“Then what are we doing here?” I asked. “Let’s get tack and pouches and horses and go.”
Which is exactly what we did.
We wasted no time riding to the neighbors’. Eight miles was nothing under these circumstances. Del, who took mercy on me and my sore hands, dallied the roan off her saddle this time, keeping the mare snubbed up tight to avoid protests or rambunctious behavior. We couldn’t afford it.
The house came into sight as we crested the top of a hill. Neesha, riding point, twisted in the saddle to look at me. I knew very well what he meant to say even before he formed the words, so I waved a hand at him and said, “Go. Go.”
He rode his bay hard down the hill as Del and I took the descent at a slower rate. We were not needed, at least not immediately. Neesha should learn the truth of his family without two people flanking him who were strangers to the neighbors, even to his folk.
Neesha was well in front of us as he entered the dooryard. He shouted names while reining his horse into a long sliding stop in which the bay nearly sat on his rump, digging furrows into the soil. In the midst of that, Neesha leaped off the horse, flung reins at him, and ran toward the house. Again he called names, and this time I recognized them: Father. Mother. Rasha.
Even before he reached the door a woman hastened out of the house, halted briefly as if in disbelief, then threw her arms around Neesha as he reached her. They clung hard to one another. Del and I were close enough now to hear that she spoke to him, but not what she said. And it wasn’t necessary. We knew well enough what a mother would say to a son come unexpectedly home just when she needed him most.
Danika, he’d said. But at this distance I could see no details of her features to recognize her. Just that she was a woman.
Drawing away from the embrace, she took Neesha’s arm and led him rapidly into the house. Del and I rode up slowly and reined in. Not very distant, Neesha’s loose horse cropped at grass.
Del’s gelding shook from nose to rump, hard. She sat it out, grimacing as bit shanks clattered, then looked at me. “What do we do?”
I drew in a deep breath, released it in a heavy, abbreviated sigh. “I don’t know. But—we might do best to just stay away, for now. I don’t think we should get in the way.”
She agreed. “Perhaps we can set up a small camp, just us and the horses. We can wait for someone to get us when they are ready.”
“Probably Neesha.” I dismounted. “There’s a well and a cookfire ring with spit,” I noted. “And a very large tree over there. We can make camp under the branches.”
Del nodded, dismounting as well. We led two horses apiece to the wide-bolled, spreading tree and found good areas for picketing. We untacked all four mounts, scrubbed off the sweat with hard-bristled brushes, took turns cranking up the well bucket to fill waxed cloth buckets for them, then picketed each. When it came time for us, we once again spread out the blankets, weighting the corners with stones, and set our saddles upside down at one end of each.
Del rummaged in her saddle pouches, came up with more journey bread and added cheese and dried fruit to the meal. Even as she did so, I realized I was hungry. It wasn’t precisely a feast, but would fill our bellies nicely. We each of us had botas; we washed down the food with water that tasted of leather. Didn’t matter. It was wet.
Just as we finished, the woman who had embraced Neesha came to us. And I knew her. It had been twenty-five years since we had seen one another, she and I. All she could do, and all I could do, was stare awkwardly at the other. I felt heat in my face. Color shaded hers.
Del hastily brushed off her lap, rose, and said she was off to find an accommodating bush. Whether she really had to do so—and that was certainly possible—I knew it was her way of offering us privacy. I suspected she wouldn’t return for a while.
So did Danika, who smiled faintly, crookedly.
I got up less nimbly than Del. Hoolies, I felt like a kid again, not knowing what to say or do that was not circumscribed by the Salset.
Then I smiled, because I remembered what that kid had done, and with this woman. It wasn’t purely the physical act; it had been, for us both, a rite of passage. It made her a woman, despite her youth; it made me no more a chula but a free man.
I saw it in her eyes, that mutual memory. I bent briefly to drop bread and bota to my bedroll, then straightened and took the three steps to reach her. I did not embrace her; that was much too intimate after so long. Instead, I took her hands in mine, leaned down, and kissed her gently on the brow.
As I straightened up, I squeezed her hands lightly. “You made us a fine son. You raised a fine son.” I paused a brief, tight-throated moment. “You and your husband.”
She was dark-haired, as I remembered, but now also had strands of silver framing the sides of her face. Most of the hair was wound in a coil against the back of her head, but that coil had loosened to droop against her neck, with straggling locks fallen free. Age had laid a gentle hand upon her, I thought. Happiness in her man, in her children, in her life, softened the more obvious encroachment of ruthless time. Hazel eyes, olive skin—I had forgotten both. Her grandfather had been a Borderer, and she’d told me her coloring took after him, not her father or mother. It would be flattery, if I could say I remembered everything about her, could tell her she hadn’t changed. But flattery was not always the truth, and I knew she was worth the latter.
She squeezed my hands briefly, then slipped them free. The moment had passed. And the age I had not seen suddenly mastered her face. Her body went rigid. In her eyes was a great grief. “I would like to hire you.”
That was the last thing I’d expected to hear from her. “Hire me?”
Her voice shook, though she tried to keep it steady. “They took my daughter. They left Harith and me behind to watch the house burn, the horses driven away, and my daughter taken.” Her chin trembled a moment, just a moment, before she regained composure. “She ran. A raider on horseback caught her and dragged her up before him. I heard her screams until the raiders were no more than a cloud of dust.” She swallowed heavily. “I would like to hire you. To bring her back.”
“No, Danika; no need for hiring.” I shook my head decisively. “Del and I had already decided to go after them. After seeing your house, we came here with Neesha in hopes you had survived, and now to talk with you and your husband about the details of the raid. Anything you might tell us is of help.” I gestured toward the blankets. “Will you sit down?”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I must see to my husband. They beat him badly. One of his legs is broken, and his head is injured.”
I grimaced. “I’m sorry, Danika. But we will rescue your daughter and your horses and kill all the raiders. Each and every one.”
Neesha’s mother nodded as tears welled in her eyes. “Justice.”
I nodded. “At the very least.”
She gestured toward the house. “Come in. There is room to visit, though not to sleep, I’m afraid. But we can feed you. Sabir and Yahmina have been good enough to take us in.”
“We’ll do just fine right where we are,” I assured her. And we would; Del and I both would be uncomfortable within the house, with so much of worry and pain already in it.
Somewhat hesitantly, she put out a hand. I took it. The awkwardness was gone. We shared much, she and I, in our son. We walked slowly toward the house with fingers entwined. “I’m glad you’ve come,” she said. “For all reasons: Neesha. You. The raiders. But I should have expected it. The gods know what is most needed and when.” She glanced up at me sidelong. “Is she your wife?”