“I feared for the stew, yet is it unharmed,” he told her. “It will be a short while before it is done, however. Therefore you may rest yourself till then. I will rejoin you in a moment, when I have completed the chores left unfinished by cause of that minor distraction.” Then, since I had gotten close enough, he added to me, “Best you keep a close watch on your stew, Terril. Should it burn, I will shame us all by weeping.”
Leelan chuckled as she watched him walk away toward the second camtah that wasn’t yet standing, the camtah he’d been just beginning on when I’d left. My talking about making the meal must have frightened him so badly that he’d left tent putting-up for later, and had immediately started the stew. Leelan turned back to look at me when I stopped by the fire, her amusement at Dallan’s comment fading, then sat herself down when I did.
“You have not yet answered my query as to your wellbeing, Terril,” she said softly, large light eyes watching me carefully. “Were you harmed by that gendis?”
“I am no more than bruised, Leelan,” I answered, trying to manage a smile, then looked away from her. “You have my thanks for coming to my assistance, and it shames me that you were given pain by cause of it.”
“Such pain is naught, girl,” she said, brushing the matter aside, her mind agreeing with the words. “While training with the sword I was often given much worse, till I learned to disallow such treatment.”
“Truly?” I asked, looking back at her in startlement. “It had not occurred to me that there would be difficulty of that sort given to one who wished to learn.”
“How else is one to learn, save through the desire for avoidance of difficulty?” she asked, her amusement back again. She was a really big woman, no more than half a head shorter than Dallan, her body well proportioned to that height but still supple and lithe. Her long hair was Rimilian blonde and her eyes were light, and the man she had challenged had lied about her attractiveness. Her oval face had a delicate sort of beauty that was also strong with personality and character, especially when she smiled or was amused. She looked like someone who would make a good friend, which was surprising, considering where she came from.
“Terril, mind the stew,” Dallan called from where he was working, his thoughts back on his stomach again. I looked at Leelan and shook my head with a sigh, making her chuckle, then got to my feet to stir the stew. When I sat down again, I decided it was time for a little truth-speaking.
“The stew, of course, is not mine but his,” I admitted, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “He spoke of it as mine only to spare me the embarrassment he knows I feel at being unable to cook. That l’lenda was correct when he named me no more than a rella wenda. Few have been able to rise to my level of uselessness. ”
“The gendis was no l’lenda,” she stated, her frown only in her mind, which left her pretty face expressionless. “Bearing a sword does not make one a l’lenda any more than the lack of the ability to cook makes one useless. It seems more than a matter of cooking which disturbs you, Terril. Should you wish to speak of it, I would be willing to listen.”
“Before one may speak, one must first find the words,” I told her with the same sickly smile I’d been managing all along. “Do not concern yourself with me, Leelan. I have been moody of late, and the incident with the-gendis-has upset me.”
“You find it sufficient that the l’lenda Dallan concerns himself with you?” she asked, one brow rising toward her leather headband, her mind curious but restrained. “For what reason did he appear so incensed that a small, unarmed wenda such as you was unable to defend herself? Of what does he mean to speak to you, and for what reason do you appear unwilling to hear him?”
The questions were calm and undemanding, casually hung up in front of me just in case I cared to take one or two of them down to answer. Light, wide eyes regarded me in the same way, without pressure, but how do you tell anyone, even a stranger, that what’s bothering you is that you’d rather be admired than feared? How do you tell them that the only thing you’re really good at makes you an unspeakable monster, something that anyone with sense would avoid? Things like that sound too ridiculous and melodramatic when put into words, and saying them to yourself doesn’t do any good at all. If I told her that Dallan was undoubtedly angry with me for not defending myself, she would never understand.
“How goes the stew, wenda?” Dallan asked as he came up, unaware that he’d interrupted anything. “But a few more moments and I will be done.”
“I have myself not yet eaten,” Leelan remarked, watching as Dallan checked his handiwork again. “To be frank, I found myself with little appetite for what would be produced through my own efforts. I fear that the skill of cooking is not one I may claim as my own.”
“Soon there will be none upon this world save l’lendaa who are able to do so much as warm dimral in a fire,” Dallan remarked back, giving the stew a final stir of satisfaction before dragging himself away from it. “To a large degree the thought grieves me, for then what use might be found for wendaa’?”
He gave Leelan a very bland look as he headed back toward the third camtah, causing her to begin laughing softly but deeply.
“A man who gives as well as he gets, that one,” she observed to me, still chuckling comfortably. “I am unused to ones such as he, and shall likely find this darkness of great interest. He doubted my words, yet made no effort to contradict them-nor to support them for your sake. He was aware that you had spoken the truth to me.”
“He is often aware of many things,” I grumbled, watching Dallan a moment before looking away from him. “I will now also likely be told that absolute truth is at times unnecessary. Should he attempt to lecture me so, I believe I shall inform him that I told you he was worthless in the furs.”
“Be sure first that your memabrak is present,” she advised with a big grin, enjoying my comment. “L’lendaa rarely take such light-hearted jestings in the spirit they were meant, and often become proddish from them. The matter of helid would be unlikely to protect you.”
“Should I say such a thing, even my memabrak would be unlikely to protect me,” I countered, still feeling down. “He, too, is l’lenda, and he and Dallan are close. Do wendaa in Vediaster have memabrakk?”
“Some,” she allowed with a slight nod, shifting a little away from the fire. “There are those who are unable to see to themselves, who lack even the desire to make the attempt. These are banded by men who wish such women, yet is the number of those who go unbanded far greater. We who go armed will ourselves do the banding.”
“You-band men?” I said, the idea suddenly appealing to me. “As though they were wendaa? Do you even five-band them?”
“Indeed,” she answered with a wide grin, enjoying my reaction. “Should they merit five-banding. They are most of them quite proud of the bands they wear, which show they have found favor in a w’wenda’s eyes.”
I heard the difference in the word immediately, the rolled and doubled first letter that was usually used only for the word “l’lenda”. I didn’t have to ask what it meant, as I already knew: women warriors were not ashamed of being women.
“I commend you for the manner in which you take this news, girl,” she said, still watching me closely. “Wendaa who are not of our country often shudder in revulsion and fear upon hearing the same, unable to so much as consider the notion. Had you been born one of us, you would likely be w’wenda yourself.”
“Would it be possible for you to teach me the use of a sword?” I blurted without first stopping to think, pushed into the request by the inner pressure that had never really let up. “I have need of the knowledge, yet am I unable to speak of my reasons.”