The Warrior's Path (16 page)

The injured man lay moaning in a corner. He burned with fever and was unaware of us until the healer touched him. Then he threw out his uninjured arm and would have knocked her over if the man beside him had not caught it first.

The healer called for several of the prisoners to come and help her. She motioned to them to hold his arms and legs while she carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandage from his injured arm. The smell turned my stomach. Although I tried not to look, my eyes glanced at his mangled flesh against my will. Some of it was black. The healer took out her flint knife to trim it away.

The man beside him shouted at her and took hold of the hand that held the knife. Two of our warriors had come to stand beside us while we were among the prisoners, and one of them would have struck the man, if the healer hadn’t stopped him. She understood the man’s fear for his friend and showed him by signs what she was going to do. He nodded that he understood. Then she began to trim the injured man’s blackened flesh away. He screamed once and struggled for a moment. Then he grew still.

“Is he dead?” I asked the healer.

“No,” she said. “His spirit left his body for a while, because of the pain.”

I had recovered from my revulsion, and I watched, fascinated, while the healer worked. Now that the man’s spirit had fled, she cut more deeply into his flesh and pulled slivers of broken bone from the wound. Then she freed a flap of skin large enough to cover the raw flesh. She had the wound stitched up and the poultice applied to it before the man’s spirit returned.

“I wish I’d brought something for his pain,” she said.

I reached into the pocket of my tunic and drew out the package of valerian root. She smiled and took it from me.

“You have a healer’s heart,” she said. She took one of the empty bowls from the floor and handed it to me. “Fill this.”

I went to the hearth, where there was a cauldron of hot water. I dipped some into the bowl and took it back to the healer. She showed the injured man’s friend how to measure out the powder in the palm of his hand, so that he didn’t use too much of it. Then she stirred it into the hot water. When it had steeped a while, she gave some to the injured man.

As we left the men’s house, several of our warriors gave us puzzled looks. I didn’t mind. I felt much better about everything.

That evening, when the household gathered for the evening meal, the Lady rose from her place at the high table and stood patiently until the hall was quiet. She gave no introduction. She spoke plainly what was in her mind.

“There are many here who remember the war.”

She paused to look around the room at the faces of the people. The young ones waited expectantly for her to go on, but the ones with wrinkled faces and grey showing at their temples grew solemn at her words.

“For the first time in many years,” the Lady said, “strangers have set foot upon our land. They have come, not because we have done them an injury or because they seek adventure, but because they are hungry.”

A few puzzled looks appeared on the faces around me.

“Today I was reminded of a story my mother used to tell me. I’m sure you have all heard it. It is sometimes called ‘The Queen’s Mirror,’ and it contains a wisdom I’d forgotten. After I thought about that story for a while, I called together the women of the council. They agree with me that we should allow the strangers to return to their homeland.”

The Lady waited for the protests she evidently expected, but no one said a word. I think everyone was too surprised to speak.

“Out of the bounty the Mother has given us this year,” she said, “I will send with them two dozen of our cattle and all the grain they can carry.”

I hardly saw the stunned faces of the people around me. I was too stunned myself to see them. I couldn’t comprehend what I had done. Letting the prisoners go was an idea that had just come into my head. Now it had become real. Now it was going to happen.

“I wish I could explain to you the wisdom of this plan,” the Lady said. “I can’t. But one thing I do know. If these men are lost, more will take their place. Then they will come, not for food alone, but also to avenge their dead, and they will take our blood to ease their hearts.”

The Lady paused for a few moments to study the faces around her. I think she was surprised that the silence still remained unbroken.

“There is one thing more we must decide,” she said. “We have lost one of our own. Those to whom she belonged have a right to ease their hearts with blood. I want any person here who feels that injury to tell me now, will you give up that right or will you demand a life?”

Namet, who sat next to her, stood up. “I give up my right,” she said.

The Lady looked around the room until her eyes found Sparrow, who was sitting next to me at the companions’ table.

Sparrow stood up and said, “I give up my right.”

The Lady’s eyes went next to Vintel, who sat gazing into her bowl, as if she was thinking only of her supper.

“Vintel,” the Lady said at last. “Do you give up your right?”

Vintel looked up. “Eramet did not belong to me,” she said.

Although there was no longer a formal bond between them, Eramet had been Vintel’s apprentice. From what Sparrow had told me, I knew there was still a bond of love between them, and from Vintel’s actions at the river, it was plain that she felt the injury keenly, whether or not she claimed her right to feel it.

Vintel said nothing more.

“Then we are agreed,” the Lady said.

She sat down and motioned to the servants to bring the evening meal.

The companions had little to say about the Lady’s plan. They were surprised, but what happened to the prisoners was the Lady’s responsibility, and they only shrugged their shoulders and went on to talk about things they found more interesting.

I looked around the room and saw doubt in many faces. Some of the older people clearly had misgivings. A few spoke quietly among themselves. Perhaps they would protest privately to the Lady, but none of them would challenge her in front of the household, especially as she had the consent of the council.

Sparrow leaned close to me and whispered, “I’ll be sleeping in the companions’ loft tonight.”

I nodded.

“Are you still sleeping in your warrior’s room?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Too bad. I’ll miss you.”

I blushed.

“That’s all right,” she said. “I understand.”

After the evening meal, Maara went upstairs. I followed her, and from the landing at the top of the stairs, I saw her stop in the doorway of Namet’s room. She said a few words I couldn’t hear, then went on into her own room. When I joined her, she was coiling the braided thong around her fingers.

“I suppose we don’t need this now,” she said, and handed the coiled thong to me.

As I took it from her, I felt a pang of regret.

“Do you know the story?” she asked me.

“What story?”

“The story the Lady was talking about.”

I nodded. “I was the one who reminded her of it.”

“I thought so,” she said. “The Lady told me her plan was your idea.”

“She did?”

“She spoke to me this afternoon. She seems to think I know all about these people.”

“Don’t you?”

“I have some knowledge of the northern tribes, but I don’t believe these men are northerners, although I think they have been used by them.”

“What did the Lady say to you?”

“She asked me what I thought of your idea.”

“I never thought she’d pay any attention to my idea. What if it’s a mistake? What if they come back and do us harm?”

“The Lady must bear the responsibility for that,” she said. “The Lady and the council. It was their decision.”

“But it was my idea.”

“It was a good idea. What made you think of it?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “They just didn’t seem that dangerous to me.”

“They are very dangerous, but your plan will make them much less so.”

Her approval reassured me. All the same, I resolved not to be so quick to open my mouth the next time someone asked me for advice.

Maara settled herself on her bed. “Tell me the story,” she said.

In ancient days, when only women were warriors, lived a race of magicians and sorcerers who wielded great power. To defeat their enemies, they had no need to resort to arms. Their seers saw from afar any army that marched against them, and their sorcerers wrapped their lands in a mist in which their enemies would wander, lost and afraid.

But when strangers came in peace, the people made a feast for them. Venison from their forests and game birds from their meadows filled the bellies of their guests. Then singers and poets and musicians entertained them, until, overcome by these delights, they closed their eyes and slept. When they awoke, they would find themselves encamped on the borders of the lands from which they’d come, and by each of them would be a gift according to the deepest wish of each one’s heart.

In a far country lived a queen whose lands were rich and prosperous and whose people never lacked for any of life’s necessities or comforts. Her own wealth was great. She ate from golden dishes and drank from silver goblets. Around her she kept things of beauty, so many that she never wanted for something to delight the eye. She too had musicians to fill her ears with sweet sounds and poets to fill her heart with stories of love and war.

One day a woman and her two daughters came to the queen’s household. They asked for hospitality and were made welcome. The queen invited them to dine with her. She served them the best she had to give. Meat and bread and fruit and wine she offered them. After they had eaten their fill, the queen had her musicians and her storytellers entertain them. When her guests grew sleepy, she showed them to a room in which there was a soft bed for each of them and bade them each good night.

In the morning the queen and her guests broke their fast together. Before they left her to continue their journey, the woman and her daughters thanked the queen and praised her generosity, saying that with only one exception they had never enjoyed such hospitality anywhere.

The queen wished to know whose hospitality surpassed her own. Her guests assured her that none but a mysterious race of magical people could rival her. They told her of the strange land that vanished from the sight of those who intended to do harm, but whose people practiced the greatest generosity toward all who came in friendship. They told her of the wonders they had seen there, and they showed her the gifts they had been given. The elder daughter had received a sword. The younger had received a bow and a quiver of arrows. Both of these weapons were enchanted, for the sword moved on its own and would prevail over the most skilled opponent, while the arrows never failed to find their target. Their mother had been given only a dream, but she was the most pleased with her gift, because the dream promised that her wish for grandchildren would come true.

The queen asked her guests where she could find this enchanted land.

“Follow the setting sun,” they told her. “It is farther than you can imagine, but nearer than your heart’s desire.”

After her guests had gone, the queen thought about what they had told her of the land of sorcerers. She saw that she could spare her people much grief in time of war if her warriors possessed enchanted weapons. And if dreams that could foretell the future were within the gift of these magicians, any threat to her people could be foreseen and perhaps forestalled.

The queen had her servants make preparations for a long journey. Then she called together the warriors of her household. She told them of the enchanted land and asked which of them would accompany her there. All of them were eager to go with her, and the next day they began their journey.

They traveled for many days, until they came to the land of which they had heard such wonderful tales. They were invited to a feast, and it was all they could have wished. Dishes were served to them that they had never before tasted, and sweet wine was given them to drink. Songs were sung and stories told that spoke to each of them and brought back into memory the enchanted tales of childhood and the heroic deeds of youth. When their hearts were so full that they could listen no more, they fell asleep. In the morning they awoke on the border of the queen’s own lands, and each of them had received a gift. Although there were no enchanted weapons among them, each one was delighted with the gift she had been given.

The queen’s gift was a mirror of polished silver set in a golden frame. When she looked into it, she saw a faithful image of herself reflected back. The queen was not pleased with her gift, for she already possessed mirrors just as fine. She asked her warriors to show her what they had received, and not one of them had been given an enchanted sword or bow. None had had a vision of the future or any other thing the queen had hoped for.

When she thought of the long journey they had made with so little to show for it, the queen almost regretted having gone at all, but her warriors were happy with their gifts, and it had been a good adventure, so she hung the mirror upon the wall of her private chamber, to remind her of her own foolishness.

The next year the queen’s daughter wished to marry. She had come to care for a man who cared very much for her, although he had little else to offer her. The queen wanted a better alliance for her daughter, and she refused to consent to the marriage. When next she passed by the golden mirror, she thought she saw, out of the corner of her eye, not the familiar features of her own face, but the beaked face and the cold eye of a bird of prey. When she stopped and looked again, her own familiar face looked back at her.

Not long afterward, a neighbor with whom the queen had had a long alliance asked to share in the bounty of one of the queen’s forests. The forest lay far from the queen’s household, and her people seldom hunted there. Nevertheless it had belonged to her family for many generations, and she was reluctant to allow others to hunt there, lest they come to regard the forest as their own. The queen refused the request, but she sent a gift of game to her neighbor’s household, to lessen the sting of her refusal.