4. The Mother

To be Veyta is more than pretty eyes

This is an installment in a serialized novel. To start at the beginning, go here.

Two riders had paused in the central avenue of the settlement. A crowd was beginning to gather around them. As they drew closer, Rahn saw that one of the riders was Hashar. He looked tired, his thick beard unkempt. The horses looked weary–they had been pushed too hard.

“We must speak to the Mother,” Hashar was saying. “Where is she?”

The crowd murmured. Someone sent a child running to one of the nearby tents. A few moments later, the door opened and an old woman emerged, the hood of her cloak over her head.

She did look old, thought Rahn. She had always been old, in Rahn’s memory–old but unchanging, old and strong. Now the hands holding the cloak about her looked thin, almost skeletal. How had Rahn not noticed before?

The Mother reached the crowd, which parted to let her pass. Hashar and his companion dismounted. Rahn and Azayan pushed closer to hear.

The Mother slowly lowered her hood. Her hair was fully gray now, tied back in a long braid. “There is trouble on the plains.” She looked out, westward. “What is your news, Hashar?”

“Raiders,” Hashar stroked his beard. “We got word of them some time ago, that they were attacking villages out west. But they’ve started to make trouble closer to the range. The morning I left, we could see smoke rising from the direction of Ileppa.”

The crowd, which had been listening intently, broke into anxious chatter. “Who are they?” an old man asked above the din. “One of the western tribes?”

“They are not Veyta.” The crowd quieted to listen. “Not Enedram either. The reports are strange–there are rumors that they came from across the Techeb Sea. That they come at night, without warning. That their eyes are dark, but they fight well.”

A young woman laughed. “How well can they fight against the Sighted?”

The Mother raised her hands and the crowd quieted again. “No animal hunts the eagle. But if the nest is undefended, even a squirrel may eat the eggs.” She spoke quietly, but her voice carried clearly through the crowd. “Our people at the Winter Home are vulnerable. There are too few warriors there now for a proper defense. We will make an early descent.” 

The crowd erupted again into comment. Rahn looked up in surprise as Azayan stepped forward, still carrying her child. All eyes turned to her as she began to speak.

“Mesheh, you have seen the path. But is there another? These raiders have overtaken several villages on the plains. We could send word for our people to gather what they can and join us here. We will be safe from attack in the mountains, and we can pass the autumn here if we begin the preparations now.”

It was silent as the two women faced each other. The Mother slowly stepped toward Azayan. She reached out an old hand and grasped Azayan by the chin, pulling her face downward to look her in the eyes. “Your eyes, child, are very bright.” She lowered her hand. “But to be Veyta is more than pretty eyes.” She turned from Azayan, speaking to the crowd. “Veyta,” she said, “are warriors. Have we forgotten this, in our days of tending goats and hunting squirrels?” Her voice was louder now. “Veyta do not run and hide like rabbits who smell danger. Veyta fight. Do you remember? We are Veyta, we will not abandon our home to brown-eyed foreigners. We will make the Descent. Sound the horn–bring in the herds. We will make the preparations tonight. Tomorrow at first light, we will descend.”

Soon the sound of a horn echoed through the valley.