Shadowkill

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Shadith wrinkled her nose, got the arranga and went out. Singing for the maimed and the sick depressed her, but it was only an hour, then she could go riding for the rest of the afternoon. She was sore and stiff yet, but it was wearing off.

It was time to go. No more lingering or dithering. Leave or live under Mingas’ rule.

Whistling under her breath, she strolled from the room.

Matja Allina walked beside the black horse her daughter rode. She walked with head high, her hand on her daughter’s knee, signifying to all who watched her approval of this thing.

P’murr waited for them on the ferry landing. He stood beside Matja Allina watching Ingva nervously following the instructions of the ferryman as she led the two Blacks onto the ferry.

“I told you to go with her. You should have gone,” Allina said.

“No. My fealty is with the Arring Pirs, not with his daughters.”

“Pirs is dead.”

“His son isn’t.”

“I see. Then you’d better move your things into the House and sleep each night in the nursery.”

It was irony in her mouth but not in his ears; he bowed. “I will do so at once.”

Startled, she watched him walk off; she hadn’t realized how much he disliked her. He blames me for Pirs’ death, she thought. I’m the reason he wasn’t with Pirs and couldn’t save him or die for him.

The sound of the winch motor changed. She closed her eyes a moment, then turned slowly and watched Ingva lead the horses up the far bank of the river.

She watched her daughter mount one of the Blacks and ride off leading the other.

Ingva neither turned nor waved.

Matja Allina stood silent on the landing until the Brush had swallowed Ingva, then she turned and walked back to the House. Her head was high, her eyes blind with the tears she wouldn’t shed.