Heir of Scars I: Parts 1-8 (54 page)

“Perhaps you are right,” he answered. “But the High Council has been dismissed. Much of the staff have gone along with them, the courtiers likewise, and not by your father’s orders, but by those of the Matriarch.”

This gave Adria more pause. She nodded.

They were silent a moment before she looked up from her bow to see him watching her hands. Then he met her gaze, and she asked uncertainly, “There has always been some darkness in him, hasn’t there? Some… madness.”

He considered, but could not seem to phrase an answer, either in the positive or the negative.

Adria said instead, “If he fails, Taber will remain unchecked. It will be a dark time for Heiland.”

“Perhaps,” he sighed. “For the People, yes, I have no doubt.”

She sighed. “Is it possible to find out his state for certain?”

He nodded slowly, considering, then switched back to Aesidhe as he answered, “
Would you be willing to leave the People in order to save them?
”

Adria blinked, speechless.

“
I did not plan to turn the question against you
, Lózha.”

She shook her head, understanding.

“I trust our agents to spy upon the city itself,” he continued again in Aeman. “But… you are the only one among us likely able to return to Windberth and to the heart of the citadel.”

“So easily?” she whispered. She pictured herself being dragged before the Matriarch, in chains, surrounded by violet-cloaked Knights and black-robed Sisters.

“It is difficult to know. It depends upon the manner of your return,” he said. “Does it matter?”

Promises made
, she thought, then smiled. “I don’t know. But… I don’t think it is time yet.”

Her voice ended on a pleading note she quickly regretted.

He smiled, neither refuting nor affirming her. The wind changed, and a gust carried smoke against them. They fanned it away from their faces, and Preinon shifted, but the wind changed again and died down, and they were left with only its heat and light.

They sat for awhile in silence, listening to the voices of the other Runners, who sat mostly closer to the fire, chatting among themselves. Mateko was watching her when she looked his way, and she blinked her eyes and looked away, telling herself it was the smoke in her eyes.

Finally she drew a long breath and resolved to make her request.

“Uncle, I would learn something from you.” She stopped polishing the bow, but kept it in her hands, kept her eyes upon it rather than him, rather than Mateko.

“Ask it.”

“You told me awhile ago to put this bow away, saying that we would speak of it later. I might have waited until you spoke, but Mateko has told me to speak with you about it. I am ready to hear you now, if you are ready to tell me.”

Adria steadied herself, either for what she knew must be some sadness, some tragedy, or else for a continuation of one of what seemed so many mysteries surrounding her life.

He has something to say to me
, Adria believed now. 
He has only been... waiting. Perhaps I have learned enough from the Aesidhe for him to share what he needs to.

“There is a legend among the People that is also a memory,” Preinon began, and Adria rested her bow on the furs before her as he continued, respecting him with her full attention for what she knew would be a story of import. “It is a memory of a tragedy, of a great Hunter who walked among us not so long ago.”

Adria had heard many such stories, and they seemed to blend one into the next, in the strange half-myth that was the history of the Aesidhe. They would sometimes speak of a long-lost relative as if they had shared a meal the day before, or a living mother might be revered as if from the legends of a distant land. There was always familiarity and always reverence. The stories of their people were their coin.

A storyteller, in fact, often received gifts from appreciative listeners. Adria had been pleased by this custom from the beginning of her time among them — spinning words as valuable as skinning elk or cooking venison. But this story did not begin with the Aesidhe at all.

“When your father returned from the War of Scars in Kelmantium, he brought the Downcast with him,” Preinon said. “The women were cast aside by the gods, but they continued to serve them in their way. In Heiland, they adopted a new god, even as the old gods were laid to rest in the War.”

Adria nodded.

“You know this,” Preinon answered.

“He brought Taber and her Sisterhood,” Adria nodded. “I did not know they were… Downcast.”

“It matters little now,” he shrugged. “She was clever. She saw what was coming. She began a new temple, which valued order and obedience above all things, and which taught that there was only one perfect, supreme god, whose name could not be spoken or even known, and who would be born as a human being to save the world from war and suffering.

“Taber named herself High Matron, the Matriarch, the messenger of this god, and she gathered those about her who would share her belief. For the women, she created, as you say, a Sisterhood, who held the knowledge passed on by this god.

“She began to reveal visions she had been given, visions of a dark fire of god which would sweep across the world in His name, visions of armies led by the One-Who-Will-Come, who would bring the final war which would divide the believers from the unfaithful.”

“I know all of this... I was taught by Taber herself, or at least by her Sisters. I learned their prayers and legends almost as an Initiate would.”

“Yes, I understand,” he said, though with his tone he was chiding her impatience. She stilled again, and he continued. “For the men who believed in her message and were most faithful, an elite military order was formed, where they would learn the skills they would need to serve in the legion of The One.

“They became the Knights of the Dark Fire, Knights of Darkfire, and as the vision and the Sisterhood spread across Heiland, your father’s new army followed. This vision was of one kingdom, one king — not only for Heiland, but for the world. One True God, and One True People. You know which people.”

“The Aeman people.” Adria nodded. “It is… why the Aesidhe are feared and hated.”

“Yes, though at first even they were invited to come to the cities, to join in the mission of Heiland.” He paused, his eyes unfocused, and Adria nodded, now understanding why he must tell the whole story.

This is mostly rhetoric for me, notions half-remembered from childhood. But this must be stark memory for him — still real, still tragic. He fought the War of Scars my father left, then fought alongside him to unite Heiland… now, even, fights against him.

She took a breath, only now realizing, fully.
He has been fighting for all of his life.

Preinon continued, “Those who did not accept their rule fell or fled. Although it was never proclaimed, it was assumed that the Matriarch and King Ebenhardt were bringing about the final war themselves — perhaps even that your father himself was The-One-Who-Will-Come. Of course, one could not openly say such a thing — only the Matriarch could know. Still, as the Aeman of Heiland were united, the belief in their dominance — their divine providence as a people — only grew.

“Across Heiland, the Sisterhood built its churches and began to school the young and usurp the law of the nobility. The Knights of Darkfire built citadels and outposts, increased recruitment, and began to gradually clear the forests, both of their trees... and their People.

“Those Aeman who had once lived in peace with the People, trading and sharing knowledge, were soon taught nothing but enmity. The Mewashemesitibopi who went to the cities were chased from them again, or destroyed. Even the children of those who married Aeman were allowed to live only in certain areas, sometimes under guard or even walled off.”

He paused and gathered his breath. What had been spoken to this point was mostly general knowledge, and might even be a story for children, though the tone and point of view were different from what she knew.

Adria harbored many questions of the past — of her own, of her father’s and Preinon’s — the past her uncle and the Aesidhe considered tragedy, and her father and Taber considered triumph.

Preinon actually smiled a little as he remembered now. “You were just old enough to talk, I remember — to speak well, I mean... sentences instead of just words. You were strangely quick to it, but then... your…”

He hesitated, his tone changed. “There were still Aesidhe in the north at the time — not many, I’ll warrant, but still... some, what remained of the great tribes who had roamed the highlands, who had long dealt with the Aeman people of the stone quarrying and the logging and the silver mining towns... and the fishing villages nestled among the lakes and rivers.”

He has thought of this for a long while,
Adria thought. He has kept this story whole, perhaps even from before his time with the Aesidhe.

“There had always been some occasional strife, of course, isolated instances... Aesidhe had suffered the occasional violence of drunken townsfolk with a petty grudge, or the bandits who knew there would be less consequence for preying on them instead of the Aeman.

“But after Windberth, after your father built the citadel and the High Temple, when the Knights and the Sisterhood began their campaigns, the situation worsened quickly in the north. Many fled south, to our forests. Many were enslaved, though Aesidhe slaves proved useless to them, and they mostly escaped or were slaughtered.

“Some of the northern tribes remained staunch, and they rallied behind Chatechushotome, Fire Heart, a great Aesidhe warrior and speaker. I heard him once…”

Preinon glanced up a moment toward the fire, and Adria realized then that all around it were quiet.
They know this name… know what story he tells. They cannot understand his words, cannot likely even hear him, and yet they are respectfully silent.

Mateko’s eyes were closed, head down, and Adria watched him for a moment as Preinon continued.

“Fire Heart believed that the Aeman people would not long suffer an unjust king, and that if the Aesidhe surrendered their land and freedom to an unjust king, then they would became a part of the injustice themselves.

“Many of the tribes of the north had always gathered at midsummer for the Sun Dance, one of the sacred rituals of our People given by the First Mother long, long ago. The place for this gathering in the north was the Lake of Empty Streams, where the water was so clear you could always see the bottom.

“Beside this lake, at the base of the cliff walls of a mountain, a lone and ancient tree stood — a great Black Tree which had survived every avalanche, every storm, and every fire that had cleared the land for miles of anything taller than a man. This was a Holy Place.

“The Sisterhood had warned the Elders of the People that this place was no longer welcome to the People. They said that the Sun Dance was a profane ceremony, and any who practiced it would be in violation of Heiland law.

“Chatechushotome ignored their sanction, and the Sun Dancers and many of their tribes made their yearly passage through the forests and up the rivers and around the Lake of Empty Streams to the Black Tree.

“There were three days of ceremonials to the Sun Dance. There were sacred dances performed by all, and special feasts at the end of each day. At night, there were sweat lodges and healing rites for the People and for the land.

“It was a celebration of the strength of the people — of the seasons of life, and of the sun. And it was a rite of passage for the Hunters. Some among them, those who believed they were ready, would not feast for the first two days.

“They would purify themselves in the sweat lodge each morning before dawn, and for the rest of the day they would dance the sacred dances, drawing strength from the sun above and the earth below. At night, they would not sleep, but pray and sing in a circle about the tree.

“On the third day of the ceremonials, those Hunters who were so guided by their ancestors would take part in the final ceremonial of the Sun Dance.”

Preinon hesitated a moment. “Each of them would take two long lengths of cured gut, and tie each to the tree on one end, and to a pair of eagle claws on the other. During the height of the dancing, the Hunters pierced their breast with each claw, threading it under their skin and muscle and then out again.

“They would dance like this, unclothed, attached by their very flesh to the Black Tree, with their full weight upon these cords, but they would not feel pain.

“Their ancestors protected them — all those who had known great pain, who in ancient times had themselves been hung from the trees by the first Somanan armies who had invaded their lands.”

Preinon stopped for a moment to gauge her reaction.

Adria had already seen enough of the Aesidhe rituals to understand the intensity of their experiences. She had sung among them within the sweat lodge, prayed for healing for a badly wounded boy, and had become a woman under Shísha’s guidance. She had more than once seen Aesidhe Hunters with scars from wounds which might have killed another person.

Nevertheless, she was a little shocked by the image of Sun Dancers Preinon had painted for her. She glanced around the fire circle quickly to see everyone still silent, heads bowed or eyes looking deeply into the fire or the stars.

“Why do you tell me of this?” she asked.

“I think you can see why, Lózha,” Preinon answered. “This was when the Knights of Darkfire truly began their war on the People.”

Adria nodded and swallowed stiffly, looking back to her uncle.

He continued, “Taber and the king knew that Fire Heart had convinced many of the northern tribes to hold the rite, and that he would be among them. She knew also that weapons were forbidden at the Sun Dance. Because their ancestors protected the Sun Dancers, they bound and buried their weapons in the earth near the site.

“
The true Hunter lives by his will, not by his weapon
,” he said in Aesidhe. “Even those who did not take part in the final rite followed this tradition.”