"That means keep your sodding mouths shut," Sam said as he came out of the gate, genially enough, but with an edge to it.
There were murmurs at that; the folk of her clan tended to be talkative, and to love argument and assembly and debate-it had become as much a mark of a Mackenzie as shooting skillfully with the bow. Probably they'd caught it from her original core group of coveners and re-creationists, who could talk black into white and up into down, and loved to do it-plus it was entertainment to replace TV.
On the other hand, they also tended to take what she said seriously, sometimes excessively so. The little crowd broke up as people went back to their homes-doubtless to hash over the events of the evening, but at least they weren't getting in the way. Most of them would delight in keeping the news within their own dun, too, and hug a secret close until they couldn't bear it anymore.
Sam whistled sharply, and several of his household people came up to collect the horses as the visitors swung down.
"Started with a missing sheep," he said quietly to her as they walked towards his house. "And from there: "
"Hmmm," she replied when he was done. "Let's go see."
"And they're frightened at the name of you, Lady Juniper. But most anxious to see you, as well."
"Not the first time it's been like that."
"Not a bad bunch. They made it out with Baron Liu chasing them, after all."
"Thanks to Eilir and Astrid," she said quietly, looking over her shoulder at the pair in question. As well try to keep water from flowing downhill as keep those two out of it. "But I see your point."
"Plus some little things: they've been eating short for years and running hard on next to nothing for days now, but we didn't have to stop them from rupturing themselves. Thanked us polite-like when we used the bolt cutters on those dog collars around their necks."
Juniper nodded, and took off her cloak to shake free the moisture before she walked into the warm, well-lit space of Aylward's hearth room and hung the garment on a peg; there was a mat underneath to catch drips. Then she made a gesture with one hand and bowed her head towards the family altar over the fireplace.
Melissa Aylward smiled as her kin cleaned away plates and bowls. "Merry met and welcome to our home, Lady of the Clan," she said, and extended a plate and cup.
"Merry met and thanks, Lady of the Hearth," Juniper replied, taking a cookie and popping it into her mouth-she wasn't hungry, but symbolism was important. The hot mead was soothing, though.
Melissa grinned then, and said less formally, "Sam's always bringing home something that needs cleaning up and feeding, Juney."
"A big softie, under that gruff shell," Juniper agreed.
The children Sam had mentioned were being borne off by members of the household, to be bathed-and de-loused-and tucked into beds; several of the younger were already lolling limp into sleep by then, between the warmth and full bellies. Others of those who lived here had suppressed their natural curiosity and scattered off to the rest of the big farmhouse. That left only Sam, her, Chuck, Eilir and Astrid apart from the two refugee couples and the teenager. She looked at them:
Something. Something important. The worm biting its tail, things yet to be casting their shadow through the circles of time:
The power points of her body flaring in an electric tingle, a cool wind blowing through her mind, a hint of a star-shot darkness that glowed with an inner light: She damped down frustration at the uncertainty of it.
Even to her most beloved child, a mother doesn't reveal all her mind-she can't, because the child can't grasp it yet. How then does the Divine speak to us? In song and myth, dream and vision, like a serpent in a bed of reeds, coil upon counter-coil.
The dark Hispanic-looking man gulped at her green-eyed stare. "Ojos garzos" – The eyes of wizardry -he said softly, and crossed himself.
Juniper shook herself back to the waking world, and remembered discussions she'd had with Jose and Carlita over platters of camarones al mojo de ajo.
"Si," she whispered in his tongue. "Si, garzos, pero para el bien, no el mal. Bruja, si, bruja de los buenos-Sacerdotiza."
He inclined his head. "Queen of Witches."
Her smile grew wry as she swept aside the tail of her plaid and sat, tossed her bonnet on the table and ran her hands through unruly red curls where the first gray threads had made their way this winter past.
"Yes, but that doesn't mean what you think it means. Look, let's be practical, shall we? First, you don't have to worry about the Protector or Baron Liu anymore. You're free of them now. We'll find you food and decent homes. And work, but work for yourselves-rely on it-and land of your own eventually. We don't turn anyone away who's running from those: I won't call them swine because it would be an insult to that noble beast the pig, sure."
One of the women buried her face in her hands and began to weep. Juniper suppressed an impulse to give her a hug-more likely to scare than not-and signaled Melissa to lead her away; she'd probably feel better close to the children anyway. The others seemed to slump where they sat.
"We made it," the dark man murmured. "Before God, we actually made it." He crossed himself again. "Even at peril of our souls, it's worth it."
Juniper sighed. "First, Mr: Lopez, isn't it?" He nodded. "We've got freedom of religion here; and we'll help you pass on to the university people, or the Bearkillers, or the good monks at Mount Angel, if you prefer. Frankly I've been sort of embarrassed at how many people here have taken up the Craft, but there are still Christians among us: Why didn't you head for Mount Angel, by the way? It's closer."
"I think of that first, but too many damn soldiers in the way," he said frankly. "Those hijos, they kill us all slow, they catch us, even the ninos."
Sam grunted agreement. "The Protectorate's got continuous cavalry patrols along there-and the border's well marked."
Miguel nodded; he was a stocky brown-skinned man with shaggy hair so dark that it had blue-black highlights. " Si. So Jeff"-he indicated his lanky Anglo companion-"say we should go west first, then turn south before the river, around Salem. Nobody go near there much, too scared. Territorio bandido. Some of the bandidos, they do things for the Baron, too, but we figure we hide better than from soldiers."
"That was wise of you," Juniper said.
She flicked a hand, and Astrid and Eilir sat down on the benches across from the fugitives. Chuck went and poured mugs of beer for everyone, then resumed his stance a little behind Juniper, watchful without being tense-this might be a trick. With four of the most formidable warriors in the Willamette Valley at hand to protect her, Juniper didn't feel particularly threatened. She didn't want the fugitives to feel pressured either, and wasn't sure whether having Chuck behind her in full fig was a good idea, but he certainly thought so and she didn't want to argue about it.
Instead she teased the story out of the three of them. Miguel Lopez had actually been a resident of the town of Gervais before the Change and had managed to survive hiding near it, which was a rarity; his family had arrived a few years before from Jalisco in Mexico, migrant farmworkers like many in that town. He'd moved around hiding from Eaters and refugees and the plagues-living mainly on a pickup load of cracked oats, livestock feed his family had hidden in a woodlot-come out late in the first year, and started a small place of his own, before the Protector's men arrived.
"We didn' fight much," he said bleakly. "Too many of them. And they promise to protect us against Eaters and bandits, get us seed and tools, at first it sound pretty good. Then-" He touched his neck where the collar had left raw patches and calluses.
His friend Jeff Dawson had been a high school student in a Portland suburb-and as he confessed, lucky to end up in one of the Protector's labor gangs rather than driven out to die with so many others. He'd come to Gervais as part of a group sent to help construct the castle, and stayed as a general worker around the place.