Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) (3 page)

Teia lifted the boiling kettle off the fire with a forked stick and emptied it into the bucket, careful not to splash herself, then refilled it from the other bucket and set it back to heat.

Mentally she divided the stack of greasy platters beside her into two. One more bucketful and the dishes would be done, thank the Eldest. Her hands were dishpan-red, the tips of her fingers almost numb from scrubbing at dried gravy.

Dunking a stack of plates into the bucket of hot water, she set to with the sand. She’d lost count of how many she’d washed already and she hadn’t even had her supper yet. All the other unmarried girls had had theirs, then drifted away one by one to watch the young warriors wrestle, leaving her, the dutiful one, to finish their chores as well as her own. She sighed and tilted the plate towards the light to check for spots she’d missed, then put it to one side. Complaining about the others’ idleness wouldn’t get the dishes washed any sooner, but she’d make sure their mothers heard about it in the morning.

When the water was too dirty to be useful, she dipped a finger in the kettle. Barely warm. She had enough time to fetch fresh water. With a bucket in each hand she trudged out of the circle of tents towards the stream.

Gradually the roar of the fire and the war band’s raucous laughter faded into the whispery night sounds of the plain. The wandering moon was a little past full, silvering the tall grass so brightly that she could see almost as clearly as in daylight. Habit took her a few yards downstream of the watering place to empty the buckets, then she walked back up the stream-bank to the shallows and refilled them.

The water was deliciously cool on her sore hands. Looking around to see if anyone could observe her shirking her duties, she knelt down and plunged her arms into the stream to the elbows. Wonderful. The sand on the bottom was soft as fine wool. Her hair fell forwards around her face, blocking out all but the faintest glow of moonlight, trapped like fireflies in the rippling water.

She stayed like that for as long as her aching shoulders could bear it, then sat back on the bank and dried her hands on the hem of her dress. No one would miss her for a few minutes more. After the smoke and stink of the camp the plains breeze was refreshing; all she’d been able to smell for two days was elk-grease and ashes.

Teia glanced towards the fire. Poor Drw. Gone now to the Hall of Heroes to sup with his greatfathers. Not for him a glorious death on the field of battle, but his shade would have a tale to tell nonetheless. Carried to Maegern on a woman’s sigh.

I’m tired now, Teia. I think I’ll sleep
.

Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them away.
Farewell, my chief
.

Even with the wind behind her she heard the bleat of bagpipes and the throb of a drum; a ragged line of figures was silhouetted against the blaze, men and women with arms linked as they laughed and stumbled their way drunkenly through a dance. Pledges would be exchanged tonight and no doubt maidenheads broken long before any marriage vows were said.

Marriage. That thought left an ache in the pit of her belly more powerful than her grief for Drw. Her mother Ana had been talking to her aunt about the wedding fair again, though she had not realised Teia could hear as she and her sister reckoned up what price they might get for her at the Gathering. Afterwards, Teia had cried herself to sleep. Next morning, she had looked into the water for her future and seen only clouds.

Teia glanced around, biting her lip. She was alone with the soughing grass, the burble of the stream. No one was close enough to see her, even if she was missed. With the Gathering drawing nearer, less than two weeks away now, she had to know what was waiting for her there.

She dragged one of the buckets between her knees. When the water had settled and the silver disc of the wandering moon floated undisturbed in the centre, she placed both hands on the rim and closed her eyes. Then she reached down inside herself for the music.

Slow to respond at first, it leapt suddenly into the forefront of her mind. Quickly she tamed it, narrowed the flow until it was the merest trickle, then let it out. Bluish sparks crawled around her fingers, writhing out over the water. The reflection of the moon shimmered. It was waning gibbous; not as powerful as a full moon, but still a good sign for scrying. White light filled the circle described by the bucket rim then became utterly still, mirroring a perfect image of her face.

Show me
.

The image shivered then cleared. Still her face, but surrounded now by a cloudy grey sky. Blood smeared her cheek and her hair was a bramble-thicket of wet dark curls. Her eyes were dull as a dead bird’s.

No matter how many times she saw it, that vision always dismayed her, hinting as it did of a future no woman could want. Gripping the bucket’s rim, she took a deep breath to steady herself for the next scrying, in case it was the black warrior again.

Show me
.

The image changed to the boy. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, gazing solemnly out of the water at her, with a woman’s hands resting on his shoulders. Protectively or proudly? She was never sure. His square, blunt features and stocky frame left no doubt whose line he sprang from, even without the glint of gold at the neck of his shirt.

Show me
.

This time she saw a view from a high place, looking down first on forested mountain slopes, then rolling silver-beige plains threaded with bright rivers. The landscape resembled the plains south of the camp, near the an-Archen, but it was not a view she had ever seen during her winters there. Besides, it appeared to be summer, or at least spring, because the sun shone and there were flowers amidst the grass. Far off, nearly at the limit of her vision, antlike figures walked away.

‘What are you doing, child?’

Ytha! The Speaker was right behind her, moving through the grass as quietly as a huntress. Letting go of the music, Teia swirled her fingers through the water to dispel the image and scrambled to her feet to face her.

‘N-nothing, Speaker! I was just fetching water—’ She realised she was gabbling and took a deep breath, pressing a hand to her chest as if she could still her racing heart. ‘I was daydreaming.’

‘Ah. I’m sorry if I startled you,’ said Ytha pleasantly. ‘I thought for a moment I sensed someone scrying.’

‘Scrying?’ Teia’s heart flung itself against her ribs like a trapped bird. Had the Speaker seen? ‘No, not at all. I don’t know how.’

‘Of course not. Because if you had the gift, you would have come to me, wouldn’t you?’

Ytha took a step closer and made a twisting gesture with her hand. A ball of cool blue light appeared, floating above Teia’s shoulder. Even though she’d seen the Speaker’s lights before, the abrupt manifestation of one so close to her face was unsettling. It gave off no heat, but she felt its radiance prickling her skin like nettle-itch begging to be scratched – or maybe that was just because she was the subject of the Speaker’s scrutiny. After half a year of avoiding her eye, it took almost all Teia’s courage to stand still and face it.

‘My, you are a pretty thing.’ Ytha touched Teia’s cheek, then tilted her chin towards the light. ‘You are fortunate to be blessed with such good skin, my dear. And such lovely eyes, too.’ She flicked her fingers at the tangled mane hanging over Teia’s shoulders. ‘A pity about your hair, but we can fix that. Let me see your hands.’

Teia held them out. Ytha took one in each of hers and turned them over, running her thumbs across the chapped skin and clucking sympathetically.

‘Come with me, child. There is much we can do about this.’

‘But the dishes,’ Teia protested. ‘I’m supposed to be washing the dishes!’

‘I have already spoken to your mother and sisters,’ Ytha assured her with a smile. ‘It will all be taken care of. Fetch the water, then come to my tent. Don’t drag your heels, mind. I shall be waiting for you.’

Then the Speaker was gone, striding through the long grass back towards the camp. Stunned, Teia followed, lugging the two heavy buckets.

There was no sign of her mother at her family’s fireside and the tent was empty. She left the buckets by the hearth, unhooked the now steaming kettle and set it on a rock so it would not boil dry, then made her way through the camp.

Ytha’s tent, like the chief’s, stood slightly apart from the others. Torches fixed in tall bronze stanchions flanked the entrance and a light glowed within. Teia took several deep breaths to steady herself and scratched at the flap.

‘Come,’ said Ytha, and she ducked inside.

Speculation was rife amongst the younger girls as to what the interior of the Speaker’s tent was like; most of what they speculated was wrong. There were no caged familiars, no reeking smoke-pots or strange totems of feather and bone. Hangings obscured the hide walls and screened off the sleeping quarters. Carpets covered the floor, piled with cushions and ornamented chests. Teia felt the merest twinge of disappointment: it was just like her family’s tent.

Only when she stepped further inside did she see that the scenes worked into the hangings depicted birds and beasts she did not recognise, the wools dyed in colours richer than any she had seen, even in Drw’s tent. The light too came from a strange lamp hung from the tent’s central pole. Instead of a clay dish of oil with a floating wick or Drw’s three-armed silver lamps, the flame was encased in a box made of some shiny yellow metal and clear flat panels like the skim of ice from the top of a pond.

She turned around slowly, staring. All at once the tent did not look so ordinary any more.

Ytha pushed back the drapes and stepped through from the private area. Teia jumped. The Speaker had discarded her fur mantle and wore a plain russet-coloured dress with an intricate fish-scale belt. Her thick hair was tied back with a thong and she was smiling.

‘I have startled you again, it seems.’ She held the drape aside. ‘Come in.’

The inner chamber of the tent was similar to the outer in its furnishings, apart from the fur-strewn bed and a large basin of hot water steaming on the floor. Teia eyed it uncertainly. ‘Speaker?’

Ytha half-turned, a towel folded over her arm. ‘Yes, child?’

‘Why am I here?’

‘The chief has expressed an interest in you – he has asked that you take supper with him. I will help you prepare yourself.’

Teia’s heart renewed its frantic fluttering. It had not been like this when Drw sent for her, two seasons previously. The old chief had spoken to her himself; she had been so honoured that he even knew her name that she had almost burst with pride. Even her father had smiled. Now Ytha was taking a hand, and that unsettled her.

‘Come along, child, we haven’t got all night.’ Ytha handed her the towel and a tablet of soap. ‘Get yourself washed whilst I find you something to wear.’

Teia took a deep breath. If the chief had asked for her and the Speaker approved, she could hardly refuse. So while Ytha bustled around the tent in a fashion that was almost motherly she undressed, folding her clothes with care, then knelt beside the basin.

The soap was much finer than the elk-fat stuff she was used to and lathered readily. Rubbing the rich suds between her fingers, she held them to her nose and inhaled the sweet scent of some kind of flower, one she didn’t recognise. Had that soap come from beyond the southern mountains? Sometimes pedlars came through the an-Archen for the great fairs, bringing spices and trinkets from afar, but even amongst their wares she’d never seen anything to compare with it.

As if she had heard Teia’s thoughts, Ytha popped her head into the inner chamber again. ‘Don’t stint with it, there’s plenty more.’

So Teia soaped and scrubbed, amazed when Ytha brought her fresh water to rinse with, then dried herself on the towel. The Speaker sat her on a stool and gave her a small clay jar with instructions to rub some of the contents on her hands, feet, knees and elbows. Whilst Teia did so, Ytha picked the tangles out of her hair with a whale-ivory comb, then dressed her in a fine lawn shift and a gown of blue wool. Teia fingered the dress. The woollen fabric was almost as soft and supple as the shift, and bright as a bluehawk’s tail. Like Ytha’s hangings, such stuff could only have come from distant lands. Suddenly she knew what she was being dressed for.

The Speaker held up a bronze mirror so Teia could see herself. She was transformed. The gown fitted her perfectly, showing off her neat hips and rounded breasts. Her hair was still an unruly mane, but now a mane of glossy waves instead of bird’s-nest tangles. The thick ointment in the jar had taken most of the redness from her hands and softened the skin so that it was hard to believe she had spent much of the evening up to her elbows in dishwater.

‘Fit for a chieftain, I think,’ said Ytha, putting the mirror aside. ‘Are you ready?’

Was she? ‘I don’t know. I think so.’

Irritation flickered through the Speaker’s expression and was gone so quickly that Teia wouldn’t have been sure she’d seen anything at all were it not for the worm of dread gnawing at her insides.

‘The chief has asked you to take supper with him. You will stay with him for as long as he wishes you to. He might ask you to dance for him, or sing, if your voice is pleasing. He will tell you what he wants of you.’ Ytha fixed her with a steady gaze. ‘Remember, child, this is a great honour for you and for your family. It could be a wonderful opportunity for you to better yourself. If you please him, you may be rewarded. If you do not, it could go hard for you.’

Hands clasped tightly together, Teia nodded. ‘I understand, Speaker.’

‘I’m sure you do. After all, you were chosen as a companion by Drw, were you not?’ Again, Teia nodded. Ytha laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Stand up straight, child. A slouch is not becoming. Now, are you ready?’

Making an effort to square her shoulders, Teia decided she was. After all, it would make little difference if she was not. The chief was the chief – even if he wasn’t his father. ‘I’m ready.’

‘Then come with me.’

Ytha led the way from her tent across the camp to the chief’s. The new dress had the desired effect: every man who was not too drunk to focus watched Teia pass. Some shouted appreciative comments, or suggestions that brought a furious blush to her cheeks. Lips set in a faint, aloof smile, the Speaker ignored them all.