The Warrior's Path (7 page)

A week went by without news. After another week, we knew my warrior hadn’t joined Vintel’s band. The Lady said nothing more to me about it. She must have known how sorry I was that I had disappointed her, and she was wise enough not to humiliate me by saying, “I told you so.”

My head and my heart could not agree. When I tried to convince myself that Maara had betrayed us, I could easily find evidence against her. We had explored Merin’s land together, and now she had knowledge, not only of the countryside, but of our defenses and our weaknesses. She had asked me many questions I couldn’t answer since I too was a newcomer to Merin’s house. Because I felt close to her, all the more so because she was close to no one else, I would have told her anything.

But my heart would not believe she had been false to us. My heart missed her and worried about her. My heart reminded me of the times I’d made her laugh and the times I’d seen her watching me with pride when I was learning something new. My heart remembered the kindness in her eyes. When I remembered these things, I forgot what my head told me. I believed my heart.

I moved my bed back to the companions’ loft. I felt less lonely there, even though most of the companions, including Sparrow, were away with their warriors at the frontier. Every day I went out into the countryside to help bring in the harvest. It gave me something to do, and at night I was so tired that I fell into my bed and slept a dreamless sleep.

On my way to and from the fields, I stopped by the oak grove. It lay a short distance from Merin’s house, just off the path that joined the river road. The ancient trees had once been part of the great forest that generations past had cleared for farmland. They had spared the sacred groves. The oak grove was sacred to the Mother, and every day without fail I left an offering. My mother always told me that a gift expects no return, so I never asked for anything, but I brought my warrior’s image before my mind’s eye, to remind the Mother to keep Maara in her sight.

When the last sheaf of grain had been cut and bound and carried home, it was time to celebrate the harvest. The sheaf was laid upon the harvest table in the great hall, and the feast began. For a week we had the best of everything, as much as we could eat, and more barley beer than we could drink.

On the last night of the festival, the Lady took up the Mother-sheaf and carried it outdoors. The whole household followed her, through the maze of earthworks and halfway down the hill to the meeting ground, where the country people were assembled. Almost everyone who lived on Merin’s land was there.

The Lady waited for the people to gather around her. When we were quiet, she began to speak. She spoke to us as a mother speaks to her children. She was in fact the mother of us all. This land was hers, and every soul that drew life from it was hers to care for. She spoke to us of our good fortune, of the plenty we enjoyed, of the Mother’s many gifts to us. She thanked us all for our hard work, and she thanked the Mother for making it fruitful. When she spoke of the coming winter, her voice gathered our hearts around the warm hearth she promised us.

The sun was setting, and the whole sky was ablaze. The Lady’s voice soothed me. All was well. All was as it should be. The warmth of the people gathered there shielded me against the growing chill. When the sun had gone and the fire in the sky began to fade, the Lady set the Mother-sheaf alight. We watched it burn until the last ember flickered out.

Someone slipped her hand into mine. It was Sparrow. She drew me away from the crowd and offered me her cup of ale.

The people were beginning to disperse. They wandered about aimlessly over the hillside, still under the spell of the Lady’s voice. So was I too under her spell, and the ale made me lightheaded. Sparrow led me down the hill, away from the others.

“Where are we going?” I asked her.

She giggled. I think she’d had too much to drink.

“Just down the hill a bit,” she said. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

She hurried on, until we were among the trees by the river. Sparrow sat down in the soft grass. When I sat down beside her, she edged closer to me and took my hand. I waited for her to tell me what was on her mind. Instead she looked down at my hand in hers. She turned it over and touched my palm.

“Such small hands,” she said.

I started to pull my hand away, but she took it between both of hers and held it fast.

“Do you miss her?” she asked me.

“Who?”

“Your warrior.”

Ever since the Lady had begun to speak, I hadn’t once thought about my warrior. Like the wind rushing into an empty house, my fear for her rushed back into my heart.

“Yes,” I replied. “I miss her very much.”

Sparrow had only just returned from the frontier, and I didn’t know if she had heard of Maara’s disappearance. I felt the less said about it the better.

“Do you ever sit like this with your warrior?” she asked me.

“Like what?”

Sparrow looked at me as if she thought I should have understood her. She saw that I did not.

“All those evenings when you were out in the countryside with her,” she said, “didn’t she ever approach you?”

I had no idea what she was talking about.

Sparrow’s fingers brushed my cheek. She smiled. “Surely you’re old enough for love.”

I was so surprised I didn’t know how to answer her.

She leaned toward me and touched my lips with hers. I began to feel warm all over, and my hand trembled in her hand. She leaned back and gazed at me.

“I do believe you are an innocent,” she said.

“I have never lain with a man,” I told her.

“Nor with a woman.”

“No.”

“Are all you country girls so backward?”

Her teasing embarrassed me, and my embarrassment made me angry. “If I’m backward, it’s no concern of yours.”

Sparrow laughed. “Not at all. You may keep your secrets.”

She knew perfectly well that I had none to keep.

Now I understood why she had asked me if I missed my warrior, but the thought of Maara approaching me for love almost made me laugh. Sometimes I still had trouble getting her to speak with me.

Then I began to wonder why Sparrow would ask me such a thing. Why would she assume something that had never once occurred to me? In my mind, I answered my own question, and the answer made a little shiver run down my spine.

“Do all the companions here lie with their warriors?” I asked her.

“Not all,” she said.

“Do you lie with Eramet?”

“When she wants me.”

I heard the sadness in her voice. “When she wants you?”

“Tonight she’s with Vintel.”

“Vintel?”

All I could think of was that if Vintel had returned from the frontier, she might have news of Maara.

“Eramet was Vintel’s apprentice,” Sparrow said.

I was torn. I wanted to stay with Sparrow, to let her tell me what was troubling her. She had so often listened to my troubles. But I also wanted to hurry back to Merin’s house to find Vintel. Then it occurred to me that if Vintel was with Eramet, I would be wise to wait until morning.

I turned my thoughts back to Sparrow.

“Do you mind?” I asked her.

“Mind?”

“That Eramet lies with someone else.”

“I shouldn’t,” she said, “but I do.”

I waited to see if she would tell me more, but she stood up and said, “We should go back. It’s late.”

She gave me her hand to help me up. When I was on my feet, she would have let go, but I kept hold of her. I held her hand all the way home.

In the morning I went to Vintel’s room. When she answered my knock, I lifted the curtain and went in. She had stood up to greet me. Perhaps she was expecting someone else.

Although I had seen Vintel almost every day in the great hall, I had never before spoken to her, nor had I ever been this close to her. A woman of impressive height and even more impressive presence, she filled the tiny room. When she saw me, she sat down, and the way she moved, graceful and sinuous, reminded me of a weasel. Her features were unusual, but not unpleasant. She regarded me with curiosity.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” I said, “but have you any news of Maara?”

Vintel shook her head.

I thanked her and turned to leave.

“Do you still expect her?” she asked me.

I nodded.

“I believe she will disappoint you.”

Her words brought tears to my eyes. I bit my lip, to make them stop.

Vintel looked at me then as if she were taking my measure.

“You could go to the frontier with me,” she said. “I’m going back tomorrow. I returned to Merin’s house only to bring Maerel’s body home.”

Maerel had been Vintel’s companion. I hadn’t known her well, but the news of her death shocked me when I heard of it the night before in the companions’ loft. They told me she didn’t die at the hands of an enemy, but drowned when they made a river crossing. The Mother’s river can be as dangerous as the northern tribes.

Vintel cocked her head at me. “Well?” she said.

I didn’t know what she was asking me. I was still thinking of Maerel.

“Will you come with me or not?” she said.

“As your companion?”

“Of course.”

It was a tempting offer. I would have jumped at the chance to go to the frontier with Maara, but it felt disloyal to companion someone else. And I was cautious for a reason I didn’t understand until I had a chance to think about it. I was afraid of what Vintel would require of me.

I shook my head. “I thank you for the honor,” I said, “but I believe my warrior will return.”

That evening, just as the sun began to set, we laid Maerel’s body in the barrow. With her we put everything she owned except her clothing. There wasn’t much. She was to have married in the spring, and she had a bride necklace her betrothed had given her. Her comb, her knife, and a small bronze mirror were laid beside her. Each of the companions gave her a grave gift. I set a pot of sweet herbs at her feet. Sparrow gave her a blue stone.

I had seen death before. Children die of fevers. Women die in childbed. I had lost childhood friends. This death, though, touched me in a way no other death had done. Maerel was a companion, as was I. She had awakened on the morning of her dying day as alive as I, and as certain she would rest that night in her own bed as I was certain I would rest that night in mine.

It was Sparrow who told me my warrior had come home. She found me in the oak grove. Two months had passed since Maara left us, and most of our warriors had returned from the frontier. Soon only the winter weather would guard our borders. The gloomy day matched my mood. No one now expected Maara to return. The Lady had mentioned to me more than once that Vintel needed a companion. I hid, even from myself, how little hope I had of seeing my warrior again. When I heard Sparrow say, “She’s come back,” I felt as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds and brought the color back into the world.

Then I saw that Sparrow could hardly catch her breath, that she must have run all the way from Merin’s house. I thought she was just eager to bring me the good news. As soon as she could speak again, she said, “Come quickly, before they kill her.”

I left Sparrow, winded as she was, far behind. Even before I entered Merin’s house, I heard angry voices. Warriors filled the great hall. Some had drawn their swords, and for a moment I feared to see my warrior lying dead in their midst. Eramet stood facing them. Sword in hand, she blocked the narrow stairway that led upstairs. I pushed through the crowd.

“Where is she?” I shouted over the din.

“She’s with the Lady,” Eramet replied. She moved aside for me, but as I went past her, she caught my arm and said in a low voice close to my ear, “Tell the Lady I need her here.”

I ran on up the stairs and burst into the Lady’s chamber. Three faces turned toward me — Vintel’s, the Lady’s, and my warrior’s.

“Eramet needs you in the great hall,” I told the Lady.

The Lady turned to Vintel and said, “Stay with them,” before she left the room.

Maara’s sword was in Vintel’s hand. Her shield and armor lay beside her on the floor, along with the knife and hatchet she carried on her belt. As frightened as I was, I couldn’t help smiling at her. Her expression didn’t change. She looked defeated. She returned my gaze for a moment, then turned away, as if I meant nothing to her.

The Lady was gone no more than a minute or two. When she returned, she told Vintel to lock Maara in the armory.

“Why would we disarm her only to lock her in with the weaponry?” Vintel protested.

The Lady had little patience left, but she gave Vintel an explanation, although she owed no one an explanation for her actions.

“Where else should I keep her?” she said. “I want her here in this house. No other place is safe for her. The armory is as hard to break into as it is to break out of, and if anyone does break in, the woman will be able to defend herself.”

The armory was downstairs, between the kitchen and the great hall. The heavy door usually stood open, but it could be barred from either side, so that the armory could also serve either to confine someone or as a refuge of last resort. It was filled with wooden chests and wicker baskets containing weapons of all kinds — swords, hunting spears and battle spears, and bows, with arrows for small game and big game, and for war. With the door closed, it would be hot and airless and uncomfortably small. I would have wished for my warrior a better homecoming.

Vintel made a gesture to Maara to go ahead of her. When I started to follow them, the Lady touched my arm.

“Stay,” she said.

The Lady drew her chair up to the small fire burning on the hearth and sat down. She gazed into the flames and was quiet for so long that I thought she’d forgotten I was there.

I shuffled my feet a little, and she looked up.

“Sit down,” she said.

Hers was the only chair in the room, and I didn’t like to perch on the edge of her bed, so I sat down on the hearthstone.

“Maara has brought me some disturbing news,” the Lady said. “If it’s true, many may owe their lives to her. If it’s not, we may waste our warriors on a diversion while our enemies take what we must leave unguarded.”