Hand in Hand
To be Wise is to serve, for power used selfishly sooner or later slips in the hand like a bad sword. A warrior may lose blood from such accident, but avolva will lose far more.
—Idra the Farsighted of Dun Rithell
The sun had dropped far into the west when we happened across Soren and Gelad, the former wearing his victory wreath at a rakish angle and the latter surrounded by half-a-dozen chattering Elder children, a small blonde girl perched upon his shoulders and calling in a babble of Old Tongue as her steed moved with an easy stride saying he had been put to such use before.
I had to laugh, and even Arn smiled. The littles immediately clustered her, and their questions came in swift succession, like wheeling starlings—how had she gained her spear, why did she paint her face, did other Secondborn women do as she did, what did her name mean? I translated as well as I could, suppressing no few chuckles, and she bore this interrogation with good grace. For once I was considered less interesting than my shieldmaid; had they been steading children I would have been pestered endlessly for small seidhr-tricks.
Finally Gelad lifted his rider earthward, and Soren sent the small ones on their way with a mannerly proverb in the Old Tongue about ducks returning to water. I took note, and also watched how they linked hands, filing away while singing in high sweet voices, the taller ones leading and following, the smallest protectively fenced.
“A mighty war-band.” Gelad rubbed ruefully at his lower back. “I would almost rather face a trul.”
“Avert,” Soren replied, laughing, and made a gesture with his left hand to ward off ill-luck. “For once I am glad you are taller; I am a poor mount by comparison.”
Arn watched the children disappear between a line of gaily colored tents, shading her eyes with one hand. Rarely was her grin so broad. “They are very well-behaved. But enthusiastic.”
“And have never seen a shieldmaid.” More laughter bubbled in my throat; I sought to keep it contained.
“’Tis an impressive sight; we have none in the North.” Soren attempted to straighten his wreath again; the wolf sigil at his shoulder wore its own lolling smile and the plain metal swordhilt over his shoulder winked through the crossings of leather cushion-wrapping. “A few more of your kind, my lady Minnow, and we might well need no armies at all.”
She accepted the compliment with an amused salute, her armor glittering. “We are not so rare. There were two downriver from us at Dun Odynnslek, and we often heard tales of others to the south and east.”
“Seidhr and shieldmaid oft go hand in hand.” I lilted the words to the drinking song and my small one made a battle-face, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes as she used to before we both achieved our first blooding.
“Ai, what I would not give for some mead.” She rolled her shoulders and smiled afresh; children make the rest of us feel young, as the saying goes. “These Elder draughts are well enough, but I long for something real.”
“They are real enough, and healthful.” Gelad tugged at his tunic’s hem, settling the cloth. The slight disarray suited him, and his gaze held no shadow of fatigue. “If you are weary, simply drink more.”
I did not think it would work, and in any case had no appetite. I looked to the far peaks, sparkling under sunlight no longer winter-thin but full of burgeoning richness. An invisible balance had tipped, and the breeze held softness it had not before dawn.
“I am surprised our Minnow is not watching the sword-dancing.” Soren’s heavy eyebrows raised. “There are archery contests as well; Efain has been called to judge a few.”
“Sword-dancing?” Arn immediately turned to me. “That sounds promising.”
The thought of another crowd, even Elder-fair and agelessly polite, threatened to throttle me. “I see no reason why you may not view such a wonder, small one. I will be well enough returning to our quarters.”
“There is no danger.” Soren even bowed in my direction, very like an Elder guard though he risked losing his circlet entirely. “We are in Laeliquaende, and should you need escort—”
“I thank you for your pains,” I hurried to answer, “but ’tis not necessary. I can find the city, and am passing certain I can also find the palace within it. One need only look up to catch sight of the spires, after all.” A few short hours with my own thoughts seemed a wondrous gift, for all I was unused to truly solitary pursuits. Always, at Dun Rithell, there was Arn.
And I had not been alone during our journey save upon one of the first fogbound nights. The memory of that evening spent in freezing vapor was still terrible.
“Solveig…” Arn hesitated, weighing duty to her charge against the prospect of witnessing a new form of combat-play.
“Go.” I laid my hand upon her arm—after all, she had not even attended Dun Rithell’s last riverside fair, overseeing the stacking of the solstice bonfire with my mother’s steward instead. I wondered how Hopfoot was faring, and the thought caused another momentary pang. “’Tis a festival day, after all; there is no danger. No riverside fair to tempt me either, and I hardly think I shall be accosted by more Elder children, for I am very dull to them indeed. I shall return to our quarters, or to the riverbank. Some part of me lingers upon the water, I think, and I must call it back.”
“I can still feel the oars as well.” Gelad spread his hands to show as much, though little trace of blister remained upon him either. “This is a safe place, my lady Minnow. Our alkuine will suffer neither insult nor injury among Taeron’s folk.”
“I doubt I shall meet very many, in any case.” I gave Arn a gentle push. “Go. You performed a wonder this morn; take some well-deserved amusement.”
Arneior decided it was permissible, and her brow smoothed. “No less than you, my weirdling. Take care.”
“I shall,” I promised. “And I expect a full report upon your return.”
So it was that I left behind the sound of rejoicing. I did intend to return to the city, but my feet were drawn in another direction. I found the beach where the race had ended deserted save for the boats pulled high upon agate-strewn sand. The sound of water slid past, soothing the ragged edges of my subtle selves.
Our craft was where we had left her, in no danger of entering—or even touching—the river. I climbed into her; she was full of westering sunshine and I was able to stretch out upon her damp floor, feet flat and knees up. I arranged my hands upon my breast and exhaled, tension falling away.
The day swirled inside my head, from the massive seidhr-effort of the morn to the council in Taeron’s tent. Arn did not seem to think my outburst unreasonable, and so long as my behavior met her approval I did not worry overmuch for anyone else’s estimation. Clearly these matters would be discussed again, the next time the High-helm summoned us to a meeting.
It seemed a lingering way to do business, but then again, the Elder had all the time in the world.
There were other, darker thoughts to be weighed as well. It was fantastical, absurd—the Enemy, the Allmother’s firstborn, the great brooding thing even mighty Elder feared, knowing of me?
Even if I could not fully believe, I could still feel wariness at the prospect. And perhaps a tinge of outright fear.
I thought I would continue chewing over the discussion, but the river’s voice was so soothing. The sun dropped and the sky was fathomless above me, its color deepening from winter paleness to a softer tint. I could have been on Dun Rithell’s green at the end of a late-spring day, listening to the small voices of growing grass, small animals, and the distant mutter of a sheep-herd. Sounds of celebration reached me, but not in overwhelming waves.
My subtle selves nested more securely in my physical being. For the first time I felt wholly at peace in Laeliquaende, and I drifted into sleep.