Frostfell_ The Wizards - Mark Sehestedt [58]
"You are a hunter, Gyaidun." Was that tenderness in the old elf's tone? If so, it was slight. "A warrior. You are not…" The belkagen looked to Amira as he struggled for the word. "You have not studied the discipline of magic, nor sought the communion or made the sacrifices to the divine. Some of those taken by Hro'nyewachu spent years doing so. Hro'nyewachu might give you the answers you seek, but she would devour you. It is folly."
"The omahet are not priests or wizards. They are warriors. Like me. And they have survived the Mother's Heart."
"They are Vil Adanrath," said the belkagen. "You are not. The Mother's Heart, we call her. But she is not your mother. Her jealousy protects our people."
Our people. Gyaidun stared at the belkagen for a long moment, gave Amira a considering look, then turned and walked off. Durja cawed after him, and when the big man showed no sign of stopping or slowing, the raven took to wing after him. Both disappeared into the trees, and the sound of their passage was soon gone, leaving Amira and the belkagen only with the sound of the wind in the branches and the meat beginning to sizzle over the fire.
"Where is he going?" Amira asked.
"He must hunt."
"Now? We have food. I don't understand."
"There is much you do not understand," said the belkagen, and he sounded both tired and annoyed. "No more questions for now. Please. I will tend the fire. You should rest. You have a long night ahead of you."
* * * * *
Though it rankled her to be ordered about, Amira lay down under the small lean-to of branches and brush that Gyaidun had made. She used her pack as a pillow and wrapped herself in the elkhide. Though her breath steamed in the cold, she was quite warm in the thick hide, and she lay listening to the wind as it came around the Mother's Bed and set the trees to rattling. The belkagen muttered to himself as he tended the fire and food. His muttering fell into a half-whispered, half-sung chant, soothing in its rhythm.
Jalan… Amira thought, and the next thing she knew the sky was darker, the shadows among the trees thicker, and Gyaidun was walking into camp with a dead deer-a young buck-draped over his shoulders. She could not even remember closing her eyes-or opening them, for that matter. One moment she'd been listening to the belkagen and thinking of Jalan, and the next moment half the day had seemingly passed. Had the old meddler placed some sort of enchantment on her?
Whether he had or not, Amira realized as she sat up, she did feel rested.
Gyaidun knelt and dropped the deer well away from the fire. Aside from two arrow wounds to its throat, the carcass was uncut.
"Why didn't you butcher it?" Amira asked as she emerged from the shadows under the lean-to and came to the fire. "It would've been easier to carry."
Gyaidun didn't answer.
The belkagen, who still sat next to the fire, spoke up. "Hro'nyewachu will be hungry. If you have no gift…"
"What?"
"Feed Hro'nyewachu or she will feed on you," Gyaidun said, though he did not look at her. Instead he gave the belkagen a hard look and continued, "That much I know."
"What kind of oracle is this?" asked Amira.
"I told you," said the belkagen. "She is a being of need-both in fulfilling and needing to be fulfilled. Nothing comes free. Blood for blood."
A flutter passed through Amira's stomach. The war wizards had their own rituals, many of which were dangerous, but she was beginning to regret agreeing to this. Confronting a danger for which she was prepared was one thing. Trusting the word of these foreigners with their strange ways and walking in unprepared to who knew what was something else.
"You are a foreigner here," said the belkagen, and Amira flinched at hearing some of her own thoughts spoken back to her. "I will help you prepare, but you must trust us."
There were a hundred questions she probably should have asked, but she said, "Your oracle doesn't like horses? We have two that Gyaidun says we can't ride. Why go hunting?"
"Hro'nyewachu is… akai'ye," said the belkagen. "There is no good word