THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 13
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Chapter 13: I was born there
The sky above was a canopy of deepest, darkest blue, it was a clear night and the innumerable stars glittered like so many fireflies. The Moon Goddess Rhiannon shone down upon the world, and her pale light could be seen glittering on the snow-capped peaks of the mountains and in the pale beams that slipped between the branches of the endless sea of trees in the dark forest to illuminate hidden glades with her ethereal radiance. What secrets she must have watched and witnessed in her eternal vigil, but like her cousins Macha and Epona, she kept her own councils and to mortals, she would only whisper of them in dream.
Azure sat upon a log and watched the haar. The great wall of ephemeral fog that was boundary between the realms of the Fae and those of the human folk. Some called it "The Veil", while to others it was simply "The Mist", but it had always fascinated her. At times it shifted and moved as if it were a living thing, sometimes it receded like the tides of the sea revealing glimpses of strange and unknown landscapes, only to roll back and cover them again, like some conjurer using a cloak to conceal their magic.
Here and there a haunting glow could be glimpsed at times in the depths of those shifting vapours, hinting and beckoning, like some strange and alluring wisp, but only the unwary and unwise went in pursuit of such things and many had learned to their cost the perils of wandering aimlessly in that peculiar shroud.
Behind her, the camp had been emplaced and she could smell the stew cooking on the fire, she could hear the movement of the young ones as they bumbled about, the mumble of conversation, the faint gasps as the human wizard and that chubby nun enjoyed a moonlit frolic and the clatter of wooden swords as the swordsman continued his lessons with Cassie and Muriah. Her eyes flicked to the furtive padding of a white hare as it skulked stealthily across the snow, and she sensed the faint shifting of the nearest sentries despite their efforts to remain still and unseen.
Lashelle was as silent as any Dark Elf when she wanted to be but Azure had long since heard her stealthy approach, and she knew the woman's scent, carried by the faintest night breeze as well as she did her own. She smiled to herself and sighed in contentment as a gentle hand trailed across her hair and down to her shoulders.
The younger Dark Elf settled herself on the log by the scout's side and said nothing for a while, simply taking in the night and watching the haunting glimmer of The Veil in the distance. Eventually, she reached out and all but quivered in delight when Azure took her hand in her own.
The scout watched the distant haze silently before murmuring, "I was born in yonder mist."
Lashelle looked at the woman next to her, with silver hair unbound, dark eyes that missed nothing and delicately pointed ears that seemed to hear everything, she was so quick, so deadly, so...
"Beautiful."
Azure smiled at her, "Hmm? Yes, I suppose it is, in its way. It has always fascinated me, sometimes when I see it, I feel almost drawn to it. You know, in the way some sailors say when they speak of the ocean perhaps."
"And you were born there?"
"Indeed. My mother was a huntress, and she had a lodge not so far from the edge of the shroud, for at times
things
emerged from the mists, and sometimes those things were most quarrelsome, and so my mother was charged with their removal.
"One year, when she was heavy with child the mist shifted, as it sometimes does, and it engulfed the lodge and some portions of nearby domains. Now usually, when this happens those few folk who lived in such proximity to The Veil would simply move for a while, but as I said my mother was heavy with child so she remained, with a small retinue, trusting to the witchlamps to keep them all safe.
The mist receded a week or so later, but I was born in that time. Or so my mother tells me, for all I know it could have been a bedtime tale to delight a young child and make her feel
special
."
Lashelle chuckled, "You are special, to me."
Azure said nothing, but Lashelle felt her squeeze her hand for a moment. After a while she shifted with a sigh, "I'll leave you to your solitude, I'll be by the fire when you have need of me."
Before she rose the scout whispered, "I don't mind."
"Hmm?"
Azure turned to her and smiled, "I don't mind if you sit with me a while. Mayhap we can watch the moon for a bit if you like."
"I'd like that very much."
Towards the far side of the camp, Claíomh observed as Cassie and Muriah sparred. Their footwork was atrocious, their speed so slow you could fall asleep watching them, their balance was just... awful, and oh dear Gods, their lack of anything resembling poise was almost painful to watch, but despite all that he had to admit they had both shown remarkable improvement from the mind-numbing ineptitude of only a few days ago. Even so, he could see that Muriah was troubled and distracted, for Cassie had gotten in at least two easy hits against the Dark Elven woman who uncharacteristically hadn't cursed the girl even once. His eyes narrowed and he paused the lesson.
"Take a breath both of you and have a drink of water if you have need, you're still truly awful," he grinned, "but not so awful as yesterday, not by a long shot."
As Cassie wiped sweat from her brow, he ambled closer to the Dark Elf, "Something troubles you lass?"
"I'm not a 'lass' damn you!"
He chuckled, "Better, but something gnaws at you today. You need not tell me if you don't wish to, but I'll listen at least if you do."
She eyed the man suspiciously, "You'll mock."
He sniffed, "Maybe, but you'll never know unless you tell me."
The woman looked down and the wooden sword in her hand shook, "I froze."
"Hmm? When?"
Her voice was harsh with self-recrimination, and she blushed as she spoke, "When that thing charged at me. I was utterly petrified with fear. And it would have killed me had not Ashunara pushed me aside. Even then I couldn't even scream I was so afraid."
He smiled, "Oh, is that all."
She snarled at the man, but he grinned at her and spoke before she could spit out the first insult, "Did I ever tell you about my first real fight?"
Muriah frowned in confusion, "What?"
"I had joined the Legions as a half-starved boy, and we were almost immediately posted up to the north for there was trouble brewing. Now those northern folk were right hardy bastards, and I barely knew which end of a sword to hold back then, Hell even you could have beaten me soundly, I was that bad.
"One day we were clearing out a nest of rebels and a man charged at me. Now we outnumbered them more than two to one and we had armour and they had nothing but axes and courage. Anyway, this great bearded giant, or so he seemed to me at the time, went baresark and just ran straight at us shrieking like a damned banshee. He took a pilum in the gut but just batted the thing aside like it was no more than a bee-sting, and he hacked down three of my mates before he fixed his mad bulging eyes on mine, screamed a demented warcry and came right at me! Know what I did?"
"I suppose you killed him?"
"Fuck no. I dropped my sword and totally froze with terror. The Sergeant kicked me aside like a dog and spitted the bastard before he could split my skull with that bloody axe of his," he grinned at the memory, "I got a flogging for it, but I was just so bloody grateful to be alive I barely felt it."
Muriah frowned, "So?"
The swordsman grinned at her, "Well, I thought everyone would take the piss, and some did, but most just got on with it, seeing it for what it was, just the normal behaviour of a daft young recruit who knew no better, and the Sergeant slapped me on the back afterwards, which fucking hurt by the way, and said, "don't worry lad, it'll be easier next time."
"Was it?"
"Not much, no. But eventually, well, eventually, my training started to show, I got better with the sword, and my fear started to fade. It never went away completely though, for only a madman is without fear, but I could manage it."
She peered into his eyes, looking for some deception, but couldn't see anything other than the man telling her a tale of his youth, "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because Muriah, I have no belief in heroes, nor would I trust one if I met them. Only hard experience and harder training can truly be relied upon, luck is fickle and the gifts of the Gods even more so. You train with a sword until its use is like muscle memory, so ingrained that no matter the fear, no matter the terror, your arm will
not
