The Protectors war

Alice nodded, tossed her spear to her husband and went downslope in a controlled fall. Aylward looked at the quasi-prisoners and sighed as he stuffed the documents into his haversack. Garm and Grip had discovered the guts and head of the sheep, and looked up at him questioningly, waiting for permission. Aylward used the blade of his spear to crack open the skull for them, and they dove in noisily as he stabbed the steel into the earth to rough-clean it.

"All right, you two go first," he said to the male refugees. "And we'll carry the kids, ladies. Someone pack up the meat from that wether. No sense in letting it go to waste."

The direct way down the steep scarp to Dun Fairfax was rough, twisting back and forth through the darkened forest; it had been a logging road, long ago. That was why most traffic took the longer U-shaped route westward along Artemis Creek, then north with it and so onto the bench that held Dun Juniper, even though it tripled the distance. But the horse knew this trail, and Juniper Mackenzie did as well from long years before the Change. She still took it slowly, as mist curled between the great trees, flattening the sound of hooves; the moist air beaded on her hooded cloak, and more dripped from branches over the trail. Tamar clung, perched behind her with her arms around Juniper's waist, and three more horses followed; she'd pulled the tail of the cloak around the girl to give her a little extra protection. It was made of unfulled wool-with the natural grease left in the fiber and then the thread hard-woven-and it shed water nearly as well as a pre-Change rain slicker. Those were getting worn and brittle and hard to find, and weren't nearly as good at keeping you warm. It did smell rather strongly of lanolin, though, particularly when it was wet.

Wet wool, wet horse, wet me, Juniper thought, as the fog drank the dull sound of hooves on soft dirt, and moisture dripped on them as steadily as rain. Just when I'd gotten comfortable again. This had better be good, Sam!

Under that went a chill. She knew it would be. Sam wasn't the sort to start at shadows: unless something important was doing the shadow-casting.

They came out of the woods, and Tamar hopped down lithely to open the gate in the plank fence that edged the Dun Fairfax farmlands. Then she trotted along beside Juniper's horse, one hand gripping the stirrup leather to ease her pace, tireless as a yearling deer. The gates of the dun were abustle, with people standing about and dogs barking and lanterns burning bright; the hum of conversation rose as the riders from Dun Juniper drew near.

Juniper stood in the stirrups and held up a hand: "Merry met," she said, and then waved down the greetings. When silence fell, she went on: "I know you're all fair ruptured with curiosity, Mackenzies: but as a favor to me, could you keep it quiet for a wee bit?"

"That means keep your sodding mouths shut," Sam said as he came out of the gate, genially enough, but with an edge to it.

There were murmurs at that; the folk of her clan tended to be talkative, and to love argument and assembly and debate-it had become as much a mark of a Mackenzie as shooting skillfully with the bow. Probably they'd caught it from her original core group of coveners and re-creationists, who could talk black into white and up into down, and loved to do it-plus it was entertainment to replace TV.

On the other hand, they also tended to take what she said seriously, sometimes excessively so. The little crowd broke up as people went back to their homes-doubtless to hash over the events of the evening, but at least they weren't getting in the way. Most of them would delight in keeping the news within their own dun, too, and hug a secret close until they couldn't bear it anymore.

Sam whistled sharply, and several of his household people came up to collect the horses as the visitors swung down.

"Started with a missing sheep," he said quietly to her as they walked towards his house. "And from there: "

"Hmmm," she replied when he was done. "Let's go see."

"And they're frightened at the name of you, Lady Juniper. But most anxious to see you, as well."

"Not the first time it's been like that."

"Not a bad bunch. They made it out with Baron Liu chasing them, after all."

"Thanks to Eilir and Astrid," she said quietly, looking over her shoulder at the pair in question. As well try to keep water from flowing downhill as keep those two out of it. "But I see your point."

"Plus some little things: they've been eating short for years and ru

Juniper nodded, and took off her cloak to shake free the moisture before she walked into the warm, well-lit space of Aylward's hearth room and hung the garment on a peg; there was a mat underneath to catch drips. Then she made a gesture with one hand and bowed her head towards the family altar over the fireplace.

Melissa Aylward smiled as her kin cleaned away plates and bowls. "Merry met and welcome to our home, Lady of the Clan," she said, and extended a plate and cup.

"Merry met and thanks, Lady of the Hearth," Juniper replied, taking a cookie and popping it into her mouth-she wasn't hungry, but symbolism was important. The hot mead was soothing, though.

Melissa gri

"A big softie, under that gruff shell," Juniper agreed.

The children Sam had mentioned were being borne off by members of the household, to be bathed-and de-loused-and tucked into beds; several of the younger were already lolling limp into sleep by then, between the warmth and full bellies. Others of those who lived here had suppressed their natural curiosity and scattered off to the rest of the big farmhouse. That left only Sam, her, Chuck, Eilir and Astrid apart from the two refugee couples and the teenager. She looked at them:

Something. Something important. The worm biting its tail, things yet to be casting their shadow through the circles of time:

The power points of her body flaring in an electric tingle, a cool wind blowing through her mind, a hint of a star-shot darkness that glowed with an i

Even to her most beloved child, a mother doesn't reveal all her mind-she can't, because the child can't grasp it yet. How then does the Divine speak to us? In song and myth, dream and vision, like a serpent in a bed of reeds, coil upon counter-coil.

The dark Hispanic-looking man gulped at her green-eyed stare. "Ojos garzos" – The eyes of wizardry -he said softly, and crossed himself.

Juniper shook herself back to the waking world, and remembered discussions she'd had with Jose and Carlita over platters of camarones al mojo de ajo.

"Si," she whispered in his tongue. "Si, garzos, pero para el bien, no el mal. Bruja, si, bruja de los buenos-Sacerdotiza."

He inclined his head. "Queen of Witches."

Her smile grew wry as she swept aside the tail of her plaid and sat, tossed her bo

"Yes, but that doesn't mean what you think it means. Look, let's be practical, shall we? First, you don't have to worry about the Protector or Baron Liu anymore. You're free of them now. We'll find you food and decent homes. And work, but work for yourselves-rely on it-and land of your own eventually. We don't turn anyone away who's ru

One of the women buried her face in her hands and began to weep. Juniper suppressed an impulse to give her a hug-more likely to scare than not-and signaled Melissa to lead her away; she'd probably feel better close to the children anyway. The others seemed to slump where they sat.