“But spring has greater promise,” the Komizar said. “And that hope can stave off the talons of winter.”
They spoke in riddles I couldn’t follow.
The old man looked at me. “And this?”
The Komizar grabbed my arm and pulled me forward so the old man could get a good look. “A princess of Morrighan with the gift. She’s run from the enemy swine to join our ranks, called by the gods themselves. Already the enemy scatters. And as you can see,” he said, viewing my vest, “she’s been welcomed by the clan of Meurasi.”
The old man aimed a squinted eye at me. “That so?”
The Komizar’s grip on my arm tightened. I looked into the old man’s eyes, hoping to convey more with a gaze than my words. “It is as your Komizar says. I am a princess, First Daughter of Morrighan, and I’ve run from my countrymen who are your enemy.”
The Komizar looked sideways at me, a slight smile creasing his eyes.
“And your name, girl?” the old man asked.
I knew you would come.
The voice was as clear as the old man’s. I closed my eyes, trying to chase it away, but it only came louder and stronger. Jezelia, the one marked with power, the one marked with hope. I opened my eyes. Everyone stared at me, silent and waiting, their eyes wide with curiosity.
“Jezelia,” I answered. “My name is Jezelia.”
His watery eyes studied me and then he turned to the others standing behind him. “Jezelia, who has been welcomed by the clan of Meurasi,” he repeated. They spoke in hushed tones among themselves.
The Komizar leaned close, whispering in my ear, “Well done, Princess. A convincing touch.”
It was only a clever sham to him, but clearly more to these hillfolk. The old man turned back to us. “Some thannis to warm you on your way?” he offered.
The Komizar forced a weak smile. Even he thought thannis tasted like sour dirt. “We need to be on our way—”
“We thank you for your graciousness,” I interrupted. “We would love some.”
The Komizar shot me a dark glare, but didn’t balk in front of the old man, as I knew he wouldn’t. It would never do to have a newcomer embrace the tradition of Venda more than its ruler—no matter how distasteful it was.
I lifted the proffered mug to my lips. Yes, sour moldy dirt, but not half as bad as wiggling white grubs. I drank heartily and handed my mug to the woman who served it, thanking her for her kindness. The Komizar took twice as long to down his.
He berated me when I didn’t offer a “display” of the gift at our next stop.
“You said word passes quickly among the hillfolk. A light touch is better than a heavy-handed performance. Leave them wanting more.”
He laughed. “Shrewd and calculating. Malich was right.”
“And he is right about so few things.”
And so the day went, hamlet after hamlet, the Komizar gaining favor with gifts, sacks of flour and morsels of hope, with me as proof that the enemy was trembling and that the gods were smiling on Venda.
Midafternoon we rested in a valley while the horses drank from a brook. The wind picked up, and the sky grew dark. I held my cloak close about my shoulders, standing apart from the Komizar and soldiers, and looked out at the vista, a land dusky and barren, washed i
n the colors of a dark pebbled river.
The day had shown me that Venda was an unforgiving place and only the heartiest survived here. A Remnant may have been spared, but only a chosen faithful few had been led by the gods and the girl Morrighan to a land of plenty. Venda was not that land. It had taken the brunt of the devastation. As we rode, we passed forests of stone, rolling hills with only occasional hints of green, fields of burnt red rock, windswept trees twisted into haunting shapes that made them look alive, strips of farmland where small crops were coaxed from hard soil, and distant deadlands where the Komizar said nothing lived or grew—lands as forbidding as Infernaterr. And yet there was something compelling about the landscape.
All I had seen were people trying to survive, faithful in their own ways, adding a bone at a time to tethers, remembering the sacrifice that put it there and the sacrifices yet to be made, people in barbarian dress, like the clothing I wore now. People who didn’t speak in grunts, but in humble notes of gratitude. I knew you would come. The words I had heard still bored into me.
A strong gust tore at my clothes, and my hair whipped free of the braid. I pushed the wild strands from my face and stared at the endless landscape and darkening clouds crushing the horizon. With two horses, how far could Rafe and I run? Could we disappear into the emptiness for even a few days? Because three days alone with him now seemed like the gift of a lifetime. I’d do anything for it. We’d been apart for too long.
“So deep in thought.”
I whirled around. “I didn’t hear you walk up.”