Lady Ilena by Patricia Malone Page A

Machonna's wound is too serious for him to travel far. I fear that it won't heal for days. There are no houses in this area that I know of; it is too far to go back to Dun Alyn, and I doubt that I would be admitted at Dun Dreug.
    There is only one place we can go—one place where I know I will be welcome. The Vale of Enfert lies less than aday from here. My childhood friends Fiona and Jon will care for Machonna. Their mother, Aten, is the village healer and knows the best herbs to heal a wound.
    I repack the roan's bundles until there is a hollow space across the middle of the pack. Then I wrestle Machonna up into the depression and secure him with ropes so that he won't slip as we move.
    “It's all right, boy,” I say. “We're going home.”

Chapter 8
    It is almost evening when I stop at the head of the pass and look down over the valley where I grew up.
    Memories flood my mind, and tears blur my vision. I stood like this so many times, resting from the climb up the steep path, often leading Rol with a deer or boar from the day's hunt slung over his saddle. I look down the trail into the village, almost expecting to see my foster mother, Grenna, hurrying out to greet me. But of course she died three years ago.
    My old friend Fiona has seen me. Her voice floats up to me as she hurries along the path. “Ilena! Is it you?”
    “Fiona!” I wave to her and start down the slope. My homeplace is high on the hillside to the left, closer to thepass than the rest of the village, but a large outcrop of rock hides it from my view. Jon, Fiona's brother, is probably busy in the paddock, opening the gate to the night pen or leading Legg, Moren's horse, into his stall in the barn. When I left last fall, I asked Jon to move in and care for the livestock and the fields until I returned—if I returned.
    I urge Rol forward, eager to see Jon, but bracing myself for the possibility of finding a woman there also. When I refused Jon's proposal, I knew that one day he would marry someone else. A farmer needs a wife beside him, and Jon was eager to have a family of his own.
    As I move past the boulders, I strain to see my old home in the deepening twilight. It takes a few moments for me to realize that it isn't there.
    The comfortable house with its thatched roof is gone, as are the barn and other outbuildings. The paddock fence, woven from supple willow branches and repaired carefully each spring, has vanished. I stare in silence at the black patches and scorched posts that are all that is left of our farm.
    Fiona has reached me and holds out her arm to help me dismount. “It's horrible!” she says.
    “What happened?” I step into her embrace and close my eyes for a few moments to blot out the sight of devastation.
    Aten joins us. “Welcome, Ilena,” she says. “Though it's a sad homecoming we have for you.” She looks tired, and she's thinner than she was last fall.
    The three of us stand, arm in arm, looking at the burned-out homestead. “I don't understand,” I say. “How could all the buildings have caught fire at once? The barn was well away from the house.”
    “They lit them all,” Fiona says. “It was before Beltaine— fifteen days or so ago. Craig and I were down at the end of the village, working in our fields. We'd been married for just a short time.” She stops and starts to sob.
    Aten embraces her daughter for a moment, then takes up the story. “Jon and Kenna were living here; they were married soon after you left.” She hesitates and watches to see how I react to the news.
    I'm not surprised. Kenna made no secret of her feelings for Jon, and I'm sure the two of them are happy together. “Were either of them hurt? The buildings are a loss, but Jon can build new ones. Who lit them afire? And why?”
    “Jon is gone.” Fiona forces herself to stop crying and continues. “So is Craig. All of our men and the big boys, too.”
    “What happened?” I ask. Rol shakes his harness and nudges my back with his head.