Greendaughter (Book 6) (25 page)

(If we must, you will find a bird and send it to the Blue-eyes’ Gifted One,)
Valann thought patiently.
(Even if they have no beast-speaker, they can follow the bird. The Blue-eyes would never have harmed you, and surely will not now.)

(My heart is as pained as my body,)
Chyrie thought, gasping through another wave.
(How can I live without you, and yet what could be more selfish than to snatch you away from the Mother Forest and your rebirth?)

(You have not snatched me away,)
Val thought warmly.
(You brought part of the Mother Forest with me. Oh, love, what I see there is glorious, but the greater miracle is here, this moment, with you.)

(I should let you go,)
Chyrie thought despairingly.
(But how can I?)

(My own spirit,)
Val thought,
(I will never leave you.)
Chyrie closed her eyes and bit down hard on a leather scrap, screaming behind her teeth as she pushed, certain her body would surely split in two—then blessed relief as her daughter coughed on the furs.

Hesitantly, fearfully, Chyrie reached for an absorbent skin, dreading to look; finally, however, she turned to her daughter.

The infant was small and strong and perfect, from her tiny toes to the black hair that curled around the tips of her delicately pointed ears. Chyrie cleaned her lovingly, each flawless inch revealed a celebration.

(Oh, Valann, she is beautiful,)
Chyrie thought joyfully.

(What color are her eyes?)
Valann asked.

The baby’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut as she wailed, but Chyrie tenderly pressed one open. To her amazement, the baby’s eyes were neither brown-black like Valann’s nor amber as her own; instead, they were a deep blue-green, as if leaves and sky had bled together and mixed.

Chyrie had little time to ponder her daughter’s eyes, however, before the pains began anew. It was worse this time, for Chyrie was already tired and her son was much larger than her daughter, and twice more Chyrie mixed potions from Valann’s bag before the infant slid free of her body. For a moment Chyrie simply rested on the furs, too utterly exhausted to move; then her son’s choking cry roused her. She turned to her son—

—and froze, stunned at what she saw.

He was almost half again as large as his sister, and already howling and thrashing his arms and legs vigorously, as if outraged at the indignity of his birth, but those limbs had a thick sturdiness Chyrie had never seen in an infant. His hair was black and straight, like Valann’s, and the set of his face mimicked Chyrie’s, but his ears were perfectly round. Suddenly the baby paused, drawing in breath for a new scream, and his eyes opened slightly, showing the tawny amber of Chyrie’s own eyes.

Chyrie was still a long moment. Then she gently finished cleaning her son and lifted her children to her breasts.

(They are beautiful, love,)
Valann whispered softly in her thoughts.
(Both of them.)

(Both of them,)
Chyrie agreed.

(And it is a fit day to give new life to the forest, when so many have passed on,)
Valann told her.
(How our clan will rejoice.)

That thought roused Chyrie from her drowsy contentment.

(I would see how they have fared,)
she thought eagerly.
(I will need our friends to help me manage these two little ones. Surely there must be—ah, yes, my friend the spot-tailed hawk.)

There was no reaching now for the sharp-eyed bird; it was with her already, and Chyrie had only to sort through the many visions in her mind to look out through its eyes, to soar through the trees to the Wilding village.

A black and smoking ruin met her eyes.

The trees were gone. The hanging shelters were gone. Only the scattered stones of the Wildings’ ovens and their equally scattered bodies marked that this had once been a living clan. Scavenger birds were there already, picking at the flesh of the dead. Most, horribly burned or mutilated, could not be recognized.

It could not be. Surely it could not be. Chyrie sent the spot-tail flashing through the forest, here and there, back and forth. Surely some few must have survived.

There were none alive on Wilding land. If any had survived, they had fled to another clan, and Chyrie knew deep in her heart that that they would never have done.

(I will never leave you,)
Val thought again, his silent “voice” very small, very distant.

Chyrie had not screamed during her bearing, and she did not scream now. She held her children to her and wept quietly.

Chapter Fifteen

Sunlight on wet leaves, now turning red and yellow with the decline of summer. The smell of warm damp earth. Tender new seedlings reaching up through blackened ground.

Two humans, a man and a woman heavily pregnant, rode into the Heartwood alone, unarmed, unarmored, following the elven common road toward the heart of the Heartwood, but no Blue-eyes attacked them. They rode quietly, unhurriedly, seldom speaking to each other. They camped by the side of the trail, seeking clear spots where the vegetation had been burned. There were many such spots. No one came to their fire. The humans held each other in the night, silently.

After several days they reached Inner Heart, not long after sunset. They were met at its borders by a small hunting party of elves, who escorted them to the village. Most of the village’s huts were empty now. The humans declined a hut, telling the elves they must begin their ride back that night. The man and woman were led not to the large speaking hut, which was now gone, but to a small fire at the edge of the village, where they waited patiently, not sitting.

Rowan came quietly, alone. She faced them across the fire.

“Share our food and fire, and be made welcome among us,” she said.

“We are honored to share your food and fire,” Sharl said quietly. “May joy and friendship be our contribution.”

Rowan sat, and the humans did also.

“Those who returned from the city told me what passed there,” Rowan said, opening a wineskin and pouring three cups. “I could scarce believe their tales of the ground opening and a monster reaching forth, but I felt the shaking with my own feet. Many trees fell, but the invaders on our land turned and fled.”

“The shaking was real,” Rivkah said. “The crack in the ground and the hand were illusion. I did it myself. We terrified our own people as much as our enemies, I’m afraid.”

“And how do your people fare?” Rowan asked.

Sharl shook his head.

“When the wall was breached, we lost many people,” he said. “More were killed when the ground shook. The largest part of the survivors are the mercenary troops I brought in, and they have left now. Most of the city’s buildings have fallen, and large parts of the wall. Of what still stands, only a few buildings are truly safe. Several sections of the keep fell, and only a few parts are livable. There are huge holes in the ground where the rock collapsed into the springs under the city. It will take years of work before the city is rebuilt, and we have no money to hire the work done. I will have to go north again to my family and raise money to try again.”

He accepted the cup Rowan passed to him and drank in silence for a long moment.

“And your people?” he asked. “I saw fires deep within the forest, although Rivkah and her mages kept the rain falling until we were sure the army was retreating.”

Rowan lowered her eyes.

“Many clans were destroyed to the last child,” she said softly. “The lands of other clans have been ruined beyond any hope of sustaining them for many years. When the border clans were first attacked and driven from their territories, they fled inward and drove other clans in turn from their lands. By the time the barbarians turned away, most of the border lands had been burned or trampled beyond habitation, and many of the inner lands had been badly damaged as well.”

“What of the alliance?” Rivkah asked gently.

Rowan shook her head. “There is no alliance,” she said. “They fought well together—beyond anything I had hoped or dared to even dream. Our Gifted Ones achieved magic we would never have believed possible. But when all was finished, they fell to fighting for the good lands remaining, where there is still game to feed them through the winter. Now the clans raid each other as they did before.” She sighed. “I could not hold them together, no matter how I tried.”

“New ideas take time,” Rivkah said comfortingly. “You might say this fruit didn’t have time to ripen.” She hesitated. “Is Dusk well?”

“Dusk is not well.” Rowan’s lips thinned. “A human spear, poisoned with their own feces, struck him while his mind flew with a bird. He will be long mending, body and mind, but he will mend.” She was silent for a long moment. “I was told Valann has returned to the Mother Forest.”

“He was killed at the same time as my teacher,” Rivkah said sadly. “We buried them together. Have you heard anything of Chyrie? She disappeared right after Valann was killed, and nobody’s seen her since. No one saw her leave the city, but we haven’t found . ..” Her voice trailed off awkwardly.

“You have not found her body.” Rowan sighed. “We have seen nothing of her. Jeena passed through Inner Heart, and she said—” Rowan stopped, shaking her head. “What she said is impossible. Chyrie is gone, I fear.”

“No.”

The voice that spoke was a harsh croak, rusty with disuse. Rowan, Sharl, and Rivkah stared into the darkness, and saw firelight reflect in tawny amber eyes.

The elf that came forward was almost unrecognizable as Chyrie. She was clothed in leather that looked tattered until the observer realized that the ragged pieces blended perfectly with the color-shifting leaves of late summer. The same vine designs curled over her skin where it was not covered, perhaps more thickly than before. She was still slender and wiry, her hair the same mess of golden-brown curls; but the soul that looked out through her amber eyes was wild and alien, giving her face a feral cast it had not worn before.

“Thank the gods you’re safe,” Rivkah said gratefully. “We searched the city for days, and as far into the forest as we dared to go. Every time we found a female elf’s body I was afraid—” Her voice trailed off as Chyrie turned those unearthly eyes on her.

Rowan stood and slowly approached, reaching toward Chyrie. Chyrie danced back as an animal might shy from a hunter, and Rowan stopped.

“Then Jeena was right,” Rowan whispered. “Oh, little one, have you gone so far away that you cannot come back to us?”

Chyrie gazed at her impassively for a moment; then unexpectedly she grinned, a fleeting ray of sunshine that passed across her face and was gone as suddenly as it had come. She turned back to the bush she had emerged from, then turned again, two bundles in her arms, and the chirrit, Weeka, perched on her shoulder. She placed one of the bundles in Rowan’s arms and the other in Rivkah’s, folding back the protective flap of leather to reveal the small, staring faces of her children.

“Oh, Chyrie, she’s beautiful,” Rivkah exclaimed, letting the baby clasp one sun-browned finger. “And so tiny. What lovely eyes she has.”

Rowan stared at the infant on her lap, and slowly unwrapped the leather from around him, lifting the baby high. He crowed with delight, reaching for the shiny beads in Rowan’s hair.

“I see,” Rowan said slowly. She lowered the baby back to her lap, then shifted him in her arms so she could hold him close, rubbing her cheek on the thick black hair.

“I see,” she said again. She looked up at Chyrie and smiled. “He is beautiful, Chyrie. And perfect. His eyes are much like yours, are they not?”

“But his ears,” Sharl protested. “Aren’t all elves—” He fell silent. “Oh,” he said, at last. “I see.”

Chyrie squatted beside Rivkah, lifting the chirrit from her shoulder and holding it out. Weeka chattered protestingly and ran back up Chyrie’s arm to resume its place on the elf’s shoulder.

“I think she should stay with you.” Rivkah smiled. “Loren would have wanted you to take care of her, and she seems very happy.” She held the baby out carefully. “Do you want her back now?”

Chyrie shook her head, and Rivkah was surprised to see that the amber eyes were very full. Chyrie reached out and touched her daughter’s cheek gently, then backed away. She turned to Rowan, took the older elf’s hand, and laid it on the baby boy, caressing the infant’s face tenderly before she backed away.

“Valann,” Chyrie said hoarsely.

Rowan gazed at the baby for a long moment, then nodded slowly and met Chyrie’s eyes.

“Of course,” she said. “He will be the son my womb never bore, to me and to my people.”

“Oh, no,” Rivkah protested. “Chyrie, you can’t mean—I couldn’t possibly—”

Chyrie touched Rivkah’s lips gently, silencing her. Another quicksilver smile flitted over Chyrie’s face, and she folded the baby’s fist again around Rivkah’s finger.

“All right,” Rivkah said quietly, tears in her own eyes. “I’ll love her as if she were my own daughter, Chyrie. I swear it.”

“When Rivkah bears my heir, they’ll be betrothed,” Sharl promised. “If Rivkah and I aren’t the ones to build this city in peace with the elves, your child and mine will be.”

To Sharl’s amazement, Chyrie chuckled, a hoarse little laugh, that said as plainly as words, “Any daughter of mine will have something of her own to say on that matter.”

“Chyrie?” Rivkah said softly. “What’s her name?”

Chyrie backed to the edge of the clearing, then gave Rivkah one last grin.

“Ria,” she said. Then she was gone, as silently as she had come.

“Ria,” Rivkah repeated, her lips trembling. She looked down and touched the tiny brown cheek as Chyrie had done. “Thank you, Chyrie. Doria would have been proud.”

Rowan gazed for a long time into the darkness where Chyrie had disappeared, then turned back to Sharl.

“Did you return here because of the geas?” she asked.

Sharl grinned that engaging sideways grin.

“The geas would have made me come back,” he said. “But this time I came because I wanted to.”

Rowan nuzzled little Valann’s dark hair.

“And you meant what you said?” she asked. “You still intend to build your city and to make peace with the forest?”

“I
will
do it,” Sharl said firmly. “It will take time and money and a great deal of work, but it will be. And if I am not the one to do it”—he glanced at Rivkah, holding Ria a little awkwardly over the bulge of her own belly—“they will be.”

“Then I will continue to try to bring the clans together,” Rowan said softly. “If you will not surrender the dream, how can I?” She shook her head. “I release you from the geas I laid upon you.”

Sharl raised both eyebrows.

“I could demand many things of you,” Rowan said in answer to his unasked question. “But you give me hope, and your son and Chyrie’s daughter to fulfill that hope. What more than that could I ask?” She patted the baby’s back. “And when you send your children to the forest, Sharl of Allanmere, this child and others will be waiting to greet them in friendship. Go and build your dream, and we will mend, our lands and our spirits. One day it will be as we both wish.”

“Thank you.” Sharl stood, then helped Rivkah up from the log on which she was sitting. “I will wait for that day as eagerly as you do.”

Chyrie watched the man and woman ride slowly back south, the woman cradling the baby as tenderly as if it were made of spun spider-silk. When they were out of sight, she mounted the doe waiting beside her and returned to the temporary den she had woven in the branches of a willow tree leaning over a small creek. Inside the nest, she pulled off her tunic and trousers and carefully fed the tiny fire in the small clay firepot until the shelter was warmly lit.

She reached into the pack beside her and pulled out several small clay pots, pulling out the stoppers to glance critically at the colors inside—bright shades for adding flowers, berries, butterflies. Then she shook her head, smiled, and reached for the green and brown pigments and the packet of needles, then contemplated the place on her hip where the two vines came closest together.

Working slowly but skillfully, she began to make the two vines one.