Lightning's Daughter

20

The sound of thunder faded from Gabria’s ears, and she became aware of a persistent, needle-sharp pain behind her eyes. It brought her out of her state of shock and back to reality. She opened her eyes for just a moment and saw nothing but blackness and red shooting streaks. A tremor fluttered in her chest. She was blind!

She forced down her terror and concentrated instead on a small, calm voice that was speaking softly near her ear. The voice was unfamiliar, but something about its gentle tone was soothing.

“Tam?” she whispered out of the dark. She tried to sit up, but every bone and muscle in her body sent up a painful protest.

The quiet voice replied with intense relief. “Yes, Lady, I am here. No! Don’t move yet. Help is coming.”

Gabria obeyed willingly. She lay still on the cold, hard ground and felt the rain pounding on her body. Tam had to be shielding her face, but Gabria could not see.

The sorceress reached out for the girl’s hand. “Tam, where is the gorthling?”

“He’s gone,” Tam answered excitedly. “The lightning you threw disintegrated him! There isn’t even a finger left.”

Gabria could not help but smile. Tam had certainly found her tongue in the midst of all the chaos.

Another person joined them, and a familiar voice said, “Gabria, let me help you.” The clan priestess of Amara wrapped a warm cloak around the sorceress and very carefully eased her to a sitting position. “Can you stand?” the priestess asked.

Gabria swallowed hard and shook her head. Pain and nausea coursed through her head and her stomach. Every muscle she had was trembling. She felt as weak and blind as a newborn kitten.

“Never mind. Sit here a moment,” the priestess told her. “I will tend to the others.”

Gabria heard her walk toward the place where Athlone had fallen. Nara came to stand upwind of the sorceress to block some of the wild wind and rain that lashed across the island. Tam still held her cloak over Gabria’s head.

“Nara, are Athlone and Sayyed badly hurt?”

They are exhausted, but will recover, I believe.

Gabria turned her sightless eyes toward the mare. “Your thoughts are strained. You sound weary. Are you all right?”

I am very weak. The strength needed to protect us from the lightning was almost more than I had.

The woman reached out and felt the mare’s strong foreleg. “Thank you, Nara.”

The mare nickered like a gentle laugh. It was a good battle. The gorthling is gone, and we are still here.

Gabria sighed. “What is going on out there? Is a healer coming to help Athlone and Sayyed? Afer’s leg is broken. Is anyone coming to help him?”

Tam answered, her young voice high with anger. “The priests and priestesses will not allow any more uninitiated onto the island, but they won’t cross the river themselves to help. Only the priestess of Amara from your clan had the courage to come.”

Gabria’s anger stirred sluggishly in her thoughts. She and her companions had faced death to save the clans, but now that they needed help, the people would not even come to their aid. Her nausea faded a little, and she sat up straighter, stirred by resentment.

Before she could think of a suitable angry response, an image of what she had done came to her mind. Her anger retreated while she considered how the entire arcane battle must have looked from the clans’ point of view. They were probably terrified out of their wits.

Gabria realized she had an excellent opportunity to make a positive impression on her stubborn, skeptical, suspicious people. They had seen the horror of the gorthling’s cruelty and the terror of his magic. Now she could show them the other side of magic: the pleasure of victory and the comfort of healing.

Strengthened by her resolve, Gabria painfully pulled herself up Nara’s iron-strong foreleg until she was standing, dizzy and gasping, by the mare’s shoulder. The cold rain poured down her face, but she did not care. She concentrated on staying upright, gritting her teeth against the exhaustion that rocked her, and held on grimly to Nara’s mane.

A strong arm was laid across her shoulders and steadied her.

The priestess’s calm voice said, “Gabria, please. You need to rest.”

The sorceress refused. “Not yet. Where is Athlone?”

“I’m here.” Lord Athlone’s voice was strained, but steady. It sounded wonderful to Gabria. He walked wearily around the big mare to say something more and hesitated when he saw Gabria and the strange expression on her face. Her eyes were closed tightly, and her head was tilted to one side in a concentrated effort to hear.

“Are you hurt?” Gabria asked the chieftain.

“Just a knock on the head, but I feel exhausted,” He rubbed his temples and looked around, bleary-eyed. “What happened?”

Tam replied, “The sorceress destroyed Branth with a lightning bolt.”

“Good gods,” he exclaimed.

At that moment, the King Stallion cantered through the water to the island and pranced up to the small group. The Hunnuli herd gathered behind him, their black coats glistening in the rain.

“Athlone,” Gabria whispered. “Help me up.”

Willingly the chieftain gave her a leg up onto Nara’s back and stood aside to watch as the tall, slim woman turned to face the huge stallion.

The black Hunnuli shook his mane. You have done well, Sorceress.

Gabria gestured to the herd. “Thank you for your help. It means more than I can ever say.”

Valorian would be proud. Suddenly he lifted his great nose to her face. His nostrils flared gently. Are your eyes hurt?

“I cannot see,” she said simply.

Athlone felt his heart grow sick.

The lightning’s brightness burned your eyes.

“Will they heal?” Gabria asked with more hope than conviction.

The stallion snorted softly. Perhaps. In time.

She nodded once and changed the subject. “What about Afer? Is there anything we can do?”

At that the King Stallion bowed his head. We Hunnuli can withstand the greatest arcane powers in the universe, but we are as vulnerable to bodily injury as any other horse. Your magic will not affect him, for good or ill, and your healers cannot mend a horse’s broken leg.

Gabria felt her voice choke, and she had to force herself to ask, “Then we must put him out of his misery?”

“No!” Sayyed’s cry echoed through the circle of stones. The tribesman, a rag tied to his bleeding head, was trying to put a temporary splint on the stallion’s broken leg.

Tam quickly went to help her friend as he stepped forward in front of the horse.

“You can’t kill him,” Sayyed said forcefully.

“Sayyed, his leg is broken,” Athlone said, trying not to be harsh. “You know no horse can recover from that.”

“One has! My father’s prize mare. She broke a leg in a race, and my father could not bear to kill her. He suspended her body from a sling until her leg healed enough to bear her weight. It’s not easy, but it can be done. Please,” Sayyed cried, “give him a chance.”

They were silent for a long moment as they thought about the enormity of that task. However, to Gabria and Sayyed, the effort was worth the chance if it would save a Hunnuli.

“We’ll try it,” Gabria said.

Thank you, Sorceress. Then we will gladly leave Afer in your care. The King Stallion lifted his head and neighed a call that rang to the hills and shook the stones of the temple. He lifted his massive body up high to paw the air in a salute of honor to the magic-wielders. The other Hunnuli reared also. Every human watching thrilled to see the majestic Hunnuli at the height of their pride and glory.

As one, the black horses followed the king up out of the river and west toward their home in the mountains. The thunder of their passing faded away into the storm, but the wonder of their presence stayed with the clanspeople for many days to come. Nara, Eurus, and the colt neighed a long farewell.

Gabria’s fingers clenched her pantleg, and tears slipped out of the corners of her closed eyes. She could not see the Hunnuli leave, yet she felt the aching loss of their disappearance.

Abruptly she shook her head to clear her mind. The pain shot through her eyes, and she gasped.

“What is it?” Athlone asked, the worry plain in his words. “Are you truly blind?”

Gabria tried to push the pain aside and smile. “For the moment. It should pass. Can you ride?”

He looked up at her and was not reassured by her off-hand reply. He decided not to push her and merely answered her question. “Yes.”

“Then, come. Tam, Sayyed, you come too. We have to face the clans.”

The others obeyed. Athlone quickly understood what Gabria was trying to accomplish, and he helped Sayyed onto Nara’s back with no further questions. He mounted Eurus, with some difficulty, and waited while Tam scrambled onto the colt. Afer hopped painfully over the short distance to stand between Eurus and Nara.

“Priestess,” Gabria called. “Will you bring the mask?”

The priestess of Amara went to find the death mask of Valorian. At the same time, the eight hostages stopped in front of the magic-wielders. Guthlac saluted his chieftain with respect; Lord Wortan stepped forward and blinked into the rain to look up at Gabria.

“Thank you, Lady,” he said with sincerity. “Is it all right if we go?”

She nodded in his direction.

The eight clanspeople gratefully started out for the river. They walked at first, then their joy and relief broke loose and they ran through the muddy water to the far bank where the crowd of onlookers and their families welcomed them back with open arms.

The priestess of Amara found the golden mask of Valorian lying on the stony ground of the temple, its handsome face still and lifeless. Her hands trembled as she picked up the heavy gold mask. She carried it to where the magic-wielders waited and stopped before Gabria.

“Truly,” she said, her voice ringing with gladness and respect, “you are the blessed of Amara. Go now, Sorceress. The clans are waiting.” The priestess raised the golden mask high above her head and began to sing a hymn of praise to the Mother Goddess. Her song reached out to the watching people on the riverbanks and stirred their hearts with a strange feeling of reassurance.

The watching clanspeople did not understand exactly what had happened on the island. They had seen and heard many strange things, things both wonderful and horrifying. Now it seemed that Branth, or whatever he had been, was gone; there were four magic-wielders instead of one, all apparently alive and well; the entire Hunnuli herd had honored them before all the clans; the hostages were free; and a priestess of the Mother Goddess was offering her oblation of song to praise their deeds.

The clanspeople did not know what to think. This spectacle of good and evil, courage and cruelty, honor and treachery was hardly what they had expected from magic. Magic was supposed to be entirely evil, corrupting, and heretical. Many people had been willing to accept. Gabria as an aberration. Yet here were three other magic-wielders, two men and a child, who had the same decency and courage and the willingness to lay down their lives for their companions and their people. That was not supposed to be the way of magic.

Emotions were mixed as the four riders and the four Hunnuli waded across the river. The group came very slowly, for Nara and Eurus were supporting Afer between them as he hobbled painfully through the water, so the people had ample time to study the strange party. No one knew whether to cheer or throw stones at them.

The crowd silently watched as the horses angled toward the cluster of chieftains gathered at the tip of the council grove. At the edge of the shore in front of the lords and warriors, the Hunnuli stopped. They stood before the wall of men, their fetlocks deep in the swirling brown water and their manes hanging limp with rain.

There was an uncomfortable pause as the chieftains looked up at one of their own peers and at the woman who had captured the lightning. Quiet hung over the camps while the people waited and watched to see their lords’ reactions. Thunder rumbled far to the east, the wind slowed to wayward gusts, and the heavy rain faltered to a drizzle.

Gabria saw nothing of the gathering around her, but she sensed the tension and confusion as surely as if she could see the peoples’ faces. She had hoped to influence the clan chieftains to change the laws against sorcery, but she had never thought to go so far.

She heard the men shift reluctantly, then a voice said, “Welcome to the gathering, Lord Athlone. I did not get a chance see you earlier.” It was Lord Hildor, the chieftain of the Wylfling.

His pleasant words and genuine welcome broke the tense stand-off. The chiefs stood aside to allow room for the four Hunnuli to pass, and every lord came forward to voice his greetings to the magic-wielders. The crowds of people broke apart too, into talking and wondering groups that made no move to go back to their camps.

With a sigh of relief, Lord Sha Umar came to Nara’s side and helped Gabria dismount. Like the others, he wondered at her closed eyes, but he made no comment. He only put her hand on his arm and led her to the council tent. The others followed.

Secen, Valar, and Keth had already arrived and were waiting at the tent. The three warriors saluted the magic-wielders with obvious pleasure and relief. Secen told Gabria that Piers was already at work with his healing stone.

Athlone watched while his hearthguard raised his golden banner beside the other chiefs’ flags above the tent. He had to swallow hard to fight down the strange mix of relief, pride, and nervousness that rose within him.

The battle with the gorthling was won, but the battle for the survival of sorcery would continue. Athlone and Gabria both knew the clanspeople were too stubborn and their beliefs were too ingrained to be wiped out in a short time. They might be grateful for the defeat of the gorthling, but they were not going to forget two hundred years of hatred and suspicion.

At the entrance to the council tent, Lord Sha Umar, the chieftains’ council leader for the year, raised his hand and shouted for attention. “Tomorrow, if Lord Koshyn and Lord Athlone are able to attend, we will begin the council of chieftains. My lords, we have a great deal to discuss this year.”

A loud murmur of assent met his suggestion.

He continued. “If all of you are willing, I would like to call a special meeting in the afternoon to learn more about sorcery. Lady Gabria, the Turic, and the girl, Tam, should be allowed to attend.”

The other chiefs readily agreed, and so it was decided. Gabria felt weak with relief. She curled her arm up around Nara’s throat and pressed her face into the mare’s warm cheek.

She nearly jumped when someone said beside her, “Lady Gabria? Lord Koshyn asked me to find this and give it to you. He thought you would need it.”

She felt a heavy leather bag being pressed into her hand. “He’s awake?” she asked, feeling into the bag.

“Only a short time ago. Healer Piers says he will be . . .” The Dangari warrior’s voice faded away at the expression of disbelief and rueful dismay that settled on the sorceress’s face.

Gabria began to laugh. She did not need her vision to recognize the old, faded smell, the heavy leather binding, or the faint tingle of power that tickled her fingers from the ancient tome. Now, when she could use it the least, the Book of Matrah was in her hands.

The chieftains recognized the book, too, and they stared at her apprehensively. That book had been the cause of strife and death. They wondered what Gabria would do with it.

“Thank you,” the sorceress said gently to the warrior. “Would you please give this to Lord Sha Umar until the chiefs can decide what to do with it?”

Sha Umar met Athlone’s grin with a shrug and a chuckle of relief. He put the book under guard for safekeeping.

Shortly after the Book of Matrah had been passed to Sha Umar, Gabria went to find Piers. She found the healer among the people stricken by the gorthling’s arcane blow. He had just finished using the healing stone on the last victim and was talking to the overjoyed relatives when he saw Gabria. He took one look at her, bustled her off to his newly erected tent, and put her to bed.

For that night, the next day, and the following night Gabria slumbered in a peaceful, recuperative rest that not even the uproar in the camps around her could disturb. When she woke in the afternoon of the second day, her first reaction was fear. The world was still completely dark. Her hands flew to her eyes and grabbed at a cloth bound around her head.

“Easy. It’s all right,” Pier’s calm voice soothed her panic. His hands took hers and gently laid them aside. “I’ve bandaged your eyes for now to let them rest.”

She drew a long breath and slowly relaxed. “Is it possible my eyes will heal?”

“I really don’t know if you will see again,” he told her sadly. “I’ve never had any experience with this kind of blindness.” Piers frowned. He did not like being so unsure about something so important. “I have examined your eyes and I can find no damage. We’ll just have to wait.”

“I hear voices,” someone called outside. “Is she awake?” Sayyed sauntered in, bringing in the smells of sun, wind, and horses. He smiled at Piers, then strode over to Gabria’s pallet. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to sleep through the whole gathering,” he said, sitting beside her.

“Before you two talk all day, I have something for Gabria to drink.” Piers handed her a cup. “Nara said it is for strength and healing.”

The sorceress sat up and raised the cup to her lips. She smiled. The cup was full of the Hunnuli mare’s rich, warm milk. Gabria drank every drop and felt her energy flooding back. “What has been happening?”

With pleasure Sayyed and Piers told her everything that had occurred the past two and a half days. Sayyed immediately began with Afer, and with delight in his voice said, “No one expected my idea to work.” He laughed. “They kept saying no horse would tolerate being slung by his belly for days on end. They didn’t take into account the intelligence of a Hunnuli. We have him supported in a special framework under the cottonwood trees. His leg is splinted, and Tam is spoiling him with treats and handpicked grass. He seems to be doing very well. Even your herdmasters are shaking their heads and saying the sling just might work.”

Gabria was delighted to hear that news. The men went on, telling her that Lord Koshyn and the clanspeople Piers had treated with the healing stone were doing well. The chieftains’ council had met as planned, and Lord Athlone had explained the details of the gorthling’s vicious nature to them all.

“I don’t think they fully comprehended what we were fighting until Lord Athlone told them about the massacre of the Bahedin,” Sayyed told her. “When they came out of the council tent yesterday, every man among them was as white as the moon.” He slapped his knee. “I wish you could have been in the camps last night. The tales of Branth, the gorthling, and our journey to Pra Desh spread from one end of the gathering to the other.”

Piers chuckled. “Hardly anyone but you slept last night. They were too busy talking.”

“And gawking. The Priestess of Amara and Athlone put the mask of Valorian on display. Every man, woman, and child stood in line to see it.” Sayyed shook his head. “No one quite knows what to make of all this—a gorthling, arcane battles, Valorian’s mask, the Hunnuli herd—your people have enough to keep them thinking for years.”

Gabria smiled. “I hope so. What about the council, have they had their meeting on sorcery?”

Piers answered, “Not yet. They’re waiting for you.”

“Athlone is at the council tent now, trying to convince Lord Caurus that sorcery is not going to destroy the clans,” Sayyed said.”

“He’ll have a tough fight with that man.” The mention of Athlone sobered Gabria. She had something important to tell Sayyed, but she was not certain where to start. The young Turic was so dear to her soul, it was very difficult to tell him what her heart had been trying to tell her all along. She loved Sayyed as a brother and a friend, as someone who filled the aching void left by her twin’s death. She wondered sadly how he would react when she told him the truth. Would he stay or would he leave in a cloud of hurt feelings?

But Sayyed surprised her. The Turic took her hand. “It is good to have you alive and well, Gabria,” he said. “When you left us to find the gorthling alone, we feared the worst. Lord Athlone was like a stallion heading for battle. He would have left by himself if Piers hadn’t talked him into taking me. I’ve never seen a man so wild.” He nodded his head. “If you don’t take that man for your husband, he will go berserk one of these days.”

Gabria inhaled sharply. “You understand?”

Sayyed gently rubbed her palm with his fingers. “I’ve known for many days. I just didn’t want to see the truth because I wanted you so much, but his feelings and yours are undeniable. You are destined to be together.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. She touched her bandages with her hand, wishing she could see his face. Despite his words, she would hear the sadness and disappointment in his voice.

“I hope this doesn’t mean you won’t teach me more sorcery,” he said.

Her fingers tightened around his. “You’ll stay?”

“Gabria,” Sayyed said earnestly, “my love for you is undying. I must simply change it so it does not burn so hot. I came to learn sorcery, and if you will still have me by your side, I want to stay.”

“So do I.” Athlone said from the tent’s entrance. The Khulinin chieftain strode in and joined Gabria and Sayyed. Piers quietly withdrew, leaving the three magic-wielders in the privacy of the tent.

Lord Athlone sat down beside Gabria. He was nervous about her reaction to what he was going to say, and it took him a moment to find the words. “Sayyed and I have talked a great deal the past few days,” the chief said slowly. “We have settled a few of our differences, and I have come to understand many things about sorcery and myself. You asked me once if I was willing to live with magic and all of its difficulties. Now I can tell you with all my heart, yes, but only if you are with me. Would you consider renewing our vow of betrothal?”

Gabria sat still, her thoughts swept away by her emotions. “If my eyes do not heal, can you live with my blindness, too?”

“I love you for who you are,” he answered simply.

There was a breathless pause, then she raised her hand palm up and said, “I give you my pledge from this moment.”

His fingers interlaced with hers, and the vow was made.

Athlone shot a glance at Sayyed. The tribesman nodded once in satisfaction, and the chieftain held out his other hand to the Turic. Sayyed grasped it firmly. He knew then that he had lost a woman, but he had found two new friends. Perhaps, he thought, that was a good exchange on the wheel of life.

The next morning Gabria slowly dressed to attend the council meeting. As she sat waiting for Athlone, Piers unwrapped the bandages around her eyes to replace the cloths with clean ones.

To his astonishment, her hand suddenly grasped his arm in an iron grip. The sorceress was squinting at the entrance where sunlight was leaking through the untied tent flap. “I can see the light,” she gasped.

Piers was delighted. He quickly checked her eyes and, against her protest, wrapped them again in the cloths. “Your eyes need rest!” he insisted. “Tonight I’ll let you try them, after the sunlight is gone.”

When Athlone, Sayyed, and Tam came to get her, they found Gabria in a state of euphoria. Her smile was brilliant, and her joy radiated from every line of her face. The four magic-wielders took her healing as a good omen, and they went to the council of the chieftains with hopeful hearts.

Gabria would never forget that council meeting. After listening to her speech in defense of magic, the chiefs debated for hours over the fate of sorcery and the fate of Gabria and her friends. Athlone, Sayyed, and Tam sat around her through the long, often angry speeches and did not move once to defend themselves. The final decision was up to the chieftains now, and no one could say with certainty what their choice would be.

At last, late in the afternoon, Koshyn and Sha Umar won a major victory. Lord Caurus rose from his seat and said grudgingly, “I see I must cast my lot with the rest of you. I agree to remove the death penalty for the use of sorcery. However, I demand that strict limits be set on the use of magic and on the actions of the magic-wielders. The use of sorcery must be contained to those we deem responsible enough to use it!”

Lord Sha Umar raised his hand. “It is done. I suggest that we extend the gathering a few more days and use that time to establish the new laws for sorcery. This is too important to put off for another year.” The chieftains and the magic-wielders agreed. When Sha Umar gave Gabria the Book of Matrah, she and Athlone found the dangerous spells of summoning gorthlings, tore them from the book, and burned them.

“There are some things,” she said, repeating Valorian’s words, “best left alone by man.”

News of the council’s decision spread through the camps even before the meeting was over. Emotions were widely mixed throughout the clans, but no one was greatly surprised. The clanspeople were beginning to understand that magic was part of their heritage, a part they could no longer deny.

Three days later, on a gloriously clear, warm summer evening, Lord Athlone of Clan Khulinin married Lady Gabria of Clan Corin in a ceremony witnessed by all eleven clans. The Khulinin Priestess of Amara, clad in flowing green robes, performed the rites of marriage and blessed the couple with prayers of harmony and fertility.

Gabria wore the red dress Khan’di had given her and a golden veil from Athlone’s mother—the red to represent the clan she was leaving and the gold to symbolize the clan she was finally officially joining. Lord Athlone was resplendent in his finest clothes and his golden torque. Piers and Tam were there to represent Gabria’s family, and Sayyed stood as Athlone’s witness.

When the ceremony was over, Athlone removed Gabria’s veil and tied it around his waist like a sash. He took his new bride into his arms and sealed their happiness with a long and very thorough kiss.

The three Hunnuli beside them lifted their heads to the evening star and whinnied their joy over the vast Ramtharin Plains.