It was a soft rebuke, but one that stung anyway. Glad she could blame her reddened face on the cold, she tried to memorize his features, the smell of him—pipe smoke, horses, and leather—and the rough texture of his hands.
He mounted Konj. “Send any straggling warriors that come from the outlying homes after us.”
Most of the Shyle moved into town for the winter. Only the poor risked the isolation of a harsh winter alone.
His eyes searching, Bratton absently nodded his goodbye and took off. Ilyenna could only guess he was going to say goodbye to Lanna. If their budding romance continued, Ilyenna suspected they’d be married by summer.
Her father sent the scouts out and motioned for the bulk of the men to follow him. The boys brought up the rear, bringing the packhorses and acting as errand boys and healers.
Nearly four hundred of them and not one looked back.
In utter silence, Ilyenna and the women watched the Balance leave the village with the men. Men and women were on opposing sides of the Balance. When they came together, they connected both ends of the Balance in a perfect circle. The Link. Now, every male out of boyhood and beneath old age had left.
The Balance would be off. Bad things happened when the Balance was off.
Ilyenna shook her head. She needed to keep the clan busy, keep their fears buried under a heavy load of work and exhaustion. “You’ve poultices to make, food to prepare, carding and spinning to do.” None of the women seemed to hear her as they stared after their men. “Move to it!” she shouted.
That brought a satisfying round of jumps and purposeful strides. As Otrok passed her, Ilyenna caught his arm. “Round up two other boys. Use some of the horses we have left. Take turns watching the road at the mouth of the canyon. If you even think you see a Tyran, ride here and don’t stop for anything.”
She hated to ask sentinel duty of one so young that even the men had left him behind. But Otrok’s small size would give him many advantages. If he had to run for it, his horse wouldn’t tire so quickly, and even the clumsiest Shyle boy was quieter than a deer and left fewer tracks. Besides, he was the closest thing to a warrior she had left.
Otrok’s big eyes opened wider. He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue and squeaked, “Yes, Clan Mistress.”
It was a risk she had to take, for until the men returned, the safety of the Shyle rested in her hands.
2. The Balance
Wearing only her full-length linen underdress, Ilyenna broke the thin layer of ice in her washbasin and used a cloth to bathe her face and body before taking the salt to her teeth. She shivered violently and cursed the bitter cold. Winter had strayed far too long into the warming months. The summer fairies were losing the battle to regain their footholds in the clan lands—another indication the Balance was off.
Ilyenna quickly pulled on her felt overdress—a long garment that resembled a blanket with an opening for her head. She buckled her clan belt over the dress to keep it in place. As she pulled on her socks and heavy felt and leather boots, she was careful not to look at her feet. They were long and thin. Pretty, really, except the tips of some of her toes—two on each foot. There, only stumps remained. They ached terribly sometimes, a constant reminder of what she’d done.
When she finished dressing, Ilyenna braided her thick hair and tied it off with a leather cord. It had been three days since the men left. Three days without a word. Already knowing what she’d see—tired brown eyes and fair skin even paler than normal—she avoided looking in the mirror altogether.
Moving down the hall, she passed numerous doors. Most led to unoccupied rooms. Once, they’d been filled to the brim with the clan chief’s family. But that was before Ilyenna’s time. Before the war that killed her grandfather and all his brothers, leaving their valley vulnerable to the raiders who had killed or enslaved a third of the women and children—including her grandmother and three of her aunts—leaving only her father and great-aunt Enrid behind.
Hearing of the attack, the clans had responded with hundreds of men who eventually managed to fight off the invaders. In their rush to leave, the Raiders had left something—or rather someone—behind. Ilyenna’s mother.
Now the attic rooms only held Otrok, Bratton, Enrid, Ilyenna’s father, and Ilyenna. If what the dying man said was true, she suspected they’d soon be overflowing with Argon refugees. She descended the ladder into the great hall. After crossing the cavernous space, she pushed open the kitchen door on the other side.
The scent of bitter herbs hit her in a hot, steamy wave. Qatcha—garlic, oregano, onions, and salt simmered with chicken organs. It was her mother’s recipe for staving off fevers. “The ranker the smell, the better the cure,” she’d always said whenever Ilyenna and Bratton complained about the stench. But in the end, even the qatcha hadn’t been enough to save Ilyenna’s mother.
Great-aunt Enrid glanced up from the hearth, still stirring the qatcha. “Bad night?”
Ilyenna rubbed her eyes. “I’ll sleep better when the men return.”
Enrid grunted and handed Ilyenna the silver spoon, which was only used for making qatcha. “Have I got enough garlic?”
Ilyenna licked the spoon and made a face. “A little more.”
“Much more and the men won’t drink it even if they’re holding death’s hand,” Enrid grumbled.
Enrid was one of the few women Ilyenna didn’t have to be the clan mistress around. “We’ll hold out on the whiskey until they finish their dose,” Ilyenna said. “That ought to bring them around to drinking as much as we want.”
She pulled her coat from its peg by the door, swung it on, and stuck her knife in the coat’s sheath. The women of her clan never went anywhere without the knives they used for cooking, eating, and if needed, defense. She couldn’t help but glance down the road leading to the canyon. She didn’t see the men returning, but what she did see made her groan.
“What is it?” Enrid asked.
“Trouble,” was all Ilyenna had time to mutter before Larina Bend marched into the kitchen.
“Ah, Ilyenna, good. I need to speak with you.”
Ilyenna bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping at Larina. “Oh?”
“Yes. The other women keep insisting my family take in one of the—” she waved toward the canyon that separated the Shyle from the Argons “—families when they arrive. But as I’m sure you understand, we simply do not have the room or the food.”
Ilyenna bit down harder on the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. “Larina, you’ve the biggest house in the village, next to the clan house. If you want more room, go to your empty summer home and have all you want. If not, accept a family with all the grace your mother is so renowned for.”
Enrid snorted, but covered it well with a cough.
Larina shot a suspicious glance at Enrid. “Of course we are generous, but my poor mother—”
Ilyenna planted both hands on Larina’s back and guided her toward the door. “Your poor mother is too kind. Tell her to send you to me the moment she thinks she can fit another family. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve animals to feed.”
Larina opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Ilyenna caught sight of three horses galloping through the village toward the clan house. She pushed past Larina and hurried out the door. When she recognized Otrok as one of the riders, she broke into a run.
His face was drawn, his cheeks chapped with cold, but thankfully he didn’t appear injured. The moment he saw Ilyenna, he shouted, “Big group of people coming.”
“Who are they?” she asked as he and the other two boys reined in beside her. Their horses were blowing hard and shaking with fatigue. Even in the freezing weather, the animals were coated with sweat.
“Clanmen . . . bunch of Argons, most . . . women and kids.” Otrok spoke so fast his words blurred together.
Ilyenna felt some of the tension ease from her chest. At least they weren’t about to be attacked. “Father and Bratton?” she interrupted. “Are they all right?”
“Dunno, mistress. Didn’t see them,” one of the other boys responded.
Then, as if ashamed he couldn’t tell her more, Otrok stared at his horse’s mane. “You said to come back as soon as we saw them. I didn’t take time to ask questions.”
“Did you see Rone, Clan Chief Seneth, or Clan Mistress Narium?” Ilyenna held her breath.
The boys exchanged glances before finally shaking their heads. Ilyenna’s hopes crashed to her feet.
Otrok’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m sorry, mistress, I—”
She placed her hand on his leg and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You did well, Otrok. All of you did well. You and the other boys cool down these horses before they freeze and then get yourselves warmed up and fed.” She started toward the bell.
The other two boys moved away, but Otrok dropped from his horse to follow Ilyenna, still talking so fast she only caught snatches of what he said. Something about sending horses and food. But she already knew all that.
“Otrok, what kind of shape are the Argons in?”
He sighed. “Some seemed pretty bad. Others looked a’right.”
At least he knew that much. Ilyenna caught Yessa Tuck by the arm as the girl darted past. “I’ve nine horses left in the barn. Find some girls to help you hitch them to any sleighs you can find. If there are any spare horses left in town, tie them to the sleigh bed.”