Needlebrake Burning
Chapter 1: Kr'Lanain
(Watermoon, 653 OV)
The wood flourished in her fertility that spring. The trillium bloomed in waves, pink and white both, their wide leaves soaking in the humidity. The holly grew thick, and the ash trees revived, tinted here and there with violet flowers like the eggs of tiny birds. All through the underbrush, sparrows flirted and courted.
In the Vieran village of Eruyt, the women danced.
Hymns, rhymes, lore and legends spilled from smiling mouths all along the path, from the fane itself to the mouth of the needlebrake. In all of the bowers and kitchens, the younger women made chains from flowers and leaves, stringing them out the windows and twining them in their hair as prayers for Tr'Liith, The Wood. Salve-makers gathered leaves and budding flowers for their holy tinctures, as the priestesses collected elderflowers and hawthorn leaves for their altars.
And the wood-warders, in this time of fertility and peace, began to talk amongst themselves furtively, giggling.
"Kr'Lanain is assembling again. It's been so long."
"Kr'Lanain? Has it been fifty years already?"
"The time, she flies, when the wood pines for children. Oh, I'd give my finest bow to be chosen."
"Only a bow, sister? Te, te, you jest. I'd give my arm."
"Aii, Tr'Liith. We all would, sister."
Laughter, teasing, and gossip ran along the target grounds, and whispered wagers were made behind the screens along the path. All through Eruyt, prayers were raised, gossip ran like springwater, and all the village anticipated the choice of the next mating pair.
Childbearing women are rare and sacred here. A mere thirteen are born in each generation, as the wood long ago dictated would be so. Seeding Viera, those who fertilize the bearing women, are less rare. Quick and lithe, with broad thighs and long bodies suited for feats of athleticism and strength, they are trained often as warders and guards, sentinels of the village against the Humes and other undesirables -- the Bal'thjr -- of the outside world.
To defend the wood is high honor to a wood-warder, and to propagate her children is the highest honor of all.
In spring, once every fifty years, the counsel of Kr'Lanain assembles before the priestess of the village and pairs off each childbearing Viera with a proper seeding partner, according to the childbearer's wishes.
This watermoon, the joy inherent in this rite is palpable. A rash of fever came to Golmore when the thirteen bearing women of their generation were little more than kits; Five of the poor girls caught the strain, and when they recovered they were sterile, never to bleed at the new moon, never to bear kits. But now the remaining eight are to be wed, and a new generation will be born.
* * *
Mjrn was overjoyed at the thought of kits in the village.
"Kr'Lanain is meeting today, F'ran. I can scarcely believe it. And then, next spring there will be a whole run of kits, just born . . ."
F'ran did not reply. Instead she plucked an orange from the little tree beside her and began to peel it.
Mjrn tapped her foot, exasperated at her sister's lack of enthusiasm for the idea.
"When Holymoon comes, and the wedding is performed, Oh how I will weep. I've never seen a wedding… not a formal one at the fane."
"Warders marry their charges all the time," F'ran murmured, splitting the orange in half and slipping a section into her mouth.
"They only pledge fidelity. They may be in love, but to be wed! Oh, F'ran, what a dream, to be truly wed, with the wood's blessing!"
F'ran smiled, and sectioned the rest of the orange contemplatively.
"Have you a love for yourself, Mjrn? or is it the pollen on the wind that makes you sentimental?"
"Aii!" Mjrn blushed and twitched her ears in syncopation, abashed at the teasing.
Fran blinked in amusement, and Mjrn continued.
"Seven of the eight bearers have already chosen their brides. You know one of the seeders, I am told. Mjith is lucky to be chosen, Eih, F'ran?"
F'ran nodded. Ajrn and Mjith had been lovers for ten years, and soon they would be wed. Mjith was right to be proud of Ajrn, flush with beauty, her lovely toffee-colored face bright with joy. Mjith would retire her post at the fane awhile, to be at her darling's side when they bore kits together at last.
Mjrn gazed at the patch of trillium by her knee and twitched her nose thoughtfully.
"But Djran… Pretty, dark, sweet Djran. She is very shy, and hasn't been bold enough to make her choice. I am told she has spoken to the Kr'Lanain about her wishes for a love. They may decide to choose for her."
F'ran nodded distractedly and picked a bit of orange peel from beneath her fingernail.
"What of you, F'ran? Have you a love?"
F'ran drew back a fraction and gawked.
"Te, te! Mjrn. What a thing to ask."
"You asked me first."
"In jest, Mjrn. Aii, in jest."
Mjrn giggled affectionately, but did not press the issue further.
I have no love. I am a warder, not a wife, F'ran thought, finishing her orange and burying the seeds and peel in a patch of loamy earth near her feet.
"I would go to the target field awhile. You will tell Jote where I am?"
Mjrn nodded. "Of course."
Jote emerged from the fane then, on silent feet, as if from the air itself.
"F'ran. If you would stay a while, I have a matter to discuss with you."
F'ran turned and nodded, surprised to see Jote this early in the afternoon on such an important day. "Eih, my sister."
Mjrn piped up, echoing her thoughts plainly.
"Is Kr'lanain adjourned already, my sister?"
Jote nodded solemnly. "The brides have made our job simple. Blessings have been imparted to each pairing, and the wedding shall be at Holymoon, as it always has been."
She turned to F'ran.
"It is a sacred day for us, F'ran. You have been chosen."
F'ran blinked twice and twitched her nose carefully, scenting for jest.
"I do not understand."
"Djran informs us that she has longed for you many a year now. We all agree you are the best match for her; You are stronger and quicker than your contemporaries in battle, and your visions of future and present have never failed you. You would make a fine seeding partner. I have always known this, and the others of the counsel heartily agree."
Mjrn's face lit, like a water lily in a ray of sunlight.
"Tr'Liith be praised… My beautiful sister, a wife!"
F'ran felt something akin to nausea sink over her, and her skin chilled. She blinked languidly to mask the feeling of impendent terror and shook her head.
"It is an honor to be chosen, this is true. But I will not force Djran into marriage if she does not wish it."
Jote's nose twitched, scenting her sister's apprehension.
"Do not be troubled for her. As I said before, her eye and heart have been upon you for quite some time."
F'ran felt her skin rise in gooseflesh, though the afternoon was mild.
"I was unaware."
Mjrn's smile was like a beacon.
"She is shy and reticent, like you. Of course you did not know; why would she tell you?"
F'ran blinked at her fingernails; they smelled of oranges.
"It would have been courteous of her. . ."
She trailed off, uncertain. What would she have done, had she known?
Mjrn shook her head knowingly. "Courtesy in love? How very like you to think this way, sister."
F'ran blinked at her and spoke in a mild, affectionate scold.
"And you, who have never had a love, speak as though you know the matter well?"
Jote twitched one ear in amusement. "My sisters, who jest and tease and bicker. How I adore them."
She held out her arms to F'ran.
"Let me embrace you, F'ran. My warder-kin, a seeding wife… My heart is full for you."
F'ran got to her feet and embraced her sister, and the vision came, with pain clenching in her abdomen.
Thorns in the underbrush, flames in the trees.
Screaming, and the smell of parched grass.
Sorrow in the wind, hate in the earth.
Run, fleet archer, fly! Should you fall,
The wood will devour you . . .
F'ran recoiled; Jote rotated her ears forward in interest and concern.
"You have seen something?"
"I see… I smell… the needlebrake. It is burning."
Jote frowned and scented the air for a moment.
"I sense no ill… But, perhaps a premonition I have yet to receive has found you…"
She turned away.
"I shall scry, and see what Tr'Liith would bid me do. Be at ease, F'ran."
F'ran caught her breath and nodded, blinking back the remains of the vision with a slight shiver.
"You should visit Djran, my sister," Mjrn said gently. "She would surely take well to your company in this beautiful weather, and perhaps her company will soothe you."
F'ran felt she might be ill, but nodded once again.
"I shall," she said faintly, and rose from the wall beside the fane, turning South toward the huts in the trees beyond.