The Witch Woman's Prophecy

53 | Yorsala and Donsun |

Behind us the mountain rumbled and poured its dark smoke into the sky. We had no need to urge the ponies on; they were as terrified as us and galloped as fast as they could through the pouring rain. When an especially loud explosion came from behind, the ponies neighed in panic and doubled their speed. I was mounted in front of Hericle on his pony. His strong arms kept me from falling as I had only one hand to cling onto the saddle.

At last he called a halt for fear the ponies would injure themselves. We dismounted, held their reins tightly and forced them to walk to cool them down. The ponies smelled rank and were covered in white foam where they had sweated.

The watered-down sunlight held no heat. Colours were muted versions of themselves: only pewter greys and dull browns were visible through the downpour.

The ponies' hooves splashed through the puddles; cold rain ran down my face and stung my eyes. My robe was soaked through and I was unable to stop myself from shivering. Run-off from the mountains had swollen into small rivers and we had to wade the ponies across them, sometimes through rapidly flowing torrents.

At last, we left the foothills behind, remounted and let the ponies carry us at a gentle walk. Lulled by the swaying movement, I drifted off to sleep in the shelter of Hericle's arms, but I saw Naamiya's battered and burnt body in my dream. I relived the moment when I realised she was dead and woke with a start, thinking that I should have done more to help her. The song of the lonely star drifted into my mind, and I thought of it dying in flames as it tried to attract the moon's attention. Tears ran down my face, joining the rain in cold streams.

We endured the rest of the journey, stopping at the hunting camps to sleep overnight and rest the ponies. At one of the camps Hericle found some old coats for Soni and me. They were made of poorly-tanned skin and stank, but they kept the rain off us and held the warmth in. I thanked the unfortunate animal that had donated its hide. Soni and I huddled together near the hissing fire each night for warmth, then made our way to a hut once feeling and circulation had returned. Slowly the pain in my shoulder began to subside.

It was on the fifth day of travelling that we reached Hericle's home. I had expected at least a walled settlement like Merthgem, and was disappointed to see that it was only a collection of wooden huts, not unlike the ones that had formed the camps we had been staying in for the last few days. However, as we drew closer, it became obvious that these dwellings were occupied permanently. They were of sturdier construction, with turf roofs and decorations of swooping lines carved into the woodwork around the doors. Windows of thin-scraped membranes allowed light inside. Children with muddy feet ran underfoot and barking dogs raced after them, adding their noise to the whinnying and stamping of the ponies and the shouting of Hericle's men.

Hericle dismounted and helped me down. I no longer needed the bandage to stop my shoulder from being jolted, but I was still not able to ride by myself. He handed his pony to the care of a boy of around twelve summers, telling him to take good care of it. Then he looked at me and frowned. He brushed me down and straightened my reeking coat. His own smelled no better, but I was so used to the stench of them that I no longer really cared.

We walked towards the largest of the huts, easily five or six times the size of its fellows. As we approached the door swung open and two girls stepped out to greet us. The oldest was about my age and was almost as tall as me. She held her head high and stared straight into my eyes. The younger was perhaps eight or nine summers and had a smile that made it seem as though the sun was shining through the gloom.

'Your sisters!' said Hericle as the younger girl ran towards us and threw her arms around his waist. He picked her up in his strong arms so her face was on a level with mine.