Welcome back to chapter twelve of Silvanus and Empire, my Steemit-exclusive serialized fantasy novel! In our last chapter Caddoc and Lyrinn were being dragged through the forest. Now, they're reached their fate - a meeting that will change both their lives forever...
Silvanus and Empire
Chapter 12
image from DeviantArt user elenasamko
Spirit-of-Vengeance stood in the clearing, watching the sun slowly rise over the dark canopy of trees. She was, as always, with not even a hair out of place; the morning breeze stirred the grass, the vines, and the leaves, but it didn’t so much as ruffle the hem of her simple dress. No one ever seemed to notice these things for whatever reason. Either they chanced to look away at the wrong time, or they simply saw what they expected to see: a stately woman of indeterminate age, her deep red hair shot through with streaks of grey, and her face bearing the lines that in years to come would develop into wrinkles.
Hammerfist’s children were coming closer, and they had brought the girl – Spirit could feel it. She stifled the urge to shift from foot to foot impatiently; she had waited years for this moment, so she could stand to wait a few more minutes. Still, she could feel the excitement growing within her as her carefully laid plans began to take shape.
The treeline at the far end of the clearing swayed, and Spirit narrowed her eyes imperceptibly. Four figures emerged from the forest: two dressed in Silvani deerskins, one in a torn and disheveled commoner’s dress, and the last in naught but his skin. Spirit bit back a curse as she recognized the thin, pale youth. It’s that old bastard’s replacement, she thought. The new Imperial scribe. What is he doing here? She quickly schooled her face to stillness and began to think as the two captives were brought closer.
There will always be complications, she thought to herself. I must simply make the best use of them. I have not come this far to be thwarted by some pitiful city whelp. The boy tripped over a tussock and fell to his knees, obviously weary from the long forced march. Hammerfist’s daughter was upon him at once, pulling the boy to his feet by his hair and brandishing the hilt of a jaggedly broken dagger in his face.
“No! Please leave him be!” Lyrinn rushed to the boy’s side, only to be jerked back by the piece of rope trailing from her bound wrists. Sight-of-Eagles held the other end. “Please, don’t hurt him! Can’t you see he’s just tired? Ye’ve been torturin’ him for hours!”
Spirit gave no sign that she understood Lyrinn’s words. “That’s enough,” she said, loudly, in the Silvani tongue. Hammerfist's children spun around and looked at her. Mousestep dropped the Imperial to the ground roughly. He coughed and rolled naked in the grass, curled up into a ball. “Bring them both,” she said, turning around and walking back to the near edge of the clearing, where she had been waiting. “And be gentle with the Stoneheart while Lost One is present.” Spirit reached the shade of the trees and lifted a plain wooden goblet from where it had been resting on a tree stump.
She turned around to see that Lyrinn had been brought before her. She was tired and her hair was in wild disarray, and the right sleeve of her dress was torn to shreds, but she stared back at Spirit with willful determination. “I dinna know why ye’ve taken me an’ Caddoc,” she said hoarsely, “but if you harm him I’ll not rest ‘till ye’re dead by my hands.”
Such fire in this one! Spirit thought with a tight smile. I must win her trust; she will be like river-clay in my hands. Walking forward, she silently took Lyrinn’s right arm at the elbow in a strong grip. Her other hand pushed away the girl’s tattered sleeve to reveal her bare shoulder. Spirit examined it carefully.
“It’s her,” Sight-of-Eagles said. He was standing next to Lyrinn, still holding the other end of the rope. “I examined her arm before bringing her.”
“Yes, she’s the only one of us on the south side of the river in the entire valley, and still my little brother needed to be sure.” Mousestep dragged the naked Imperial up to where they were standing – Caddoc, Lyrinn had called him – and placed one foot on his back, forcing him to lie flat on the ground.
“Mouse, please!” Sight-of-Eagles turned back to Spirit. “I know you told us to leave no traces of our visit, but this one seems special to Lost One. She has been quite docile; all we needed to do was threaten her with his death and she came along quietly.”
“Is that the only reason you brought him then?” Spirit gazed at both Hammerfist’s children coolly. “Take him into the forest and cut out his heart.”
Sight-of-Eagles shook his head. “There is more,” he said, unslinging his pack. He reached inside and drew out something wrapped in hide. “We found this hanging about his neck when we searched him.” He held it out to Spirit.
She nearly dropped it when she saw what was inside. “Well, now I see why you brought him,” she said, wrapping it back up and tucking the packet up one of her sleeves. “This bears investigating. But first, let us do what must be done. Bring her forward.”
Sight-of-Eagles pushed Lyrinn forward a few paces and grabbed her wrists. He drew his flint dagger and, with one swift motion, ran the edge over the inside of Lyrinn’s palm.
The girl flinched, gasping at the sudden pain; before she could squirm free Spirit had reached out and grabbed her wrists as well. She held the cup beneath the trickling wound and deftly gathered several drops of the girl’s blood. “There,” she said, stepping back. “Bind her wound now.” Sight-of-Eagles began wrapping a clean rag around Lyrinn’s palm as Spirit placed the cup back on the stump.
Spirit stepped behind the stump and turned to face Lyrinn. The girl was glaring at the older woman in fear and confusion. Caddoc groaned weakly at Lyrinn’s feet. With a deft flick of her wrist, Spirit reached up to her hair and pulled free a long hairpin made of bone. She began to chant in an ancient, lilting tongue as she deliberately pricked her finger and dripped blood slowly into the cup, five, ten, fifteen drops, mingling it with Lyrinn’s.
Spirit continued to chant as her blood flowed into the cup. Time seemed to slow in the clearing, and her voice echoed across it; each drop of blood reverberated like a hammer upon a great brass gong as it fell and splashed into the cup. Finally, the feeling of heaviness in the air passed, though now the slightest hint of ozone wafted through it, as if lightning had just struck.
Spirit picked the cup up and swirled it in her hands. It was steaming now, and it gave off the strong scent of cinnamon. She beckoned to Sight-of-Eagles and handed him the cup. “Take it to her,” she told him. “Carefully.”
Sight-of-Eagles walked back towards Lyrinn, who was eyeing him suspiciously. Caddoc was curled up in a ball by her feet like a dog, and Mousestep was hovering over him and fingering the hilt of her dagger. Sight-of-Eagles held out the cup to Lyrinn. She just stared at it.
“Persuade our guest to sample the libation we’ve prepared for her,” Spirit said. At that, Mouse bent down and took a handful of Caddoc’s hair, jerking his head up off the ground. With her other hand she drew her dagger.
“Stop! Please, stop it!” Lyrinn gasped. “Don’t hurt him! He’s done nothin’ t’you!” Mouse hesitated; the tip of her dagger wavered in her fist for a moment as she got a better grip on Caddoc’s hair. He moaned, only half conscious, and Lyrinn snatched the cup from Sight-of-Eagles’ hands. “You let him go now!” she cried, motioning to Caddoc.
Spirit nodded, and Mouse reluctantly let the boy go. He slumped back down to the ground, coughing. “Don’t… don’t let them cut my heart out when they kill me,” he breathed before slumping to the ground.
Mouse prodded him with her foot. He didn’t move. She bent down and felt his neck for a moment, then nodded to her brother. “He’ll be fine,” Sight-of-Eagles said to Lyrinn as she looked back at him without comprehension. He handed her the cup.
Lyrinn looked down at the still-steaming cup, filled with both her and Sight’s blood, before taking it in her hands. Visibly steeling herself, she brought the cup to her lips and drank deep, choking on the viscous fluid. Spirit smiled and waited as Lyrinn lowered the now half-empty cup and wavered on her feet for a moment.
The young girl gagged. The cup slipped from her hands and fell at her feet, sending the rest of the blood spilling out. She grasped her throat and sank to her knees. “What… what have you…. done… t’me…?”
Spirit walked over and kneeled down next to Lyrinn. “I’ve done nothing to you, my child, save give to you what is yours by right.”
Lyrinn’s eyes grew wide. “You… I can understand you!”
“That’s because you’re not speaking Stoneheart any more,” Sight-of-Eagles said.
Lyrinn’s head whipped around. “But… no. What was….” She looked down at the empty cup, then back up to Spirit. “Your blood?”
Spirit nodded, and helped Lyrinn to her feet. “My blood, for the essence of our tongue; yours, for the power to perform the miracle we’ve just witnessed.”
“My blood?” Lyrinn wobbled to her feet. “What makes my blood so special?”
“Your blood holds power. You, child, are the last in a line long-thought extinguished by the flood of war.” She pushed aside the tattered remnants of Lyrinn’s right sleeve and exposed her shoulder. “Have you never wondered what this meant?”
Lyrinn pulled away from Spirit’s grasp. “It’s nothing,” she said, clamping her hand over her shoulder. “It’s just a… just a birthmark!”
Spirit reached out and gently took Lyrinn’s hand off her shoulder, exposing the birthmark again. It was large, about the size of a fist, and in the shape of a perfect ring, except at the very top of the curve; for there the ring was broken into the stylized head of a snake eating its own tail. “Not just a birthmark. It is a sign of your heritage as bright as the hair on your head.”
Lyrinn shook her head. “No, I don’t believe you. How do you know about my birthmark?”
“I’ve seen it before.” Spirit turned around and walked off a handful of paces. She paused; the silence between her and Lyrinn grew. Finally she spoke. “It was the first thing I saw after giving birth to you.” She turned back around. Her eyes were shining with that looked like tears. “Lyrinn, I am your mother.”