When Women Were Warriors Book I: The Warrior's Path Read online

  The queen’s gift was a mirror of polished silver set in a golden frame. When she looked into it, she saw a faithful image of herself reflected back. The queen was not pleased with her gift, for she already possessed mirrors just as fine. She asked her warriors to show her what they had received, and not one of them had been given an enchanted sword or bow. None had had a vision of the future or any other thing the queen had hoped for.

  When she thought of the long journey they had made with so little to show for it, the queen almost regretted having gone at all, but her warriors were happy with their gifts, and it had been a good adventure, so she hung the mirror upon the wall of her private chamber, to remind her of her own foolishness.

  The next year the queen’s daughter wished to marry. She had come to care for a man who cared very much for her, although he had little else to offer her. The queen wanted a better alliance for her daughter, and she refused to consent to the marriage. When next she passed by the golden mirror, she thought she saw, out of the corner of her eye, not the familiar features of her own face, but the beaked face and the cold eye of a bird of prey. When she stopped and looked again, her own familiar face looked back at her.

  Not long afterward, a neighbor with whom the queen had had a long alliance asked to share in the bounty of one of the queen’s forests. The forest lay far from the queen’s household, and her people seldom hunted there. Nevertheless it had belonged to her family for many generations, and she was reluctant to allow others to hunt there, lest they come to regard the forest as their own. The queen refused the request, but she sent a gift of game to her neighbor’s household, to lessen the sting of her refusal.

  That evening, when she prepared for bed, the queen caught a glimpse of the golden mirror. She thought she saw within it the image of a bear, its belly full, standing over the body of a deer, unable to eat more but unwilling to allow another bear to eat. When the queen turned again to the mirror, she saw only her own familiar face.

  The following year an army marched against the queen. She sent her warriors out to meet it, and they fought well, but in the end neither side could prevail against the other. She called upon her neighbor to send warriors to her aid. Her neighbor refused her request but sent a dozen fine swords back to her, to lessen the sting of her refusal.

  Knowing that she was not strong enough to drive the invaders out, the queen offered to come to terms with them. They sent a young man to speak with her, the very man her daughter had wished to marry. He asked for gifts of grain and cattle and swore that she would then be left in peace. That much the queen was prepared to give, but he asked also for her daughter, and to that request the queen would not consent. They talked long into the night without coming to an agreement, so the queen offered him her hospitality, and he accepted.

  Late that night, as she prepared for bed, the queen conceived a plan. She convinced herself that the young man had dishonored her daughter by asking for her as if she were no more than property, and that this dishonor released the queen from the obligations of hospitality.

  As she turned her treacherous plan over in her mind, a flash of light flew out of the golden mirror. It blinded her for a moment, and she shielded her eyes against it. When her sight returned, she looked into the mirror and beheld the image of her home and all her lands on fire. She rubbed her eyes and looked again, but the mirror reflected back to her only her own familiar face.

  The queen thought about the vision the mirror had shown her, until at last she convinced herself that the flash of light must have been only the reflection of a momentary flare of torchlight and the images of fire the product of her own imagination. She gazed again into the mirror, but she saw nothing more to alarm her.

  The next day the queen met with the young man again. This time she consented to the marriage. She asked that the wedding take place within her household on the following day, and she invited all the warriors of the invading army to attend it. Protected, as he thought, from treachery because he was her guest, the young man came the next day to be married, bringing with him the warriors of the invading army. The queen’s warriors, who were unarmed, met them and made them welcome. They invited their guests to relieve themselves of the weight of their own weapons, and this they did.

  The wedding took place, and the feast began. When their guests were in their cups, the queen’s warriors took up their arms from where they had been hidden in the hall. The wedding guests fought back, but they were quickly overpowered, and every one of them was put to the sword. The floor of the hall was covered in their blood. It ran out the door of the house and soaked into the earth and still more blood flowed. It ran like water over the queen’s rich farmlands and through her forests and into her lakes and streams and rivers. Then a flame sprang up from the heart of the dying man who loved the queen’s daughter, and the blood began to burn. The fire spread in all directions, even to the crops in the fields and to the trees in the forests. Flames danced upon the water in the lakes and streams. When it reached the borders of the queen’s lands, the fire spread no farther.

  When she saw her home and her lands on fire, the queen remembered the vision in the mirror. She ran to her bedchamber to look within it one last time. She saw her own familiar face reflected back to her, and as she watched, the flesh softened and fell away, until in the enchanted mirror she saw the face of death.

  For a hundred years, nothing would live in the land that had once been the queen’s. No crops would sprout; no trees would grow. Fish would not spawn in the lakes or streams. Animals would not thrive there. No child would be born there. No living thing dwelt in that place again until the queen’s name had been forgotten.

  “I think I’m beginning to understand your stories,” said Maara.

  “Maybe you could tell me what it means, then.”

  The story troubled me. When I mentioned it to the Lady, I was thinking only of the part about the blood of the slain, of those whom the queen’s warriors had murdered. I had forgotten there was so much more than that in it.

  “How had the queen received her heart’s desire when she received the mirror?” Maara asked me.

  “She didn’t understand its power,” I replied. “She wanted dreams that would foretell the future, but she failed to read the future in her own face.”

  “If the Lady had such a mirror, would she have the wisdom to use it well, do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “The Lady is clever, but I’m no judge of wisdom.”

  Maara’s eyes held mine. She had a strange expression on her face, as if she was seeing something unexpected.

  “The Lady may well have such a mirror,” she said.

  15

  Midwinter’s Night

  Our prisoners were sent away with the Lady’s gifts of grain and cattle. Maara found a few among them who spoke the language of the northern tribes, although, as she suspected, these men were not northerners. I would not soon forget the expressions on their faces when she made them understand that they would be taken to our northern border and allowed to find their own way home. Vintel and her band of warriors escorted them. She didn’t ask my warrior to go with them.

  As I had hoped, the warriors of Merin’s house began to take notice of Maara, and a few of them offered her their friendship. Laris, Taia’s warrior, sought her out more than once after the evening meal and brought her into the circle of warriors gathered around the hearth. While apprentices were tolerated in these gatherings of warriors, companions were not. I tried not to mind too much.

  Sun’s light. Moon’s light. Lamplight and firelight.

  Love’s light. Light my way through the longest night.

  On midwinter’s night we sang the song that every one of us had known from childhood—everyone but Maara. The singing surprised her. From where I sat with the other companions, I could just see her, sitting beside Namet, who had drawn her out of a dark corner and seated her among the other warriors. Maara had once said that no one told her stories when she was a child, and
now I suspected she had never heard a group of people sing together. Her eyes, wide with wonder, went from face to face. I’d never seen her look so young.

  We had no poets in the household, no bards or singers, no one who played the pipe or harp. At holiday times we made our own music, as my family had done at home. Some of the elders had lovely voices. Fet, who was ordinarily so quiet, had a fine, clear voice that fell over us like a gentle rain. Her shield friend, Fodla, had to be urged to sing, but when she did, her deeper voice supported Fet’s and wound around it, until their two voices blended perfectly into one.

  Long night. Soft dark. Sleep, sleep in Mother’s arms.

  Silence holds us. Love enfolds us. Safe from harm.

  Sun’s light. Moon’s light. Lamplight and firelight.

  Love’s light. Light my way through the longest night.

  The rich smell of nuts roasting in the ashes of the fire mingled with the scent of hot cider and the pine branches that hung all around the great hall. I sat with the other companions on the floor, while the warriors, both women and men, sat on benches or stools close by the hearth. Outside the night was cold. Inside we basked in the warmth of firelight and friendship.

  Days longer. Light stronger. Nights warmer. Hope clearer.

  Life longer. Love stronger. Hearts warmer. Day nearer.

  Sun’s light. Moon’s light. Lamplight and firelight.

  Love’s light. Light my way through the longest night.

  I closed my eyes and thought of home. This midwinter’s night was the first I had ever spent away from my family. I missed them, and in my mind’s eye I pictured them around me. I saw the faces of my mother and my sister, and I saw too the faces of the dead. I saw my grandmother’s face and heard her voice, singing a song she used to sing. I saw my father’s face, although I thought I had forgotten it. I felt again as I used to feel while we watched together through the night. I was safe within the circle, as long as I had my mother’s arms around me.

  When I was a child and afraid of the dark, my grandmother once told me, “In the dark we were made. In the dark we rest as in the Mother’s womb, and there she recreates us before she brings us out again into the light.” After that, when I lay in my bed in the dark, I would fall into sleep believing that I fell into the Mother’s arms. Midwinter’s night was a night to fall into the dark.

  We fall, trusting, into sleep, believing that morning will come and we will wake again. We fall, trusting, into the endless dark of midwinter’s night, believing that light will come again into the world.

  All around me the companions slept, their heads pillowed on their arms or on each other’s bodies. Sparrow lay beside me, fast asleep, her head in my lap, and I lay back against Taia’s shoulder. The last thing I saw before I slept was Maara’s face.

  § § §

  The drum woke me. Steady as a heartbeat, I almost mistook it for the beating of my own heart. The lamps had all gone out, and the fire had burned low. The room was dark. The girls around me began to wake. So slowly we hardly noticed it, the drum began to beat a little faster, a little louder. Before long everyone in the great hall was awake and stirring.

  Pah pom. Silence. Pah pom. Silence. Pah pom.

  This time the silence remained unbroken.

  We made ready to go outdoors to greet the sun. The Lady and the elders went first, then the warriors with their apprentices, then the companions and the servants. Wrapped in cloaks and blankets, huddled close together, we faced the east and watched the mountains’ silhouette emerge against the lightening sky, until at last the rim of the pale sun peeked over the earth’s edge. We watched as the whole body of the sun revealed itself, and the light of the midwinter sun fell over us like a blessing. Then we hurried back indoors.

  The Lady knelt by the hearth and struck a spark into dry tinder to make a new fire. The first spark caught. It was a good sign. With her breath, the Lady encouraged it to grow into a bright flame. From that flame, she lit a torch to carry the new fire to every hearth in the household.

  § § §

  Sparrow and I sat side by side at the companions’ table. The feasting had gone on all day, and we were too full to move. Around us people talked quietly together or listened as someone told a story. Sparrow handed me something wrapped in a piece of cloth.

  “What’s this?” I asked her.

  “Look and see,” she said.

  I unwrapped her gift. It was a brooch, made of dark wood, carved to look like a circle of braided cord, with a pin of lighter wood to fasten it. It was beautiful.

  “It belonged to Eramet,” Sparrow said.

  I had no cloak, so I was not in need of a brooch to fasten it.

  “How shall I wear it?” I asked her.

  She unfastened the leather belt I wore over my tunic and removed the plain wooden buckle. Then she did it up again, using the brooch to fasten it.

  I had prepared a gift for her too. When I left home, my mother gave me a token to wear. It was a bit of amber with an insect’s wing inside it. I had worn it for a while, but having something around my neck bothered me, and I put it away. Earlier that day I’d put it on again. Now I took it off and gave it to Sparrow.

  “This is for you,” I said.

  She was as pleased with my gift as if it had been made of gold. She held it up to the firelight, and the flame shone through the amber, golden as the summer sun.

  § § §

  By bedtime I was already half asleep. It was all I could do to get up from the table and follow my warrior to her room. As she usually did, Maara stopped in the doorway of Namet’s room, but Namet wasn’t there. She would still be with the elders, who had spent the day apart from the household, conducting the midwinter ritual. Every season of the year offered its own wisdom, and when the seasons turned, the Mother’s hand would sometimes fall upon one of them, so that she might catch a glimpse behind the veil and learn something to help us understand the things that would happen in the coming year.

  I helped Maara prepare for bed. I was just about to get undressed myself when the Lady appeared in the doorway.

  “Come with me,” she said.

  I followed the Lady to her chamber. There was a good fire burning on the hearth. She sat down on the hearthstone and motioned to me to sit down beside her. I put my hand over my mouth to cover a yawn.

  “I know you’re tired,” the Lady said. “I won’t keep you long. I have good news for you.”

  “Good news?”

  “Vintel has asked for you.” The sparkle in her eyes told me there was more. “She wants you, not as a companion, but as her apprentice.”

  I hardly knew what to think. It was not the custom to take someone as an apprentice right away. A warrior would first take a girl to be her companion, and later they would both decide whether they would be bound together as warrior and apprentice. The expression on my face gave me away.

  “Why does that not please you?” the Lady asked me.

  “I already have a warrior.”

  “You’re only her companion,” she replied. “I know that she has treated you as an apprentice, and she’s taught you well, but the time has come for you to take your own place among us.”

  I could think of nothing to say.

  “I understand that your time here has been difficult for you,” the Lady said. “You’ve been tested, and you haven’t disappointed me.”

  She put her arm around my shoulders and drew me close against her side. “Because you are your mother’s daughter, you will always have a place here. For her sake, I would regard you as my own child. But today I offer you a place that you have shown yourself worthy of. Although you are small in body, you have shown me that you have courage and loyalty and strength of spirit.”

  Her arm around me was warm and gentle. She caressed my shoulders and my back with her open hand, much as my mother used to do.

  “Vintel is my right hand,” she said. “She is the first among all the warriors of this household. She honors you by asking for you.”
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br />   “I know,” I said.

  “Why do you hesitate?”

  I didn’t know what to tell her. I didn’t care for Vintel as I cared for Maara. I didn’t trust Vintel as I trusted Maara. My head told me I couldn’t ask for a better apprenticeship than the one the Lady offered me, but with all my heart I didn’t want it.

  “Change is always difficult,” the Lady said. “It may feel strange to you at first, but you will grow as used to Vintel as you are now to Maara. In fact, I would be surprised if you didn’t come to feel even closer to her. Vintel is one of us, while Maara is a stranger here. She is welcome to stay with us, of course, for as long as she chooses, but she can never be as one of our own.”

  The Lady was telling me that I should choose a warrior who was one of our own people, who would offer to me and to my family valuable friendships and alliances and ties of obligation. Maara could offer me only herself. She had nothing else.

  I thought carefully before I spoke. “I will thank Vintel for the honor,” I said, “but I can’t accept her offer.”

  I felt the Lady stiffen. She was watching me closely, and I was too tired to try to conceal from her what I was feeling, so I simply told her the truth.

  “My warrior has treated me well,” I said. “She has taught me, though I’m not her apprentice. She risked her life to return to a place where she felt both unwelcome and unsafe, not because she owed us anything, but because she cared for us more than many of us ever cared for her.”