The door to her left had been left open and a cold night breeze blew through it. It led outside she reasoned, and so she went right. A long hallway. She rushed to the end of it and flung open the heavy wooden door to find herself in a barracks. She could just make out the shape of bodies in beds and she froze solid for a second. There was no sound, not even the light noise of breathing. Óraithe could scarcely believe so many would have been taken in their beds.
She moved to one and knelt next to it, squinting in the dark. There was a dark pool at the edge of the simple wooden bed. She stood. There must be a pack, she thought, and went to look for one. The first bed had nothing of use, but the second bore fruit. A pack and a folded blanket with a sheet. They would be enough. She stuffed the cloth into the pack and slung it over her shoulder, retreating to test the other hall.
A lit room with a body in the doorway beckoned her inside and so she went, immediately regretting the decision. There were a pair of bodies inside and blood soaked the floor. The body in the far corner looked as though it had been mauled, but only above the neck. She held back a rising knot in her stomach and saw to gathering food.
Óraithe could not help but stuff her mouth as she packed. She would need as much as she could stand to make it across the sands. There was a town to the east, she knew. It was miles and miles away. Two weeks walk, at least. It could be abandoned for all she knew, but it sat along a bay. She could fish, rest.
Her pack filled with skins of wine and cheese and bread and dried meats, she made ready. A knife was stuck into the counter, so she took it. The leather on the back of the soldiers would make usable foot coverings. The White Wastes were said to be almost entirely sand, but even sand would scrape away at her feet given enough time. She cut away a pair of rectangles from the back of one of the dead men and pushed them into her pack. She pulled free a few leather straps and stowed them as well.
She flung the pack around her shoulders. It was lighter than she expected. The weight made her nervous. She drew a deep breath and walked to the antechamber. The door still stood open and the wind came in. It was cold and dry. As she stepped out into the light of the Eyes, she nearly broke down. Óraithe bit hard on the inside of her cheek and slapped herself across the face. Wistfulness would not serve her here. She forced herself to remember. All the faces, all the pain.
With her sense about her, Óraithe ran as fast as she could away from the remains of the keep that had been her prison. She could hear shouts coming from the yard behind her. The prisoners were beginning to understand that there was no guard to watch them. Her mind raced with second thoughts. Was there enough food? Or drink? What if there had been horses? Should she have checked more thoroughly? She bit at her cheek again and kept running.
The keep fell into the distance, becoming a shadow and then a speck against the edge of the horizon and then nothing. She stopped running when it was far gone behind her and sat in the sand. A cold wind blew past her and Óraithe fell to her side, laughing. It was all she could do and so she laughed more and louder until it turned to a scream. She plunged her fist into the sand, screaming.
“Why? Why? Why? Why?!” She screamed at the night and as the sound echoed off, she fell to her hands, coughing.
No answer would come back. It was just as well. The question was worthless, meaningless. Breathing heavy, she pushed herself to her feet and looked to the sky to orient herself. She pulled the pack back onto her shoulders and began again. It was quiet. Quiet like she had never known.
Faces began to creep into her mind again. Faces she had not thought of in a very long time. Teas, Scaa, Bonn. Her world had become so small in the world Briste had made for her. No, she had let it become small.
Óraithe breathed deep. For the first time in so long, it was not stale or fetid. She was alive. Alive and walking east.
R
Rianaire
Méid walked into the main hall of the inn where Rianaire was taking breakfast with Inney and Síocháin. Rianaire motioned her to a seat as she approached.
“Sit, sit.”
Méid did as she asked and looked down at the plate in front of her. Rianaire could tell she was still not entirely convinced by the discussion they’d had the night before. Rianaire lifted a forkful of eggs to her mouth and bit. She began.
“I am sorry to say I will not be able to join you immediately as I yet have matters which need my attention. More Binsemen.” She groaned. “It’s exhausting. Still, everything you should need will be waiting for you.”
Méid shifted. “I… I do not fully understand how the Binse should work. How I work within it? It was told so differently in school.”
Rianaire pointed with her fork and made a sound of agreement, mouth still full. She swallowed. “Mm, yes. In my mother’s time, we’d have made tender love and you’d have professed your undying need to serve my will and on and on it would have gone. As
