NaNoWriMo Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It never mattered how far from home you were, you were never far from Meagan.  

She was old by most measures, but bore it well.  She had seen forty-five years and three children, and lived long enough to see her mate march off to war while holding her babies in her arms, and then see two of those same babies go off to war across the water, and have all three of them return, mostly.  Her hair was still the same straw color it was when she had met her mate when she was only seventeen, and her breasts and belly hadn't bulged or sagged much.  Instead, she was plump, the possessed of the same sort of pleasant curves that caught Burgred's eye all those years ago.  She looked young, or at least not yet old, and in truth the women of her family typically lived long lives if they didn't die violently.

More notable was he experience.  She was the Priestess of Danna of Clan Muress, and as such the Heorots would call her the high priestess, but they were a foolish lot who rarely used the right word for just about anything, even when they had it in their language.  Burgred, who had been her mate for nearly three decades and raised of their children in the Aelic ways, still made a mess of them.  But it was the way of things.  Aels learned to use the Heorot words in Heorot ways.  Likewise, the Heorots sometimes learned Aelic words, and also used them in Heorot ways.

In the Muress Woods, the difference between the two approaches mattered little.  When Burgred's friend Caston made him the Earl, they agreed that her people's ways would keep the forests, while in the town of Timber, he would host guests in the Southern fashion.  There was no issue, as the only Aels in Timber proper were close to her in blood, and most of the priestesses of the Dunmar-Gog cared little for the place.  And to get a Heorot in the woods would require them to either chase someone or be chased themselves, and in either case, they would exit at the earliest opportunity.

There was one issue, however.  Her spells were not for the Hall.  Burgred never slandered her ways, or begrudged her the incantations she learned from her mother.  He even, after he had his heir, let their second "son" to be taught to use his gifts (although to call a wizard a "son" struck Meagan as odd, even for an Aelic priestess so versed in the Heorot tongue).  But he knew his liege would visit, his companions would visit, and he knew that witchcraft in their sight would bring the entire peace of the Muress Woods crashing down.

In truth, Meagan did not mind.  She didn't much care for the hall anyways, and the offerings were meant for the stars and the sun.  She had her own grove, were few bothered her (for bothering a priestess of Danna is never wise), where she could practice her divinations.  Of course, she did learn something from her Heorot mate, and her grove was quite unlike those of her counterparts in other clans.

For one, Meagan realized that the Heorots despised being wet while they ate and slept, and she realized that she much agreed with them.  So there was a canopy, made by her boys out of canvas and twine, that covered the northern part, so she could be dry but still look out and see the sun.  And there were benches, hewn logs, really, because to sit on a bit of wood made her dresses last longer.  And she wore fine dresses, for Burgred liked to buy them for her, and she liked the way Burgred looked at her in the finery, and although she didn't care to admit it, she had come to admire the way she looked herself.

In any case, she was much unlike any other priestess of Danna in any other clan, and the Aels of the Muress clan were, generally speaking, much unlike the Aels of any other clan.  

On this day, it was approaching noon, and it was raining.  It was gray and dismal and already cold for the season.  She sat on her cloak, folded up beneath her bum to keep out the stump's chill, and wore a green and gold cloak, with small bits of green and glass sewn around the bosom.  Burgred had bought it, and so her chest would have been quite prominent if not for the brown scarf wrapped about her head and shoulders.  Meagan didn't like the way Heorots tended to stare at her breasts (she tolerated her husband's attention in this case), and the scarf kept her head dry, so she was relatively comfortable despite the early approach of winter.

She had worked these spells for decades, longer than anyone else since her Queen had died and Jenevra ascended to her place.  Meagan was not without pride; she knew that she had seven more years experience with the World Tale than her Queen, and a decade more than Ma Ricker of Clan Ricker.  And despite the reverence, there was a certain air of familiarity with each spell, each offering, each gesture.  She sipped tea while she said them, respectfully offering praise to each of the Dunmar-Gog in turn, from Danna and her consort, the beautiful Geor, until she reached Parza the Wild and the damned Viltem.  He hands worked a bit of embroidery when they weren't required (it was to be a gift for her daughter, Cordelia, who was to tell the Tale herself soon), and she would hum when she had nothing she had to say.  And at the end, when the incantation was complete, she smothered the fire with the remains of her tea.

Most priestesses used water, pulled from a cold brook and as clear as they could find, but Meagan knew that was rubbish… any water would do, even if it had tea leaves in it.  The gods did not care about such things.

The tea hit the fire before her and she smoothed her gown as it steamed.  And she hollered three invectives, loudly, once against each of the Three Hermits, and made the sign of the Maiden and the Mother.  And the smoke began to dance before, the steam taking shapes, and gaining color.  They began as gray as the sky above them, but they seemed to catch small rainbows in the wet air, and these tiny prisms swirled together to paint pictures.  These were pictures of the wild, of different trees and shrubs, that were also wet and gray.  But there were people there.  There were twenty of them, all wearing the earthen cloaks of Timber, but armed lightly… a bit of boiled leather here and there, and a few were wearing helmets.  They bore bows and arrows and spears and most had daggers, but there was only one with a sword, a woman, and most notably, no horses.  They were obviously Aelic, as much from their dress as the fact that fully half were female.  But there was only one woman… women were always Touched, and there was only priestess there.

Tara, far away, felt Meagan's eyes upon her, and the young priestess of Valda shivered slightly, and looked around.  She always did this, even though she knew she would not see Meagan.  It was what you did though, when you were being watched, and Meagan was always watching.  And though she was far from home, she was never far from Meagan.

Tara spoke, knowing Meagan would hear her.  She listened, even though she knew Meagan could not speak back, but because it seemed to be the respectful thing to do.  "They're beyond the ridge, but not far," she said in hushed tones, looking up over the crest of brush and trees.  "It's the closest that they've come, I think.  Ulten said so, I do not doubt him."

Ulten was one of Tara's warriors, a bit of a brute who knew the woods and would range for them when Meagan's youngest was on one of his journeys.  Tara prefered to work with Ulten anyway, and Meagan knew why, and the reason had very little to do with Ulten.

Tara was Meagan's niece, the daughter of Meagan's sister, Isa, but these were Heorot words that meant relatively little, even to the Aels of the Muress, whose priestesses had learned to mate for life from the Southerners, and who raised their own children exclusively.  It would still be more accurate to say that Tara was a young priestesses, and a champion as befitting a priestess of Valda, and so Meagan cherished her, as was the way of the Aels.  And in battle, she had been trained to lead, and so Meagan deferred to her in such matters.  But Tara had never learned her letters, and Meagan was the sort to want to know everything that occurred as soon as it happened anyway, so she never had Tara bring her a report of what she encountered.  Instead, she would sit in her grove, on her stump and under he canopy, and sip the last of her tea as she watched her niece work.

Tara, for her part, did not know what to make of it.  She could sense it when it happened, for Valda gave those touched by her a sense of such things, even as she made her voice clear and commanding and her arms strong and quick.  To call Tara a simple creature would be a sort of insult, but it would be accurate to say that she was remarkable lean, in terms of both build and character.  Her personality and interests were as focused in their intent as her body.  She was a warrior, and had received the best training of both worlds, and such a thing leaves marks.  One such mark was an absolute hatred of being watched, but she said nothing of it to Meagan, for another such mark was a near absolute belief that if one suffers, it is best to suffer silently.

She tried to look at where she felt Meagan was, but Meagan wasn't there.  It was the source of her perspective, of course, and it was impressive Tara could find it, but unrewarding, as there was nothing to see there.  Tara motioned that she was going over the hill, and without another word or gesture, three other Aels moved to go with her.

Meagan found that her hands were moving with their needle and thread, which is was good, for it comforted her at this time.  

Tara sprinted over the crest, sword drawn, and into the middle of the Vendol camp.