A Journey of the Heart (8 page)

"We're going to be up well before dawn tomorrow morning," she said. "We're going hunting."

"Hunting?"

"Bring your bow," she said.

Her mention of the bow reminded me of Sparrow's questions.

"This afternoon," I said, "Sparrow asked me where my bow came from."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her you gave it to me. When she asked me how you came by it, I said you found it."

Maara nodded. "All quite true."

I hesitated to ask my next question, but it had worried me all afternoon.

"What if Vintel were to recognize the bow?"

Maara shrugged. "Even if she does, I doubt she'll say anything about it."

"But then she'll know we found that man's body."

"Does it matter?"

I thought it over. Could anything make Vintel more our enemy than she was already?

"I suppose not," I said, but that wasn't what was bothering me. "Would she tell Sparrow, do you think?"

"I don't know. She might." Maara saw the worry in my eyes. "Sparrow can't fault you for being less than completely honest with her. The Lady asked us to keep our knowledge to ourselves."

"That's not what worries me."

"What is it then?"

"My bow killed Eramet."

I had never before said it out loud. I remembered how I felt when Maara first handed me the bow. How could I have used it all this time without once thinking of the loss of Eramet?

Maara turned to face me. "That troubles you?"

I nodded.

"Why?"

Why couldn't she see what was so obvious to me? "My bow took the life of someone Sparrow loved. When I couldn't tell Sparrow the truth about the bow today, it was more to spare her that knowledge than because the Lady told us not to tell."

"You would spare Sparrow the knowledge that the bow that killed her warrior is now in the hands of her friend?"

"I would spare her the reminder of her loss."

"Do you believe she doesn't remember her loss every day? Does she need to be reminded of it?"

"No."

"Your bow has taken life, a warrior's life. That makes it strong. If I were to choose a sword, I would choose one that has tasted blood over a blade brought new from the forge."

"Why?"

"Just like a person, a weapon that has been tested can be relied on."

"So I can trust my bow because it has taken life?"

"You must first trust yourself," said Maara. "But you can trust that your weapon has at least as much courage as its master." She looked at me appraisingly. "When you set your foot upon the warrior's path, had you not considered all that it entails?"

"All the women of my family were warriors. It's the path I was always meant to take."

Maara frowned. "Was it not your own choice?"

"It was the path I wanted. I never wanted anything else."

"You never considered anything else?"

"What else is there?"

"There is more than one path to power," Maara said. "You could have become a healer or followed the path of wisdom like Namet."

"Namet was first a warrior," I reminded her.

"That's true," she said. "And like Namet you may find that your true path lies elsewhere but that you must take the warrior's path to find it."

I couldn't imagine that someday I might be as wise or as powerful as Namet. I thought I would be satisfied just to become a warrior, something that until only a short time ago I had suspected might not be within my reach.

"In the meantime," Maara said, "you must understand that at the heart of power is the willingness to use it. At the heart of a warrior's power is the willingness to take a life, in order to preserve her own life and the lives of others. The taking of life is a responsibility you will have to bear, and before you become a warrior, you must decide if you're willing to bear it. When you go into battle, there will be no time to ask yourself that question."

When you go into battle.
A shiver of anxiety went through me.

"Of course every path carries its own responsibility," said Maara. "A healer takes responsibility for the lives in her care. And Namet has certainly made choices that meant life or death for many. But to stand before a living person and take an action that may end that person's life is not something everyone can do. To be unable to do it is not a shameful thing, but you must be honest with yourself about it before you put lives at risk. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"Every time you draw your bow, I want you to feel the power in it. Let your weapon guide you into an understanding of what it means to wield the power of life and death."

She saw that I didn't understand.

"Never mind," she said. "It's too soon for you to think about that."

The next morning I was still sound asleep when Maara came to the companions' loft. I slipped out of Sparrow's arms without disturbing her and followed Maara down to the kitchen, carrying my clothes with me so that I could dress without waking the companions.

"Wait for me here," Maara said, and she went back in the direction of the great hall.

It didn't take me long to dress. While I was waiting for Maara to return, I made us each a bowl of nettle tea with honey. I usually had no trouble waking up in the mornings, but the night before I had stayed up later than I should have talking to Sparrow, and the sweet tea cleared my groggy head.

"Who's there?" Gnith's voice came from the direction of the hearth.

"It's me, Mother. Tamras."

I went to sit beside her and offered her a sip of my tea.

"You're up early," Gnith said.

"I'm sorry I woke you, Mother."

"Wasn't sleeping." She took a long drink of my tea.

"My warrior got me up early today. We're going hunting."

"Hunting? Hunting for what?"

"I don't know."

"Then how will you know when you've caught it?" She cackled at her own joke.

I couldn't help laughing with her. "Maara knows what we're hunting. I imagine she'll let me know."

"Mmmm," said Gnith, as she finished the last swallow of my tea. "Bring some more."

I set another bowl to steep and brought her the tea I had brewed for Maara.

"Would you ask a blessing?" she asked me. "A blessing on your bow perhaps?"

I don't know what surprised me more, that she remembered my asking for her blessing or that she knew about my bow.

"Little birds," she said.

"What?"

"Little birds come and tell me things."

"Oh." Then I remembered that I had left my bow upstairs. I started to get up, to go and fetch it, but Gnith put her hand on my arm to stop me.

"Your stranger's idea, was it?"

"Yes," I replied. Before she could tell me I should learn to use a sword instead, I said, "It was a good idea."

"Yes, indeed," she said. "A very good idea. How did she come to think of it?"

"You'll have to ask her that."

Gnith's thin lips puckered into what might have been a pout. "She never comes to see me."

Just then Maara entered the kitchen carrying an armload of weaponry. She came over to the hearth where Gnith and I were sitting and set everything down on the floor. She had brought my bow, as well as another for herself, along with an assortment of arrows and two quivers.

Maara sat down cross-legged on the cold stone floor and handed me one of the quivers. Then she picked up an arrow and inspected it, sighting along its length to see if it was reasonably straight and making sure that the stone tip was securely fastened. I followed her example and began to fill the quiver she had given me.

"Is she the one?" Gnith's eyes were on Maara's face.

"Yes, Mother."

"Dark," said Gnith.

Maara's hand paused for the briefest moment before proceeding to slip an arrow into her quiver. She gave no other sign that she had heard what Gnith said.

It was the first time I'd known Gnith to be unkind.

"She can hear you, Mother," I said.

"Of course she can," said Gnith. "She has ears on her, doesn't she?"

"What's that?" said Maara. She cocked her head as if she were listening for something. "A wind through dry leaves? Black water whispering down a cave wall?" She turned to look at Gnith. "No, just the voice of a foolish old woman."

I hardly believed what my ears had heard. When I turned to look at Gnith, I was astonished to see that she was staring wide-eyed at Maara, her face alight with a delighted grin. Then she began to laugh. Her laughter started as a whisper that did sound rather like the wind in dry leaves. Soon it was a chuckle, and then a cackle, and then full-throated laughter that I feared would wake the entire household.

"Why was she laughing?" I asked Maara when the kitchen door had closed behind us.

"She was laughing at my calling her a foolish old woman," Maara said.

"But why did she think that was so funny? Didn't she think you were insulting her?"

"She found it funny because she knew that I know better."

"Oh." I still wasn't certain I understood her.

"Do you believe she's foolish?"

"No," I replied. "I think she's very wise."

"Why?"

"She's given me wise advice. More than once."

"Oh?"

I tried to think of an example to give her. I was going to say that Gnith had given me the binding spell, until I remembered that Maara didn't know about the binding spell. I doubted that I could explain it to her very well, so I said, "She told me how to ask the Lady for the apprenticeship I wanted."

"Did she?"

I nodded.

"Then I am in her debt," she said.

Whatever I had been about to say flew out of my head. Before I got over being surprised, I felt a foolish grin spread across my face and a warm glow begin around my heart. A nagging voice at the back of my head tried to spoil the pleasure her words had given me.
The voice whispered, It's Namet she's thinking of.
I ignored that voice. I wanted to believe something else.

When we reached the bottom of the hill, we turned into a narrow lane. On either side of the lane were fields where the grain had just been harvested, and the hedgerows were alive with birds.

The first light of dawn appeared over the eastern hills. The birds began to wake. The way they sang and twittered almost made me laugh out loud, when I thought of how like they sounded to the voices of the girls in the companions' loft.

We came to a break in the hedgerow. Maara strung her bow and motioned to me to do the same. Her quiver hung from her belt at her left side where she usually carried her sword. She drew an arrow from it, but she didn't nock it. With the bow in her left hand and the arrow in her right, she slipped through the gap in the hedgerow.

Birds were feeding on the grain that had fallen from the sheaves, and I wondered if Maara intended them to be our quarry. I saw several quail, but they would provide no more than a mouthful, and the other birds weren't big enough to be worth the plucking of them.

When we approached, they scurried away from us. As if they knew the reach of our arrows, they stayed just out of bowshot. Maara kept to the edge of the field. I thought she was using the hedgerow for cover, but it didn't seem to be an effective tactic. Every bird feeding in that field knew we were there.

Suddenly, with a desperate flapping of wings, from right under our noses a large, brown bird flew up out of the tall grass that grew along the hedgerow. It startled me. Before I could take a breath or say a word, I heard the singing of Maara's bowstring. The bird stopped in mid-flight and dropped to earth a dozen feet in front of us, where it struggled to free itself from the arrow that had pierced its wing. Maara walked over to it, picked it up, and wrung its neck.

I stood staring at her. I hadn't seen her nock the arrow or let it fly. I hadn't seen her move at all. She withdrew her arrow from the bird's wing and slipped the bird into her game bag.

Within the hour she brought down half a dozen birds. I tried to watch her, to see how she did it, but always the bird flying up startled me and drew my eye. Then she signaled me to take the lead and do as she had done.

Time after time, a bird flew up out of the grass and took wing before I could do more than watch. I couldn't react quickly enough to nock an arrow, much less let it fly. After several failures I kept an arrow nocked and ready. At last I loosed it more or less in the direction of the next bird to fly out of the grass. I missed the bird by yards.

It was midmorning, and by now every bird on Merin's land had filled its belly and was attending to other business. The day had grown quite warm. Maara took me to the river, where we bathed and cooled ourselves.

"If you'll make the fire," she said, "I'll share my game with you."

It had never occurred to me that she wouldn't share whatever food she had. We had brought nothing with us, and we'd had no breakfast. I was ravenous.

"The next time we hunt," she said, "you must feed yourself or go without."

I nodded. I knew why.

We shared one of the birds between us. All the rest but one Maara gave to a boy who was herding geese out to the fields where we had hunted that morning. The last bird she gave to me.

"For Gnith," she said.

That evening I cooked the bird for Gnith. She hadn't many teeth left, so I stewed it until it fell off the bones and gave her the broth with the meat in it.

"My warrior sent you this," I told her.

"It's good," she said.

When she finished, she set the bowl aside.

"You should have let me bless your bow."

I was only a little surprised that she knew about my failure as a hunter.

"Next time I will," I said.

The next morning I rose before dawn and took my bow down to the kitchen. Gnith was waiting for me.

"Let's see this strange bow of yours," she said.

Gnith closed her eyes and ran her fingers up and down its length.

"Strong," she said.

She opened her eyes and looked at me. I thought she was going to ask me where the bow had come from. Instead she said, "Not one of ours."

"No," I admitted.

"Not your stranger's either."

"No."