It took some time for the peace of the woods to begin to quiet the turmoil that was churning up Tara's guts. She weighed her javelin in her hand, her dark eyes raking the forest. She wanted an animal – the bigger the better, if only so she could work off some of this wild energy in killing it. Her hands were shaking. Damn it. Should have just thrown that little runt over my shoulder, carried her in here with me, and taken the edge off this properly. Impatiently, Tara scrubbed her hand over her face. Come on, Terror of Gaelis. Get a handle on yourself. Quit acting like some sex-crazed adolescent, all right? She sighed. Okay. I think maybe that cold bath idea was a good one. The tall warrior turned her steps westward, heading for the ocean she could hear nearby.
She emerged on a rocky beach, which was sheltered by a low, craggy cliff. The Nereid was still visible, but it was far enough away that it didn't concern Tara – no one would be able to see this far. She stooped down to slip her hand into the water. It was ice cold. With a cool nod, Tara straightened and scanned her surroundings, extending her senses. She'd spent many hours honing and perfecting her hearing and sight and smell, until she could sense her surroundings with almost preternatural accuracy. There was no one near, either human or animal. A sparrow twittered at her from a nearby tree. Tara scowled at it as she discarded her javelin. Her armor and clothes soon followed the weapon, and Tara dove off the beach into the shallow water.
The shock of the chill made her breath catch in her throat. Tara gasped as she surfaced, shaking her head to clear the salt water out of her eyes. It was so cold that it burned; she forced her lungs to take in air, and then dove again. As frigid as it was, it felt good. Tara's head broke the surface, and she sucked in a deep breath. Ah. Gods, that's so much better. With a sigh of relief, she made her way back to shore, flicking water droplets off her body with her hands.
And froze.
There was someone sitting on a fallen log beside the place where Tara had shed her clothes. One glance was sufficient to tell her that it wasn't anyone she knew. It was a girl, perhaps in her mid-teens, with white skin and pale, wavy hair that reached nearly to the middle of her back. It had been so long since Tara had seen hair that color that she was dumbfounded for a moment. A Gaul, perhaps? Tara's quick eyes took in the girl's long limbs and wide shoulders, and wondered. No. A Celt…
The girl smiled at her gravely. "Hello," she said.
Tara's eyes widened. The girl had spoken in Gael.
There was a pause. Tara very slowly stooped down, took up a jagged stone, and just as slowly rose to her feet again. The girl watched in solemn amusement. "Are you going to attack me?" she asked curiously, this time in the Gaulish tongue.
The warrior's eyes narrowed. "You've got my things."
Calmly, the girl looked down at the pile of clothing that lay near her feet. "Not really," she said, once again speaking Gael. "I'm just sitting by them." She lifted her gaze back to the naked warrior. Only then did Tara notice her eyes – a pale bluish gray, so light as to almost be colorless. Tara hadn't seen gray eyes since she had left Gael so many years ago. Now the girl smiled. "You can come get them if you want, you know."
It's a trap. It's got to be. Tara's eyes flicked over the landscape, and her nostrils quivered. There was nothing out of the ordinary. She listened; only the soft sounds of the forest came to her ears.
The warrior hesitated. Then, slowly, she began to advance, her nerves still as taut as bowstrings. The girl made no move other than to watch her approach. Tara held the stone up, her eyes glinting in warning. The stranger merely looked at her. When she was finally close enough to reach her things, Tara reached out and snatched at her javelin. Then she faced the girl squarely. "Move back," she snarled.
The gray-eyed girl smiled and shook her head. "You're awfully aggressive," she said. "I'm not going to hurt you."
The kid's bloody insane. Tara could see that she wasn't in the least intimidated, despite Tara's size and spear. Scowling, the warrior hesitated. Then she quickly grabbed her clothing and backed away. The girl watched in silence as Tara tugged on her trousers and slung her shirt over her back. Tara didn't bother lacing up; she brandished her weapon. "You're too damn close to our camp," she growled. "Now you get up and get lost, or I'll drag you back as my prisoner."
Quietly, the girl regarded her. "That's not very polite," she said. "But I guess I wasn't too polite, either. I haven't even introduced myself." She extended a lean, white hand. "You can call me Eirian."
"I'm not calling you anything," Tara snarled. "Do you think I'm bluffing?"
Grave gray eyes regarded her. "No, warrior," Eirian said gently. "I know you wouldn't bluff."
Confusion rooted Tara to the spot for a long moment. She studied the girl's face furiously, her brown eyes narrowing. Does she know me? I don't recognize her. She's too young for an Amazon…wrong nationality for that, anyway. I didn't really have enemies yet when I left Gaelis…did I even know any Celts? "Who are you?" she demanded harshly, taking a step toward her. "Tell me, now!"
At this, Eirian rose from her perch and faced Tara. She was dressed in dark gray, with a black cloak. A richly-decorated dagger hung from her belt. Tara recognized the designs on the weapon as being Celtic. "I told you," the young woman said. "My name is Eirian." Her lips quirked. "I'm not your enemy."
"The hell you're not. Who are you?" The warrior drew back her javelin, ready to spit the girl's body with it if necessary.
Eirian sighed. She sat back down, smoothing her tunic down with her hands. "I've been sent to help you, warrior," she said quietly, "if you'll let me."
"I don't need help." Tara felt very off-balance. Nothing about this made any sense. How in the hell did she sneak up on me, anyway? I was watching. "Were you following me?" she demanded.
The girl gave an enigmatic smile. "You could say that." She regarded Tara placidly. "Really? You're sure you don't need help?" she said. "I thought you seemed a little upset. But you're fine? No problems, nothing?"
Tara could hear the faint mockery in Eirian's tone, and it infuriated her. You wet-nosed, arrogant little bitch! Baring her teeth in a snarl, the redhead took a step forward. "You had your chance," she snapped. "I told you to get lost. You didn't. Get down on the ground, or I'll run you through. And keep your hands away from that knife!" The young Celt sighed, but quietly got up and did as she was told. Tara was on her in a moment. She quickly took the girl's dagger, then stripped off the black cloak. Eirian didn't struggle as Tara tied her hands with her own belt. The warrior was a little surprised; as willowy as the teenager looked, her muscles were solid and wiry. Tara grasped the back of the Celt's tunic and hauled her to her feet. "Let's go," she said coldly.
The prisoner walked quietly for a while. "You don't have to do this," she said at length. For the first time, her tone was a little uncertain.
"Shut up. I don't want to hear it." Tara dealt the girl a shove between her shoulder blades, letting her captive feel a measure of her strength. "You just keep walking and keep your mouth shut." Eirian stumbled over something and fell to her knees. The Gael dragged her back up.
The camp's guards stared at Tara as she emerged from the woods, pushing her captive ahead of her. "I thought you were going hunting," one of them said.
"I was," Tara said coolly. "Some funny-looking deer in these parts." She glanced around, found a coil of rope, and slung it over her shoulder. "C'mon," she grunted, shoving Eirian in the direction of the bonfire. The girl went quietly.
Epona seemed to be asleep. Tara made her prisoner sit down a few feet from the slumbering slave. Then she searched the Celt more thoroughly, in case she was carrying some hidden weapon. There was nothing. Satisfied, Tara took the rope and bound her prisoner's hands more securely. "Feet together," she said curtly. Eirian complied, and Tara wound rope around her legs. She paused then, running an experimental finger down the boots on the girl's feet. They were well made, lined with brown fur, and the leather was soft and flexible.
"Ma'am? What's going on?" Tara looked up to find Epona blinking at her. The girl was sitting up, her broken arm cradled to her chest. Her green eyes moved over Eirian, and then back to her owner.
"Caught a spy." Tara grinned at her. "Want some new boots, little mouse? She's got some nice ones." The warrior tugged them off the prisoner and tossed them lightly at her slave. "Here. Put 'em on, and let's have yours." Uncertainly, the little slave obeyed. Tara took Epona's rather threadbare pair and tugged them onto her prisoner's feet. Eirian made no comment, merely watching the procedure with her quiet gray eyes.
Epona peered down at her new boots and bit her lip. "Is she yours, then, ma'am?"
"For now," Tara said coolly. "Don't know what'll happen later. We'll see what Captain Lucian has to say about spies. He might just want to kill her and have done with it." The slave flinched a bit. Tara turned her gaze on the Celt. "Do you speak Romusi or Argonian?" she demanded, forming her words in Gael.
Eirian shook her head. "No. I don't."
Well. That'll be annoying. I'll probably have to be there to translate while they question her. Tara pointed at the ground. "Lie down," she ordered. The captive obeyed. Tara's dark eyes flicked to Epona. "Keep an eye on her. Smack her if she moves," she said. "I'm going to find the captain and see what he wants done with her."
"S…smack…her?" Epona's eyes opened wide. Tara favored the little slave with a cool smile. Then she turned away to search for Captain Lucian.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o
There was grim silence on the rocky beach where Tara had bathed only a few hours before. Captain Lucian was there, and four of his soldiers. Eirian was sitting with her back to a tree; several loops of rope lashed her to it. Tara stood between the captain and the prisoner, her arms folded, watching them both. Although the afternoon sun was shining brightly, the atmosphere seemed dark.
The cool confidence the Celt had displayed before her capture had evaporated. She now seemed very much like the young girl that she was. Her gray eyes were flicking nervously from face to face, and Tara thought she could detect a quivering about her lips.
Lucian looked at Tara. "Ask her again," he said grimly. "Tell her we're not afraid to hurt her to get the truth."
Tara looked at the prisoner down the bridge of her nose. "The captain wants to know who sent you, and why," she said. "And I'd advise you to stop stonewalling us. The boys are getting impatient. No telling what they might do to you if you don't start answering some of these questions."
"You c-can't do that!" Eirian's pale eyes filled with tears.
The redhead crouched abruptly and thrust her nose inches from the prisoner's. Her lips curved into a cold, dangerous smile. "Oh, yes, we can," she growled. "We can, and we will. And furthermore, I'll enjoy every minute of it." She saw the tears escape down Eirian's cheeks with some satisfaction. Tara waited a moment, watching the captive cry, before she spoke again. "Answer the question."
"Don't hurt me," the prisoner pleaded. "I…I wasn't sent to spy on your people, I swear. I was sent for you, Tara." The warrior raised a cool brow, but said nothing. "It's true," Eirian sobbed. "I swear it's true. I'm a priestess. My training was finished two months ago. The g-goddess sent me to find you…she said you'd be here."
"The goddess." Tara's voice was dry.
"Yes," Eirian whispered. "The Morrigan. She said you were one of hers."
Tara's expression changed. Her sandy brows lowered, and her eyes began to flash dangerously. "Oh, she did, did she?"
The teenager nodded vigorously. "I thought you'd know who I was…why I was h-here," she stammered. "I thought she'd have told you I was coming."
The warrior straightened up and folded her arms again. "The Morrigan is a bitch, just like every other goddess," she said, carefully enunciating every syllable. "She'll screw you over every goddamn chance she gets. The sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be, kid." Eirian stared at her in speechless shock.
Captain Lucian coughed. "What's she saying?"
Tara glanced at him, then back at the weeping captive. "Kid says she's just an oracle, not a spy," she said shortly.
His brows rose skeptically. "Really? Do you think she's telling the truth?"
"Oh, probably." Tara smiled grimly. "No one would be stupid enough to claim this particular goddess unless it was true." She turned away from him to pin the prisoner with her gaze again. "And what exactly did the Morrigan want from me, girl?"
Eirian hung her head. "I don't know," she whispered. "She just said I was supposed to help you with s-something. I figured you'd know, or…or that she'd tell me when I finally I found you."
Tara laughed without humor. "Well, she's certainly come through for you, hasn't she?" The young prisoner choked on a sob. The Gael cocked her head. "Just out of curiosity, and not because I don't believe you, of course – did the goddess happen to give you a token of some kind? Any sort of sign that you actually came from her?"
The girl peered up at her blankly for a moment. "I…" She hesitated. "Well, I'm marked," she quavered. "On my back. The high priestess did it when I finished my training."
Without a word, Tara caught Eirian by the scruff of her neck and forced her to lean forward as much as her bonds would allow. A few tugs on the prisoner's tunic bared her to the waist. Tara peered at her back; Eirian's shoulders were covered in dark lines of tattooed ink. A raven, Tara guessed, with its wings outstretched. She released the prisoner and stood in thought. No piddly little acolyte would be marked like that. She must be a prodigy of some kind. She's stupid as hell, but they wouldn't give her that tattoo unless she was pretty good at something. "I don't think she's dangerous, Captain," Tara said out loud. "This tattoo proves she's a priestess of some kind. But she's not likely to be a friend of ours, either."
"Hm." Captain Lucian studied the trembling teenager in silence for a moment. "Well, if she hasn't got anything to tell us, then she isn't of much use to us."
"No. She isn't. And I don't think she does." Tara regarded the girl coldly.
The captain looked at the warrior. "We're in enemy territory, and I don't want her scuttling back to the Pictavii with anything she's learned here," he said. "I think we should hang her. But you're the one who caught her, Tara. Would you rather keep her?" Tara frowned. "If not, we'll just string her up now."
Tara's gaze flicked down to the captive. The young Celt was still shivering and weeping softly, her body hunched over in a vain attempt to cover her naked chest. Tara's jaw tightened. The last thing I want is another slave I'll have to bother with. Epona's all I need. But… And here the warrior sighed inwardly. If I let this Celt be hanged, I'll have to tell Epona what happened later. She gave the captain a rueful look. "I'll take her," Tara said. "Hate to waste good slave flesh."
"All right," Lucian said, with a nod. "You'll be responsible for her care, then." He paused. "It would probably be safest to lock her in the brig," he said. "That area of the ship didn't take any damage."
"Good idea." Tara didn't want to have to stand guard over the Celt. She was tired; she just wanted to curl up under the gray blanket with Epona and get some rest. She flicked her dark eyes down to the frightened teenager. "If you give me the keys, I'll take her out there now. No sense wasting time."
The captain handed Tara the keys. "You can keep those for now," he said. "At least while there's no one else that needs locking up."
Tara inclined her head. Then she bent down, released the ropes that held Eirian to the tree, and pulled the girl to her feet. "You belong to me," she told her coolly, speaking once more in Gael. "And you'd better be grateful for it. You'd be having your neck stretched right now if you didn't." Tara jerked the prisoner's tunic back up to cover her. "Start walking," she growled, and they both headed toward the place where the lifeboats were moored.
