Chapter Fourteen

Once, Thera dreamt she awakened in the dark. She murmured Nan’s name and rolled her head. Night wind redolent of wild mint blew onto her heated face. She imagined quicksilver eyes watching her from the tree’s opening.

“Farnash,” Thera whispered. His glistening teeth shone. Then, either she simply closed her eyes, or the darkness was forced upon her again.

It seemed to Thera that she awoke weeping several times. Each time the Elanraigh and the old hemlock drove her back into the darkness.

Finally she was freed from sleep. She became aware of the weight of her arms spread out upon the carpet of needles, her fingers curled over her palms like fronds of baby fern. Her shoulders burned from long immobility. She licked her lips. Her mouth was very dry.

Outside the tree cave was the riotous bird song of early morning, and a brisk, soughing wind tossed the evergreen boughs in the forest beyond.

Thera moaned out loud, trying to sort dream from reality. She was here, and she was alone. “You could have stopped her,” Thera accused bitterly. “Nan was weak and tired. You stopped me readily enough.”

The Elanraigh offered no explanations. It waited, silent, at the edge of her consciousness.

Thera was surprised that she could close out the Elanraigh voice by her own will, but she had never before been angry at the Elanraigh. It was a bitter satisfaction; cutting off the Elanraigh was like losing a part of herself.

Thera could now easily crawl through the opening of the tree cave. She found a trickle of water that fed the hemlock’s roots and bent to moisten her lips. The water tasted of green fern and moss, greatly satisfying her thirst. Slowly, painfully, she stood erect, her eyes squinting in even this soft, ambient light.

Thera refused to allow her thoughts to alight yet on the thing she must do.

She moved several lengths away from her tree den to relieve her bladder. Methodically she brushed at her clothing. She became aware that tears were tracking along her cheeks and she brushed those away also. Kneeling, she unbraided her hair, ran her fingers through it to remove leaves and debris, then rebraided it. The familiar motions were comforting to her.

After all the small rituals of personal grooming were attended to, Thera faced seaward. No sound of waves. The tide must be in.

How much time has passed, she wondered. It is obviously now just past dawn. Clenching cold anger like a warding amulet, she sent terse words to the Elanraigh. “Do not attempt to stop me this time,” and began the walk back to the coast trail.

She paused at the fringe of shore pines, listening for any sound. Thera lightly touched the forest mind. The Elanraigh was emanating anxiety, but Thera perceived it to be concern for her peace of mind rather than fear for her physical safety.

In spite of her present mood, the Elanraigh risked the sending of a small air elemental, which skittered about her, bursting in its zealous duty.

She absently noted the air elemental and remembered that legend told of the Elanraigh having an ability to influence the winds. She remembered that Teacher had said, however, that elementals of wind and air were flighty and temperamental, and when asked for a gentle breeze, were just as likely to produce a considerable storm.

Thera moved out into the open, paused, and then continued on to the rocky ledge. There was no sign of the others. The small breeze attempted to buffet her back from the cliff edge. She moved back, but only because she intended to descend the cliff path.

She soon found Jon and Innic. They lay piled one upon the other like broken jackstraws. Thera felt her body shaking. She clenched her teeth, swallowing hard against the grief that rose like bile in her throat, and sank to her knees beside them. They lay on the rocks where she had last seen them at the narrowing of the trail. Jon’s body was on the bottom, face down. The rocks and sand below him were stained dark with blood. Jon’s arm was out-flung with the sword still clenched in hand. Probably his plain weapon had not been of interest to the Memteth who slew him.

Innic lay face up, the swordsman’s famous grimace intact. He had many wounds. He had probably weakened from loss of blood, Thera thought, and then taken his fatal blow. Innic’s sword was gone, as were his leathers. Some Memteth had carved a bloody rune on Innic’s forehead. Thera placed a shaking hand on his brow and murmured an ancient blessing. No curse of theirs could keep Innic’s soul from finding its rightful place.

Innic’s skin was cold and waxy. The eyes stared.

A cold sweat broke out on Thera’s forehead and her stomach heaved sickeningly. The Elanraigh’s small breeze caressed the sweat-dampened tendrils of hair off her forehead. Past the thunder of her own blood in her ears was the far off mewling of gulls.

Scanning the area around them, Thera saw other dark patches staining rocks nearby. Her lips curled in a snarl. She observed the ground more closely and saw the swath of overturned rocks. This must be the way the Memteth had hauled their own dead or injured back to their ship.

She turned her face back to the bodies of Innic and Jon. “We will raise you a cairn here, swordsmen, and at my father’s house your names will be entered in the Scroll of Honor.”

Thera flashed a question toward the Elanraigh.

She didn’t believe a soldier’s soul was as likely to yearn toward the Elanraigh, as would that of a woodwright, hunter, or Salvai. However, it was possible Innic and Jon had chosen so.

In a strange, subdued voice, the Elanraigh replied, “Their spirits were welcome to come to us, but have chosen another place.”

So. Thera stood again. There was the Lament to be sung, but that must wait. She looked down trail. She had yet another to find.

At the foot of the trail, she stood where she was screened by tall yellow broom. Thera looked out upon the vast crescent of Shawl Bay. The Memteth ship was gone. Her hands clenched as she saw the remains of the fallen sitka—only its boughs, branches, and shavings —thrown into a heaping pile. Nearby were the remains of a fire. Her brow puckered. They had been ashore long enough to have a meal and some comfort, it seems.

How long did I sleep in the tree cave, she wondered again.

Thera walked onto the sand. The butchered remains of a horse lay some lengths ahead. Thera sighed shakily, it was not Mulberry, it was Jon’s mount. Sand fleas covered the decapitated head and the poor beast’s gelid eye gazed skyward. Large bones lay cracked in the remains of the fire.

Past the pile of sitka branches Thera glimpsed a flicker of white blown by the wind. She began to walk toward it, stumbled, then ran. Her foot slipped on a sandy rock. Quickly outreaching her arm, she slid to the other side of the sitka’s branches.

Nan’s garment. It’s Nan! Her white petticoats spread like the wings of a fallen gull. Thera fought for breath as the nausea and horror threatened to overwhelm her. She moaned deep in her throat.

“Ahh. Nanny...” Sobbing a litany of old nursery endearments, Thera dropped to Nan’s side.

Her fingers gently touched Nan’s pale limbs all mottled with bruises. She straightened Nan’s splayed body and tidied the white dress about her. Nan’s face was grimy as if she had fallen in the dirt, though a cleaner tear track ran from the corner of each eye to her tangled hair.

Thera pressed her face to Nan’s cold flesh, the tears she had thought to forbid until all was done, poured down her face. She wept, in gut-wrenching sobs as she had not done since she was a very little girl, and her fingers tightly clenched the folds of Nan’s dress.

Finally she lay still, hiccupping and empty.

“She is not here, Thera. She is with her soldier now,” sent the Elanraigh, its inhuman voice resonating with sorrow.

“They could have had a life together!” Thera straightened and moistened a corner of her tunic on her tongue to wipe gently at the grime on Nan’s face.

Thera sat back on her heels. The corners of her lips jerked downward as she gazed at Nan’s face.

Her expression smoothed and hardened as she tilted her head to the sky. “How long did I sleep?” She demanded of the Elanraigh.

Silence.

“How long, if you please,” Thera repeated.

“Two days.”

With fluid swiftness Thera rose and strode to the fire pit. She bent to feel the rocks surrounding it and frowned. “The rocks are cold.”

“How long have the Memteth been gone in their ship?” She demanded.

A silence again, before the Elanraigh finally responded, “They sailed on the evening ebb tide yesterday.”

“Thera, what do you think to do?” It was Teacher’s voice.

“Teacher,” murmured Thera with a small curl of lips, unlike her usual smile. “You are here? Were you here, then?” Thera gestured to Nan’s still form.

Teacher’s voice was mournful. “There was nothing we could do for her, Thera. Nothing you could have done, except share her pain. Her spirit was not there, at the end, my child. She had already left. You must continue on to Elankeep. We will see you there safely; we will not be caught by surprise again.”

“I have a thing to do first,” stated Thera, and closed her mind to their dismayed murmurings. She remembered Chamakin had spoken of “calling.” Thera had no idea if the ability to call was part of her gift, but with mind-voice Thera projected a request for the sea hawk to come, to join with her again.

“Thera! “Alarm rang in Teacher’s mind-voice, but Thera already heard her hawk’s response, and felt a sense of feral joy as the sea hawk recognized her, followed by a faint but eager query.

Thera formed a picture of herself standing on the wide white crescent of Shawl Bay with the sun in morning position over her left shoulder. She detailed the image in her mind as clearly as she could.

The sleek raptor sent recognition, and a sense of fervid acquiescence. Thera smiled. The young bird could not verbalize like Farnash, but the sensations and images she sent Thera could understand very well.

Thera returned to Nan’s side, and ignoring the queries of Teacher and the Elanraigh, composed herself to sing the Lament.