Chosen of Mida

Chosen of Mida Sharon Green

1 Journey’s end—and the blood of enemies

The lanthay moved easily through the trees, pacing itself, taking into its mouth those leaves which came near it in its passage. Unlike much of our journey till then, the land about us was lush and bountiful, warm during the, light of each fey, cool and comfortable throughout each darkness. No longer had we snow and chill, empty forests to pass as best we might, and the lanthay, more a beast of the snows and cold, nevertheless seemed to enjoy the warmth as much as I. We had come a far distance in the hands of feyd we had traveled, a distance so great I no longer knew how many feyd I had been upon the trail. The journey had been long—and solitary—yet my thoughts had used the time well to settle about the explanation of what had occurred, understanding each facet of it so that I might more clearly understand where now I stood.

I sighed as I again considered my position, yet the ever-present anger deep within me stirred. From what point would one consider the beginning of the thing? From the time Mida’s Crystals were stolen, from the time my clan-sisters the Hosta were taken by males of Ranistard, from the time I, myself, was claimed by the male Ceralt—or the time I was chosen by Mida and dread Sigurr, dark god of males, to stand in their names and see their will done? Each of these things was a beginning of sorts, a beginning of pain and shame and disaster and loss, a beginning of new, misunderstood occurrences which nevertheless were linked one to the other. My understanding was now complete, yet at what cost?

I reined in the lanthay and dismounted, tethered it to a tree where it might feed, took a cut of meat from its pack for myself, then placed myself where I might watch all about me as I fed. With my return to lands where game was plentiful, it was necessary to recall that predators were also plentiful, children of the wild whose teeth and claws would make short shrift of the unwary. Not three feyd agone had I slain a large yellow zaran, my spear taking it in the chest as it leaped up to strike at my tethered lanthay. The lanthay had nearly torn loose from its rein, so violent was its fear, yet the leather had held and I had been able to calm it. Surely Mida continued to watch over her warrior, for without the lanthay my journey would have been much longer.

I took a slow bite from the meat held in my hand, raw and bloody nilno, freshly killed, sweet and satisfying, chewing the thought as I chewed the meat. Ever had I been wont to think of myself as beneath Mida’s protection, yet now the conviction brought many memories of recent happenings and revelations, few of them pleasant. I, who was Jalav, war leader of the Hosta, greatest clan of all the Midanna, had been chosen by Mida as the sole warrior to do the work she had envisioned for me. My sisters of the Hosta she had allowed to be taken by the males of Ranistard as mates so that Jalav alone would be left to lead all of the other clans of Midanna, unprejudiced in this leadership through the absence of all other Hosta. My pain remained great that the Hosta might not be freed of their bondage to males till the strangers had been seen to, the strangers who would come from the skies to touch our lives with the power of their wills. I still knew naught of what they wished of us, yet Mida had assured me they were no other thing than evil.

Evil. Had we true need of evil, there was little need to look further for it than he called Sigurr, dark god males were fond of cursing by. Sigurr, too, had that which he wished me to do, the raising of his male warriors the Sigurri, and in this Mida had concurred. I was to raise the Sigurri as Sigurr wished, to assist in battle against the strangers, yet when the battle was done, the Midanna were then to turn upon the Sigurri and destroy them, doing them before they might do us so. Sigurr knew naught of these designs of Mida, also knowing naught of the hatred for males which Mida had sought to breed in me by placing me in the capture of males, theirs to do with as they pleased. Much had such hatred begun to grow in me at the doings of the male Ceralt—till I discovered that the shame and humiliation given me was deliberate, to see that I felt pleasure rather than pain at the death Ceralt was fated to find at journey’s end. Then, for some unknowable reason, the male had changed again, once more becoming the Ceralt whose presence had ever caused me weakness and inner fire, a burning to be held in the strength of his arms, a trembling to feel the touch of his lips, a consuming need to be used by his manhood. At journey’s end, with Ceralt’s death a certainty and quite near, I had bargained with the dark god for Ceralt’s life and health, allowing Sigurr and Mida to believe it was vengeance I sought from the male, a vengeance impossible to claim from one who no longer lived. Sigurr had demanded a price which I had paid and Ceralt’s life had been returned to him—yet the price had been so great I no longer was as I had been.

I finished the balance of the nilno between my fingers, sucking up the last of the juices before putting my head back to the tree I leaned upon. My body appeared as it ever had, large of frame, full-breasted, long of leg, the bruises Sigurr had made long gone, from my flesh, yet was that flesh now dead to the touch of males. Shortly before my departure from Mida’s domain I had sought the truth of the thing, as it had been some time since Sigurr had touched me and I had thought my body recovered. My quarters contained a number of male slaves, large, broad, well-built males—were one to discount the look of perpetual fear in their eyes. I had removed my leather breech and fur boots and had stood myself before them, demanding that they look upon me and feel the need they were not often allowed to see to. Males find pleasure in the look of Jalav and so had it been with the slaves, their desire showing clearly beneath the short, foolish cloth worn about their waists. Their eyes grew bright and their tongues moved to wet their lips, yet when I lay myself upon the fur before them and commanded them to heat my blood, they were unable to do so. Much did the males weep with their failure, so badly in need were they, yet they dared not touch me while my desire failed to be a match to theirs. In disgust and anger I returned them to the wall they habitually knelt before, backs to the wall and hands locked behind their necks, so their need might not be seen to in solitary action. Again the males wept, the strain upon their flesh made more evident by the position they had been commanded to, and then had Mida appeared in her golden mists, to laugh with great delight at that which I had done to the males. She commended the hatred I showed, a hatred she had striven to breed within me, and I said naught of the true motives which moved me to act so. Had there been aught within the males to recall to them their lost strength, surely being shamed and denied so would have brought it forth to battle the fear laid upon them. I sought for a sign in their eyes that they felt a desire for lost freedom of action, yet their continued fear of Mida was as clear as the sign Mida and Sigurr had placed upon me. The males remained slaves, Mida felt pleased, and I—I continued with that which I was destined to do.

The warmth of the lovely fey tugged at me with fingers of drowsiness, seeking to draw me down to slumber amid peace and plenty. It had been nearly two hands of feyd since I had discarded the tent which had kept the life within me in the cold lands, gladly returning to sleeping with naught about me save a lenga pelt. The leathers and furs I had also discarded, retaining no more than the breech about my loins, the leg bands for my dagger, the sword belt for my sword. My legs felt the lighter for the loss of the leg furs called boots, and I gloried in the return of the touch of sweet ground beneath my bare feet. Much had my previously lost freedom been returned to me—should one discount the presence of the sign placed upon me by Mida and Sigurr.

My fingers stole toward the life sign which had hung between my breasts since the time I had first become a warrior, yet memory of what had been done stopped them short of their goal. My life sign was the sign of the hadat, clawed and fanged child of the wild, carved from the tree marked as mine at my birth, stained with the blood of the first enemy I had slain in battle. Ever had it hung upon its leather tie about my neck, yet it, too, was not now what it had been. Its substance was now much like that of Mida’s Crystals, seemingly thin and fragile yet possessing great strength. Within it—within it roiled the black mists of Sigurr, marking me as his, showing the rot he had begun in my soul. My life sign had ever been the guardian of my soul, yet now there was little left for it to guard. The Sigurri would know me as a messenger from their master, the Midanna would know I spoke with Mida’s voice—and I would strive to forget that which had made it so.