by Glen Cook
Marika preferred her to the one called Khles, though. The healer sisters did have to take her leg. And after that loss she became embittered. Everyone avoided her as much as possible.
Still they would not allow Marika to see Grauel or Barlog. She began to understand that they were trying to isolate her from any reminder of her origins.
She would not permit that.
III
Marika stood at the center of a white stone floor in a vast hall in the heart of Akard fortress. The floor around her was inlaid with green, red, and black stone, formed into boundaries and symbols. High above, glass windows — one of the marvels of the packstead — admitted a thin gray light come through a frosting of snow. That light barely illuminated the pillars supporting an all-surrounding balustrade forty feet above. The pillars were green stone, inlaid with red, black, coral, and white. Shadows lurked behind them. The glory of that hall ended at the columns, though. The stone of the wall back behind them was weathered a dark brownish gray. In places lichens patched it.
The white floor was a square forty feet to a side. The symbol at its center was that of the entwined comets, in jet and scarlet, three feet across. Marika stood upon the focus of the mandala.
There were no furnishings and no lighting in that chamber. It stirred with echoes constantly.
Marika’s eyes were sealed. She tried to control her breathing so no sound would echo anywhere. She strove under Gorry’s merciless gaze. Her instructress leaned on the rail of the balustrade, motionless as stone, a dark silhouette hovering. All the light leaking through the windows seemed to concentrate on Marika.
Outside, winter flaunted its chill and howl, though the spring melt should have begun. It was time trees were budding. Snowflowers should have been opening around the last branch-shaded patches of white. But, instead, another blizzard raged into its third day and third foot of gritty powder snow.
Marika could not put that out of her mind. It meant continued hard times in the upper Ponath. It meant late plantings, poor hunting, and almost certain trouble with nomads again next winter, no matter how mild.
Very little news from the upper Ponath reached the packfast. What did come was grim. The nomads had decimated several more packsteads, even without their wehrlen to lead them. Other packsteads, unable to sustain a winter so long, had turned grauken.
Civilization had perished in the upper Ponath.
Summer would not be much of a respite, for there would be little game left after a winter so cruel.
There had been no word from the Degnan packstead. The fate of the Laspe remained a mystery.
There were silth out now, young ones, hunting nomads, trying to provide the protection Akard supposedly promised. But they were few, unenthusiastic, and not very effective.
Something whispered in the shadows under the balustrade. Something moved. Marika opened her eyes...
Pain!
Fire crackled along her nerves. A voice within her head said, calmly, See with the inner eye.
Marika sealed her eyes again. They leaked tears of frustration. They would not tell her what to do. All they did was order her to do it. How could she, if she did not know what they wanted?
The sound of movement again, as of something with claws moving toward her stealthily. Then in a sudden rush. She whirled to face the sound, her eyes opening.
A fantastic beast leapt toward her, its fang-filled jaws opened wide. She squealed and ducked, grabbing at a knife no longer at her waist. The beast passed over her. When she turned, she saw nothing. Not even a disturbance in the dust on the floor.
Pain!
Frustration welled into anger. Anger grew into seething blackness. Ignoring the throbbing agony, she stared up at old Gorry.
Then she saw ghosts drifting through the shadows.
The old silth wavered, became transparent. Marika snatched at the pulsing ruby of her heart.
Gorry cried out softly and fell away from the railing.
Marika’s pain faded. The false sounds went with the pain. She breathed deeply, relaxing for the first time that day. For a moment she felt very smug. That would show them that they could not —
Something touched her for an instant, like the blow of a dark fist. There was no pain but plenty of impact. She staggered off the center of the mandala, fell to her knees, disoriented and terrified.
She did not seem to be in control of herself. She could not make her limbs respond. What were they doing to her? What were they going to do to her?
More sounds. These genuine. Hurried feet moved above.
The paralysis relaxed. She regained her feet. Excited whispers filled the chamber. She looked up. Several silth surrounded Gorry. One pounded the old silth’s chest, then listened for a heartbeat. “In time. Got to her in time.”
The tall one who had come to the packstead, who now had only one leg, leaned her crutches on the railing and glared down at Marika. She was very, very angry. “Come up here, pup!” she snapped.
“Yes, Mistress Gibany.”
Much to her embarrassment, Marika had discovered that Khles was not a name but a title. It marked Gibany as having a major role in Akard silth ritual. What that role was Marika did not yet know. She had not yet been admitted to any but the most basic rites.
In her own loghouse neither defiance nor the inclination to debate would have occurred to Marika. But here in the packfast, despite repeated warnings, she felt little of her customary reserve. These silth had not yet earned her respect. Few she saw seemed deserving of respect. She met Senior Koenic’s eye and snapped, “Because she hurt me.”
“She was teaching you.”
“She was not. She was torturing me. She ordered me to do something I do not know how to do. I do not yet know what it was. Then she tortured me for not doing it. She taught me nothing. She showed me nothing.”
“She was teaching you by forcing you to find the way for yourself.”
“That is stupid. Even beasts are shown what they must do before their trainer rewards or punishes them. This way is neither reasonable nor efficient.” She had thought out this speech many times. It rolled out almost without thought, despite her fright.
She believed what she said. Her elders in the Degnan pack had been impatient enough with pups, but they had at least demonstrated a thing once before becoming irritable.
“That is Gorry’s way.”
“It being her way makes it no less stupid and inefficient.”
The senior was in a surprisingly tolerant mood, Marika reflected, as the fear-driven engine of her rage began to falter. Few adult meth would so long endure so much backtalk.
“It separates the weak from the strong. When you came here you understood —”
One more spark of defiance. “When I came I understood nothing, Senior. I did not even ask to be brought. I was brought blind, thinking I would become a huntress for the packfast, willing to come only because of circumstance. I never heard of silth before my dam sent messengers to ask you for help. All I know about silth I have learned since I have been here. And I do not like what I have learned.”
The senior’s teeth gleamed angrily in the lamplight. Her patience was about exhausted. But Marika did not back down, though now her courage was entirely bravado.
What would she do if she made them angry enough to push her out the gate?
The senior controlled herself. She said, “I will grant you that Gorry is not the best of teachers. However, self-control must be the first lesson we learn as sisters. Without discipline we are nothing. Field-workers, technicians, and guardians behave as you have. Silth do not. I think you had better learn to control your temper. You are going to continue in Gorry’s tutelage. With this between you.”
“Is that all?”
“That is all.”
Marika made parting obsequies, as taught. But as she reached the heavy wooden door to the senior’s quarters, the silth called, “Wait.”
Marika turned, suddenly terrified. She wanted to get away.
“You must appreciate your obligation to your sisterhood, Marika. Your sisterhood is all. Everything your pack was, and your reason for living, too.”
“I cannot appreciate something I do not understand, Senior. Nothing I see here makes sense. Forgive a poor country pup her ignorance. Everything I see implies this sisterhood exists solely to exploit those who do not belong. That it takes and takes, but almost never gives.”
She was thinking of the feeble effort to combat the invasion of the nomads.
“You see beyond the first veil. You are on the threshold of becoming silth, Marika. With all that that implies. It is a rare opportunity. Do not close the door on yourself by clinging stubbornly to the values of savages.”
Marika responded with a raised lip, slipped out, dashed downstairs to her cell. She lighted a candle, thinking she would lose herself in one of the books they had given her to study. “What?”
The Degnan Chronicle was stacked upon her little writing desk.
The next miracle occurred not ten minutes later.
Marika responded to a tentative scratching at her door. “Grauel!” She stared at the huntress, whom she had not seen since the trek to Akard.
“Hello, pup. May I?”
“Of course.” Marika made way for her to enter. There was not much room in her cell. She returned to the chair at her writing desk. Grauel looked around, finally settled on Marika’s cot.
“I cannot become accustomed to furniture,” Grauel said. “I always look for furs on the floor first.”
“So do I.” And Marika began to realize that, for all she had been desperate to see either Grauel or Barlog for weeks, she really did not have much to say. “Have they treated you well?”
Grauel shrugged. “No worse than I expected.”
“And Barlog? She is well?”
“Yes. I see they brought you the Chronicle. You will keep it up?”
“Yes.”
For half a minute there did not seem to be anything else to say. Then Grauel remarked, “I hear you are in trouble.” And, “We try to keep track of you through rumor.”
“Yes. I did a foolish thing. I could not even get them to tell me if you were alive.”
“Alive and fit. And blessing the All for this wondrous gift of snow. You really tried to kill your instructress? With witchcraft?”
“If that is what you call it. Not kill, though. Just hurt back. She asked for it, Grauel.” Then, suddenly she broke down and poured out all her feelings, though she suspected the senior had sent Grauel round to scold her. “I do not like it here, Grauel.” For a moment she was so stressed she slipped into the informal, personal mode, which among the Degnan was rarely used except with littermates. “They aren’t nice. Can’t you make them stop?”
Then Grauel held her and comforted her clumsily, and she abandoned the false adulthood she had been wearing as a mask since her assault on Gorry. “I don’t understand, Grauel.”
In a voice unnaturally weak for a grown female, Grauel told her, “Try again, Marika. And be patient. You are the only reason any of the Degnan — if only we — survive.”
Marika understood that well enough, though Grauel was indirect. Grauel and Barlog were in Akard on sufferance. For the present their welcome depended upon hers.
She was not old enough to have such responsibility thrust upon her.
She could not get out of the more intimate speech mode, though she knew it made Grauel uncomfortable. “What are the silth, Grauel? Tell me about them. Don’t just make warding signs and duck the question the way everybody did at home. Tell me what you know. I have to know.”
Grauel became more uncomfortable. She looked around as though expecting to find someone lurking in the little cell’s shadows.
“Tell me, Grauel. Please? Why do they want me?”
Grauel found her courage. She was one of the bravest of the Degnan, a huntress Skiljan had wanted by her when hunting game like kagbeast. She so conquered herself she managed to slip into the informal mode, too.
“They’re witches, Marika. Dark witches, like in the stories. They command the spirit world. They’re strong, and they’re more ruthless than the grauken. They’re the mistresses of the world. We were lucky in the upper Ponath. We had almost no contact with them, except at the annual assizes. They say we’re too backward for the usual close supervision up here. This is just a remote outpost maintained so the Reugge sisterhood can retain its fief right to the Ponath. Tales tradermales bring up the Hainlin say they are much stronger in the south, where they hold whole cities as possessions and rule them with the terror of their witchcraft, so that normal meth dare not speak of them even as we do now. Tradermales say that in some cities meth dare not admit they exist even though every move and decision must be made with an eye to propitiating them. As though they were the All in Render’s avatar. Those who displease them die horribly, slain by spirits.”
“What spirits?”
Grauel looked at her oddly. “Surely you know that much? Else how did you hurt your instructress?”
“I just got angry and wished her heart would stop,” Marika said, editing the truth. Her voice trailed off toward the end. She realized what she was doing. She recalled all those instances when she thought she was seeing ghosts. Were those the spirits the silth commanded? “Why are they interested in me?”
“They say you have the silth’s secret eye. They say you can reach into the spirit world and shape it.”
“Why would they take me even if that were true?”
“Surely by now you know that sisterhoods are not packs, Marika. Have you seen any males in the packfast? No. They must find their young outside. In the Ponath the packsteads are supposed to bring their young of five or six to the assizes, where the silth examine them and claim any touched by the silth talent. The females are raised as silth. The males are destroyed. Males with the talent are much rarer than females. Though it is whispered that if such sports ever die out completely, then there will be no more females of talent born either.” One frantic glance around, and in a barely audible, breathy whisper, “Come the day.”
“The wehrlen.”
“Yes. Exactly so. They turn up in the wilds. Few of the Ponath packs and none of the nomads go along with the system. Akard is not strong enough to enforce its will throughout the Ponath. There are no silth on the Zhotak. Though there have been few talents found in the Ponath anyway.”
“Dam suspected,” Marika mused. “That is why none of my litter ever went to the assizes.”
“Perhaps. There have been other pups like you, capable of becoming silth, but who did not. It is said that if the talent is not harnessed early, and shaped, it soon fades. Had this winter not been what it was, and brought what it did, in a few years you would have seen whatever you have as a pup’s imagination.” There was a hint, almost, that Grauel spoke with sure knowledge.
“I’m not sure its isn’t imagination,” Marika said, more to herself than to Grauel.
“Just so. Now, in the cities, they say, they do it differently. Tradermales say the local cloisters screen every pup carefully and take those with the talent soon after birth. Most sisters, including those here, never know any life but that of silth. They question the ways of silth no more than you questioned the ways of the Degnan. But our ways were not graven by the All. Tradermales bring tales of others, some so alien as to be incomprehensible.”
Marika reflected for half a minute. “I still don’t understand, Grauel.”
Grauel bared her teeth in an expression of strained amusement. “You were always one with more questions than there are answers, Marika. I have told you all I know. The rest you will have to learn. Remember always that they are very dangerous, these witches, and very unforgiving. And that these exiled to the borderlands are far less rigid than are their sisters in the great cities. Be very careful, and very patient.”
In a small voice, Marika managed to say, “I will, Grauel. I will.”
Chapter Nine
I
&nb
sp; In unofficial confinement, Marika did not leave her cell for three days. Then one of Akard’s few novice silth brought a summons from Gorry.
Marika put aside her flute, which she had been playing almost continuously, to the consternation of her neighbors, and closed the second volume of the Chronicle. Already that seemed removed from her, like a history of another pack.
The messenger, whose name Marika did not recall and did not care about, looked at the flute oddly. As if Marika might look at a poisonous grass lizard appearing unexpectedly while she was loafing on a hillside, painting portraits in the clouds. “You have a problem?” Marika asked.
As strength goes. The other youngsters were afraid of her even before the Gorry incident. She was a savage, and clearly a little mad. And tough, even if smaller and younger than most.
“No. I never saw a female play music before.”
“There are more wonders in the world than we know.” She quoted a natural science instructress who was more than a little dotty and the target of the malicious humor of half the younger silth. “How fierce is her mood?”
“I am not supposed to talk to you at all. None of us are till you develop proper attitudes.”
“The All has heard my prayers after all.” She looked up and sped a uniquely Degnan Thanks be heavenward. And inside wondered why she was so determined to irk everyone around her. She had always been a quiet pup, given to getting in trouble for daydreaming, not for her mouth.
“You will make no friends if you do not stop that kind of talk.”
“My friends are all ghosts.” She was proud of being able to put a double meaning into a sentence in the silth low speech, which she had been learning so short a time.
The novice did not speak again, in the common speech or either of the silth dialects. She led Marika to Gorry’s door, then marched off to tell everyone about the savage’s bad manners.
Marika knocked. A weak voice bid her enter. She did so, and found herself in a world she did not know existed.
