The Waters Rising

by Sheri S. Tepper

  Then Xulai could lean forward to the woman’s ear and say what she had really come to say.

  “I have done as you asked, Xu-i-lok. The Duchess of Altamont went by today in her carriage. I watched from a tree in the orchard. When she had gone, I collected dust from the tracks the wheels of her carriage had made. I have it with me.”

  “Cast it on the red coals of the fire and say the words I taught you.”

  Xulai took her handkerchief from her pocket, fluttered the dust that it held onto the fire, and murmured the words. At once, the room lightened and the air lifted as though a gentle breeze had blown through to make the fire burn brighter. Xulai returned to the bed and leaned forward until her forehead touched the forehead of the sleeper, making her mind empty as a broken bowl so the woman’s words could come into it.

  “Take the little knife I gave you and gather some rosemary from the kitchen garden, some yew from the cloister. Get a bit of chalk from your classroom. Put them in my hands. Tonight, before dark, take them from my hands, draw a line from side to side on each windowsill and threshold in this room; lay a sprig of rosemary at one end of each line, a sprig of yew at the other.”

  That evening, while the footman was having his supper downstairs, Xulai sneaked into the woman’s room and did as she had been told. On the following morning, she heard Dame Cullen say to Cook, “The nurse says she had a good night last night, free of those terrible dreams that make her tremble and moan. Her face is quite peaceful this morning.”

  Then Xulai knew she had helped create barriers against a harassing evil that came through windows and doors. Were these barriers merely symbolic? Perhaps. Did they have intrinsic efficacy? Perhaps. Whichever it might have been, she learned quickly and applied what she knew relentlessly, “duxa de duxa,” piling little thing on little thing to make a larger understanding. Chalk, for example. Chalk was made up of the shells of millions of tiny creatures that had lived in the Far Before Time. Chalk’s very essence was one of attenuation, of existence stretched over time. The essence of rosemary was healing. The essence of yew was threefold: power in the wood, poison in the berry, panacea in the bark. The essence of chalk and herbs together weakened evil intentions and kept them at bay, though whether this was intrinsic or merely a conduit for some other power, she didn’t know.

  She had learned how to defeat evil by putting bits of image-bound mirror at windows where the evil would be trapped by its own reflection and held there until Xulai gathered the shards in a basket of osier (itself emblematic of life) and cast them surreptitiously in the farrier’s forge. There, the glass melted into lumps with the evil trapped inside. The lumps could later be scratched out of the ashes and put somewhere as remote and unreachable as possible, for they could be destroyed only by a power greater than that held by the sender. The princess, in her weakness, no longer held such potency. Still, she said, even a mountain may be worn away by a constant fall of rain. Each bit of foulness was worth catching and hiding away, day after day, for even these tiny shards reduced the power of the sender over time.

  Almost always it was a woman who was an Evil Sender (though the princess used the Tingawan phrase, um zagit-gao). The gao, the sender, expected her zagit to return to her strengthened by the accomplishment of its work. Zagit meant evil, or pain, or death. Whichever the sender intended might return if it had been unsuccessful, just as it went, with no loss to the gao. If it did not return at all, however, the gao was weakened, if only a tiny bit. Each time Xulai gathered the melted bits of glass and dropped them into an unused well, or into some bottomless crack in a rock, she received comfort and love from the Woman Upstairs. Each time, she could scarcely believe in receiving such kindness from someone so ill.

  Xulai had never before spoken to anyone of what happened between herself and the princess. She had never asked anyone what the illness was. She had heard the curse whispered of, but no one in the castle had spoken openly of it—not until now, after the curse had killed and was done with.

  “Well. Presumably done with,” Abasio had said doubtfully when she told him of it. “I would like to know more, much more, about it. Who would I ask?”

  “Precious Wind,” Xulai had replied. “She might know.”

  Now, leaving the kitchen with Abasio, Xulai thought it would be a good time for him to meet Wind and Bear. She had planned to meet them in the solar this morning, for things were changing, Bear had said, and they had to make plans.

  Upstairs, in the little corner room that always caught the morning sun, she introduced him without preamble. “This is my friend Abasio.” Having mentally tried to explain him to herself, she had decided not to try to explain him to anyone else.

  The two Tingawans looked him over without expression. Abasio merely stood, perfectly relaxed, neither fidgety nor presumptuous, awaiting their verdict.

  “Where from?” asked Bear eventually.

  “Some years ago I was east of here, past the first range of mountains, past the desert that lies east of them, over the second range of mountains, the Great Stonies, and down onto the plains beyond. There were cities there then.”

  “And now? What happened to them?”

  “Gone, mostly, struck by a plague. The restorers have been busy since. They’re still planting trees where the cities were. They’ve brought back animals and birds. The plague killed most of the warlike people; the ones who are left are peaceable. The Edges are still there. Those are places around the old cities where the Old Sciences are still understood.”

  “Dangerous?” murmured Bear.

  Abasio shook his head. “I think not. The people in the Edges have a noninterference doctrine. They know what they know; they pass it on to their children; they preserve their knowledge, but they don’t bother anyone else with it. They have one unbreakable rule: they must understand everything a discovery is capable of before they use it in any way. If it can hurt, they don’t use it.”

  “There’s been a lot of talk about the waters rising.”

  Abasio shrugged. “The Edgers told me the waters will keep coming. They said that when the earth was formed, the aggregation included several huge ice comets. They were mixed and surrounded by a lot of stone, so there were reservoirs of water deep inside the planet that nobody knew were there. Recently, they’ve found a way out. There’s a country called Artemisia, south of the mountains. The Big River used to run through there and the land went on south a long way before it came to a part of the ocean they called the Gulf. Now over half that land is gone. Of course, it was lowland to begin with. I haven’t been to the East End of this continent, but I’ve heard about it. All the cities that used to be along the eastern shore are underwater now, or with their tops sticking out. There’s people living in the tops of the old buildings. They go back and forth in boats. Down below, in the parts below water, they farm oysters and mussels.”

  Bear snorted. “We hear about other places. I’m not sure I believe it.”

  Abasio regarded him thoughtfully. The people in the courtyard had told him that Bear disbelieved most things he hadn’t seen for himself—except that the winning card was destined for his hand. Bear was said to be a dreadful and losing wagerer. “You don’t need to go far to learn the truth of it, just to Ragnibar Fjord, between Wold and Kamfels. I’ve seen old maps, really old maps. You know there’s an ocean west of the Icefang Mountains where there used to be farmland stretching westward for hundreds of miles?”

  “We do know that,” said Precious Wind, quelling Bear’s snort before it sounded.

  “An earthquake went right down that whole side of the continent, split a piece of it off, and the ocean came in. What’s now Ragnibar Fjord used to be a river canyon flowing to the west, into the sea. The river made a dogleg north for a way, then went west to the ocean. The ocean flooded up that river canyon, kept coming south, around the bend, then it’s turned east for a few miles.”

  “Where Krakenholm is,” said Bear.

  “No. Past where Krakenholm was,” said Abasio. “I was
there a few days ago. Now the buildings at Krakenholm are underwater. Somebody’s built new ones on the higher rock, but they don’t look permanent to me.”

  “How far?” asked Precious Wind, her eyes wide. “How far east have the waters gone?”

  “Miles back into the hills. The track I followed was above the river, but they’ve built a new road for some miles east of Krakenholm. Before I got quite that far, I was watched by some nervous bowmen. Hulix’s men, I’d guess. The Stoneway, the way through the wall . . .”

  “What about it?”

  “When the water gets to the top of the Stoneway, you’ll have ocean running down the valley instead of a river.”

  “Except that most of Wold will probably already be underwater as the sea moves east from Wellsport.” Precious Wind stared out the window. “I have been told that this happened in the Before Time, this great surge of waters, shortly before the hot times came, before the Big Kill and the Time When No One Moved Around.”

  “I’ve been told the same,” said Abasio. “Back then, it was a matter of ice melting and then freezing again. This time there’s a lot more water, and as it flows out of the deep caverns, the earth will collapse into them, leaving only water, that’s all.”

  Bear made an impatient gesture at what he regarded as so much nonsense. “So, how’d you come all that way?”

  “The old maps say the desert is a low place. When I started out, I figured if water got that far, it had filled the desert, so I didn’t go that way. I went north, along the east edge of the mountains, until there was nothing but forests. People call it trackless, but it’s not. There’s trails there, even roads some places. People still trade and travel and wander. There’s blowholes and hot springs jumping out at you, true, but most places people have put up warning signs. Other places there’s signs saying which trails are safe. People are generally helpful; they’re eager for news, always.”

  Precious Wind asked, “Do you know which of the old lands are gone?”

  “On this continent, by the old names? Some. There was a place called Florda, and it’s gone. There were three places along the water west of Florda and they’re all gone. George’s and Mispi’s and Albambas, something like that. The ocean comes way up into the land along there, and there’s fish! My heaven, are there fish! Conkrodiles, too. Or maybe alley gators. Never did know the difference. Both eat you as soon as say good morning to you. The way we know about them and the fish and all is from the boat people, and there are more of them every year. They’ll decide on a place, maybe a hundred boats or more of them. They’ll link themselves together with ropes and give the place a name. They’ll live there for a year or two, until the fishing gets slim, then one night they’ll untie the ropes, pull up anchors, and go off in all different directions. Later they’ll gather up in different sets of boats and call it something else. Some say it’s a courting move, to remix their families genetically every so often.”

  Bear demanded, “And so, what do you do?”

  Finally, Bear had come to the question he’d been headed for all along. Abasio had been expecting it. “I do two things. One way I earn money or trade for goods is by being a dyer. I make fancy cloth for women’s clothes, sometimes men’s, too, depending on how people dress wherever I am. I do cloths for dining tables or napkins, sometimes curtains or fabric for fancy furniture. Second thing I do is—you ever hear of a newspaper?”

  Great Bear shook his head.

  “Back in the Before Time, before the Hot Times and the Big Kill and the Time When No One Moved Around, every day somebody would write down everything interesting that happened and they’d print copies of the writing and go around the town selling copies to everyone so they’d know what was happening. That was a newspaper. They had other ways of doing it, too, but they were ease-machine ways, so we can’t have those ways anymore. Me, and others like me, we’re it. We like to travel and we like to find out what’s happening and we like to tell people about it. Like if you were going east past the second range of mountains, you’d probably give me a bit of money or some food or supplies as a thank-you when I made it a point to tell you there were griffons there, plus a few giants and more trolls than I’d be comfortable with unless I had a small army with me.”

  “Magic,” sneered Bear.

  “From what I know, more likely genetics,” said Abasio. “Mixing it up under conditions leading to mutation. And very few of them are able to reproduce themselves. I’ve never seen a female giant, for example, but the male ones must have mothers somewhere. They live a good long time. I’d guess giants are a grizzly bear–human sex-linked cross overdosed on human growth hormone, if you’d feel happier about those words. Trolls probably had some genetics from way back, elephant, maybe, or something from the prehistoric past when beasts were huge. Could be accidental, or . . .”

  “Or?” asked Bear.

  “Or somebody could be doing it. They knew how, in the Before Time.”

  There was a lengthy silence.

  “If you can explain trolls, how about curses?” asked Xulai when the silence became boring.

  “What about them?” asked Abasio.

  “I was in the inglenook and I heard Cook say the princess was cursed,” Xulai announced, trying to sound calm and uninvolved in the matter.

  Precious Wind raised her head to cast an appraising look at Xulai. “Yes, it was a curse. And it’s all right to weep for her, Xulai.”

  As though Precious Wind’s words had turned a faucet, Xulai’s tears spilled. Ignoring the wetness that slipped over her cheeks and dripped from her jaw onto her lap, she said, “Dame Cullen asked who had done it. I think I know who it was. I know the princess was fighting against it. I helped her when I could.”

  “Of course you did, Xakixa. So did the duke. So did I.”

  Only rarely did Precious Wind call her Xakixa, and never when other people were about. The role of a Xakixa was very much a Tingawan thing, not something one bandied about among the locals.

  “She taught me things,” Xulai said, gulping.

  “Such as?” asked Bear.

  “She taught me that chalk has tenacity, endurance, intractability, that yew has strength to resist unnatural invasions of the body—”

  “Which we should not discuss where anyone can overhear,” interrupted Bear, who had been sitting in the open window, drinking tea. He got up and pulled it shut.

  Precious Wind went to close the door. “What we do, we do silently. It’s best not to set these Norlanders thinking we are much different from themselves. Misunderstanding between us and them can happen too easily. Our sages have said that what may be considered sacred in one land is considered foolishness in a second, barbarous in a third, and heretical in a fourth. And in those first and fourth kinds of places, their officials don’t mind executing anybody so foolish or barbarous as to question divinity or heresy.” She stared hard at Abasio, as though ready for an argument.

  He said mildly, “I’ve known that to happen, yes.”

  “They wouldn’t think such things foolish if we could show them it really works,” Xulai interjected.

  Precious Wind shook her head. “We couldn’t show them, because the kind of thing you’re talking about doesn’t work unless a powerful intention unites all the elements. You could put the physical elements in place as Xu-i-lok told you to, but without a source of power, it would not work.”

  “Why did that person wish her dead?” Xulai asked.

  Bear, rising, frowned at Precious Wind as he nodded in Abasio’s direction. Xulai knew he felt they shouldn’t talk about things with him in the room. She started to object.

  Precious Wind did it for her, smiling at Abasio. “He’s all right, Bear. He doesn’t know if he’s here for some reason, but he’s not inimical. When he showed up, I made inquiries. He’s said to have saved the world from being wiped out by resurrected ease machines.”

  “Not just me . . . ,” objected Abasio. “I only helped . . .”

  Precious Wind shook her head k
indly at him. “People tell stories about you.”

  Great Bear frowned in irritation. He didn’t like being contradicted at the best of times, but he satisfied himself with a relatively quiet snort.

  “If we want to discuss what’s going on, we must go back a number of years,” murmured Precious Wind, settling herself comfortably, as for a long story.

  “Falyrion, the Duke of Kamfels; his wife Naila; and their two children, Falredi and Genieve, were close friends with Justinian’s parents and Justinian himself. There was a good deal of visiting back and forth. I understand that at one time, it was even thought possible that someday Justinian and Genieve might be married.

  “Then Falyrion’s wife Naila died suddenly, leaving Duke Falyrion a widower. Not long after, somehow, the widower Falyrion met a woman named Mirami. She was the heiress to Altamont, very young, about Genieve’s age, very beautiful, fascinating by all accounts, and they ended up getting married.”

  “How did Genieve and Falredi feel about that?” Abasio asked.

  “Falredi had his own interests, his own friends. Genieve, I recall hearing, spent most of her time after her father’s second marriage making long visits to friends of her mother’s. Eventually she married someone from Elsmere, I believe.

  “Meantime, however, Mirami bore Falyrion a daughter, Alicia, and two years later, a son, Hulix. Then, while Hulix was still just a toddler, Falyrion, Duke of Kamfels, died suddenly. His son Falredi became Duke of Kamfels. A few years after that, Falredi also died. Hulix succeeded him in assuming the title.

  “When that happened, Mirami left Hulix in Kamfels while she and Alicia went to live in Ghastain, with friends of hers. Hulix was only five at the time, so Mirami left her chamberlain, Chamfray, to serve as steward of Kamfels until Hulix was old enough to rule by himself.

  “Mirami was only in her twenties, a very beautiful woman. She must be around fifty now, but we are told she is still a very beautiful woman. At any rate, her friends introduced her at court. King Gahls saw her, married her, and she bore him his only son: Rancitor.