“Patience is more often to be found in mortals than in goddesses,” I replied, stringing my bow. “Perhaps it came to Mida that I would have little need of her magic healing when I concerned myself with no other thing than dallying with a male. I must now see to her task without the aid of her magic, and for this I may blame no one other than myself. I cannot say I knew no better.”
The bile rose high in me at thought of my stupidity. When one surrounds oneself with males, one begins to think as they, a thing I had not known was possible. I now must return to the forest ways as quickly as possible, and hope to avoid any further disasters.
“Should one be at fault, that one is myself,” said Mehrayn, his firm hand resting on my shoulder. “I cannot believe, however, that the life sign has been reclaimed, and will immediately begin my search to prove the contention. You may assist me or merely sit and await the results; I will not be proven wrong.”
“Perhaps not,” said I, showing no awareness of his hand on me. “I, however, have already been proven wrong, and have not the time to sit about in idle patience. Should you find the life sign, you may bring it after me when your legions are prepared to march.”
“Bring it after- No!” exclaimed Mehrayn, turning me quickly by the shoulders and snatching away the newly strung bow. “You cannot ride to battle without the protection given you! Do you seek crippling or death?”
“Do you mean to say that the war leader Jalav has never before faced battle without protection?” I demanded. So great was my anger at this insult that my hand closed about the hilt of my sword. The male saw the effect of his words upon me, yet showed annoyance rather than contrition.
“Do not think to lure me from my stand with misdirection, wench,” said he, in a tone of disapproval. “I know well enough that you have faced battle many times and had need of no protection other than your sword. Yet I would also know how many of those times you alone faced enemies without number? How many of those times was done what you are about to do? No mortal wench—or man-may face your task without the protection of the gods, and this you may not deny.”
“My task is what I may not deny,” I said, the insult diminishing somewhat, the stiffness remaining unchanged. “When taken as a slave in Bellinard, I faced enemies without number; when held with the Hosta by the males of Ranistard, I faced enemies without number; when captured by Ceralt and his Belsayah, I faced enemies without number; when sent as a slave to the Caverns of the Doomed, I faced enemies without number. Also did I walk the lines for Silla trash, as the scars upon me testify, yet did I survive to avenge the insult. Do not speak of what you don’t know, male, and beware giving insult. Jalav does not care to swallow insult.”
“Nor has she spoken, till now, of what service to the gods has entailed for her,” said the male, his green looking down upon me. “These Silla, who gave you such terrible wounds as to cause the scarring you wear—they are enemy Midanna, are they not? They stand among those who unknowingly await you, do they not?”
“They do not,” I replied, turning from him to fetch the bow he had thrown aside. “Those Silla for whom I walked the lines have been sent to Mida’s Blessed Realm, some by my sword, some by the swords of those who follow me. The balance of the Silla lay in capture to the males of Ranistard, beside my own Hosta. When the strangers have been seen to and Mida satisfied, the Hosta will be freed, and likely the Silla as well.” I straightened with the bow in my hand, and turned to face him squarely. “Must we bare blades before I am able to continue on in Mida’s service? I would regret the loss of you, male, yet the Hosta wait and the gods may not be denied. ”
“Indeed, denial is reserved to mortal men alone,” said he, grimacing. “Should I attempt to stand in your path, I will be blown from it by those who may not be denied. I dislike being moved about so.” He looked at his altar a moment, and then back at me. “Very well. As I am given no alternative, I shall see you upon your way. When your life sign is found, I shall follow after with it.”
He came then to aid me in gathering the few things I would take to the forests, and another moment saw us moving toward the door which led from his chamber. Mehrayn put a hand to the door to open it, yet did he hesitate and then bend an odd look upon me.
“And who might this—Ceralt of the Belsayah be, in whose capture you were?” he asked, the oddness also a part of his tone. “No doubt a man of low character, who sought to give you no other thing than pain and shaming, a man whose life was well ended by the edge of your blade.”
I, too, hesitated before the door, remembering Ceralt. As tall and broad as Mehrayn was Ceralt, with eyes nearly as light, yet was Ceralt dark of hair, and darker of skin despite Mehrayn’s tanning. Many were the memories I had of Ceralt, not all of them unpleasant.
“Ceralt-was he who bought me as slave in Bellinard, he who claimed me as his own in Ranistard, he who found me after I had walked the lines for the Silla and lay near to death,” said I, seeing each of these things against the wood of the door as I spoke of them. “It was he who was chosen by Mida to bring me to her, and for that reason was I given into his capture for the journey. Ceralt-wished to make me his, and would not acknowledge my service to Mida, therefore was his life nearly forfeit at journey’s end. I-bargained with Sigurr for his life and the lives of those others with whom we traveled, then left them and rode to raise the Sigurri. Ceralt was too gravely wounded to speak with, yet did I leave word with others that he was not to seek me again, therefore shall I never lay eyes upon him again.”
“I see,” said Mehrayn quietly. “You warned him away, therefore will he refrain from seeking you out. Merely by cause of the warning.”
“Certainly,” said I, understanding naught of his oddness. “Nearly was his life lost by cause of his insistences. No other than a fool would attempt the pursuit of that which has been denied him by the gods.”
“The truth of your words cannot be denied,” said Mehrayn, with a small, odd smile. “No other than a fool would do such a thing.”
With such comment was the door then opened before me, so that I might walk through. I did so without hesitation, relieved that the conversation need no longer be continued. As a Sigurri male, Mehrayn did well in upholding the greater strangeness of all Sigurri.
The corridor we entered was carved from stone, thick candles illuminating the black of the walls, as well as the small platforms which stood here and there against those walls, and the silver sconces in which the candles themselves were held. Though other doors appeared at intervals in the black walls along the corridor, no other living being did we see till we descended to the level below. Here were some few Sigurri males moving about their business, two slave females in red hip cloths and bare, red-tipped breasts who sought to take the dust from those things which stood about, and one slave female who bore a large wooden board laden with provender. When her eyes touched Mehrayn she halted and slipped to her knees, her head bending as far as possible above the board. Light of hair and eye was the slave, of a similar coloring to Ilvin, the Hitta warrior who had wished to accompany me to the land of the Sigurri, yet no further did the similarity run. Had Ilvin been captured by males, I much doubted that she would have knelt so easily. Midanna warriors do not so easily acknowledge themselves slave.
“For whom is that tray intended, slave?” asked Mehrayn, pausing to look down at the female, until he seemed to understand. “Nearly had I forgotten! Both Aysayn and Chaldrin slept beneath my roof, so that they, too, might see you on your way. It will be the work of no more than a moment to fetch them, and then we may see to provisioning you. Aysayn undoubtedly sent for a tray in the belief that you were not yet prepared to depart. Await me here, wench, as I shall return in a moment.”