“You hear the whisper?” asked Quarie.
“Whisper? It wails.” Illista shuddered.
“We should go. We must go.” Quarie stood where she was. The water sound was quiet, but persistent. As persistent as her own fear at being discovered. “The longer we linger, the more dangerous it is for us.”
Illista pressed her hands tighter over her ears. “We must do something.”
Quarie shook her head and turned away, taking Illista by the elbow. They had to leave.
“This is the only water source for miles around. I can't leave this here. They will die here without water.”
Quarie threw a look over her shoulder at the water. She touched the bloodstone at her chest. Without it the necklace, she might be able to speak to the water. Might be able to help it rid itself of the poison. “There might be a way…”
Chapter 9
Zuke sat behind Joral and Chieftess Vituri and their warriors. He stayed in the shadows of the back of the tent, near where the Waki servants slipped in and out, bringing food and grol for the pre-wedding celebration. Joral sat stiffly next to the Xan Segra woman who was his intended bride. The couple had just met today for the first time. Chieftess sat next to Joral and talked with the Xan Segra chief, the bride's father. Their own contingent of warriors scowled over the proceedings.
For a party, this would be exceedingly dull if it weren't for Mulavi.
Zuke's skin crawled as he watched the man boast and brag and bleat out story after story of his own personal adventures. Mulavi was the hero of every tale.
Zuke tried not to roll his eyes. He was there for some of them. Some were not nearly as heroic as Mulavi made them out to be. But in this tent, where Mulavi was a friend of the Xan Segra, was not the place to confront him. And the longer Mulavi stayed here at the feast, the longer that Quarie and Illista had to escape.
So he sat. And watched. And contemplated which of Mulavi's body parts he could safely singe without calling attention to himself in the process.
A thunder of hoof beats interrupted the awkward meal. The tent flaps were thrown back and a cold wind whistled through the space, causing the fire to crackle and sputter.
“What ith the meaning of thish? Rafil, ith that you?” Chief Qitkan slurred his words and staggered to his feet as the Xan Segra warrior stormed in.
Rafil, the warrior, scowled at Joral and the bride-to-be. He upended a large hollow stool and dumped the contents of his waterskin into it. The liquid was dark, like wine, and smelled sour. “The lake has been poisoned. The waters have turned foul. It is undrinkable.”
A collective gasp went up around the room, from everyone but Mulavi. In fact, the cretin didn't even seem to mind that he had been interrupted. The slime actually took a large swig of his beverage.
Joral jumped to his feet. “How is that possible? I passed by its shores this morning.”
Every eye in the room fixed on Joral. Zuke and Vituri exchanged cautionary glances.
“Chief Qitkan, if I may be so bold,” Mulavi swept forward to the center of the tent where Rafil, Vituri and Qitkan stood. “In all my travels, I have only encountered one being capable of such a feat in such a small time. The witch that I hunt. She blackened the rivers that fed Zabewah's people in order to cover her own escape from his justice. She is nearby. Hidden among you. Just as I have forewarned you.”
Zuke nearly swore out loud. He could only hope that Quarie and Illista were far away or at least well hidden by now. His only consolation was in knowing that these theatrics would not be necessary if Mulavi had already captured the sisters. This was a ploy to draw them out, or to give his men access to search the camp.
“The lake, the lake…” moaned Qitkan. Zuke figured that rolling his eyes at their host tribe's chief was bad form.
Joral's fiancée walked quietly to her father's side and whispered something into his ear. She took him by the hand and patted it, as a mother might to a frightened child. “Let us see the poison for ourselves.”
The warriors of the two family tribes organized themselves around their leaders. Vituri led her own procession. The Xan Segra circled their chief, with his daughter by his side. Mulavi and his men led the way out of the ceremonial tent and down toward the shores. Torchlight reflected an excited craze in Mulavi's eyes.
Zuke followed, as slowly as he dared. He leaned heavily on his staff and dragged his stiff leg. He was largely ignored by all. Even by Mulavi.
Quarie knelt by the banks of the lake, her knees in the mud. She felt as though the muck were sucking her down, pulling her into the earth, keeping her just out of reach. The cries of the water were a little stronger, but still muffled, like she had a pillow over her head.
She reached for the water and tried to call back to it. It ignored her.
She glanced back over her shoulder to the top of the bank, where Illista lay concealed in the scrubby brush. Perhaps it would have been better to try this together.
Flickers of torchlight glinted off the water from the far side of the lake, reflecting the Xan Segra camp, while she knelt in darkness.
She should leave. Escape now, while the celebration was at its height. If her sister were right, they could follow the dry creek bed that Illista and Joral had used to find their way here.
She could see the poison. Anyone could. It looked like a tar pit in the center of the lake. It wasn't rushing in to the lake from elsewhere. It was here, swirling in the center, spreading toward the banks.
She tried again to reach for the water. No response.
With a cry of frustration she ripped the bloodstone off of her neck and gasped as her body reformed. The light and sound around her changed as her eyes and ears adjusted. This was nothing like waking up in Zuke's tent. There, she had been sheltered by the silk walls, isolated from everything. Here, she saw the stars and heard the wind and sensed the water in front of her. Everything was sharper, deeper, louder than before. She heard the water wail.
There was no denying the pain of the lake from the poison. She reached a hand out to touch it, and recoiled. It burned. But worse, the water rejected her.
Not the poison, the water rejected her. Rejected her. Rejected Quarie, who was one with the sea.
The poison, however, began a seductive song of its own. It promised sweetness and power. It promised a great many things.
She shook her head to clear it and tried again. She tried to speak to the water, to coax it and soothe it. But it was like a rabid animal, terrified and lashing out at her and trying to shove her away.
She tried harder. Quarie shoved every ounce of her being into the struggle, ignoring the gashes of pain coming from the water. Ignoring the siren song of the poison.
Slowly, the lake began to respond. Greenish water began to rise.
There were shouts somewhere across the lake. Voices. She ignored them
If she could just hold on, just a little longer. She might still remove some of the foulness. Might save something.
Then shouts were on top of her and it was too late. Men jumped from the weeds and rushed her. Terrified, she released the poison she had just barely begun to draw from the water, and it slithered back into the lake.
Quarie tried to summon the water into a tidal wave. Tried to call on the sea like had before. The water didn't respond. She tried every plea, every command that she used to know.
Nothing.
The men were nearly upon her, weapons drawn. The traitorous mud still sucked at her feet as she struggled to stand.
Desperate, she pulled the last dregs of clean water from nearest to where she sat and begged them for help. She gathered them into a ball and threw them at the men-at-arms faces, hoping it would slow them. She turned to run.
She hadn't walked on her own feet for so long. And her legs yearned to swim. But she knew that diving into that lake full of poison would be the end of her.
She stumbled and was caught.
Rough hands grasped her by the hair and yanked her arms. They half carried, half
dragged her. She didn't dare look to where Illista should be hidden in the weeds. She tried frantically to call for help from the water. It was silent.
When the men stopped, she was staring at robes. The weave of the cloth was familiar. As were the designs blazoned onto the man's belt and the sheath of his sword.
Mulavi grabbed her roughly by the chin and forced her face upwards. His eyes glittered coldly in the night air and he stunk of grol and sweat and trail dirt. “I have been looking for you for a long time.”
She spat. That small bit of water from her body obeyed her and pelted him in the eye.
He cursed and backhanded her across the cheek. Her face stung and her jaw rattled with the force.
“Enough.” Joral shouldered past the others. “Only a coward would beat a defenseless woman.”
Mulavi reached under his tunic and pulled out his conch shell necklace.
Quarie stared at it. It was so long since she had seen any trace of her precious ocean. The patterns of the shells, their curves, their secrets. They beckoned.
Mulavi's voice sounded far away, though part of her knew he was still right in front of her. “This one is far from defenseless. She murdered Zabewah's son with only a word. She called upon the sea to spirit herself away, and now she has poisoned the sacred waters of the Xan Segra. There is only one way to silence such a creature.”
The sounds of the ocean crashed over her like waves. She knew it was a trap, but she dove in anyway.
Chapter 10
Every torch and campfire that he passed filled Zuke with its fire. But it wasn't enough. It couldn't possibly be enough to warm the ice in his veins. The flames pointed him toward the lake, warned him with excited dance about the conflict happening.
The flames in his veins were deadly calm, waiting on his choice of how to enter this fray.
Playing tricks on Mulavi by heating up his daggers was one thing. Openly fighting him and his men as they carried out Zabewah's plans was quite another.
He could explain away how he quietly aided Quarie and Illista and allowed them to escape, assuming he was ever connected with them in the first place. Zabewah punished incompetence with mere death. Open treachery held a worse punishment.
He should have left when he had the chance. He should have abandoned the two sisters to their own fate. He should never have let himself care about what that fate might be.
He stood at a literal crossroads. One path led toward his tent, and the other to the banks of the lake where Mulavi's theatrics threatened the lives of the Segra people and his friend Joral. It was there that Illista found him.
“Hurry. He has her.” She didn't stop to explain herself, only turned and ran the other direction.
Quarie. Zuke had no choice but to follow.
As they crested the last rise before the descent to the water, Illista gasped. “No!”
Zuke felt Mulavi's enchantment long before he saw it.
Quarie hung lifeless between two of Mulavi's men in a circle of Segra warriors. The Ken and Xan had separated into sides and Chieftess held Joral's tunic by the back of the neckline like a lioness with her cub held by the scruff of his neck.
Illista started forward, but Zuke stopped her, grasping her wrist in his. He uttered a spell of protection that could only help a little. It was more prayer than a spell, but it was something. Fire tended to burn its targets, not shield them.
“Stay near me.” He took her arm and motioned for her to walk with him. He considered his options for rescuing Quarie. The fire urged him to destroy Mulavi where he stood, but fire could consume Quarie as well.
Zuke paused at a high point of the trail and used his position to sound more intimidating than he felt. “Release the woman, Mulavi.”
“Let the girl go, Mulavi. She belongs to me.” Zuke's voice carried across the water.
“The witch belongs to the king, not the cripple.” Mulavi nearly spat the words.
Zuke lifted a hand and sent searing heat toward the two men holding Quarie's arms. They jumped back. She slumped to the ground and lifted her hands to her eyes as though to shield them from some sound no one could hear. The motion gave him hope. She was fighting the enchantment.
One of the Xan Segra warriors—Rafil, the same one who had been scowling at Zuke and Joral since the day their delegation first arrived—rounded on Joral. He held a wickedly curved knife blade to Joral's throat, daring him to move. “You and Zuke have been hiding the witch. The Ken Segra have betrayed us.”
The rustle and swish of leather, the rattle of beads, and the slice of metal on metal all filled the air as every Segra woman and man, drew a weapon and pointed it at the opposite clan.
Zuke sighed. Things had just gotten more complicated than even he bargained for. This was no longer just about Mulavi and Quarie.
“Your warrior Rafil threatens our alliance, Qitkan,” warned Chieftess Vituri toward the weak Xan Segra Chief. “Make him stand down.”
“Is it true, Mulavi?” asked the Xan Segra chief with a quavering voice. “Did Joral aid the witch? Are the Ken Segra here to poison us?”
“It would appear he is,” lied Mulavi.
Then it was the bride's turn to enter the chaos. “Rafil, please. There is no honor in killing an unarmed man.”
Interesting. Zuke noted the interplay between Joral's intended and the scowling warrior, Rafil, suddenly aware that there was far more going on here than he had noticed before. Apparently Rafil and the bride-to-be were closer than your average princess-and-warrior ought to be. Zuke must have been hit harder on the head than he thought to have missed so much.
“And there is honor in submitting to a marriage with this…this lowlander who would murder us all?” scowled Rafil. “Draw your sword, lowlander, or let your cowardice show us what kind of Chief you would be.”
Following that little revelation of twisted loyalties and, apparently, forbidden love, Joral and Rafil began to duel. Segra clashed with Segra, and Zuke saw his chance.
“We must get your sister,” whispered Zuke to Illista. He began to summon a wall of smoke that might confuse the rest of the melee and separate Quarie from the battle. But Illista pulled away.
“Wait!” Illista ignored Zuke's cry as she ran down the rest of the path to Quarie.
With a cry, she flung herself over her sister protectively as Mulavi came at them with his fists. She covered her head and Quarie's with her thick arms, deflecting the worst of the thrashing.
“Out of my way, flyspeck,” he snarled.
Men-at-arms grabbed Illista. She kicked and bit and clawed at them. One yanked her by the hair and another caught a fistful of her dress.
Zuke cursed his throbbing leg as he hurried as much as he could manage down a steep and rocky path as he saw Mulavi's men grab Illista by the neck.
They must have found the necklace that held her bloodstone, because Illista cried out and her form changed. Her limbs grew longer and more slender and she slipped through the shocked man's grasp.
Zuke circled around the throng of Segra people who bordered Joral’s duel with Rafil. His friend needed no help from him at hand-to-hand combat. Zuke's focus was on rescuing the women from Mulavi.
The thunder overhead startled everyone, including Zuke. Lightning, rain, and clouds cloaked the stars and swirled overhead. He paused and looked up. He had never seen weather drawn like this from nothing.
The storm surrounded Illista, but didn't seem to touch her.
Then the water droplets began, small at first and then giant and piercing. They sizzled as the touched his skin, and steamed off his cloak. His flame power whimpered. Fire could never best water.
Illista didn't seem to need his help. She hurled water and ice and hail at Mulavi, bringing the wizard to his knees, and then prevented his escape with a wall of lightning called from the clouds above.
Zuke felt the thrill of that. He had always loved a good lightning storm. He continued toward Quarie. She was still slumped on the ground, making noise as though caught in
a nightmare.
Joral arrived from somewhere, gasping and scraped from his battle with Rafil, but ready to defend Illista. She seemed to be occupied dealing with her rain storm.
Mulavi doubled down on his enchantment, and Zuke could feel how the wizard directed the energy toward Illista, trying to capture both women.
He finally reached Quarie's side. She was still struggling to wake. He took her in his arms, protecting her with his body. He smiled inwardly. Good girl. Fight it.
“Let Mulavi go, Illista. Go to the water.” He aimed his staff toward Mulavi. The other wizard had stretched himself too thin. He couldn't withstand the fight from Quarie, and from Zuke, all while trying to enclose Illista in the enchantment. The enchantment broke.
Zuke pinned Mulavi in a ring of fire, trapping him. Even if no other action of his was a direct assault on Zabewah, this one was unmistakable.
Zuke felt Quarie's breath change. He felt her muscles tense and then ease. Her eyes flickered open. A man could drown in a gaze like hers.
One hand still on his staff, and his fire-ring still blazing, Zuke helped Quarie struggle to her feet. She took his free hand. Words were needed between them. Many words. But for the moment, he had her and she had him. The fire inside Zuke burned brighter.
Quarie woke from the spell into a storm of chaos. Under the enchantment, she had been caught in a nightmare scene where her parents and all of the Isyre people were locked in battle against Raksha's men. This time had been different. In this dream, Quarie didn't summon a tidal wave. Instead, she stood in the middle of a hurricane. She had felt the wind and the rain and thunder and it gave her hope. And this time, Illista wasn't hidden. In this dream, Illista stood next to Quarie, wielding the storm the way Quarie could wield the waves.
Together, she and Illista shattered Raksha's defenses.
She woke to the safety of Zuke's arms, surrounded by her sister's storm power. Zuke held Mulavi down with fire. And Illista seemed to be succeeding where Quarie had failed. Illista was healing the water.
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