Greendaughter (Book 6) (9 page)

“Come,” he said gently. “You will be chilled, and that is not healthful for a woman with child.”

Chyrie was shaking violently, more with excitement than cold, but she let Val help her back onto the horse’s back, climb back up behind her, and wrap both of them in the fur as Sharl angrily motioned them forward again.

The horse was warm under her and Val behind her, and the skin, good elven tanning, easily shed the rain. The storm rumbled on fiercer than ever, but inside the fur, warmth drove out the storm.

Valann slid his hands over her rain-slicked skin.

(They think you are mad,)
he thought, nuzzling the back of her neck.
(They all think you have gone as mad as a fox with the foaming-mouth sickness.)

(Perhaps I am,)
Chyrie thought back amusedly, snuggling closer to him
. (What do you think?)

Val chuckled again, and Chyrie caught a flashing vision of how he had seen her—naked and dripping with mud and rain, her sodden hair hanging wildly in her face, a wild beast’s expression in her eyes.

(I think I would have liked to couple with you there in the dirt like a wolf and his bitch,)
he thought hotly, gently nipping the back of her neck
. (And did I not fear the chill of the rain on you after you had run so hard, I would have done it, even while that human Sharl glared down at us and shouted his curses at our delay. I would do it now, would we not tumble off the back of this fleshy mountain like two over amorous squirrels off a branch.)

Chyrie chuckled at the thought, although under Val’s caresses she grew warmer than the protection of the fur could account for.

(Even our impatient human lord must stop for the night,)
she thought back. She giggled as his fingers found a ticklish spot under her ribs
. (Then, if you wish, I will dump a skin of water over my head and roll in the dirt with you.)

“If you will roll in the furs with me, that will suffice,” Val said warmly. “And if the storm does not slacken soon, we will have to stop in any wise.”

The storm did not slacken; instead, it grew worse, but Sharl pressed on until it became apparent that they would soon be unable to see the road. Even then Sharl wanted to continue, but when they found a likely campsite by the roadside, even Rivkah sided with Val, and Sharl reluctantly gave in.

The camp had obviously been used before, probably by Gray Rock patrols; the stone-lined firepit was useless in the rain, but the cleared areas had grown over with moss, a surface much preferable to the muddy ground. Sharl, Rivkah, Romuel, and Doria set up waxed tents in the clearing of the same odd woven fiber that they wore, but Val and Chyrie moved back farther into the forest and chose some high bushes under which to place their waxed-hide tent, both for privacy and additional protection from the rain and wind.

There was no hope of a hot supper, but the elves at Inner Heart had stuffed their packs with fresh and dried fruits and tubers, spiced dried meat, clay pots of honey, wrapped packets of sap-sugar, and journey cakes of ground meat and fat, dried fruit and crushed nuts. The humans huddled miserably in their tents, shouting at each other over the storm, but Val found their clay firepot and scavenged enough dry bark and wood under trees for a small fire to light the tent and heat spiced wine.

By the light of their small fire, Val took out his dye pots and the new pots that the Inner Hearts had given him, and he exclaimed delightedly as he tested one new color after another.

“These shades will double the number of colors I have,” Val said, experimentally blending two powders with some fat and testing a smear against his skin. “There will be no color in the forest I cannot make.”

“And what will you do with those magnificent colors?” Chyrie laughed. “There remains little enough skin you have not already covered with designs.”

“There is room for several more butterflies,” Val mused, eyeing Chyrie’s naked body appreciatively. “Some flowers here”—touching a spot on her hip—“and here, and berries here, I think. But first I will go back and enhance the colors on the old designs.”

Chyrie stretched luxuriantly on the thick fur they had spread on the ground.

“Can you think of nothing better to use on me than your needles?” she asked teasingly.

Valann smiled and covered his pots.

“A difficult choice,” he said. “But for tonight, my new colors can wait.”

The storm broke during the night and the sun shone brilliantly on the wet leaves, a thousand new seeds springing into leaf and flower wherever the warm rays touched, and small new mushrooms popping up in the shady spots as if by magic. Val and Chyrie, unlike Sharl, were delighted that the muddy trail caused a necessarily slow pace; there was much to see, and in any event, they were much less eager to leave the forest than the humans. Sharl fumed and Rivkah worried, but Val and Chyrie ran beside the horses much of the time, sometimes stopping to harvest tender new greens for the pot or to nibble as they ran.

The weather held clear for two days and nights, and when they passed through Gray Rock, Swiftfoot, and Spotted Fawn lands without mishap, Sharl’s foul mood lifted somewhat. Sometimes the humans would sing road songs, which Val and Chyrie enjoyed immensely, although the humans
(with the exception of Doria, who turned out to have a lovely voice)
sang with more enthusiasm and volume than skill. Val and Chyrie refused to share the humans’ food and wine at night, but after the first night they did share the wild potherbs, seasonings, roots, and mushrooms they had collected as they traveled, and they would sit at the humans’ fire for a little conversation before retiring to their own invariably secluded camp.

The third night out from the Inner Heart village, they stopped for the night on Longear land. Before they had more than half unloaded the horses, several of the Longears themselves appeared, hovering shyly at the fringes of the clearing and peering over the bushes, the long, sharply pointed ears for which they had been named twitching excitedly.

It took several minutes of persuasion from Val and Chyrie before the dark-skinned, wiry Longears would venture out from their hiding places and approach, but they clustered around Chyrie eagerly, hesitantly touching her belly with a certain reverence. They had brought gifts of fresh game, but would not place it over the fire until the humans had backed well away. Even then, they would not share the food, but crouched just outside the firelit ring, their eyes reflecting the flames, and murmured quietly among themselves.

“Speak, Longears,” Val urged, holding out a wineskin. “What tidings can you give us?”

They ignored the skin of wine, and spoke so softly that Val and Chyrie could not tell which elf was speaking.

“You must not stop on Blue-eyes land,” one murmured.

“They have vowed to kill the humans and take Valann and Chyrie as hostages,” another said fearfully.

“They want no alliance of the elven clans.”

“They say they will suffer more than any if elf allies with human.”

“They are likely correct,” one admitted. “The land bordering the western edge is theirs.”

“And humans must pass their land to reach the elven clans.”

“And the reverse is true, too.”

“They fear all this passing back and forth will frighten away their game.” There they stopped, as if waiting for Valann and Chyrie to refute their statements.

“If a human army assaults the forest,” Valann said slowly, “every clan in the forest will be disturbed, and all border clans most of all. It is true that some of the game will flee deeper into the forest, for the inner lands will be the least disturbed unless the humans actually penetrate the borders. But it is also true that if the border clans are left without aid and their game moves inward, so too will they move inward, raiding the other clans for food.”

“Rowan of Inner Heart proposes an alliance,” one of the Longears whispered.

“Such a thing is unheard of.”

“Kin are kin, and out-kin are out-kin.”

“But if the Mother Forest has sent us a sign, we must listen to Her counsel.”

They looked expectantly at Chyrie, and Chyrie turned, troubled, to Valann.

“Rowan is a wise Matriarch,” Valann told them. “She sees much that we, younger and less wise, do not, and we go to further her plans as she bid us. But Valann and Chyrie speak only for Valann and Chyrie. We do not speak for the Mother Forest, or even for Wilding. Our Eldest is also old, and he is also wise, and I think he will not agree with Rowan. There are many ways of seeing. We cannot advise Longear how to act.”

“Whether Blue-eyes allies with Inner Heart or the humans, or they do not,” Chyrie added, “they will still suffer if an army reaches the human city of Allanmere, for the invading humans will doubtless raid the forest for food and timber. And then Blue-eyes’ game will flee in any wise, and Blue-eyes will then raid Longear land in turn. That is the way of things.”

“We are not strong. If we anger Blue-eyes and they attack us, we will fall.”

“If we ally with Inner Heart, what help will we receive against Blue-eyes? Inner Heart is far away, and Blue-eyes is close.”

“We have angered Blue-eyes already, by letting you pass through our lands.”

(They not only have long ears as rabbits do, but the same cowardice,)
Valann thought disgustedly. Aloud, he said, “Longear must decide what they will do. If kin is kin and out-kin is out-kin, then why should Longear concern themselves with Blue-eyes’ wishes? Decide for yourselves what is right and what is not. That is why the Mother Forest gave you minds to think.”

The Longears whispered together for a long time. At last one of them, an older male with a long white scar running down his face, inched forward, his large brown eyes cast downward.

“Valann and Chyrie have been touched by the Mother Forest,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “They follow the bidding of Rowan of Inner Heart. The Mother Forest would not have blessed them if they were walking the wrong trail. Valann and Chyrie must therefore be doing the will of the Mother Forest. Longear will do the same.”

Not waiting for an answer, the Longears melted back into the brush as quietly as they had come.

“Why not just tell them to kill us and be done with it?” Sharl scowled. “You seem determined not to help us.”

“We owe you nothing,” Chyrie said distractedly. She turned to Valann. “But I like it not, that other clans see us as messengers of the Mother Forest, showing them that they should obey Rowan.”

“I don’t doubt Rowan is hoping for that,” Rivkah said. “She’s a clever leader. I’m sure she planned that other clans see you as an example.”

“And what are your thoughts about the Blue-eyes?” Val asked, removing his dye pots from their pack. Chyrie obligingly pulled off her tunic.

“We’ll use Rivkah’s magic to conceal us, just as we did coming into the forest,” Sharl said, looking anywhere but at Chyrie. “If it hadn’t drained her so thoroughly to heal Valann and—well—”

“And to bespell us,” Val said sourly. “You may as well say it.”

“Well, yes, and that,” Sharl admitted, “she could have been concealing us after we picked up the two of you, and we could have got through the forest without all this trouble.”

Val started to retort, but merely frowned and shook his head, and began a new vine branch just under Chyrie’s left shoulder.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Romuel asked, and Chyrie almost jumped; to the best of her memory, it was the first time that the burly warrior had addressed her or Val directly. But then, it had only been a few days that she could have understood him if he had.

“The sting of a bee or the prick of a firethorn is more painful,” Chyrie said. “I have largely grown accustomed to it over the years.”

“How long has Valann been making pictures on you?” Doria asked, fascinated, her fingers picking idly on the small lute she carried.

“He began the night we were mated.” Chyrie chuckled. “He said he would make two vines to climb up my body—one for him, one for me. He began very, very late that night, and by that time, I was too weary to feel the prick of his needles.”

“Can you fault me for that?” Val smiled. “It had been a trying time for me. We had promised to mate a decade before,” he said in answer to Rivkah’s curious look. “But Chyrie had not yet passed her trials of adulthood, and we could not couple. And because she had not passed her trials, and was a beast-speaker as well, her mind was yet too open to thoughts around her, and so we lived apart from other Wildings to protect her. The night Chyrie passed into womanhood, that very night we were mated, and I vow she did not stand upon her feet for a hand of days.”

“How old were you when you were—mated?” Rivkah asked Chyrie.

“It was the first year of my third decade,” she said. “I was slow in reaching my womanhood. Too slow,” she added ruefully, “for myself as for Valann.”

“Third decade—” Sharl’s brow wrinkled. “And how old are you now?”

“I have eight decades and four years,” Chyrie said. “Valann has thirty-one decades and six years.”

“Thirt—” Romuel gaped openly. “You’re over three hundred years old? Rivkah told us elves lived centuries long, but I never believed it.”

“Thirty-one decades is not so old,” Valann said defensively. “Our Eldest had eighty-four decades, and Rowan must be near that.”

“You all look like children to me,” Sharl grumbled. “How can anyone tell?”

“The length of hair,” Valann told him, touching the coil at the back of his own head. “I saw that Rowan’s braid was quite long, and Dusk’s, as well. And they had both beaded their braids, and only a Matriarch or Patriarch—an elf of fifty decades or more—may do so.”

“But—” Doria gestured at Chyrie’s short hair.

“That is a tale.” Chyrie chuckled. “Once, not long after we were mated, I was out gathering plants when a bear charged upon me. It would not heed me, though I tried to calm it, and I realized it had the foaming-mouth sickness. There was no time to flee but up the nearest tree. The bear, however, was not too sick to climb after me, and I slipped and fell from the branch I was on—but my hair caught on the limb, and there I hung dangling as that bear climbed toward me. I had to cut through my hair with my knife before I could drop to the ground and escape.” She did not finish the story—that she continued to keep her hair short so that when they met other elves, if they stared, Valann could believe it was puzzlement over her short hair, not Val’s unusual hairy face and body.