The female showed no sign of the flush I had expected. Instead, her chin rose high and a flashing anger came to her eyes.
“Oh, aye!” she nodded shortly. “You did indeed make it plain that my presence was no longer wanted! And I, like a silly fool, ran blubbering from your displeasure, allowing you to make away from the village with none to stop you! Had Ceralt not found you and fetched you back across his lanthay, this fey you would be without shelter and food, alone in the woods, pelted by sleet, and half dead! Had I been Ceralt, the hiding you received would have done far more toward knocking the foolishness from you! Now, take the falum and eat!”
Again was the pot thrust at me, Tarla’s anger nearly spilling the falum from over the side of it. I was taken much aback by the female’s ranting, for she seemed a different Tarla from the one I had known. No longer did she seem to fear me, no longer were there tears close behind her large-eyed gaze. Now there lay a sternness upon her, as though I were not yet a warrior, and she an attendant grown weary of my disobedience, recalling again her warriorhood. Once, when I was a child, an attendant had grown angry with me in such a way, the warrior blood in her coming again to the fore. I had thereafter taken care not to anger her further, for her dagger had been sharp, and I had not had the skill to wield one. This Tarla, however, knew naught of the ways of a warrior, and once past the initial surprise, my annoyance rose to the fore.
“A warrior shall always escape when she may,” said I, looking upon Tarla with less than friendliness. “Had I been in the woods this fey, I would have found shelter and survived till the new light. A warrior does not fear that which Mida sends, for she has learned to deal with it. Jalav is no village slave-woman, to tremble before the thought of the forests and the displeasure of males as others do. Take your offering from me, slave, for I wish none of it!”
This time the flush grew ruddy upon Tarla’s cheeks, and her full lips tightened in greater anger. “I am no slave,” she hissed, “nor shall I ever be! I am a woman of men, a thing far better than being a woman who knows naught of men save what pleasure their bodies may bring. It was not I who smarted beneath the touch of leather last darkness, nor is it I who now sits chained in place as a further punishment!” Her words ceased, and she straightened her shoulders before regarding me levelly once again. “The High Rider has told me that should you fail to take nourishment, I am to send for him so that he may come with his leather and thereafter feed you himself. Should this be your wish, you have only to leave the falum uneaten.”
She then placed the pot upon the floor, beside the furs, and returned herself to the fire where she busied her hands with the clearing away of the pot in which the falum had been made. I sat a moment longer, my arms still about my legs, my thoughts going to the time when Ceralt had indeed fed me. The shame of the memory was so great that I closed my eyes and hid my face against my thighs, but then I saw that I had sought to hide myself too often of late. No more than shame might a warrior expect from a male, a shame which must be borne for Mida’s sake. Sooner would I have faced a slow death at the hands of enemies, yet such cleansing in honorable death was not for Jalav. Well did I know that Mida’s work was not yet done, and much shame would come to me before its completion. Heavily, I reached for the pot which Tarla had left, wishing to hurl it from me, yet knowing that such an action would bring Ceralt. Already had I been shamed before Lialt; to be shamed before Tarla as well was not to be borne.
The falum had gone down my gullet untasted and I had returned the emptied pot to the floor, when suddenly Tarla was again beside me, her arms reaching out to hold me around. For many reckid did she hold me so, I unmoving in my lack of understanding, and then she leaned from me to look me in the eye, her hand gently astroke upon my cheek.
“Ah, Jalav, I know not what might be done with you,” she sighed, a sadness now upon her. “Truly have I come to feel as a mother to you, so innocent and vulnerable are you in your savagery. When I learned that you took kindness for weakness, I grew angry at the thought, and vowed to show you no more affection that you might turn your back upon, yet how may a mother forsake her child? So hopeless did you seem at thought of Ceralt’s punishment that I could not bear it. Do not fear, I shall not send for him.”
Her words were a now-familiar jumble of confusion, yet there was that which I was able to comprehend. I pushed her arms from me and held my head high.
“I do not fear Ceralt nor his punishments,” said I, seeing surprise upon her face. “Do as you will.”
Many expressions crossed Tarla’s features, she seemingly unable to settle upon any of them. Twice her mouth opened as though she would speak, yet no words emerged to fill the silence. At last a sound escaped from her, a sound of annoyance and anger and vexation, and her fists closed tight where they lay upon her thighs.
“Never, Jalav, never have I been so sorely tempted!” said she through clenched teeth, her eyes narrowed. “Were you truly my child, I would take a harness strap to you! Will you never learn to accept the concern of others? I do not wish to call Ceralt! I wished only to reassure you in your need!”
“I have no need,” said I, understanding neither her words nor her anger. “I am a war leader, and the needs of my warriors are my only concern.”
The girl stared at me a moment, then slowly nodded her head. “I believe I begin to see,” she murmured, a thoughtful look about her. “You concern yourself only with your warriors. And what do you receive from them?”
“Obedience,” I replied, knowing not where her questions would lead. “Unquestioning obedience and loyalty to our clan, or the demand to stand with naked sword. In all things must my word be obeyed, else she who will not follow must try her skill with mine.”
“Therefore you must never know doubt or fear,” she whispered, a shudder running through her. “You must always be strong and courageous no matter the opposition you meet. And who is there who sees to your needs and frailties? Is there no one before whom you may cry out your hurt? Is there no place you may lie safe and protected?”
“A war leader has no need for these things,” I replied, again seeing tears in the large, dark eyes before me. The Tarla of old had returned, and I regretted my harshness with her.
Her head bowed low so her face might be covered by her hands, and her shoulders shook to the sobs which possessed her. I placed my arm about her shoulders, attempting to give her comfort from I knew not what. Had I erred in speaking of the duties of a war leader? I had once thought the child Tarla too young to be given such knowledge, and perhaps I had been right. To place such burdens upon one unready for them is a cruelty Midanna do not care for. Tarla cried for many reckid, clinging to me as no Midanna had ever clung to any other, and then her head raised to show me a tear-stained face.
“The pain is too great,” she sobbed, attempting to quiet herself. “I cannot bear the thought of such loneliness, such lack of-of-human feeling! Your life is ever in jeopardy, and not only from your enemies! Your own sisters stand ready to spill your blood! To never be able to show fear or hesitation—!” She shook her head violently, her eyes still upon me. “You are barely older than I, barely more than a child! It is too much to ask of a mere girl!”
“I am neither girl nor child,” I explained with a sigh, knowing my words would not soothe the girl before me. “I am Jalav, war leader of the Hosta, foremost of all the clans of Midanna. The position of war leader is not thrust upon one, it is eagerly sought by those who wish it. With my own hand did I slay she who was war leader before me, and with my own hand have I kept the honor mine alone. Do not weep for me, Tarla child. My prayers to Mida have till now been answered.”