Asena Blessed, page 6
part #2 of Altaica Series
‘Wait!’ She tugged him back and placed his hand on the pile of old bandages on the wound. ‘Hold it. Press firmly.’ She darted off, returning quickly with two older women, one looking decidedly harassed and the other with a regal air.
‘Chatelaine, it just started bleeding again.’
‘You should’ve waited until they were ready for him.’
The regal woman added, ‘Looking at the state of the bandages you should have known this could happen.’
‘Mist … Lady Malak. I didn’t think.’
‘Be more careful in future. I’ll deal with this. Go,’ Chatelaine Gita said. She lifted Daniel’s hand from the bandages and examined the wound. Both the older women grimaced. Gita replaced Daniel’s hand upon it. She disappeared into the back room returning with an armful of supplies, depositing them with a huff as someone called her name.
Malak had known Chatelaine Gita for years; they were from different social strata within the clan, but at times like these Malak knew she should put that aside. ‘I’ll do this, Chatelaine.’
Gita looked at her with wary gratitude. ‘Lady Malak. It’s not necessary for you to do this.’
‘It is. It’s our duty. And Mistress Malak will do, Chatelaine Gita. Let the young have their new pretensions—I’ll have none of it.’
Gita could not keep the look of surprise from her face. The title of ‘Lady’ rankled Malak, not because of the implications of status—she needed no reassurance on that scale—but because of the source of the change. Ratilal. There was a plethora of ‘Lords’ and ‘Ladies’ when there should only be two: the rightful clan lord and his wife.
‘Mistress Malak has suited me all these years; it will suit my remaining ones. You, Chatelaine, appear worn out. I am perfectly capable of handling this, though it has been a while since I’ve had to. Tomorrow I’ll make sure more of the younger elite help out. Even if I have to drag them here. Leave me the young man. He can help, I’m sure, even if it’s just to hold this man down. Go, they are calling you again!’ She dismissed the Chatelaine from her presence.
‘Name?’ Malak barked at Daniel. Daniel looked blankly at her.
The wounded soldier whispered, ‘Dan-i-el, his name’s Dan-i-el.’
‘Brace yourself, man,’ Malak directed the soldier. ‘You’re going to have more stitches than a quilt. Poppy?’
He shook his head adamantly.
The soldier groaned as Malak commenced cleaning the wound. ‘With any luck you’ll pass out.’
‘Do I look lucky?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Umniga and Asha commenced their instruction of the others. Isaura translated for them; each time she did so, the fluidity of her speech drove a deeper wedge between her and her friends. She was not going to point out that Pio was rapidly assimilating the language.
‘Enough,’ Umniga declared with a smile. ‘More tomorrow, tonight it is enough. Well done!’
Everyone, except Pio, looked relieved.
‘What’s wrong, Pio?’ Isaura asked with a smile.
Pio looked cheekily at her, briefly forgetting his fear. Though quickly a small disappointed frown creased his brow. Uncertain, he looked at his mother who said nothing, lowered her gaze and looked away. Isaura waited. A torrent of words flowed from Pio. ‘I’m not tired. I’ve been asleep most of the day. Do I have to go to bed again?’ He spun his head looking at his parents. ‘I want to explore. Can I go and sit by the fire with the warriors? I want to look at their weapons. I …’
‘Pio, enough.’ Nicanor was stern.
Umniga observed this exchange with mischievous delight. She held out her hand to Pio, who grinned at her, jumped to his feet and grabbed her hand. Smiling at Nicanor and Lucia, Umniga said, ‘He’ll be fine. They already like him.’ She extended a hand to Lucia, beckoning her, smiling wider, coaxing her to come. Lucia got to her feet with a reluctant smile.
‘Lucia, you’re going over there? Are you mad?’ Elena said.
Lucia sighed, resigned. ‘They’ve helped us and really their demands are simple. We said that we’d learn and for better … or worse,’ her eyes flitted uncertainly to Isaura, ‘this is home now.’
She let Umniga lead her and Pio into the group around the fireside. Nicanor followed her, but the others remained seated. Asha and Isaura walked back together, leaving the others in isolation.
Karan was pleased to see the boy’s parents join them, but something would have to be done about the others. Tomorrow. Tonight let them see this family being welcomed. Tomorrow they will have no choice. Karan was disgruntled that Isaura sat with Āsim and was participating eagerly in conversation around her. He should have been pleased his warriors were taking to her so readily, and not peeved that she was not talking to him. He curbed his emotions, offering no interference in the mingling of his people and these newcomers.
Pio sat with Umniga, yet he could not take his eyes off the sword hanging by the side of the warrior nearest him. The woman, Sarala, while talking, was aware of his scrutiny. She deliberately changed her posture so that the sword swung before him. Pio’s eyes remained glued to it; he kept craning his neck to better inspect it as she moved. He was so intent on the sword that he did not notice Sarala turn her head to him.
‘Pio?’ she asked, merriment dancing in her eyes.
‘Pio, don’t stare!’ Lucia warned. He looked up hurriedly, embarrassed, but Sarala’s face creased into knowing grin.
‘It is no matter. Boy—Pio, do you want to hold this?’
Pio looked at his mother, who smiled half-heartedly.
Umniga said, ‘Pio, ask. Practise.’ He began well then halted, looking to Umniga for help. She whispered, ‘Kilij,’ in his ear; he finished triumphantly, grinning. Wide-eyed, he held his breath as Sarala drew the sword excruciatingly slowly from its scabbard.
‘Hurry up, stop torturing the lad. He’s about to burst!’ Āsim laughed.
Facing Pio, Sarala laid the sword across her knees. It was inornate, yet beautiful in its simplicity. A plain metal crosspiece met the blade and the horn grip. Rather than end in a straight pommel, as Pio was used to seeing on the swords his uncle made, the grip ended in a graceful swirl. ‘Uncle Curro, come look! It’s so different to the ones you make!’
Curro grinned at him then looked at Elena. ‘We should join them.’ She wrung her hands nervously. ‘We have to begin somewhere. You have to overcome your fear.’ He could understand her worry. Magic was something they’d all been raised to fear, yet he had always thought of it as a myth—tales told simply to frighten children. He’d also been raised to treat people as he would like to be treated. Yet here was Isaura—with magic. Was she some kind of throwback? Was her blood bad? He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts.
Seeing the play of emotion across his features, Elena said, ‘You’re right, it’s fear, but it’s not just the magic.’ Guilt writ itself clearly across his face, then slid away. She wished he’d tell her the truth. ‘It’s fear of losing you.’
‘Nothing happened. I told you nothing happened. Not that night, not ever.’
‘Look me in the eyes and tell me that,’ Elena said. Maybe tonight she’d get the truth.
He stared at her. ‘Nothing happened. Not then, not ever.’ Curro took her hand and kissed it. ‘I swear.’
Elena watched him kiss her hand, wariness and longing in her gaze. She knew what she had seen. Each time he lied, a piece of her spirit withered inside her. She tried to keep it hidden, but she knew it was altering her behaviour and she felt helpless to stop the blackness consuming her. Part of her wondered if she really did want him to speak the truth, or if hearing the words would seal her fate. Her eyes strayed to Isaura.
‘You don’t have to talk to her, or … even look at her, but we have to get to know these people,’ Curro said, smiling encouragingly. They moved to Pio’s side.
Curro was fascinated by the style of the sword. ‘Indeed, Pio, I have never seen its like.’ Not only was the grip different, but the blade had a slight curve and the last section flared out. Curro bent close to it, trying to examine it in the firelight.
Isaura noticed Āsim discretely withdraw a dagger from his boot as Curro got closer to the blade. She said nothing, even though she noted more than one hand resting upon their weapons. I’d be cautious too. She admired the aplomb of the woman as she allowed Curro near the sword. He wouldn’t stand a chance.
‘Maybe they’ll let you hold it so you can see better.’
‘Ah, I don’t think so, Pio. A soldier does not readily give his weapon away, least of all to a stranger.’
‘I’ll bet they’ll want you to make one.’
Curro laughed. ‘One day, Pio, but I think I’ll have much to learn if I am to make a blade as fine as this.’
Pio frowned. ‘It’s different—the shape is lovely, but it doesn’t look special in any way. What would you have to learn?’
Curro knelt next to him. Pointing at the steel, he said, ‘Even in this light I can tell that this steel is far superior to anything I’ve worked with before. This sword is plain, but its beauty lies in the quality of its steel and the mastery needed to create it. I will need to learn much before I can do this.’ Pio looked disappointed. ‘Ah, Pio, it’s not something to be sad about. It’s something to wonder at and want to discover,’ he said as he ruffled Pio’s hair. He nodded his thanks to the warrior and sat near Elena.
Pio still gazed at the sword. He gave the woman the most disarming smile he could.
Wait for it, Isaura thought. Pio asked and gestured if he might hold it. And there you have it—little imp.
Sarala stood close behind him. She moved him so they faced the fire. Leaning down she placed the sword in his small hands. Her calloused hands encompassed both sword grip and Pio’s hands. Pio was agog. She released her hands from around his. Pio gritted his teeth, determined not to let the blade drop, but its tip quickly lowered to the ground. She took it from him; he mournfully watched her slide it back into its scabbard.
To Pio’s surprise, a short straight stick was placed in his hands and another warrior stood before him with a similar stick, beckoning him to fight. Pio enthusiastically lunged and swung the stick at his opponent, to a chorus of cheers. The warrior corrected Pio’s stance and adjusted his grip before they recommenced. Nicanor watched his son fiercely wield his ‘sword’—the determination and concentration on Pio’s face astonished and disconcerted him with a vision of his gentle son as a killer.
Lucia, observing his pensive gaze, took Nicanor’s hand. ‘This will save him. It will save all of us.’
Karan beckoned Isaura to him. Better, he thought when she moved to his side. Suspicion gnawed at him. Why do I feel this contentment near a woman I don’t even know? What has Umniga done?
‘Translate,’ he told Isaura. ‘Tomorrow will be a long day. We leave for Bear Tooth Lake. It will take many days to ride there. Each of you will be assigned to a warrior. You will ride beside them for the entire journey. They will continue to teach you Altaican, and how to properly ride and care for your horse. In the evenings you will receive further instruction from Umniga and Asha in our history and lore.’
‘And their military training, my lord?’ Sarala asked.
‘Āsim and Pravin will commence that at the lake. Pio will be paired with you for the journey. If he has energy for training then work with him, but I doubt after riding all day if any of them will even be able to lift a finger let alone a sword. These next days will toughen them up; then the real training will start.’ He laughed with the others.
Isaura’s lips curled in amusement. Though tempted to translate the entirety, she did not.
Karan quirked his brow at her silence. ‘Just tell them that military training starts at the lake.’ That signalled an end to the evening and the newcomers drifted away. Those not on sentry duty bedded down for the night.
I’m certainly not going with them, Isaura thought, watching her friends settle to sleep. But I don’t belong with these warriors either … I will though. She stared into the fire trying to suppress her welling bitterness. Superstitious idiots.
‘I need to walk. Am I allowed to walk away from camp for a bit?’ she asked Karan.
He rose, holding out his hand to her and hauled her to her feet. ‘Come then, we’ll walk.’
‘Alone.’ She ground the end of the quarterstaff into the dirt; her eyes glowed.
‘No,’ Karan replied. She glared at him. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. ‘You feel alone, but you don’t want to be alone.’
She put her hand on his chest, rested it there and bowed her head. They stood like this, close—but not touching save for her hand for several minutes. When, finally, she looked up at him, the blue fire in her eyes had lessened. She nodded with a half smile.
He held out his hand to her in invitation. ‘Come, walk with me, Isaura.’
It felt good to be moving. Although her leg was stiff, as she walked the muscle began to hurt less. Karan had been right, she didn’t want to be alone. Yet, unsure of his motives, she didn’t speak to him. Instead Isaura ploughed ahead, finding a trail and following it mindlessly. Why do I trust him? I don’t know him. He has only been kind, yet …
Abruptly she stopped, turning toward him. ‘What do you want?’ she said without rancour. ‘What do you expect from me?’
‘Only what I expect from the others, no more.’
‘Umniga seems to believe I’ve been sent by your gods. She seems to think that I’m special in some way.’
Karan heard her scepticism, but felt her distrust. ‘Umniga may think a lot of things, but you must …’ He grinned wryly before continuing. ‘No, you will make your own path.’
Path! Isaura scowled.
‘Isaura?’
‘It’s just …’ Damn it, go with your instincts. ‘It’s not the first time today I’ve been told to make my own path.’
He waited, doubting that Umniga would suggest such a thing.
‘The Matriarch told me,’ Isaura said quietly.
‘The Matriarch?’ Isaura nodded. ‘The Matriarch spoke to you?’ Karan said, stunned.
‘Damn it! Now you’re going think I’m a freak too.’ Isaura turned and began to walk away.
Karan grabbed her hand. ‘No, I don’t. Yes, you’ve got special gifts, but here, they are gifts, not a curse. Come.’ He led her further away from the camp and kept her tucked into his side, so that he could whisper to her. ‘Don’t tell anyone, particularly not any of the Kenati, that the Matriarch spoke to you.’ He grinned. ‘Or Umniga will never give you any peace.’ Isaura rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me how she spoke to you.’
‘In my mind. She can hear my thoughts.’
‘And you can hear hers?’
‘Only if she lets me.’ Isaura’s gaze became momentarily distant as she thought about the Lady. Though aware of Karan still holding her hand and staring intensely at her, she said nothing.
There’s more, Karan thought. Rather than ask, he squeezed her hand. ‘It’s enough, Isaura.’ They kept walking, until the horses were before them. ‘Do you know your eyes flare blue when you’re angry?’
‘Really? Another reason they’re terrified.’
His face remained serious. ‘I want to teach you how to control your anger. It’s not always to our advantage to have people read our emotions so easily. Your anger shows your power. Keep it hidden. Keep it as a surprise. It may give you a tactical advantage.’
Isaura nodded and shrugged. ‘That makes sense.’
‘It’s not just that. Your voice. You can channel your power through your voice, when you desire it. We call it Undavi. You used it without meaning to when you woke and Āsim and Asha were trying to help you. Again you used it when you told your friends my terms and reprimanded them.’
‘I’m not sure …’
‘Isaura, it can be used for many purposes, subtly. Yours, in anger, is not subtle and it reverberates through the world around you.’
She dreaded what he alluded to. ‘You’re worried I could hurt someone?’
He nodded. ‘Few of us can use Undavi. I can, but not as you do. My power is like a light snowfall. You are like an avalanche.’ Isaura gulped. ‘Don’t mistake me. It’s a gift. I …’
‘You just want me to avalanche in the right direction.’
Karan smiled. ‘Yes. Power without control consumes. Control makes heroes or villains of us all.’
They reached the picket lines. ‘Ah.’ Isaura stopped several feet from the nearest horse and pulled her hand from Karan’s. ‘Um … I should tell you … I can’t ride. I’ve never been around horses much.’
‘Never?’
‘Once as a child. It was … not pleasant.’
‘Since then?’
‘I’ve only been near them when they were at the forge.’
‘How did you travel?’
‘I walked. We were too poor to have a horse. Most of us were.’
‘You’ll learn.’
‘Uh huh.’ Isaura moved no closer.
‘But not if you stay over there.’ Isaura pursed her lips. Karan laughed. ‘You’re really afraid of the horse!’
Isaura glowered, crossed her arms and her lips drew into a thin line. ‘Nervous, not afraid.’
‘No, afraid.’ Incredulous, Karan said, ‘You, who have sailed an ocean, walked the spirit realm alone, and not only spoken with the Asena but had the temerity to yell at them … You’re afraid of a horse!’ He grinned broadly, looking, Isaura thought, absurdly pleased with himself.
‘Stop being such a smug bastard!’ She stepped closer and tried to ram the staff into his foot. He kept laughing as he stepped easily away. She scowled at him before continuing wryly, ‘Well, I suppose when you put it like that, it’s a bit stupid.’
The chestnut horse in front of them stretched its neck out toward her midriff, sniffing at her, while his lips mouthed her clothing. He grabbed her tunic and pulled it vigorously.
‘Hey!’ Isaura jumped back.
‘He’s cheeky.’ Karan patted his neck. ‘He belongs to Sarala, the warrior who showed Pio her sword. She always has a treat for him. Now he expects everyone to have a treat. Just growl at him if he tries it again. Tone of voice is important. Like a child, if he gets away with it he will try it again.’
