The Chronicles: Three Sisters 17

It was only later that I thought to compare my youngest to Giedra. Maybe Guenna was unique as well. Maybe she too felt trapped, here in the Vale.

There was an over-abundance of young women, but precious few males of marriageable age - and those who remained were not especially impressive.

I suppose I'd known that Guenna was not thinking solely of a husband. Like Giedra, and like her own ancestor, Payl, my daughter wanted to make her own way, to be valued for what she could do, rather than who she was married to.

Tanguiste and Yevna both had that. Tanguiste had a loving husband and a child, but she was also admired and loved by nearly everyone in the Vale. No one was better at organizing folk, and seeing that people's needs were met. She was probably more deserving of the title of Headman than I was.

Yevna might not have been so widely loved, but she was respected. She had a small circle of close friends, and people who depended on her - none more so than Dengelle.

Perhaps that was it. Tan and Yevna would always be needed in the Vale. But if the Izumyrian threat receded, would we need Guenna's strategies and planning? Would she feel that her contributions were important?

I found myself climbing the hill, to sit in roughly the same spot where Guenna had - it was a little drier now. Below me lay most of the Vale. It seemed so crowded, so busy; I'd never heard of a settlement in the Uplands with so many people.

They appeared to be thriving, too. They might continue to do so, too, as long as the Izumyrians didn't return.

I saw her coming from a long way off. My little girl, climbing the slope to come and join me. She'd never be as beautiful as Tan, or as skilled as Yevna. A father can admit these things to himself, in private.

But Guen had courage, and intelligence. I was as proud of her as I was of her sisters.

- "May I?" she asked.

- "Ground's still a bit damp."

- "That's alright." She sat down beside me.

We both watched people down below.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

- "Sulcen said that I have to let you make your own decisions. I'm coming around to agree with her. Slowly, though."

- "Look at this way, Papa: think of yourself as the bow, and me as the arrow. At some point, you have to let loose the string, and then the arrow flies where it will."

- "They usually fly in the general direction that I'm aiming." I said. "And I certainly wasn't aiming to have you join the Lowlanders."

- "I'm going with them, but what I do afterwards will be my decision."

We sat in silence for a moment, as I resisted the urge to smile. A bow and arrow analogy, from the worst archer in the family?

""Are you still angry?" she asked.

- "I was never angry, Guen. Shocked, at first. Disappointed, I suppose. Mostly just unhappy that you would want to go with those people. I don't like them."

- "Nor do I - except for Gerimir. Don't worry - I'm not going to take their orders, and I certainly won't be their servant."

"I'll consider their opinions, but Giedra and I will be making our own decisions. There's no Borna there - regardless of the baby's name. And no Ljudevit, either. Maybe they're out there already, fighting the Izumyrians."

- "I'll be worrying about you every day."

- "You'd be worrying about all of us, if the Izumyrians were threatening."

She was right about that.

- "You're too damned smart." I complained.

- "And whose fault is that?"

- "Yours. I'm just the bow, remember?"

My daughter reached out, and put her arm around my shoulder.

***

- "Are you thinking of leaving too?" I asked Nameless.

She frowned. "Why would I do that?"

- "I don't know. I just ... wondered."

Nameless shook her head. "I can fight, Veran. I'm good at it. That doesn't mean that I like to fight. It's something I do when I have to."

"I'm not interested in fame, or glory, like Giedra. I can understand why Guenna wants to go - why she needs to, in a way. But I'm not searching for my future, anymore. I've found my family, and they're here, in this Vale."

"I'm not going anywhere. As long as you and Yevna want me, anyway."

I was deeply moved. I took Nameless in my arms, and embraced her. It occurred to me that I was becoming more and more sentimental every day.

- "You'll always have a place with us." I told her. "I couldn't love you more if you were my own daughter."

***

When the Lowlanders left, thirty of our fighters went with them. Seva and Odma, of course, Giedra and her two friends. And my daughter. Only 14 were young men; the remainder were women.

It wasn't an army, by any stretch of the imagination. But it was a tight little force, encumbered only by a little child, not yet a year old.

Gerimir came to thank me one last time, and shook the hand of every member of my family. The Duchess, Iduallon and Prosquetel never looked back.

Giedra embraced me, squeezing most of the air from my lungs. Eliv surprised me by briefly pressing their cheek to mine. Rion did the same.

Guenna had said her goodbyes the night before. Yevna had forgiven her. When I told Yevna about Guen's bow and arrow analogy, Yevna laughed until her stomach hurt.

As she left the Vale, my youngest turned back twice. The first time, she waved. I believe that she made eye contact with her sisters, with Sulcen and Nameless, and even with Vingoldas and Guen Nadesti. And me, of course.

The second time, she raised her hand, to shield her eyes from the rising sun. Then she turned and marched out of the Vale with the others.

***

We remained on our guard. Just because the Duchess was gone didn't mean that the Izumyrians wouldn't come looking for her. And if they did come ... well, we'd learned what to expect from the southerners.

We had scouts watching the passes, and everyone knew what to do if the alarm was raised. It would be into the hills for us - and we would go as far as necessary to remain alive. If the Izumyrians destroyed our houses, then so be it. We would rebuild. Again.

I had a more pressing worry, in any case. If the riders came now, I wasn't sure if Sulcen could be moved.

Then she went into labour.

Her mother was there, with Tanguiste to assist her. Tan had helped deliver three children, before she'd had Moruith. But it was difficult for Sulcen, as I'd feared. I could hear her cries. She was suffering.

She was in good hands - the best in the Vale. There was nothing for me to do but wait. Vingoldas and Hedyn came to stand with me. They had little to say - just as I'd had, when our roles were reversed - but their presence was a comfort.

Tanguiste came outside, partway through Sulcen's ordeal, to reassure me.

- "She's doing well."

- "Is that what you call it?" I had only old memories of Meonwe giving birth to three girls and a boy. It hadn't seemed so difficult ... or so frightening.

- "She's bearing up well." said Tanguiste. "Be patient."

I thought that I was patient. That was one of my best qualities. But there's no such thing when your wife is giving birth, and you can hear her cries of pain. I paced so hard that I wore a muddy track in the grass beside the house, and then wore that into a muddy trench.

Hours later, I heard a cry that didn't sound like Sulcen.

- "Papa." called Tanguiste. She was at the door to the house, waving me in. My heart leapt into my throat. I had a sudden, terrible premonition ...

I surged into the house, tracking in huge clumps of mud, stuck to my boots.

- "Easy -" said my daughter.

Sulcen's eyes were closed. I knelt beside her, and reached for her hand.

- "Sulcen?"

Her eyes opened. She smiled - weakly, wearily ... but it was a smile.

Mother Nadesti spoke.

- "It's a boy, Veran. You have a son."

***

Sulcen was willing to name the boy Branhucar, after my father.

- "That's sweet of you." I said. "But that's my father's name. What about ... Dengel?"

- "No." said Mother Nadesti. "This boy deserves his own name." I understood how she felt; giving children the names of people who were important to us saddles them with tremendous expectations. The Duchess' son, for example - that lad had enormous boots to fill. He would find it difficult to live up to his name.

It also creates expectations in us. If it had been a girl, I would not have wanted to name her Meonwe, just as I didn't want this boy to be called Iarn.

- "Branimir." said Sulcen.

That was an interesting choice. 'Bran', as in the first half of my father's name, meant 'defender'. And 'mir', in Hvadi, means 'peace'.

- "Defender of the peace." I said. "It's a good choice."

***

We spent months worrying that the Izumyrians would return. We were prepared for such an eventuality, but we dreaded it.

They didn't come.

***

Mother Nadesti groaned as she bent her knees to sit down. Some days, I knew all too well how she felt. I had aches and pains nearly all of the time, now, and they were slower to go away.

- "Sore?"

- "You have no idea." she said.

- "I do, though. When I get up in the morning, everything cracks and pops."

- "That just means that you're still alive."

- "How did we ever make it from the Hill to the Vale?" I laughed.

- "You carried me most of the way, if I recall correctly."

We sat in companionable silence for a while. I was remembering the incredible efforts we'd made to get away from the Izumyrians - and the people who'd died to allow us to do that.

But I was also feeling my age.

- "I'm not sure if I could do that again." I said.

- "Thank goodness we don't have to."

- "But what if they come back? What if we did have to do that again?"

- "Sufficient unto the day, Veran." said Guen Nadesti.

- "I know ..." I hadn't been planning to say what was on my mind, but I let it out anyway. "I'm feeling old, though."

- "You're feeling old?" she said. "How d'you think I feel?"

- "Like a new Grandmother?"

She laughed.

- "Well, that was something I wasn't expecting." she said. "And ..."

- "And?"

- "I do want to see him grow up. And I want ... to be there, to help Sulcen."

- "You will be. You're as tough as the Three Sisters." I said. "And you know there's no debt there. She forgave you a long time ago."

- "I know." said Guen. "That doesn't mean that I've forgiven myself, though."

We'd had some pretty serious conversations in the past, but this was new ground for us. There was nothing at stake, any more. Mother Nadesti wasn't trying to decide if she should let my daughters and me stay on the Hill, or whether she could trust me. Nor was she forcing me to marry her daughter.

I like to think that we understood each other reasonably well. We had shared tragedies, and caused each other tremendous suffering. By now, though, the experiences we'd shared had created a bond between us that outweighed our past conflicts.

We could let our defences down, and admit truths to each other.

- "She loves you, Guen. So do I. And my daughters."

- "Thank you, Veran. I know that. I know that I made a mess of much of my life - and that others paid for it - but I'm beginning to believe that I've done better, these past years."

- "We wouldn't be sitting here, otherwise."

- "That deserves a little sushen. Do we have any?"

- "Of course." I got up, and poured us both a cup. Then I tucked the bottle under my arm, and brought it with me.

- "Thank you." she said. "Your health."

- "And yours."

We tipped back the sweet honey liquor, and smiled simultaneously.

- "You were a great headman. I wish I'd seen it, then. Ah! I did see it. Everyone knew that you were straight as an arrow. I just didn't ... and now you're a great headman once more."

- "I'm too old, Guen."

- "Sheepshit. If anything, you're wiser. More patient. And you have me to turn to, when you need advice." She grinned.

- "We do need you. You know that."

- "Ha! You'll get along fine when I'm gone. But ... I'll try to last a few more years ..."

***

Guen Nadesti lived to see Branimir's ninth birthday.

Tanguiste and Vingoldas had three more children.

Yevna had none.

As for Guenna ... her story is continued in the third novel about Hvad and the Uplands. The title of that Chronicle will be Notomol.

Thanks again to my editors, Iriad Alianath and Lastman416.

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