directly to the gods and tell them they needed to return to the world to stop this madness.
Rayan heaved the raider off her and scrambled up to meet this new threat. But as she planted her feet to run she saw a young boy holding a stout stick. He looked up from the prone raider to her, a half smile on his lips. His staff was nearly as long as he was tall. He wasn’t much thicker than it. He wore threadbare, homespun trousers and shirt that had once been linen-colored, but was now a dingy gray. His brown hair stood up in tufts on his head.
Closing the distance behind him were two stick-thin girls about the same age as the boy, dressed in trousers like him that were just as gray. They held bows that looked too sturdy for their skinny arms. Each had a quiver of arrows over her shoulder.
Rayan realized her mouth hung open, as did her dress. She closed it as best she could. Her gaze caught on the older woman approaching behind the girls. Also thin, she wore her white hair braided in a coronet around her head. Her dress waved around her ankles as she walked. She carried a long staff like the boy. When she reached them, she knelt and checked each of the raiders. Beside the man who’d been hit with the pole she looked up at the boy.
“This one still lives.”
Rayan took a step forward, afraid the raider might jump to his feet and try to kill them. Despite their weapons the children would present no obstacle to him—Rayan would protect them if she could. The priestess smiled at her.
The boy pulled a short, sharp knife from his belt and knelt beside the priestess. “Vashon, escort this man to judgment,” he said and with no expression on his face, the boy slit the raider’s throat from one side to the other.
Rayan gasped. She’d have done it to defend herself or the children, but it seemed wrong to kill an unconscious man—even if he deserved it. And for a young boy to do it…
The priestess nodded to the boy, then looked up at Rayan while he cleaned his knife on a piece of cloth he drew from his trouser pocket.
“You object?” the priestess asked. “Would you rather we not have saved you?”
Rayan did not want these people’s ill will. After all, she was alone in a foreign land. “Thank you for saving me. I owe you my life and more. If I can find some way to repay you, I will. I was just…surprised…that a boy would have to do that.”
“I am a priestess of Vashon, the god of joy and celebration and fertility. I cannot take lives, except in defense of my own life.” The priestess’s gray eyes were bright with intelligence. Fine lines of age etched her skin.
“Perhaps a man of your village, then?” Rayan suggested. She looked up the hill to see if there was anyone else.
“Since the raiding began we have few able-bodied men and none to be spared for foraging, which is what we were doing when we heard you scream. In these times, even the young do what must be done.”
While she spoke the girls yanked their arrows free of the dead raiders with a strength that belied their thin arms. They stared at Rayan in open curiosity.
“My pardon, priestess. I don’t mean to offend.”
The priestess nodded and rose. “Children, take anything we can use.”
The children pawed through the raiders’ clothes. Rayan looked away, back toward where her betrothed had died. She’d have to gather their meager belongings.
“Did they hurt you, child?” the priestess asked, her tone gentle.
Rayan shuddered. “You prevented the worst.”
“It’s good that we came in time.” The priestess nodded. “We have not been able to prevent most of the acts against our villagers. We had surprise on our side this time, as they were intent on you.”
“Are all your children forced to be warriors?” Was their village in jeopardy, like hers had been? Was there no safe place since the gods had withdrawn their blessings?
“Not all, and as I said, we have some able-bodied men. But we cannot hold off a concentrated or
Rayan heaved the raider off her and scrambled up to meet this new threat. But as she planted her feet to run she saw a young boy holding a stout stick. He looked up from the prone raider to her, a half smile on his lips. His staff was nearly as long as he was tall. He wasn’t much thicker than it. He wore threadbare, homespun trousers and shirt that had once been linen-colored, but was now a dingy gray. His brown hair stood up in tufts on his head.
Closing the distance behind him were two stick-thin girls about the same age as the boy, dressed in trousers like him that were just as gray. They held bows that looked too sturdy for their skinny arms. Each had a quiver of arrows over her shoulder.
Rayan realized her mouth hung open, as did her dress. She closed it as best she could. Her gaze caught on the older woman approaching behind the girls. Also thin, she wore her white hair braided in a coronet around her head. Her dress waved around her ankles as she walked. She carried a long staff like the boy. When she reached them, she knelt and checked each of the raiders. Beside the man who’d been hit with the pole she looked up at the boy.
“This one still lives.”
Rayan took a step forward, afraid the raider might jump to his feet and try to kill them. Despite their weapons the children would present no obstacle to him—Rayan would protect them if she could. The priestess smiled at her.
The boy pulled a short, sharp knife from his belt and knelt beside the priestess. “Vashon, escort this man to judgment,” he said and with no expression on his face, the boy slit the raider’s throat from one side to the other.
Rayan gasped. She’d have done it to defend herself or the children, but it seemed wrong to kill an unconscious man—even if he deserved it. And for a young boy to do it…
The priestess nodded to the boy, then looked up at Rayan while he cleaned his knife on a piece of cloth he drew from his trouser pocket.
“You object?” the priestess asked. “Would you rather we not have saved you?”
Rayan did not want these people’s ill will. After all, she was alone in a foreign land. “Thank you for saving me. I owe you my life and more. If I can find some way to repay you, I will. I was just…surprised…that a boy would have to do that.”
“I am a priestess of Vashon, the god of joy and celebration and fertility. I cannot take lives, except in defense of my own life.” The priestess’s gray eyes were bright with intelligence. Fine lines of age etched her skin.
“Perhaps a man of your village, then?” Rayan suggested. She looked up the hill to see if there was anyone else.
“Since the raiding began we have few able-bodied men and none to be spared for foraging, which is what we were doing when we heard you scream. In these times, even the young do what must be done.”
While she spoke the girls yanked their arrows free of the dead raiders with a strength that belied their thin arms. They stared at Rayan in open curiosity.
“My pardon, priestess. I don’t mean to offend.”
The priestess nodded and rose. “Children, take anything we can use.”
The children pawed through the raiders’ clothes. Rayan looked away, back toward where her betrothed had died. She’d have to gather their meager belongings.
“Did they hurt you, child?” the priestess asked, her tone gentle.
Rayan shuddered. “You prevented the worst.”
“It’s good that we came in time.” The priestess nodded. “We have not been able to prevent most of the acts against our villagers. We had surprise on our side this time, as they were intent on you.”
“Are all your children forced to be warriors?” Was their village in jeopardy, like hers had been? Was there no safe place since the gods had withdrawn their blessings?
“Not all, and as I said, we have some able-bodied men. But we cannot hold off a concentrated or
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