The Shamri

Mock took Grinda’s small, trembling hand in his.

“But they told me to come alone,” Grinda said.

“Not a chance. Besides, they’re the shamri, they should have foretold my coming.”

Grinda gave him a small smile, and Mock kissed her on the head. The shamri lived apart from the rest of the clan. Not far, but it was a reminder of how different they were.

It troubled her. It made her fear. If the general population of the Quarthi didn’t trust her, then might not the shamri be worse?

She’d been four days with the Quarthi and hadn’t met one, and yet it almost felt like she knew them already. Both Mock and Croki hadn’t held back with their warnings.

“They are powerful and all-knowing, little faqwa. When they ask questions, speak no half-truths and no full lies, because it all will come to nothing. They will know.”

“But be strong. Try not to fear them or quail beneath their gaze. Remember, they might have power but so do you—more so. You are far greater than they. Most haven’t seen or done any of the remarkable things you have.”

Grinda had laid her hand over her belly. “Most?”

“Only one has seen the world beyond the ether.”

Thall—the oldest and most powerful of the shamri. He was the one she needed to convince. He was the one who would make the final decision about whether she could stay or not.

Apparently, over the last four days, he, as well as the others, had been watching her from afar with their mind vision.

Grinda took a deep breath, trying not to shiver at the thought of their wandering eyes.

Mock tightened his grip on her hand. “I will be with you, biala. At your side. They will harm you at their peril.”

They were following a well-worn path, the surrounding branches bent back out of the way, the earth hard beneath her feet. She looked above into the canopy.

Moonlight glinted through the leaves. Somehow, it made her calmer—the feel of so much life. Even after four days, Grinda still couldn’t get used to how magnificent the trees were, how large and old.

And the warks—she could feel them. They were everywhere—far behind, far ahead, left and right. They were like little pockets of heat burning in her mind and heart.

The one up ahead was like a raging fire, so close she could feel the thud of the Mother’s blood rushing through its roots and pounding in the earth like a heartbeat.

The trees ended, and they stepped into a clearing.

And there the shamri were: six of them, mostly old, both men and women, waiting and watching. Their magic made the air tingle.

Her eyes swept over them briefly before latching on to the tree at their backs—the wark. She took another breath, but this time it wasn’t out of fear but surprise. Warmth, power—she felt it flood her veins.

Releasing Mock’s hand, she stepped toward the group of seated witches, her eyes finding the powerful shamri at the center.

~Thall.~ He was big and broad but with a long white beard and gray hair and skin that sagged off thinning muscle. Old, knotted veins bulged along his arms and across his chest. Dark eyes. Heavy brow.

Grinda flexed her fingers. She could feel the heat of him, his power. He almost drowned out the others.

Even still, he was nothing compared to Zin. The thought washed away the last of her fear, and Grinda lifted her chin.

“Well met, Mock, Grinda.” An old woman nodded at them. Their eyes met, and a strange something seemed to flower in Grinda’s mind. A name—Flip.

Sixty years old, mother to three and grandmother to eight. She liked the warmth and hated the cold. A skilled fisherwoman but a poor hunter. Her favorite herb was grinya.

Flip’s eyes widened as she realized Grinda was reading her thoughts.

Realizing the same, the rest of the shamri turned to each other, muttering, all except ShamriThall, who didn’t move.

He continued to stare at Grinda, dark-eyed and seemingly unsurprised. His eyes lowered to her belly.

Grinda dropped her hands to Zin protectively. “I want to join your people. My daughter wants to join your people.”

Again, the shamri looked at each other, the murmuring and whispering becoming almost frantic.

“Quiet.” The old man’s voice boomed around the clearing. “Let her speak.” His wrinkled eyes lifted to hers again. He completely ignored Mock standing silently behind her.

“Why do you want to join the Quarthi?”

Grinda opened her mouth before suddenly realizing she was speaking English while they were speaking Quarthi. And yet somehow, they understood each other.

She closed her mouth. ~“For Mock. For my daughter.”~

The silence that followed was worse than the frantic murmuring.

~“And what about for yourself, faqwa?”~

Grinda turned her eyes to a young man with hair that was almost black. He had a thin chest and a sharp, pointed beard. He held his mouth in a sneer.

~“Will you renounce your God? Your ways?”~ another said, less aggressively but no less dismissively.

Grinda didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she lifted her chin higher.

~“You’re more the fool to think she hasn’t,”~ intervened the most powerful of them all.

Grinda turned back to Thall. His eyes seemed to bore into her eyes, into her thoughts, into her very soul. Again, she held back a shiver.

What had he seen when he’d been watching her from afar those four days? Good? Bad? Did he like her or hate her? Unlike the others, he kept his emotions to himself.

Slowly, he stood. He was much taller than she’d expected, as tall as Mock. Mock shifted uneasily behind her, then drew to her side.

The old shamri approached, dark eyes never leaving her face except to glance again at her belly. Something cold passed over Grinda, then dissipated.

Mock stepped in front of her.

The powerful shamri stopped. The others looked on.

“Watch yourself,” Mock told him.

“If I wanted to hurt her, I would have done so already.”

Mock didn’t move. Grinda touched his hand. ~“Mock.”~

He looked down at her, his brow all crinkled up. “If you’re sure.” He stepped aside.

ShamriThall stared at her.

Grinda stood straight and tall, feet braced apart, refusing to drop her eyes.

~He might be powerful, but so am I. He might have seen the ether, but so have I. I’ve brought a man back from the dead. I’ve seen the future.~

~I know more about violence and fear and horror than he could ever know.~

If he heard her thoughts, he didn’t show it.

Then suddenly, his big, broad hand was against her belly. Mock growled and grabbed the hilt of one of his knives.

The air caught in Grinda’s throat, and she dropped her hands over the shamri’s.

They stayed like that for a long time. She could feel the heat of him and smell his sweat. His hand was warm and calloused, his breathing deep and long.

His expression didn’t change, and he was deep in thought until he finally pulled away, and a crease appeared between his eyes.

Doubt? Fear? Concern?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t good, and Grinda couldn’t help but remember the darkness in her daughter’s eyes down beyond the ether.

He started to move away, and she seized his wrist. ~“What does it mean?”~

He looked down at her gripping his wrist, and she quickly released him.

~“Can you do something?”~

He didn’t answer. Returning to the rest of the shamri, he sat back down.

Giving an offhand wave, he said, “Welcome to the clan. May you and yours enjoy the warmth of the Mother’s love.”

Two of the shamri, particularly the man with the pointed beard, shifted angrily.

“Th-thank you,” Grinda said, taken aback. It was that easy? No questions? No interrogation? She looked up at Mock. His eyes were narrowed, and he was frowning.

***

They were both quiet on the way back, the air between them thick with disbelief. His hand was warm and strong in hers. The forest seemed to close in around her like a warm blanket, safe and protective.

And slowly, the excitement cracked through her unease.

“What are you thinking, Mock?”

He squeezed her hand. “Same thoughts you are, biala.”

She rubbed at her belly and smiled. By the time she returned to camp, she couldn’t stop grinning.

Croki took one look at her and leapt to his feet with a triumphant roar. Forgetting all about their awkward past, he pulled her into a tight hug, hoisting her off her feet.

“Knew ye’d do it!” He slapped Mock on the back. “Welcome to the clan!”

Grinda glanced at the rest of the Quarthi. They weren’t so welcoming, but it was a beginning.

It was a beginning.