Risa, page 47
“Tell me how …” she began.
Yestin sighed and shook his head. He had aged while she had been gone. His eyes had sunken into his head, pushed back by what he had seen. “The men from Camelot stayed two more days. Everyone asked after you, Elen. We were worried, but Mother was calm. She said you’d be back when your task was done. She listened fair to Arthur’s men. She liked what she heard, and I know they liked what they heard in turn. We gave no firm answer, though, as we planned. …” He faltered. “Just sent them away with polite words and promises to exchange more.”
She could picture them doing just that, mother sitting in her great chair, Yestin standing at her right hand, Arthur’s men ranged in a half circle before them, speaking earnestly.
“It seems that even this was too much for Urien.” Yestin’s voice hardened. “He came back. He … he stood before our mother in her own house and he ordered her to reject the hand of friendship Arthur offered. She tried to put him off, saying it was too soon to make any such decision, that there must be careful and deliberate thought. But again, he ordered her. She told him to take himself away.
“And he told her she had sealed her own doom, and he left.”
This, too, Elen could see. Urien swelling with rage until even his hair stood on end. Mother calm as stone, and just as unmovable. She could hear his final words falling from him, one by one, like pebbles cast in the river, and see him turn on his heel, his cloak spreading out like a crow’s wings behind him.
“We were all afraid at that. We … I rallied the men, and we rode out to watch the borders. Mother and … Carys were to get everyone into the hall. We knew, you see, he’d try something. We were determined to be ready.”
Carys. Bright, blithe Carys, who was meant to be her sister come spring …
“We didn’t know he had his men already in the woods. We didn’t …” Yestin faltered. “They came before we could even harness the horses. They cut us down like straw. I tried to hold him back from the house … I swear before all the gods I tried, Elen. …” It was finally too much for him and she saw the tears beginning in his eyes. He could not break, not now. They needed to be strong. She took his hands, holding them tightly.
She could see him, running through the night, father’s sword in his hand, shouting. Her brother, her little brother, covered in blood, death on his hands and in his heart.
“I should have died with them, but Mother ordered I should get our people away.”
Elen swallowed the fear and bile that bubbled up in her as she looked around at the tiny crowd of weary friends.
“Are these … all?”
“No,” answered Yestin quickly. “Urien’s taken many as slaves, and he’s already marched them away. Those of us who have managed to stay free were scattered. Ellis and Win are out in search of the others. We hope to meet up with as many as we can at Olwen’s well.”
Olwen’s well was a pool in a valley deep back in the hills. It had no visible stream to feed it, and yet it was never dry. It was a place all knew. It had few easy approaches, so it could be held by a handful of men, and however long they had to wait there, at least there would be water.
“So we abandon our home?” she whispered.
Yestin looked at her with nothing short of betrayal. “He holds the house, Elen. You saw … we couldn’t even …” He bit back his anger.
Could not even save Mother’s body from him. She would have seen her by now if Yestin had been successful. She would be lying here beneath her shroud, waiting for her daughter to do the rites for her. But the living were here alone.
Yestin turned his face away to hide his shame and defeat. “Without help, we can do nothing.”
“I’m sorry, Yestin,” Elen whispered. She pushed both hands through her hair, trying to put her mind in order. The others were watching them. With Mother … Mother dead … Yestin was chief now, and she was … She was her mother’s daughter in this place, at this time, and she was beginning to understand what that meant. She was keenly aware that the others watched her. No, it was more than that. They were looking to her for guidance, as their families had looked to hers down the generations. Their people needed them to be strong, to set all in order.
Oh, Mother, help us. What do we do?
“How hard is he likely to be looking for us?”
“Harder now that his trap failed,” said Yestin heavily. “He’ll want me dead so our people are without a …” He stumbled. “Chief. You he’ll want, dead or married off to one of his men.” He spat. The thought left Elen feeling more dirty than did the blood on her hands.
“I’ve been talking with Madyn and Aeddan.” Yestin huddled in on himself, needing comfort but trying desperately not to show it. “They … we … think the best thing is to head up the river. Tuder ap Howel is an honorable man. He’ll not want Urien lording it over his borders or the bridge.”
And his cantrev is even smaller than ours. Will he be able to raise enough men? And what if we can’t … what if we’ve lost our home … no. No. I won’t believe that.
“There’s someone else,” she said, lifting her head and turning her face, not west, but east. “Arthur is holding his summer court at Caerleon on the Usk, is he not?”
“So his men said.” Yestin sounded almost wary.
“This high king promised our enemies would be his.” Elen’s voice was stone. “Now we will see how he keeps his word.”
“We thought of that, Elen, but Caerleon is four days away.”
“Then you must keep our people together and alive until I can return with men and arms.” She stood. “Does Urien think we are defeated and outlanders? We will teach him better.” Around her, voices muttered their agreement. Here and there, a fist clenched, imagining a weapon in its clutch.
“Elen.” Yestin gripped her elbow. “This may be what he wants. He may have done this to lure Arthur into a fight. Would you be used by him?”
That gave her pause. Could Urien have designed so brutal a plan?
Oh, yes.
“Nonetheless, I will go. It is all we can do. We cannot slink into the hills and be forgotten while our peoples’ bones are left for the ravens.”
“She was my mother too, Elen,” said Yestin sternly. “I saw them ride Carys down as she fled. My Carys. You think I do not burn for vengeance?” Even now his hand had gone to his sword. “But we cannot abandon our people.”
“We will not. I will ride out and you will take our own to whatever safety there is, and set free the captives.” Her jaw ground back and forth. “What else can we do, Yestin? We cannot leave Urien unchallenged.”
Yestin sat silently for a long moment. “It will be dangerous.”
“No more so than fleeing while he follows. It is you who can make the stand while our people escape.”
She saw the loneliness in him, saw that he was at least as tired as she was. He’d been living this nightmare for days now and had no time to grieve, not for their mother, not for lost Carys. He was too young for this, and she was leaving him alone with the burden of it all.
But at last, he rallied himself. “You must at least sleep. You cannot make such a journey exhausted as you are. And,” he said stonily, “you cannot go alone.”
She did not want to agree, but she knew him to be right. She scarcely had the strength to hold her head up. The fire of her thwarted curse had all gone out, leaving nothing but a weakness where heart and bone should be. Yestin touched her shoulder.
“Sleep, Elen. I will keep watch for our own.”
Elen nodded and lay down where she was, with only her cloak for bedding. She heard the movement of the camp, heard the murmurs as the others spoke with Yestin. She heard concern in their soft words, but not doubt. He was their chief now, and she their lady. These men and women they had grown up among would do as they said.
Her last thought as sleep reached up for her was that she could not fail them.
Pain. Pain and blood and the draining weakness that came with blood’s loss and someone calling his name. All these things filled Urien’s mind as it rose from darkness. He was lying on his side, and his shirt had been stripped off. The air was cold against his skin and seemed to make the pain worse by its touch.
By an effort of will, he opened his eyes and saw Wyx’s broad and ugly face leaning over him.
“Master Urien!”
Urien licked his dry lips. “How bad?” He’d been a fool, underestimating the blood rage in the girl, and for this he paid.
Wyx’s face scrunched up, and seemed to blur as it did, which gave Urien his answer before his man could speak. “Bad. It’s deep, master, and you’ve lost a lot of blood. I can’t stop it.”
Urien grunted. “Where’s … my cloak?”
Wyx pulled back, obviously concerned his master was growing delirious. But he moved quickly out of Urien’s sight and returned with his woolen cloak. The brooch with the three cranes was still pinned to the cloth. Good.
Urien tried to move his hand, but the effort was too great. Gods, he was close to the night. “Take some of my blood. Smear it on the brooch,” he whispered.
Again, Wyx hesitated. “Do it, curse you!” croaked Urien. Curse you. The girl tried to lay her curse on me. Maybe she did. Maybe this is the end here.
No. Not yet. She will learn the price of her blood’s treason yet.
Wyx dipped his finger in the dark earth where Urien’s blood had puddled and rubbed it against the brooch, smearing the crane’s beaks and bodies. Good.
“Leave me,” he said. “Find Adara’s cublings. Kill the boy and bring me back the girl. If you cannot bring her alive, bring her dead.”
“But …” began Wyx, but he closed his frog mouth around whatever words he thought to speak. He did not know much, but he knew enough not to question Urien on such a matter. Not even now.
Wyx left. Urien heard his boots on the hard dirt as he hurried away. He let his head drop onto the pillow of his arm. He hurt. He thought he had hurt worse in his time, but could not remember when now. His throat ached with thirst. He should have had Wyx bring him water, but he could not raise his voice to shout now. He would have to bear it. All he had to do was live, was breathe, for just a little longer.
But each breath was fire, and each was harder than the last.
The world around him was growing dark, and a cold began to creep across him. He had lost all sense of time and could not tell whether night had come or whether it was his death drawing ever closer. Fear sent a tremor through his heart, and the pain of his wound seemed to laugh in return.
“Oh, Urien.”
He had closed his eyes at some point. He opened them now. They were crusted with sand and dirt, and perhaps with the salt of his tears. Ah, gods, but he hurt. He would have given all for a drink of water, even from dead Adara’s hands.
He tried to open his mouth, to make his tongue move, to ask for water, blessed water. His whole body trembled with the effort. Warm hands touched his brow.
“Lie still, my beloved.” Her very words caused the pain to ebb. Her touch was a stronger balm than a river of water could have been. It calmed all fear, brought warmth and strength where before there had been only weakness and the cold of fear. “Close your eyes.”
He obeyed willingly and let himself sink into the blessed warmth she brought him. Distantly, he felt her long fingers touch the wound on his naked belly, probing its size. Then, he felt her stretch full length beside him, felt every curve of her body pressing against him. Her mouth touched his, kissing him hungrily. His body began to respond to her, lust and need rising impossibly but irresistibly. He should have been surprised, but he was beyond surprise in this dark warmth that she brought him, and he kissed her in return, letting his body do as it would.
She wrapped her arms around him and drew him close. Her kiss grew hungry, even greedy, and Urien heard himself groan. She straddled him and he welcomed her heat. He was dying. How could he feel such pleasure, even distantly?
Pain. Red and black and burning like all the fires of hell. A scream ripped itself from his throat and he arched his back, and the motion he could not control only made the pain worse. All the time, she held him, pressing herself against him. Bright stars exploded in his skull, and every fiber of his being seemed to tear itself apart.
“Yes!” she laughed. “Yes, my love!”
And it was over. Utterly spent, Urien collapsed panting onto the earthen floor. It was a long time before he realized what was missing from him. All the pain had been taken away. He was weak, but nothing more. Even his thirst had left him.
He lifted his head and looked up into his lover’s black and shining eyes.
“Morgaine.”
She only smiled and extended her hands. He took them both, and stood as she did. His body was strong and whole, as if he had just woken from a pleasant night’s sleep. Now it was he who took her in his arms and kissed her long and lingeringly. His skin itched where his blood had dried, and he was no doubt filthy in other ways, but she answered his embrace without hesitation.
When at last he released her, she stepped back from him, looking him up and down.
“Admiring your handiwork, my lady?” he inquired.
“And so much more.” But her smile quickly faded. “Who did this, Urien? What happened here?” She looked down at Adara’s corpse with distaste.
“I was a fool,” he admitted, and he told her what had occurred.
Morgaine frowned. “You were lucky, Urien. The girl could have laid waste to all our plans with her words.”
“Well I know it.” Urien retrieved his cloak from off the floor and slung it around his shoulders. “It is fortunate she is not so strong as she believes.”
“I think none of us know how strong she is.”
Her words left him uneasy. He looked again at the dead woman on the floor. Perhaps he should take her head after all, keep her ghost prisoner, lest it walk to warn her child. “My men are out in the hills.” Urien refastened his brooch. The blood on it had completely dried, smearing the fine silver with dark swirls. “They’ll find her.”
Morgaine’s eyes narrowed. “But perhaps not soon enough. No. I do not like this. She has powerful blood, this girl. I think we should not leave her to the likes of Wyx.”
Urien bowed. “I trust your judgment in these matters, my lady.”
“Good, then. Leave the girl to me. I will bring her back to you before she can do any more damage. You and your men secure what you have won, and let your new neighbors know that rather than honoring their promises, Arthur’s men ran away like rats when the fight came to them.”
Urien felt himself smile. “I’ll take pleasure in that message, you may be sure, Morgaine.”
She, too, smiled, a smile for triumph and the future, love and hatred all together. It was at such times when he could see why men called her Morgaine the Goddess. Her power fairly shone from her, radiant and deadly, like a knife in the darkness.
He bowed to her then, he who bowed to no man, and when he straightened himself, she kissed him once more, and once more she stepped away, into the deepening shadows of the treacherous house they together had brought down, and she was gone.
Still smiling, Urien turned on his heel and strode out to find his men and issue them their new orders.
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Acknowledgments
The author would like to thank all the members of the Untitled Writer’s Group, and most especially Karen Everson and Jonathan Jarrard, who took it upon themselves to read the whole book. She’d also like to thank Susan Shwartz and Jane Yolen and all the women of the SFF-WFS list who answered her numerous questions. And finally, Matrice, Shawna, Sarah and Danny, without whom this book would not have happened.
About the Author
Sarah Zettel is the critically acclaimed author of more than twenty novels, spanning the full range of genre fiction. Her debut novel, Reclamation, won the Locus Award for Best First Novel. Her second release, Fool’s War, was a 1997 New York Times Notable Book, and the American Library Association named Playing God one of the Best Books for Young Adults of 1999. Her novel Bitter Angels won the Philip K. Dick Award for best science fiction paperback in 2009. Her latest novel, Dust Girl, was named as one of the best young adult books of the year by both Kirkus Reviews and the American Library Association. Zettel lives in Michigan with her husband, her rapidly growing son, and her cat Buffy the Vermin Slayer.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2004 by Sarah Zettel
Cover design by Ian Koviak
ISBN: 978-1-5040-5776-9
This edition published in 2019 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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THE QUEENS OF CAMELOT
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Sarah Zettel, Risa
