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Lelainde woke, the warm sun spilling through the farmhouse window. She lay there for a moment, luxuriating in the light and warmth.
With a start, she jumped up, recalling the events of the night before, and ran to the stable, her night-wear flapping behind her. Sighing, she found the barn empty, though there were no hoofprints on the hardpack floor, there were in the lane. Lelainde walked back into the farmhouse, lost in thought. Once inside, she sat at her writing table, pensively. With a firm nod, she pulled out paper, the ink, and a quill, and began to write, breakfast forgotten.
Dearest Sister,
I hope this finds you well. I paid Master Tamaracky well to speed this letter to you, rather than trust it to the normal post. I have the most momentous news to tell you, but first, I must tell you of the strangest experience of my life.
I met a man, Sister. Not any man, but a Man, one who takes one's breath away at first sight. I came across him drawing water from my well, as I was about to do the same. Since word came back that Tom had died, there is little for me to do but the chores around the farm, and the chores were getting old, let me tell you!
The Man ... tall and easy on the eyes, with great size and muscle, he stood over me, and I fell into his eyes, Sister. Fell truly, and plunged forever into those eyes, hard as agates, softer than graphite, but black as coal. These are eyes that have seen Eternity and Hell, Sister, eyes that have seen pain.
You will guess I did not remain chaste. There was absolutely no question when I caught him at my well, that I should soon find him at my well, as it were. My heart had stopped when our eyes met, and again when I took the dipper from his hand, as he fetched a sip from the well pail. I was as wet as the last sip of the water in that dipper, Sister.
His touch ... I was enflamed, Madelle, and had to take him to my bed, you will see for yourself if you ever meet him, and by now, reading this, you shall have guessed that I do intend and desire for you to meet him.
Barely any words did we speak, and then I found myself in his arms, with clothing — mine — scattered about the path from the door to the bed. I was so ready for him, Sister, his touch, moving down my flank sent silver rain through my mind, his kisses were burning stars on my body. When I drowned in the sensation, he possessed me, and used me utterly, with the most glorious, magnificent ease, and held me tenderly, fiercely. Finally, he drove me to a place I have never been, where I believe I looked upon the face of a Goddess. She smiled at me and greeted me, then told me we would speak more, since we had finally met.
You must look for this man, riding on a horse made of steel. No, I do not jest, the horse is of living steel, and is easily the most understanding animal I have ever met. Almost, I felt that I could speak with it, and it with me, and I would swear before a Magistrate that the Horse was amused, tolerant, nay, even possessed a pity for me.
Later, I returned to myself, and he made himself at home, eating my foodstuffs, and making us supper. Yes, Sister, he cooks food also, but neither you nor I will ever domesticate him, and keep him at home. Somewhere there may be a woman who can do that, and I hate the bitch with all the hate I can muster in my heart, but that woman is not here. Any woman who tried but could not master that Man, I can call friend, since we will have shared him. Though, when I returned to myself, he told me of the doings across the mountains, with wild tales of Hellhounds and Churches and cities with murdered thugs who set upon travelers and paid the price for their folly.
There may be war between planes, he said, and danger of the world as we know it dissolving into war. He spoke of planes, sister, as if he had personal knowledge of them, which is most unusual, as you well know.
Sister if you see the Man then you should take him to your bed or bower.
I shall soon pack my things, and move down the river, following the Man, though not to catch him. I feel a need to do more with my life than grieve on a farm for a husband who will never return. I have given some thought to what the face of a Goddess looks like, and whether she is as compassionate as I know she must be. Thus, your return letter may find me sooner than you expect.
Write back, Sister, for the Man is headed down the bank of the River.
With love,
Lelainde
Madelle read the letter for a fourth time, in the light of the day's last candle. Her hard and fast rule was if it weren't accomplished by the light of the last candle each day, it would wait for morning.
Gauging the height remaining, Madelle found a page, and began to write.
Dearest Lelainde,
Are you truly yourself? Your last letter is so unlike the you I know, the girl I grew up with, swearing to own the upper hand with men. Yet, you sound as if something has moved you — a man, you say, has brought you to religion?
You should come visit, Sister. Though I will indeed keep an eye out for the one you describe — there is any number of rival organizations out there trying to find this man. It may be I can keep him from the harm sure to befall him. He must know something, and it does all stem from the land north of your mountains, but the stories we pick up are, must be, exaggerated. If he's connected to what we hear, then I will speak with him.
Madelle
Dear Madelle,
I managed to intercept your letter, by the simple expedient of asking every captain with a team towing his barge up the river if they had mail for me. You can help make this easier by warning them they may meet me along the way.
I am several dozen leagues closer to you now, as I move down the river toward Marcelon. I can see signs of his passing, in that there are women who I can simply look at and see they have seen the face of this mysterious Goddess. I can simply tell, Sister, and they can similarly tell this about me, from just one glance. We try to help one another, and I think we are forming a loose grouping. How this might play into your schemes and games of intrigue, I know not, but Sister, I am coming, and I am not coming alone.
Sister, intercept him. I should strive to help you understand what we are working with. Every woman I meet with the same story — and we are eight strong now — we agree we have seen the Goddess.
Sister, we are coming, because I have told my ... friends, I suppose, that my true-sister can help us understand how we are to make a purpose. We will help with your sworn aims, to protect Marcelon and the state of Castello.
With love,
Lelainde
Lelainde,
A quick note. Your Man is more important than we thought. Agents associated with the states we watch closely ask about him on all the roads to Marcelon. We have gathered word that he has defeated every ambush of any strength set before him — what we don't know is why ambushes should be set before him.
I begin to give a great deal of credence to the religious overtones you've mentioned surround this Man. If you truly did look upon the face of a Goddess while lying with him, I, for the sake of my life's work, would know more.
Hurry here, Sister, I will not risk the life of a messenger by sending another letter, and I think, should you send one, it would be intercepted at grave cost to the letter carrier.
In haste,
Madelle
Lelainde moved through the busy market square with purpose, for she had seen a piece of statuary being moved in a crate, a statuary she recognized. Resting against the crate, as a weary housewife out shopping for the week's bread might, she spoke lowly, so none would overhear. "Horse, do you remember me?"
There was, somehow, amusement, and Lelainde's world shifted. The horse made answer, and, she was perhaps most surprised, the answer was silent. "I do."
"I would help your rider," Lelainde tried, in the horse's silent way.
"Yes, I suppose you would," the horse replied, in a resigned manner. "What do you propose?"
"The women he has ... lain with," Lelainde blushed only a little, "will band together and help him."
"Who do you think he is?"
"The messenger of a Goddess," Lelainde said with evident pride.
"And what can he do?"
"At the very least, make love so well that women can commune with our Goddess."
Inside the crate, the horse's eye rotated slightly, the emerald glint in the dark interior causing Lelainde to suddenly feel uncertain. "He can do very much more, Woman. What is your name?"
"Lelainde, and I can do very much more, also."
That emerald eye studied the woman's earnest face for a moment. "Keep your gaze on the market, lest you draw attention to me. Has he lain with any women of power in this city, then, Lelainde?"
"No, though I would that he should meet my sister, who is one such," she stated.
A long quiet period passed, and then the horse said, more quietly than the usual quiet manner, "Lelainde, you would share him with these women, knowing the more you share, the less likely he is to return to you? You would subject your sister to this?"
"What is, is often not as what it seems," Lelainde said, with certainty.
"You are wiser than I had thought, Lelainde, and there is more to you than meets the eye, I should say. Bring your sister to me, if you would, or to contrive to have me brought to your sister might be better."
Below the horse's eye, the woman rose and stretched, as if shaking off the stiffness from leaning against the crate, and wandered off to examine early radishes in a cart down the square.
Madelle lay in bed worrying about the state of affairs. Her sister had a dark metal statue of a standing horse delivered to the City Council's courtyard, which the Duke's castle shared, though there had been no Duke for over a year. Politics were at play, and the Council members were trying to position themselves as best as possible in the vacuum created, since there was no heir. The peerage to the Throne of Castillo was likewise weak, and heavily involved with the war to the south which had killed the duke and Lelainde's husband both. It was likely, the council's reasoning ran, if one of the council were able to proclaim himself ducal heir, he would keep both the seat and his head. What if the head were not his head, but her head, Madelle wondered? Though she was not a Councilor, she was probably even better suited to run the Duchy and the City of Marcelon, or at least to try for it and keep it.
Lelainde slipped into her bedchamber and wordlessly shoved a blouse and breeches at her. "What are you doing?" Madelle hissed, keeping her voice low. "For the love of..." It was, she reasoned, entirely possible she was about to blaspheme, and if Lelainde was correct in what she'd written about ... She quickly dressed and followed her younger sister out the door and into the streets.
"Hello, Maddy. How are you? Things have been going well?" Madelle said scathingly, though nearly silently, under her breath.
Her sister made no reply, nor did she look back. Minutes later, they were in shadow, hugging the wall of the Ducal castle, studying the horse. A testimony to the blacksmith's art, whoever sculpted the horse was a genius, she realized. She frowned at the sudden sense of amusement directed at her. Somehow, that riderless statue laughed at her, she was sure.
"There's no one watching," Lelainde assured her sister.
"How do you know?" Madelle asked in a tolerant tone of whisper.
"Sable told me so," her sister answered in the same tone of whisper, indicating the horse. "Duh."
Madelle frowned at her younger sibling. "How come I didn't hear any assurance?"
"Because I did not speak to you," came the answer, and Madelle jumped. A moment later, her frown deepened.
"Sable says you're not able to speak this way," Lelainde supplied helpfully.
Suspicion bloomed on Madelle's face, but quelled when the horse 'spoke' again. "I should guess it is because your sister has communed with a deity. I ... suppose that if I am to make use of you, I must have you able to communicate."
Vera
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