Daughter of Witches

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “What? What do you mean, ‘closer’?” Ranira looked around nervously. Rolling fields stretched out on either side of them, giving her a feeling of exposure.

  “Karadreme Forest,” Arelnath replied waving toward the northeast, where a row of treetops made a dark line between the brown fields and the gray sky. “Venran’s caravan is to meet us there in two days.” The Cilhar woman smiled briefly. “When he sees you and Shandy, he will probably double the price he wants for picking us up there.”

  Ranira’s shoulders twitched. She looked around again. “How long will it take us to get there?” she asked. “I do not like these open fields.”

  “The forest is closer than it looks, but we are traveling more slowly than I had hoped to. Another hour or two, I think.”

  “Then can we stop?” Shandy asked.

  “When we get to the forest, we can rest for a while. We will have to go on to join Venran eventually, but the meeting place is not more than half a day’s travel into the Karadreme.”

  “Can we go on now?” Ranira asked.

  Arelnath looked surprised, but she nodded. She bent to hoist the litter once more, then paused and looked over at Mist.

  “Are you ready to start walking again?” Arelnath asked.

  Mist nodded. “If it is only for another hour, I can manage. Do not hold back because of me.”

  Arelnath nodded agreement, but Ranira saw the little crease that formed between the other woman’s eyebrows as she turned back to lift the stretcher poles. Ranira was not surprised to find Arelnath setting an even slower pace than she had that morning.

  They stayed on the road as long as they were able. When Arelnath finally turned to cut across the fields toward the forest, they were able to go almost directly north. The Cilhar woman had been right in saying that the forest was closer than it looked, but by the time they reached it they were all glad to stop once more. Jaren moaned as they set the litter down. Arelnath hurried to untie him from the frame.

  Mist moved to help, but Arelnath waved her away. With surprising gentleness, Arelnath laid back the layers of cloth covering Jaren’s injured leg. Ranira recoiled from the sight. The ankle was black and swollen to twice its normal size. Blue-black streaks ran up the leg halfway to the knee, and the skin that showed between them was an angry red. Arelnath looked up, and her eyes sought Mist. “If you do not help him soon, he will lose the leg,” she said grimly.

  Mist leaned forward to examine Jaren’s leg more closely. “You are right,” she said quietly. Ranira was surprised at the healer’s calm. Then Mist’s eyes moved toward the south and Ranira saw the tension in the motion. “You are right,” Mist said again. “Jaren will lose his leg, and perhaps his life, if I do nothing for him. Those on the island will die just as surely if I cannot warn them before both moons are full and the Temple of Chaldon attacks. Yet I cannot do both; I fear that I have not even strength enough for one.” She bowed her head. For a moment there was silence.

  Arelnath cleared her throat. “I have helped you before,” the woman said when Mist looked up. “Whatever assistance I can give is yours. I do not think we can reach the Temple of the Third Moon when we failed before, but if there is any chance that we can do so, we must try.”

  Indecision wrenched at Mist’s face. “I do not know,” she said, looking down at Jaren. “Even without the barrier, it is so far… And I am tired. I may not be able to try healing afterward, even with your assistance.”

  Unexpectedly, Jaren’s eyes opened. “Mist,” he said in a strained voice. Mist bent over him, and he blinked up at her face for a moment. “Try,” he said clearly. His eyes sought Arelnath, and he spoke briefly in a language foreign to Ranira.

  Arelnath nodded. From her belt, she drew the Temple dagger. She stepped to Jaren’s side and bent swiftly to place it in his hand. As his fingers closed around the hilt, she murmured something in the same tongue that Jaren had spoken. Jaren smiled and let hand and dagger fall to his side. His eyes closed. Arelnath looked up into Ranira’s uncomprehending stare.

  “He has the right to hold a weapon so long as he is able,” Arelnath said a little defensively. “It is his choice when and how to use it.”

  Ranira was aghast as the implications of Arelnath’s statement penetrated. “You couldn’t let him…” she started to protest, but stopped in mid-sentence, silenced by the look on Arelnath’s face.

  “It is his choice,” Arelnath repeated. She turned away, leaving Ranira standing with a hollow feeling in her chest.

  Ranira did not want to believe Arelnath’s unspoken assertion that Jaren might choose to kill himself, and she resented the implication that Arelnath would allow it. She stared at the Cilhar woman’s back, trying to find words to express her indignation. Unconscious of her stare, Arelnath dropped to the ground beside Jaren and began absently running one finger along the blade of the knife he held.

  The action startled Ranira. Arelnath looked up. For the briefest instant, Ranira saw an expression of hurt and doubt and fear for Jaren’s life. Then the woman’s habitual self-discipline returned, erasing all trace of emotion except the deepening lines of strain and tiredness.

  Ranira’s anger evaporated in sympathy. Whatever code the Cilhar woman lived by was a harsh one, to demand such control. Ranira was sure that she could never match Arelnath’s conduct—if Shandy had been bitten, instead of Jaren, she knew she would not have been able to accept his death, much less offer him an opportunity to cause it himself. No, she would have tried everything she could to keep him alive, and Shandy was only her friend, not her sword-mate, as Jaren was to Arelnath.

  Breath stopped. Then Ranira let out a slow, shaken sigh of realization. Jaren was her friend, too. In addition, she owed him a debt; he had saved her life more than once. She was bound to help Jaren just as she felt bound to help Shandy. And, she realized with a sick feeling, there was at least one thing she had to offer that might be of some use. She was a witch; she had admitted it to Shandy. Now she had to admit it to herself.

  Before she could think too much more and perhaps change her mind, Ranira walked over to Mist and touched her shoulder. “Could you…” She hesitated, then said with difficulty, “Would you be able to do both—I mean heal Jaren and reach your island—if I helped?”

  Mist looked at her thoughtfully. “It is possible. You have a great deal of power, and you have not tired yourself by using it, as Arelnath and I have done. But are you sure you really wish to offer this? You have a strong block against magic; at best, it will be difficult for you.”

  Ranira swallowed hard and nodded miserably.

  “Renra! You’re not going to help witches!” Shandy was appalled.

  “I am just as much a witch as Mist or Arelnath,” Ranira said. She faltered, then continued with growing strength and resentment. “Furthermore, I have been helping witches for four days, and so have you, Shandy! How much difference does it make to work magic instead of just watching it?”

  “Ah, Renra.” Shandy mumbled. “I didn’t mean…”

  “And I am tired of the way you have been acting,” she went on, disregarding the boy’s attempted interruption. “You have been giving me advice and orders ever since we left Drinn as if I were your sister or your cousin. Well, I am not either, so stop acting as if I were!”

  “But Renra!” Shandy was visibly upset. “You don’t have any family to take care of you. And magic is dangerous. Templemen catch people who do magic. And you never pay any attention to me, anyway,” he finished sullenly.”

  As she realized the truth of this statement, Ranira’s anger faded. “I am sorry, Shandy,” she apologized. “I am tired and—and too many things have been happening.”

  “We are all tired,” Arelnath put in. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can rest. If you are ready, Ranira, perhaps we should begin.”

  “Yes,” Mist said before Shandy could voice another objection. “It will be better for all of us if we know at once whether this will succeed or not. Come here, child.”

&nb
sp; Slowly, Ranira seated herself beside Mist. For an instant, she regretted her impulsive offer, but a quick look in Jaren’s direction was enough to harden her resolve. Silently, Ranira offered Mist one of her hands, as she had seen Arelnath do.

  She was a little surprised when Mist clasped it without comment or explanation. Perhaps the healer felt that Ranira had seen enough magic to understand what was required of her. Ranira was not so confident. She glanced nervously at Arelnath, who smiled reassuringly as she coiled down on the other side of Mist.

  Mist began to chant. Almost at once Ranira felt warm. I won’t give up, she told herself firmly. Flames leapt up around her. Ranira tried desperately to ignore them. The heat grew more intense. Mist’s voice was lost in the crackling sound of the fire, but she did not seem to be aware of the flames. Ranira tried to look for Jaren, but he too was hidden by the blaze. The fire crept closer. Ranira closed her eyes in an attempt to subdue the fear that almost overwhelmed her.

  The heat increased again, and pain shot through Ranira as the flames reached her. She cried out. Suddenly she felt a sharp jerk, and then a delicious coolness ran across her face. She opened her eyes on Arelnath.

  “That was the last of our water,” the warrior commented, watching it seep into the ground. Her eyes met Ranira’s. “I owe you an apology,” she went on a little stiffly. “I did not really believe your use of magic was so restricted. I am sorry I doubted you.”

  Ranira frowned in puzzlement. Arelnath gestured at her hands. Ranira looked down, then gave an exclamation of dismay—the backs of her hands were red and covered with tiny blisters as if they had been held in a fire. She looked up in sudden comprehension. “The flames! They were real!”

  “Real enough to harm you, though no one else was in danger,” Mist said.

  “How could a fire burn me and no one else?” Ranira asked. “You were holding onto my hand. Your fingers must be burnt as well.”

  Without comment, Mist spread her hands before Ranira. They were scratched and dirty from traveling, but there was no sign of a burn.

  “Your mind works against itself,” Mist said after a moment. “A part of you is determined never to use the powers you possess, and it is strong enough to create a flame that only you can see. You are lucky that Arelnath realized what was happening. It is possible that you could have burned to death if you had persisted.”

  “I told you magic is dangerous,” Shandy put in. “You should listen to me, Renra!”

  Ranira smiled shakily behind her veil. “Well, it didn’t work, and I don’t think I had better try it again, so you have your way at least that much, Shandy.” Her smile vanished quickly. “But how will you reach the island now? And what about Jaren?’’ she asked, turning to Mist.

  “Arelnath and I will try alone,” Mist said, glancing at the Cilhar woman’s direction for confirmation. “If we succeed, they may be able to help us a little with Jaren, even at this distance. Your assistance was not totally wasted,” she added. “I managed to tap a little of your power; it may make the difference between success and failure for us.”

  Privately, Ranira thought that Mist was only trying to be kind, but even so she found the words reassuring. She watched with mixed emotions as Mist settled herself more comfortably on the ground beside Jaren. Arelnath joined Mist almost immediately, and once again, the two clasped hands. Ranira looked on with ambivalence—and Shandy with undisguised disapproval—as Mist began the murmuring chant that would work the spell.

  The chanting ceased almost as soon as it began and Mist’s shoulders slumped as her hand slid out of Arelnath’s. “The Temple of Chaldon is still blocking magic,” she said dully. “I dare not attempt to break through unless I am sure of success, for the Temple priests would detect it and realize that we are still alive.”

  “What about Jaren, then?” Ranira asked anxiously.

  “I will be ready to try healing him in a moment or two,” Mist said. She looked at Arelnath. “I owe you that, whatever it costs me.”

  “What good will it do Jaren if you kill yourself attempting something beyond your strength?” Arelnath asked. “We are both weakened, and poison is difficult to heal.”

  “I will not fail both my home and you!” Mist blazed.

  “I cannot prevent you from trying,” Arelnath said. “Indeed, I do not wish to do so, for Jaren’s sake. However unwise I believe this to be, I will aid you if I can.”

  Mist shook her head. “Healing is not like other magic. It requires too much attention; I will have none to spare for tapping your strength. A healer can link only with another healer when she is trying to heal wounds or disease. I am sorry.”

  “But alone you have no hope of healing him!” Arelnath replied with deep concern. “You will certainly overreach yourself.”

  It was Mist’s turn to hesitate. “I cannot let Jaren die,” she said finally.

  “Jaren is not dying yet,” Arelnath pointed out. “He has another day, at least, before the poison claims him.”

  “I cannot watch him in pain any longer. And if I do nothing, he will surely lose the leg. I can wait no longer; it betrays my calling, and I swore I would never again…” She stopped short and calmed herself with evident difficulty. “I will do this,” she said at last.

  “For yourself or for Jaren?” Arelnath asked.

  Mist did not answer. The healer’s right hand rose to clasp the white stone she wore, and she shifted her position so that she was closer to Jaren’s injured leg. Ranira watched without speaking as Mist extended one hand to hover above the swollen ankle. Slowly, she began to chant.

  Orange light flared about Mist’s arm from elbow to fingertips. Sparks fell from her hand onto Jaren’s leg. She cried out in pain, and her hand jerked away even as Jaren gave a low moan. The abrupt motion disoriented the healer, and she sprawled backward on the ground. Ranira went to her aid at once, while Arelnath stooped beside Jaren. “What happened?” Arelnath demanded, her face white.

  “It is not possible!” Mist said. She paused breathing hard as if she had been running. “It is like Saranith again—Saranith, where I killed to save a city and nearly died of it!”

  Ranira’s mouth fell open. She looked quickly from the clouded pain on Mist’s face to the dawning comprehension on Arelnath’s. “But, what happened?” Ranira asked, repeating Arelnath’s question when no further explanation was forthcoming. “And what does Saranith have to do with it?”

  It was Arelnath who answered her. “Healing requires talent as well as power. Think of it as a special channel through which power flows. A healer can twist her talents to harm instead of heal, but to do so, she must twist the part of herself that channels the power. It is dangerous as well as difficult to do; healers have died when they failed to control the new directions their power took. And once the harm has been done, the flow of power must be bent back into its normal paths or it will kill the healer as surely as the uncontrolled energy could. Mist was lucky at Saranith—she survived.”

  “Enough!” said Mist. “That I survived is my punishment, not my good fortune. I had no wish to kill, I will not do so again.”

  “I thought witches always kill people,” Shandy said skeptically. “So how come you’re so mad about it?”

  “I failed my calling and my vows,” Mist said bitterly. “But I have not harmed anyone here. The old ghosts haunt me still.”

  “You brood too much,” Arelnath said. “The Temple of the Third Moon does not think you a failure, else they would not have chosen you to come to the Empire of Chaldon for them.”

  Mist gestured ambiguously with her good hand. Shandy looked up. “What was he like?’’ the boy demanded abruptly.

  “Who?” Mist asked, bewildered.

  “The guy you witch-killed. What was he like?”

  “He was an evil almost as great as your Shadow-god,” Mist replied. “He would have enslaved an entire city if I had not stopped him.”

  “And you feel bad about it?” Shandy said incredulously. Mist nodded. Shandy eyed
her warily. Finally convinced that Mist was telling the truth, the boy shook his head. “That’s dumb,” he declared flatly.

  Mist reddened. Arelnath laughed shortly. “You see, Mist? Not everyone thinks your crime so heinous. And I doubt that such old events could affect your abilities now. You healed both Jaren and Ranira in Drinn, remember. No, you must look elsewhere for the cause of this.”

  “I think that I can offer some explanation,” a strange voice said. “Unfortunately, it will do you very little good.”

  All eyes turned in the direction of the sound. Ranira gasped in dismay when she saw the man standing on the other side of Jaren’s unconscious body. His black hair and brown eyes were not unusual, but Ranira recognized his face at once. He was the man she had seen in her nightmare, chasing her. Now he stood only a few feet away, with a drawn sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, and beneath his peasant cloak he wore the black uniform of a Temple Watchman.

  Chapter 16

  ARELNATH STARTED TO DRAW her sword, but as she moved, the man lowered the point of his weapon to Jaren’s throat. Arelnath froze. “I am glad you will be reasonable,” the man said. “From what I have heard of your conversation, this person means somewhat more to you than casual acquaintanceship. I would be distressed were I forced to kill him too soon.”

  Ranira made an involuntary sound of protest. The Templeman nodded respectfully in her direction without taking either his eyes from Arelnath or his swordpoint from Jaren’s throat. “I am most pleased to have found you, Chosen One,” he said. “You and your companions have made my fortune today. No, you will not touch that weapon again,” he went on, still watching Arelnath. “Unbuckle the entire belt and throw it over there.”

  Her face a mask of rage, Arelnath complied. The Templeman smiled. “Thank you. Now, I am afraid I must cause you some little discomfort. It is only temporary, I assure you. Unlike this one, you are much more valuable alive.” He nudged Jaren’s body with his foot, then looked down, startled.

  As the Templeman’s eyes left her face, Arelnath leapt. Ranira saw a flash of satisfaction cross the face of the man in black as his arm, holding the dagger, came down. Arelnath saw the trap too late, even so, she managed to twist in midair and nearly avoided the blow. But she was tired, and her reflexes were slow. Stunned, she fell across Jaren’s body. The man in black struck again. Ranira hardly had time to cry protest, and none at all to act, before Arelnath collapsed soundlessly.