Sharon Green - The Crystals of Mida

“It would be well for the captive to hope so,” I chuckled, taking a leaf from the tree upon which to chew. “So many more warriors demanding his service would not be pleasant for him, and it may already be seen that he does not care for the service which he performs for us.”

“It would be well should Mida send to us one who does not require the drug,” she sighed, also taking a leaf upon which to chew. “It is said that once there were males of a strength to see to the needs of Mida herself. I have come to disbelieve such tales; however, I find myself hoping I am wrong.”

“How would it be possible for such males to exist?” I asked with reason. “They dwell within their cities, never knowing the true world of Mida, refusing to their slavewomen the glory of battle for fear that they will be left unattended. They are able to do naught for themselves, but must ever be sending others to do for them. Is such a life to produce true males?”

“Indeed not,” said she with a further sigh. “We are all blessed in that our forebears left the city males to their ruin, and chose to follow Mida, else we, too, would be slavewomen without hope.”

“Yet we are not slavewomen,” I said. “Therefore we must guard our freedom so that it is not lost to us. Go you now quickly, lest your time with the captive be given to another. I believe he, too, would do well with your gentleness.”

“He shall have little gentleness.” she laughed, throwing away the leaf as she began to move toward the use tent. “The sight of him stirs my desires, Jalav, and I would feel him beneath my hands and in my possession. He is the finest sthuvad I have ever seen.”

She lifted a hand in farewell, then moved quickly toward the use tent, in the gait a warrior uses on the hunt, when the quarry is ahead and must be run down. She disappeared within as laughter came again from the tent, and I chewed my leaf, considering returning there myself. I had not cared for the look the captive had given me, nor did I care for the manner in which he had addressed me, yet I had allowed him to go unpunished so that he would be fit for the use of my warriors. Should he be foolish enough to so address me again, he would not again go unpunished.

I had nearly decided to add my laughter to that of my warriors, when I beheld the arrival of the Keeper. Her procession moved slowly into the camp, with all the dignity required by the person of the Keeper. Fully ten hands of warriors accompanied her, clad not only in the colors of the Hosta, but of the Harra, and the Helda, and the Hitta as well. Warriors of each of the ten clans of our sisterhood rode there, guarding our Keeper as would the ten clans of enemy Midanna guard their own. The Keeper herself sat upon the Seat of office, a seat covered above for the Keeper’s comfort, yet open upon all sides to the sight of Mida. Her arms rested easily upon the arms of the Seat, her feet flat upon the Seat’s wide platform, which platform was borne along by the strength of four gandod. The platform swayed to the pace of the gandod, yet the Keeper did not seem to mind in the least. A tall, strong woman was our Keeper, pleased with the place Mida had given her, vital yet, in spite of her age. I smiled and walked forward then to greet her, pleased as always to see Rilas the Keeper.

Rilas took note of my approach, and smiled a greeting as her gandod were stopped so that she might descend to the ground. She wore a clan covering to the ankles, one which only the Keeper might possess. All colors of our clans appeared upon her covering, against the black of all Midanna, the green, the red, the blue, the yellow, white and brown, orange and violet, gold and rose. She was the Keeper of our clans of Midanna, and she who did wait most avidly till the Crystal of Mida would speak to us.

“Mida’s blessings, Jalav,” said she as she was assisted from her Seat. “I am ever pleased to visit the Hosta, yet would I wish for other circumstances. You prepare to ride in search of the Crystal?”

“Aye, Rilas,” I said, gazing upon her proud form. Her hair reached nearly as long as her covering, yet no longer was it the gold of her youth. She, too, had been a warrior, for how else may a Keeper show that the love of Mida is with her? Had she refrained from taking part in battle, none would have known that her survival was Mida’s demand for further service from a well-loved daughter.

“We shall ride with the new light, Rilas,” I continued. “Part of this fey must I spend with Mida, and we may speak of what aid you may give me, at darkness. By the new light, all shall be seen to.”

“I am well enough pleased,” she said. She looked upon the use tent, and her brows rose. “Have you this soon brought one of them low, Jalav?” she asked.

“No, Rilas.” I smiled, looking, too, toward the use tent. “A captive was taken, yet has his innocence been confirmed by the Attendant Remad before she joined Mida. He is merely a sthuvad, and even now amuses my warriors. Should any of them find herself with child from him, I shall send her back to the tents by your Tower. The new lives shall not be wasted.”

“Good.” Rilas smiled, then grew serious. “Jalav, I visited the Tower of the Crystal before coming here,” she said with compassion. “I would be with you when you speak with Mida, and also relate the merits of those who have gone. You need not be alone to speak of her who bore you.”

“Your presence will be welcome,” I said to her, remembering the look of my warrior, the look of her who had borne me. Her breasts had had a dagger taken to them, perhaps in an effort to make her cry out. I well knew that she had not cried out.

I sent a warrior to my tent for my sword and a pot of daru for Rilas, then she and I entered the woods away from the camp. When the distance was sufficient, I unsheathed my sword and stood straight, Rilas also straight by my side.

“Hear me, Mida,” I called softly to the sky, my arms and sword held high. “I would speak with you of those who wish to enter your Realm from the Hosta of the Midanna. They are brave warriors all, and the fault was not theirs that final battle was denied them. I, Jalav, war leader of your Hosta, shall seek out those who took their honor, and avenge the glory. I ask now that they be allowed to enter your Realm, and not be forced to wander the gray place forever.”

I resheathed my sword and drew my dagger, then I set the edge of it to the side of my left arm. A line of blood appeared, and I drew two fingers through the blood and held them toward the skies.

“My blood has been spilled, Mida!” I cried. “She who bore me was foully used and senselessly tortured, then robbed of her place in your Realm! Well do I know that those of the cities have been forsaken by you, yet would I ask your aid in my vengeance! Smile upon me, Mida, so that the blood of my enemies may be spilled with mine! Your warrior asks no more of you than your blessing in her quest!”

I withdrew my blood from the eye of Mida, then crouched down where I stood, to bring back memory of her who bore me. The use of sword and dagger, spear and bow, had I learned from that kindest of warriors, and her pride at my winning the place of war leader had increased my joy in the deed tenfold. Very young had she been when she bore me, only just into her womanhood when the captive had been taken, and still did she have the appearance of a girl upon her death. Always had she stood in battle upon my left, a sword to be counted on and trusted. Now she was no more.

I crouched in memory for many hind, Rilas beside me, her hand upon my shoulder, her voice raised softly to Mida. She recounted the lives of my warriors who were, then crouched beside me in memory. A Keeper feels the loss of each of the Midanna, having often been present when they first wailed with the pain of new life. Rilas had been Keeper for many Kalod, and knew each of us well.