Daughter of Witches

by Patricia C. Wrede

  A shout close by distracted her. She looked up to see Shandy on the ground, wrestling with Jaren. Ranira blinked in astonishment, then realized that Jaren was in convulsions. “Ren-ra!”

  Ranira dove forward and found herself gripping a wildly jerking shoulder. For a few breathless moments, she fought to keep the injured bodyguard from hurting either himself or Shandy in his violent spasms. Then Jaren went suddenly limp. Cautiously, Ranira sat up, panting.

  Mist had not moved, but Arelnath was standing, watching them, her face white and set. “Is he dead?” she asked in a tight voice.

  “No.” Ranira hesitated, wondering if she should try to reassure Arelnath, but she could not think of anything comforting to say. “It is just the way the poison works,” she offered finally.

  “I see.” Some of the color returned to Arelnath’s face. Moving slowly and carefully, the Cilhar woman reseated herself. After a moment, she said in a more normal tone, “Before it is too dark to see, we should have enough wood here for a fire. I do not like the idea of spending a night without one, even at the edge of the Karadreme. I would help you if I could…”

  With a sense of shock, Ranira realized that it was nearly dusk. “Of course. Come on, Shandy.” The boy muttered a little, but he fell into step with Ranira as she set off into Karadreme Forest.

  The two had no difficulty finding wood—the storms of early winter had brought down a number of dead branches. The problem was finding wood that they could carry or drag back to Arelnath. Most of the branches were too long and heavy to move easily. It took several trips for Ranira and Shandy to collect a respectable pile of branches. The sun was setting by the time they finished.

  Ranira dumped the last armload of wood on the pile and sat down beside it. Shandy curled into a ball beside her and fell asleep almost at once. Ranira envied him. She felt too tired to move, but she was still too tense to sleep. She looked toward Arelnath and noticed with surprise that the woman was nearly invisible in the growing darkness. Ranira realized that if she did not light the fire soon, they would have to spend the night in the dark; it would be nearly impossible to wield the flints properly unless she could see them.

  Hastily, she got to her feet, her tiredness momentarily forgotten. She sorted through the topmost branches of the pile, choosing a few that were small enough to burn easily. She laid them out in a rough square, the way she had always done at the inn, then went to retrieve the firebox from Arelnath. As she bent to strike a spark from the flints, she hesitated.

  “Arelnath, didn’t Erenal say there were other people looking for us? What if someone sees the fire?”

  “Karadreme Forest is well traveled, even the parts of it that lie within the Empire of Chaldreth,” Arelnath said. “But you are right—we cannot risk another Templeman finding us.” She made a frustrated noise. “You will have to make a screen for it. We can’t go through another night without warmth.”

  “How do I make a screen?” Ranira asked crossly. She was tired and hungry, and the prospect of additional work was distinctly unpleasant. “And what good will a fire do us if we put a screen around it?”

  “Just screen the side toward the outer edge of the forest,” Arelnath said. “We’ll have to take the chance that no one further into the Karadreme will see it. Blocking off the whole fire certainly won’t do us any good. Use the poles from the litter, and that Templeman’s cloak. He might as well be some good to us, for all the trouble he’s caused.”

  Scowling, Ranira replaced the flints in the firebox and rose. She walked reluctantly over to the dead Templeman and stooped to unfasten his cloak. Stiffness made her fingers clumsy; she had to try twice for the iron clip that held the cloak shut. At last it opened. She yanked at the cloak. Erenal’s body lurched sickeningly, but it did not roll completely off the cloak. Ranira swallowed hard and yanked again.

  At last the cloak came free. Ranira shuddered and looked away from the body as she wrapped the cloth around her arm. She looked toward Arelnath and said, “I won’t do anything like that again. Even if I freeze to death.”

  Arelnath’s headshake was barely visible. “If it bothers you so much, drag the body into the trees where you won’t have to see it. But you had better hurry with that screen. It is getting darker.”

  In indignant silence, Ranira dropped the cape and went to fetch the litter poles. It took some time to coax them into standing upright, but at last she succeeded. As she worked, she tried to decide whether it would be worse to have Erenal’s body in plain sight on the opposite side of the fire all night, or to know that the body was close by but invisible among the dark trees. It was a difficult choice, but at last she decided to follow Arelnath’s advice as soon as the fire was lit. That is, if she could get the fire lit; by this time it was nearly full dark.

  She finished wedging the poles into place with a couple of small rocks and bent to pick up the cloak. As she lifted it, something heavy swung against her leg. Puzzled, she reached for the fold of cloth that had hit her, and found a pocket slit. She groped for a moment, then gave a crow of joy as her hand felt the unmistakable shape of a bottle.

  “What is it?” Arelnath’s voice said out of the gloom. “Have you found something?”

  “Water, I think… No, wine!” Ranira called. “The Templeman had it in a cloak pocket.”

  “Good. We are all in need of it.” Arelnath lapsed back into silence.

  Ranira set the bottle on the ground and hastily checked the cloak for more pockets. There were three others; the third held a small packet of journey-loaf and a knife. Ranira set them beside the bottle, then turned and draped the cloak over the litter poles.

  The rickety supports swayed dangerously, but they held. She sighed in relief. After retrieving her plunder, she hurried to the other side of the makeshift screen. Once again she dropped everything she carried, this time to grope for the firebox. It ought to be there somewhere; she was sure she had left it by the wood she had laid for the fire. Then her hand hit it, and she sighed in relief.

  She bent forward, pushing her face almost into the twigs in her effort to see them clearly. When she thought she was sure where the tinder lay, she positioned her hands and struck a spark. The first spark failed to start the wood burning, but its brief light was enough to show Ranira where her hands should be. She directed the second spark with more confidence, and the tinder caught.

  Ranira coaxed the tiny glow into a flame, then sat back in relief. She replaced the flints in the firebox, but she did not return the box to Arelnath until she was certain the fire would not die. Then she rose and walked over to Arelnath. The Cilhar woman seemed relaxed, and singularly at home.

  “Arelnath,” Ranira said as she tucked the firebox back into the pouch at the woman’s belt, “how is it you know so much about Karadreme Forest?”

  “I traveled as a guard with the Trader Caravans, back when I was first learning my profession. The Traders know more of the Karadreme than anyone else. I paid attention because it reminds me of home.”

  “The forest reminds you of the Island of the Moon?” Ranira said, surprised.

  “Mother of Mountains, no!” Arelnath said. “I am no priestess or adept; I have not the patience for it. I am a Cilhar, from the Mountains of Morravik. The Karadreme reminds me of the forests there.”

  “How do you know so much about Mist, then?” Ranira asked, bewildered. “I thought surely you were one of her people. You know magic, and you knew about Saranith…”

  “I studied magic for a few months when I was a child, but it did not suit me,” Arelnath replied. “Most Cilhar are mercenaries—the Island of the Moon hires quite a number of us. You might say that our peoples are old friends, and so are we. I have known Mist for a long time, and so has Jaren.” Arelnath’s eyes flicked to the dark shape lying motionless near the fire, and she fell silent.

  Ranira wanted to ask more, but she hesitated to disturb Arelnath in this mood. Instead, she returned to the fireside. She retrieved the flask of wine and the packet of journey-lo
af, and moved back to Arelnath’s side. In silence, they split the journey-loaf into five parts. Three of these Ranira rewrapped carefully and set aside for Mist, Shandy, and Jaren. The remaining pieces she divided with Arelnath. Though Ranira was very hungry, she forced herself to set aside half of her own share as well. She knew she would be glad of it in the morning, but it was hard not to gobble it all up as fast as she could. Her restraint was rewarded with one of Arelnath’s rare looks of approval.

  When she finished her scanty meal, Ranira rose and went to Erenal’s body. Reluctantly, she grabbed the man’s arms and dragged him into the trees. It was not as bad as she had feared, but she was glad when she could drop the body and return to the fire. Arelnath looked at her sharply. “Didn’t he have a sword?”

  “I didn’t look,” Ranira said as she seated herself and leaned back. “And I am not going to. Getting the cape was bad enough. If you want it, you can go for it yourself.”

  A low chuckle was Arelnath’s only reply. Ranira sat watching the fire, waiting. Not until Kaldarin was well above the horizon without bringing any sign of another attack from the Temple did she relax enough to sleep.

  Chapter 19

  THE NIGHT WAS AN uneasy one for everyone. Twice Ranira woke from vaguely menacing dreams to find Jaren in convulsions. She had to wake Shandy to help her deal with them. For Arelnath, it was harder yet; she could only watch, unable to help, while Ranira and Shandy struggled with Jaren. Only Mist sat silent and unmoving, totally unaware of what was happening around her.

  Dawn came at last, reluctantly. It brought Ranira little relief. She felt nearly as tired as she had when she had sat down beside the fire the night before, and the gray light that filtered through the clouds did more to depress than to cheer her. A thin mist was rising in the forest, which only added to her discomfort.

  Realizing that she could not sleep any more, Ranira sat up wearily, shook tendrils of dirty hair back from her face, and retied her veil. The fire was almost out, and as soon as she realized it she got up. She pulled the last few sticks from the depleted pile she and Shandy had collected. Carefully, she placed the wood on the remains of the fire and blew on the embers until the fire blazed up once more. It caught suddenly. Ranira toppled backward in her haste to get away, before her hair or veil began to burn as well.

  “Take care!” a voice said behind her. “We are not so in need of warmth that you must risk yourself to provide it.”

  Ranira’s head turned. Mist was watching her, smiling. The healer looked bedraggled but rested; the signs of strain had vanished. Ranira sat up, shivering. “You may not need a fire, but I do,” she said. She looked over her shoulder and shivered again.

  “What is it?” Mist asked. She looked around and Ranira’s eyes followed. Shandy and Arelnath were still sleeping, Jaren, too, lay motionless. “What do you see?”

  “It is nothing,” Ranira replied. She spoiled the assertion by shifting restlessly, but she could not bring herself to explain her dreams and even vaguer fear. “The forest makes me uncomfortable,” she said at last.

  Mist frowned. “The forest? But…” She stopped in mid-sentence, her head cocked as if she were listening to something. Her frown deepened. “No, I think you are right,” she said finally. “There is something very wrong with the Karadreme.”

  “What can go wrong with a forest?” Arelnath’s voice broke in. “And I am glad to see you so well, Mist.”

  “Thank you,” Mist replied absently. She was still listening. “I do not know,” she said. She shook her head and looked at Arelnath. “There are a number of things that can be wrong with a forest, but after what the Temple of Chaldon has tried to do to us for the past few days, I am not inclined to probe deeply enough to find out which of them it is. It is enough to know that Ranira is right to be uneasy.”

  “If you cannot even decide what is wrong, there is certainly nothing we can do about it,” Arelnath said. She started to stretch but winced as her shoulders changed position. “Ranira, where did you put the journey-loaf and wine?”

  “Journey-loaf?” Mist said, her expression lightening. “How did you come by that?”

  Ranira handed Mist one of the portions she had saved and started to explain. She was interrupted by a moan from Jaren. Ranira turned and saw the sick man beginning to twitch. She dropped the rest of the journey-loaf in Mist’s lap and ran to Shandy. “Wake up! Wake up!” she said, shaking him. “It’s Jaren again.”

  Shandy sat up groggily. Ranira ran back to Jaren. She threw herself down beside him and grabbed his shoulders, trying to keep them from thrashing. At first it was not too difficult, but the spasms grew quickly worse. Even after two full days of illness, he was strong.

  A hand touched Ranira’s shoulder, and she heard a low singsong chanting above her. Jaren’s convulsions ceased. The hand vanished, but the chanting continued. Ranira sat up, breathing hard. Mist stood above her, one hand extended over Jaren’s head. Ranira smiled and sat back.

  Arelnath appeared beside Ranira. “The leg!” she hissed in Ranira’s ear. “Mist cannot heal it if she can’t see it. Hurry!”

  Ranira scrambled down to snatch at the cords that bound the bandage on Jaren’s leg. As she pulled the brown pilgrim’s robe away, she coughed and fell back from the sudden stench. Remembering what the leg had looked like before, she could not bring herself to look down at it now. She kept her eyes fixed on Mist’s face instead.

  Slowly, the healer bent forward. It seemed to take a long time for her outstretched hand to reach a position just above Jaren’s wound. Her chant never faltered, and the remote expression on her face never changed. Suddenly the planes and angles of Mist’s face stood out sharply. Ranira drew back, startled. Then she realized that the effect was caused by a blue glow coming from just in front of her, below her line of sight. She swallowed and looked down.

  Jaren’s leg was bathed in a globe of light that washed any color from it. It was like looking at a stone model. Ranira could see how the swelling had spread, and there were a few darkened areas that might have been the dark streaks she remembered, but it did not disturb her. As she watched, the dark areas vanished and the swelling subsided. The chanting stopped. The glow vanished.

  Mist straightened with a sigh. Ranira stared. Jaren’s leg and ankle looked completely normal. His eyes opened. “Thank you,” he said weakly. He smiled. ‘It took long enough. How long has it been, by the way?”

  “Two days,” said Arelnath shakily. “Mist…”

  “I could only stop the poison,” Mist said wearily. “I could not renew his strength; I have none of my own to spare. Time and rest will have to finish the work, but there is no need to fear for his life now. And there is another task I must do. Let me see your shoulders, Arelnath.”

  “If you are too tired to finish your work with Jaren, you are too tired to try to heal me,” Arelnath said firmly. “Time and rest will take care of me as well.”

  “Don’t be so stubborn, mihaya,” Jaren said.

  Grumbling a little, Arelnath capitulated. This time the healing did not take as long, nor did Ranira see any glow beneath Mist’s hands. Even so, Mist’s face was white when she finished and she swayed on her feet. Arelnath turned quickly to catch her.

  “You see?” Arelnath said. “You are not as strong as you seem to think. One night’s rest cannot make up for the way you have been spending your power since we came to Drinn, and you did not even get to rest really. It took you all night to rechannel your healing, didn’t it?”

  “It is not that,” Mist said, but she allowed Arelnath to help her back to sit against a tree.

  “Then, what is it?” Arelnath demanded.

  “Chaldon,” Mist said. Her face was white. “But they could not be so foolish. They could not!”

  “Who could not be so foolish?” Arelnath asked, exasperated.

  “The Temple of Chaldon,” Mist said, looking up. “The priests. No one could be so foolish as to deliberately release a Shadow-born!”

  ‘‘The Templ
e has done that?” Arelnath said. Her body went suddenly tense.

  “Not yet,” Mist said. “I can feel the strain on the binding, even from this distance, but Chaldon is not yet free. He is growing closer to it, though; his power is spreading into the land itself. I do not think the Temple of Chaldon intended this to happen. I cannot believe it, even of them.”

  “And Chaldon is interfering with your healing?” Ranira asked.

  Mist nodded. “I had difficulty with Jaren’s first wound when I tried to heal it in the dungeons of the House of Correction. I might have guessed about Chaldon then. Shadow-born resist healing. Where their power is strong, it is not possible to remedy sickness or injury, at least not by magic.”

  “Can the Temple find us through Chaldon?” Arelnath asked.

  “No,” said Mist after a moment’s thought. “Even if they control the Shadow-born completely, they would need a far more specific spell than this to find us.”

  Arelnath relaxed a little. “In that case, I am going to eat. There is nothing we can do about Chaldon now.” She walked to the place where Mist had been sitting and retrieved two portions of journey-loaf spread across the ground. Ranira and Shandy followed her example. Ranira also picked up Mist’s portion and returned it to her. Arelnath had already given Jaren his share.

  As soon as they had eaten, Arelnath insisted on starting off once more. “We are close enough to the place where we are to meet Venran and his people. We may as well get there and not risk missing him,” she said. ‘‘If he knows there are Templemen looking for us, he may not want to wait long.”

  Although they no longer had to carry Jaren, their pace was at least as slow as it had been the day before. They were moving more cautiously now, watching for signs of the other Templemen who might be searching Karadreme Forest for them.

  Jaren’s leg troubled him in spite of the healing, and he limped noticeably. Ranira saw Arelnath frown in his direction several times, but no one said anything. Mist appeared not to notice. She, too, was obviously tired, and Arelnath was not as strong as she pretended to be. Shandy and Ranira were also nearing exhaustion from the constant travel and lack of food. It took nearly the entire day to reach the clearing where the foreigners had agreed to meet the Trader caravan.