“Till now,” she echoed, her eyes going to the chain about my ankle. “Truly do I believe that you have prayed for escape from Ceralt.” Her eyes returned to mine, and a deep pleading had filled them. “Jalav, do not seek escape from him! His love for you is deep, and he shall aid you in freeing yourself from the barren existence you now have! To rest secure in the arms of a man, to have his love as you give him yours, to have his presence banish any hurt that might ever come to you—it is your right as a woman to know these things!”
“Tarla, do not upset yourself,” I soothed, wishing I might speak to her of males and hurt. “My life and sword are pledged to Mida, a thing none may change. Ceralt knows of this, yet still he attempts to retain his hold on me, causing misery and pain all about. I am Mida’s, and may never be his.”
“Ceralt battles the gods for you?” she gasped, her mouth dropping open. “Never have I heard of so magnificent a thing! What mortal man has ever before battled the gods?”
“The matter involves but one god,” said I, “and there is hardly what one would call battle. Ceralt ignores Mida as she ignores Ceralt, and—
“To battle the gods!” breathed Tarla, hearing naught of what I had said. “Ceralt does battle with scores of gods, and shall carry you from them in triumph! Ah, Jalav, how magnificent!”
“Scores of gods?” I queried, feeling the confusion surround me again. What scores of gods might she be speaking of? So quickly did her moods change that my head spun from the effort to follow. Now the look in her eye seemed far distant and dreaming, and no longer did sadness and tears command her. She knelt before me, in some manner enthralled, yet I knew not what she was about. Clearly, my first thought had been truest, and Tarla had, by some means, been bereft of her senses. Abruptly, her mind returned from whence it had journeyed, and again shining-bright eyes were upon me.
“Now must we truly see to your appearance,” said she in a firm tone, rising with the pot which had contained falum. “Should a man battle the gods for his woman, it is unthinkable that the woman be dirty and unkempt before him.”
Brusquely, she took the pot to cleanse it in a bucket of water which stood not far from the fire, never seeing the manner in which I gazed upon her. I had met few city females in the lands of males, yet somehow they all seemed odd in some manner. Even Inala, in her anxiety to belong to Galiose, the High Seat of Ranistard, was not like warriors of the Midanna. In no manner was I able to fathom their actions, yet they seemed well made as companions to males. It is said among Midanna that like cleaves unto like; city males and females prove the saying sound.
With the pot returned to its place, Tarla came to stand before me again, her gaze thoughtful. I leaned back upon the lenga pelt, showing no concern, yet I felt a wariness as to what would next come to mind with her. Those who are bereft are not like other folk, and one does well to be on one’s guard with them. The coolness of the air made the thought of the covering pelt a welcome one, yet the chain about my ankle was hobble enough. Should the need for rapid movement arise, I would not care to have the added restraint of the pelt to overcome.
“Your hair we may brush,” murmured Tarla, a finger to her lips, “yet what may be done about bathing? The cleansing halyar is even now being readied, yet the chain remains fast about your ankle. The baths may not be brought here, and we may not go to them. I shall have to speak to Lialt, and obtain the key to your fetters. There is no other course of action possible.”
The rapid decision was accompanied by a firm nod, and then the female fetched the brush and comb with which to see to my hair. I had not thought that obtaining the key to my fetters from Lialt was at all possible, yet there are indeed some matters which the bereft may see to more easily than those of sound mind. Should my release be one of these matters, I would seek no basis for disagreeing with the outcome. At Tarla’s direction, I again sat straight, and we two worked at freeing the snarls and tangles which had settled in my hair.
The matter of my hair combing was nearly done when the door flew open with a rush of wind, admitting Lialt. He hastened within and shut the door, yet the wet and cold which accompanied him caused a shiver all through me. Tarla quickly took up the lenga pelt and threw it about me, yet the reason for her action was not clear. Her eyes had been upon Lialt’s entrance rather than my shivering, and the closing of the door left the dwelling no colder than it had been before the male’s arrival. I pulled the pelt somewhat down from my face as I spat out lenga hairs, and judiciously chose not to pursue the matter.
Lialt, too, wore furs about his upper body, and he, too, shook the wetness from them before placing them beside Tarla’s upon the wall. He then strode to the fire, leaving large, wet tracks behind him on the floor, and held his hands to the warmth with a contented sigh.
“This fire would be worth the fighting for,” said he, his back to us. “Winter comes too rapidly upon us, yet we may give thanks that sleet falls rather than snow.”
Tarla, who had again put the wooden comb to my hair, made a vague sound of agreement, then moved a bit where she knelt.
“Lialt, I shall soon require the key to Jalav’s fetter,” said she from behind me, the comb not ceasing in its movement. “I find it necessary to free her.”
Lialt snorted where he stood, and turned to face us. “The necessity for such an action escapes me,” said he, his tone dry. “The fetter shall stay as it is so that Jalav does not do the same. ”
The comb was abruptly gone from my hair, and Tarla rose to her feet to approach Lialt. The male stood within the glow of the fire, his arms folded upon his chest, tall and broad in his leathers and fur leg wrappings, the silver of his belt atwinkle in the dimness, the dark shape of a sheathed dagger at his right hip. Tarla, barefoot, in her knee-length leather garment, seemed tiny before him, yet there was no fear in the hand which reached out to touch his folded arms.
“Lialt, she must be freed,” said Tarla softly, her face raised to the male. “I know not how long it has been since her last bathing; in truth it matters not. Is Ceralt to throw his claiming leather about a woman who has not been properly prepared for him? The lowliest of his riders would not accept such a thing. Must he?”
Lialt made no immediate answer, but stood looking down upon the female before him, her hand yet upon his arm. The fire crackled in the silence, going about its business of consuming the wood in its embrace, and the rock-hard rain threw itself against the walls of the dwelling, mindlessly attempting entry.
At last Lialt stirred, and a tender smile touched his lips as his hand reached out to stroke Tarla’s hair.
“Tarla mine,” said he, most gently, “your constant concern for those about you has never failed to touch me. My brother shall not lack that which is due him, for this you have my word. When the other wenches have quitted the cleansing halyar, Jalav may then visit there. Ceralt would wish to give her no opportunity to lose herself amid the confusion of many wenches beautifying themselves.”
“But, Lialt, that will leave no time for all of the small things which should be done!” Tarla protested, stepping closer to the male. “The rain of flower essence, the mists of softening, the dance of desire . . .!”
“There will be desire aplenty on the part of Ceralt,” laughed Lialt, interrupting Tarla’s words. “Jalav is hardly a village wench whose fear of a man must be lessened. It will do her no harm to know a man’s full strength with undulled senses, and it may do her good. Now, heat a pot of rangi for me, so the chill may be chased from my bones.”
“Yes, Lialt,” said Tarla, a heaviness in her voice as she moved past the male to the fire. She, a village slave-woman, would not object further, for a male had put his will upon her. I made a sound of disgust and turned from them, seeking the comb so that I might see to my own hair. Tarla dared not be other than slave-woman to Lialt, and I, myself, had been bereft to believe that I might be unchained through her efforts. I remained a prisoner to males who must free herself, for my warriors were far behind me in their own imprisonment.