Season of Glory (7 page)

“No,” Vidar whispered back.

Everyone eased from the path and into the shelter of the forest, except for Niero.
We could barely make out his dark form in the dim light, but I knew his tension.
Worse, I felt it from others around us.
Many
, screamed my mind.
So many.

“You're surrounded,” growled a low voice. “We have ten archers with arrows pointed
at your chests, plus four with guns. Raise your hands.”

We all lifted our hands together. How had we not heard them?

“Who are you?” barked a low voice. “What are you doing here?”

“We are people of the Way,” Niero said, striding back toward us. “Valley dwellers.
Who are you?”

After a pause, I felt the easing of tension, and joy replacing it. My armband was
warm. Those holding guns switched their safeties on again; those holding bows released
the tension on their strings. I turned as Vidar and Bellona whooped in joy and clasped
arms with the dark forms behind us. It was then I knew.
Aravanders
. The Aravanders
were here. They'd formed an advance guard to the Valley.

A torch was lit, and we saw that two of them were the same women who had rescued
us from the Isle of Catal—the dark-haired gunner and Aleris, the boat captain. Vidar
sidled right up to the gunner, who held a fearsome weapon in her strong arms. “Have
I mentioned how much I love a woman with a gun?” Vidar asked, flashing her one of
his winning smiles. “I've dreamed of meeting up with you again. And now this . .
.”

The girl rolled her eyes in return as she passed by him, but I felt her pleasure.

“Wait!” he cried, following after her. “What is your name? I've kicked myself a hundred
times for not asking.”

I grinned. How could she not be charmed? Bellona, on the other hand, just groaned
and moved past them as the gunner turned to chat with Vidar. Camilla was her name.

The guards led us to their post, where we were placed on mudhorses. Wearily, gratefully,
I sank onto an old mare's back. “As tired as you might be after a long day of work,
girl,” I said, leaning forward to stroke her mane, “I think I might have you beat.”

More torches were lit to surround us, and we continued up the Valley with the Aravanders
pointing out new trails to various encampments. “There are thousands here now,” said
Aleris. “Every day, hundreds more come. They're all under strict orders to live as
we direct them—dousing campfires before nightfall, hiding their dwellings under branches.
Many have taken refuge in the caves to the west side of the Valley. We don't want
Pacifica to know how many are here when they come hunting.”

“It's effective,” Bellona said. “We had no idea upon our approach that so many had
arrived. But we don't have drones.”

“True. But I can tell you from experience that, even with the drones, the Pacificans
are always surprised at who rises to fight them,” she said with a flash in her eyes.

“Are all willing to fight for the Community if it comes to that?” Ronan asked the
guard nearest him, a tall man walking beside his mudhorse in traditional Aravander
skins.

“They are. There are many capable men and women among them. Better yet, there are
hunters and goatherds and farmers who improve by the day in making the most of our
last weeks of Harvest. You might also be surprised that your old friend Jorre moved
his trading post here. After your visit, he said he couldn't ignore the desire to
join you, any way he could. He found great joy in the stores that our people brought
with us—salt, dried fish, and pelts—and has made good use of them in trade on behalf
of the Community.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. While our trader friend Tonna seemed capable of holding
her own in the desert near Zanzibar, Jorre had seemed vulnerable, with his many wives
and adopted children.

“His camp is just over there,” he said, nodding to the right. It made sense to put
a trading post near the mouth of the Valley. “While this is a boon to us, aiding
us in gathering provisions for so many,” the man continued, “it necessitates further
guarding of the Valley's mouth. You'll see that your Valley gets far more visitors
these days, and once they understand the power among the Community, many of them
choose to stay.”

We learned that Zulema and Ignacio, the grandmother and grandson that Tressa had
healed, were up on the northern slope, among the cliffs that lined the river—which
the goats loved. “They've grown fat and happy in these last weeks,” Aleris said.
And to the left of the trail, Dagan had cleared forest and prepared ground for next
season's plantings. “We have hope that he will be successful,” she said. I could
hear the shrug in her voice. Our Valley was far more damp a territory than that of
the Hoodites. But the idea that we might grow our own food, even in part . . . My
mouth watered at the memory of berries on my tongue.

More guards met us on the path. People from Georgii Post, we realized, friends of
Azarel and Asher, reached up to touch our hands, muttering their welcomes in awed
tones. On and on it went as we climbed deeper into the Valley. More Aravanders, among
the trees, shouted down to us in greeting. People from Chaza'el's village thronged
around and greeted us with tears streaming down their faces.

“It's more a city than a forest now,” Bellona muttered. “They're everywhere.”

“They are!” I said, grinning from the collective joy all about. “Isn't it wonderful?”

“Wonderful,” she said reluctantly. I knew she was worried about protecting them all.
It was a Knight's way. But if the Maker had led them all here, we would have to rely
on him to see us through. And together, were we not stronger yet?

Up and up we wound along the trail, past camps with the delicious smell of roasting
meat and fish on spits. I was wondering where they had found such bounty—it couldn't
all be from Jorre's trading post—when I heard a flock of geese flying above us, heading
south, and then glimpsed two Aravanders raise their bows, close their eyes as if
only relying upon their hearing, and manage to take down a pair with their arrows,
even in the dark. We could hear the geese come crashing down through the trees and
brush. I would have marveled at their prowess as archers if I hadn't been so taken
with the fact that there were
birds
. Birds here, in the Valley. Geese. I hadn't seen
any here since I was a little girl. The birds—so long hunted out—had returned to
our Valley.

Niero looked back at me from atop his horse. “The Maker has made a way for us to
feed all these new Valley dwellers, has he not?”

“It's a miracle,” I said.

“Indeed,” Ronan said. He grinned at me, and there was such joy and relief in his
eyes it made me tear up. I realized then the weight he carried, watching over me,
worrying over me. Here, at last, he could find some relief from that burden for a
time.

The people seemed to seep from the forest like sap from the trees, thronging around
us with so many torches that the surrounding trees glowed with their golden light.
I knew that
the Aravander guards behind us would send word if a drone approached.
For now, it was just us—Community, gathering—and it made my heart swell with joy.
Some began to sing, and the sound of their combined voices, encapsulating us when
we did not have the strength to join in, nourished me from within. Vidar and I shared
a look—this was good, so necessary, so vital for us. To be with others of the Way.
To feel their joy from the outside in. We had been away too long.

We reached the Citadel and slipped between the edges of the deep crevasse that led
into the fortress carved from rock. There were hundreds of people inside this time,
and it transformed the structure from a cold cave to a comforting palisade against
the dark. We were led into the hive-like meeting room, where every seat was filled
and even more stood, as if they'd been awaiting us for weeks. And perhaps they had.
Asher and Azarel, Chaza'el, Kapriel, Killian, and Tressa were among them, grinning
and rushing to hug us.

Everyone in the room applauded, and I blushed at the attention. It was rare for
praise and adulation to happen within the Community for anyone other than the Maker.
But here, now, all I felt was the comfort and approval of our brothers and sisters.
And it was glorious. Vidar reached out and wrapped one arm around my shoulders and
the other around Bellona's waist. One by one, we interlocked, we Remnants and Knights,
and grinned up and around at the people in this room. Those of the Valley, Drifters,
Aravanders, people from Georgii Post, and even Castle Vega. Everywhere we'd gone,
it was clear that the Maker had used our presence to call his people home.

Finally, they all grew quiet, and someone brought us chairs, as well as water and
meat and even a bowl of rice. We gratefully ate and drank, taking turns sharing our
story with
them all. For hours, they sat, so silent and still, hanging on our every
word.

“And now? Where does the Maker send you next?” asked one elder.

“To Zanzibar,” an old, sightless elder said, with a mixture of distaste and wonder
on her wrinkled face.

Chaza'el started in surprise. “That is right,” he said firmly, with a nod.

Reluctantly, I knew it was true, deep within.

“But there are inherent dangers in going there,” Niero said, “that we hope you can
help us mitigate, fathers and mothers, sisters and brothers. We narrowly escaped
with our lives last time.”

“You'll need papers,” Jorre said with his big, booming voice. He lifted a hand and
twisted his lip, dismissing our worries. “I can speak to Tonna about it.”

“Or simply a tattoo,” added a woman, pulling down her tunic to show the mark on her
shoulder that every Zanzibian was required to have.

“They will help, but we'll need more than that,” Ronan said, rising to his feet.
“The women among us, warriors though they may be, are in distinct danger there. Any
woman who is not betrothed in the City of Men becomes ten times the target. The Lord
of Zanzibar prides himself in collecting women for his harem. But I have a solution.”

I held my breath as he glanced at me. I'd had no idea he planned to speak.

“I am well aware that it has been forbidden for the Ailith to love beyond the ways
of kinship. I understand we must remain true to our calling and mission, first and
foremost, and there has been concern among the elders that anything else would
distract
us from that calling and mission. But the Maker has carved something much deeper
in my heart for Andriana, and I publically declare now that I intend to have her
as my wife. Whether you bless our union now or in the future, we shall one day be
together.” He looked only at me as he said it.

I stared at him in shock. And in joy. Could it be? Was he making a way for us? Or
destroying any hope we ever had?

People gasped and whispered, and there was a mixture of consternation, yet also compassion,
among their faces. The elder raised his hand, and the room remained silent. “This
has clearly long been on your mind, son,” he said to Ronan, and Ronan turned to face
him. “What has brought you to this, besides love?”

“We narrowly avoided losing Andriana to Pacifica's emperor,” Ronan said, sliding
his eyes toward Kapriel and then back to the elders. “Keallach's Council intended
to see her wed to the emperor and were willing to put me and her parents to death
in order to secure her agreement. It is my belief as Andriana's protector that if
we are to enter Zanzibar and beyond she would be safest as my bride. Or at the very
least, my bound bride.” He waited for another moment as the room again erupted in
whispers. Bindings had only occurred a couple of times in our community—usually when
one was about to leave the Valley but intended to return seasons later. “But fathers
and mothers, sisters and brothers, it would be my joy to have her as my wife now.
I know it is our way to wait until our second decade, but that is only five seasons
away. And in this time, given our extraordinary circumstances, I humbly ask that
you grant us permission to share our vows on the eve of the upcoming Harvest moon.”

“I, too,” Killian said, rising and pulling Tressa with him, “ask for the same blessing
and honor in taking Tressa as my bride.”

Ronan and I shared a knowing grin. We always knew they were in love.

Vidar turned to Bellona.

“Don't even think about it,” she hissed, with an eye roll and a shake of her head.

Ronan turned to me and offered his hand. Eyes on his, I took it and rose, realizing
my knees were shaking. Out of weariness? Or because of what he had just suggested?
Or both?

I glanced over his shoulder at our captain. Niero remained stoic, his dark eyes canvassing
the room as if taking it all in at once, considering. He appeared to be waiting for
the elders to take the lead on this. Ronan's proposal did make sense, as did Killian's.
A marriage—or binding—would help in keeping us safe. In Zanzibar. In Pacifica. Perhaps
everywhere.

Someone near the back of the room began to applaud and then another near the front,
rising to his feet. Others joined in. And then still more, until the entire room
was standing, other than our elders who were robed in white at the front and still
sitting. Contemplating. Slowly, the elder who had given us our armbands rose and
again lifted his hand until the room was silent. Then he turned to face the crowd.
“We understand your enthusiasm for our beloved Ailith. We, too, want the best for
them. Now, please, brothers and sisters, leave us to pray and confer with them.”

Obediently, hundreds of people filed out, row by row, many of them reaching out to
touch our hands or grip arms with the men as they passed. Then it was just us, and
I realized that the other Ailith had also risen around me and Ronan, along with the
elders and my parents. We moved into a circle.