter Four
The low rise of the huts, weighed down in snow, made them look like a field of squat toadstools wearing fringed hats of icicles that nearly touched the ground. From above, they would have blended in with the white landscape. From below, they were as wide apart as they could be. Laith's dwelling sat high on the mound, Namir and Lyall's was just below that, and Skyrah and Arneb's quarters were nearer to the stream.
The Blacksmith’s was a quaint affair. It only served a small community, and mostly it was responsible for forging steel utensils for eating and cooking. Additionally, it made iron spear heads and arrow heads for weapons. Though more recently, the blacksmith made iron shoes for the horses and repaired the armoury. Outside the hut was the evidence of the profession: a wood and charcoal pit, a pair of wooden bellows, a small anvil, iron tongs, and a range of smaller tools to practise the craft. Inside, two women were settling down for the evening .
Arneb was preparing the evening meal when Skyrah walked in. She looked up to her friend and smiled. 'How is Namir today?'
'He is much better, thank you.' Skyrah shrugged out of her big winter coat and threw a smaller wrap around her shoulders and warmed herself by the fire. 'I took him for a little stroll around the camp earlier. He hasn't seen his comrades for many months now, so it was nice for him to get out and see them.'
'Yes, the only way to get stronger is to keep moving, especially in this weather.' Arneb handed Skyrah a bowl of chicken stew with diced vegetables and a wedge of bread.
'Clebe and Ellise were entertaining Ronu and Enelle this afternoon, so we shared a brew and a plate of oatmeal cakes.'
'Oh, they are lovely people. Clebe is always bringing one horse or another to be shod.'
Skyrah looked up from her stew, wiped the gravy from her chin with the back of her hand, and raised a smile. 'Those two and their horses. It was the gods will that they were able to find sisters of the same age to marry.'
The two women laughed.
'Did you get to see Norg? I know he has been a bit low with his injury.'
'Yes, we did. He is much better and so much more positive about everything. He says he is still good with a bow and arrow, and that one eye is better than no eyes. Tali takes good care of him, though, and it was great to catch up with her. '
'Here, have another spoonful of stew.' Arneb held out the ladle.
Skyrah gulped down the last piece of chicken and held out the empty plate.
'And dare I ask about Laith?'
Skyrah sponged the remains of the gravy with her bread and sat the plate down. 'It's grim, very grim. We could only spend a little while there. Laith is so weak. He has aged so much with everything that has gone on.' She sniffed away a runny nose. 'Zoraster is just as frail, but my mother and Meric go to see them every day and do what they can.'
'Maybe the warmer weather will bring better news.'
'I hope so, I really hope so. Namir really wants his father there at our wedding, and we are praying to the gods, but he seems to get frailer by the day.' Her nose was still watering, so she cleared it away with edge of her finger. 'And Laith has already given Namir his sword as a wedding gift.'
'Really?' Arneb tilted her head.
'Yes, Leopardsbane has a special meaning for both of them. It was Laith's as a young man, and Namir found it for him in the castle.'
'What about Lyall?'
'He has King Canagan's sword—Wolfsbane—and he polishes it every day while he chats to Namir.' The thought of that brought a smile to Skyrah's face. 'It's good that Namir and Lyall can spend these last few months together. Come the spring and after the wedding, Lyall will be on his own.' She threw Arneb a wry smile and raised an eyebrow. 'He is such a good man and will need a wife soon.'
But Arneb didn't rise to the suggestion. Her thoughts had turned to a time long ago when her parents had high hopes for her.
'You are so special, Arneb,' began her mother. 'That's what your name means—special hare.'
'Does it really?' she asked.
'Yes, Laith told us that, and he knows everything.'
'And I know that you will make a fine wife and mother,' heralded her father, Jonha.
'She will marry a prince, Jonha, not just any ordinary man, for our little hare, she is much too grand for that.'
'Indeed, wife, one day a fine young prince will come riding through our camp. His horse will need shoeing, his spear will need lancing, and his armoury will need fixing.'
'And he will see our Arneb and fall in love with our little hare and carry her off to his castle where she will be queen.'
How they had laughed when her parents had pretended to be her servants and placed a makeshift crown on her head and a yard of muslin around her shoulders.
The smile faded from her face instantly because everything changed when the boys were kidnapped. The whole camp was in perpetual mourning with a dark, bruised cloud hanging over them daily. Then her mother got ill. She and father did their best to look after her—indeed all those left behind played a part in her recovery. Zoraster chanted, Chay came daily with remedies, and mother did seem to be getting better, especially when the boys returned safely and the whole camp was suddenly lifted. But then there was the battle. Her father shouldn't have gone. He didn't have it in him to fight. But as most of the other men had signed up, he felt it was his duty. Both women tried to stop him, but neither of them could.
'It's my duty, dear wife,' he had said. 'I cannot be the only man in this community to stand back and watch the others go to battle.'
'But Laith isn't fighting, Zoraster isn't fighting, and Meric isn't fighting,' pleaded his wife.
'Yes, Father,' Arneb remembered saying. 'They are not fighting because they have important roles here, as do you. What you do here is a vital part of the community.'
'You have forgotten that they are much older than me. I am still a young man. Now, please, I have made up my mind. It is important for me to show allegiance. I do not want to discuss it further.'
And that was that. They didn't discuss it anymore. It was the last conversation they had. Her poor mother never really recovered from her father’s death and passed away in her grief, and with it went all their hopes and dreams for Arneb’s future. Everything of her past was put away into wooden boxes and stored safely under the bed. Kal had asked her to come and live with them. 'Please, Arneb. You ca
nnot be on your own, come with us. Myself and Orla will take care of you.'
But she had declined, for no other reason than she wanted to continue her father's business. She had a new role now, and with that came tough hardy clothes, a long leather apron and an assortment of tools. She had a place in the community. They all needed her. Every one of them came to the blacksmith.
Coming back to the present, Arneb choked back the tightness in her throat and changed it into a laugh. 'He wouldn't want me. I am a blacksmith. He wants someone of high standing to sit alongside him in the castle, to be his queen, and host gatherings and feasts and everything that goes with royalty.'
'No, that isn't so. He isn't like that.'
Arneb now threw the wry smile and raised an eyebrow.
Skyrah's face was suddenly ashen. 'Do you think he will return to Castle Dru then?'
'Well, I don't know for sure, but he may do.'
'It will break Namir's heart if he leaves.' But then she remembered something, she remembered a time long ago when the three of them were talking in the fields. When they were still children. Before the General had changed everything.
'You will make a fine leader, Namir,' said Lyall.
'I hope so, my father has guided me and chosen a strong totem. I know it is my destiny.'
'And you will make a fine king, Lyall,' purred Skyrah. 'That is your destiny.'
'I hope so. I hope that one day I will reclaim my throne.'
'Of course, you will and we will govern the lands between us,' cheered Namir .
'He has always wanted to return,' announced Skyrah.
'We don't know that for certain.' Arneb drew a sad face.
'No, you are right. It's in his blood. When Namir is leader here, Lyall will return. I know he will.'