Tales from the Goddess War Ch. 02: Traveler

Bemere squirmed at little at the sensation of his stubble on her skin. "No more than a year, your highness. If I can stay away for that long."

"Then here you are always welcome, whenever you come," Cal intoned, voice falling into an archaic form of song-chant. "Beggar or ruler, you are always called friend and kinswoman at my hearth."

"Here stands my arm, blade, and fortune, to keep your fires warm and bright," she answered, completing the ancient exchange of blessings.

Madeline put her arms around Bemere and held her closely. "You are a delightful surprise, my newest sister and friend. Travel swiftly back to us."

"Like I was the darkdays wind," Bemere promised, kissing them both once more before disappearing through the door into the gray half-light of early dawn.

The maestra didn't look like she'd slept much, if at all. Her notes and supplies took up three entire packhorses and even then, the large leather cases were double stacked.

"They're just scroll cases," Twyla said, seeing the look on Bemere's face. "They're very light, I don't want all of my hard work crushed and smudged."

"Chests are light as feathers," the royal hostler confirmed. "Them 'uns not carrying half the usual weight."

"Then we're on our way," Bemere said, beginning to check the saddle the hostlers had put on the gray that she'd be riding first.

Minutes later, the travelers rode through the castle gate and down into the twisting city streets. They were narrow, the upper stories overhung the street, making it seem like more of a tunnel. But the houses and streets were clean and free from stink. A few early risers even waved in silent greeting as the horses clopped past.

The city gates were just opening as they arrived, and the night guard was marching away to their barracks. The day watch waved them through the archway and Bemere's practiced eye took in the well-maintained masonry, the relaxed, but professional postures of the guards, and the bolt-throwers that looked new. The Sands were fortunate to have custodians that understood wealth. Now, if the rest of the human kingdoms could become as enlightened.

Their horses slowed a bit as they began the long climb up the towering mountain ridge that sheltered the city from the landward side. Bemere glanced at her companion. Twyla had added a blanket to her long coat, huddling inside as they rode through the morning mists. Bemere half closed her eyes and entered the moment's valour, a complex contemplative state the fae used as sleep.

When she felt the horse slow again, Bemere stretched her arms and sighed contentedly. She looked around, realizing that they'd made much better time than she'd expected. They had arrived at the last wayhouse before Gateman's Notch, but it was only a little past suns-height. Far above, the wind called Breath of the World, roared over the mountains.

Bemere shuddered at the sound and dismounted, leading her horse into a kind of courtyard in the middle of the low stone huts. Twyla did the same, looking mystified at the buildings. The tops of them were no higher than her waist.

"Is this for Understone folk?"

Bemere smiled. "This is a caravan wayhouse. These are built half-underground to make them stronger and warmer."

Twyla looked back down the steep track they'd come up. "There are actual caravans using this road?"

"There has always been a lot of trade between the Sands and the Downslope Counties. Right now, the canal takes most of the cargo. Cheap, but very slow. For smaller items or things required in a rush, this is still the best way."

"And are we stopping for the night? It's barely past midday."

"Yes, this is the last stop before we come to the pass. It's not a climb to risk at night, even when the weather is good."

Twyla began unloading her horses as Bemere led her pair down the wide stone ramp, down into the stable. She unloaded her gear and went back outside to help Twyla. The boxes were as light as she'd promised, and it didn't take long to get them stacked inside one of the sleeping shelters and the rest of the horses into the stables. After another hour, the horses had been curried and their hooves checked. Then the pair carried their own gear down into another shelter. The walls were massive stone blocks and a slab of stone provided the roof over their heads.

"The wind up here must be terrific," Twyla said.

"You will live a fortunate life if you never find out," Bemere said, getting her weather glass out of its case. The fluid inside bubbled and sloshed itself around, disturbed by the jostling of the ride. "I'll be outside for a bit."

Twyla followed, watching curiously as Bemere put the device on a stone bench. Then she realized what she was looking at.

"That's a real weatherglass!"

"You've seen them before? This one is a little grumpy, but the sunlight will help some. It'll take a while before it can manage a coherent prediction," Bemere said, settling onto the thick grass on the ground.

"Is it possible for the weather to change so much in a single day?" Twyla asked.

Bemere shrugged. "It's not likely, but possible. I will not chance another meeting with the Breath of the World."

"How bad is it?"

Bemere didn't answer at first, just leaned back against the sun-warmed stone wall. She sighed, as though she was falling asleep, although her eyes remained open. Twyla was embarrassed, wondering if she'd asked too much. She contented herself with the view down the mountain and out over the island-strewn sea far below.

"My first visit to these lands was during Straum's Rebellion," Bemere said quietly. "I was a horse-archer for the Companions of the Leaf. We fought in the highlands, keeping the Veracti clans penned within their own borders."

Twyla found herself staring at the elf again. The Companions were half-mythical, and she'd heard scholars argue if they'd ever existed. But here she was, sitting beside one of those Companions, who casually mentioned taking part in a war more than five-hundred years in the past. Then she realized her staring was rude and looked away again. Thankfully, Bemere hadn't noticed. Her eyes were lost in the sky as she relived her memories.

"We rejoiced when the pretender finally abandoned his claim. My company had been in Tulamere, the human lands, long enough for our hearts to ache for the woodlands and steppes of our home. Word finally came that ships were waiting at Brynjarl Sands to carry us home. I don't know if the human kingdoms have created the like, but elfish archers take great pride in their speed. Even more so for the mounted archers, our bows kept the rest of the legion safe. Our company had been given the vanguard because our captain, Utsil, had gotten word that his wife was near the end of her pregnancy. It was well understood that he was in a hurry to be with her. Children are exceeding rare for us and we all rejoiced with him, pressing forward as quickly as we could, wanting him to be there for the birth of his child."

Twyla looked at the elf curiously but didn't ask any of the questions that crowded her mind. After a few more minutes, Bemere continued her memory.

"We left during darkdays in the highlands. It is a long, harsh season there, full of violent weather. But as we came down, signs of the darkday's retreat began to appear. By the time we'd reached the borders of the Slope Counties, the sunwake was well underway. The vivid green and pale colors of emerging treeflower were bandages for our memories of the bitter cold and dark..."

Bemere paused again, thinking back.

"It sounds beautiful," Twyla said quietly.

The elf smiled. "It was indeed beautiful, and I know that my affection for these lands began there. We knew we were close to the Sands and abandoned all pretense of riding vanguard and raced upslope, full of pride and urgency to take our captain home. Along the way, we were warned about the winds in Gateman's Notch repeatedly. Darkdays still lingered in the Thunder Havens and the winds were said to be violent and unpredictable. To my shame, we made jokes about those who tried to warn us, saying among ourselves that only a human could fear the very air around them. We continued to ignore all their warnings, climbing into the colder air. I convinced myself that darkdays had gone from those heights, we were simply seeing an earlier time in the sunwake season."

Bemere shook her head sadly. "What fools we were. Near the top of the slope, Utsil saw that bad weather was coming and challenged us to move even faster. The sunwake storms could last a week or more and while they blow, ships do not stir from anywhere within the Brynjarl Sands. He could not stomach the idea of waiting that long, so we climbed even faster, eating and contemplating valour in our saddles, stopping only long enough to change mounts."

Bemere sat up and checked the weatherglass. The liquid inside had calmed a little, but still bubbled and frothed in its reservoir.

"There was wind in our faces when we arrived at the beginning of the notch. It was as much as we'd guessed, about the same as a storm at sea. Unpleasant but bearable. We rode ahead, and about halfway across the first of the Breath came. It was strong, nearly beyond comprehension, and the bitter cold made my head pound. One of the horses spun and tried to flee. The unfortunate beast only went a couple of spans before being swept off its feet and tumbled along like a leaf. Mercifully, it was soon killed and its screaming was silenced. Then the Breath faded away.

"We rode hard for the far end of the notch until the Breath returned. We stopped where the stone had split into a large crack in the cliff wall. It was enough of a shelter from the wind that we could hear each other if we screamed. The captain and his lieutenants were certain that our only hope was to race forward when the gale lessened. Me, and a few others, were just as sure that our only hope was staying put until the storm had subsided. None of us could convince the others, so we said farewell. When it became eerily silent again, most of the company rode hard for the exit. We loosed our horses and they fled in the opposite direction. It didn't take long for the wind to return this time, not nearly enough time for Utsil and the others to make it out of the notch. It blew for three days and two nights like that, a pause long enough to make you think it was over, followed by the screaming roar enveloping us again."

Bemere stirred and checked the weatherglass. "I heard that sound five-hundred and sixty-three human years past. And I swear that I can still hear the sound like it was yesterday. That is the strength of World's Breath."

~~~

The next morning, Bemere was moving around before the sun. After washing her face, the weatherglass was next to occupy her attention. She watched a wide aquamarine band twitch and spin for half a minute before nodding to herself. Picking up the complicated glass shape, she returned to the hut she'd shared with the mage last night. And at the moment, Twyla was a mess of ash-blonde hair at one end of a roll of blankets.

"On your feet, maestra," Bemere called. "We've a long way to travel and the sun is shining."

Twyla managed to sit up. "Ooh, I haven't ridden a horse since I left Osh Caernon."

Bemere grinned. "Only one way to fix that, maestra."

"Don't remind me," she groaned.

A few hours later, the horses were picking their way through the low, twisted pines that made up the high forests. The sun beat down on them, heating the gap between trees to a temperature closer to longdays instead of sunwake and Bemere was grateful whenever they crossed the open breaks between the trees. The wind was stronger out here and Twyla began to fidget. When Bemere called a stop to break their overnight fast, the mage worried more about the weather than eating.

"Perhaps we should press on?" she asked as the elf swung down out of the saddle.

Bemere seemed amused at her worry and motioned Twyla to dismount. "I promise, the skies are clear, and the sun is warm. We will be through the notch two hours from now and it's still a half day to the first wayhouse on the Slopes. Also, I am hungry."

Twyla ate some bread and cheese, watching as Bemere took flat bread and smeared some sort of paste on it. She added two large pickled peppers and rolled it up and took a large bite. Even a few paces away, the scent of the peppers made Twyla's eyes water and a moment later she sneezed. Bemere swallowed and moved to the mage's other side.

"I forget that lady peppers don't agree with very many people. My apologies."

"I didn't realize that elf stomachs were made of cast iron," Twyla laughed.

"Until we eat flesh at least," Bemere agreed. "I was tempted by the smell of cooking bacon once. As soon as I began to chew, my stomach...a rebellion is the least uncouth description. And it maintained its insurrection for the rest of the day. As wonderful as bacon smells, I am no longer tempted to sample it."

Twyla's stomach rumbled loudly at the mention of bacon and they both laughed.

"Why is it called a lady pepper?" Twyla asked, flushing slightly.

"Have you ever seen a fresh one?"

When Twyla shook her head, Bemere went to her horse. It whinnied and backed away from her, eyes wide. The elf sighed and walked back to carefully put her meal on a flat rock. She tried again, and although it huffed, the mare allowed Bemere to take a leather-bound book from a saddlebag.

Opening the clasps, the elf sat beside Twyla and opened the thick book. She paged through it until she found the illustration she was looking for. Twyla looked closer and then blushed. Bemere noticed her discomfit and wondered why.

"What volume of botany is that?" Twyla asked, noticing the other plants recorded on the opposite pages. "The illustrations are very well executed."

Bemere smiled. "Thank you, that is my handiwork. But these are my travel notes. Since the things I like to eat can be called different names, it's often easier to show a sketch."

"Your skill is admirable," Twyla said. "I'm envious of your drawings and clear writing hand."

"I've had a long time in which to practice," Bemere said. She went to put her notes back and retrieved her breakfast. It disappeared after a few bites and she sat on the ground and began to stretch.

"This would help your sore muscles," she explained.

Twyla tried to copy Bemere, but the unfamiliar exercises made her clumsy. Bemere watched, trying to describe the movements but saw that she was just making the confusion worse and finally asked permission to touch the maestra. Twyla nodded and the elf gently pushed her arms and legs into the proper positions. The human woman sighed in relief and discomfort at the same time.

"That's the way," Bemere said. "It's part of a larger sequence of movements that stretch and exercise your body. I'll teach you, if you like. Doing them every day will keep you fit and strong, and if you ever bear children, the exercises will help your birthing pains."

Twyla laughed. "I'd very much like to learn that. But I won't be giving birth to anyone in this life."

Bemere gave her another curious look but didn't ask. "We'll start this evening then. And it will likely aid your studies of valour. Both practices come from the same greater knowledge."

"Humans can actually learn the valour?"

"Of course. Learning the proper contemplation of valour is a life-long process but they are simple enough to understand. I judge that you are more than intelligent enough to understand the principles."

Half an hour later, they emerged from the last of the high forest. This high, the evergreens were twisted into fantastic shapes by the constant wind. Both travelers sighed in relief as they emerged out of the growth and into an open moss and stone covered expanse. A cool breeze quickly blew the sweat and discomfort away. Above them, a slope made up of the stones and gravel led up to solid gray-yellow stone. Twyla was uncomfortable in the open air and glanced up at the sky often enough the Bemere noticed.

"We're safe, Twyla. There are always clouds when the Breath comes. And we're close enough that we'd hear the sound it makes blowing through the notch."

After a short time, they had arrived at a path that consisted of wide stairs carved into the living rock. Bemere dismounted.

"We'll lead them from here. Horse folk dislike these heights even more than we do and there is less air for their lungs here."

Twyla followed her example and the pair checked to make sure all of the leads to the spare mounts were secure. When that was finished, they began climbing the steps. Looking above and ahead, Twyla could see where the ridgeline had a large bite out of it. Her horse whickered as she stumbled over a stair and Twyla focused all of her attention on the stairs. So, she was surprised when the climb was abruptly ended, and they emerged onto the floor of the notch. Tall cliffs fenced in the cut to either side, bare stone sculpted into weird shapes by the force of the wind. Thankfully, the floor was just as bare and, despite their complaints, the horses pranced a bit, knowing they'd passed the hardest part of the journey. Bemere's face was drawn and anxious and, without saying anything, she began leading her horses toward the distant opening.

Twyla followed her and the scuff of their feet on the stone echoed as loudly as the horses' hooves. After half an hour, Bemere paused beside a crack in the cliff wall. She dropped her reins and climbed into the space. Twyla went and stuck her head in but saw that the elf was speaking quietly, touching the stone walls. It wasn't much more than a shallow alcove and Twyla shuddered as she imagined being jammed in there for days. Quietly, she left the elf to her remembrances and returned to the horses. When she emerged again, Bemere looked sad but was composed. She took the reins of her horse and they led them toward the eastern end of the cut.

"How many of you stayed behind?" Twyla asked quietly.

"Fourteen to start. Beryn and Chloe disappeared at some point, but no one could say when. I like to think that they succumbed to the cold rather than being plucked away by the wind. It would have been a far kinder death. Twelve of us walked down to the waiting ships from here."

"What of Utsil's child?"

Bemere smiled. "That's a far happier post-script to the tale; he had a daughter. She was named Herron, and all twelve of us have adopted her in our own ways. She lives nearby and I've been fortunate enough to watch Herron grow into the strength of her father, tempered by the gentle humor of her mother."

"Do you have any children?" Twyla asked.

"Thankfully, no. Among the fae, I am not considered much older than you are. I am in the stage of life for travel and learning, I would make a terrible mother just now."

When they reached the eastern end of Gateman's Notch, the view was of a seemingly endless slope falling away, green with grass and nothing like the western end. To the south, they could see the beginnings of the northern plains. At the eastern extent of their view, a smudge marked the town of Grand Locks. And to the north, the land climbed into the first of the craggy ridges that were so common a feature in the highlands.

"I've always wanted to go out and see the world," Twyla said. "I didn't imagine there were places you could see it all at once."

"What places do you most want to visit?"

"I don't know, this has been my first journey away from Osh Caernon. Probably my last as well, but at least I have seen this."

Bemere looked concerned. "Why won't you be able to leave again?"

"My family name is ap Tur. Are you aware of what that means?"

"I'm familiar with the word ap, or I used to be. It means of, or from, if I recall correctly?