As the night dragged on Yaril then Jaril went somewhere, came back after a short stretch of time. Brann was dully aware of those departures, but had no energy even to wonder where they went. She huddled where she was and waited-for what, she had no idea, she wasn’t thinking or feeling, just existing as a stone exists. She got very cold when the dew came down, but even that couldn’t penetrate the numbness that held her where she was.
The night grayed, reddened. Some of the soldiers went into the meeting hall, brought out two ropes of women, her mother among them. Brann strained to see through the dawn haze. Her mother’s shirt and trousers were torn, tied about her anyhow. She moved stiffly, there were bruises on her face and arms, her face was frozen, but Brann could see the rage in her. She’d only seen her mother angry once, when a new apprentice who hadn’t learned Valley ways yet jumped Brann’s oldest brother Cathor over some silly thing, but that was nothing to the fury in her now. Once they were cut loose the women were put to fixing food for the soldiers and later for the captives.
The morning brightened slowly. The smells of the food reached Brann and her stomach cramped. Yaril went off a few breaths and came back with food they’d stolen for her. For some minutes she stared at the bread and cheese, the jug of buttermilk. Hungry as she was, it felt horrible to be eating with the things that kept replaying in her head, things she knew she’d never forget no matter how long she lived.
Yaril patted her shoulder. “Eat,” she said. “You need your strength, little Bramlet. Wouldn’t you like to get your mother and the others free of those murderers? How can you do that if you’re fainting on your feet? You’re a practical person, Bramble-all-thorns. There’s nothing wrong with eating to keep up your strength.”
Brann looked from one pale pointed face to the other. You think I really could get them looser
Yaril nodded. She fidgeted a moment, seemed to blur around the edges, but her nod was brisk and positive. “With our help. Well show you how.”
Brann took a deep breath and picked up the jug. At first it was hard to swallow and her stomach threatened more than once to rebel, but the more she got down, the better she felt.
As she finished the hasty meal the movements below began to acquire shape and order, the soldiers lining up the roped-together villagers, getting pack mules and ponies loaded and roped together. Yaril whispered to Brann, “You want to make them pay. You can. Let them go ahead. It’s five days out of the mountains. We’ll help you get ready. Let them go thinking they won. Listen to us, we’ll tell you how you can make them pay for what they’ve done.” Soft nuzzling whispers as Brann watched the soldiers take brands from the fires and toss them into the houses along the white sand road, as she watched them march away, the roped slaves forced to march with them, the laden packers ambling along behind.
Brann huddled where she was, breathing hard, almost hyperventilating, while the leader mounted his horse and started off at an easy walk, and the soldier-pacemaker’s voice boomed through the crisp morning, all sounds magnified, the flames crackling, the scuffing thud of marching feet, the jangle clink of the soldier’s gear, the rattle of the small cadence drum that took over for the pacemaker’s voice. She wrapped her arms about her legs and sat listening until the sounds muted and were finally lost in the noises of river and wind. Then she lifted her head. “How?”
Yaril and Jaril gazed at each other for a long breath. Finally Yaril nodded and turned to Brann. “There’s a lot for you to forgive. We said we wouldn’t hurt you, Bramble, but… well, you’ll have to decide how much harm we did out of ignorance and need.” She coughed and her edges shimmered as they had before. Brann clenched her hands until her ragged nails bit into her palms, bit her lip to keep from crying out at this dallying, in no mood to sympathize with Yaril’s embarrassment. “We changed you,”
Yaril went on, keeping to her deliberate pace though she had to see Brands impatience. “We had to, we don’t say it was right or a good thing to do, but we thought it was the only thing to do. You were the first thinking being we saw in this reality. We didn’t mean to come here. We were borne into your reality-your world-by accident through fire. I know, I’m not making sense, just listen, there’s no hurry, we’ll catch up with them easily enough. Listen, Brann, you have to understand or you can’t… you can’t deal with what we made you. And we can’t change that now. We’re melded, Brann, a whole now, three making one. We came through the heart of fire changed, Brann. Among our own kind we’re children too, unfinished, malleable. Think how you’d feel, Brann, if you woke one morning without a mouth and could only suck up food and water through your nose, and your hands were gone. How would you feel with hunger cramping your stomach and food all around you that you couldn’t touch? How would you feel knowing you would fade and die because you couldn’t eat? And then if something inside you, something you knew to trust, said, ‘that person will feed you, but only if you change her in such and such a way,’ what would you do?” Yaril shimmered again, her crystal eyes glowing in the morning light, pleading for understanding.
Brann moved her lips. No sound came at first, finally she said, “You’re demons?”
“No. No. Just another kind of people. Think of us as what we said, the Mountain’s children. Truly we were born through her. Where we… oh, call it began, where we began we ate things like sunlight, umm, and the fires at the heart of things. We can’t do that anymore.”
Brann pressed her hand against her stomach, licked her lips, swallowed. “You… you’re going to eat me?”
“No, no! You didn’t listen. You have to know this. Maybe it’d be better to show you.” Once again she exchanged a long glance with her brother, once again she nodded, turned to Brann. “Wait here, Bramble. When we drive a beast from the trees, take it between your hands and drink.”
Brann shuddered. “Its blood?”
“No. Its life. Just will to take.” Yaril got to her feet. “You’ll know what I mean when you touch the beast, it’s coded into you now.” She flowed into the form of a large boarhound and trotted into the trees, Jaril shifting also and trotting after her.
Brann sat, feeling cold and horrified at the thought of what she was going to have to do. She heard the hounds haying somewhere in the distance, then coming closer and closer, then they were on the stone driving a large young coyno toward her. In a blind panic it ran at her and if she hadn’t caught it, would have run off the lip of the cliff Without thinking, acting from new instinct, she mcved faster than she thought she could, trapped the lean vigorous body between her hands and did what Yaril told her, willed to take.
A wire of warmth slid into her, heating her middle in a way she found deeply disturbing though she couldn’t have put into words why it was so. In seconds the coyno drooped empty between her hands. She looked at it, wanted to be sick, sent it wheeling over the edge of the cliff. Then she remembered the soldier tossing Ruan on the hill of dead children and was sorry. She put her hands over her face, but found no tears. The male boarhound picked his way over the rough stone and pushed his cold nose against her arm. By habit she stroked her hand along the brindle silk of his back, scratched absently behind his soft floppy ears. “That’s the way it’s giiing to be?” The hound whined. Brann scrubbed her fist across her eyes. “I’m all right, don’t worry. Worry? I s’pose you do or you wouldn’t explain, you’d just make me do things. What now? Was that enough or will you need more? Go ahead. I’m going to think about it like cleaning chickens for supper. Go chase some more beasts here, I’ll sing the Blessing while you’re gone.” She looked over her shoulder at the cliff edge and swallowed, tightened her hand into a fist again. “Slya says all life is sacred, all death must be celebrated and mourned.” She spoke gravely, feeling, the weight of custom falling on her thin shoulders. Jaril rubbed his head against her arm and trotted off after his sister.