At first, it was chores around the house.
Emptying water buckets into the large jugs that everyone used. Breaking twigs and branches into kindling, stacking cordwood, organizing the kitchen, cooking and preparing her meals.
As she worked, he questioned her on the various parts of her dream, digging for every minute detail.
She tried asking him about what it all meant, but he shook his head. “I’m no shaman, I don’t know what it means. I just want to know what it was, and to try to figure out what it means on my own. It’s a lovely puzzle you’ve given me, Sheilah.”
She had no idea what a shaman was.
She moved to doing laundry and hewing wood. It surprised her how quickly she regained her original strength, and soon she was hauling water, running to fetch things, working in the gardens, at the forge, at whatever the tribe needed.
“This’ll be your last chore for the evening.” Davian announced to her after a particularly vigorous day spent fetching things for the leather workers who were finishing up the armor she was to wear to the Wastes.
He handed her her bow and quiver.
She secured the quiver on her waist and adjusted it until it sat comfortable on her hip, and then tested the draw on her bow. It was stronger than she expected, but it wasn’t impossible to use.
Once she’d gone through her checks, he handed her his sword, which was as long as his arm. She eyed it, and then him. He was never without it, even while he slept.
“The pass between our lands and the lands of Stormheim have been invaded. Kellia says at least three men wearing leather are in the lands of the Clans.”
A cold splash of adrenaline froze her in place.
“Stormheim?”
He nodded, and then wiggled his hand. “They come from the lands of Stormheim, but they’re not dressed like soldiers. Spies, mercenaries, bandits; something like that. The men of Stormheim that we deal with dress in metal armor.”
“Wait. You just said something important: We deal with Stormheim?”
“A different conversation for another time. Intruders, Sheilah. Unwelcome ones. Kill them. Hunt them down, all of them, and kill them.”
“Just me?” She asked.
“You think you can go anywhere without Fialla following you wherever you go?” He asked curiously. “But this is your responsibility. You are from my house, my tribe, my clan. You know what that means. Now run.”
He shoved her out of the tent, a dozen unanswered questions on her lips.
As he’d expected, Fialla was there as well, in her own set of dragonhide leather.
“I wish I had a bow like yours.” Fialla said by way of greeting, holding up her own, which was a finely made bow in its own right, even if it was an ordinary bow that hadn’t been crafted from the bones and sinew of dragonlings.
They started off at a trot.
“I heard it was at least three men.” Sheilah explained. “How are we to tell the difference between them and those from the Redstone?” She asked.
“I think their armor will be different from ours.” Fialla explained, slapping the chest of her dragonhide armor.
Certainly, that was true enough. No whelplings or dragonlings made it past the clans.
“Will you show me how to make my own bow before we head into the wastes, Sheilah?” Fialla asked.
“I heard you were going to be taking your family’s spear.” Sheilah rebutted, and Fialla nodded.
“I will be taking my grandfather’s spear with me, that’s true. But I would like to learn how to make a bow like yours for myself.”
Ever the shadow.
It was late evening when they arrived at what used to be the passes leading to the forests beyond the cliffs of the Redstone.
In the time of Rawls, the father of Davian, Stormheim had carved the passes into a paved road, wide and easy to travel. Rawls was never mentioned, or spoken of by name. He was a traitor to the Clans of the Redstone, a toady to Stormheim and their Church of the Light. When spoken, Sheilah’s family was her father Davian, her great-grandfather Lonato, and her great-great grandfather Adlan.
Rawls was caught in the in-between: Not enough faith in the Church of the Light to be accepted by their god, and not enough commitment to the Totems of the Redstone Valley to be claimed by them. He wandered the abandoned town, a forlorn spirit, unable to pass on.
Sheilah and Fialla crept to the road, eyes probing the steadily lengthening shadows for a hint of the intruders.
“Tracks in the dirt there, Sheilah.” Fialla pointed.
Sheilah nocked an arrow, and nudged Fialla. “I’ve got you covered. Get down there and get me a count.”
Fialla didn’t hesitate, she slipped through the boulders and approached the road, and began casting back and forth as Sheilah scrutinized the boulders and cliffs and niches where someone might take a potshot at Fialla or herself.
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Fialla returned. “At least five. There’s a horse and cart.” she offered.
“How old?”
Fialla thought for a few minutes. “I think they’re several hours old.”
Sheilah nodded. “We’re on the hunt. Let’s go.”
They paced the tracks stealthily, carefully for several miles, and stopped as soon as they arrived in the lands owned by the Mountain Cat Clan territory.
“Should we leave it to the clan of the Mountain Cat?”
Sheilah shook her head. “We’ve got their scent, and it’s our responsibility, anyway.”
Fialla nodded uncertainly.
“What?” Sheilah asked.
“You think it will be fine for the two of us to take on five of them?” She asked worriedly.
Sheilah paused. She could send Fialla for help, but it would be dusk at least before help falled.
“Let’s see if we can find them, at least.”
Fialla nodded.
The intruders, whoever they were, stuck to the road, which meant that they would cut briefly through Mountain Cat territory, and then nearly double back as they approached the remains of the former Stormheim town.
As Sheilah and Fialla chased their backtrail, it was apparent that the intruders made no attempt to hide their presence. They made for the town as quickly as they could, and Fialla judged that the intruders likely meant to make the town their destination.
As Sheilah and Fialla followed, Sheilah herself came across another set of tracks.
She frowned irritably. She knew those tracks as well as she knew the scars on her hands- Sellia was tailing the men as well.
It suddenly made sense to Sheilah: Sheilah, Sellia and Kellia- all of them were hunting the intruders in the name of Davian, the leader of the Dragon clan. With Fialla, that changed the odds to a much more manageable four to five.
She was much more confident of their success now.
The town was carved into two layers, with one layer higher than the other, both of them facing the one lake in the entirety of the Redstone.
The intruders drove their cart directly into the stable, there was smoke chuffing easily from the chimney of the inn.
“This is too simple.” Sheilah muttered. “Did they think they could do this and get away with it?”
“We don’t go here.” Kellia piped up matter-of-factly from Sheilah’s side.
“So do we go in there and kill them that way? Set the building on fire?” Sheilah asked.
“Set the building on fire.” Sellia piped up. “Your bows won’t be too good in there.”
Sheilah took her father’s sword and drew it, feeling the weight of it, the grip against her hand.
Like all of her family’s weapons, they now felt alien and strange to her, as if an invisible line had been drawn between herself and the rest of Davian’s family. She was alone, she was an outsider. These weapons did not belong to her by right of blood.
She circled the building and discovered a door that was nearly flush with the ground. After several minutes spent in thought, it seemed as though perhaps the door opened into a lower level of the inn. She couldn’t figure out why such a thing was needed, however.
She tugged on the doorhandle, but it came away from the door with ease, the corroded and rusted metal clinking in her hand.
She investigated the door with her hands, as light was failing.
The door was thick, but the wood was spongy and rotted. It would be easy to break.
She placed the point of Davian’s sword against the wood, and leaned on it. The dragontooth blade slid through the wood like butter, surprising her into nearly overbalancing and landing directly on it.
She pulled down and watched a long chunk of the wood split away, yanked the blade out, and tossed the chunk into the weeds. She dropped into the cellar, with Fialla, Sellia and Kellia right behind her.
Once in the cellar, she nocked an arrow and tried to listen to the people one floor up.
They babbled incomprehensibly back and forth while Fialla paced back and forth under them, following the conversation.
There was always a sense that Sheilah was nearly able to understand them, that they were speaking the same language, but their accent, cadence, and nuance was so different from her own that it was impossible to figure out.
“Any idea what they’re saying?” Sheilah asked, and the other three gave her wide-eyed looks.
“You don’t... know?” Fialla asked, confused.
“Should I? I can’t understand a word they’re saying.” She replied.
The three of them traded wide eyed looks.
“They’re looking for something called ‘gold’.” Fialla offered helpfully. “Apparently it was popular in this town.”
Sheilah adopted a baffled look. What was that?
“One of them is ... coming this way.” Fialla broke the silence, and then pointed to a stairwell vaguely illuminated in the darkness.
There was a crunch of breaking wood, and a chorus of raucous laughter, and suddenly the stairwell was lit from behind.
Sheilah dropped Davian’s sword and quickly nocked an arrow. In her periphery she saw Fiala do the same.
A large boot appeared on the stairs, whoever it was wasn’t taking any chances with the rotted wood.
He carefully took a few steps down into the cellar, and then Fialla loosed, catching the man just above the knee. He collapsed with a scream, and as the rest of his body fell into view, Sheilah fired, her massive bow driving an arrow through his face and out the back of his skull as the stairway groaned and collapsed with a crash.
There was a rattle of boots on the floor above them, headed towards the stairwell, followed by a tentative step down that was quickly withdrawn.
There was a bit of chatter; again Sheilah felt like she was almost able to understand it, or was just on the cusp of understanding it, but it sounded like gibberish.
There was a rattle of boots tattooing on the floor upstairs that faded away.
“They’re either leaving or... they’re coming around this way to get to their friend.” Sheilah decided, turning to face the cellar door that she’d came through. She picked up her father’s sword and sheathed it, then tucked a handful of arrows in her fist.
It was easier to nock, draw, and release quickly when you had several arrows in your hand.
There was an exclamation over the cellar door, and then a torch dropped into the cellar, revealing a series of stone steps just below the entrance that Sheilah had dropped through. She drew her bow, the fletchings tickling her cheek, and took two steps into the shadows as a man dropped through the hole.
He bent and picked up the torch, and waved it around, then turned and yelled up at his comrades.
They broke away the cellar door and clambered down the stone steps.
As soon as Sheilah was certain they were all in, She loosed.