Chapter Seventeen

“Thera. Thera, wake up!”

Thera groaned and licked dry lips. “Unn.” Teacher’s voice was in her head. Head hurts.

“She’s slept too long, we must wake her!” Teacher’s voice was anxious.

“Did you not teach her the Bear’s Sleep?” rumbled the Elanraigh.

“No. How could I? I hadn’t time; she had just done the first joining. I kept telling you she was too young for all this. Look at her now, poor child. Help me to wake her.”

“We must teach her the Bear’s Sleep,” replied the Elanraigh.

* * * *

Between them, the Elanraigh entities prodded her awake.

Thera’s eyes felt swollen. She opened them just enough to see as she crawled from the tree cave and lay belly-down by the rivulet. Its sweet water was balm to her dry mouth and throat. With a small groan of relief she laid her face on the cool moss.

Thera returned to her tree cave and slept.

A wolf howling or perhaps she dreamt it. Perhaps it had howled a long time ago, and she just now remembered it. Thera slitted her eyes open. Her head felt clearer. Dappled light fell across the tree cave’s floor.

The air was alive with bird song. She heard bush robins, tree pipers, and waxwings, all mingled with the harsher counterpoint of crows and jays.

Thera came rigidly alert, a chill wave of alarm washing over her. She also recognized the distinct sound of booted footsteps and the creak of leather gear very near her tree.

Remaining absolutely still, her heart pounded as she reasoned, Surely no Memteth could penetrate the Elanraigh, certainly not without her receiving a warning. She sent a quick question to the Elanraigh and received no sense of alarm or an answer.

Thera crept cautiously from her cave and found herself facing the boiled-leather shin greaves of a soldier. Her startled upward glance quickly took in the green-brown dappled cloak with hood, worn over a layered leather breastplate and green kilt. The dappled cloak should have identified the person as a forester, except this person was heavily armed with sword and dagger, as well as bow. There were others, dressed as the first, and they came swiftly toward her.

A suntanned hand was extended down to assist her.

“My thanks,” Thera murmured. The soldier’s grip was warm and dry. With the swift movement to her feet, her vision suddenly darkened and dazzling sparks swam before her eyes.

She must have wavered or looked stricken, for there was a sudden furor of voices and she felt herself carried swiftly to where her hemlock’s rivulet joined a tiny creek. She was lowered to the ground and someone splashed her face and wrists with cold water.

Thera felt humiliated by her unexpected weakness and struggled to steady her vision. Though still blurry eyed, she could make out the several figures standing about her. Their postures and voices indicated concern for her well-being. Their accents, though different than hers, were of the coast. If these soldiers were not known to her, they were at least not hostile. Thera became aware she was supported against a soldier’s knee propped behind her back.

She straightened.

“Lady, are you injured?”

Thera could finally focus her sight and she examined the soldier’s features. A woman’s visage—tanned, scarred, and rough as bark. The eyes that returned her regard so steadily were the color of coppers.

“No.” Thera croaked, though she felt a feverish sort of sweat break out over her clammy skin.

The soldier nodded to one of her company and she was handed a water skin. “Drink. Not too much.”

The soldier made as if to hold the spout for her, but Thera took it, though her fingers shook, and drank gratefully.

She handed the water skin back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I thank you.”

Thera rose to her feet, this time with no ill effect. The company about her came to a loose attention. Their leader was a head taller than Thera, and Thera was tall for a woman of Allenholme. The soldier pushed back the hood of her cape, revealing grey-brown hair pulled back to a single thick braid. She wore a headband; its silver disk badge proclaimed her a Sirra, Master at Arms. Embossed on the badge was a cedar tree emblem. The workmanship was very fine.

“Lady, I am Sirra Alaine of Elankeep, and these others are of my command. We serve the Salvai.”

“Sirra,” Thera’s nod included the company. “I am Thera ep Chadwyn Ned’ArNarone.” Very little change of expression showed on Sirra Alaine’s face, but Thera read relief. “My party was on route to Elankeep, when we were set upon by Memteth. I…I alone survive.”

“We found your party, Lady Thera,” the Sirra’s lips compressed and a scar at the corner of her mouth paled, “and built a cairn above their remains.”

Thera dropped all formality, and clasped the Sirra’s rough hand in both of hers. “Blessings on you! I thank you all.” Her voice shook with emotion. Tears threatened to spill over and Thera felt ashamed to seem so weak in front of these soldier women. She withdrew her hands and wrapped her arms about herself, rocking slightly. With effort, she firmed her voice, “I was not able to build a cairn, and I thought I would have to give them to the fire. However, after I returned from the joining I was weary and sick. I don’t know how long I have lain here in the Elanraigh’s care. I have lost all account of the days.”

“‘Joining,’ Lady?”

“Yes.” Thera suddenly felt the time was right to reveal her gift. “It is my gift from the Elanraigh. The joining. You see, first I joined with the sea hawk, to pursue the Memteth who killed Nan, Innic and Jon, but the hawk was wounded by an arrow.” Thera paced a bit. “It was my fault she was wounded. When I saw the Memteth leader with Innic’s tobacco pouch on his belt, this terrible rage came over me.” Thera suddenly became aware she must seem to be gabbling. She felt her cheeks flame.

A sturdy woman at the Sirra’s shoulder, murmured something to her companion. The Sirra flicked her a quelling glance.

Thera saw the sturdy soldier appraise her. Her cheeks warmed under that scrutiny. She squared her shoulders and stopped pacing to face the Sirra. “I left the hawk on Dog Leg Island, where she could rest and mend, and set out again in disembodied form, like the wind,” she added, wondering if they understood her at all. “Of course I couldn’t have done it without the help of Sussara, a wind sprite, and the tree elemental. They saved my life more than once.” She clenched and moved her hand demonstratively, “We made a wave, the three of us, and sank the Memteth ship.” The clenched hand smacked her other palm.

The Elankeep troop shifted, and some exclamations were uttered, which the Sirra hushed with a wave of hand.

Thera continued. “I left my body lying on the beach, and when I returned to it, well, I think I suffered from heat stroke as well as the usual weariness I seem to experience after a joining. I don’t know how long I lay ill.”

Thera’s voice dwindled as she took in the varying expressions around her. Then she blinked. Though the Sirra’s face was as stolid as stone, Thera read a fierce exultation barely held in check.

“You speak the truth,” declared the Sirra. The sturdy soldier on the Sirra’s right eyed Thera in surprise.

Thera knit her brows at the tone of the Sirra’s assertion, “Do you have the gift of reading hearts then, Sirra Alaine?

“No, Lady, my gift is small compared to the gift of reading hearts, but from the day I swore to the Elanraigh that I would serve its Salvai, I have been able to feel truth when it is spoken.”

“That is a great gift, Sirra,” said Thera, regarding her in some surprise.

The corner of the Sirra’s mouth tipped upward. “Aye. Blessings be.”

The soldier to the Sirra’s right side grinned openly. She and the Sirra exchanged a speaking look.

“Lady, I suggest we make a night camp here and proceed at dawn to Elankeep.”

The Sirra hung on her heel apparently waiting for some sign from her. Thera nodded agreement. Sirra Alaine swung her gaze around the gathered troop, who, Thera now saw, were all women, quickly dispersing to duties.

The Sirra walked Thera back toward the more level ground at the hemlock tree. She gestured toward the sturdy soldier at her side, “Lady, this is First Sword, Alba NedArywn.” The swordswoman saluted Thera, hand to brow. Alba was a younger, shorter version of Sirra Alaine.

“We will have a fire, Elanraigh permitting, and some food…” the Sirra paused to appraise Thera’s appearance, “…you have the look, my Lady, of one who has marched overlong on short rations.”

Thera allowed them to cosset her. She leaned back against the hemlock, with a warm blanket between her buttocks and the damp ground, the ends wrapped over her legs. The Sirra’s troop had a camp quickly in order, with a small boulder-ringed fire pit dug, and a crock of stew with dumplings bubbling over the cheery flames. Someone handed her a steaming mug of herbal brew. Thera inhaled its fragrance with pleasure. The moist steam soothed her sunburned skin as much as its taste pleased her. The women spoke softly to each other. Their voices were homey and pleasing to her. Duties done, they came to gather about the fire. The sky had darkened to deep violet. Stars flickered between the waving branches of the evergreen trees. Nocturnal insects creaked in the bushes. The Elanraigh itself purred contentedly along her nerves.

Someone awakened her. “Lady, you should eat.”

Her stomach growled in true feral greed and she reached for the cup. She paused, aghast at the lapse in her manners, “I thank you!” said Thera, spoon poised before her lips.

“Indeed!” laughed the young woman who handed her the bowl. Her laughter was rich and warm, making Thera feel as if a friendly arm had been thrown over her shoulder. “You will find no dainty appetites, or formal manners, in this group, Lady. Blessings on you!”

Sirra Alaine hunkered down beside Thera. She was already mopping up gravy from her bowl with a heel of bread.

“I would hear your story from beginning to end, Lady, if you will tell me.”

Thera glanced round the faces, firelight reflected in their eyes and a hush came over them as they waited.

“Yes, Lady,” prompted the young woman who had given her dinner. “What weapons do the Memteth use?”

“I would know what it is like to fly as a hawk,” said another wistfully.

“I wish to hear if it’s true that Allenholme has made peace with the Ttamarini,” came the Sirra’s prosaic voice, “and whether they be all legend has them. So, let the Lady speak.”

Thera placed her empty bowl beside her and rested chin on bent knees. She decided to begin with the first joining in her mother’s garden…

* * * *

The moon had climbed far past the topmost branches before all but the watch took to their bedrolls.