Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) (51 page)

A gust of snowy air as someone came in turned him around.

‘What word from the Speaker?’ he snapped, inside the vault of her mind.

The other person came closer, and Teia recognised the moustache and dirty blond braids.

‘The storm will blow on into the west by noon,’ said Harl, shaking back his furs and shedding snow over the chief’s carpets.

Drwyn cursed. ‘We’ll lose a day’s travelling!’

‘The going will be easier once the snow stops. We’ll make up time tomorrow.’

‘The Speaker said that as well, did she?’ He tossed the last of his drink into his throat and swallowed it down. His hand flexed around the cup; if it hadn’t been horn he’d have crushed it.

‘Er . . . yes, my chief.’ Harl hesitated. ‘So. The girl.’

Teia’s breath caught. Did he mean
her
? Even in the small circle described by the basin, she saw Drwyn’s lips thin.

‘What of her?’

‘We’re not riding after her? I thought you said—’

‘It’s none of your concern,’ he said shortly. ‘She’s lost to us now, if the winter hasn’t already claimed her.’

One hand fidgeted with the edge of his plaid cloak, plucking at it in a way that put Teia in mind of the twitching of a crag-cat’s tail when its prey was out of reach. He wasn’t coming after her, not right then, but he hadn’t forgotten about her either. She shivered, and the image in the water shivered with her.

‘A pity, that,’ said Harl. ‘She had a fine pair of—’ The last word was choked off by the chief’s hand clamped around his neck.

‘Forget the girl!’ Drwyn snarled. ‘The Scattering is what concerns me now. When the wandering moon comes full again I will be Chief of Chiefs, and I will lead our people south to reclaim our ancient lands from the usurpers. Do you understand?’

Wheezing, Harl clutched at the fingers constricting his windpipe. He was unable to resist as the chief brought his face very close, almost nose to nose with him.

‘But should we happen to find her,’ added Drwyn, voice pitched dangerously low, ‘she – is –
mine
.’

Harl sputtered incoherently, his pocked skin turning an unwholesome colour.

‘I will not hear words like that again?’

‘N-no!’

‘Good.’ Drwyn released him like a hound dropping a rabbit and Harl staggered. ‘Was there anything else?’

‘Only that the Speaker asks you to attend her to discuss the Scattering.’ Rubbing his throat, Harl added, ‘Directly, my chief.’

‘I’d best not keep her waiting, then.’

Drwyn tossed his empty cup onto the carpet and strode for the door.

Teia sat back and let the power go, scattering the image held in the water with a swirl of her hand. Much as she would have liked to spy on Ytha, she dared not venture too close with her power when she didn’t know whether it would be detected. Best to let the Speaker continue to think she was dead, and be content with observing Drwyn.

Oddly, knowing he was not pursuing her did not come as a relief. It meant the Speaker was pressing ahead with her plans to see him anointed Chief of Chiefs, and that only gave Teia more incentive to keep moving.

Neve poked her head into the shelter. ‘I’ve brought you some tea,’ she said, setting down a teapot and bowls. Teia put the basin to one side and hitched herself closer.

‘I can make my own, you know,’ she said, but accepted the bowl she was handed. ‘Thank you.’

‘It’s no bother.’ The older woman turned away and began fussing with the kettle on its tripod over the fire.

Teia watched her, fragrant steam curling around her face as she sipped. When she’d woken, her fire had already been lit and the kettle set to boil. Now she was half-inclined to think Neve had a hand in that, too.

‘Up you get, Gerna – the day’s a-wasting, woman!’

The familiar voice barking instructions made Teia look up. Baer was striding across the camp, long braid swinging as he chivvied his little band of outcasts along. Command came so naturally to him, he must have been a war captain once, or had learned from one. He reminded her a little of her father.

‘Baer,’ she called to him. He altered his course towards her. ‘Will you join me for some tea?’

‘That would be welcome, thank you.’ He squatted down next to the fire and rubbed his hands together for warmth whilst she poured another bowl for him.

‘How are your wounded from last night? I have a few medicines that may help.’

‘They’ve only knocks and scrapes. They’ll mend.’ He thanked her for the tea and cradled the bowl to his lips.

‘Who were they, those men who attacked you? More Lost Ones?’

‘I reckon so.’ He sipped. ‘They’d harried us back west for a day and a night, probably looking to steal what we had. We turned south into the hills for a bit of shelter and found ourselves following your trail. Lucky for us, eh?’ he added, with a show of teeth.

Teia topped up her own bowl from the teapot, considering. She had a good horse, supplies, she was as well prepared as she could be for what she was likely to face in the mountains, but she’d expected the predators to walk on four legs rather than two.

‘Are they likely to come back, do you think?’

‘Not if they’ve any sense,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Especially not after you put the fear into them like that! I told you a Speaker was a useful thing to have.’ Eyes narrowed shrewdly, he studied her over the rim of his bowl. ‘Are you afeared of them?’

‘A little bit,’ she admitted. ‘Against one, I think I could give a good account of myself, but not against that many.’

He sipped. ‘And you’re still set on crossing the mountains?’

She had no other choice. ‘I have to.’

‘Then we ride with you for a day or two, until the trail is clear,’ he said firmly. ‘Those skulkers will think twice about coming after the lot of us, now that we’ve shown them our mettle.’

Startled by both his generosity and his all-settled tone of finality, Teia stared at him. ‘I don’t mean to take your people out of their way. I’ll manage.’

‘And then who’ll protect the rest of us?’ He laughed, then sobered quickly. ‘No, it’s safest all round to travel together. I confess, though, I don’t know this trail. Can you scry our way ahead?’

Teia bit her lip, glancing at Neve, but the older woman’s back was turned as she stirred something in a pot over the fire.

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I was only learning—’ She broke off. She’d puzzled out viewing for herself; scrying the way into the mountains couldn’t be all that different. Perhaps now was the time to explore what she could do.

Suddenly determined, she nodded. ‘All right. I’ll try.’

The basin she’d used to spy on Drwyn was nearby. She drew it closer and scanned the upper part of the valley to fix it in her mind. Then she reached into the waters.

Focus was not easy to maintain. If someone in the camp called out a name or she recognised the voice, her attention flashed to that person, so at first the image in the water slewed wildly around the little encampment. As Teia sank deeper into the thrumming music inside her and closed her ears to the others’ chatter, the sounds of Neve cooking, the viewing steadied. She saw the smoking fire-pit, the tents beyond it, the trees that clothed the valley’s slopes, and imagined herself walking towards them.

In the water, the image changed, tracking the path of her thoughts. Through the trees where the snow was not so deep, along the flank of the mountain, slowly climbing. She dared to push a little faster. Now she was a bird, gliding above the treetops, seeing the forest thin as the land surged up and the clouds pressed down from above.

Her temples began to pound and she realised she was holding her breath. Exhaling made the image wobble, then turn abruptly grey. Teia forced herself to breathe deep and slow; with it her mental flight steadied and she ducked down out of the clouds again. That was better.

Now the valley was narrowing, growing shallower as the two flanks came together, and she emerged onto a wind-scoured ridge running up towards the hidden peaks. Snow fell thickly there, sleeting across her vision as if driven by a gale. It made visibility difficult and dizzying, and she had to let the viewing go.

‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped, the basin wobbling under her hands. ‘I think that’s all I can do.’

Baer said nothing, and she looked up. Half a dozen of the Lost Ones were standing around her fire, staring at the fading images in the water. Isaak, with Lenna clinging to his arm. Neve, a porridgey spoon in her hand dripping into the snow at her feet. A couple of other men she hardly knew.

One by one they lifted their gazes to her face. Uneasy with all the attention, she swallowed. A cold, clammy feeling spread across her spine and her palms began to sweat.

‘Banfaíth,’ someone whispered. She didn’t see who; with their slack-lipped expressions, all looking as if they’d been gut-shot, it could have been any of them. Teia felt slightly sick, wiping her hands nervously on her trews.

‘It was just a viewing, to show the way ahead,’ she said, but she could see from their faces, their wide eyes, that they weren’t hearing her. Nothing she said would make any difference.

‘She sees . . .’ One of the men – a stringy fellow with a bloody rip in the sleeve of his coat – dragged his eyes away from Teia to look at Isaak and Lenna, who burrowed under her man’s arm and peered anxiously around him, a field mouse peeping from its nest. ‘So it’s true,’ he breathed. ‘Banfaíth.’

No one else spoke. No one else moved. On the far side of the camp the rest of the Lost Ones continued to work, oblivious to what was happening, but even the thumps and rustles they made sounded muted, swallowed up by the breathless silence expanding outwards from Teia, kneeling at its centre.

She cringed inside. Macha’s ears, what had she done?

Banfaíth was an old title, maybe even older than the title of Speaker. It meant the one who sees, the one with the gift of foretelling. The sight, as the elder folk called it, in the old way.

‘Didn’t I tell you, Baer?’ said Neve, shattering the moment so completely Teia half-expected to hear it break, like glass. Everyone started, staring at her. ‘Women know.’ She popped the spoon in her mouth and licked off the remaining porridge, then with a satisfied nod went back to her cook-pot.

Baer set down his tea-bowl and heaved himself to his feet. ‘Aye. So you said.’ Then he clapped his hands together so sharply it made Lenna squeak. ‘That’s enough gawping here,’ he announced, a little more loudly than necessary. ‘We’ve a bit of a climb ahead of us and there’s snow up there, so best get on.’ The others were slow to move, dragging their feet as if frozen to the earth, and he gestured irritably. ‘Go on, now. There’s tents to strike and packs to load, and I’m not doing it for you.’

They drifted away, casting looks back over their shoulders. Teia couldn’t bear to watch, her eyes fixed firmly on the basin of water in front of her. Over and over, she scrubbed her hands on the stuff of her trews, though the sweat was long dried. She couldn’t seem to stop.

‘Never shown anyone before, have you?’ said Baer.

She shook her head. ‘Only the Speaker.’ Looking down at her hands, reddened by cold and rubbing, she added, ‘I never expected that.’

‘Well, it was probably my fault,’ he admitted, and she looked up. He scratched at the root of his braid, face twisted up, maybe to hide his expression. ‘Varn over there came to ask me summat and saw what you were conjuring in the water. Before I could stop him he ran to get the others. By then it were too late.’ He spread his hands. ‘Probably best they all know, if’n we’re riding along together. They’d only have started to mutter otherwise.’

That made sense. ‘I see.’

Leaning down, he cupped a hand under her elbow to help her to her feet. ‘Up you get, girl. Catch your death down there in the snow.’ With his other hand he beat the crust of snow off her lower legs, but the wool beneath was already wet. Renewed circulation burned and tingled its way down to her feet.

‘I never doubted you,’ he said quietly as he worked. ‘Not after what you did last night. With what Neve said I think I already knew, but now I’ve seen it.’ He straightened up, met her gaze levelly and dipped his head. ‘Banfaíth.’

She hesitated, then returned the nod. ‘Baer.’

And that was that.

Before she could turn around, Neve was there with a bowl of porridge for her, and clucking over the state of her trews like a hen over her chick. By the time she’d finished eating, her shelter had been struck, tent-skins and blankets rolled, and Isaak was leading Finn over, saddled and ready.

‘Banfaíth,’ he murmured, and made a stirrup with his hands to help her mount.

From the vantage point of the gelding’s back she could see knots of people form and scatter as the Lost Ones scurried to finish their tasks, and knew the word was spreading. Instead of being hostile and mistrustful, the glances shot her way now were curious, even awed.

The foretelling was not a common gift. Ytha had claimed to have it, though Teia had never seen her manifest it in any way that she could compare to her own experiences. There again, if Ytha was tormented by dreams as dark and savage as her own, she wasn’t likely to let them show on her face and reveal to the rest of the clan that there was actually a woman of flesh and blood beneath the snow-fox robe.

Of course, that was before the Speaker had been launched into a frothing fury in front of half the clan . . . Teia shut her eyes at the memory. Macha’s mercy, she’d
struck
the
Speaker
. Strangely, the notion didn’t horrify her nearly as much as it once would have. The Crainnh had needed to be shown that their Speaker was human, like them. They needed to know that she could be wrong. That she
was
wrong.

Teia opened her eyes again and looked up the valley towards the saddle of the next ridge. She could only hope that she wasn’t too late.

31

SCARS