Sharon Green: The Will of the Gods

Large was the area cleared about the city by those of the city, yet was I able to make the forests not long after the light had reached its highest. A paslat had foolishly shown itself from the fields as I passed it, therefore I had already fed upon its flesh, raw and bloody and satisfying as cooked meat was not. The paslat had been small, the leavings less than that which had been swallowed, therefore had I left them behind me; the shaft which had caught the paslat had been retrieved to fly again, when hunger next touched me. Well enough satisfied was this Midanna, save for the absence of a skin of water from which to drink. The blood of the paslat had bred something of a thirst in me, and therefore was my first desire upon entering the forests the seeking out of a stream. I would not pause to bathe till the city of the Sigurri lay far behind me, yet was there time enough to drink.

The smell of water was faint yet unmistakable beneath the green of the trees, calling to my mount as clearly as to myself. The heat of the fey lay upon both of us, causing the very air to waver in the occasional bright shafts falling through the trees. The stream appeared abruptly beyond a line of bushes, running happily above its bed of rock and stone, spreading into a pool at the point we met it. I slid from my kan and bent to the clear blue gurgling below the bank, drank my fill, then stood and waited while my mount did the same. The undisturbed quiet of the forest filled me with great pleasure and a large measure of calm, both of which were welcome to one with many thoughts racing about within. I paced a step or two farther about the pool, considering it a pity I had not the time to bathe—then stopped with hand to sword and looked quickly about. There was sign at the pool, unexpected sign, and no longer did the forest seem serene.

A hunter must be one with her surroundings, and Midanna were hunters as well as warriors. Again I tested what little wind there was, read the lellin song with sharpened ear, sought narrow-eyed for unusual movement. I took hand from hilt and again examined the sign upon the ground. Two had stopped at the pool no more than a pace from where I stood, one having had a leather sack within which was thrust various herbs, some which healed, some which flavored provender. The sack lay where it had been dropped, amid signs of a brief struggle, whereafter they who had knelt beside the pool to drink had been carried off. No indication of spilled blood marred the trail, therefore were those who had been carried off either taken alive or ended bloodlessly. The matter was no true concern of mine, yet is it wise to refrain from beginning a journey before being aware of that which may come behind. Again I looked about narrow-eyed, to be sure none awaited me unseen, then slowly followed the clear trail before me.

More deeply into the woods was I led, at one point seeing that those I followed had halted briefly for some unknowable reason. Still did the ground sign indicate a double burden for each, and neither had put aside that burden. My pace, though cautious, was faster than theirs; the sign quickly grew fresher and more recent, necessitating even greater caution. When the birdsong all about stilled to occasional twittering and leaf-stirring I began to edge forward with no sounds of my own, quickly coming upon a point where words were to be heard, sounds alone with no meaning. Behind the word-sounds were whimperings and weepings in higher voices, confirming the tale the ground sign had given hint of: those who spoke were male, those who wept female. Another three paces took me to the very edge of a sizable clearing, wherein stood and lay more folk than I had anticipated. The thickened brush hid me easily from their eyes, yet were their words now wholly intelligible.

“ . . . Oneness surely provides for those in need,” said one, a large, light-haired male wrapped in brown body cloth. He, like the other three males he spoke with, wore sword and dagger and no further coverings, and stood looking down with amusement upon the two Sigurri females lying bound at their feet. The females wore hip coverings, one in yellow, one in green, yet were their breasts as open to the air as mine, showing them to be free females of the lowest levels. They squirmed about in the leather which bound them wrist and ankle, unable to free themselves, anguished at their capture yet helpless to do other than weep.

“These two would have seen more adequately to our needs at the beginning of our hunt,” said a second, a male with hair as red as Mehrayn’s, casting an annoyed glance toward the largest knot of males in the clearing. “With the easing of their wounds, they begin to look upon our captures with an eye toward sharing. They seem unacquainted with the laws under which we live.”

“And with their numbers greater than ours, it seems unlikely that we shall be able to adequately instruct them,” said the first, sourly. “I for one, however, having travelled so far with so little to show for it, have no intention of giving over that which is mine. Should they wish wenches of their own, they may hunt for them as we have.”

“They claim the status of warriors, and therefore feel themselves exempt from the need to hunt,” said a third, a male as light-haired as the first, whose tone was as sour as the other’s. “By the blessing of the Serene Oneness, we now have wenches enough for ourselves; I will no more share mine than Ramsarn will share his. How do you mean to see to this, Gengan?”

“I know not,” sighed the red-haired male, he who had been named Gengan. “Were it possible to take the wenches and depart unnoticed, I would do so immediately. And yet those warriors are cousins to us, far from their homes and wounded from the battle which was joined with those of the dark god’s legions. May we in honor abandon them in their need, when they have done no more than look upon our wenches? How might we face the Serene Oneness in prayer, if we were to . . . ”

“Ho, Gengan, bring them closer so that we may all see them,” called a male from the scowled-upon knot, stepping forward with two others close upon his heels. A full five hands in number were these other males, all marked with wounds from recent battle, six of their number so badly taken that they lay unmoving upon pelts with others in attendance upon them. The four who had spoken not far from me turned toward the male who had shouted, little of friendliness to be seen in the movement.

“We will be pleased to share sight of our good fortune with you, Nobain,” said this Gengan, an easy heartiness to be heard in his voice. “The Serene Oneness has smiled upon us and we now have six wenches, one for each man of our hunting pack. We six need never wench-hunt again.”

“You are men to be envied, Gengan,” returned the male called Nobain, a sleekness to his tone as he and the others watched the fetching of the new females. The two were lifted from where they lay and carried into the center of the clearing, where they were again placed upon the grass. The four males stepped back so that the others might see the females, and a murmur of appreciation arose from the larger set, all of whom wore body cloths of gray. It had become clear that these were of the force which had done battle with Mehrayn and his males, a remnant which had run dishonorably. Sharply did my lip curl at thought of such cowardice, yet were these males, after all, with little else to be expected. All gray-clad males able to move rose to stand with the initial three, and much did their gazes show the heat of their desire.

“These newest are fully as pleasing to the eye as those others,” said the male Nobain, stepping forward to look down upon the females before raising his gaze to the males who stood above their captives. “As the Serene Oneness has seen fit to bless you so, surely you will not refuse to share your good fortune with those less fortunate, eh, cousin? We seek no more than their use till we part, and then they will again be yours alone. So little a thing . . .”