His voice sounded tiny in the emptiness. For a moment there was no sound except the companions' quiet breathing, then a blast of harsh wind swept across the mesa. They covered their faces with their veils and shut their eyes to keep out the dust. When the wind died and they opened them again, they found themselves facing a tall figure, dark against the moon.
"You have summoned me." It was a woman's voice, cool, almost disdainful, but full of assurance and power. "What boon do you seek, child of the forest?"
Karivet took a deep breath, tightening his grip on Iobeh's hand. With the god's face in shadow, it was hard to tell anything about her; he could not read her mood from her voice alone. "The people of the City and the people of the desert between them have determined to wrest a vast tract of the forest from my folk. Since we do not bear arms against other peoples, we have no recourse but to appeal to you. We ask you to intercede on our behalf, to stop these stronger peoples from doing as they will despite the consequences to my people. We were told they would abide by the gods' decision. We beseech your aid, and we await your decree."
The silence stretched long. Zan could feel her heart thudding rapidly against her ribs.
Finally the god raised one hand, palm upward, and spoke. "You ask my help. What will you give me in return? Surely my help is worth something to you."
Karivet swallowed hard. "What could we have that would be of value to you?"
The outstretched hand clenched and her voice went suddenly cold. "I could ask you for a life, for example."
At that, Iobeh dropped her brother's hand and knelt before the god. Zan sprang forward and grasped the girl by the shoulders. "Iobeh, no!" She looked up at the dark figure. "Name something else," she demanded.
The god laughed; it was an uncomfortable sound. "I did not say I would ask you for a life, only that I could. And I will not, though you may come to regret that. I will set you a quest. It will be dangerous—it could well cost all of your lives—but it will spare your consciences. Go to my brother who dwells in the teeth of the winds; ask him for a flask of the snows' blood and bring it here to me. Only then will I consider the judgment you desire. I have spoken. You will have no other word from me." The god vanished in another blast of wind and dust.
They looked at one another helplessly. "The teeth of the winds?" Karivet repeated. "How are we to find that?"
There was silence until Ychass answered. "That is the name of some mountains far to the north of here. The Snowsblood is a river that originates in them."
Zan heard the unease in the shapeshifter' s mind and probed. How dangerous a journey?
It will take the Trickster's own luck to survive at all, Ychass thought grimly. We will have to cross my people's land. The Wild Khedathi and the desert are child's play by comparison.
How can that be? Zan replied, adding, with a weak attempt at humor, Surely after all this time you aren't going to tell me your people really do drink the blood of infants.
The shapeshifter did not reply, in thought or words, but Vihena spoke. "North," she said. "But that's through the shapeshifters' land. We can't go there."
"Why not?" Zan demanded.
"Because of the tribute," Vihena explained. "The shapeshifters pay tribute so that no one will enter their lands or interfere with their people."
Zan turned to Ychass. "Well, isn't there someone whose permission we could ask? After all, it's not as though we were planning to settle there; we just want to pass through."
Ychass spread her hands. "Perhaps they would listen to you, 'Tsan; I don't know. I cannot negotiate for you—they would kill me before they would speak with me." There was an ocean of bitterness in her voice. "They took my name, they cast me out of the Temple, they bound me in silver, and they gave me to the Vemathi. It was not a kindness to give me to the City people in my own shape; it was the cruelest fate they could devise to send me, aware and helpless, into far lands. I am worse than outlawed to them, worse than dead—they made me chiasst, unchanging. It will not reassure them to find me restored, and in the company of foreigners. They will assume that I have returned for revenge." Her eyes narrowed and her lips curved in a humorless smile. "And I am not sure they would be wrong."
Zan caught Vihena's stray thought: She sure knows how to make friends.
Ychass turned on her, her pale eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "I don't need friends," she hissed. "Friendship is a fable that survives only among people who are crippled, weak, deaf to thoughts."
Zan caught Ychass's arm. "I am not deaf to thoughts, as you know, and I am your friend."
"You!" Ychass laughed. "You are outside of every category, Stranger."
Zan recoiled as though the shapeshifter had struck her, and she closed her mind off with as much force as she could manage.
Beside her, Remarr spoke up. "Isn't there a way to avoid most of the shapeshifters' land? Perhaps if we angle west and then north?"
Ychass shook her head. "Not if we hope to find the source of the Snowsblood. The Teeth of the Winds run east and west for hundreds of miles, and no one knows how far they stretch to the north; they are uninhabited and all but trackless. Attempting travel in the mountains is more foolish even than braving my people. The only thing that makes sense is to follow the course of the Snowsblood from the plains to its source in the mountains. On foot, it should take us what—a week? Ten days?—to cross shapeshifters' territory, then, if we're lucky, another ten days or two weeks to reach the source of the river."
"It doesn't sound easy," Vihena said doubtfully.
Ychass shrugged but did not reply aloud.
Karivet looked around at the group. "Perhaps we should turn back. You have braved dangers on our behalf already. It is not fair that we should ask you for anything more."
"Karivet," Remarr said quietly, "none of us has suggested turning back. Your cause is just, and we accompany you of our own free will. You need not feel responsible for us."
The others, even Ychass, nodded. For a long moment they were all silent, then Vihena spoke. "Let's go back to our camp, get some rest. Things will look better in the morning."
***
"No! No!" The stillness of the cottage was shattered by Eikoheh's cry. In the sleeping loft, Ohmiden sat bolt upright.
She cried out again. He leapt up, not even bothering to straighten his nightshirt, and flung himself down the loft ladder. Despite Eikoheh's cries, he could hear the heavy thump of the treadles.
The weaver was seated at her loom, her face contorted with anguish. Tears and sweat gleamed on her cheeks in the lamplight, while the shuttle flew through the warp. Ohmiden gripped her shoulders. "What? What is it? Can't you stop?"
She shook her head. "Look at the pattern. I've lost it."
He looked at the work on the loom. The pattern, full of gentle colors—soft browns and golds, a deep blue, a quiet green—was now interrupted by a band of vivid purple. It was the strangest thing: the thread on the shuttle in Eikoheh's hand was silver-gray, but when it touched the warp, it became deep purple. He felt a shiver of apprehension as he watched the cloth grow on the loom.
"Get me another color," Eikoheh gasped.
He complied, handing her a shuttle wound with the soft gold he saw elsewhere in the weaving. Eikoheh struggled with the two shuttles for a long moment, as if each had a will of its own. Finally she managed to stop the purple band from growing. She wove a thin stripe of sandy gold into the cloth before she set the shuttle down with a heavy sigh. Ohmiden rubbed her shoulders but did not speak,
"I have regained control," the weaver said after a moment, "but I fear the damage is done. They were so close—so close, Ohmiden! Success was within their grasp, when something interfered. I've never felt anything like it, anything so strong—or so malevolent." She shuddered.
"Come away, " he said. "Come rest. It's late. "
She nodded, rising stiffly from the loom. "Gods, I wish I'd never begun! But now I've no choice but to finish it. Tell me, Ohmiden, do you dream good news?"
H
e managed to hide his dismay. "My sleep has been quiet. Perhaps tonight . . ."
She looked at him sharply, as though she guessed he was lying to her. Then she shrugged. "Doubtless things will look less desperate by daylight." She stifled a yawn. "Goodnight, Dreamer."
"Goodnight, Dreamweaver."
***
Khehaddi's band reined in at the spring. Her lieutenant, Edevvi, looked back at her. "Do we make camp here, Captain, or ride on?"
"Make camp," she responded, swinging down from her horse's back. "We can't reach the next spring before daylight, and I'd rather not be exposed to every eye in the dry lands, come dawn. Besides, the next water hole is a large one. The clan we've been following is almost certain to be camped there." She sighed. "The outlanders must be with them, if they are still alive at all. I can't understand it."
Edevvi dismounted, then loosened the girth of her saddle, a thoughtful look on her face. "If they are with the clan, what will we do? We can't hope to defeat an entire clan—there are only ten of us, after all."
Khehaddi looked grim. "If they're with the clan, and not prisoners, we've lost. There's no way we can stop them from reaching Windsmeet. We can only trust in the fickleness of the gods." She sighed heavily, looking about at her patrol. None of their faces reflected the weariness she felt. She wondered whether she was getting old or the stress of acting against her conscience was telling on her. She surprised concern on several faces and managed a reassuring smile. "No matter—we can worry over this in the morning. For now, let's get the tents up. I'm tired."
SEVENTEEN
The clan accompanied the wayfarers as far as the standing stones that marked the boundary between the desert and the shapeshifters' territory. They reached the standing stones near midnight on the second night. Emirri bade them farewell.
"I would offer you horses," she said, "but I fear they would prove a hindrance in the mountains."
Zan suppressed her surprise. By now she knew how highly the Wild Khedathi regarded their animals. "We appreciate all that you have given us, Emirri of clan Khesst, and we know there is no way to repay your kindness and generosity. We are grateful."
The clan leader shrugged. "It was kin duty; it deserves no thanks." She turned to Vihena. "Walk in peace, foster daughter. Remember, you have a place with us, Vihena, when you are done questing."
"I will remember," Vihena promised with a tight voice as they clasped forearms in the Khedathi manner. "Walk in peace, foster mother."
The clan leader turned to Iobeh. "Shokhath asked me to tell you that by the time you have returned from the mountains, foaling season will have come and gone. He wishes you to have one of the new foals. Do not forget."
Iobeh found the horsemaster's face in the crowd of clanspeople and made the gesture for thanks in the Khedathi hand-language.
The clan leader gave a beautifully carved bone-handled throwing dagger to Karivet. "Traditionally, the gift of a weapon is accompanied by the fervent hope that it will always find its way into the hearts of one's enemies. In this case"—she smiled gently, an incongruous expression on her hard face—"I find myself hoping you will never have cause or need to use it."
He bowed slightly. "I thank you, Emirri, for the gift, for the good wishes, and for all your hospitality to us."
To the shapeshifter, Emirri gave an embroidered sash. Ychass accepted it with no outward show of emotion and a polite, colorless thanks. Zan heard her cynical thought: Rules of hospitality can be so awkward.
As the clan leader turned to Zan, she said, "Stranger, there is only one thing I can give you that will mean anything to you." Then she faced Remarr and bowed slightly. "Walk with the gods, Remarr."
The minstrel's eyes widened with shock, then he made his face blank. He returned her slight, formal bow. "May the gods guard you and yours, Emirri of Khesst."
Without another word, Emirri turned and walked away, taking the clan with her. Zan realized she had been holding her breath and exhaled. She caught sight of Remarr's tight face and clutched his arm. "I didn't ask her to do that."
He forced a smile. "If you had, she would have refused. She can be very difficult. But what now?" He turned to Ychass. "Do we camp here, or press on?"
She considered. "I think we had better press on. It would be best if we could reach the river before dawn. I doubt there is much cover even there, but it will be cooler. And there's no reason to camp now, since it makes most sense to continue traveling at night, at least until we leave the plains."
Without further discussion, they went on. A little before dawn they reached the river. The Snowsblood was nothing like Zan had imagined; its name made it sound clear, cold, and sparkling. In reality, it was a rather sluggish trickle of brown water in the center of a wide expanse of reeds and mud. On either side of the river, for a short distance, grew rather parched-looking grasses and some stunted bushes. When Zan started searching for a place to pitch the tent, Ychass spoke up.
"We will be less conspicuous if we forgo the tent."
There was no argument. They all found places in the dubious shelter of the bushes and bedded down. Within minutes, all were asleep.
'Tsan! The shapeshifter's thought woke her. Don't move. Gods curse me for a thrice-damned fool—we should have set a watch.
What is it? Zan queried.
Khedathi, from the City. They're on horseback. Can't you hear them?
Zan opened her mind. She ignored the sleeping thoughts of her companions and concentrated on casting her mind further. Yes, she heard wisps of thoughts—mounted warriors' thoughts. Carefully she edged herself up on her elbows so she could see through the scraggly branches. She noticed Iobeh's open eyes and signed carefully: Pursuit. Warn the others. Iobeh passed the message to Karivet and Vihena, while Zan laid a finger across Remarr's lips to wake him and warn him simultaneously. The riders were heading for the river a little to the south of their makeshift camp. They could hear the squelching of the horses' hooves in the mud; it seemed nearly as loud as their heartbeats.
Lie still, the shapeshifter thought. Zan translated this into hand-language for the others. Curse these white robes. I should have foreseen this.
What can we do? Zan thought back.
Ychass didn't shrug, but Zan could hear the resignation in her thoughts. You tell me, Stranger.
Zan bit her lips together. The Tame Khedathi dismounted to water their horses and fill their skins. They stood about for several minutes, apparently discussing something, though the watchers in the bushes could not hear any voices. Zan caught wisps of thought about whether to press on or to camp. They're thinking about camping here, she signed to the others.
For an age, they watched the warriors. Gradually Zan's thudding heart slowed. She began to notice the gentle, soothing hum of insects; the sun was warm and lulling. Muzzily she looked around. The others were similarly soothed, except Iobeh, whose face was intent, eyes narrowed in concentration. Understanding came to Zan, and she silently warned Ychass not to interfere. The shapeshifter forced her drooping eyes open and nodded slightly. Minutes passed, many minutes. Finally Ychass touched Zan's mind. The pursuers are all asleep. We'd better move. How long will the sleep last?
Zan shrugged, gently waking the others. She touched Iobeh's shoulder last. The girl blinked and looked up at her. Let's go, Zan signed, before they wake.
They gathered their gear as stealthily as they could, then rose and started upriver. Ychass led them to a grassy path that ran close to the muddy bed of the river. The footing was even and the grass muffled their steps. We should run, Ychass suggested. No point in wasting this miracle.
Zan signed to the others and they all set out at an easy lope, trying to cover as much ground as possible before their pursuers awoke. They ran until their sides ached and their breath wheezed in their throats. When they could run no longer, they walked until their breathing slowed, then ran again. They kept up the pace until the sun was sliding toward the horizon and their legs felt as if they would fall off.
But w
hat good has it done us? Vihena signed when they halted. They are mounted.
We're still free, Karivet pointed out. Maybe they'll lose our trail.
Trail! Ychass thought, for the first time with something like real hope. We have to go a little farther, 'Tsan. Tell the others.
Swallowing a sigh, Zan relayed the information to the others. They suppressed groans, but followed when Ychass led them into the water. We're breaking our trail, she thought; Zan signed for the others. Follow the river for at least another mile, maybe two, while I try to really confuse them.
They set off up the shallow river, while Ychass waded across and began laying a false trail. When Zan looked back over her shoulder, she was surprised to see Ychass in the shape of a small Oratheh, leaving a careful set of footprints from the muddy riverbed through the brush to the stony land beyond, where she shifted to a bird and flew back to the river. She repeated the process in the shapes of the others before rejoining them.
They waded until they came to a place where the muddy riverbed was interrupted by a jumble of large stones, then they climbed out of the water, careful to leave only wet tracks on the stones. Ychass herded them all away from the riverbank into another scraggly stand of bushes, where they wearily made camp. They were all too tired to talk, and too nervous. They made a meager meal of journey bread and strips of dried meat the Khesst had given them, then they settled back to sleep for the night. Even though Zan was not sure she could keep her eyes open, she agreed to take the first watch. Ychass would take the second, waking them well before moonset so that they could get a few hours of travel in before the sun came up.
As Zan settled herself as comfortably as she could for the night's watching, she became aware of another's presence. For a heartbeat she froze, then she realized it was Remarr. She could barely make out his features in the darkness.
"What is it?" she asked him in a whisper.
"I thought you couldn't work enchantments," he whispered back accusingly.
"I can't—I didn't. It was Iobeh. She made them feel at peace."
Colors in the Dreamweaver's Loom Page 14
