“But you are little,” the child said.
Armina hissed through her teeth to shut her up.
Mother Alta smiled again. “I will not enter your warren, but I will guard the way.”
The children nodded.
Mother Alta leaned forward in her chair. “Armina, line the children up before my mirror.”
It took no more than a minute for all the children to be so aligned.
“Now touch the goddess sign and turn it to the right.”
At Armina’s touch, there was a loud, groaning sound and the floor beneath the mirror’s carved legs slid open, disclosing a dark stair.
“Look into Mother Alta’s glass once, where someday you shall find your dark sisters, then go down the stairs. Armina shall lead you and light the way.”
Armina took the lamp from the wall, lit it, and—first looking into the glass—led the children down the stairs. As the last of them disappeared, Mother Alta sighed and brushed away the tears that had pooled in the corners of her marble-colored eyes.
THE LEGEND:
There was once a noddy old woman of Nilhalla’s Crossing who had so many children, she kept them in an underground warren as if they were rabbits or mice. No one knew the children were there, indeed no one even suspected it, for the woman was as ugly as early spring and twice as windy.
One day the old woman died. Of distemper, some said; of pure meanness, said others. When the guardsmen went to bring out her body for burial, they found the warren entrance and lifted up the great wooden door barricading it.
Thirty-seven half-starved children of all ages scattered out, but they had lived so long under the ground in the dark like animals, they were blind, every one. And their long, unkempt hair had turned white. Ever since, Nilhalla’s Crossing has been known as the Home of the White Babes.
This is a true story. It was told by Salla Wilmasdarter, whose great-grandfather had been a guard at the Crossing around the time the old woman’s warren was uncovered.
THE STORY:
Callilla led them across the Great Hall, threading a line between the busy women and into the kitchen, which was three times the size of the kitchen at Selden Hame.
Pynt gasped at it, but Jenna kept her eyes on Callilla’s back. Carum trailed behind.
“Jenna,” Pynt whispered, “they are heating great vats of oil.”
“And water,” said Jenna.
“You did not look.”
“On the slant, Pynt. You have to use your woods’ eyes everywhere.”
“Do not lecture me, Jo-an-enna.”
“Then do not be stupid, Marga.”
“And do not call me stupid.”
Suddenly Callilla turned right and stopped before a plain door. “Here,” she said.
They clustered around her.
“This door opens onto a narrow, steep path that goes down to the Halla.”
“That’s the river,” Carum said.
Callilla nodded. “The Halla is swift and unforgiving, so you must take care.”
“I cannot swim,” said Pynt.
“Nor I,” admitted Jenna.
“Well, I can,” Carum said.
“No one needs swim the Halla,” Callilla said, “though all our girls are taught early to traverse it at its calmest points. The path may be steep, but it is well trod. Our guards patrol it daily. No one else knows of it. Once you get down to the river, you must simply follow its line until you come to a stand of birch. Turn east, and you will come, in the space of a full day’s journey, to Bertram’s Rest.”
“My refuge,” Carum added.
“And will it really be safe for him there?” asked Jenna.
“Bertram was a great saint of their religion, a fighter who gave up fighting. His sanctuaries are never violated by the Garunians, whatever the provocation. They are a strange people, and their gods are bloody, but they are honest for all that. However, women are not allowed in their sanctuary halls, so you will have to leave him there and go on about your missioning. It will be a hard year for you if this is but the first of it.”
“We have a greater mission now,” Pynt said.
Jenna touched her tunic over the breast and could feel the map crackling beneath, but said nothing.
“What about food?” asked Carum.
“You will find what you need in the woods,” Callilla said. “We have no time for provisioning beyond these.” She bent down and picked up three full wineskins from the floor. “And I found some goat cheese for you. Bread also.” Reaching into a deep tunic pocket, she brought out a leather-wrapped packet and gave it to Carum. “It is but a day’s journey. How hungry can you get? For the rest …”
“We know,” Carum said. “Nuts, mushrooms, and roots. No berries.”
Callilla smiled reluctantly. “Good. Then you shall need for nothing.” She pulled open the door. “Alta’s blessings on you, hand and foot.”
The girls nodded and slipped through the door, but Carum turned and whispered loudly. “And may the eyes of Dark Morga see you long after and may his fins stoke the water over your back.”
Callilla looked blank.
Carum grinned. “A safewell blessing from the Morganians. They live on the southern coast of the Continent and eat only what comes from the sea at low tide. Strange people. Nasty diet. But honest!” He turned and disappeared after the girls. Callilla’s short, barking laugh followed him.
The path began at the door, for, farther up, the sheer wall of the Hame and the cliff met in a single steep drop. Even on the path there was little room between the wall on their right and the drop-off to the Halla on their left. They walked carefully, listening to the low growling of the river far below them, surging angrily between its banks.
Pynt slipped suddenly on some loose pebbles and fell backward, catching herself at the last moment and hurting her wrist. She got up and angrily brushed off the back of her clothes despite the pain.
They could hear the tumbling shower of dirt and rock for only a moment before the noise of the river overwhelmed it.
Once they were past the Hame’s steep wall, the path widened a bit, though there was still a small cliff, half again as tall as a man, on the right. Then the path took an abrupt right-hand turn and before them was a twisted fir tree jutting out across the path. Its roots held deep into the cliffside like the fingers of a clutching hand, and the fanning branches obscured the way ahead.
“Under or over?” asked Jenna.
Pynt peered under the tree. “Under. There is enough room.”
Unbuckling her sword, Pynt pushed it under the tree, then followed it, crawling along on her belly. Jenna was next, and Carum last, the food packet in his hand. As he started to stand up, Pynt put her hand out.
“Hush. Wait. I hear something.”
“That’s just the river,” Carum said.
“I hear it, too,” Jenna whispered. “Hush!” She drew her sword from its scabbard. In the sunlight it seemed to catch fire.
“Probably the Hame guards,” Carum whispered back. “Callilla said no one else knows the path.” He stood and began to brush off his clothes.
“Get behind me,” Pynt said softly.
“I’m already behind you,” Carum said. “I’ve been behind you all the—” But he did not get to finish his sentence, for there was a high whistling and an arrow whizzed by his shoulder to embed itself in the tree.
“There they are!” came a shout. “Three more of Alta’s bitches.”
“Those aren’t guards,” Carum said. “They’re …”
Another arrow flew by, this time passing through his shirt and pinning him to the tree.
“Damn!” Carum shouted, pulling himself loose by ripping the shirt.
“Duck!” screamed Pynt She pushed Carum toward the tree, nearly sending him over the cliffside instead. He scrambled under the gnarled trunk, then turned. Pynt’s sword hand and arm were partway under, but she had stopped. He grabbed her hand, careful of the sword, and pulled her through, surprised at her dead
weight. When she was on the other side, he saw the arrow sticking out of her back, broken off halfway.
“Pynt!” he cried, drawing her to him.
She did not answer.
He picked up her sword and straddled her, waiting.
A sword and then a hand emerged from under the tree. Carum raised his sword to strike, then saw it was Jenna’s arm and stopped. She scrambled the rest of the way under the tree.
“It’s Pynt,” Carum cried. “She’s been hit. An arrow under the left shoulder.”
“Alta’s Hairs,” Jenna cursed quietly. She bent over Pynt’s body. “How bad is it?”
“I don’t know. But she doesn’t move.”
“Oh, Pynt, say something,” Jenna begged.
Pynt groaned.
“She needs water,” said Carum. “And that arrowhead has to come out. And …”
“She needs to be back at the Hame.”
“She’s not heavy. I could carry her.”
“You get her back there,” Jenna said, “and I’ll cover your retreat.”
“No—you get her back there. I’ll cover your retreat.”
“I am better with a sword,” Jenna said.
“And you think I’m better at retreating?”
“Why are we arguing?” Jenna cried.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“It is a narrow cliff and I have the advantage of that tree,” said Jenna. “Just take Pynt. Now. If she dies, I will never forgive you.”
Carum hefted Pynt’s body onto his back. She cried out once and then was still. He heard the shout of the men on the other side of the tree and started back up the path as quickly as he could. Pynt seemed heavier at every step, but still he ran. Pebbles shot out from under his feet, skittering over the cliff. He ran until he came to the Hame door and, balancing Pynt on his back, pounded on the door with both fists. A peephole slid open, then shut, and then the door began to move. Carum and his burden fell inside.
Someone took Pynt from him and when he stood again, he saw that the door was shut.
“But Jenna is out there,” he cried. “Open the door.”
No one moved and so Carum ran over to the door and tried to open it. Locked, it did not move.
“Move this god-rotted door!” he shouted.
Callilla played with a lock and the door opened. Jenna fell toward Carum, her sword dragging, something bloody and horrible clutched in her left hand.
“I do not know …” she began, trying to catch her breath. “I do not know if this was the hand that sent the arrow into Pynt’s back, but it is a hand that will surely do no more damage to Alta’s own.” She flung it down, her eyes wild. “He foolishly put it under the tree first as he tried to crawl through.”
Callilla pushed the hand with her boot. “Not so foolish, perhaps. It might have been his head!”
Carum stared at the hand. With the dark hairs on its back and the crabbed fingers, it looked like some strange, bloody creature. On the middle finger was a great ring with a K engraved in the middle. Looking up, Carum stared at Jenna wildly. “It’s the Bull’s ring, Jenna, with Kalas’ crest. Many a time I had a buffet from it. The Bull was my swordmaster before he joined his brothers in Kalas’ service. Jenna, don’t you know what this means? Now Ox and Hound have both bowed down. Ox and Hound. Mother Alta is right. The prophecy must be true. You are the White Babe, the Anna.”
The women began to murmur, but Jenna ignored them and knelt by Pynt’s side. The infirmarer, short and stocky, with gray flecks in her hair and worry lines etched across her brow, was already looking at the wound.
“It is deep,” she said to no one in particular. “And badly placed. Near the heart.”
“Will she die?” asked Jenna, her voice breaking.
The infirmarer looked over at her, as if surprised to find she had been talking to someone. “I cannot say with any certainty. But for now I must get her up the stairs to my hospice and clean the wound. The arrowhead must be removed. After that I might be able to say with more accuracy.”
Pynt coughed and groaned almost at the same time. She tried to sit up but the infirmarer pushed her down with a gentle but firm touch.
“It is you who are being stupid now, Jenna,” Pynt whispered hoarsely. “I will not die. How can I? You would be lost without your shadow.” Then her eyes rolled back and she was still.
“Is she dead?” Jenna cried.
“She has only fainted,” said the infirmarer, “for the pain is great and that is nature’s way of easing it. Now she must go upstairs and”—she looked at Jenna—“she is to have no visitors. Trust me, child, you cannot do her any good right now.”
At the infirmarer’s signal, three of the younger women gathered Pynt up and carried her away. Then the infirmarer turned and pointed at the hand which still lay on the floor. “Get that thing away. It will soon gather disease to it and it might frighten the children. We who are Alta’s heirs do not revel in such bloody keepsakes.”
Carum bent down and tugged the ring off the stiffened hand. “I will keep this until I can fling it at Kalas’ feet. We Garunians, unlike you Altites, revel in such reminders.” He put the ring into his pocket and turned away quickly, hoping he had been fast enough so that no one could see the color of his face, which he knew had whitened at the feel of the dead hand.
But Jenna had seen. She touched him on the back, whispering, “Carum, do not be ashamed at your disgust. If I had not been blood-crazed, I would never have brought that hand into this hall. But battle fever had hold. I did what I did without thinking. You, though—you think too much.”
He turned around, his face composed at last, but before he had time to answer he caught sight of Callilla behind her, anger and fear fighting in her face.
“We must talk. And quickly. Before those men gather their courage and try this door.”
“The door is well defended,” said Carum.
“It can be,” admitted Callilla. “But do we keep it ready to be opened for our guards, or do we barricade it?”
“We saw no guards,” Jenna answered.
“No bodies either,” added Carum.
Callilla nodded grimly. “The Halla has cradled Alta’s own before.”
“The men who chased us cried out, Three more of …” Carum stopped.
“… of Alta’s bitches,” finished Jenna.
Callilla turned to two women standing nearby. “Who stood guard today?”
“Mona,” said one.
“And Verna with her.”
“Oh, sweet Alta, salve them,” murmured Callilla. “And Verna just past her seventeenth spring. Their mothers must be told. I fear the worst.”
The two women nodded solemnly and left.
“How many men?”
Carum shrugged. “We didn’t wait to count them.”
“At least three,” said Jenna. “And one of those now sorely wounded.”
“He was the leader,” Carum added. “Which might slow them down.”
“Or might provoke them further. There is never any way of knowing which, so we must prepare for a swift attack.” Callilla looked beyond them and shouted, “Clea, Sari, Brenna—to me.”
Three young women came running.
“Is it true, Callilla? About Verna?” asked one.
She nodded.
“Hush, Clea. Do not ask more,” the larger of the three girls said.
Callilla said quietly, “Remember what Alta, in her great wisdom, reminds us. Not to know is bad, but not to wish to know is worse.”
The girls all looked at the floor, waiting.
“Now you must do this. Sari and Brenna, you barricade the door and stand watch here until you are relieved. Clea, you must alert all the door wardens that the time of a great fight is at hand. We all know what to do.” Callilla dismissed them with a wave of her hand, then turned to Jenna. “It is written in the Book that The day on which one starts out is surely not the time to begin one’s preparations. You will find this Hame well prepared.
”
“I can see that,” Jenna said.
“Then we must prepare also for another escape route for the two of you. I will send Armina to you when she returns from Mother Alta. Tonight you will go by a road even the watchers outside our gates will not guess at or follow. Darkness will be our helpmeet.”
“The moon is all but full, Callilla,” Sari said over her shoulder as she struggled with Brenna to move a large chest in front of the door.
“Then they shall have both dark and light to aid them.” She signaled to Jenna. “Meanwhile, you two can help us with our fortifications.”
They worked all afternoon ceaselessly, helping the Hameswomen set strong barriers against the other doors and nail shut the narrow first-floor windows. Carum took a long turn at fletching new arrows, while Jenna helped haul up water from the courtyard well.
“If there are fires,” she explained to Carum, “the Hame will be well prepared.”
Only once did they try to visit Pynt in the upstairs hospice, but were turned away by the infirmarer at the door.
“She sleeps,” they were told. “But I have gotten out the arrowhead, which, by luck, was not poisoned. She has taken a tisane I brewed which will help her sweat out any fever the wound produces. The wound itself I have treated with a poultice of figwort, which we call HealAll. You may believe I have done everything in my power to make her comfortable.”
“Comfortable!” Carum said. “That’s what the physician said of my mother for the month it took her to die.”
“Will Pynt die?” asked Jenna.
“We all die at the last,” said the infirmarer. “But do not measure the shroud before there is a corpse. Your friend is in Alta’s good and gentle hands, those same hands that hold a nestling and take the fawn from the doe.” The lines in her forehead deepened as she spoke.
“I hope,” Carum whispered to Jenna as they left, “that she is more original with her medicines than she is with her words.” He held tightly to Jenna’s hand, which lent comfort to them both.
There was an early dinner in shifts in the kitchen. Jenna and Carum ate during the second round, sitting with Armina and two of her friends. Armina finished picking at the drumstick on her plate and pushed away the bones. Turning her back on her friends, she spoke urgently to Jenna.