Chapter Four

Icelyn approached the training field slowly, not wanting to distract the people who were strewn across it practicing training maneuvers. She had been sent out into the field to collect some of the long, dry grass so that those who were working on gathering the supplies that they would need when they left Uoria could weave them into baskets. These would be used to pack the extra food, clothing, and other supplies that they would pack into the ship, but also be given to each of the members of the new army who would be able to pack their personal belongings to take with them. She was meant to stay on the edge of the field, not disrupting the crew, but she had found herself wandering further into the field, drawing closer to them and scanning the smaller groups to find Malcolm.

Her gaze finally fell on him and she paused, her hands stopped where they gripped the grass she was going to pull from the ground. Icelyn felt fascinated by him, unable to turn away or stop herself from watching him as he trained. His body looked strong and agile as he moved through the maneuvers that Theia was calling out. His hands grasped a long rod that he swung through the air and thrust ahead of him as if attacking some unseen enemy. Behind him, another person involved in the training brought his own rod up as if to bring it down onto Malcolm’s head. Though she knew that it was just an exercise, something planned and measured with the intention of planning movements and strategy and not with the goal of hurting anyone, she felt a shock of nervousness when the rod neared him. In one swift movement, Malcolm turned and brought his own weapon up to block the blow, forcing the other man back.

Icelyn was drawn to him, seemingly unable to turn away from him though she knew that she should. This was partly because of the responsibility toward him that she felt. Athan had chosen her to help him and this was something that she intended to take seriously. Malcolm was under her care and protection, and she was going to do what she could to ensure that he was kept safe. Beyond just the protective feeling that she had toward him, Icelyn could also feel an attraction toward him building. This thought made her feel very uncomfortable. That was not what this was supposed to be about. She was not supposed to feel this way about Malcolm, or truly about anyone. She knew, possibly better than anyone else, the seriousness of what was brewing on Uoria, Penthos, and Earth, and she was going to have to put all of her energy and attention into making sure that all of this unfolded in the way that it should.

As if he could feel that she was looking at him, Malcolm turned and looked across the field toward her. Their eyes met and Icelyn looked down sharply, turning her attention back to the grass. She tightened her grip on the dry strands and gave them a hard yank, pulling them from the ground. They came up out of the dirt in a tight bundle that she put into the basket on her back. She continued this way, not looking up again, until the basket was completely full, and then hurried her way back across the field and into the kingdom. Leaving the kingdom was something that they did rarely, usually venturing out only to gather the supplies and materials that only existed beyond the stone wall, and though she hadn’t encountered any sort of danger in her brief time in the field, Icelyn felt strangely like she understood why they tended to remain in the more familiar, protected kingdom.

She kept up such a pace on her way back to the meeting hall that she was breathless by the time that she stepped through the doors and lowered her basket to the floor. Several of the people in the room looked up at her as she entered and then turned back to their work, moving with urgency as they wove baskets and stitched garments. A man stepped up to her and grabbed her basket, flipping it onto his back where he carried several others and scurrying away. Icelyn drew in a breath and reached up to wipe a drop of sweat away from her forehead. Just as Theia had been guiding the training of a blended army in the way that she did for the Denynso warriors on the compound, the group that was around her handling the preparations was a mixture of men and women of various ages. These were the people who were either not in good enough condition to join the army and participate in the fighting, but who wanted to support those who were, or who planned on going along with them to Penthos but to help them handle their needs while they were there rather than participating in the battles themselves.

They had decided to handle the preparations in the meeting hall to ensure that they had enough space and to keep them all contained, protecting both the people and the materials that they were gathering. This filled the space with sounds, smells, and sights that created an almost overwhelming experience. Icelyn could see people clustered in one corner preserving food in cans while others wrapped fruit, nuts, and larger foods in cloth and boxes. Scattered in the seats were women stitching new clothing, blankets, cloaks, and harnesses for weapons. Older members of the kingdom and the human settlement sat on the floor weaving baskets with fingers so fast and nimble that Icelyn could scarcely see them moving as they progressed through the spirals and thatch work of the different types of baskets.

“Icelyn.”

Icelyn turned toward the sound of her name and saw Ellora coming toward her. She was carrying a basket of blankets on her hip and her face looked flushed as if she had been moving continuously for some time.

“Hello, Ellora,” she said. “How are you?”

The older woman nodded and looked around.

“Things are coming along,” she said. “I hope that we’re able to get everything finished in time. Athan and Theia say that the training should only take a few days.”

“Do you really think that they will be able to prepare the army enough in that short of a time?” Icelyn asked.

“I honestly don’t think that they have much of a choice,” Ellora said. “The people on Penthos have already been waiting for some time. They need the help. We have no idea what they might be facing right now and the longer that we take to get to them, the more danger that they are going to be in.”

Icelyn could hear the fear in the woman’s voice and knew that Ellora was thinking of Maxim. One son had been gravely injured on Penthos already, though he was mended enough that he was now participating in the training session, and the other was still on the distant planet, facing down a fearsome enemy that had made it clear that they were their primary target. She couldn’t imagine how terrifying this was for Ellora and this only strengthened Icelyn’s resolve to do anything that she could to help with the preparations. Though she had yet to make a decision as to whether she was going to go to Penthos with them, she wanted to help the crew be as prepared as they could be so that as many of them as possible would be able to return home safe and victorious.

“Theia is a good trainer,” Icelyn said, trying to comfort and reassure the woman. “She has trained the most powerful clan of warriors in the galaxy. She’ll be able to get them ready in time.”

Ellora nodded again as if she were trying to reassure herself, then tilted her head slightly to look at Icelyn more directly.

“Are you doing alright?” she asked. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” Icelyn said. “Everything’s just happening so quickly. I’m just trying to get used to it all and make sure that I’m getting everything done.”

“Athan tells me that Malcolm is going to be staying with you until the crew leaves for Penthos.”

“Yes,” Icelyn said. “He came last night.”

“That’s good,” Ellora said. “I like that you aren’t alone, at least for now. It’s been too long.”

Icelyn tried to force a smile, but looked away so that Ellora couldn’t see that the expression didn’t reach her eyes. She knew that the older woman had meant well with the comment, but it only worked to bring up difficult memories that Icelyn didn’t want to contemplate. It was too much for right then. There were other things that she needed to have on her mind.

“I’m going to go help with the blankets,” Icelyn said, taking her leave of Ellora.

She moved across the meeting hall toward where several people were gathered near a towering stack of fabric scraps they were making into blankets. Taking up a needle and thread, she grabbed a scrap from the stack and began to stitch it onto the edge of a blanket that three other people were gradually building. Her fingers moved swiftly and soon she had slipped out of her thoughts and into a gentle meditation, swept away by the continuous, rhythmic pattern of the stitches forming in the fabric.