“Would that it were not so,” said I, my voice no more than a mutter, my eyes no longer upon her. “By males are they held, within an accursed city, fated to remain in captivity till Mida’s will is seen to. How many clans has Rilas brought to this land?”
“All of our clans answered the Keeper’s call,” said the warrior in surprise. “Is there a sister clan among us who would refuse? A full nine clans have come to battle the males, yet Rilas knows not where the battle is to begin. Is this the word you bring?”
I nodded without speaking, seeking lost pleasure in the sight which now appeared before me. Through the trees, suddenly growing as though from another world, arose the sight of the tent of Rilas, Keeper of our clans, comprising all of the colors of all the Midanna. The white of the Hirga, the orange of the Hersa, the violet of the Homma, the brown of the Harra, the yellow of the Helda, the gold of the Hulna, the rose of the Hunda, the blue of the Hitta, the red of the Happa—and the green of the Hosta. Also was the tent surrounded by warriors draped in these colors, warriors large and proud and eager for battle. Much did I wish that the Hosta might be among them, yet, had the Hosta been there, Jalav would not have been able to lead them all. So said Mida, she to whom every Midanna looked for direction and approval, she who was mother and leader to all. How foolish a warrior would be, to find fault with that which a goddess did.
Many warriors turned to stare as the Hitta warrior and I came through the trees, some exclaiming aloud as they found they knew me. I had made the acquaintance of each war leader of each clan, and many were the warriors beside whom I had fought. The comments grew louder the closer we came, and then was Rilas in the entrance of her tent, a smile upon her aging face, her lean body as straight as ever it had been. Her hair, falling to her thighs and below, was touched with white, no longer the gold of her youth. Her clan covering fell to her ankles, as befitted her station, and it, too, was of all the colors of our sister clans. I led my lanthay up to her, and quickly did her hands come to grasp my shoulders.
“Jalav, you have returned,” she laughed, her warmth flowing through her hands to touch my soul. “It has been too long since last we spoke.”
“Aye, Rilas.” I smiled, placing my own hands upon her slender shoulders. “Much has happened since last we spoke, and you must know of it.”
“What of the Hosta?” she asked at once, searching my face with the sharpness of her gaze. “All here have sworn to tear their prison to the ground, can we but find where they are held.”
“Their place of capture must continue to stand the while,” I answered, withdrawing my hands as the smile left me. “I come from Mida’s domain upon this world, and bring her word and will to her warriors. The Hosta may not be freed till Mida’s work is done.”
“Jalav, I sense a great change in you,” said she, withdrawing a step so that she might look more completely upon me. Her eyes fell on my life sign, a frown touched her, and her gaze returned to meet mine. “Come into my tent,” said she. “There are many questions long awaiting answers. Who will see to the war leader’s mount?”
Her words had been addressed to those about us, and many warriors stepped forward to offer their services. The giant lanthay, with its long silky white hair, had attracted much attention of its own by its unique appearance. Warriors are ever interested in finding superior mounts, for there are times in battle when one’s mount can mean the difference between victory and defeat. The lanthay was taken away by a small knot of those who intended examining it thoroughly, and Rilas turned and led the way within her tent.
“Jalav, seat yourself and take your ease,” said she, gesturing toward the dark leather of her tent floor. She herself went to the fire which burned below the roof hole, poured two pots of daru, and returned to where I had seated myself. Animal-fat candles stood about the tent in their tall holders, casting shadows about our doings, pointing up the pleasant lack of clutter. My flesh felt the smooth leather beneath it, remembering it from feyd long past the aroma of daru filled my nostrils, waking the memory of its flavor; all things I had known so well, all things so long denied me.
“Have you no desire for the daru?” asked Rilas, and I returned to a closer awareness of my surroundings to find that she sat before me, offering the pot which had been poured for me. I took the pot with a small shake of my head, then attempted a smile for her hospitality.
“It seams many kalod since I last sat among my own,” said I, sipping at the daru so that it might strengthen me. “Daru was given me in Mida’s domain, yet the trail from there was long and without it.”
“Tell me what befell you, that the journey became one to Mida’s domain,” said she, sipping at her own pot, her expression hooded. I knew she reserved opinion upon the matter and I smiled faintly, wishing I, too, might have remained skeptical.
“What befell the Hosta were males from the city of Ranistard,” said I, leaning at ease upon one elbow. “These males were womanless, and came in stealth to take the Hosta for their own. Much ill was brought to my sisters by such doing, and now they lie as prisoners to the strength of males, used by them, beaten by them, filled with their seed so that nearly all are with child. They cannot stand beside us in battle, therefore does Mida decree that they must be left as they are till victory is ours.”
“And you?” said Rilas, watching with pain as I swallowed down the daru in a gulp. “Were you not also taken by a male? How is it you were able to escape their clutches?”
“I?” I snorted. “Jalav was taken by many males, given by some, used by some, fought for by some. The sight of Jalav finds great favor in the eyes of males, yet the doings of Jalav do not find equal favor. Males are fond of a thing termed mercy, and greatly fond of their concept of punishment. Sooner would I have had death.”
Finding the pot of daru emptied, I rose to my feet to fetch more of the drink. I seemed to have a great need of it, and Rilas spoke no word till I again sat before her.
“I have not before seen such bitterness within you,” said she, giving me the compassion of her eyes. “And yet you were able to escape these males. Were you forced to go without taking some of their blood?”
“I took the blood of none of them,” I whispered, closing my eyes against the pain. “It was my blood which was taken, and my strength, and nearly my sanity. Rilas—”
“Jalav, you have returned!” said she, a strength in her voice as her hand came to my shoulder. “No longer are you in their capture, no longer need you be concerned by them!”
“The concern will never be gone!” I cried, throwing my head up to look at her. “Rilas, I have done such a thing—”
I had begun the words, yet I could not finish them. I shuddered at the memory, knowing beforehand the condemnation which would be mine. To do such a thing for the sake of a male, to barter my very soul for his life—I shuddered again, nearly spilling the daru, and Rilas moved the closer to take the pot from me.
“Tell me of this thing,” said she, a willingness to understand strong in her voice. “The dishonor may not be as deep as you believe.”
“The matter goes beyond dishonor,” I said in a lifeless voice, lowering my head to bury my hands in my hair. “There was a male called Ceralt, he who took me from the Hosta home tents, he who found me after I had escaped over the walls of Ranistard, he who claimed me as his own despite my objections. Rilas, I cannot describe the feelings the male bred within me—hatred and outrage and humiliation and shame—and the deepest concern I have ever felt for another. Mida’s world was bright when he held me in his arms, brighter still when his lips touched mine, brightest and most complete when our bodies were one. It was he who was used by Mida to bring me to her, to the domain she holds beside a god of the males called Sigurr. Ceralt’s life was to be forfeit to this god of males, and this I could not allow. I—paid the price demanded by the dark god, and Ceralt’s life was spared.”