With Father Ortulfus at their head, all of the lay brothers and monks gathered beside the gate to see him off. Even Brother Lallo cried. Iso trembled as he wept. The entire crowd of them remained watching at the gate, silent except for poor Iso’s convulsive sobs, as the cavalcade lumbered away. Alain kept looking back over his shoulder, lifting his hand a second time, a third, a fourth, to convey his fare-you-wells. A few raised hands in answer. The sun rose behind them, and as the road curved he lost sight of the monastery first in the glare of the sun pushing up above the forest and at last as the bend in the road concealed it irrevocably.
XVI
AN ARROW IN THE HEART
1
SHELTERED by a makeshift awning, Blessing sat unnaturally still, legs crossed, hands on her knees, and watched the centaurs confer. The woman-horses ranged in a circle, hindquarters out and torsos in. They spoke in voices both human and mareish, words punctuated by snorts, flicks of their tails, and the stamping of hooves. They remained at the crest of the slope while sentries surveyed the land on all sides. The prince’s forces lay out of sight, although threads of smoke from their campfires marked the sky.
The centaurs had not returned them to the prince’s camp.
Blessing’s silence made Anna nervous. She had never seen the princess go for so long without saying something.
Had the centaur shaman bewitched the girl?
“Honored One? I see if your cuts heal?”
A fair number of actual people traveled with the centaur army, all of them congregating around a cheerfully painted wagon whose occupant Anna never, ever saw. The healer was one of these humans, although she was odd in her own right with dark eyes outlined with kohl and strangely large hands and feet. She wore a woman’s felt jacket, a skirt split for riding with leather trousers beneath, and a tall felt headdress decorated with bronze spirals and prancing deer. Her voice, if rather low, was soothing, and her hands, probing Anna’s injuries, were gentle.
“How do you come to speak Wendish?” Anna asked.
The healer smiled. Bells tied to her headdress tinkled as she nodded. “We prepare for this meeting. For this reason, some learn the speech of your people. The Holy One sees the day to come and the day already walking past.”
Could the shaman see into the future? How much power did she have? Yet Anna could not say she felt particularly nervous as the healer fed her gruel and a sharp, fermented milk before leaving her and Blessing alone. The milk made her head spin. She became unusually aware of her hands, her lips, her elbows, the red-and-orange carpet on which they sat, the ragged clouds overhead in a pale blue sky which, to the east, faded to a stormy gray. She smelled winter, but it didn’t touch them.
Blessing refused both gruel and milk. Tears streaked her face, but she kept silent, all her fear and uncertainty held in. Anna’s heart broke to see her so bereft. She was so young, despite her size, no more than three or four years of age, still a baby for all that her body had matured rapidly. Although the girl looked twelve or so, she had neither experience nor maturity.
No wonder her father feared for her. He must have known it was only a matter of time before she got herself into trouble beyond his ability to fix. It was a miracle that the centaurs had rescued them from Bulkezu, and even now they were still in grave danger even if the centaurs seemed calm and polite.
It was no wonder Blessing feared the centaurs. She had never lived under the hand of any authority except that of her doting father. Then Bulkezu had abducted her most violently, and now she was held prisoner by these strange creatures.
Blessing hadn’t learned the lesson of Gent. She didn’t know that sometimes you had to bide your time and hunker down in such shelter as you could find, because you no longer had any control over the storm blowing around you.
The old one, the shaman, tossed her head abruptly, backed out of the council circle, and walked over to them.
Blessing stood and stepped forward, her little face creased with determination, her eyes black with anger.
“When are you going to take me back to my—”
She jerked and spun sideways as though a giant’s hand twisted her around. Her hands clutched at her throat, and her eyes rolled skyward. Light winked, flashed, in the corner of Anna’s eye—barely seen and gone as quickly.
Blessing screamed. “I hear her! I hear her! She came back! She’s all on fire!” She fell limp to the ground.
“Blessing!” Anna shook the girl, chafed her hands, but she did not respond although she was breathing and her eyes were open. A shadow covered the princess’ face, and Anna looked up to find the shaman looming over them. “What did you do?” she cried, then fell silent as the shaman’s gaze touched her.
The centaur said nothing, only gazed at Blessing, coolly appraising. Her face, despite its human shape, had an uncanny appearance, maybe only the luminous shine of her eyes or perhaps the oddly disturbing horn color of her skin and the contrasting gold-and-green-painted stripes across her torso.
It had to be a spell.
Slowly, Anna got up, although it still hurt to move. She was bruised and cut and aching, but it was incontrovertibly true that the centaurs had saved her and the princess from Bulkezu. For all their terrible strangeness, they didn’t look insane.
“Who came back?” demanded Anna rudely, forgetting prudence and courtesy. “Who is on fire?”
The shaman scented the air, facing east. “A powerful force has entered the land.”
Blessing could not speak, but Anna had not lost her tongue. Not anymore.
“What are you going to do with us? Where is Prince Sanglant? Why can’t we go back to our people? What have you done to Princess Blessing?”