Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [191]
Skylan shook his head and went to angrily berate a young warrior who had stowed his sea chest in the wrong place.
The sun climbed above the horizon and teetered on the ocean’s flat surface like a bright coin. The ships should have set sail by now. If they didn’t get under way soon, they would lose the fullness of the tide. Skylan was about to send a messenger to fetch Treia, when the Bone Priestess appeared, walking along the dunes. Aylaen walked behind her.
The entire Torgun Clan had gathered along the shoreline to bid farewell to their warriors. The mood was festive, everyone laughing and cheerful, certain that bad times were coming to an end. When word was whispered about that the two sisters were coming, all talk and clamor ceased.
Treia walked in front. Most of her possessions were already on board. As was customary, Skylan had given the Bone Priestess the cabin belowdeck for her own personal use, and she had stowed away her clothes and other necessities. She brought with her a small rosewood box containing vials of potions, unguents, and ointments she would use for healing, since the goddess was no longer around to answer her prayers. The jars and vials rattled as she walked. She trod carefully, peering down with her weak eyes to see where she was putting her feet. She did not want to fall and break her precious cargo.
Aylaen came a few paces behind. She walked with her head high, her face flushed, partly embarrassed, wholly defiant. She stared straight out in front of her, pretending to ignore the staring eyes, the gasps, the pitying cries from the women, the growls of disapproval from the men.
Her red curls were gone. She was almost bald. Treia had hacked off Aylaen’s hair at the scalp line. Perhaps due to her poor eyesight, Treia had botched the job, leaving Aylaen with red tufts of hair sticking out of her head and bloody patches of skin.
Aylaen carried a shield that had belonged to her father, painted with his colors, blue and white. She carried her new sword.
She wore man’s clothes, and surprisingly, they suited her. Aylaen was tall as most men, though more slender. She had altered the garments to fit her, and she liked the freedom and the comfort they afforded her. She wore leather armor studded with iron that had been her father’s, and new boots, a gift from Treia.
At the sight of her daughter dressed like a man with no hair to speak of, Aylaen’s mother ran to her and grabbed hold of her, weeping and begging her to stay.
“Mother, you are shaming me!” Aylaen said angrily, trying vainly to free herself from her mother’s tearful pleas and clinging grasp.
Grim-faced, Treia walked back to deal with the situation. She said a few sharp words that left her mother pale and mute. Friends led the mother away with soothing words and irate glances for her two daughters.
“She is shamed! Hah!” Sigurd was on board the ship with the warriors. He glared at Aylaen, then turned his back and refused to look at her.
The entire village had been witness to his fury when word reached him of Aylaen’s decision. He had stormed off to Norgaard to protest, demanding that the Clan Chief put a stop to this fool notion.
Norgaard had gone so far as to try to speak to Treia, who coldly rebuffed him. Aylaen had been called by the goddess to undergo this ritual. The Kai Moot had sanctioned her decision, and no one, not even her stepfather, could argue against the will of Vindrash.
Norgaard leaned heavily on his crutch, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg, and wondered how much the goddess had to do with Aylaen’s decision. Pain had not blurred his vision. Norgaard had been aware for a long time that Garn and Aylaen were lovers, and he wondered if it was Vindrash who had summoned Aylaen to war or her love for Garn.
And what would happen when Skylan found out, as he was sure to do on this voyage. Up until