Strange how circumstances could change so quickly.
A shivering, bedraggled group of sailors and soldiers climbed out of battered lifeboats and dragged themselves on shore. It was still cold, but it had stopped raining, and a few anemic sunbeams were poking through the gray clouds that covered the sky. The shore itself was rocky and unforgiving – even the shoal they'd beached on was covered in sharp gravel. Wild, wooded hills spread out to the horizon.
Tara wrapped her arms around Epona's skinny form and lifted her from the boat, slogging through the shallows to dry land. The little slave pressed her forehead into the warrior's neck. "I'm really trying not to complain, ma'am…but my arm hurts a lot," she whispered.
"I know, kid." Tara sighed. "I'll fix you up in a minute, okay? Lemme get you some splints." She glanced at Epona gravely. "Don't look at it," she said, her sandy brows dropping. "Just wait for me."
Epona nodded. "I won't." She closed her eyes. "It's so cold here."
The warrior looked around. "They're making a fire," she said, seeing a number of uninjured sailors rooting around for relatively dry wood. She strode to where they were clearing the ground to make a firepit and set Epona down. The girl was wrapped in a gray blanket that Tara had found below decks; she tucked it carefully around the slender form. "Stay put," she said. "Try to keep warm. And don't look at your arm."
Exhausted green eyes met hers. "It's really bad, isn't it?" the slave asked softly.
Tara avoided the question. "Won't know until I've treated it," she said gruffly, turning away.
The storm had raged all day and most of the next night. It had finally broken just before dawn that morning. The ship's depleted crew had gathered together and taken stock of their remaining supplies. Most of the food stocks were undamaged, but they'd lost half of their fresh water stores, and the ship's rudder had been torn away. There were only nineteen remaining of the crew of thirty-five, and four of the galley slaves had been killed by the violent rocking of the ship. They'd committed the bodies of the slaves and sailors to the sea – the ones that hadn't been washed overboard, anyway. Then they had raised and turned the sails toward the shore. They'd been lucky enough to find a reasonably friendly-looking beach to land on.
The warrior poked around the underbrush until she found some straight saplings. She cut them down with sure strokes of her sword. She'd managed to rescue most of her gear from their collapsed cabin, with the exception of her bow, which had been shattered, and her cloak and healer's kit, which were still lost somewhere in the wreckage. She'd put on her full armor, as had any of the soldiers who still had theirs – this beach was squarely in Gaulish territory, and Gauls were no friends to Romus. Tara turned and grimly made her way back to where her slave huddled.
They'd succeeded in lighting a blaze, and were now feeding it with larger sticks. Soon it would be large enough to warm them and cook some hot food. Tara laid her sticks down and brushed Epona's forehead with her hand. Miserable green eyes peered up at her. "Hey," Tara said quietly. "Time to take care of that arm, little mouse."
"Okay." The slave shivered and looked away. "Will it hurt a lot?"
She knows it will. Tara sighed. "Yes," she said flatly. "It'll hurt like hell. Still has to be done."
Tears flowed soundlessly down Epona's pale cheeks. "Okay," she whispered, and waited.
Tara took the girl by the shoulders and helped her to lie down on her back. Then she peeled back the blanket to expose the broken arm. It was swollen to nearly twice its normal size, and the unnatural bend in the forearm made Tara shiver. She wished for her healer's kit. Then I could at least give her something for the pain. Tara shook her head. No help for it. I better just get this over with. She laid her hand on the slave's forehead and met the anguished gaze. "I'll do it fast," she said. "Scream if you need to, okay?"
The little slave shut her eyes tightly and nodded. "Can I please bite down on something, ma'am?" she murmured.
"Sure." Without hesitation, Tara unbuckled her own belt and removed her sheathed sword from it. Folding the stiff leather double, she offered it to the slave. "Bite," she said. Epona took the belt between her teeth and screwed her eyes shut again. The warrior felt a pang. She's trying so damn hard to be tough, poor kid. She braced herself for a moment. Then, thrusting aside the unaccustomed pity, she took hold of the girl's elbow and wrist.
Epona turned as white as a sheet. She gave one muffled cry; then her body fell limp. Tara breathed deeply. Passed out. Probably for the best. She pulled, her muscles straining. Her right shoulder protested vehemently, and Tara winced, remembering the old arrow wound. Hera's tit! Must've strained it again. She ignored the pain and soldiered on. At last, with a faint grinding sound, the shattered ends of bone fit together. Panting, Tara released the small limb and laid it gently over Epona's chest. Then she took up the straight poles she'd cut. She splinted the arm and bandaged it with strips of cloth torn from her extra shirt.
The girl's clothes were still damp. In grave silence, Tara stripped them off her, and then wrapped her body carefully in the blanket. She spread the wet garments over a rock by the campfire to dry. Then she sat back on her heels and looked around. Most of the able-bodied men had fanned out into the forest to cut wood with which to repair The Nereid. Tara frowned a bit, then looked at the group by the fire. Her eyes met with the sullen gaze of Bastien, the cook. She considered him for a moment. "Watch the kid for me?" she said gruffly. His eyes flicked past her to the still form of the little slave. Then, scowling, he shrugged and nodded.
Good enough. Probably the best I'll get out of him. Without another word, Tara got up and went to help the rest of the crew with their task.
The physical labor warmed Tara's chilled body, even if it did make her muscles ache. She helped fell and strip a mighty tree to replace the broken mast. Then she hewed planks out of smaller trees until someone shouted that supper was ready. She stopped working and mopped her brow, leaning on the handle of her axe. Her clothes were mostly dry now; she felt bone tired. Wearily, the warrior hefted the tool over her shoulder and headed back toward the bonfire.
A gray-swathed form was sitting hunched before the dancing flames; a mop of black curls poked out at the top. Tara moved over to sit down beside the slave. Epona's face was still pale, but she favored her owner with a weak smile. The warrior ruffled the girl's dark hair gently. "Hey. You feeling better?"
"Yes, ma'am." Epona smiled bravely.
Tara eyed the white, strained little face with suspicion. "Truth, squirt."
The green eyes lowered. "I'm warmer now," she murmured. "It's better. My…my arm still really hurts, though." Tears brimmed, but they didn't fall.
"Okay. I'll take a look. But I'll get grub first." Tara patted Epona's back. The girl nodded her curly head. The warrior got up and moved over to where the food was being served out. She got two bowls of thin soup and some hard bread.
Epona accepted the food with a look almost pathetically grateful. She set her bowl in her lap and tried awkwardly to dip her bread into it with her good hand – seeing which, Tara put down her own food and silently began to help her. The injured girl ate her meal quietly enough. Afterward, Tara helped her back into her clothes, which the fire had dried and warmed. Then she examined the broken arm. It hadn't swollen any more; Tara poured cool water over the bandages, and Epona uttered a low moan of relief. "Lie down," the warrior ordered. "Rest so you can heal."
Quiet emerald eyes regarded her as their owner obeyed. "Then you should sleep, too, ma'am," Epona said softly. "You're all over bruises and blood."
Tara scowled. "I've been trained to deal with it. You haven't. Button that sassy lip of yours, runt, and get some sleep."
Epona's gaze dropped. "I'll try," she murmured. She lay still as Tara spread the blanket over her. "Ma'am?" The warrior paused in the act of turning away and raised a questioning brow. "What's happened to all the galley slaves? Do they have something to eat tonight?"
"Not yet," Tara said. "First we get the crew fed and rested. Slaves get food in the morning."
The smaller girl bit her lip. "But…"
"Epona." The warrior's voice dropped an octave.
Tired green eyes regarded her. "They're cold and hungry, just like we are," Epona said quietly. "I'm a slave, too. Maybe you should keep me in there with them, ma'am."
Tara could feel her temper growing short. "Maybe you should obey your master, be quiet and go to sleep," she said evenly. The slave studied her for a moment, then dropped her gaze and silently closed her eyes. Tara regarded her. Then she riffled her fingers through the dark curls. "We'll take care of them in the morning," she said, more gently. "They won't starve before then." Epona said nothing. "You warm enough?"
The moss-green eyes reappeared. "It's okay," the little slave murmured. "I don't know how much I can sleep, though, ma'am. It…it really hurts."
The last of Tara's irritation melted. She impulsively stooped down to kiss Epona's forehead. "Do what you can," she said. "I'll try to find my healer's kit tomorrow." Her long fingers played over the younger woman's cheek. "You okay otherwise?"
The note of concern in her own voice surprised Tara, and it seemed to surprise Epona, as well. The slave peeped up at her timidly. "Yes. I think only a few scratches otherwise, ma'am."
"Um…good." Tara quickly drew back, flustered. "Sleep, then. We'll figure things out in the morning." Epona obediently settled down and closed her eyes.
Captain Lucian had gathered the sailors and soldiers together by the fire. He nodded at Tara as she approached. She jerked her head in response and joined them, folding her arms across her chest. He returned his attention to the group. "As you all know," he said grimly, "we aren't in friendly territory. This is the country of a Gaulish tribe – the Pictavii, I believe. If we're lucky, we won't run into any of the natives. If we're unlucky…" He shrugged. "We'll need to guard the camp in shifts," he said. "Since this storm has more or less thrown off everyone's schedules, I'm going to ask the day shift to keep watch tonight, and the night shift to stand guard in the morning. We'll keep that up until we've patched up our ship and sailed out." He glanced at the scattered forms of the injured. "Those of us who aren't able-bodied excluded, of course."
Pictavii. Tara rubbed her chin. Haven't heard that name in a long time… "How are the supplies?" she asked out loud. "Do we need to be hunting and gathering while we're out here?"
"Our first priority is The Nereid," the captain said, "since our supplies are still fairly good. But any extra food people can find would be welcome." He gestured. "I'll be gathering together a group to search for a source of fresh water tomorrow. Think about whether you want to volunteer for that." There was a pause – then Lucian flicked his hand. "Dismissed. Get some rest, night shift. Day shift, keep your eyes peeled."
Tara sighed. No sleep yet tonight, then. Loosening her sword in its sheath, she moved over to an edge of the camp where she could still keep an eye on Epona. There she settled in to keep watch for the night.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
It was frustrating not to be able to sleep. Epona's throbbing arm was keeping her from even dozing. She gritted her teeth against another wave of pain; tears came to her eyes, but she blinked them back resolutely. She was determined to show Tara that she could be strong when she needed to be.
Do I need to be? came the pitiful thought. Gods…I'm so tired. I almost wish she'd hit me on the head or something. At least then I could rest. She rolled onto her back, wincing as the hard ground pressed against the bruises left by the battering she'd taken during the storm. Well, I guess I can be thankful I'm not as banged up as Tara, she sighed to herself.
She doubted the warrior even knew how bad she looked. Tara's jaw was bruised, and her body was covered in cuts and scrapes. The worst were the nasty wounds on her back. Epona thought she'd gotten those when the two of them had slammed up against the ship's railing. Her own arm had been broken under that same impact, but she knew her owner had taken the worst of it. She remembered it again, with awe – how the water had come and torn her from her refuge, and dragged her toward the raging sea. She could still feel the terror and despair of it…the water had been so cold, so completely relentless. Epona had looked death in the face for a horrible moment.
And then she'd felt strong arms lock around her, and had known a depth of relief she hadn't even known she was capable of. They'd been thrown heavily against the railing, and pain had shot up Epona's arm, nearly knocking her senseless. But Tara had been…the slave couldn't restrain a small smile. She was amazing, she thought, remembering how the warrior had gotten them both to relative safety. Epona had watched, too, as Tara had rescued the three sailors by sheer strength and determination. And how safe and warm she'd felt later, cradled in those same powerful arms, as they waited for the storm to pass!
The little slave sighed, shifting restlessly. She knew the way she felt wasn't entirely logical. Tara had always been a double-edged sword – incredibly tender one moment, fierce and furious the next. Epona bore the scars of that on her own body. But still, she couldn't help hoping. The way she looks at me sometimes…she speaks with her eyes, and I can't help thinking I see…more. Epona gave a sad, wistful smile as she stared up at the stars. Maybe she's right. Maybe I'm just a silly, naïve little girl who's read too much poetry, and it's just wishful thinking.
"Hey." Startled, Epona looked up to find the object of her thoughts standing over her. She hadn't even heard the warrior approach. Grave brown eyes studied her for a moment. "Arm hurt?" came the quiet question.
Epona looked at her unhappily. She wanted to deny it and bear it in silence, if only to prove to Tara that she could do it, but she knew how the woman hated being lied to. "Yes," she whispered.
Without another word, the warrior knelt down beside her and pulled over a bucket of seawater. The cool liquid was soon soaking into the bandage that held her splints; it soothed the angry heat of the injury. Epona let her head rest against her owner's knee and gave a deep sigh of relief. The throbbing lessened – it was bearable again. Tara continued to ladle the water over the slave's arm for a minute or two. Then Epona felt a soft touch against her cheek. "Better?" came Tara's deep voice.
The little slave looked up at her. The woman's expression was impassive, as it very often was, but her brown eyes were soft. Epona admired the strong lines and angles of the face for a moment, and then smiled tentatively. "Yeah," she murmured. "Thank you, ma'am."
Tara grunted. "Sleep," she said gruffly, giving a lock of Epona's hair a gentle tug. Epona nodded meekly and laid her head down again. She was tired; her eyes closed, and she tried to relax.
She drifted off a little after that, into the twilight between sleep and waking, where strange, half-remembered pictures passed before her mind's eye. She was always conscious of the ache of her broken bones, even in the deepest of her dreams.
Epona's eyes opened.
Something had wakened her, although she couldn't figure out, for a moment, what that something was. Then she realized that she could hear voices – mens' voices, speaking a strange, guttural language. She sat up groggily, cradling her injured arm against her belly. Now she could hear someone protesting, and then the strange language again; she peered over to the edge of the camp to her right.
The fire was burning brightly, outlining everything in stark relief against the darkness of the woods. Soldiers were there, standing with their backs to Epona; she could see their weapons drawn in their hands. And there, facing them, was a group of strangers.
At once, Epona was wide awake. She stared at the strange men, her eyes moving over long, hide shields, wickedly sharp spears, and thick fur cloaks. All of them had bushy beards, as well – a strange sight to Epona, who had never seen men who weren't either smooth-cheeked or neatly trimmed. There were six of them, as compared to the eleven able-bodied soldiers who faced them, but Epona suddenly saw movement in the bushes behind, and realized that there were more. And how big they are! she thought, realizing that all six fair-skinned men were taller than any of the fighters on her side. Fear bubbled up in her throat.
One of them – a barrel-chested, black-haired man with a cloak trimmed in wolf fur – shook his spear, growling something in their strange tongue. His eyes glittered fiercely. Captain Lucian stepped forward. Of all his men, he alone hadn't drawn steel. "We don't understand your language," he said in Romusi. His tone was calm, although Epona could see the tension in his stance. "Do you speak ours?"
The stranger simply snarled something more. The others gave harsh laughs, and there was a stirring in the bushes. Spears were brandished.
And then a woman's clear voice came from behind Epona, speaking the same rough tongue! Astonished, she turned to see Tara striding toward the strangers. Silence fell, broken only by the warrior's footsteps. The redhead moved up alongside Lucian and gazed coolly at the black-haired stranger. She was taller than he was – he had to look up to meet her eyes. She spoke again, coldly, in long strings of odd-sounding words.
It struck Epona suddenly that Tara was really a lot more like these new arrivals than she was like any of the men she was traveling with. Even dressed in Argonian armor, Tara's fair skin was like the strangers', and they seemed to share something of the wild aura that always hovered around her. Suddenly, the tall woman seemed very foreign. The little slave watched and listened in fascination.
The black-haired stranger growled something, and Tara gave a dangerous smile. "Captain Lucian," she said calmly, "this gentleman's name is Arnot, and he seems to want us off his beach."
The captain looked at her in silence for a moment. "Tell him we just need to repair our ship, and we'll be gone."
"Did already," Tara said succinctly. "He doesn't like the idea."
Lucian frowned. "Then tell him I'm a centurion and the captain of a Romusi naval ship, and he needs to stand down."
Brown eyes regarded the captain, and a sandy brow arched. "I don't think the Pictavii recognize the authority of Romus," she said quietly. "That'd be as good as waving a red flag in their faces." Then, as Lucian opened his mouth to speak, Tara shrugged. "Let me try something."
She turned back to the sneering strangers. To Epona's eyes, she seemed to grow taller – the firelight cast her muscular body in flickering light and shadow. Tara's dark eyes gleamed as she spoke again. Even though the little slave had no idea what the strange words meant, she could still feel the bristling menace in Tara's tone. The man growled something, and Tara coolly replied. As Epona watched, the woman's lips curved into a cold smile, and she pulled down her armor to expose the bird tattooed on the side of her neck.
To Epona's amazement, the black-haired man took a step backward, making a warding gesture. His companions looked wary. A few more words were exchanged. Tara released her armor, letting the cold metal cover her exposed throat again, and grinned at him. He shook his spear viciously, growled something, and then turned away. As Epona watched in amazement, the strangers melted into the surrounding woods. Soon there was silence.
Tara turned back to the captain. Her expression was carefully nonchalant, but Epona could see the beginnings of a victorious smirk twitching the corners of her mouth. "Our friend Arnot says that we have seven days," she said calmly. "We'd better patch up the damn ship fast." With that, she turned toward her slave. "I'm done," she said. "I'm getting some sleep." And she calmly headed for where Epona lay, leaving Lucian staring after her with his mouth open.
Without a word, Tara reclined next to Epona, stretching out her limbs like a panther. The little slave shivered as she felt herself drawn up into the woman's arms. She cuddled her face into Tara's chest and reveled in the warmth. "What did you say to them?" she asked shyly, as she felt long fingers weaving themselves through her hair.
The warrior looked down at Epona, her eyes painted a deep, mysterious red-gold by the firelight. "Nothing much." She shrugged. "Asked them for a little time."
Epona peered at her suspiciously. "But you showed them your raven tattoo."
Tara smiled, baring her white teeth. "Time to sleep," was all she said. Defeated for the time being, the little slave let her head rest against the woman's chest again. Her touch was comforting; Epona soon forgot both fear and pain as she drifted into a dreamless slumber.
