The Lady at the River's Edge

30 - A Warm Welcome

They were quickly sighted in their approach to the pagan settlement, earning a buzz of attention and activity equal in fear and curiosity. Children scrambled to get a better look, only to be sent harshly out of sight by their mothers, who in turn came to watch only slightly more sedately. The men gathered slowly, deliberately, some armed with cudgels or hunting spears, others with no weapon save their grimace.

These open threats did nothing to cow Erzsebet. Coming closer, her eyes devoured all they could. She noted first with some surprise that their dress was not so different from those of the common townsfolk of Petervarad. She had always pictured pagans as savages in reeking pelts, but here she saw linen and wool, ably cut and tailored, with most articles dyed gaily enough for a midsummer dance.

Their homes, too, were a wonder. From above the tents had looked as plain as soldiers' dwellings, but what she had taken for stains on the canvas was actually decoration, designs painted with glee and freedom, childish if not for their intricacy. There were no moral precepts here as with her native artworks, none of the dogged morality of Christian motif–or at least, if there were, it was subtle. The only lesson she could see writ upon their homes was a reverence for nature, through the sweeping wings of eagles in flight and the sleek beauty of horses at gallop, stylized and sanctified. It was pleasing to behold, a taste of crisp cool water after drowning in heavy wine all her life.

Yet she was drawn out of her joy by Janos' rigidity in his stride. He glared at the approaching men, seeing none of the wonder before him, only the threat–were it not for his sling, he surely would have already drawn his sword.

"Calm yourself, Janos," she murmured as they carried on down into the dell. "They have good reason to be suspicious of outsiders like us."

"And I have good reason to be cautious of a war-band forming in front of our very eyes," he snapped back.

Erzsebet glanced at him, shocked at his sudden vehemence. She saw in his eyes all the same tales she had been told of the pagan revolts, and more: she saw the need to protect, the duty he had taken upon himself to see her safe, the oaths he had sworn. She saw the failures–or at least, what he thought of as failures–and the iron need not to repeat them. What could she even say to comfort him? It was so clear to her, no matter what arms the men might bear, no matter how dour their expressions, that they were safe here with these folk. It was so clear to her–so clear that she could never explain how she knew...

This was where they were meant to be.

They came to the bank of the stream, across which the men had gathered. Some had brought torches, for night had nearly come, and the firelight danced in the water between them like spirits in flight.

"Who are you?" called one of the men in the fore, one who bore no weapon or torch. "What is your business here?" He spoke their language with a thickness, an accent that, while strange to hear, somehow sounded not the least bit foreign.

"I am Erzsebet," she replied, "and this is Janos." An immediate glare from the knight at her side, but she simply couldn't begin this exchange with a lie. "We have spent the last six days in the mountains. We have run out of food, and are nearly out of water. We wish to trade with you, and if possible, spend the night among you."

The men turned inward, their discussion hidden beneath the stream's babble. When they had finished, again the man at the fore spoke. "Well met, Erzsébet and János. I am Bólya, gyula of the Árpatarló Magyar. You may come among us, and trade with any who might desire your goods. Whether you stay this night shall be decided by the táltos."

Janos took a sharp breath, prompting Erzsebet to lean in and ask, "What's wrong? What is a taltos?"

"A pagan shaman," he hissed back. "A worker of spells–a demon-worshiper!"