I thought I caught a glimpse of envy in Sparrow's eyes.
"Does Eramet punish you?"
She didn't answer me.
It was late. Maara and I had spent the evening sitting in the great hall. Few people ever spoke to her. It may have been because she was a stranger, though her manner also put them off. Whether she was aware of it or not, she tended to glower when she was in a crowd of people. That evening she was eavesdropping on a conversation about what had been happening along our northern border. When she saw me yawning, she sent me up to bed.
I slept lightly, and I woke as soon as she came into the room. I raised the wick in the lamp I had left burning, to give her more light, but when I started to get up, to help her get ready for bed, she told me to go back to sleep. She undressed and slipped into her sleeping shirt. Then she pinched out the flame of the lamp and got into her bed.
As I lay there in the dark, I felt Maara's presence in the room, familiar and comforting. When she was with me, the world was as it should be. I hardly remembered the woman with angry eyes who wouldn't have me near her.
"Why didn't you want me?" I asked the question the moment it came into my head. If I had stopped to think about it, I might have said it differently, or I might not have said anything at all.
For a time she didn't answer. I thought she might already be asleep, but at last she said, "I don't know what you mean."
"When I first came to you, you said you didn't want a companion."
"Oh." She was quiet for so long I thought she wasn't going to answer me. Then she said, "I was wrong to do that. I'm sorry."
"You must have had a reason at the time."
"If I did," she said, "I've forgotten it."
6. Missing
All summer the northern tribes left us in peace. At harvest time their warriors came to raid the farms along our northern border. The time had come for Maara to take up her sword and shield and join our warriors on the frontier. She refused to take me with her.
"Why?" I asked her.
She didn't answer me. She concentrated on the folding of her pack.
"Please," I said.
"No."
"Are you afraid you can't depend on me?"
"No."
"Why, then?"
"It's too dangerous," she said. "You're not ready."
"I thought I was doing well."
She stopped what she was doing and looked at me.
"You're doing very well," she said. "Next year you'll be ready, but not now."
As disappointed as I was that she wouldn't take me with her, this was the first time she'd ever praised me in so many words, and the pleasure it gave me stopped my protests.
"Let me go part way with you then," I said.
"Maybe," she replied.
In the morning we went north together. We stopped well before dark and made our camp. We were still a long way from our northern border, but we had gone as far as she would let me go. We ate our supper early. I had run out of things to chatter on about. I already missed her.
She asked me for a story. She took me by surprise, and I began the first one that popped into my head.
In ancient days, when only women were warriors, lived a young girl and her mother in a cottage at the edge of the forest. All around the cottage were meadows where they grazed their sheep, and in the springtime flowers of great beauty grew there. The forest was a dark and dangerous place, the abode of wolves. In wintertime, the hungry wolves came in search of sheep, and every year they killed at least a few.
All her life the girl had feared the forest. One summer day, when the flowers in the meadow had all bloomed and faded, she sat near her flock in the shade of an old oak at the forest's edge. The day was hot, and soon she slept. The sound of singing filled her dreams. She awoke, and still she heard it. Sometimes one voice, sometimes many, echoed among the trees.
The girl followed the sound. Deep she went into the forest, deep into the dark beneath the trees, until she came to a clearing where flowers grew. They were all the colors of the night -- the violet of twilight, the pale silver of the moon, the rose of dawn. In her delight, she fell to her knees and began to pick them.
She had forgotten that it was the song she'd followed, but when the singing stopped, she remembered. She stood up and put the flowers she had gathered into the folds of her tunic. Then she began to be afraid. She turned for home but could not find her way. Night was falling.
As the darkness deepened, she saw the amber eyes of wolves glowing in the shadows. The wolves drew near, until they were all around her. The whole pack of them pressed in on her, so that she could not tell one wolf from the other.
They began to run, and she had no choice but to run with them. It felt to her as if her body ran on all fours, as if she were gathering her arms and legs beneath her before springing forward with a power she had never had before. Her eyes could see as well in darkness as in daylight. Her ears attuned themselves to every sound. She heard the wings of night birds as they pursued their prey, the scurrying feet of mice, the beating hearts of hunted animals, and their last cries.
New smells too came to her on the air -- the rotting of the forest floor, the breath of leaves, the bite of water as they passed a brook, the scent of each wolf, as distinct as the faces of the people she knew. She ran and ran until she had no memory of herself, and her waking life became a dream that shimmered at the edges of her mind.
In the morning the girl awoke beneath the oak tree. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she caught sight of a wolf as it vanished into the forest, but it may have been only the shadow of her dream.
She knew her mother would be worried, so she hurried home. Before she went into the cottage, she stopped by a brook to wash her face and hands. When she leaned over the water, out of the folds of her tunic fell flowers the colors of the night -- the violet of twilight, the pale silver of the moon, the rose of dawn.
I must have scared myself with that story, or perhaps I was already afraid for my warrior, but that night I had bad dreams. I woke to see her sitting by the warm ashes of the fire.
"Were the wolves after you?" she said.
A little smile played around the corners of her mouth. I didn't mind her teasing, and her smile lifted my heart.
In the morning she left me. I was in no hurry to go home. I didn't want the others to see the tears that came too easily. I camped that evening not far from Merin's house. It wasn't until the next afternoon that I felt ready to face the household.
I tried to tell myself that I was only disappointed to be left behind, but at last I had to admit to myself how much I missed her. I had been alone in Merin's house until my warrior needed me, and then I wasn't lonely anymore.
The Lady was angry with me.
"Did you know she was going to the frontier?" she asked me.
"Yes," I said. "She told me she was going to join the others."
"But she left alone."
"Yes."
"And you didn't think it strange?"
"No," I said. "She told me -- "
"Did it never occur to you that she might be lying to you?"
"No," I said. "She doesn't lie."
The Lady shook her head at me. "You have no idea if she has lied to you or not. From what you've told me about her, she says so little that it would be difficult to catch her in a lie. And sometimes the greatest lies are found in what people fail to say."
I was confused. "She told me she was going to join the warriors who went north with Vintel a week ago."
"And why did she not leave with them a week ago?"
I couldn't answer her. I didn't know.
"Did she tell you why she wouldn't take you with her?"
"She said I wasn't ready."
"Well, that may be true enough," she said. "Or it may have been an excuse to get rid of you, so that she could go back to wherever she came from."
That possibility had never occurred to me.
"When did she leave you?" the Lady asked
me.
"Yesterday morning," I replied.
The Lady looked alarmed. "How far did she take you, that you were two days coming home?"
"She didn't take me far."
I wanted to reassure the Lady that my warrior hadn't taken me into danger, but I was embarrassed to admit to her why I had stayed away so long.
"I turned my ankle a bit on the way home," I said. "I rested it for a day so that I wouldn't make it worse."
Though it was true I'd turned my ankle, I had done it earlier that day, and it hadn't bothered me much.
Suddenly the Lady's face changed. She had been impatient with me. Now she smiled and put her arm around my shoulders.
"My dear," she said. "You are so young. I know how she must appear to you. She is a warrior. She is strong and brave and skillful. She is everything you want to be, and she has been teaching you, although she has no obligation to."
My mouth dropped open in surprise.
"Of course I knew about it," she said. "There is little I don't know about what happens here."
The Lady put her hands on my shoulders and turned me to face her.
"Your mother is my dearest friend," she said. "Your family and mine were the first to take this land. Together we have held it for many generations, and we will hold it for many generations more. I've put my trust in you, believing that of all the people in my service, you would not be turned against me." She looked long into my eyes. "Do you belong to your warrior or to me?"
"To you," I said.
It was the only answer I could give her, though it hurt my heart to say it. I felt Maara's disappointment, as if she could have heard me, yet by her oath she belonged to the Lady just as I did.
The Lady smiled. "Good," she said.
"What do you believe she's going to do?"
"I have no idea," she replied. "Maara may be just what she claims to be, or she may not. If I had known she was leaving for the frontier, I would have sent someone with her, to see that she joined our warriors there. If you had come home yesterday, I would have sent someone after her, but as it is, all we can do now is wait for news. If she joins Vintel, I will know it within the week. If not, we'll have to wait and see what happens."
"I can't believe she would betray us. I would trust her with my life."
"And with all our lives?"
"She almost lost her life in your service," I reminded her.
"She made her oath to me. She did no more than keep it."
"Why did you accept her oath if you were so afraid of her?"
"I accepted her because she had nowhere else to go, and because I trusted my own feelings about her, but it's always wise to make sure that one's feelings tell the truth."
The Lady gave me a quick hug, the first she'd ever given me, and kissed my brow.
"I know you meant well," she said. "Try not to worry about this. There may be no harm done, and even if she does betray us to the northern tribes, we are much stronger than they. The knowledge of our strength should only discourage them from trying it."
That night I went to my bed in tears. I had failed in my obligation to the Lady. She had warned me not to be too trusting, but in all the time I'd spent with Maara, I never doubted her intentions for a minute. Now I didn't know if I had been right or wrong.
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.
7. Innocent
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.