Wild Blood (Book 7) (23 page)

The elves stood silently, their eyes wide, apparently as surprised by the intruders on their land as Ria was by them; then Ria realized they were staring at her mother, and what she had mistaken for surprise was something closer to awe.

Very slowly, almost timidly, a female stepped forward. She lifted a necklace of animal teeth from around her head and held it out gingerly toward Chyrie.

“You honor us with your presence, Grandmother,” she whispered, and Ria had to concentrate hard to understand what the woman was saying. She’d worked hard at her Olvenic all her life, but she’d never heard it spoken by a native of the forest, and the accent in which the young woman spoke it was very strange. Did her brother speak like that?

Chyrie smiled a little sheepishly and accepted the necklace, nodding and hanging it around her own neck. Then one of the males stepped forward also, extending a lumpy hide bag.

“The fruits of our hunt, Grandmother,” he said, also whispering. “We’d be greatly honored if you’d accept this meat for yourself and”—he glanced at Ria, his eyes widening—“and your daughter.”

He could tell she was Chyrie’s daughter just by looking at her? Ria swelled a little with pride as Chyrie accepted the game bag. Obviously her mother was a person of some importance here. But of course she was; hadn’t Rowan told Lady Rivkah that Chyrie had turned the whole forest against the invaders, beating the barbarians back in the final battle?

Ria would have liked to see more of the strange elves, perhaps talked with them, but Chyrie was in a hurry to continue onward. They rode all day, stopping well after the sun had set. When Ria finally slid from the doe’s back, she almost screamed in pain; she was unaccustomed to riding more than a short while, and that with the comfort of a saddle, and her muscles ached with a hard, fierce pain. Immediately Chyrie was beside her, concern and regret plain in her expression, easing Ria to the ground and massaging her thighs, and calves until the cramps eased. Chyrie applied more salve to the itchy rash on Ria’s legs, scowling so puzzledly that Ria wondered if her mother had expected the rash to be completely gone. Gesturing sternly to Ria to stay where she was—Ria was only too glad to comply— Chyrie made another small camp, then helped Ria to move to the fur pallet. Ria had learned during the journey to Allanmere how to dean game and set it to roasting, and was proud to be at least that much help as Chyrie built a fire; after what Lord Sharl had said to her on the wall in Allanmere, Ria was determined to be of use to her mother.

Again, without explanation, Chyrie disappeared into the forest, leaving Ria with only Jenji for company; however, she returned only a short time later, her arms full of tubers, greens, and berries for their supper. The little preserved food Ria had eaten that morning and at midday might as well have been nothing; Ria’s stomach rumbled plaintively as the food cooked, giving off the most delightful aromas. As soon as the food was ready, Chyrie ate as heartily as her daughter; Ria realized guiltily that Chyrie had had nothing at all to eat that day and was probably even hungrier than Ria herself, and how long might it have been since Chyrie had fresh meat?

After supper Chyrie rooted through her pack and brought out a clay pot of some pungent-smelling salve that she proceeded to rub into Ria’s sore thighs; then once more she left Ria alone in the camp. Ria was too tired to fret over this fact, but it puzzled her; was Chyrie keeping watch all night, or did she just not want to sleep near her daughter? At least Jenji showed no inclination to stay with Chyrie instead of her, so that Ria wasn’t left completely alone.

The next day was exactly like the one before it, except that Ria was now more accustomed to the long ride. The night’s soreness had been completely gone when she awakened, and though she dreaded another day of riding on deerback, there seemed nothing else to do. She was surprised to note that this morning they were riding two different deer, a doe and a stag; she’d thought Chyrie must have special favorites that were more amenable to being ridden, but apparently the beast-speaker simply summoned whatever deer were closest when she needed them. Probably, too, Chyrie preferred to summon fresh mounts after they’d ridden the does so hard the day before; Ria knew enough about deer from hunting them to realize that steady travel over a long day at a quick walk was very unlike even a plains deer’s usual behavior, and forest deer likely did not even need the endurance for seasonal travel over long distances.

By evening, they had traveled far enough that Chyrie appeared pleased with their progress and somewhat less anxious. She stopped while there was still a little light in the sky and made their camp beside one of the many small streams that crisscrossed the forest.

This time when Chyrie disappeared into the forest to gather their supper, Ria was determined to do some of the providing herself. She didn’t have her bow and arrows, or even hooks and line, but using her chemise as a makeshift net—it needed washing anyway—she managed to catch three good-sized fish for their supper. By the time Chyrie returned, Ria had scaled and cleaned the fish and laid them proudly on a rock beside the fire pit.

Chyrie was delighted by the fish, although Ria was disappointed that her mother did not really seem surprised; in fact, Chyrie had brought back broad leaves in which she wrapped them, then covered the whole with a thick layer of mud from the creek. She poked the muddy bundles into the fire to cook slowly, and by the time the tubers were baked to mealy tenderness and the greens had stewed in their pot, the fish had baked to moist perfection.

After their meal, mother and daughter were glad to bathe in the stream and wash away the dirt, sweat, and deer hair collected in their travel. Chyrie showed Ria the roots that could be pounded between rocks and then submerged in water to make a soapy foam. To Ria’s surprise, Jenji loved the water and swam skillfully, splashing after water beetles, minnows, and tadpoles and, to Ria’s squeamish fascination, eating what he caught.

More fascinating, however, was the full extent of the designs Ria had barely glimpsed at her mother’s wrists and legs, now fully visible in the moonlight. Vines twined and coiled up the smooth skin of Chyrie’s legs to join together over one hip, then exploded outward in a riot of tendrils coiling around her torso up to her shoulders, and spilling down both arms. The emerald leaves sparkled as if with dew, or were ornamented with multicolored butterflies, clusters of green or ripe fruit, or budding and blossoming flowers. It was as if the very essence of every green thing in the forest had been distilled down and painted on Chyrie’s skin, giving her the uncanny appearance of something part elf and part plant.

As awesome as the vibrant designs on Chyrie’s skin were, a part of Ria winced to see them. Lady Rivkah had told her about those designs, that Chyrie’s mate had used needles and dyes to prick them into her skin. It sounded rather like some bizarre form of torture to Ria, no matter how lovely the end result.

As if sensing Ria’s thought, Chyrie chuckled and patted her daughter’s shoulder, and Ria flushed with embarrassment to realize she’d been staring at her mother’s naked body first in awe, then wrinkling her nose and almost cringing. What in the world must Chyrie think of her?

Once more Chyrie disappeared as soon as Ria curled up on the furs to sleep, but as there’d been no trouble the night before, Ria was not frightened. She was fairly certain by now that Chyrie
did
hear her thoughts, maybe every single one; if that was so, her mother would probably get precious little sleep lying there next to her with Ria’s every ache, itch, and dream bombarding her. Chyrie was either standing guard or confident enough of their safety to leave Ria alone, or perhaps Chyrie had other guards, furred or feathered in the trees or hidden in the bushes. The thin pallet bed of furs was still hard and lumpy, and Ria’s legs were itching again (it might not just be the rash, either; Ria suspected that even if the furs hadn’t had any fleas at all in them when they started, after riding on deer for a couple of days, they
would
have fleas by now), but her hard day’s ride made it easy enough to ignore those minor discomforts. The sounds of the forest, too, seemed less strange and frightening now, and Ria let that lullaby ease her down into sleep.

In the middle of the night, Ria woke to find that a light rain had started, but was steadily growing heavier. Ria huddled under the furs, wishing irritably for a waterproofing spell and wondering where she was supposed to take shelter in a forest where there wasn’t even a tent. She was shivering and almost soaked, Jenji chattering miserably, before Chyrie materialized at her side, scowling with impatience, and led Ria to a thick clump of bushes. Her expression said more clearly than words,
Don’t you have sense enough to get in out of the rain?

Ria stripped off her wet clothes and curled up inside her warm cloak, utterly embarrassed and humiliated. How was she supposed to know how to get along in the forest? She’d never been in one in her life—had hardly even seen trees. Gods, was it true that she’d be nothing but a bother to these people, a mist-witted fool who couldn’t survive a day without help? Maybe she should’ve stayed in the city and married Cyril. At least
he
had some use for her. For a moment Ria knew utter despair, Was there nowhere she truly belonged? Then she shook herself and resolutely wiped away her tears. There was still her brother somewhere in this strange place, and Ria
wouldn’t
let the forest become her enemy. It was her home, her people’s home. She’d simply have to learn, that was all, just as anybody would have to learn in a place that was new to them. Chyrie had probably been just as frightened and out of place when she’d come to the city.

She’d just have to learn.

Once more in the morning there were two new deer awaiting them, but this time Chyrie apparently did not feel the need to hurry, for she let Ria break her fast on some of the preserved food she’d brought with her before they continued their journey. Neither did Chyrie urge the deer to the quick pace of the prior two days, and instead of the straight course they’d been following eastward through the forest, Chyrie seemed to be circling slightly northward now.

Before midmorning Chyrie slowed the deer even further, and Ria could see why—they were approaching a strange place, possibly the goal of their journey. Ahead of them was a long line of low rocks, each only a couple of man-heights from its neighbor, and each bearing a glowing symbol such as Ria had seen on the territorial markers they’d passed before. Each symbol, however, was different from the others. The line of stones curved gently, and Ria supposed they enclosed the strange-looking space ahead of them.

Inside the line of stones Ria could see a number of old campsites, or at least cleared areas that had the look of frequent use. Interspersed with these campsites were large, roughly hewn slate of stone perhaps half a man-height in thickness, their tops smoothly flat. Ria could see that the nearest such stone slab had several small objects on its surface—a string of beads, a cup containing some half-dried purple liquid, a few dried fruits and nuts, and a bird feather. Other stones appeared to bear similar offerings. This, then, was the Forest Altars, the holy place Lady Rivkah had mentioned in her histories, where she and Lord Sharl had met Chyrie and her mate. But why had Chyrie brought Ria here?

Chyrie slid from her doe’s back, nonchalantly picked up the dried fruit from the nearest altar, and fed the fruit to the two deer, apparently untroubled by the idea that she was stealing someone’s offering. Ria dismounted also, standing awkwardly with her pack and wondering why they’d come here. Was she expected to worship at these strange altars, or leave something of hers as an offering, perhaps?

When the deer had wandered away, Chyrie took Ria’s hand and led her through a circuitous maze of pathways between the altars and campsites. Once Chyrie paused, tilting her head as if listening to something, her brow furrowing worriedly; then her face cleared and she chuckled, leading Ria onward without explanation.

They’d passed almost through the altar-dotted piece of land when Chyrie paused not far from a thicket of bushes. A second later a curious creature the size of a large cat bounded out of the bushes and into Chyrie’s arms, its black-ringed tail swishing excitedly. A moment later, a very startled elven face peered out of the same thicket, gold eyes widening as they fastened on Ria and Chyrie.

The bushes parted and the stranger stepped out, and Ria stared in puzzlement. The man was a good bit taller than Chyrie, and though his skin was as brown as hers, the tips of his ears were rounded, not pointed as Chyrie’s and Ria’s own. In fact, except for his tawny gold eyes so much like Chyrie’s and the exotic cast of his features, he looked very much human, if short for a human male. But there was something about his face, about the eyes that fastened so sharply on her, that made Ria shiver with recognition.

She’d seen that face in dreams a thousand times, pictured it in her mind every day.

The stranger stepped forward slowly, hesitantly, and Ria stepped to meet him just as slowly, searching her mind for every scrap of Olvenic she’d ever learned.

“Valann?” she murmured. “You’re Valann. My brother.”

He took the last step forward and reached out his hand very slowly, his own fingers shaking, as if afraid she would vanish at a touch. Ria felt her own hands trembling, but she reached out, too, closing her eyes with relief as she clasped warm, strong fingers.

“And you are Ria,” Valann said, almost whispering. “My sister.”

Ria swallowed hard, feeling unexpectedly shy.

“Chyrie brought me,” she said. “We came all the way from the western edge on deer, and Chyrie—”

They both turned, and then were silent. Only Ria’s packs were there, abandoned on the ground.

Chyrie was gone.

Chapter Twelve—Passage

There was so much to say, and neither had the words to say it, but they tried, babbling in both languages, words over words, interrupting each other and laughing at their own confusion and each other’s. The sun traveled from east to west, hours passing like minutes as Ria spoke, then Val, then Ria, then Val. Again and again one or the other would reach out to touch the other as if unable to believe they were both really there, truly meeting at last.

Val wondered at Ria’s descriptions of Cielman and Allanmere, pressing her for details of the metal so freely available and the amazing ease with which one human city traded with another, strangers meeting as easily as if they were kinfolk. He scowled in indignant sympathy when Ria told him of her involuntary betrothal to Cyril, shaking his head in admiration when Ria spoke of the invisibility that had allowed her to creep from the city, although Ria was far too excited to demonstrate.

Ria in turn could not hear enough stories about life in Inner Heart, Dusk’s visions, Valann’s own prowess at hunting and tracking. She was astonished to learn that Valann was all but mated and Lahti with child. The forest seemed like such a strange and rather harsh place to her; that Val had lived in such simple happiness here seemed amazing to her.

But even after the stories, nothing matched the miracle of that very moment, sitting and talking together, brother and sister solid and real to each other’s eyes. Again and again one or the other would nod, grinning reminiscently or wincing sympathetically, “Yes, yes, it was just like that—”

At last empty stomachs and parched throats demanded relief, and Val brought out the last of his camp food while Ria emptied her pack. Their makeshift meal was broken frequently by laughter when Ria spit out dried root grubs as soon as she realized what it was she’d eaten, or as Val wrinkled his nose when he sipped the wine Ria had brought from the city. The laughter was as filling and as satisfying as the food. At last, hunger satisfied and words temporarily exhausted, they simply sat and stared at each other, smiling and shaking their heads.

Valann traced the planes of Ria’s face wonderingly, gently touching the delicately pointed tips of her ears.

“Your eyes are not of us,” he murmured. “So deep, as if sky and leaf bled together. And you so young, so small.”

“I’m not so young,” Ria said, a little embarrassed. “I’m as old as you. Exactly as old.”

To Ria’s amazement, Valann reached out and ran his hand over the front of her tunic, feeling her small breasts as casually as Ria might have checked the teeth on a horse.

“No,” he said. “You’re still only a child, of course. But you will grow in your own time.”

They were silent for a long moment, Ria building her courage to ask the one question that still burned in her heart.

“Valann,” she said at last, in a very small voice, “Why did she do it? Why did she give us away? Why did she give me to humans who’d take me away from my home, my own people?”

Val was silent for a long moment. He’d asked himself that same question so many times that his mind had worn away at it like a river at its banks.

“Rowan and Dusk always told me that you and I were born for a great destiny, to serve the Mother Forest by bringing elf and human together in peace,” Val said slowly. “I can’t say with a whole heart that that’s not truth. But I believe it isn’t the only truth, or even the greatest truth. I’ve looked into our mother’s eyes, I’ve touched the heart of the Mother Forest, and those were not the things I saw there.

“What happened to our mother, or why, we will likely never know. Her spirit lives in a place within the Mother Forest, and I know that that place is no place where a mother can live and care for her children. I think perhaps she can hardly bear to be near us—or anyone—for long, so many voices clamor for her attention.”

Val waved at the forest around them.

“When we were born, the Heartwood was burned and ravished, a hard place to live for many years. Game was scarce; even many of the food plants were gone. Many elves died of hunger or illness. Many others died in the raids and squabbling between clans desperate for land and food. How our mother even survived alone, no one can say. I believe she gave us up because her love for us, her desire for our safety and well-being, was greater than her own need to keep her children.”

“But to give me to the humans!” Ria protested.

Val only shrugged, although his heart ached at the thought.

“Besides her own clan, who were dead,” he said carefully, “Chyrie knew only Rowan and Dusk and the humans Sharl and Rivkah. I think there were many reasons she gave us as she did. She knew the humans would bring you back home in time, and that you would never know hardship and lack food as the elves did in those early years after the battle. Perhaps she only meant for you to bring your knowledge of humans to the Heartwood when you returned.” He sighed. “For me, I’ve ached and resented and wondered as you’ve done, but she cannot give us those answers, and anything I tell you is a guess and little more. But you and I have seen the love in our mother’s eyes, felt it in her touch. That much we can believe. And perhaps in time—”

He froze, listening, then sniffing the air.

“Someone comes. A strange scent.”

Ria sniffed the air, too, but her nose was filled with the unfamiliar forest scents and she could isolate nothing. She strained her ears, and this time, despite the small sounds of the forest, she heard something she
could
recognize.

“Horses,” she said, and sighed. There could be no doubt of who the riders were. But how could Lord Sharl and Lady Rivkah possibly have tracked her here?

“Humans?” Val scowled. “But how could they have come here? Other clans would have driven them forth, or killed them.”

“Unless Lady Rivkah hid them by magic,” Ria corrected exasperatedly. “That’s probably how she found me, too.”

“Then we too must hide.” Between one breath and another Val had seemingly vanished; glancing amazedly around her, Ria finally found him seated on a branch over her head, almost invisible behind the thick foliage, beckoning impatiently. “Hurry!”

Ria stared blankly; she couldn’t reach, even the lowest branch, and she’d never climbed a tree in her life—there were no convenient cracks for footholds, and she could hardly be expected to shinny up the thick trunk like it was a rope. Instead she hunkered down in the undergrowth at the base of the tree and concentrated, making herself small, insignificant, unseen—she heard Valann’s gasp of surprise above her and almost lost her concentration, but recovered it.

It was only a few moments before Ria saw the legs of Lady Rivkah’s favorite riding horse, although she did not dare peek upward to see if Lady Rivkah was in the saddle. Her curiosity was satisfied a moment later as Lady Rivkah’s boots, then her old leather trousers, appeared beside the horse. To Ria’s consternation, dried brown stains on the trouser legs looked suspiciously like blood.

“There’s no one here,” Ria heard Lord Sharl say, his voice heavy with exhaustion and a note of something very like despair. “Are you sure this is the place?”

“It’s where my tracking spell ends,” Lady Rivkah replied, her own voice just as leaden. “I don’t know what else to do, Sharl. Should we try to go on to Inner Heart?”

“Gods, I don’t know what we’ll do if anyone else shoots at us,” Lord Sharl sighed. “I’ve used all my crossbow bolts, and your magic is exhausted, don’t pretend it isn’t. And I don’t know how much farther Cyril can ride.”

“I can ride.” Cyril’s voice was weak, so weak it frightened Ria. “But why would she have come here? There’s no one here. I thought she was looking for her brother.”

Ria hesitated. What was happening? Was Cyril injured? Had they been attacked in the forest? Then why hadn’t they turned back to the city? But one thing was certain: If Lord Sharl and Lady Rivkah had gone so far as to risk bringing Cyril into the Heartwood, nothing so simple as hiding or invisibility was going to keep them from finding Ria. Even if Lady Rivkah had exhausted her magic, as soon as she’d regained her strength, she’d use it, and that would be that.

Abruptly Valann dropped from the limb above them, confronting the humans boldly.

“She came seeking her brother, and she has found him,” he said. “And who comes seeking her?” He scowled fiercely, his hand resting threateningly on his knife hilt, although he made no move yet to draw the blade.

That was enough. Ria let her don’t-see-me drop and stepped out of the bushes.

“They’re my foster parents, High Lord Sharl of Allanmere and High Lady Rivkah,” she said ruefully. “And their son Cyril.”

When she glanced at the humans, however, she was silent in shock. Lord Sharl and Lady Rivkah might have been riding day and night without cease, their plain riding leathers were so soiled and their faces so grimed and drawn with exhaustion. Blood stained their clothing in places, and Lord Sharl’s right forearm and wrist were wrapped in bloodstained bandages. Lady Rivkah’s head was bandaged, too, and the edge of an ugly bruise showed past the bandages. Cyril, however, had fared the worst. His right shoulder and thigh were bandaged, and there was a frighteningly dark stain on the left side of his tunic.

Slowly Valann took his hand away from his knife hilt.

“There’s a camp in those bushes,” he said slowly, gesturing. “The boy can rest on the pallet there.” He turned to Lady Rivkah. “Rowan told me you were a healer.”

“I can use healing magic, yes,” Lady Rivkah said tiredly, stepping over to help Cyril down from his horse, “when I haven’t exhausted my power fending off hostile elves and concealing us from patrols so they couldn’t finish what they’d started. Not to mention using tracking spells to find our way when we were driven away from the trails we’d been following. Are there any healers here?” she added anxiously. “I thought I detected someone approaching from the east, close by.”

“Who’s coming?” Lord Sharl said quickly, drawing his sword despite his obvious exhaustion. Cyril stumbled over to one of the altars, leaning against it and reaching for his own, sword.

“Do not dare draw your weapon in this place,” Val hissed, hand again on his knife hilt. He sniffed the air. “Those who come have a right to be here, and you have none.” He turned to Ria, grimacing. “Rowan, Eldest of Inner Heart, who has been as my mother from birth, her mate and Inner Heart’s Gifted One, Dusk, and my mate Lahti, all riding on deer. I’m surprised only that they didn’t track me here sooner.”

“Maybe they weren’t attacked three times by hostile patrols,” Lord Sharl said wryly, “but maybe their mounts rode around in circles like ours did. Maybe deer crossed and recrossed your trail until the gods themselves would’ve needed signposts to follow.”

Ria glanced at Valann, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. Lord Sharl’s pursuit explained Chyrie’s haste to bring Ria to her brother; no doubt she’d had deer trampling their back trail to confuse their pursuers.

Ria hurried to Cyril’s side and helped him boost himself up onto the flat stone where he could sit more comfortably. Somehow all her anger and resentment at her human family seemed insignificant when she looked at the stained bandages.

“Are you all right?” she asked anxiously. He seemed so weak and pale.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Cyril said gamely, but his grin was pained. “Nothing dangerous, but it looks like I’ll be the one limping for a while.”

There was an awkward moment of silence as the five of them eyed each other. At last Cyril turned to Val.

“So you’re Valann,” he said quietly. “Ria’s been wondering about you as long as I can remember. I’m glad we were both finally able to meet you.” He extended his hand.

Valann stared blankly at the extended hand, but made no effort to take it. Then reluctantly he stepped forward and embraced Cyril carefully, to the human’s vast surprise.

“You are the one with whom my sister was to be forced to mate,” he said. “She told me you fought for her freedom. For that kindness I honor you as if we were born of the same womb.”

“I—thank you,” Cyril said awkwardly, forcing himself to return the embrace. “I only wanted Ria to be happy.”

“Happy? She’s fortunate to be alive, and so are we,” Lord Sharl said impatiently, tying his horse to a tree. “Still, if you say Rowan’s coming, we may as well wait for her.”

“No need to wait,” Val said, shrugging. “Rowan is here. I’ll bring them.” He vanished into the undergrowth with a suddenness that unnerved Ria.

As soon as Valann was gone, Lord Sharl rounded on Ria.

“I hope you realize this little adventure of yours could have gotten you killed, and us with you. I didn’t dare bring guards into the Heartwood for fear of provoking every elf in the forest into a massive battle—not that the guards would’ve been much help against elven patrols hidden in the bushes and trees and shooting arrows that probably would’ve pierced the stoutest armor. They’d have killed us if Rivkah hadn’t managed to hide us with her magic. Cyril’s badly hurt, thanks to you, and if I can’t manage to make some kind of treaty with Rowan, it may be even more dangerous getting back out, now that Rivkah’s exhausted.”

“There will be no danger if you leave passing only through the blighted lands, and I will tell you that road,” Rowan said quietly, following Valann into the small clearing, Dusk and Lahti behind her. “Not all clans are so easily fooled by human magic as they were when last you used it to cloak your journey into our forest. Many small noses followed your scent, many ears marked your passage, and carried that message to Dusk. Fortunately we were already bound for the Altars in search of our wayward Valann.” She laid her hand on Valann’s shoulder. “Strangely enough, there was no trail at all to follow, and not a beast or bird seemed willing to give Dusk any idea of his whereabouts. When Hawk’s Eye sent a bird bearing the news that Ria had come to the Heartwood, however, we knew where Chyrie would take her.”

“Maybe the patrols had beast-speakers, too. That must be how they found us,” Lady Rivkah murmured. “We thought they’d found some way to see through magic.”