To my surprise, I found that I had come farther into the forests than I had at first thought. Marking my way as I went, I began to search for the forest’s edge, for all track of the previous darkness had been washed away by Mida’s tears. The feeble glow of the light did little to warm me as I went, and little did I know how deaf and blind I had grown in the city. No more than three hands of reckid did I move through the trees before they stepped out to view, surrounding me without my having had the least idea of their presence. Two hands of Silla warriors were they, and one who had not yet had the silver ring placed within her left ear, though she stood nevertheless as war leader. Swords they wore, and daggers, and each carried a slim-shafted spear such as males of the cities were fond of. I had only a dagger in my leg bands and little taste to appreciate the pleasure of battle. The Silla grinned in pleased anticipation, weighing spears in hands, yet I only folded my arms beneath my life sign, awaiting an indication of their intent. Silla were not known for their love of single combat, yet the possibility of such remained. Should it be Mida’s will, still might I enter her realm with sword in hand.
She who was war leader in place of Zolin stood perhaps seven paces from me and studied me with something of a smile upon her face. Red of hair was this Silla, of a red like that of Larid, and eyes also of a similar blue. Her height did not match mine, yet was she far from the puniness of city slave-women. Full Midanna was the Silla, well-versed in the weapons she wore, proud of the red of her clan colors. A moment did she study me, and then she laughed in full amusement.
“You looked well beneath the lash, Hosta,” she called, causing her warriors to join her laughter. “Hosta are fit for naught save the lash of males—or Silla swords. Should you have followed us to betray us to your city-male masters, you shall not live to do so.”
“Jalav is no slave,” I called in return. “All save Silla have the wit to know this. I come to the forests upon my own affairs.”
The Silla’s face had darkened at my words, then she snorted. “City slave-women such as the Hosta have become do not belong in the forests,” said she, her head held high. “For whatever reason you have come, Helis will see that you regret it.”
She began to gesture to her warriors. “Should Helis wish true leadership of the SilIa, she may choose to face Jalav,” I called.
The attention of all centered upon me, and more firmly did they grasp the spears which they held. No closer than four paces did any of the Silla stand. Helis gazed upon me sober-eyed and stiffly, for Zolin had been a warrior of repute, and great would be the fame of Helis among the Silla, should she slay the one who had bested Zolin. Surely did I know that I would not survive such an encounter, for I was not as I had been when I had faced Zolin, yet I could not choose simple slaughter above holding a sword in hand once more. Helis continued to study me a moment, and then she drew herself up.
“The Hosta are well known for their empty boasting,” said she in disgust. “Never would Zolin fall before one such as you, and there shall be payment for the suggestion! Yet I choose to be generous. You may have your throat opened upon the instant, as the low sednet you are, or you may walk the lines. Choose!”
About to demand that Helis face me, I saw that all words would be futile. In opposition to her spoken sentiments, Helis did indeed believe that Zolin had fallen before my blade, and therefore had no stomach to do the same. That she would undoubtedly triumph she did not know, and I could not inform her of the fact. Perhaps alone she might have been swayed to place a sword in my grasp so that she might say with truth that we had faced one another, yet with these others about, the effort would indeed be futile. Angrily she stood, awaiting my decision, yet little choice was there to the matter. A Hosta does not seek an easy death, and with the walking of the lines would my fate be placed in the hands of Mida.
“There is naught else to choose save the lines,” I informed the Silla. “Thought you I would choose otherwise?”
Her eyes held mine for the moment, and then she laughed shortly. “Who may know what the Hosta are capable of?” said she, a low grin upon her face. “At the end of the lines shall I await you, Hosta war leader. Come to me if you are able.”
Then she stepped back a bit farther as her warriors moved forward to form the lines. Two hands of Silla warriors were they, one hand to each side of the aisle formed between them, their leader placed at the far end, awaiting me with folded arms. A pace before Helis was a sword placed, point in the ground and hilt up, also awaiting me. Should I survive the walk well enough, the sword would be mine to take, and then might I earn the honor of death in battle. No matter of survival was the walking of the lines, yet was it a means of choosing the manner of one’s death. A warrior strong enough would die with glory, yet had my strength been severely drained. Only through Mida’s will would I find myself able to reach the sword and Helis, yet are not all things done through Mida’s will? As the Silla warriors lowered their spears, I prepared myself to meet them.
“Begin your walk,” called Helis from the far end, and in truth there was naught else I might do. To the lines of waiting, grinning warriors I walked, and then slowly between them. The first warrior on my left chose to put the point of her spear in my left thigh, the warrior on the right choosing my right arm. The touch of sharpened metal was full, true pain to my body, and nearly did I stagger as the spears were removed, giving free run to my blood. The second warriors in line reversed their choices, and the golden light danced before my eyes, rippling in a cadence with the beat of my heart and the pain washing over me.
“Excellent, Hosta!” called Helis with a laugh, as I nearly went down to the touch of metal in my sides. “You are almost here, and have but four more spears to pass!”
Still could I see the sword I so desperately wished to reach, yet it seemed to recede with each step I took. My blood flowed swiftly to Mida’s ground, for though the wounds were not meant to kill, neither were they gentle, meaningless scratches. A spear entered my right calf, breaking my staggering pace, and then I fell, coming to Mida’s ground upon hands and knees. The Silla laughed in deep amusement as I gasped for breath which would not come, crawling toward the waiting sword, and those toward the end urged me on in turn, their prodding nearly unfelt in the vast agony surrounding me. Mida’s light glared in my blurring vision, damp and stony was the ground beneath me, uncaring was the breeze upon the wet of my wounds, and then had I nearly reached the sword, my sweat mingling with blood and dirt. No more had I to do than put a hand out to claim the sword, yet I was unable to lift the hand. My red-stained, straining fingers grasped the dirt as I attempted to force my body to my will, yet no farther could my body go. Slowly I collapsed to the ground entirely, the sword completely beyond my ability to possess it, and the Silla laughter came strange and distant to my ears.
“A pity,” said the voice of Helis, a voice which echoed about the swirling mists before my eyes. “Now must the Hosta be ended without glory, though truth to tell, I believe she may already be ended. Linid, see if there is yet life within her, and if so, remove it with your dagger.”
No steps did I hear approach me, yet a hand touched my throat, seeking sign of life. That I yet lived would not long continue as a state, yet no touch of a dagger came. Naught was I able to see through the mists, little did I hear; I suddenly felt abandoned, and then the ground trembled to the urging of many hooves. I knew then that a large force had come, sending the Silla to the cover of the trees, yet I was unable to know to whom the force belonged. In my heart, I wished it to be sister Midanna, come to free the Hosta from the grip of Ranistard, yet the mists swirled too thickly for my senses to pierce them. Too low had my strength gone, too faint was the spirit yet within me, and then I felt the touch of hands, by the size and shape of them, male hands. A laugh bubbled in my throat, knowing the males too late to once again possess Jalav, too late to attempt to work their will upon her. A murmur of deep voices came, no words clear to my hearing, and then Mida came, to wrap me in final darkness.