Feather (18 page)

He stepped toward her, holding his knife at his side. Patch stirred, and Feather wondered if he would flee from Lex.

But there was no fire tonight. The Wobans had doused all flames, and apparently Lex had counted on surprise in the darkness to aid him tonight. He stood six feet from her, and the panther sat on his haunches next to Feather, switching his tail and kneading the turf with his front paws.

“Arrow Girl,” Lex’s whisper came to her clearly. “I knew you were here somewhere.”

“Patch!” Feather’s voice cracked.

Lex eyed the cat then, and she knew he regretted not carrying a torch. He held up his cruel knife and said slowly, “This blade has tasted the blood of your people already tonight. Make the cat stay.”

“No.”

Lex sheathed the knife and took his bow from his shoulder. Feather couldn’t move. He pulled an arrow from his quiver—his last arrow, by the look of things. He nocked it and raised the bow, aiming for Patch’s chest. The cat hissed, and she wondered if he would spring, but Lex held his stare, and the panther seemed mesmerized by the man who had thrust fire in his face.

“Don’t!” she cried, but Lex pulled the string back, farther and farther.

Crack!

Lex threw the splintered bow down in disgust. Before it landed on the ground, his hand was on the hilt of his knife.

But before he could draw the blade, another figure ran from the shadows. In a fleeting instant, a dark, thin man leapt toward Lex, his snowy white hair glowing in the light of the moon. Lex turned toward him too late, and Alomar’s foot struck squarely on Lex’s breastbone, sending them both down with a thud.

“Alomar!” Feather shrieked. She ran toward them, but the elder was struggling to his feet.

“Quick, girl! Bind him!”

“I have no rope.”

“Then give me your knife!”

Lex scrambled to his feet, however, and his eyes were wild. He fumbled once more to draw his blade.

At that moment, Patch roared and flew past Feather. Lex’s eyes widened, and he turned and ran toward the lake.

“Patch!” Feather screamed.

Alomar touched her arm. “Let him do what his nature bids him do.”

B efore Feather and Alomar could recover from their brief encounter with Lex, the other Wobans began to gather in front of the lodge.

“We’ve won!” Hardy cried. He saw Alomar at the dining table, where Feather had made him sit to steady his breathing, and he dropped to his knees before the old man. “You saved my life earlier tonight,” Hardy said, grasping the elder’s hand.

“And mine,” said Feather.

“I’m pleased I was there to aid you,” Alomar said. His breath was still ragged, and in the moonlight Feather could see beads of sweat on his brow.

“Jem is hurt,” Shea said. “Karsh, you must run and fetch Tansy.”

Hunter also bore a knife cut, but neither man’s injury was life threatening. Torches were lit, and the two wounded men were taken into the lodge.

Tag found Feather’s side. “Where is Patch?”

“He . . . went after Lex.”

Tag stared at her, then nodded.

“If he hadn’t, Alomar would certainly be dead, and perhaps I would be as well,” she whispered.

Tag squeezed her shoulder, and she noticed then, in the torch light, that the left side of his face was discolored with bruises.

“What happened to you?”

“Ulden,” he said, and she swallowed hard.

The Wobans waited in the quiet night until they were sure the enemy would not return. As the dawn broke, the men went down the trail to view the aftermath of the rock slide and the catapults’ fury. Rand came back first to report to Alomar.

“We found a man dead at the rock slide, and there’s the one Hardy dispatched up here. Two more down by the stream, and there are three wounded. Shea and the others are bringing them in. Two men and a woman.”

Feather could hardly breathe as she waited to see the prisoners. Riah was carried by two of the men, alternately moaning and screaming. Her left leg hung unnaturally.

“You shouldn’t be carrying her like that!” Rand scolded.

“Sorry,” Hardy said.

Rand turned and looked about. “Karsh!”

“Yes, sir.” Karsh jumped forward. He had acquitted himself well in the battle, Feather knew, helping man the second catapult and using his sling.

“Fetch Tansy from the lodge if she’s done tending Jem’s wound. We need her healing skill.”

The men put the wounded Blens in one of the summer shelters, and Feather hovered near the door, examining each face.

“Who was it?” Tag asked, when she turned away at last and joined him and Denna at the outdoor table.

“Not Lex, I hope,” Denna said.

“No. It was Potter, that fellow you captured. Him, Riah, and Dell.”

“Dell? Oh, no!” Tag frowned. “This isn’t right. He has a little son. Sinda probably thinks he’s dead.” He clenched his fist and pounded the table.

“Who were the dead?” Denna asked, and Feather and Tag stared at her.

“I don’t know,” Feather said at last.

“But none of your people know them,” Tag said slowly.

Denna grimaced. “Do you think we should identify them? What’s the point?”

“I will do it,” Tag said. “Someone ought to know. . . .
We
ought to know.”

As he stood up, the orange and black panther streaked from the bushes and lay down at Tag’s feet.

“Patch!” Tag knelt and stroked his head. “Where were you?”

Feather knew the men had searched the path that ran along the lake but found no sign of Lex.

“He is wounded,” Tag said. He looked anxiously up at Feather. “See? He has a cut here on his head and a slash along his ribs.” The cat gave a deep squawk that reminded Feather of his meow as a kitten.

“They can’t be too deep,” she said. “Tansy can fix him up.”

Feather and Denna brought water and a clean cloth so Tag could bathe the panther’s cuts. When the people’s wounds were tended, Tansy stitched Patch’s skin, while Tag sat with the panther’s huge head nestled in his lap. He stroked Patch and whispered to him while Tansy worked, and Patch only flinched a little. When it was over, he began his rumbling purr.

“He’ll be fine in a few days,” Tansy said. “Watch him to make sure he doesn’t chew at the stitches.”

At last Tag rose. “I must speak to your elders now.”

Feather followed him to the lodge. Patch glided past her, and she felt Denna close behind her. Several of the Woban men were gathered in the meeting room.

“We ought to just kill them all,” Clyde said.

“No, no, it is not our way.” Alomar spoke gently and laid a soothing hand on the farmer’s sleeve. “Perhaps if we are kind to these prisoners, when they heal they will be grateful and have a change of heart.”

“Not Blens,” Rand said. “It will never happen.”

“How can you be sure?” Alomar asked.

“It
can
happen. I am the proof.”

They all turned to stare at Denna.

She walked forward and faced the elders.

“I am a Blen. I have been with them almost five years now. When I was Feather’s age, they stole me. They beat me and cursed me and enslaved me. I hated them. But then . . . I became one of them. I stole. I hurt others. I did anything I had to.”

Rand looked down at the floor, but Feather watched Denna with pride.

“If you will have me, I will stop being a Blen. I want to be like you. I want to be . . . you.” Her voice broke.

Feather stepped up beside her and slipped her arm around Denna. “Denna has changed, sir,” she said to Alomar. “Tag and I have seen her change. She used to be mean to me, but in the end, she helped us.”

“And Dell,” Feather said. “He is one of the men who was captured. He has a family. I know he is a Blen, but I’m not sure he wants to live as they do. He carries his little son, Tarni, and . . . well, I hope he can go back to his family. Not so he can raid and kill, but so that Tarni and Sinda will not have to grieve.”

“What of the other man?” Hunter asked.

Tag looked up into the kind warrior’s eyes. “He has not been with the Blens long, sir. The first time they made me raid with them, I took him prisoner. I didn’t want to kill him, and our leader let me take him captive instead. He has worked hard within the tribe, but I think, like other captives of the Blens, it was to preserve his own life. He would rather be with his own people if he could, or at least with people who live in peace.”

Alomar nodded. “Let us bring back our women and children. We will hold a full council tonight and discuss what should be done with the prisoners. And we will welcome our new members to the tribe.” He smiled kindly at Denna. “You are welcome here, child.”

The men began to disperse, and Tag approached Alomar. Feather knew he was offering to identify the dead Blens.

A hand clutched her sleeve, and she turned to find her brother beside her.

“Feather, I have so much to tell you!”

She glanced at Tag and decided he could handle his mission alone. “Come, let’s go into the lodge and find a quiet place.”

The sat together a moment later on a mat in the women’s sleeping room. “So,” said Feather. “A lot has happened while I was away.”

“Yes.”

“You built a new house.”

He shrugged. “Yes, but that is nothing. Well, not nothing, but there is so much more!”

“Tell me then.”

“We’re going to be a family.”

“What?” She stared at him. Things had indeed changed during her absence. “The tribe is our family,” she said.

“Yes, but we’ll have a real family. Hunter says that if you want him to, he will adopt us both.”

Feather was silent, unable to deal with the torrent of feelings that assailed her.

“Don’t you want to?” Karsh asked. “Because if you don’t, I still want to. I mean, he will be my father for real, and . . . Feather, if Hunter is my father and you don’t adopt him, will you still be my sister?”

She lunged forward and hugged him. “I’ll always be your sister. I love you. And I’d like to have Hunter as my father.”

“It’s what we dreamed about when we were little,” Karsh said.

Feather smiled. Only last year they had whispered about the possibility of becoming a family with Hunter.

“But we won’t have a mother yet,” Karsh said, frowning. “Hunter hasn’t picked one for us yet. I told him he could marry Tansy, but he didn’t like that idea.”

Laughter burbled up from Feather’s chest. “You silly sheep! You can’t tell a man who to marry!”

Karsh swallowed and wagged his head back and forth. “Well, maybe he’ll find someone else, but anyway, he says we can be a family without a mother for now.”

“I think that’s wonderful,” Feather said.

“Oh, and another thing.” Karsh grabbed her wrist and leaned toward her, his eyes gleaming. “I forgot to tell you. I can read.”

Feather exhaled in a quick puff. “I . . . I can’t . . . How did this happen?”

“Sam, the teacher. We all read now. And, Feather, we have books.”

“But where did you get them? From the trader?”

Karsh shook his head. “No, they were in the cellar where the blackberries are. You know, where you . . .”

They stared at each other, and tears filled Feather’s eyes again. “There were books in that hole?”

He nodded. “They tell about King Ezander and Queen Milla, and their baby prince Linden being born. And another book has Alomar’s grandfather’s name in it.”

A sob escaped her lips. How often had she remembered that cellar hole and regretted the day she and Karsh had found it?

Those not keeping watch had rested during the day, and the men had buried the four dead Blens: Cade, Tala, Ulden, and one of the travelers captured at the end of the journey. They had seen no sign of the enemy returning.

Alomar stood to address them, all of the Wobans down to Weave’s toddler, Clyde and his family, Sam, Tag, and Denna. He praised them all for their part in the recent victory, whether in preparing for the siege, fighting the enemy, helping the wounded, or simply staying well hidden. Then he welcomed each newcomer formally.

“Your elders have decided to send a party out to seek the remnant of the Blens,” he announced. “The boy Tag has volunteered to go. If they find them, they will try to make peaceful contact and tell them who are their dead. We shall also offer to let them have their wounded back.”

A sigh went up from the people. They were uncomfortable harboring the three prisoners, Feather could tell. It would be a relief if they could get rid of them so easily.

“I will go,” said Shea.

“And I,” said Hardy.

“I am told that one of them, the man Potter, has not

been long with the Blens and was their captive,” Alomar said. “If he does not wish to return to them, we shall give him his freedom, provided he promises to do us no harm.”

Sam stood up next to read from a book. Feather smiled as he opened it. Tag had showed him the three books they had salvaged during their trek with the Blens, and he had confirmed that they did indeed have a child’s storybook. The second volume was called
Navigation Tables
. Sam explained that it was useful to sailors in finding their way on the sea. The tables it contained, he said, were not furniture, but lists of figures that helped the sailors calculate their ship’s position. The last of Tag’s little books was words of wisdom penned by Henbee, a philosopher of the old kingdom. His sayings were well known in the Old Times and were worth considering today, Sam said.

Tag’s sorrow was still heavy, but he was no longer distraught. Finding his old teacher in the Woban village was a comfort to him.

“You will teach me to read better so that I can understand the history of Pretlea, and my people will not be forgotten?” he had asked, and Sam had assured him that he would.

Now as Sam began to read from the book of history, Feather listened in wonder. Here was the story of Elgin in more detail than Alomar had been able to tell them before she left the tribe.

Sam read only the last portion of the book, which told of Ezander’s reign. When he reached the end, the last sentences were, “On this day a prince is born. May Linden live long and one day rule Elgin as well as his fathers before him have ruled.”

“We know the sad events that happened after this was written,” he said.

Alomar nodded, his eyes glistening.

Sam went on, “Linden did grow up healthy and strong, and he was a promising prince. He learned well the ways of war and of ruling. He was ready to take over his father’s throne if need be. And he had a sister, Tira, who was lovely and sweet natured. Tira married Prince Rondo of Pretlea, the land in which I was born.”

The listeners nodded and murmured their assent.

“Some of you have asked me since I came here,” Sam said, “whether Tira became queen of Pretlea. She did not. Her husband was the king’s fourth son, and he never ascended the throne. They had several daughters, but no sons, and so, according to Pretlean law, their descendants could never become the rulers of the land. Instead the royal line of Pretlea carried through Rondo’s eldest brother and his son, Rondal.”

Sam looked around at the quiet people and smiled. “However, the story does not end there. I have a bit of history to tell you that I have not yet shared with the Wobans.”

They all sat still, eager to hear what he would say.

Sam turned to Alomar. “Tell me, sir, in Elgin, how was the succession to the throne determined?”

“The office of king passed from a man to his son. Or, if there were no sons, to his daughter.”

Rand leaned forward and spoke. “But we all know Ezander’s only son died in battle soon after he came to the throne.”

“Tira,” said Tansy, and they all looked at her. “She would have been queen. We’ve talked about this before.”

“Yes,” Sam agreed. “But between the plague and the invasion, all contact was broken between Pretlea and Elgin. Your people did not know if Tira lived, or if she had children. I tell you, dear people, she did.”

“She had daughters,” Rose said. “You said it a minute ago.”

“You mean . . .” Zee looked from Sam to her father and began to smile. “Does Tira have living descendants?”

Sam returned her smile. “Two of Tira’s daughters died young. The other two married. One married a noble. She died two years later, and her first and only child was stillborn.”

All of the Wobans sighed in sorrow.

“But,” Sam said, “her younger daughter, Brenaden, married a merchant. Her father, Rondo, didn’t like it when Brenaden married beneath her class, but Tira encouraged her daughters to marry for love, and that is what Brenaden did. She married the merchant and was very happy. And she also had a daughter.”

“Only one?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “Only one. Ezandra, named after her great-grandfather, King Ezander of Elgin.”

“Is she living?” Alomar’s voice trembled as he asked the question.

“No, she died before I was born,” Sam said. “I was a scholar of Pretlean history, and it saddened me, as I know it must you, to know that she died in her thirties. But she and her husband, who was a farmer, had two sons.”

“This is getting complex,” said Alomar.

“I have written it all out for you on paper,” Sam said. “You can go over this family line as many times as you wish, my friend, and I’m sure that you will want to.”

“Yes,” Alomar sighed.

“You said she had sons,” Hunter prompted.

“Yes. The farmer, Nile, and Ezandra had two sons. The eldest died in infancy. The younger inherited the farm. Penlinden married and—”

Tag leaped to his feet. “Penlinden?”

Sam smiled. “That is correct. And he had a son named Penzander.”

Tag stood frozen in place, and Patch stirred uneasily at his feet and stretched, exposing his claws.

Alomar looked at Sam in expectation. “Tell us, teacher. What does this mean?”

Sam nodded toward Tag. “This young man is Penzander.”

Feather gasped. Her chest felt tight, and her palms were damp with sweat.

“Are you sure?” Tag asked. “That I am of Tira and Rondo’s blood, I mean?”

“Absolutely certain.”

“How could I not know this?”

Sam smiled. “Your parents were commoners. For generations the women of your family had married men of the middle or peasant class. During the great sickness, the throne changed hands several times within a few years, going from father to son, to brother, to cousin. It was all but forgotten that there were distant cousins of Rondo’s line, descendants of his long ago daughters. Why should anyone remember? They—that is, you and your sibling—were never eligible to rule, so no one thought that was important. But mothers don’t forget. When you became my student, your mother told me that your father, Penlinden, was of royal blood—not of Pretlea. She didn’t consider that to be significant. It was his Elgin blood that mattered. Penlinden and his son—you, Penzander—were direct descendants of Ezander’s daughter, Tira, and perhaps you had relatives in faraway Elgin who were royalty.”

“My mother told you that?” Tag asked.

“She did, but she also said that her husband had forbidden her to tell you. The kingdom of Elgin had fallen long past, and Penlinden knew there was no throne to return to. He didn’t want his son to know the same disappointment he’d had in that knowledge.” Sam looked around at the avidly listening crowd. “I was skeptical at first, and soon after she told me this, the farm of Penlinden and a neighboring farm were raided by Blens. A son was taken from each family, and Penlinden and the rest of his kin were slain.”

Tag sat down with a thump and bowed his head. Hesitantly, Feather touched his sleeve, and he took her hand in his, not looking up.

“I was saddened,” Sam said. “Had the last true heirs of Elgin been killed? I made it my study for two years. I researched all the old records. I questioned many people in the castle. And I found that her tale was true. My student, Penzander, known to the Blens as Tag, was the last living descendant of King Ezander. But alas, I never expected to see the boy again.”

“And then the invaders came in their warships,” Alomar said.

“Yes. The invaders came, and I fled from Pretlea. I do not know even now how many of my people live. I know many, many died, but there are probably others who escaped. I made my way in a long, slow journey over the desert and the mountains, trying to outrun the horrors I had seen. At last I came here. To my surprise, I found peace and new friends. I found a people I could serve and who welcomed me as one of them. And last night . . .” His gaze rested once more on Tag. The boy looked up and met his eyes. “Last night I found Elgin’s crown prince.”

Feather watched Tag as he raised his chin. His eyes shone with a new resolution.

“Lost things are found,” she whispered. She knew that her broken life was also mended now.

Alomar rose. “It is a privilege indeed for us all to have you here, Prince Penzander.”

“Please,” Tag said. “You mustn’t . . . I don’t . . . You’re saying that if my father had gone to Elgin ten years ago . . . what would have happened then?”

“We don’t know,” said Sam. “Perhaps there are enough descendants of Wobert and the other faithful Elgins to rally round a king. Perhaps not.”

Alomar smiled. “There is much to discuss, my lad. Perhaps we should end our council and meet again tomorrow evening. And if you and Sam would be so kind, I would like to meet with you and the other elders after the noon meal tomorrow for further talk.”

“I will be happy to do so,” Sam said.

Alomar looked expectantly at Tag.

“Yes, sir,” the boy said. “I have many questions.”

Alomar nodded. “Whatever the future brings, I assure you this tribe offers you a home as safe and secure as we can make it. And now I give you over into the care of Hunter, who plans to adopt our Karsh and Feather soon if they both consent. This also will be a matter for another day, however. It is late, and we all have much to think on tonight.”

Feather felt Denna stir beside her, and she saw that Denna was crying. Feather reached over and squeezed her hand.

Alomar looked their way and said, “Denna, you will go with Feather tonight. She and Weave will show you where you can sleep and make sure your needs are met.”

Denna smiled through her tears. “Thank you, sir.”

Feather was suddenly glad that Denna had insisted on coming with her and Tag, forcing her way into their plan. In her mind she foresaw a future in which she and Denna were friends and she, Karsh, and Hunter were united as a family. And what of Tag—or rather, Penzander?

Whatever happened in Tag’s life, Feather knew without doubt that he would remain her friend forever. She hoped he would stay with the Wobans. But was there a bigger future for him? She wouldn’t think about that tonight. She would only be glad that she had come home, and they were safe with the Wobans.

Tag squeezed her hand and let go. “Good night. I’d better ask your brother if Patch can sleep with me.”

Feather nodded. “He and Bente like to have the dogs in their shelter.” She realized as she said it that Bente wouldn’t be sleeping in the men’s shelter, but in a family hut set aside for him, Jem, and Zee. The changes were too many for her to absorb in one day. “Karsh and Hunter will help you,” she said.

Karsh came and stood before Tag, staring up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. “If you want, I’ll show you where we sleep, Penzander.”

Tag smiled. “Thank you. I’m used to being called Tag.”

Karsh nodded. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

Feather and Denna went out and headed toward the brush shelters. As they approached the one used by Jem’s family until his new house could be built, Denna touched Feather’s arm and stopped walking. Feather stopped too and listened. Zee was sitting on the threshold of the hut, singing a lyrical melody. Her voice was soft and earnest. Feather did not recognize the song.

They stepped closer, and Zee smiled at them and broke off her tune.

“What are you singing?” Feather asked.

“A song of the Wobans,” Zee said. “A new song, not yet complete, of Wobert and his son and his son’s son, and of all the people who survived together and saw the day when their king returned to the land.”

“Will you teach me this song?” Feather asked.

“Yes, when it is finished, I will teach it to all our people.”

Feather smiled. “Good night.” She and Denna went on in the starlight toward their shelter.