Season of Glory by Lisa Tawn Bergren Page B

improve by the day in making the most of our
last weeks of Harvest. You might also be surprised that your old friend Jorre moved
his trading post here. After your visit, he said he couldn’t ignore the desire to
join you, any way he could. He found great joy in the stores that our people brought
with us—salt, dried fish, and pelts—and has made good use of them in trade on behalf
of the Community.”
    I breathed a sigh of relief. While our trader friend Tonna seemed capable of holding
her own in the desert near Zanzibar, Jorre had seemed vulnerable, with his many wives
and adopted children.
    â€œHis camp is just over there,” he said, nodding to the right. It made sense to put
a trading post near the mouth of the Valley. “While this is a boon to us, aiding
us in gathering provisions for so many,” the man continued, “it necessitates further
guarding of the Valley’s mouth. You’ll see that your Valley gets far more visitors
these days, and once they understand the power among the Community, many of them
choose to stay.”
    We learned that Zulema and Ignacio, the grandmother and grandson that Tressa had
healed, were up on the northern slope, among the cliffs that lined the river—which
the goats loved. “They’ve grown fat and happy in these last weeks,” Aleris said.
And to the left of the trail, Dagan had cleared forest and prepared ground for next
season’s plantings. “We have hope that he will be successful,” she said. I could
hear the shrug in her voice. Our Valley was far more damp a territory than that of
the Hoodites. But the idea that we might grow our own food, even in part . . . My
mouth watered at the memory of berries on my tongue.
    More guards met us on the path. People from Georgii Post, we realized, friends of
Azarel and Asher, reached up to touch our hands, muttering their welcomes in awed
tones. On and on it went as we climbed deeper into the Valley. More Aravanders, among
the trees, shouted down to us in greeting. People from Chaza’el’s village thronged
around and greeted us with tears streaming down their faces.
    â€œIt’s more a city than a forest now,” Bellona muttered. “They’re everywhere.”
    â€œThey are!” I said, grinning from the collective joy all about. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
    â€œWonderful,” she said reluctantly. I knew she was worried about protecting them all.
It was a Knight’s way. But if the Maker had led them all here, we would have to rely
on him to see us through. And together, were we not stronger yet?
    Up and up we wound along the trail, past camps with the delicious smell of roasting
meat and fish on spits. I was wondering where they had found such bounty—it couldn’t
all be from Jorre’s trading post—when I heard a flock of geese flying above us, heading
south, and then glimpsed two Aravanders raise their bows, close their eyes as if
only relying upon their hearing, and manage to take down a pair with their arrows,
even in the dark. We could hear the geese come crashing down through the trees and
brush. I would have marveled at their prowess as archers if I hadn’t been so taken
with the fact that there were birds . Birds here, in the Valley. Geese. I hadn’t seen
any here since I was a little girl. The birds—so long hunted out—had returned to
our Valley.
    Niero looked back at me from atop his horse. “The Maker has made a way for us to
feed all these new Valley dwellers, has he not?”
    â€œIt’s a miracle,” I said.
    â€œIndeed,” Ronan said. He grinned at me, and there was such joy and relief in his
eyes it made me tear up. I realized then the weight he carried, watching over me,
worrying over me. Here, at last, he could find some relief from that burden for a
time.
    The people seemed to seep from the forest like sap from the trees, thronging around
us with so many torches that the