by Jim Grimsley
The effect was immediate. My head was full of her words, and I was engulfing the whole current of her thought and song, directing and molding, setting down my hand into her mind. She felt my presence and tumbled to the ground in her confusion. I felt surprised at her fear, and realized I felt no pity for her. I had thought it would be so much harder. She fought me but it was for nothing; heat and cold blasted me, and she sang death to me from three levels at once, but I had her gems, and she had nothing of mine. The memory of my father flooded me, and my sisters and brothers dead on our farm, and my mother imprisoned.
I set my wards round her all at once and their power filled the gems. She struggled to break the circle but could not, and I fixed it in place and she was mine. I imposed no Bans. There could be no question of mercy. She could not live to return to her master. Before I killed her I let her know who I was, the son of the farmer she had slaughtered. She was dismayed and angered and fought me off for a time, but I was still in her gems even from that distance, she could not win. I said a magic of unmaking and fire poured from her, the ground trembled beneath her death spasm, splitting the walls of Gnemorra so that Lady Karsten and her soldiers could pour through the breech. Julassa’s cries could be heard to the end of Aeryn, by those who had ears to hear. I ate her life and strength as was my right. No part of her was left to be reborn, in Zaeyn, beyond the Gates of the Dead. Her defeat was no secret from anybody. That day Drudaen knew he was opposed in the north, by a power he had not reckoned on.
When the fight was done I stood forlorn on the plain beneath the storm that would go on raging, the darkness that would slowly dissipate. From the fortress resounded the cries of soldiers dying. Red Cloaks poured through the gap in the wall.
On the plain round about lay the bodies of those who had already fallen, and I wandered there briefly, dazed, hearing the groans of those to whom the sword had not been quite kind enough. Some few of them I sang into sleep or numbness, till I realized in a daze that I hadn’t strength to comfort them all. My heart flooded with misery. I had killed my enemy but I had also broken a vow to the Sisters of the YY. Victory had an uncertain taste. I summoned Nixva as we had been taught at Illyn Water, and he came to me out of the smoke and blackness, rain sheeting down across his glossy coat. I mounted into the saddle and we returned to Arthen, following the way we came.
Chapter 11: JIIVIISN FIELD
1
By the time I reached camp darkness had long since descended, and I found the shrine tent empty, Axfel asleep at the rear flap, whimpering in a dream. I said his name and he sprang on me, licking my face, yelping his delight.
I hurried indoors to the work chamber, where I set about putting to rights my neglect of Evening Ceremony. I lit the kaa lamp in the shrine and sang the Evening Song quietly. When the lamp was lit and placed in its appropriate niche, the night did not seem so strange.
Visitors came almost immediately, no one I knew well, though the camp Steward, who was part of Gaelex’s staff, asked me politely where I had been. He had been worried when I failed to return from the suuren ride, and when the witch shadow came no one had been able to search. Seizing on that, I claimed to have been lost in the hill country when the shadow fell. The steward said he had never seen anything like it. He hadn’t been able to see a foot in front of his own face until someone got the torches burning.
He accompanied me to high camp where the cook fire was still burning. Those of us who were left in camp, mostly trainees and reserves, huddled in clots round the burning logs, the night echoing with quiet voices, women and men talking furtively, gazing north. “Still no lights,” a blonde woman told a redhead, both of them wearing the archer’s green tunic blazoned with the crimson insignia of Kirith Kirin. “I guess it’s over.”
“Is that good or bad?” the redhead asked.
The blonde paused to swill down ale and wipe her mouth. “I don’t see how it could be good. That was witch-shadow, everyone says so, and the witch was one of the southerners, you can bet on that. Maybe Drudaen Keerfax himself.”
The redhead stared at the fire with a sad face. “Do you think they’re all dead?”
“Either dead or hightailing it back to the forest. He can’t get in here, you know. I heard it from Lady Karsten herself. Lord Keerfax nor none of his followers can come inside Old Arthen. The trees bedevil him or some such.”
“If he’s got us trapped in here he’ll figure out a way.”
“Don’t you bet on it.”
“Sure he will,” the redhead insisted. “If that’s him and the war’s over except for us, he’ll find a way.”
“Short war,” the blonde said ironically.
“We never even made it out of training,” the redhead lamented. “Anyway, I thought Lord Keerfax was busy in the south.”
“When half the country revolts who do you think Queen Athryn is going to send to put down the revolt? We already beat General Nemort.”
They went on with their quiet conversation, but I stopped listening, finding a solitary spot near a twisted oak where I could watch the fire but not be watched myself. What the redhead had said puzzled me, too. Drudaen had not come himself. Was his present work in the south so vital to him that he could not leave it, even when the Queen’s northern rule was at stake?
Would he come here now?
I felt no sign of his imminence nor could I discern any movement of his southern presence. However, I knew such superficial signals could be misleading and so meditated on the fifth level, though my sight seemed richer in some way. I had a look around. The planes were full of turbulence, the death of Julassa Kyminax still registering on those unseen levels, the balance of power having shifted. Drudaen’s shape was in flux, restlessly searching for some sign of me. Apparently he could not discern much beneath the remnants of witch shadow, however, and even less in Arthen.
I passed the night in the clearing, stirring when time came for the ritual bath and the extinguishing of the lamp.
By morning the shadow had vanished from the sky but the storm covered most of the forest and southern plain. Rain fell in sheets and lightning flashed, beginning as I mounted onto Nixva’s back to ride suuren, gathering in force as I neared Illyn.
When we reached the lake shore, I felt heavy dread. The lake women were waiting under the duraelaryn, neither cutting cloth nor embroidering the magical fabric. They were watching me from the lawn near the shore, their horses behind them, jeweled bridles trailing in the golden grass.
Gone was the simple clothing they had always worn . That morning each was dressed grandly in a gown of shimmering color, trimmed with precious stones and embroidered with costly threads, and each was cloaked in a supple, light cloak like the one they had been weaving for Yron. They wore the same three-cornered hats I remembered from the morning I first glimpsed them in Hyvurgren Field. They were lovely, monumental images: Vissyn blond and shining, her face young and full of beauty, Vella ample, florid of face and thick of body; and Commyna, dark and tall, face all angles and planes. She greeted me with stern words. “Ride no farther. Do you come as friend or enemy?”
I reined Nixva in, dismounting. From their impassive faces I read nothing. “I come as a friend. How can you ask?”
“Do you have something to tell us?” Vella asked, her musical voice become stern.
I took a deep breath. My heart sank. “Yes, ma’am. But I see you already know.”
“Tell us anyway,” Commyna said.
“I’ve broken my oath to you. I’ve used magic.”
I thought this would be enough, but Vissyn asked, calmly, “Where did you do this?”
“One day’s ride from here, as horses travel. On the plain before Fort Gnemorra. I fought with Julassa Kyminax, the Witch of Karns.”
Commyna’s voice cut me like steel. “In doing this, did you dream you could deceive us?”
“No, ma’am.”
“What was your intent in breaking your oath?”
My mind was too heavy to make excuses; I wished t
hey would mete out punishment and have done with it, since punishment was clearly coming. But they waited for my answer. “I saw no other choice.”
“Please explain further,” Commyna said.
I continued wearily. “I think you know my reasons. Yron has not come, nor is there any sign of him. I am the only power of this world that I know who is willing to fight Drudaen.”
“Are you willing?”
“Yes. I think I’ve shown that.”
Commyna nodded, turning away from me. Almost as an afterthought, Vella — eyeing her elder sister — asked, “What was the result of your work yesterday? Did you win your fight?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“The Karns Witch has returned south?”
Could she not know? It was impossible to guess from her expression. I answered, “No, Lady Vella, she’ll never return south again.”
“So you killed her.”
I nodded, feeling only sorrow when I had expected triumph. “I had no other choice.”
“Since then, what have you done? Did you sleep last night?”
“No. I maintained vigilance from the fifth level.”
“Why?”
Now I knew she was forcing answers for reasons of her own. “I had to know if Drudaen would ride north once he knew she was dead.”
“If he were to ride north, would you face him?”
After a moment’s thought I nodded. I could not find words.
Vella asked, “Aren’t you afraid of him?”
“Yes. But what choice do I have?”
Vissyn said, ironically, “We’ve told you before, a magician is coming.”
“But where is he? Kirith Kirin needs him now.”
Silence fell. I stood in the field with Nixva’s reins trailing in my hand. The lake women were motionless, but for the wind that played their skirts along the grass.
Commyna turned to me again, walking toward me a few steps, her shadow looming long. “Your reasons may have some bearing on your punishment.”
“Yes ma’am.” Till that moment I had tried to act the part of an adult, but at the sight of her stern face childish grief welled up. “I know I did wrong, Commyna. But I would probably do the same thing again. Kirith Kirin had a great need. I answered it, and that seems a good thing to me. I don’t mean to sound defiant, I’m only telling you the truth.”
“The truth is what we want.” For a moment I thought she had softened. She glanced toward her sisters, though, and said to me, “You may leave now. Your training is ended. Say farewell to Illyn Water, Jessex.”
I knew this was just, but it seemed hard. Knowing her will could not be swayed I said nothing, and presently she continued. “Return to your camp. Kirith Kirin is riding to meet you, along with others you know. Tell him and the twice-named that we’ll meet them and you in Jiiviisn Field tomorrow at noon. Be prepared to depart Arthen with us then, Jessex.”
“Where will you take me?”
She frowned very deeply. “I’ve said all I’ll say. Bring the Jhinuuserret to Jiiviisn Field and you’ll learn the answer. They know the place, it has a long history.”
The Sisters stood as before, waiting. I mounted Nixva and rode off the way I had come.
By the edge of the meadow Nixva stopped of his own accord, as if he knew this would be the last time he saw this place.
In the clear light of day on the shore of Illyn Water it was hard to remember any shadow, or any battle on the plain, or indeed even to remember the scene that had just taken place. At Illyn no shadow of unmaking has ever fallen, and nothing but peace is welcome there, until the universe is broken. The clear lake sparkled, the sun shown, the leaves breathed music. The lake women, moving slowly, gracefully, spread out the magic cloth by the far shore, beginning the ritual of preparing tea, Vella filling the porcelain oet with water.
Before this sight made me feel young and fresh, destined for adventures. That last morning, when the faultless sky poured its benevolence down, I was a boy no longer.
2
Over Nevyssan light rain was falling and heavy clouds rode a steady wind toward the sea. We headed home without any hurry even in the rain and chill, Nixva not as frisky as usual when we were returning from the lake, and my spirit full of trouble.
In camp I found no sign of Kirith Kirin nor was there any word he was riding here. But if the lake women said a thing was true, it was. In the glade of trees behind the shrine I held Axfel’s bony head in my lap and pieced together the sequence. Gnemorra had fallen in the night. The twice-named had ridden south immediately to take the news to Kirith Kirin. Royal horses could make the ride in a short time. If the news reached Kirith Kirin a few hours after, which was possible, he would have left at once. Headed for Nevyssan with all due speed.
He was coming for me. There could be no doubt of that.
When I closed my eyes I could feel his distant presence, could feel the scar on the land where the Witch of Karns had died, could feel the vigilance of Drudaen in the south.
I lingered, watching branches crisscrossing overhead, hearing cries of the royal falcons from the Bird master's tent, the distant murmur of human voices. After a while I took Axfel’s face in my hands and asked him, “Will you come with me to the mountains? Do you think you could learn to live there?”
The dog’s eyes were bright and eager, ample tongue draped out one side of his mouth, his big frame burning. I felt comfort from him, as if he knew I was sad. He would follow me anywhere I asked even if the journey killed him. But I would spare him that, I would leave him for Uncle Sivisal.
I hurried to the shrine tent, gathering my belongings on the narrow cot, my tunics, knife, arrows, and quill laid out on the piece of buckskin that would serve as my traveling roll. Last of all I retrieved the necklace from its hiding place in the lid of the oil jar, hiding it in my sash.
How odd that so few minutes should be consumed in the packing away of my present life. I had only to tie up the buckskin and I was ready to go. Putting this out of my mind, I walked to the clerks tent to see if there were work to do, to keep me busy till Kirith Kirin and the others arrived.
3
He reached camp after the Evening Ceremony, bringing with him Imral, Mordwen, Karsten and Pelathayn, with the news that the Witch of Karns had fallen and Fort Gnemorra was taken, along with the garrison and Nemort. The news spread like wildfire through the tent city and into the merchants quarter, along with speculation as to why all the twice-named had returned and why they had come without other escort. A messenger from Kirith Kirin found me in the shrine tent. He bowed his head, which no one had ever done before in seeking me out. “Pardon me, son of Kinth, but Kirith Kirin asks that you come to his tent.”
I laid down the polishing cloth and settled the reyn lamp back into its case. The lamps were clean. I asked, “Do you have a torch? May I follow you?”
The messenger led me. I could have found the path to the tent myself, but it was pleasant to have company.
That Kirith Kirin was in camp I had known without being told, and that he would send for me quickly I had guessed. Outside his tent I neatened my hair and closed my eyes. It seemed a good moment to pray, though I asked for nothing except general benevolence. What fate I had was out of my hands.
The messenger presented me and I entered. They were all there, seated on cushions in the tent’s outer chamber. They watched as if I were a stranger.
Kirith Kirin signaled the messenger to leave. Footsteps faded outside, while the Jhinuuserret looked at each other.
At last I said, “Gnemorra has fallen and Julassa Kyminax is dead. Please speak to me. I’m frightened, too.”
Karsten made a sound like a cat mother calling her young, leaping from her cushion to gather me close. I hugged her body tight, glad of her warmth, glad of her voice in my ear. She wore a bandage on one hand. “Then I wasn’t wrong. It was you.”
The others were watching, and I gave the answer to them all. “Yes, it was me. Yes, Kirith Kirin, it was me.”
&nb
sp; He was watching me as if his heart were breaking. He could not speak, but gestured for me to come close, and when I did he embraced me almost as wildly as Karsten. When he could speak again he lifted his glass, as did the others. “You’ve finally come, after all this waiting.” His eyes were blurred with tears, and his voice full of pent-up joy, so much one thought he would burst from the release. “The Witch has come to the Wood.”
“Hail,” murmured Imral, and Mordwen said, “Hail, Thaanarc.” Pelathayn and Karsten tilted glasses toward me.
“What is Thaanarc?” I asked.
