Lightnings Daughter, Mary Herbert [year 7 reading list .TXT] 📗

her hands and cried with relief and joy. Her vision had been right; there, in the broad field, stood a new mound, crowned with spears and shining with a dusting of snow in the morning sun. She slid off the Hunnuli and ran down the hil . Halfway down, she unpinned the Khulinin cloak and dropped it in the grass, then she drew her sword and shouted the Corins' cry of victory. Her voice sang through the empty meadow. The young woman raced up the slope of the mound and through the ring of spears to the very top. She brandished her sword high.

"Corin!" she shouted. "I did it, Father. You are avenged!" The silence of the ruined treld rose to meet her. Head thrown back, she listened to the wind in the grass, the cry of a hawk overhead, and the music of the stream. It almost seemed as if beloved voices would sound then, acknowledging her heroic feats, but there was no one left to answer her. She looked around, half expecting to see her father, her brothers, or someone standing by the mound.

The meadow was empty, and only the wind walked in the treld.

Gabria's joy died within her as quickly as it had come. Beneath her feet lay the hundred-odd members of Clan Corin; her father, Lord Dathlar; her three older brothers; and her twin brother, Gabran.

They were long gone, beyond the earthly lands they had once walked. Her family was in the realm of the dead now, in the presence of the gods. They might know of her victory over their kil er, Lord Medb, and the price she had paid to earn her revenge, but they could not share in her glory. They were gone, forever beyond her reach.

Gabria's eyes filled with tears as she looked down. The new growth of spring was beginning to cover the mound; the earth was gently settling down around the buried bodies. The girl noticed the spears were already sagging, so she walked around the circle and straightened each one. When she was finished, she climbed down from the mound.

For most of the afternoon Gabria wandered around the treld, remembering the places she had loved so well: the site of her father's tent, the chieftain's hall they had proudly built with logs, the pens and corrals, the tents of her brothers and her friends. Everything had been burned by the marauders during the attack, but Gabria found many traces of what had been. The foundation of the hall sprawled in the weeds, its interior crisscrossed with a few charred logs. Bits and pieces of personal items lay in the grass. The charred remains of the tents stood rotting into the blackened earth.

At last Gabria came to a level place by the edge of the treld.

There was only a broad, burned patch on the ground to mark the spot, yet Gabria would never forget this place. She had dragged her father's body from the front of his hall to this open ground and laid her brothers beside him. Then she had built a makeshift pyre and burned them as was befitting for honored warriors. It was all she could do alone.

Whoever had come later and buried the clan had also buried the remains of Dathlar and his sons, leaving no trace of the pyre. It was as it should be, and Gabria gave thanks to the unknown benefactors who had worked so hard to honor her people. She stared at the ground for a long time, remembering the faces of her family. This time her memories brought her warmth and peace. The anguish was gone.

At long last her old terrors had been laid to rest.

She walked bade through the treld a final time. Near the ruins of the hal she paused and looked around. Except for the burial mound and the scattered, decaying ruins, the meadow looked much like it must have before the Corins came to winter there. She smiled with bitter sweetness. That was the wonder of it: no matter how much blood was spilled on the grass, the plains remained constant and unchanging. This land could not be altered by human feelings.

"Farewell, Corins!" she called. "Rest well."

Sadly she walked back up the hil to Nara. She pinned on her Khulinin cloak and mounted the Hunnuli. "We can go.

There is nothing here for me now." The mare turned to face the burial mound in the meadow below and, with a trumpeting neigh, she reared high in the Hunnuli's gesture of honor and respect.

When her feet touched down again, she and Gabria looked at the treld for one last time. After that, Nara turned south and cantered away.

CHAPTER THREE

Two days later, Nara and Gabria came to the hot springs in the foothills of the Darkhorn Mountains near Wolfeared Pass. They had stopped there the year before to rest and bind the wounds gained both from the wolves and during Nara's rescue from the mudhole.

Once again Gabria gave in to the temptation of warm water. They found a warm pool among the bubbling springs and twisting vapors, and both woman and horse spent the afternoon soaking away the dirt of their journey. It was delightful. By the end of the day, Gabria felt more relaxed and peaceful than she had in a year.

As she dried herself she thought of Athlone and the Khulinin, suddenly realizing she was excited to see them all again.

Her banishment would be over in two nights, and she could rightful y return to the clan. For the first time she felt as if she was going home. Smiling to herself, she put on her pants and tunic and fastened her golden cloak. In two days she would be home at last.

Gabria made camp that night at the edge of the springs, upwind of the mineral-laden pools. Nara stayed close, grazing on the sweet grass. The woman was just settling down to sleep when the