“His life?” she frowned, meeting my eyes. “Of what interest is his life? His life has served my purpose and is now no longer necessary. In another hin it will be gone.”
“I do not wish it to be gone,” I persisted, watching as she turned from me to walk to a tall, golden seat, much like that called throne. “I wish his life to be mine.”
“For what reason?” she demanded, turning to seat herself and once again gaze upon me. Her eyes probed deep spearing me with golden radiance, and then a smile returned to her lips. “Ah, I see,” she breathed, placing her arms upon the seat arms as she leaned back. “The male has bred the desire for revenge in you, raising a fury I feel clearly. You mean to hold him captive again, or perhaps give him to a sister clan for use. I approve your intentions, Jalav. A pity they cannot be.”
“Cannot be?” I frowned, diverted from correcting Mida’s impressions. I had often thought of Ceralt as she had described, yet not for some time had those intentions been mine. “Naught is impossible to you, Mida. Heal him as you healed me.”
“The matter is hardly that simple, Jalav,” she laughed, in some manner pleased. “You are a warrior and a daughter. The male is a male—and primarily in Sigurr’s province, who is unlikely to give up his blood. He has had me bring you here for other purposes than to give you the gift of a male.”
“He?” I blurted, again feeling the whirl of confusion. “Mida, I do not understand.”
“You soon shall,” said she, no longer seeming pleased. “The matter begins with the pending arrival of these strangers from the stars. They think to take you from us, yet it shall never be! Never!” A great anger had taken her at mention of the strangers, yet she soon had control of her voice again.
“All you need know is that these strangers are evil, beings who must be fought with and conquered,” she continued. “Sigurr and I, between us, hold the obedience and loyalty of the two greatest warrior forces on this world, the Midanna and the Sigurri. As it was long ago destined that you make the journey here, Sigurr considers the decision to send you forth to his Sigurri, raising them in his name to battle beside my Midanna. It is his thought that his males will triumph over all about them, and after the victory over the strangers, my Midanna as well, yet this will not be. After victory is ours, it is his Sigurri who will fall, never to rise again. It is for this purpose that I have prepared you Jalav. Are you prepared?”
“How have I been prepared, Mida?” I asked, standing yet, in the clouds of uncertainty. “Through being the war leader of your Hosta?”
“Not that.” She laughed, humor apparently restored. “Your position as leader of warriors held by males will allow you to be war leader for all of my Midanna. Nearly all of the Hosta carry the quickened seed of males, rendering them unfit for battle. The sole Hosta will be you, Jalav, a war leader without partiality, a war leader all may follow without prejudice.”
“Then how have I been prepared?” I whispered, ill to know the Hosta would not be beside me in battle. Ever had my clan sisters fought by my side, yet now I was to abandon them to their fate. Though Mida had not said so, I knew this to be in her thoughts.
“You have been prepared by your captivity by males,” said she, great amusement evident upon her face. “Do you now feel a proper hate for males, Jalav? Are you able to remember the shame given you at their hands? Many times you called to me in your misery, demanding to know why I allowed the capture to continue. It was for this reason, that you would learn to hate and despise males, all males, even those you will fight beside. When the battle is done, you will take all their lives, giving me their blood as you have ever done.”
I turned without words and went to a seat, turning again to numbly seat myself. The reason Mida spoke held little reason for my mind, for was I not a Midanna warrior? Had I been bidden by Mida to end the lives of certain males, would I have hesitated in the manner of a city slave-woman? In the full flush of battle lust, what need has a warrior of hate?
“Sigurr will soon present himself to speak with you,” said Mida, a small, pleased smile upon her lips. “We will, of course, say naught of our true intentions, allowing him to believe all is as he wishes it. Do not allow his manner to disturb you—you stand beneath my protection.”
“What of the two left at his Altar?” I asked of a sudden, not knowing why I spoke the question. “The slave female and the male—what has become of them?”
“The female Sigurr tasted to her soul,” laughed Mida, much pleased with the thought. “He holds her close to death in his domain, continuing her use, disallowing her end. The male is here in my domain, already having felt his use, burning in the throes of the sthuvad drug. His use is mine alone, therefore does he burn with none other to see to him while I concern myself elsewhere. He has long since begun to beg my presence; he will live long enough to do more.”
I nodded slowly, somehow having come to expect naught else. My hand went to my life sign, feeling the worn wooden carving, communing with the guardian of my soul. My mind whirled in a manner I was unused to, with thought rather than confusion. All about me seemed suddenly clear, yet I knew not what might be done about it.
“Ah, Sigurr comes,” announced Mida with a purr, sounding much like a city female anticipating the arrival of a suitor. The golden air to my left began to darken, a thick black fog surrounding a growing presence. My flesh chilled as a male formed in the fog’s depth, his body and face as dark as Mida’s was golden, his eyes so black and hungry they made one want to flee his sight. I darted a glance to where I had thrown my sword at Mida’s behest, and Mida’s laughter rang out, light and golden.
“You threaten my warrior’s peace of mind, Sigurr,” said she, speaking to the fully formed, black-misted male. “Yet, see how her thoughts go, to a weapon rather than to fearful homage. Are not my warriors here mere children in comparison?”
“She laughed at my displeasure,” breathed the male, a deep, low, breathy chill to his voice. “When she thought she lay dying, she laughed at my desire.”
“She is wild and untamed,” smiled Mida, finding no discomfort in the male’s ice-tinged fury. “Would you have her behave as do those who are chosen to satisfy your lusts? Would you have her grovel at your feet, shuddering in terror?”
“Yes,” breathed the misted male, his eyes taking the measure of my soul. Mida laughed to hear the single word, yet I found the need to grasp the arms of my seat, the desire to cry out in fear beating a mad pulse in my body. The male stood upon the mist covering Mida’s golden floor, his form larger than any male I had ever seen, his desire covered with the blackest of breeches. As he gazed upon me his hand moved to the breech, and Mida stood quickly out of her seat.
“In my domain, your lusts will remain covered!” she snapped, cold authority in the command. “You now see Jalav before you. Do you accept her as courier to raise your Sigurri?”
“They will take her and sell her as warrior-pleasure,” growled Sigurr, his large, square hand yet at his breech. “They will tie her by that thigh-length hair to a post and ravage her body as it is meant to be ravaged. They will not heed the words of a squirming wench, hot in her need.”
“She will require a sign of sorts,” mused Mida, deaf to the balance of the male’s words. “A sign your Sigurri cannot doubt. It will be necessary to think upon what this sign should be.”
“With a sign it may perhaps be done,” grudged the dark male, his eyes continuing to rest upon me. “These wenches of the forest have knowledge of my warriors, yet know naught of where they dwelclass="underline" Will she go to raise them to fight by her side, or will she lead others in attack upon them? It is difficult to know what a foolish female may do.”