No One's Chosen (28 page)

She laid the map on one of the chairs her Attendants
had left vacant, her skin dry. Sleep was the only thing left now.
She would have some answers by the end of the next day, at
least.

Socair slept well for the first time in the past week
or so. She rose before dawn had begin to color the sky with oranges
and purples and dressed. She went to her Attendant's tent to find
Silín dressing. Doiléir was still sleeping, arm lazily hanging off
his bed. Socair motioned at him silently and Silín responded by
upending a mimed bottle.

Once Silín was dressed they made for the stables. The
master of horse was not yet finished cleaning the stalls and had
not started to saddle animals for the day's riders. She begged
Socair's pardon and prepared two of her fastest coursers.

There was not a cloud to be seen as they set out for
the Mire but the ride would be a quiet one. They would be traveling
at speed so much as they could. The ride was flat and green for the
most part. The occasional hill or stripe of forest would add
variety but on the whole it was an empty ride. The Mire was only
sparsely populated and even then most of the villages were small
and farther west. There had been a city along the road but it had
been abandoned nearly two-thousand years before when a great flood
submerged the Mire for nearly a decade. Socair had heard of
scholars from the northern temples that would come to the ruins to
study old magics and who knows what else.

They made the edge of the Mire before the fog that
pervaded the massive swamp had fully dissipated into the
mid-morning sun. Socair was pleased with the pace they had made and
slowed up as the bald cypress, swamp oak, and birch trees increased
their numbers around them. The road was nearly unfit for travel
from years disuse.

Silín sidled up to Socair and broke the hours long
silence. "How long now?"

"Not more than an hour."

"And their numbers do not concern you?" It was
understandable that Silín was still somewhat cautious. It had not
been the satyrs themselves that were of deep concern, it was their
positioning.

"I do not mean to move close enough for them to cause
concern. Your arrows will find them before they find us."

Silín kept her eyes on the road but ran a hand across
the short bow slung over her shoulder. "So long as we avoid
enclosed spaces, I will do what I can."

The road was more forgiving in some places than
others. It had taken the whole of the hour Socair had expected for
them to find the large willow that the map said would be their cue
to enter the swamp proper. They hitched their horses and began the
slow walk. It was more than a mile but they could not know whether
there were outlying scouts or, indeed, if the count had been
accurate. Their progress was slow and steady. The ground underneath
was perilously soft in most areas, a fact that meant the weighty,
hoofed hippocamps would struggle at the best of times. It made no
sense for them to camp here, Socair told herself.

It was nearly another hour of slow, careful walking
when Socair touched Silín silently on the shoulder. She could hear
voices not far off. The elves continued forward and the voices
cleared. They were high, scratchy voices of satyrs speaking the
hippocamp tongue. Socair motioned for Silín to ready her bow. They
moved forward from tree to tree until the satyrs were in sight. Two
males, each with a bow and a casting net. That was not what caught
Socair's attention, however. As her eyes ran over the pair, she
heard the twang of Silín's bow loosing an arrow and almost before
she could turn her head, another.

The first arrow found a home in the neck of the
shorter satyr just as he had sounded a laugh. The wind of the laugh
turned shrill in his neck and came out as a wheezing half-whistle.
The other forced its way through the rear of the taller satyr's
skull. He did not make a sound other than a dull impact on the wet
earth. Silín jogged to them ahead of Socair. When she got to them,
she looked up at Socair with an odd expression.

"They're clothed," Silín stated, confused. "Do satyrs
wear clothes?"

Socair walked up to the freshly made corpses. "They
do not. The centaur forbid it."

"Then why…" Silín trailed off there.

"The clothes are not the only curiosity." Socair
looked to her left and right prompting Silín to do the same.

"A… trail? Was there a village nearby?"

Socair only shook her head. Silín looked down at the
bodies. They followed the trail from the trees that ran alongside.
It was only another ten minutes when the trail gave way to a
clearing that had been shored up and built upon. Two rough shacks
stood in the clearing, built of poorly cut wood. A pair of clothed
satyr women sat in around a fire pit cooking fish. Their foals let
out high squeals of laughter as they tackled one another, playing
in the clearing.

Silín moved to Socair's side as
they looked out from behind the thick undergrowth of the swamp.
"This is not right. There should be a camp, not… not houses.
Not
children
."

"There was no camp here," Socair looked at the
shacks, her tone growing heavy. "These satyr fled."

"Then…" Silín's eyes jumped across the clearing, back
and forth as they were searching for some sign of a guard or an
enemy.

"We killed their men." Socair gritted her teeth and
balled her fists.

Silín looked to Socair, she flustered for a
justification. "They couldn't have known. We couldn't have known.
What do we do?"

"We have already done too much. We leave. Now."
Socair turned and began moving away from the clearing. Silín
followed.

Their return to the great willow was made with no
particular expedience. Silín looked behind them as though she were
half-expecting the scouting party they had been sent after to
appear. It did not. It would not. It was never there. Socair knew
this but she still could not understand how things had come to be
as they were. The scouting legion? They controlled the information.
The bird handlers, maybe?

The swamp had become unbearably hot and humid as they
reached the horses. Socair wanted nothing more to do with the
place. It was another unpleasant memory to be added to everything
she had ever known about the Mire. It was a place for things to
come to die or kill. She would not die there. She refused to so
long ago. But she had killed there more than she had ever wanted
to.

Socair rode back slowly with Silín at her side. Silín
seemed deep in thought. Socair had no words, but still she
spoke.

"I had thought there would be answers," she said,
solemnly. "What answers do we have?

Silín was emphatic in her response.
"There
must
be
someone."

"There must," Socair repeated. "We will hope that
Doiléir has coaxed something from someone."

"This was not our doing," Silín said.

"It was and it wasn't. We are not to blame, but it
was our doing. There was no justice in it."

Óraithe looked ridiculous. It had been three days
since they stole the dresses from the old woman but they had not
shrunken to fit her any better. The closest to a fit they could
find was a dress meant for children. It was light pink and plain,
with a check pattern on the skirt. It was as like to get her stupid
questions about why a grown elf was wearing the color of little
girls and boys. She had dressed before Scaa and Bonn had awoken so
at the very least the ridicule would have to wait. She wondered
what Teas would say.

Óraithe liked dresses well enough, except when she
was running some place. They suited her, Cosain insisted. Teas had
said the same whenever Cosain had managed to afford her a new
chemise and kirtle. This, however… this was a child's gown and it
was obvious to see. Worse, it would attract attention on their walk
to the High District. Not so much attention as an elf stripping
naked to change in the middle of a High District street, she
supposed.

As if awaiting a cue, Teas opened the door and
entered the den. She carried an armful of shoes and made straight
for the table, failing to look over at Óraithe.

"I know none of the shoes Scaa took fit, so I cleaned
some of my older—" It was then that she looked over to Óraithe and
stood in stunned silence for a half second before the laughter came
spilling out. "Pfff-hahaha! No! A child's gown?" Teas walked over
to Óraithe and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Dear Sisters, it's…"
She stifled a snicker. "…wonderful."

Óraithe rolled her eyes and playfully slapped Teas's
hands away. "I know I look a fool. If you had bothered to learn
your needle work we could have hemmed and altered one of the
others."

"I do apologize, Óraithe. Had I known we would be
mending stolen dresses, I'd have gotten right to my lessons."
Teas's tone was light but Óraithe knew there was a bit of sharp to
the words. It was not so much that she was against the idea of a
rebellion, she just did not see that it needed to be them who
started it. Teas was also unaware of the fact of the shopkeep.
Óraithe knew that would be too much for her. She had to protect her
friend from it. It was a mistake, after all.

Scaa and Bonn had been roused and Bonn wasted no time
in expressing how pretty she was. It was a line he would repeat at
least three dozen times before the morning was out and each time
Óraithe forced herself to smile at him as genuinely as she could
manage. He was odd, it was true enough, but he was well-meaning and
capable enough to be of use.

Scaa had made it her morning habit to remain nude
until she had broken her fast. On mornings where there was little
to do, this could mean she remained naked until the afternoon. The
sight of her sprawled in the rectangular light that bled in through
the small window had made Óraithe consider planting a foot in her
crotch more than once. It was jealousy, she realized. Scaa was
square shouldered and had no real soft spots from head to toe. Her
breasts and buttocks were small, but still larger than Óraithe's.
She was the tallest of the four as well, though Bonn was apt to
catch her up within the year.

Scaa rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked at
Óraithe. She scoffed a short laugh and offered a languid, "It suits
you," before laying herself down in the morning light doing its
best to shine into the den.

Teas busied herself heating a small cauldron that
Óraithe had brought from Cosain's shop over the hearth. They did
not have much in the way of food but Scaa and Óraithe had stolen a
chicken and some eggs from the market square without being seen.
Teas was cooking up the last of it now. The meat had gone the first
two nights and now all that remained were innards. Kidneys and
liver and the heart. It would not be a terribly fulfilling meal but
Teas had brought some flour from her father's shop and promised to
make a flatbread to go with it.

The stew they had made in the cauldron the previous
night had dwindled to a paltry amount of braising liquid. It was
not much, but it was incredibly flavorful. Teas mixed the flour
into a dough and patted out small rounds. She slapped them onto the
side of the cookpot where they stuck and began to cook. Fifteen
minutes later, everything was prepared and placed into the two
borrowed bowls they had. Everything was split evenly among the two.
Óraithe and Teas shared their bowl while Scaa and Bonn shared
theirs. It was a fair enough system for now.

Scaa sat, naked, at the table and wordlessly grabbed
a piece of bread. She bit into it and groaned her raspy approval.
Óraithe was the one to break the silence.

"Were there any changes last night?" She looked to
Teas who was poking at the chicken kidney with minimal
interest.

"No," she replied, "One of the workers left early. I
could not hear why. He did not return before closing."

"Good." Óraithe took a bite of the bread. It was
simple but it warmed her through. She'd have lived with Teas alone
if she could. Though she doubted her own ability to take care of
her well enough. Teas deserved nicer things. She was an innocent
girl and kind. Though Teas would likely insist on having Bonn with
them at this point and Óraithe did not think she would be able to
bear the boy any more than she already had to.

Óraithe had hoped the morning would be a bit more
lively, but Teas gave only brief answers. She looked to Scaa who
was more interested in food in front of her, little that it was.
Bonn was the only one to meet her gaze.

"You look pretty!" he said with the same undying
enthusiasm as the past twenty recitations of the line. She forced a
smile.

The idea crept over Óraithe that this might be the
last morning she spent outside of a work camp. What an awful
morning to have as a last. "At least I had enough appeal to woo a
dimwit child," she thought to herself. She wondered if it was odd
to be worried that she'd not had enough fun before being sent off
to be raped and worked to death. It never occurred to her to do
something else, however. Teas would have left the work to others
but that had been the way of things for thousands of years. The
disgruntled and disenfranchised waiting for someone to do either
work. Or, worse, hoping for change to manifest itself in the nobles
through… guilt or divine writ or Sisters knows what.

Scaa finished her food and stood, yawning. She
scratched her ample bush of pubic hair and walked off to find her
clothes. They would leave soon and Teas seemed to realize it.
Óraithe leaned back to give the food room to digest. Teas placed a
hand on hers, and squeezed.

"Remember," Teas started, "you mustn't be crass or
vulgar." She squeezed harder. "And you must come back. And…
and…"