When Women Were Warriors Book I: The Warrior's Path

Midwinter's Night

Our prisoners were sent away with the Lady’s gifts of grain and cattle. Maara found a few among them who spoke the language of the northern tribes, although, as she suspected, these men were not northerners. I would not soon forget the expressions on their faces when she made them understand that they would be taken to our northern border and allowed to find their own way home. Vintel and her band of warriors escorted them. She didn’t ask my warrior to go with them.

As I had hoped, the warriors of Merin’s house began to take notice of Maara, and a few of them offered her their friendship. Laris, Taia’s warrior, sought her out more than once after the evening meal and brought her into the circle of warriors gathered around the hearth. While apprentices were tolerated in these gatherings of warriors, companions were not. I tried not to mind too much.

Sun’s light. Moon’s light. Lamplight and firelight.

Love’s light. Light my way through the longest night.

On midwinter’s night we sang the song that every one of us had known from childhood—everyone but Maara. The singing surprised her. From where I sat with the other companions, I could just see her, sitting beside Namet, who had drawn her out of a dark corner and seated her among the other warriors. Maara had once said that no one told her stories when she was a child, and now I suspected she had never heard a group of people sing together. Her eyes, wide with wonder, went from face to face. I’d never seen her look so young.

We had no poets in the household, no bards or singers, no one who played the pipe or harp. At holiday times we made our own music, as my family had done at home. Some of the elders had lovely voices. Fet, who was ordinarily so quiet, had a fine, clear voice that fell over us like a gentle rain. Her shield friend, Fodla, had to be urged to sing, but when she did, her deeper voice supported Fet’s and wound around it, until their two voices blended perfectly into one.

Long night. Soft dark. Sleep, sleep in Mother’s arms.

Silence holds us. Love enfolds us. Safe from harm.

Sun’s light. Moon’s light. Lamplight and firelight.

Love’s light. Light my way through the longest night.

The rich smell of nuts roasting in the ashes of the fire mingled with the scent of hot cider and the pine branches that hung all around the great hall. I sat with the other companions on the floor, while the warriors, both women and men, sat on benches or stools close by the hearth. Outside the night was cold. Inside we basked in the warmth of firelight and friendship.

Days longer. Light stronger. Nights warmer. Hope clearer.

Life longer. Love stronger. Hearts warmer. Day nearer.

Sun’s light. Moon’s light. Lamplight and firelight.

Love’s light. Light my way through the longest night.

I closed my eyes and thought of home. This midwinter’s night was the first I had ever spent away from my family. I missed them, and in my mind’s eye I pictured them around me. I saw the faces of my mother and my sister, and I saw too the faces of the dead. I saw my grandmother’s face and heard her voice, singing a song she used to sing. I saw my father’s face, although I thought I had forgotten it. I felt again as I used to feel while we watched together through the night. I was safe within the circle, as long as I had my mother’s arms around me.

When I was a child and afraid of the dark, my grandmother once told me, “In the dark we were made. In the dark we rest as in the Mother’s womb, and there she recreates us before she brings us out again into the light.” After that, when I lay in my bed in the dark, I would fall into sleep believing that I fell into the Mother’s arms. Midwinter’s night was a night to fall into the dark.