The boat leaped and bucked like an unbroken horse. Matt was amazed that the wind had not snapped off the mast or torn the sail to shreds by now. Somehow the little boat held together, but another flash of lightning revealed that the island was much closer now. Even in the dark, he could see the waves breaking against its base and sending sheets of spray into the air.
“He’s trying to smash us against the rocks!” he shouted to Lyni.
“I know!”
The wind and the waves were driving them toward the island. Most of it was sheer cliffs, and if the boat was thrown against them, they would be smashed to bits and drowned in the raging sea. Matt could see that Lyni was straining to do something, but he couldn’t begin to say what. From time to time, the wind would reverse itself, and they would pull a little farther away from the threatening rocks. But then the wind would change again and they would lose all the distance and more. The island wasn’t more than a quarter mile off now. He looked around desperately. Was there anything he could do? All the men were bailing frantically. Water was flying out of the boat—almost as fast as it was coming in. Idira, the alchemist, the priest, and the boy were all huddled with Carabello, trying to shield him from the wind and water.
The cliffs got a little closer, but then Lyni seemed to gain some bit of control and the boat hung there, not getting closer or farther away, for long minutes. He could see the strain on her face. Was this some sort of battle of wills? Could she outlast Stephanz? For a few moments, his hopes rose, but then the boat began to slip back toward the island once again. Lyni suddenly screamed.
“Stephanz! Stephanz, you bastard! Try handling this!”
The woman raised her arms and in a flash of lightning, Matt saw her eyes blazing. She put out her arms and the boat leaped forward—toward the rocks! The winds and waves were all moving in the same direction now—directly for the island!
“What are you doing?” cried Matt.
A huge wave picked up the boat for an instant and then passed on by. Matt clung to the rail as the wave smashed into the island. An enormous gout of spray rose up.
And up, and up…
The wind was blowing incredibly hard and it seemed to seize the spray from the wave and suck it skyward. The lightning revealed a frothing geyser shooting up the side of the island, higher and higher—right toward the tower on the top. At the last second, it seemed like the wind changed and tried to blow the column of water away, but it was too late. The flying deluge smashed into the tower and exploded into a gushing torrent that completely engulfed it. The blue glow was snuffed out in an instant.
The rock wall was looming over them, now, only a hundred yards away. But Lyni cried out again and the wind shifted once more. The sail bellied out and the boat surged around and pushed through the waves—south, toward safety.
Matt let out his breath. The tempest was calmed. It was blowing a mere gale now, and it seemed like the calmest of seas. The island sank rapidly behind them, and then a mass of clouds seemed to obscure it completely. The lightning faded, and soon the only light came from the magical lamp. Matt picked himself up and went over to Lyni. She seemed terribly tired and worn, and she clung to one of the stays with a hand that looked like a claw.
“Are you all right?” he asked. She just nodded her head. “That was very impressive. You have my admiration, and my thanks.” She nodded again.
“Lyni!” cried Idira. “Can you hold this steady for a bit? Jarren needs attention right away.”
“Another quarter-hour and we’ll be safe,” she croaked. “Can he last that long?”
“I think so.”
Lyni went back to whatever she was doing, and Matt left her alone, instead turning his attention on Carabello. They had his tunic off, and he could see the bloody rag they had pressed to his belly. He did not look good at all. He could not see how Idira expected to save him—but then he’d just seen a slender young woman throw a hundred tons of sea water four hundred feet up the side of a cliff a few moments ago, so who was he to judge?
The boat skipped over the waves for the quarter-hour that Lyni had ordained and then slowed. The wind and waves calmed in a circle perhaps a hundred feet across. Beyond that line, the wind still howled and the seas heaved, but within the circle, it was like a millpond on a windless day. Lyni staggered over to Idira.
“I can’t hold this long. Work quickly.”
Amazingly, Carabello opened his eyes and looked at the woman. “I’m nine-tenths of the way to being fish bait,” he said through clenched teeth, “why bother for me now?”
“Shut up, you fool,” snarled Lyni.
“Shut up all of you,” commanded Idira. “Now, hold him down and see that he doesn’t move. Jarren, I’m afraid this will hurt a bit. There’s no time for the pain-killing spells.”
“Go ahead.”
“Hold the lamp higher, will you, Hess?” The healer began to chant. The words meant nothing to Matt, but they had a compelling rhythm to them that seemed to go right to the heart of him. It went on and on, and then the woman placed her hands on either side of the wound. Matt gasped when a spout of blood gushed out. Carabello convulsed and screamed, and then another gusher of blood followed the first. What was the woman doing? She was killing him!
But then the blood flow slowed to a dribble and a dark, round object squirted out and landed on Carabellow’s bare chest. It was the pistol ball! Matt couldn’t believe it. The woman was breathing hard now. Carabello was twitching and moaning in the hands of the men holding him. Idira pressed her hands to the wound and she and he cried out as one. Then she fell back gasping. Hesseran wiped at the blood with a cloth and it mostly came away—and no more followed. Matt leaned closer and he could see that the wound was closed. There was still an ugly mark, but it was sealed!
“Gods!” he gasped. “You did it!” Brother Thaddius was mumbling something in a strange language and making odd motions with his hands.
Idira picked herself up and touched Carabello’s brow. The man went limp. “He’ll sleep now. Keep him warm. I think I’ll sleep now, too. I’ve not had to deal with a wound like that in many a year. Thank you, Lyni, dear. You can set us back in motion.”
“No choice,” murmured the woman. “Keep her going with the wind until dawn.”
Lyni’s eyes rolled up and she collapsed into Matt’s startled arms.
Chapter Eighteen
“Reaching for the Great Power is done in a fashion similar to what you do when using your lesser spells,” said Atark. “But you have to immerse yourselves in the power more fully, reach deeper, find the real strength that lies beneath.” He looked out on the two dozen faces staring at him from inside one of the palace’s splendid chambers. Some of the faces nodded in apparent understanding, some looked blank and confused, and some looked skeptical, even hostile.
Atark was discovering that teaching was not something he had a talent for. His patience was probably lacking, too. He was trying to teach over a score of shamans, from as many different tribes, to use the magic he had learned. A few of them seemed to be catching on, but the rest were either surly and confrontational or simple clueless. The old graybeards were the worst. They were twenty or more years older than Atark and obviously resented being instructed by someone so much younger than they. Several of them had already left in disgust, and Atark was happy to see them go.
“But how do we do that, Mighty Atark?” asked one of the younger ones. “I say the words of the spell and focus myself as you have taught, but I do not feel this ‘great power’ of which you speak.”
Atark frowned. He was finding that he lacked the words to even describe adequately what he wanted them to do. When the Ghost taught him, there had scarcely even been a need for words. The Ghost simply showed him and he understood. Was there something happening at those times that he did not realize? He had been tempted, more than once, to bring the Ghost in here and let it teach these people!
But he had not. The Ghost still remained a secret from everyone but Thelena. He w
as extremely reluctant to reveal the source of his knowledge, and he could not forget the Ghost’s desire to posses the body of some young shaman. Atark had made numerous excuses to the Ghost about why he had not found a ‘volunteer’ but he suspected that they both realized he was never going to find one. The very idea repulsed Atark. And he feared the power the Ghost might have if he regained his strength. The Ghost was becoming angry of late, and it was starting to refuse to teach him new spells. It wanted a body, and Atark feared that soon it would hold further knowledge hostage to that demand.
“Can you remember how you first found the power when you were young?” asked Atark to his pupil. “How did your tribal shaman teach you to control it?”
“Why, I just felt the power. It was like the wind. I could not see it, but I could feel it blowing in my mind. My old master taught me to say the words that would make that wind do what I wanted.” The man seemed surprised that anyone could ask such a question. Atark nodded. It was as good a description as he had heard. Better than what he could have come up with himself.
“Yes, that is how it is. But you need to realize that it is your mind and will that control the ‘wind’, not the words you speak. The wind is deaf and does not hear your words. The words are simply there to order your mind and focus your will. You need to learn to go beyond the words and grasp the power itself. The ‘wind’ you feel is but the prelude to a great storm that lies beneath. The real power is there. I cannot tell you how to get to the storm, you must simply try and find it yourself.”
“But what of the sacrifices?” demanded another of the older ones. “You say you draw power from them. When shall you teach us to do that?”
“You must learn to grasp the Great Power first. Only then can the strength of the sacrifices be used.” The man looked unconvinced. Atark bit back his anger. Did these simpletons think magic was like…like tying knots in a rope? That he could show them a few times and they would master it in an afternoon? He looked away for a moment, out the windows. Somehow, most of the glass in this room had survived the explosions and the earthquake. He could look out through that marvelously clear glass and see the winter storm raging, and yet not be touched by the biting winds. Truly there were things of value in the east beyond mere loot. When the next year came, the Kaifeng would reach out to take it all. He would have to talk to Zarruk about making sure that skilled slaves were not killed or misused. What a waste to put a master glassmaker to work in the fields!
Or would it be better to simply kill them all? Knock down all the buildings and turn all of the east into grazing lands? He was not sure. There were stories from far, far to the west, from farther than any of Atark’s immediate kin had ever traveled, that disturbed him. The tales told of another great civilization to the west of the Kaif. It was huge and rich and decadent—much like the east. But unlike the east, the tribes of the Kaif had conquered it—many times. The tales told of the vast riches and beautiful concubines to be had. But they also told how the conquerors quickly became soft and adopted all the customs of the conquered—until they were conquered in turn by the next wave of true Kaifeng from the plains. Atark was not sure if the tales were true. The Kaif was so vast that it would take years to travel from one end to the other. But if they were true, could the same thing happen here if they enslaved these people and lived among them as masters?
He dragged his attention back to his ‘class’. “All right, shall we try it again? I shall cast the spell. You shall watch and feel what I do. Then each of you in turn shall try.” Atark cleared his mind and reached for the power. Now that the image had been suggested, it did rather feel like the wind. A very gentle wind with little strength in it. But just beyond, deeper, there was a stronger wind, a wind with seemingly limitless power. He reached for it, but in trying to think of some adequate way to describe what he was doing, he nearly let it slip through his grasp. In irritation, he pushed the distracting thoughts away and firmly seized it. He would only need a modest amount for this, and he easily took it and molded it into a swarm of the Seekers. A golden ball the size of his fist took shape in front of him and then burst into a few hundred of the tiny glowing specks. He had given them nothing to seek, so they flitted about the room aimlessly for a while, harassing all his students, and eventually blinked out.
“There. Did you see and feel what I did? Let each of you try to do the same thing. Daret, you shall go first.” He had chosen a young man in front who he knew could do the spell fairly well. The man looked nervous, but he nodded and went to work. He chanted the words to focus his mind, and Atark could feel the power he was manipulating. Was he reaching through to the Great Power? It was hard to tell, the spell was weak, but not so weak as the last time Daret had tried. A gold ball the size of an egg appeared. It wavered and flickered and then strengthened again. It burst into a dozen Seekers, which flitted around the room for a few heartbeats and then vanished.
“Very good!” exclaimed Atark. “Much better than last time. Did you feel the Great Power?”
“I’m not sure, Lord,” gasped Daret, who was clearly rather spent by the effort. “I felt…something, but I am not exactly sure what it was.”
“I think you are right on the verge of success. Keep practicing and you will succeed. Odarul, you may go next.” This man did not do quite so well. After a great deal of effort, a grape-sized golden ball appeared and popped, releasing a single seeker which zipped away and was gone. The shaman seemed embarrassed.
“I am sorry, Atark,” muttered the man.
“Do not be. This is not an easy thing. You will get better with more practice.”
“I hope so.”
He went around the chamber to each shaman and had them try to cast the spell. Some did better, some did worse. Finally, he came to a graybeard named Nurnall, the same one who had asked about the sacrifices. “You are next, Nurnall,” he said. The man glared at him.
“I’m not used to being addressed like some novice, Master Atark!” snapped the man.
“Your pardon. Would you like to go next, Master Nurnall?”
“What I would like is to dispense with this nonsense and have you give us the secrets of the Great Magic! You spend days and weeks talking of ‘winds’ in the mind and forcing us to do these ridiculous exercises.”
“It is all necessary, Master Nurnall,” said Atark. This was not the first time he had clashed with Nurnall, and he was growing irritated with the man. But he was the shaman of Ka-Noyen Battai and had to be dealt with carefully. He had a great deal of power and influence and it would not do to anger him. Still, if he truly wanted to learn the magic he had to do the work…
“Why?” demanded Nurnall. “Where did you learn your powers? I am unaware of any great master of magic who might have taught you. I have asked many questions about you, Atark of the Gettai-Tatua. Five years ago, you were a simple tribal shaman, with no more power than the rest of us. Then you and your family disappeared into the plains. Months later, you returned—alone!—and were a changed man. Your powers grew and grew! How? Now you hold lonely vigils in a small tent. Why? You keep many secrets from the rest of us, Atark!”
Atark frowned and his anger blazed up. This man had been spying on him! He probably should have expected it, but he had not. And still, this simpleton believed that the magic was some ‘trick’ that could be learned in an afternoon! It had taken Atark months and years—even with the help of the Ghost—to really master the magic he used.
“If I have secrets, then they are my own to keep, Nurnall,” he said, trying hard to keep the anger out of his voice. “I am willing to teach you what I can, but you have to be patient and willing to learn. If you are not, then there is nothing I can do for you. Now, would you like to try the spell?”
“I would not!” snarled the man. He lurched to his feet. “I will not be made a fool of! Keep your secrets, Atark—if you can!” Nurnall turned and stalked off. Another of the graybeards went with him. Atark watched him go with mixed anger and relief. That one was going to make t
rouble. He slowly looked over his ‘class’.
“Anyone else? I will teach you, but I will do it my way and you will cooperate! If you are not willing to do so, then leave now!”
Most of the men would not meet his gaze, but two did, and after another moment they got up and left, as well. There were now twenty left. How many would there be a week from now? Personally, he wouldn’t really mind if they all left. Teaching them was not his idea, after all. But if the teaching stopped, there would be serious repercussions with the kas. No, he could not just quit. But this was all very tiring. He was coming to look on these sessions with a feeling of dread. And they would go on for more months. Oh well, there was nothing for it but to keep going. In a few weeks would be the mid-winter festivals, and perhaps he could take a rest then.
“Very well! Shall we try it again?”
* * * * *
Kareen worked the pump in the Royal Kitchens and was glad to see the stream of unfrozen water gush out to fill her small bucket. Atark would not permit them to live inside the palace, but he had not forbidden her to make use of its facilities. So, rather than struggle through the shin-deep snow and chop through the ice covering some well to find water, she was in the very cozy kitchen using the convenient pump. A Kaifeng woman, probably the wife of someone very important, cried out in amazement and demanded to know how the pump worked. Kareen explained, as well as she could in her sketchy Kaifeng, and then stood aside to let the woman try. Most of the other women there already knew how to use the pump and laughed at her. There were a great many children in the kitchen, too, playing and laughing with the rest. It was obvious to Kareen that the Kaifeng loved their children very much. They took good care of them. After all the terrible things that the Kaifeng had done, it was easy for her to hate them, but they were just people like any other. Why did they have to fight?
Kareen looked around and sighed. The huge kitchen had four roaring fireplaces and it was very warm. The tent was so cold all the time. Snow had been built up around it, as the Kaifeng did out on the plains, and that helped some, but the fire they kept burning inside never seemed to do much good. And the winter was only halfway past! The coldest months were yet to come. She shivered in spite of the heat, which was actually making her sweat.
Fires of Memory Page 40
