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Authors: Carol Berg
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fire in my eyes.
Talar and Caddoc were a different story. On the last day of Ezzarian independence, the third day of the Derzhi war of conquest, it was the Wardens and Searchers and Comforters, those of us with fighting skills or experience of the world, who led the Ezzarian resistance. We had known it was futile. Our strategy was to hold long enough that the Queen and the strongest of the valyddar could get out of Ezzaria, along with all of the precious books and manuscripts, and the weapons we used to fight the demons. Then we would try to save the rest. We succeeded in saving the Queen and the books and a few mentors, but in everything else we failed. Only a few managed to follow the Queen and rebuild their lives in the mountains north of Capharna. Some, like me, were enslaved. I saw so many dead, it was hard to imagine there was anyone left. But hundreds of Ezzarians had retreated into the forest as the ring of Derzhi occupation closed around them.
They had been left with nothing. Our centuries of secrecy and isolation meant that we had no allies to give us refuge. The Derzhi occupied the lands nearest the northern borders, and sent hunting and logging parties deep into the trees. The Ezzarians dared not be seen, so they had to live on what they could hunt or collect. They had no books, none of our magical weapons, and few mentors to train others. They lived without hope of resuming the tasks that we had believed our sacred duties, for no Wardens had survived in their midst, and they had no idea whether the Queen or anyone else had made it away safely. They began to fight among themselves and disregard our customs that seemed impossible to follow in the face of such disaster.
But Talar, an Aife of modest gifts, had taken matters in hand. She refused to allow hardship or despair as an excuse for failed discipline, railing at the others that such weakness would give the demons a foothold among them. She told the tales of Verdonne and her long struggle to protect the peoples of the earth from the jealous raging of her immortal husband, and said that if a mortal woman could hold strong against the assaults of a god, could not embattled Ezzarians do the same? Though near starvation, she refused to drink anything but rainwater or to eat any food that had not been grown, caught, or cleaned in the ways laid down by our ancestors. She led rites of purification and found a few young women with skills enough to attempt Weaver’s enchantments to protect their camps. She had the tenyddar teach everyone, even the valyddar, their business of hunting and gleaning, and chastised those who used their melydda for commonplace tasks to make life easier rather than saving their power for the demon war. Her resolve humbled others into following her lead and drew the tattered refugees together again. They came out of exile with immense pride that they had been faithful to the laws and customs they believed given us by the gods.
Those of us who survived other horrors and other kinds of exile rejoiced in their strength and admired their determination. But when Talar and her followers discovered how I had been welcomed back from certain corruption, they were infuriated. And when I said that I had come to new ways of thinking about impurity and corruption . . . that perhaps it had less to do with what water you drank than with the character of your soul . . . I did not make friends of them.
I knew I would be called before the Council to answer Fiona’s charges of treason, but with Kenehyr and Catrin solidly behind me, and Maire almost the same, I had no concerns. The Mentors Council could only assert an adverse ruling with a vote of four of the five. More than worrying about politics, I needed to talk to Catrin of what I had seen, a demon outside the boundaries of our experience.
By moonrise, I had regained my composure and made my way to my mentor’s home to tell her of my extraordinary encounter. Catrin lived in the house her
Talar and Caddoc were a different story. On the last day of Ezzarian independence, the third day of the Derzhi war of conquest, it was the Wardens and Searchers and Comforters, those of us with fighting skills or experience of the world, who led the Ezzarian resistance. We had known it was futile. Our strategy was to hold long enough that the Queen and the strongest of the valyddar could get out of Ezzaria, along with all of the precious books and manuscripts, and the weapons we used to fight the demons. Then we would try to save the rest. We succeeded in saving the Queen and the books and a few mentors, but in everything else we failed. Only a few managed to follow the Queen and rebuild their lives in the mountains north of Capharna. Some, like me, were enslaved. I saw so many dead, it was hard to imagine there was anyone left. But hundreds of Ezzarians had retreated into the forest as the ring of Derzhi occupation closed around them.
They had been left with nothing. Our centuries of secrecy and isolation meant that we had no allies to give us refuge. The Derzhi occupied the lands nearest the northern borders, and sent hunting and logging parties deep into the trees. The Ezzarians dared not be seen, so they had to live on what they could hunt or collect. They had no books, none of our magical weapons, and few mentors to train others. They lived without hope of resuming the tasks that we had believed our sacred duties, for no Wardens had survived in their midst, and they had no idea whether the Queen or anyone else had made it away safely. They began to fight among themselves and disregard our customs that seemed impossible to follow in the face of such disaster.
But Talar, an Aife of modest gifts, had taken matters in hand. She refused to allow hardship or despair as an excuse for failed discipline, railing at the others that such weakness would give the demons a foothold among them. She told the tales of Verdonne and her long struggle to protect the peoples of the earth from the jealous raging of her immortal husband, and said that if a mortal woman could hold strong against the assaults of a god, could not embattled Ezzarians do the same? Though near starvation, she refused to drink anything but rainwater or to eat any food that had not been grown, caught, or cleaned in the ways laid down by our ancestors. She led rites of purification and found a few young women with skills enough to attempt Weaver’s enchantments to protect their camps. She had the tenyddar teach everyone, even the valyddar, their business of hunting and gleaning, and chastised those who used their melydda for commonplace tasks to make life easier rather than saving their power for the demon war. Her resolve humbled others into following her lead and drew the tattered refugees together again. They came out of exile with immense pride that they had been faithful to the laws and customs they believed given us by the gods.
Those of us who survived other horrors and other kinds of exile rejoiced in their strength and admired their determination. But when Talar and her followers discovered how I had been welcomed back from certain corruption, they were infuriated. And when I said that I had come to new ways of thinking about impurity and corruption . . . that perhaps it had less to do with what water you drank than with the character of your soul . . . I did not make friends of them.
I knew I would be called before the Council to answer Fiona’s charges of treason, but with Kenehyr and Catrin solidly behind me, and Maire almost the same, I had no concerns. The Mentors Council could only assert an adverse ruling with a vote of four of the five. More than worrying about politics, I needed to talk to Catrin of what I had seen, a demon outside the boundaries of our experience.
By moonrise, I had regained my composure and made my way to my mentor’s home to tell her of my extraordinary encounter. Catrin lived in the house her
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