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I was fairly tossed aboard another, Aeredh applying more force than strictly necessary—not to harm me, I think, but because Elder have a strength we do not. My fingers sank in deep mane-fur; I made a short, unwilling sound as if hurt, then shook my head at his bright blue inquiring look. The Elder mounted, all avoiding the largest male, and those of Naras disappeared between the firs. Though the two-skinned were out of view the deer did not relax, and a faint shiver went through the one I perched upon, my legs already aching.
And yet… awinter-deer, taller than a bullock and probably heavier too. And I wasatopit, the creature not only willing but seeming to enjoy the sensation as I brushed tentatively at her ruff. Wiry, oily hair slightly speckled with snow yielded to my trembling, gloved fingers; the creature was full of hazy shimmering vitality to my inward sight. I could not stop smiling, and when I glanced to my right, Arneior wore a wide baffled grin.
Can you believe it?her gaze asked, and even though I amvolva, I could hardly credit this wonder either.
Aeredh mounted last, springing lightly atop a long-legged deer whose antlers spread wide enough to scoop up and toss a hardy youth. The Elder made a chirruping, clicking sound and the small herd turned as one, like raindrops running down a pane of scraped horn during a hard summer shower. They set off, tentatively at first, and sometimes halted to strip a young tree or two of its bark, or pawed through the snow to graze. But they moved steadily otherwise, and I had no time to think of how the men of Naras would keep up.
For when the trees thinned, the deer lifted their heads, scenting change in the weather, and began to jog into curtains of steadily thickening, feathery-wet snow.
A Watchful Ride
A friend to all creatures save the Enemy’s faithless,
We speak to the trees, and sing to the stars.
For we woke first in the gloaming, the dark before the Journey,
And found we could quicken even the stones.
—The First Folk, Anonymous
We rode far that day, though all landmarks were lost as the storm settled over us. Snow fell in whirling veils, and the beasts moved with surprising speed, the knee-clicking of their passage lost in the soft deadening of thick wet flakes. My mount stayed close to Arn’s, the two browsing in tandem and jogging as a pair; though it was beautiful, the jolting and jarring of their ungainly canter threatened to shake me to bits. I clung to the broad back with more luck than skill or strength, and even now am certain the deer did not shake me from her shoulders only because she was charmed into taking great care with her frail burden by the presence of more than one Elder.
Arn’s face shone with fierce glee and she looked very much like a Wingéd One herself, her spear rising and falling as her mount’s back rocked. Snow gathered upon her shoulders and weighed down her dun mantle-hood, and once she laughed aloud, holding back a shieldmaid’s piercing victory cry only by sheer force of will.
The Elder rode gracefully, of course, and shadows appeared through the shifting white veils. The deer did not like them, butthe dark shapes did not press too closely. They loped along, and I caught glimpses of black fur, lambent eyes, and strange shapes not quadruped or biped but sometimes one, then the other. They blurred between forms, never staying in one or the other too long, and the wolves of Naras ran in a loose ring around the herd—neither guiding as a dog will direct sheep nor harrying as their wild cousins will hunt, but simply keeping pace, guarding their friends.
I could not see much else, for Arn and I were ever in the center of the streaming flock. Aeredh’s mount and the largest male set our pace and direction, following a deep inner urging I could almost-hear, a tingle ofseidhrspilling through me each time an Elder loomed out of the white curtains on my left and glanced to make certain I was not in danger of falling or foundering.
They watched over us well, those who followed the Crownless from broken Nithraen. Their names are known to song and saga, but on that day they were simply travel companions, and though they may have thought little of two Secondborn women, they took every possible care for those more fragile than themselves.
I was too amazed to feel any fear or even much of the cold. In any case it was only snowing, not the soul-destroying, life-snuffing freeze. Mehem and his sons had scented the storm which would grant us cover; the Elder turned deliberately into it, and we rode through forest growing sparser and thickening in waves as the snow pursued its own thousandfold paths from the sky.
All things in our world must end, and so did that wonder. The antlered deer slowed, drawing near a ridge dark with thick woods shaking loads of fresh white from their branches as the wind teased and taunted. Behind us, a wide rolling plain vanished under whirling ice-feathers, and as we moved into the trees, the deer halted at odd moments, always just avoiding a heavy wet fall from overloaded branches.
The winged, hoofed, furred, and feathered have their ownseidhr.
It took a few moments to realize the ride was at an end, and I half-fell from the beast’s shaggy back with a faint groan of thanksgiving. Arn sprang down light as a leaf, not needing any aid, but I landed in Aeredh’s arms with only a faint stab of embarrassment at my own gracelessness, immediately drowned by relief.
He rested upon the snow as lightly as ever, but my feet sank for a few fingerwidths before he righted me, and though I longed to untangle theseidhrI could not tell just how they walked so lightly. “Forgive me,” he murmured in the Old Tongue, then repeated it in the southron. “We will reach shelter soon.”
I could hardly wait. The light was failing rapidly, and I could not even tell how long we had been riding. Shadows took shape at the edge of the herd, the wolves of Naras threading between uneasy deer; before the beasts moved away the Elder touched those they could,seidhrwhispering through their fingers to strengthen and preserve.
It was only right to thank them for such signal aid, and I leaned away from Aeredh, my gloved fingertips almost brushing my erstwhile mount’s side. “Fryja preserve thee,” I whispered, letting whatseidhrI could reach spark free. “And my thanks, hooved cousin. May you be blessed.”
Arn appeared as the deer moved away, leaning upon Daerith’s arm. Both shieldmaid and harpist bore a carapace of wet snow, but Arn’s smile was incandescent with joy. “They will not believe this at home,” she said, the words whisked away upon a cold breeze, falling like spent leaves amid the deadening snow. “I will have to sing it so they cannot doubt.”
“I look forward to hearing you practice.” My heart hurt as I said it, a sharp dart striking home as knowledge arrives unbidden to avolvawhen hunger or sleeplessness has cleared its path.
It was that moment I knew fully, without doubt or argument, I would never see Dun Rithell or my mother again. Nor Astrid, nor Bjorn, nor my father or Albeig or Ulrica or Hopfoot or any of the others I had spent my life among. The loneliness was colder than the freeze holding us immured in Redhill for days on end.
It should not have surprised me. Perhaps my face would have spoken, but ’twas shadowed by my mantle’s great furred hood as Aeredh pulled me close again, his arm over my shoulders. Perhaps he mistook my flinch for uneasiness at the movement, for he stilled in the way of the Elder, the motionlessness of a breathless summer day when the heat hangs haze-heavy in any distance.
I could not explain, and in any case it did not matter. Let myshieldmaid think that we might after all return to Dun Rithell’s familiar safety; it would do no harm and might even comfort her.
But I was not consoled, and in that moment—even amid the Elder and the Northerners pressing close to shield us from showering snow—I was lonely as if I traveled with no companion save my own thoughts.
Seidhrmeans solitude even amid a crowd. So does all knowledge, eventually.
