Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (4 page)

“I am… from Highreach,” she managed. It was the only place she could think of at the moment that wasn’t the truth.

“You lie,” the voice responded without anger.
Closer, now
…
just a little to the left.
“Your voice is not from Highreach, and neither are you. You’re from further north. Have you never noticed the difference in Aeman speech, even three villages away?”

He translated some of their exchange again, and there was a little more laughter. They now certainly felt little need to keep from revealing themselves. They had stopped moving, and now Adria knew she was completely surrounded.
Six or seven
.

But the man’s voice… He spoke the last phrases rather easily. Aeman was his first tongue, Adria could now tell, though the other came just as easily to his lips, and was more often used. She had a strange feeling in her stomach, a memory of sorts, stirring.

“I don’t… travel often,” she admitted simply. She knew both Eastern Aeman and Western — the Heiland tongue — and was fully fluent in Somanan, even reasonably versed in Kelmantian. She knew several Heiland accents from various places. Had her wits been about her, she might have changed her voice, or at least thought of a better lie.

They cannot learn who I am…

The man laughed this time before translating for the others, and they followed suit.

“Are you mad, girl, or do you have a wit?” The voice said, now with a more gentle mirth. “Often or no, you have traveled very far this day, it is plain to see, and for many days before. You are high blooded, and from the capital, or near there, but have not spent much time in a town since. The state of your poorly-fitting clothes, the hunger and thirst in your voice…. yes, you are lost, girl, but… with a purpose.”

His body and his voice stopped as he reached a thick copse of trees four or five yards distant. She had never imagined a forest could be so thick with growth. Still she could not see him, but at least she knew where he was. She was still frightened, still angry, but she was emboldened.

“I could hit you with an arrow from here,” she said, and straightened her shoulders.

He laughed, translated for the others, and laughed some more along with them. She was beginning to think
them
all mad.

“I don’t doubt it, were your bow already strung,” He chuckled. “Now, to string it
and
shoot me, before my brothers’ and sisters’ arrows meet each other at the center of your heart… now that
would
be a rare feat.”

“Brothers and sisters?” she sighed. “Sir, you have a very large family.”

He laughed again, translated at length — this one apparently required some explanation before the others understood. As he spoke this time, strangely, her memory from before returned, images of dragons and stolen children, and she realized why she had felt like such a child herself, and how she would now save herself.

No,
she corrected.
How I will
be
saved
.

“…and siblings who are not of your father’s tongue, no less,” she added, turning his own trick upon him.

“Ah, so there
is
wit… and what of the madness?”

“My head is clear enough to remember a voice from my childhood,” she smiled, though it was unlikely he could see her expression.

Silence, and then the figure came into the open. He had grown a beard, and wore only furs and leathers. His face was painted a whiter shade. But he had the same eyes, and the same strength.

“How is this possible?” And now
his
voice shook a little. He said something to the others, and shook his head in amazement, and took a few more steps towards her.

Adria turned a little to face him directly. She smiled, and slowly hunched down to deliberately take up her dagger with her weak hand, and with a wrong grip, so they knew she was not threatening them. She sheathed it, and stepped forward around the arrows.

His head was still shaking. “Adria…?”

She frowned. “You would tell them who I am, Uncle…?”

“You are not who they thought you to be…” He laughed once. “But… nearly as strange. I cannot hide who you are… They can see it on my face.”

“Then you’ve put me in danger,” she nodded, but without anger.

Preinon reached out, slowly, and took her chin, and raised her face to the light, his head seemingly unable to stop shaking.

“Princess, you have put yourself in danger.” With his other hand, he smoothed the matted hair on her head. “You carried it with you when you left, and you have brought it to us.”

She hadn’t really thought of this. She was tired, hungry, cold, and filthy — and despite herself, she missed her home, her father, her brother. But she could think of nothing to say as he embraced her.

“And a welcome danger you are, Adria.” He held her out at arms’ length to look at her again, and smiled at last. “Lost with a purpose. Yes… there is no doubt of this now. No doubt...”

Adria nodded, and remembered her father’s final words to her, which her uncle now almost echoed.

It has all been decided.

A Hunter's Promise

T
he Runners broke the end camp at dawn and began a long day’s march to the Aesidhe camp where the
Sh
í
me Okshowaniya tribe had settled for the winter.
Though they knew that in time — perhaps a year or two, perhaps less — the tribe
would be forced to move further into what remained of the Wild, for now most of the Runners thought of it
as home, Adria among them.

Except for a few of the best scouts on the perimeter, the Runners moved slowly, hindered by heavy packs laden with food and supplies — some dragging larger loads behind them on long sleds of wood, gut, and hide which were often dismantled and carried through areas of the thickest growth and across the growing rivers.

A few Runners kept their hands free, scouting ahead or covering their passage behind — a task made more difficult by the melting of snow into mud. Much of it would freeze again that night, but they could not be too careful.

These camps closest to the border held the most refugees, and so were the most vulnerable. The Knights, if they abandoned their horses, might reach one of these in two or three days, should they find a trail to follow. And though it was possible to evacuate even these larger camps, it was not easy — Mewashemesitibopi
could not move swiftly in the cold.

Soon Runner scouts exchanged signals with
Sh
í
me Okshowaniya lookouts, who took word back to the camp of their arrival — giving the children just enough time to prepare
. They seemed to have organized a song, but as the Runners broke the circle of hide tents and began to lay down their packs, the children’s singing fell apart into shouts of joy and welcoming embraces. The smaller ones danced about, poking at the wrapped bundles and squealing hopefully for a favored food, or perhaps even a toy.

This part of the Runners’ duties was a welcome respite. Adria glowed with excitement for the sake of the children, and with renewed pride for her part in the raids. She had carried an extra burden of a few small toys herself, a little covertly, and now her efforts were rewarded by the faces of three young ones most dear to her, two of whom had lost their homes and all their belongings only a year or so before.

The winter showed on them. They were lean and quiet, but grew overjoyed with the trinkets she pulled from her pack, in a space which should have stored food, but which she had stolen for a small measure of simple happiness. They kissed her, one after the other, and thanked her formally, a bit shy — they were still so unused to the change from village to camp. They didn’t yet know how to stay warm in the cold.

You will learn,
she encouraged them silently.
If I learned, you will.

When she turned from them, Mateko was watching her, and made the hand signal that meant “sweet.” In Aesidhe, the word referred both to rich food, as well as to children who had been given too many rich foods.

“
They will be hardened enough in a little while,
”
she said, grimacing playfully. “
No reason to hasten it.”

“
You mean the children?
”
He laughed.
“
I meant you.
”

He winked at her, an Aeman mannerism she had taught him in a spare moment. In response, she punched him in the arm… a motion which needed no translation, and which received a satisfying groan.

The evening’s food also seemed a celebration in contrast to recent meals, since it could be taken with more care. The elders of the tribes gave thanks to the spirits, to the animals and the earth which provided the food, to the Hunters and Runners who had carried it, and even to the Aeman from whom much of it had been taken, “…
as all must share in the bounty of every season.
”

“
It is true
,”
responded many from among those gathered, heads nodding in acceptance and humility.

They were three days’ walk from any Aeman settlement, so the festivities after the meal held a little less restraint than the Runners usually observed, a little less caution and fear. Children danced and played in small groups or in pairs, but mixing freely with all the others. They took little notice of the differences between boy and girl, between younger and older, and, for the most part, even between those who had lived in villages and those who had always lived in the wild.

Adria had always marveled at this particular aspect of the Aesidhe. As a child, she had been scolded more than once for even speaking to a servant by name. And even in the towns and villages of the Aeman, mild differences of clothing, of wealth, and of belief were a cause for indignation, for alarm, or even for violence.

We are all born familiar, all born family,
the Aesidhe believed.
It is from adults who have forgotten this that we learn to fear one another.

An Aeman girl, Adria was certain, was only informed of the nature of boys and girls upon her wedding night, though they were likely to have gained some such knowledge from elder siblings or friends. For an Aesidhe child, such knowledge was given fully as soon as they had any understanding of difference. They were allowed not to be afraid of one another, or of the joys of the body and the heart.

Another world
…
and beautiful,
Adria thought with a smile as she sat upon her hide blanket watching children dance. There was a tug at her arm.

“
What is it, N
á
me?
” Adria asked the sleeve puller beside her, one of the little girls she had gifted with a small wooden doll earlier upon arrival.

The girl said nothing. Her dark hair curled at her chin, and her eyes flitted about. She smiled, but had not yet found her voice since being brought among the tribe. Still, she leaned against Adria’s leg, and tilted her head against her shoulder, and perched the doll on Adria’s head.

Adria shook her head playfully to try and topple the doll, and Náme smiled. Adria swept the girl into her lap, and combed through her hair with her fingers. Náme played for awhile, sleepily, then finally napped, without having said a word.

It is a better thanks, for an Aesidhe or for any child — the love without words
.

A few young musicians had begun to play their ísuya, flutes made from reeds or carved from wood. Others kept the rhythm with chateloya, drums of wood and hide, painted with red and black dancers or with Hunters and prey. Old songs were sung as the sun fell, and for some time after.

The Aesidhe rejoiced, but only for a time. There would be many camps like this one for the Runners in the coming weeks, with other tribes across southern Heiland. The Runners would seek many of them out, to distribute food, to give and to share — and to make plans for the summer. When winter broke, the soldiers of Heiland and the Knights of Darkfire marched. And each summer, they marched with greater zeal.

After the music ended, and after most of the children had tired from their play and food and drifted to sleep in an adult’s lap, lay huddled in a group upon the blankets near one of the fires, or had been carried off to a tent for the night, the formal council began.

Nearly all the Runners were present, the defense of the camp being respectfully left to the tribe’s own scouts. The elders and chief Hunters of the tribe all remained, as was customary, as did many younger members, particularly refugees and Mewashemesitibopi — but
no one was excluded from such a council.

Several of the Runner scouts who had been recently sent into the Aeman lands had returned. Adria was anxious to hear what they had to say, and she was not alone. Preinon had spoken with them briefly upon arriving earlier, but Adria had not yet learned what news they brought.

As with the meal before, such meetings occurred with some ritual — not the full formality of the ceremonials of the Sacred Rites, certainly, but certainly a higher etiquette than simple conversation. The eldest members of the tribe offered a prayer to begin the council, thanking the spirits of the earth and the ancestors for the night of peace and joy, and blessing any plans which would be made — the spirit of the invocations was similar, though the words varied.

A moment of silence was observed before anyone else spoke, and then the Runner scouts reported, one after another. Each announced his name and told of his journeys, and of any occurrences in the Aeman areas of Heiland or among the more distant tribes.

After each had spoken, anyone present who wished was then allowed to speak in turn, either to make comments or to ask questions. The elders were given precedence, and alternated by gender when possible, but none who wished to speak were overlooked. Each used the full formality of Aesidhe when asking a question or addressing another. No one interrupted, and no one ever argued or raised their voice in disrespect.

Adria herself was sometimes still a little clumsy with the intricacies, particularly the deference to age and gender inherent in such exchanges. It was an odd rhythm, with nearly as much silence as speech — those who wished to speak, instead of racing to do so, hesitated, looking around the circle to see if anyone else who took precedence might wish to speak first. Even in the darkest times, with the gravest news, this respectful silence was the rule.

When Adria remembered her father’s meetings of council, which she very infrequently watched from a balcony or doorway, she had seen a remarkably stark difference in behavior — shouting, swearing… even once, she recalled, the drawing of blades. She had even heard that in other lands, like Jerusca, it was not unusual for a duel to occur in a council of lords.

It was difficult to imagine such behavior here, and Adria looked about at all the children, imagining their horror if a disagreement around the fire were to be settled with violence.

You have seen too much blood already, N
á
me,
Adria thought as she watched the child sleeping upon her lap. She smoothed the girl’s hair, stifled a memory of that day, then turned her attention back to the Runner scout speaking.

The news they brought was mostly vague, and mostly without surprise. Already there was much talk of war — changes in the numbers and positions of contingents of the Knights of Darkfire, preparations against the few remaining camps and settlements of Aesidhe within reach of their forts and villages. Nothing amounting to an actual order from above had apparently been given just yet. No smoke on the horizon.

Still, it was already clear that these camps would have to be abandoned soon, and their people brought into the wild to join the inner tribes already flooded with past survivors. The fate of the many current and future refugees was discussed, and the difficulty of surviving the coming winters without sufficient room to hunt and without places for the Mewashemesitibopi
to farm and raise livestock.

“
Those who live in the villages grow large families
,” one elder pointed out, his tone factual rather than insulting. “
It is difficult to hunt and to gather food for so many. They can no longer grow their crops in rows, and they can no longer keep their animals behind fences and walls
.”

Many of the younger ones among them, especially the ones who had lived in villages in years before, desired a military solution — an organized union of the Aesidhe tribes and refugees which might take back the lands that had been lost. Some spoke even of the founding of a separate nation, of pursuing diplomatic relations with other lands who might sympathize, who might aid them against the Knights and the Sisterhood of Heiland. The Heiland Aesidhe were not the only Aesidhe left in the world, it was known — nor did all peoples outside the Aesidhe desire their destruction or submission.

But although those of the elder generations nodded in understanding, and listened with great patience, they foresaw no end to war in Heiland, no peace for their people, united or scattered. They saw in the future what they saw in the past, as each reflects the other through the watery surface of the present moment. One of the wisest among them said, without sadness or regret, “
Life is simply a long defeat
.”

And though few of the younger understood the scope of her meaning, most of the elder agreed, nodding or speaking, “
It is true.”

The elders do not show weakness, as the young among us often believe,
Adria thought, nodding herself with the elder woman’s words.
They simply accept death as the re-enfolding of life, and will not change their way of life merely to survive — for this is a worse death. That path led us to Palmill.

And again, Adria stifled a careless memory, at least for the moment.

While the scouts delivered their reports and answered any questions posed to them, the rest of the Runners, as was their tradition, said little. Preinon, as was customary for one recognized as a leader of Hunters, and who often spoke for the Runners, simply pledged that the Runners would do whatever was asked of them by the wisdom of the Aesidhe.

His words echoing Adria’s thoughts. “
We live our own lives half in retreat, and half in battle. We will always protect the People, but we are not an army. We are few, and cannot hope to stand against armies of horsemen on the open plains
.”

A young Hunter waited respectfully, then disagreed with Preinon. “
Their Hunters are useless in the forest,
Watelomoksho
. They would not even find us to slay us.
” The Aesidhe had no word for
soldier
or
warrior
— only
Hunters.

Preinon nodded a moment before answering, “
It is true. But see what we have seen when we run. Walk to the edge of the forest, and see what the Others have done. Walk to the edge of the forest, and know that the edge is closer each day. Where the Others march, they bring the plains with them, and they steal the dwindling edge of the forests and the feet of the mountains for walls and devices of war
.
They have no understanding.
”