Asena Blessed, page 3
part #2 of Altaica Series
* * *
Isaura snuggled into the fur of the Matriarch. She needed the reassurance of touch to know she was back and would not slip away.
The Matriarch huffed gently through her snout. You will not slip away, not now.
Isaura’s eyes snapped open. You can talk to me! Like her? Here? I’m safe?
Yes, Isa-cub. You will not slip away. At least not unwillingly.
Thank you. An idea occurred to Isaura; she could not shake it. The Asena’s voice was intrinsically familiar and comforting, yet it was not the voice of the woman who had spoken to her in the spirit realm. Isaura tried to curb this thought, remembering that the woman had wanted her involvement to remain secret. A wave of amusement radiated from the Matriarch.
Too late, Isaura thought with misgiving. You can see into my mind just as the Lady could.
Don’t chastise yourself, Isa-cub. She cannot keep secrets from me. Derision for the Lady exuded from her.
You don’t like her? Nothing. Why? Who is she? Nothing. Isaura’s mind rapidly turned over the events of her rescue. They worked together to save her and bring her here—why? Her instincts demanded her to be cautious. You knew the Lady had spoken to me, yet she was unaware that you knew. Aren’t you worried that she’ll read my mind here and find out? In fact, can she hear us, even now?
The Matriarch snorted. In this realm she can do little other than watch—not enter your mind. And now …
Yet you can do so in both realms … Isaura interrupted.
Very good, Isa-cub. The Matriarch’s scrutiny intensified.
So, am I the fly caught in a web of two spiders?
Spiders kill that which is caught in their web. Clearly you have been saved.
Clearly you want something from me, both of you.
Nothing.
Do I even have a choice?
The Matriarch appeared to be waiting for something.
I don’t like games. I’m grateful to be saved, but I—don’t—like—games. Isaura’s ire rose; her eyes flared blue. I won’t be used.
You are … interesting, Isa-cub. Satisfaction and wry amusement rolled from the Matriarch. There is always choice, Isa-cub—always. Sometimes we walk the trails before us, sometimes we make our own. I give you a gift. It might help you decide which trail to walk.
Immediately those blue eyes narrowed and bore into her. At once Isaura’s vision altered, becoming sharper and showing her colours outlining and surrounding the Asena and herself. She looked at the people scattered around the camp. Shades of brown and green surrounded them; occasionally she saw a flicker of red ripple across them. Auras. Isaura had no idea where that word had come from, but she knew it to be correct.
Her own aura appeared markedly different. It flashed blue, violet and red over subdued browns and greens. The same blue haloed the Asena. Worry took root within her. This is the spirit realm again, she thought. Her skin prickled. The hairs on her arms stood up. This is different. I couldn’t feel it before. The familiar lure of The Wild tugged at her to join it. No. I know you now. No. Never again. Never. Isaura remained resolute, speaking to The Wild as if it were a living entity. She felt recognition from it.
Good, Isa-cub, very good.
Gradually the tug at her spirit disappeared, to be replaced by another sensation. Goosebumps formed on her skin as a sensation akin to water flowed across it.
What? Isaura saw nothing to account for this. There was no breeze, yet the sensation persisted. The current slowed and eddied around her limbs. What’s happening? It’s attracted to me. Suspicious, Isaura asked, Why?
Your essence is different now. It cannot lure you away, though the same attraction to your power still exists. Since it cannot steal, it must come to you.
Isaura grinned widely as she began to feel more alert, stronger.
There is more, Isa-cub. Here is your gift. Pressure built up around her. Isaura’s head began to pound. It was as if something was trying to drill its way through her skull. She held her head in her hands as agonising power seared her mind.
A burst of energy flared around them, buffeting Isaura’s form before ceasing abruptly. The Lady appeared, angry. Stop! You’ll ruin …
Too late. To stop would kill her. The Matriarch, un-cowed and smug, said, You don’t want her dead, do you?
Irate, the Lady’s face distorted. The air crackled with energy as her image became a more intense shade of blue. Her lip curled with disgust. In agony, Isaura moved away and watched them warily. Immediately the Lady moulded her features into a visage filled only with concern. The pent up power surrounding them dissipated. Her voice radiated compassion and kindness as she said to Isaura, ‘Don’t fight it, child. If you want to survive, don’t fight it.’
Isaura looked at the Matriarch for help, reaching out with her mind, only to hit a wall. The pain was becoming unbearable. She had to make a choice—fight or surrender? Choose the path. Bastards. She couldn’t resist much longer. Damn it! Isaura gave up. The pressure in her head intensified. It exploded in one magnificent wave of energy that formed a torrid confluence within her.
‘Isaura?’ the Lady asked.
Isaura raised her head and shot both the Matriarch and the Lady a venomous look. I HATE BLOODY GAMES! Her words boomed through the figure of the Lady, causing her image to fracture, then reform. The Matriarch, however, remained impassive and unaffected.
‘What have you done?’ the Lady accused the Matriarch, shooting her a look filled with malice.
I levelled the playing field.
CHAPTER THREE
‘You know so little about the ritual,’ Karan said.
Umniga shrugged. ‘It was a hunch. We had little option and I could think of nothing else. It worked anyway.’
Karan scowled at her. ‘There was more at work in that ritual than you ever considered.’
She remained silent.
‘When this is done … when …’ Karan’s skin began to prickle, distracting him. ‘No. I was going to wait until the strangers are trained and taught our ways, but anything could happen. I’ll send for Nimo …’
‘I’m not talking to that bloody scribe! She’s just a chit of girl; she shouldn’t be privy to all our knowledge.’
‘Yes you will,’ he replied too quietly.
‘The Kenati have never written down their teachings. They are only for the chosen.’
Karan leaned down, so close to Umniga’s face that their noses almost touched. ‘You have no choice. If the Kenati had kept written records, you would have had better knowledge of the ritual. We are at war; your numbers are few. We cannot afford to lose our lore.’
Umniga glowered, yet said nothing, knowing he was correct.
‘Hadi and Munira have already spent time with Nimo.’
Indignant, Umniga said, ‘They had no right!’
Karan silenced her with a glare; his finger pointing inches from her face. ‘I want all the Kenati to work with her, so we can compare your stories and compile accurate records.’
‘She will tell.’
‘She will not,’ Karan replied. Scorn etched itself upon Umniga’s face. ‘She will keep it a secret or she will die. The records will be locked in the vault. I’m not asking you, old woman, I’m ordering you.’
Umniga scowled, but nodded.
Karan rubbed his arms, as if chilled. Looking about warily, he straightened and turned from her. No wind. The hair on his arms stood up. What is … ? Isaura?
* * *
Curro and the others were clustered at the outskirts of the camp’s perimeter. They avoided the gaze of the Altaicans and murmured amongst themselves.
He saw Karan race across the campsite, making directly for Isaura. Umniga trailed in his wake. Curro leapt to his feet. ‘What’s going on? Isa? C’mon, Nic.’ He moved to leave Elena’s side, but she anchored his wrist firmly.
‘No, Curro. Leave her be.’
He could see the anger and hurt in her eyes, but remained torn.
‘They’ll take good care of her. Right now I need my husband,’ she said.
Nicanor shook his head in disbelief at Elena.
Lucia took his hand, saying, ‘Pio is fine—he’s just sleeping. I’ll stay with him. Go, see if you can help Isa.’
‘I’ll come too,’ Gabriela added quickly.
Curro looked at Elena apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, Leni. I’ll be quick—I promise.’
‘Someone needs to stay to protect Lucia, Pio and me.’ Elena reached out to Jaime, snagging his arm.
He shrugged her off. ‘Protection from what?’ he muttered as he followed the others.
* * *
Isaura clutched her head and began writhing on the ground. Foam came from her mouth and blood streamed from her nose.
‘Isaura!’ Karan skidded to a halt beside her, grabbing her flailing arms. He struggled to hold her still. Āsim leapt up to help, placing a stick across her mouth to stop her biting her tongue. The Asena lay nearby, calmly watching. Karan narrowed his eyes at them in suspicion.
Isaura’s friends hovered around him, jostling his arms. He shot them a warning look.
Her thrashing subsided. Soon she lay still. Āsim removed the stick, flicked the foam out of her mouth with his fingers and rolled her on her side.
Asha passed Karan a water flask. As he bathed her face, Isaura’s eyes fluttered open. She sat up, coughing violently. Isaura grabbed the flask and gulped the water. Resting on her hands and knees she heaved in air. Her shuddering breaths quietened and a string of expletives erupted from her lips.
Nicanor laughed in relief. ‘Welcome back, Isa! Thank the gods Pio is asleep. He doesn’t need to learn that language.’
Gabriela laughed, though she eyed Isaura anxiously. ‘You don’t even know what she said! None of us know what she said. She always curses in Matyrani.’
‘Because it sounds so damn good!’ Isaura ground out. ‘Blast them. I hate games,’ she grumbled as she sat. Isaura drew her knees up and rested her head on her arms, before taking another swig from the flask.
Āsim quirked a brow at Karan, shaking his head. ‘She seems remarkably recovered.’
Isaura cast him a brief withering glance. ‘Apart from a bloody headache that is,’ she retorted. ‘Ugh! It’s like worms in my head.’ She stiffened and rubbed her temple. ‘Wriggling bloody worms!’ Reaching out, she took Karan’s hand, holding it tightly.
‘By the gods!’ Āsim exclaimed.
Isaura looked up, startled at the complete silence that surrounded her. Her mind raced. Oh shit! I understood everything he said. Did he understand me? Someone else spoke from across the fire. Isaura turned her head quickly in their direction; the sudden movement sending a sharp stabbing pain through her skull. Although the language was foreign, she understood what they were talking about. The words were like living things, writhing within her brain, then settling. Isaura held her hand over her mouth, trying to quell her rising nausea. She looked at the sleeping Asena. What did you do?
‘Greetings, Isaura. I am Karan,’ he said, inclining his head and holding his free hand to his heart.
‘Greetings, Karan.’ Confused, still holding his hand, she whispered, ‘What’s happening?’
‘Umniga, do you know?’ Karan asked. There was no reply. Karan turned to see the old woman staring in open-mouthed shock at Isaura. With a wry smile he said, ‘I think you’ve been given a gift.’
‘Nic? Curro? Are you here?’ she asked plaintively.
Karan remained by her side, her hand still locked around his.
‘We’re here, Isa.’ Nicanor seated himself beside her and placed his arm around her. Her eyes met his. His arm dropped from her shoulders; he looked momentarily stricken.
‘Curro, you can still understand me?’
Curro cleared his throat. ‘Yes. How’re you feeling?’ The others joined him, clustering around Isaura.
Gabriela embraced her. ‘Isa! I’m so glad you’re back. We feared the worst. How are you?’ She released her and Isaura smiled warmly. ‘Your eyes! Oh no!’ Gabriela withdrew, horrified.
Elena, who had been unable to let Curro out of her sight, joined them. Curro put his hands on either side of Isaura’s face while he examined her.
Karan fingered the hilt of his kilij and quashed an urge to chop off Curro’s hands. Curro stepped back, shaking his head in dismay. Hastily, he wiped his hands upon his trousers. Elena grabbed his arm and hauled him away from Isaura.
‘What about my eyes?’
Nicanor would not meet her gaze.
‘What. About. My. Eyes?’ Her tone was steely, unfamiliar. The others put more distance between them.
‘They’re blue. How?’ Gabriela whispered from the safety of Jaime’s arms. Isaura arched her brow in disbelief.
‘Her eyes? You’re wondering about her eyes? How is she even up and about? Let alone speaking in two different languages!’ Elena spat. ‘None of it is natural. It’s magic.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Nicanor said.
‘What else could it be? It hasn’t happened to any of us.’ She looked with revulsion at Isaura and said accusingly, ‘It’s you. It’s in your blood.’
‘I didn’t ask for this,’ Isaura retaliated.
‘You didn’t have to. Your blood is tainted. Like all your kind.’
Elena’s shrill voice had drawn Lucia part of the way to them. She kept one eye on Pio as she barked, ‘Elena! What are you going on about?’
‘It’s true,’ Elena continued. ‘You’re all thinking it. She’s Hill Clan and always will be.’
Curro looked askance at her, before averting his eyes. The others looked anywhere but at Isaura. No one contradicted Elena.
Lucia hovered and glanced anxiously at Pio sleeping soundly. ‘Blasted woman,’ she muttered, before pushing her way to the fore. ‘Let me look. Have you all lost your senses?’ She paused before Isaura, gaped, but rapidly composed herself. ‘Actually … the green is still there. They … are green … They’ve just got flecks of blue about them.’ She spun around and shooed the others way. ‘I’m sure they’ll return to normal soon.’ Hastily, she returned to Pio and bent over his face in concern. Her hand hovered near his eyes.
‘She’s worried he’s the same,’ Isaura said with dismay. The pain of rejection creased Isaura’s face as she tracked the departing backs of her friends. Only Nicanor remained, but was poised to leave. ‘I’m not contagious, Nic.’ Tears welled in her eyes.
‘Give us time, Isaura. We don’t understand … when you are better …’
‘I am better,’ came her toneless reply. Nicanor retreated.
Karan moved to her side. ‘My eyes are blue?’ she asked him softly.
‘Green, with bits of blue—and beautiful,’ he told her.
Isaura smiled half-heartedly. ‘Blue, like the Asena, yes?’ He nodded. Isaura, her face blank, turned from watching her friends. Time to be strong. ‘Time to get up. I’ve had enough sitting on my arse for a lifetime.’
‘Isaura …’ Umniga began.
‘Later, Umniga.’ Karan’s tone brooked no argument. He hauled Isaura to her feet. She stepped confidently forward, only to stumble. Karan caught her as a tirade of cursing, worthy of his most coarse warrior, erupted from her—half in a foreign, yet oddly familiar, language; half in Altaican.
‘Damn it!’ she yelled at the Asena. ‘You cunning bloody fur balls. Couldn’t you have fixed my bloody leg as well?’ The Asena slept on.
The surrounding warriors looked nervously between the Asena and Isaura. Karan tried not to laugh. ‘We revere the Asena. They have never heard anyone speak directly to them let alone abuse them. You might want to remember that. Do you want my help?’
Stiffly, she shook her head. Head high, jaw set, determined to show no weakness, Isaura walked forward doing her best not to limp. Beads of sweat broke out upon her brow and she tried not to grimace.
A warrior stood up and handed her a quarterstaff. ‘Use this for the time being,’ she said, scowling at Isaura’s friends.
Isaura smiled in gratitude as she took the staff and experimented walking with it. The more she practised with the staff, the wider her grin became. ‘Thank you.’
‘C’mon lass, come over here with us. Perch yourself on that log there.’ Āsim shepherded her along until she sat near them. The strange sensation within her head was lessening; overwhelming it was a ravenous hunger. Isaura found herself fixated by the camp oven.
‘Ya daft old bugger,’ Umniga said. ‘Give the girl some food.’
Someone put a bowl of stew in her hands. Her benefactor did not let go of the bowl until Isaura looked up; his eyes widened in shock at her gaze.
‘Enough. You’ve seen. Now go and tell the others,’ Karan said. ‘Isaura has been blessed by the Asena—she bears their mark upon her.’
Isaura ploughed through the food and held out the bowl for more.
Conversation around the campfire resumed. Karan looked at her. ‘Do you know what happened to you?’
She shook her head. ‘The Asena … the Matriarch.’ She shrugged. ‘It was as if my skull was being stabbed. Like my mind was sliced, tossed up and rearranged. Now it’s like some thing’s in my head … Like the words are in my head—alive. They move and settle. Each time I hear your language, I feel a bit more of a change.’ She sighed. ‘It’s lessening … I’m alive.’
‘What you describe would test the mettle of the best of us,’ Karan said.
‘It’s a gift,’ Umniga said reverently.
‘Some gift,’ Isaura snorted.
Umniga looked surprised at her dismissive attitude. ‘The gods have …’
‘Gods … ?’ Isaura seethed. Karan squeezed her thigh in warning; she said no more. She would not be the easy convert and tool that Umniga would undoubtedly want.
The warriors talked of war. War with the Boar Clan. War with Ratilal. ‘You are at war because of us?’ Isaura asked. They should hate us.
Karan spoke quietly, yet his voice carried clearly. ‘It was bound to happen sooner or later. Ratilal just needed an opportunity.’
‘Aye, I’ve lived with them and the things I could tell you about that bastard.’ Āsim shook his head. ‘I wish more of their clan knew it, but he’s too good at hiding his tracks. Asha was the first slip up he’s made in while. I’m glad we got you and your friends out. I wouldn’t leave a dog in his care.’
