He contemplated Quarie.
It appeared that they had found a water witch after all.
Not that he had ever known a Waki to be good with water. The Waki tribes tended to handle fire and stone. They were a hearty little people, of sorts, comfortable in the worst sorts of weather conditions, including the extremes of the high plains and deep and smoky mines of the mountains. As a people, they were very different than the southern men he had grown up among. Short and thick, they waddled more than walked on their stubby legs. Their faces were broad and fairly expressionless, and they rarely spoke. At least not in front of him. But then, taller men tended to try to take advantage of them and press them into indentured servitude. So perhaps it was for their own protection that they rarely spoke.
He carefully lifted his mug to Quarie's parched lips and dribbled a taste of sweet, warm tea onto her tongue, careful not to choke her. After a full day of unconsciousness, surely her body must be desperate for water. If anything, the tea leaves seemed to dance even faster at the bottom of the cup.
A drip escaped and rolled down her plump cheek and onto her chest. As he dabbed the liquid with a cloth, he bumped the leather thong around her neck. Her bloodstone necklace, the same as Illista wore.
Bloodstones were not exactly common among Waki. Or the Segra. Quarie's wasn't even particularly decorative. Just a hunk of somewhat polished rock tied with a strip of leather.
He went to tuck it back into the collar of her dress.
It hissed.
Zuke snatched his fingers away as the flames in the tent all danced a bright blue, on alert.
That stone was more than a stone.
He summoned flames into his veins and reached for the stone again, but it resisted him. It pushed his fingers away whenever he got close. It clearly didn't care for his fire.
Mulavi is hunting a water witch, not a fire mage.
He dipped one finger back into his mug of tea and then let a single drop fall to the top of the stone.
The liquid disappeared. It didn't evaporate or roll off. It was almost as though it was absorbed into the rock.
Quarie moaned, faintly.
He couldn't touch the stone, but he had moved the leather cord without a reaction. Zuke grabbed the nearest blade he could find.
With one quick tug, he had sliced it free and the stone fell to the furs below.
His alert blue flames flickered even higher as the real Quarie was revealed.
Chapter 7
Quarie knew she was dreaming. In her dream, she sat imprisoned, trapped by invisible bonds while her family were washed away by a tsunami. She was forced to watch, over and over, as her father and mother drowned in the massive tidal wave.
That was how she knew it was a dream—there was no water that could drown her mother.
She couldn't even touch the water from her dream prison. The force that held her captive kept her dry and alone, just out of reach of everything, burning in the sun and parched for the water she couldn't reach.
She couldn't wake herself from the dream. Over and over she tried. Over and over she felt herself awaken, felt the dream slip away, felt herself to be asleep in a bed. Except when she opened her eyes, she was back in the terrible place, seeing that terrible lie about their death.
Mother and Father weren't killed by the tsunami. They died by sword and ax, brutally and mercilessly as they protected Quarie and Illista from Raksha and his men.
Raksha, son of Zabewah. Raksha had first tried to woo Quarie with gifts and silver tongued words. She had been enamored of him for a while, until he demanded that she betray her family. His vengeance was swift and personal.
Until that moment, Quarie had never realized how much power her beloved water could wield. She knew it teemed with life. But she hadn't ever thought it could bring on death.
She knew that the tsunami hadn't killed her parents, because she herself summoned it with every ounce of grief and terror and horror at seeing her parents die. She handed her emotions to the sea and asked the sea to murder Zabewah's soldiers.
The water obeyed with terrifyingly efficient brutality.
Her wall of water claimed dozens of men, horses, tents, equipment.
It claimed the beach and the palm trees and the tide pools of her lagoon.
It sent water rushing for miles inland eroding the bluffs and flooding estuaries and the riverbanks.
It claimed her home.
It claimed her past.
Her wall of water claimed her innocence.
The dream started over again. This time something felt different.
She could taste the ocean. She could feel the water teasing her face, her fingers, her skin. Her invisible bonds seemed first to burn, and then to loosen, until they were free.
Still, the scene in front of her played out. In the dream, Quarie's father held a spear to Raksha's throat while a younger Quarie pointed at him accusingly.
That was the first lie. The only weapons that day belonged to Raksha and his men.
Quarie took a step forward toward the tableau, and the figures shifted.
Now it was Raksha holding the sword, and his men stood behind him with weapons drawn. Now she could see that her mother appeared to be performing a dance in some ridiculous pantomime of a spell being cast. That was the second lie.
She took another step forward, and the scene shifted again.
Her mother now held a crying Quarie. But now the water was already rising. That was the third lie.
She took another step, and the water receded. Her heart constricted, knowing what she would see next. Fearing it.
She was almost close enough to touch her mother. To clasp her hand. To smell her comforting scent of salt and spices. To feel the warm strength of her father. But not close enough.
This time, Quarie stood in the middle as the ghosts of her past took over. Raksha made a motion and one of his men swung an ax at father. Her mother shoved the sobbing young-Quarie behind her and was cut down too. Raksha stood over the young-Quarie and held his hand out, as though offering to help her.
Quarie closed her eyes and could hear again the low roar of the waves, and the hammering of her own heart. She could hear the scream that had escaped her lips those years ago, and the laughter from Raksha's men. She felt again the anger and the shock and the sadness invade her. And she remembered how the power of the ocean had flooded her completely.
The tsunami came next, rising high above her head.
She watched the horror in Raksha's eyes as he realized what she had summoned. She watched the useless scrambling of the men as they tried to run away. She watched as they were crushed against the bluffs, as the water rushed into their lungs, as the waves tore their limbs apart.
She watched her younger self, untouched by the force of the water and yet completely consumed by its power.
This time, when the dream slipped away, and she felt herself to be asleep in a bed, the dream did not come back.
“More water?” Zuke asked softly.
Quarie nodded, accepting the drink timidly, as though she were afraid of him. He didn't blame her.
She huddled in furs near his fire, looking small and broken. The real Quarie had long hair that was a deep but dull gold, and a sallow pale skin that hinted of its love for the sun. She looked like a woman who had suffered a long illness spent indoors. A human woman.
“Where is Illista?” she asked finally. Her voice was low, a little raspy, and choked with an emotion he couldn't quite define.
He hesitated only a little before answering as truthfully as he knew. “With Joral.”
She nodded and returned her gaze to the cup of water in her hands.
“I should tell you where you are, and why,” he said. “For starters, it is not safe for you here.”
He laid out the events of the past few days as plainly and truthfully as he could.
Quarie stared at the water while he talked, and only glanced up when he was finished. “My bloodstone. Where is it?”
Zuke sat back on his haunches. “Somewhere underneath you. It would not let me touch it. I would like to know about its magic, if you care to tell me. Did you create it?”
She rustled around and made a small sigh of relief as she lifted the cord with her stone. She clutched it tightly and eyed him suspiciously.
He took a deep breath and exhaled. “First, perhaps, before I ask you to share your secrets, I should show you some of mine.”
Quarie shrugged and then looked him full in the eyes for the first time since she had woken up. Zuke nearly lost himself in that gaze. It held pain and power and a haunted beauty that stirred something deep inside him.
“The flames swim through you the same as the ocean swims through me. They speak to you. You are they, and they are you. You are fire, just as I am water. Am I correct?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it without saying anything at first. No one had ever understood quite so succinctly before. But then, most magic folk he had met had only studied enchantments or wielded some artifact that shared its power. And some would trade their soul for a taste of what he lived every day. “Yeah, that's correct.”
“The bloodstone isn't my magic. It's Waki.”
That was unexpected. His thoughts swirled as he tried to recollect all the bits of knowledge he had about the small servant people. There was precious little. None of it involved magic.
Quarie smiled. It was a rueful smile, with a hint of smugness and just a touch of disdain. “Few tall men, horsemen, whatever they—we—call ourselves have any idea. They see only laborers and slaves.”
“How did you learn the truth?”
Her rueful smile faded into something wistful, and her focus turned soft, looking at something Zuke could not see. Something far away, most likely. “My parents used to trade with them, visit with them. One family would spend every winter near us. The weather was mild by the sea, and they enjoyed spending time in the sun while their home in the mountains was choked with ice. They were our friends. When Illista and I had to escape Raksha, that was the first place we ran.”
Raksha. The name hit Zuke like a dagger to the neck. “I knew that Mulavi was hunting a water witch. But he didn't mention that Raksha was on your trail as well. He's young still, but deadly.”
She let out a shaky laugh. “Oh, I'm quite sure that Raksha is no longer a threat to anyone. I killed him years ago.”
Chapter 8
For what remained of the night, Quarie tried to rest in Zuke's tent. She wasn't sure she could trust him, but the water hadn't seemed afraid, and she trusted the water. It was comforting to at least hear a few whispers from it. She had been so far from the sea for so long that the voices had gone silent. Or maybe it was the bloodstone-Waki body that she wore, though Illista had begun to hear singing even with her bloodstone on.
Her swirling thoughts prevented her from sleeping, but she was at least able to close her eyes and stay still and warm. It was a blessing to not dream.
Dawn was just breaking, sending its thin rays creeping under the edges of the tent, when she and Zuke both sat up, their senses on alert to noises and voices in the camp.
She quickly tied a knot in the cut leather wrap of her bloodstone and slipped it over her head.
The sensation of her limbs reforming and her skin hardening was not a pleasant one, but it was done quickly. She cast a look at Zuke, who appeared to be studying her intently. “It's not polite to stare.”
He grinned at her retort. The expression loosened up his face. For a moment, he looked like a younger man instead of the twisted old one she had always imagined him to be. In the early morning light, she could see a bit of stubble on a squared off jaw. His eyes were a deep brown and were thoughtful and intelligent and not unkind. She always assumed his hair was peppered with gray, but now she realized she was wrong. It wasn't gray; it was firelight in his hair.
“I couldn't help it. I will probably document this later too. I keep extensive journals of the things I learn on my travels.”
She huffed. “So I'm like a moth that you've collected? Will you pluck off my wings and pin them to a display case too?”
“Heh. No. I'm sorry for my rudeness.”
He didn't look sorry so much as hushed. Last night, after she had told him a bit about her encounter with Raksha, Zuke had withdrawn inward. He scowled a bit when he was lost in thought, with his brow wrinkled and his eyes narrowed. On some men, the expression might show anger. But he didn't seem angry, at least not with her.
Almost without warning, the flaps of the tent opened and Illista nearly tumbled inside.
Quarie let out a deep breath. Her sister wore her Waki form, but her clothes were dirty and torn and she looked dazed. Illista collapsed into the furs at Quarie's side and hugged her arms to her chest.
Quarie exchanged a questioning, worried look with Zuke. He shrugged, wide eyed, and stood to gather supplies to make tea.
Quarie tried to help Illista clean up. She and Zuke found cloths to wipe the dirt from her face, a brush for her tangled hair, and a small sewing kit to help with the larger tears in her dress. Illista said very little.
Quarie wanted to hear about what had happened, but it terrified her to ask. “Are you all right, sister?”
“As right as rain,” Illista said, allowing challenge into in her eyes and her voice. Then, quickly as she had snapped, Illista's eyes darted away, hiding a look of shame.
Zuke slipped out of the tent for a while and when he returned, his face was unusually impassive. That chilled Quarie. She hadn't known him long, but for a man with such range of emotion playing across his features to suddenly appear so closed off…it did not bode well.
Zuke opened one of his trunks and began sifting through the contents. He tossed a few things on the ground behind him. A leather knapsack. A small knife. A fire kit. Once he had a small pile, he gathered them in his arms and carried them around the fire to where the sisters sat.
“During tonight's feast will be your best bet. All attention will be on the chief's tent, and I have promised a few firestars for afterwards. Do you have extra clothing?”
Quarie stared at her lap. She knew this day would come. Her safe passage with the Waki, hiding among the Segra people was done.
Zuke continued. “Follow the noonday sun to the south. Don't stop on the edge of the plains. There are plenty of settlements there where you might find shelter, but it is too close to linger. There is a lady in one of the baronies not far from Joral's people. She runs a school of sorts for young women, mainly daughters of lords who are not quite ready to marry. I can write you a letter.”
Illista frowned. “Why would we leave the Segra? This is our home.”
He gave the women a hard look.
“No,” whispered Quarie. “We should go north. There are few Waki to the south. It would make us that much easier to track.”
“Once you pass the edge of the plains, travel as yourselves. You will be targets, but only of a different sort of attention. Two beautiful women traveling alone…Keep up your guard and stick together.”
Illista sputtered. “What do you think…why would you…what about…”
She should have explained to Illista that Zuke knew their secret. But even while part of her saw Illista's panic at the realization, Quarie couldn't move. She felt paralyzed. Trapped, again. They had to run. They had to hide. And it was still her fault.
Zuke's voice was soft, and almost tender. “I knew Zabewah, years ago. He was nothing but a thug then. Cruel and quick-tempered and vindictive. I would not turn my worst enemy over to his hands, let alone a pair such as you. Take this. Sew some of the coins into your clothing, and distribute the rest among your gear.”
Quarie felt like she had been punched in the gut. He knew Zabewah? Is that why he had spoken of Raksha with such familiarity? What else did he know?
He wouldn't meet her eyes. Instead he focused on Illista. He poured out coins from a purse. “They are your wages, earned fair and square. I had asked Nu
nzi for your accounts, telling her that I would pay you out of my own funds.”
He stood and walked with his crooked gait to the tent flap. Throwing a heavy cloak over his shoulders, he looked back one last time. He met Quarie's gaze for a long moment and then dropped it and left.
In his wake, he left Quarie feeling hurt and confused. She had almost felt as though she might trust Zuke. He knew her secret. He understood about the water magic. He had treated her with nothing but kindness and concern. But there was something about the casual way he mentioned Mulavi, Zabewah, and Raksha. Something that made her realize how little she really knew about Zuke.
“Quarie,” Illista's words broke Quarie out of her reverie. “Joral knows what I am.”
The gut-punch feeling came again, and Quarie sat down hard. “We have to leave now.”
Illista and Quarie huddled together beneath the biting spines of a thrombu shrub. The scattered light from hundreds of campfires twinkled on the gentle slope below them. Above, clouds covered the stars like the haze off the sea on a cool spring morning.
Illista pressed her hands to her ears again. “Something is wrong with the water.”
The sisters had left the Segra camp at dusk. Slipping out of the camp was easy. Many of the Waki were gathered around the cooking tents, preparing and serving the evening meal for the Segra. The tall people themselves sat in family groups in their tents. No one paid any attention to the sisters.
Along the far edge, Quarie spotted Mulavi's camp. The shapes of the tents and their flags were unmistakable and reminded her of Raksha. She shivered.
Illista seemed to cringe with every step outside of the camp. Quarie had tried to ask if something hurt and Illista had shaken her off.
It took until they were near enough to the shore for Quarie to notice the cries. The water glowed in the burgeoning starlight, an eerie green that illuminated the parched shores and the cliff face on the far side. A sound, low and mournful, drifted from the lake. Someone had poisoned it, and the water cried out for help.
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