The White Mists of Power: A Novel

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  A large crowd waited outside. They captured the bard and boy and held them. They began to take him from the city in accord with Lafa’s orders. Somehow–and I and no one else seem to know how–he escaped. I grabbed him for a moment, long enough to run my knife into him, but he kept moving, trailing blood. The boy had disappeared. Then, near the city’s edge, I caught him. As I tried to kill him, he vanished as if he had never existed. But my hands were stained with blood.

  A great magician has aided him, milord, and that magician is not his own. I have since searched for that magician and the bard and can find neither. But I shall continue my hunt. And when I find him, I will be prepared. No one, no one, makes a fool of Corvo and lives.

  When you next hear from me, the bard will be dead.

  Corvo

  Chapter 12

  Adric’s face dug into the pillow. He was lying on his stomach in a room that smelled of hay and horses. A voice in the back of his head warned him not to move, not to wake up all the way, not to breathe.

  “Have you tried to wake him?” Cassie’s voice sounded faraway, although he could feel the heat of her body on his arm.

  “No, not yet. I was waiting for you.” There was something in Milo’s tone that Adric had never heard before. Panic? Fear?

  Metal jingled above him, and he felt himself hovering on the edge of wakefulness. An ache started in his back, and he tried to slide back into sleep, but the effort woke him further.

  “This was all the money I could find. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s okay. It’ll do. If we need more, I’ll take more.”

  “Milo! You promised!”

  “I never had to protect a prince before. I’ll do what I can, Cassie.”

  The sheets were smooth and cool, but the pillow was hot against his cheek. The throbbing in his back grew.

  He felt Cassie move. The warmth of her body slid down, closer to his stomach. “I got him as drunk as I could,” she said. “He passed out a few minutes ago.”

  “I thought you were going to use a sleeping potion.”

  “I couldn’t get out to buy one. He was watching me. I think he suspected something. It was all I could do to get him to drink. I’m a little woozy myself.”

  His back felt encased in armor, a crusty shell that held him in place. The throbbing had taken a strange pattern. He blinked once and the throbbing became a burning. Someone was using a hot coat to draw a map on his flesh. He had to sit up, to stop the mapmaking, but sitting up seemed like too much work.

  “You can’t be woozy.” Milo’s voice sounded closer, sharper. “I need your help.”

  “Where are you taking him?”

  “I won’t tell you unless you come with us.”

  “I deserve to know.”

  Milo sighed. “I’ll send you a message if we make it.”

  The mapmaker set sticks across Adric’s back and lit them on fire. The pain shuddered through him, into his stomach, into his legs. Adric gasped and tried to roll over, to put out the fire. Cool hands gripped his arms, forcing him back down.

  “Don’t move so fast,” Cassie said. “You break the scabs open.”

  Her breath smelled of ale, and the ends of her words sounded mushy. Adric opened his eyes, saw Cassie’s faded gray dress and, beyond it, the rough wood wall of the stable.

  Her hand stayed on his arm. “I brought a clean shirt and extra ointment. Make sure that you put the ointment on. He’ll heal quicker.”

  “Okay.”

  Adric blinked and turned his head so that he could see Cassie’s face. She seemed older than she had before, tired, as if she were about to lose everything. She was looking across him, probably at Milo.

  “If the scabs fill with pus and fall off, find an herb witch right away. Pus means that the ointment has failed.”

  “But pus is good.”

  “Sometimes. Not with this treatment.” Cassie dipped her hand in a jar, then rubbed her hands together. She rose on her knees and caressed his back. Her hands cooled the fire, put out the flame. Tears tickled the edges of Adric’s eyes.

  “Water?” he whispered.

  Cassie looked at him then. Her smiled was tender, but a frown still creased her brow. Something sloshed beside him and then Milo came into view, holding a cup. Water dripped off its sides.

  “I’m glad you’re awake,” Milo said. He crouched beside Adric and put his hands behind Adric’s head to help him up.

  “Wait until I’m finished,” Cassie said. Her hands touched the base of his spine. The map still burned beneath the coolness, but the feeling seemed faraway. “All right. Let’s help him up first.”

  Milo set the cup down and moved out of Adric’s range of vision. Adric saw the wall, the choppy splinters in the wood, the rusty nail falling from its peg. Slowly he slid his hands under his shoulders to help himself. Fire threatened his shoulder blades. He waited until the heat faded, then pushed. Milo and Cassie supported him and kept his back straight as he sat up. A sudden dizziness gripped him, and Adric clutched Cassie’s arm. The dizziness passed, and he let go, leaving red fingerprints in her skin.

  Milo handed Adric the cup. The tin was cool against his fingers. He raised it slowly, almost as if he had forgotten how. His arm shook, and water dripped onto his legs. The cup touched the edge of his lips and he drank, letting the liquid soothe the dryness in the back of his throat.

  Cassie glanced at the door. “You have to get him out of here, Milo,” she said. “Rogren will wake up in a few hours. He always does.”

  Milo nodded. He grabbed a linen shirt that rested on top of a full sack. “Put this on,” he said to Adric. “We’re leaving.”

  The shirt was soft. Adric slipped one arm into a sleeve. The burning threatened with each movement, but he bit his lip and slipped the shirt over his other arm. The material felt good until it touched his back. Then it stung and clung, eating the coolness and letting in the heat. “Where are we going?” he asked. His voice sounded raspy.

  Cassie laced the shirt. Her fingers were shaking. “Milo will take care of you. He has food and ointment in that sack.”

  Adric shook his head. “I can’t leave the city. They won’t find me.”

  Milo picked up the sack. “They’re not looking. They think you’re dead. We’ve got to figure out how to prove to them that you’re not.”

  Adric reached for the cup. His back throbbed, but he forced himself to grip the handle and bring the cup to his lips. He drank the rest of the water, then waited until his heart stopped pounding before speaking. “What are we going to do?”

  “Let me worry about that,” Milo said. “Come on.”

  He held out his hand. Adric took it and stood. The floor was hard, covered with hay and dust. The dizziness returned for a second, but he willed it to go away.

  Cassie disappeared behind one of the stalls and returned with one of Rogren’s horses. Milo shook his head. “We can’t take that. He’ll look for us all the harder.”

  She smiled, her eyes a little unfocused. “Not if the other horses are missing, too,” she said.

  “Cassie–”

  “You’d do the same, Milo.”

  “Come with us,” he said. “Rogren will beat you.”

  “Someone has to stay here with Rogren and delay him. I know him better than you do. I’m used to him. I’ll stay.”

  Adric let go of Milo’s hand and stood on his own. The room swayed a little, then steadied itself. Cassie hugged Milo. “Let me know,” she said. “Please?”

  He nodded and pushed out of the hug. He took Adric’s arm, and together they walked out into the night.

  Chapter 13

  She felt it quivering beneath her bluff, making a fire under the overhang beside the river. It worried about its companions and it was frightened for itself. She had never felt the white mists so close before.

  The bluff Enos peered through the young saplings and down the side of the bluff. It was shaped like a large anvil, with the thin portion covering the river like half a bridge
. The underside of the overhang was blackened with the smoke of many fires. Travelers camped there, near the water, under the natural protection, and she let them, as long as they did not harm her bluff.

  She could smell the smoke, feel the worry of the white mists, but she could see nothing. She decided to tap, to reach into the white mists’ mind and see through its eyes. She let her mind slide inside the bluff, crawl through the land, and up into the white mists’ mind.

  Her mind skidded against wall after wall after wall, falling in an Enos trap, lost inside the white mists. He was (blocked), searching for (blocked) and hoping, hoping–

  She screamed as she surfaced, and from below, she heard an echoing scream, male and human, high and powerful. She pulled out of his mind and clung to the edge of her bluff, letting her fingers dig into the soft dirt, feeling the power of the bluff heal her. She was a small Enos with only a small patch of land. The trap set in the white mists’ mind had been set by an over-Enos, one who worked with the Cache Enos and the humans, to guard an entire section of land. The bluff Enos had only her bluff, just as her cousin had only the forest, and another cousin only the bend in the river. Their powers were as small as their land. She could have died in the Enos trap, and no one would have ever known.

  She scurried down the bluff, weaving through the tree trunks and tall grasses. When she reached the base, she slithered to the patch of large rocks and peered through.

  The white mists sat near the fire holding his head. Two boys stood, swords out, facing different directions. Another man, who stank of fire and pain, slept on a pallet, his breathing shallow, his life force thin.

  She climbed over the rocks and sat on top of them. The hard surface felt cool and reassuring. She was smaller than the boys, but that did not worry her. She kicked her feet and touched the rim of the white mists’ mind.

  The white mists looked up. One of the boys followed his gaze and, crouching, pulled a dagger from his boot. He swung his arm back as if to throw the dagger, but the white mists caught the boy’s wrist.

  “Wait, Afeno,” the white mists said. “Do nothing until I tell you.”

  The white mists’ gaze met hers. His eyes were deep and clear. He was Enos-trained and Enos-protected. She was curious but not afraid.

  You tapped me. He did not project. He simply allowed her to read the thought in his mind. She scraped along the surface, searching. He was not a magician, then, but a musician and something–

  The block stung them both. The white mists grabbed the side of his head. The Enos clung to her rock. The boy’s hand tightened on his dagger. When the pain receded, she projected: Why are you on my bluff?

  We were tired. We wanted shelter so that we could rest.

  The man is dying.

  The white mists looked at the man on the pallet. He pushed the man’s hair off his forehead. The Enos felt the deep affection the white mists felt for the man. We do not know how to help him.

  The Enos left the white mists’ mind, danced across the boys’, finding little knowledge and odd skills. She reached into the injured man, blocked the pain, and touched the core of him, tapping and building and reaching deep. Then she left and sat on the rim of the white mists’ mind. He has the knowledge to heal himself.

  If he has that knowledge, he does not know how to use it.

  The Enos felt the truth of the statement, knew that such things would change with the morning. She slid down the rock and walked across the river’s edge. The dagger boy’s body grew tense. The white mists placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. The other boy watched.

  She knelt beside the man, took his burned and mangled hands in her own. She spat on his flesh, then rubbed it. The burned skin flaked off and landed in a small pile near the pallet. Pink, healthy skin shone where her hands had touched. She finished his physical wounds and touched his skull, feeling again the core of him and adding a small protection inside.

  She finished, bowed to the white mists, and stood, coming only to his waist. “You may stay while the sun completes half a rotation, and then you must leave. I do not want white mists upon my land. You bring danger with you.”

  “Thank you,” the white mists said. “And thank you for helping Seymour.”

  The Enos nodded, recognizing the human need for acknowledgment. As she passed the dagger boy, she touched his arm and said, “This one must learn that killing is the refuge of a coward.”

  Anger, hot and flaming, spun through the boy, and she removed her hand before she got burned. She bowed once more to the white mists, then climbed her rocks, and slid into the trees. She would guard the white mists, see that no blood was shed on her land. Then she would send to the other land Enos to see if they knew of the white mists and why such a danger was present now, after centuries of such calm.

  Chapter 14

  Adric’s cheek rested on the rough wool covering Milo’s shoulder. The horse jostled beneath them, and Adric had to hold Milo’s waist tightly just to stay on. Grass grew beside the road, and the air smelled of greenery. The silence seemed loud. He could hear his own breathing and the even clopping pace of the horse’s hooves.

  They had left the city at dawn, both afraid that Rogren was right behind them. Adric sat on his own through that trip, gazing at the spires he had wanted to see so long ago and wishing he were past them. After they hurried through the gate, tiredness overwhelmed him, and he leaned on Milo. Adric couldn’t sleep, though. Every time he dozed, he started to slip off, and the scabs on his back would break and pull, jerking him awake.

  He gazed ahead and saw people bent over green fields, picking something that grew on small stalks and tossing the something into a bucket. Was the drought over then? He hadn’t seen such green in months. The people moved rhythmically: bending, picking, tossing; bending, picking, tossing. Adric’s back ached in sympathy. He remembered seeing something similar on his long ride to town so long ago, and not understanding the work involved. He understood now.

  He squinted, saw the people more clearly. In the distance, men and older women carried buckets from an unseen stream. Younger women did most of the picking, their slender bodies weighted with babies slung upon their backs. Children crouched on the side rows, looking for plants that had been missed. One little girl stood and watched the horse pass until another child yanked her down.

  Adric closed his eyes. The gentle sway of the horse’s body rocked him. The wool rubbed against his cheek, scratching him, but he didn’t move. He felt the strain against his scabs, the relief as some pulled free, his skin cooled by the flow of blood.

  “Milo!” A woman’s voice echoed from the field. Adric opened his eyes. The ground seemed closer; the caked dirt looked tired and well used. A woman stood at the edge of the field, waving her arms. “Milo!”

  Milo reined in the horse, and Adric almost lost his balance when the swaying stopped. The woman ran toward them. She lifted her skirts as she stepped up onto the road. “Milo, why didn’t you tell us you were coming? Did you lose your job?”

  Milo turned a little, holding Adric’s arm so that he wouldn’t fall off. “Mother, I–”

  “The only one of us who makes any money and you run away. Did you steal the horse too? It’s too fine to be yours.” Her eyes, bright buttons in her sun-leathered face, scanned the horse, Milo, and then found Adric. “And who is this?”

  “Mother, I’ll explain when you get home tonight.”

  “His back is all bloody.” She circled around them and gripped Adric’s shirt. As she lifted it, the scabs ripped off and Adric groaned. “Someone’s whipped him but good. Are you in trouble, Milo? I won’t have any trouble in my house.”

  Milo’s grip on Adric tightened. “Mother, I said I’ll explain later.”

  “Who is this boy? He can’t stay unless I know who he is.”

  Adric licked his lips. “I’m–”

  “He’s a friend of mine.” Milo brought his other arm around to steady Adric. “We worked together. Rogren almost killed him, so we’re going off to find
something else.”

  Milo’s mother tugged at her wispy gray hair. “We’ll talk when I get home, Milo. A boy doesn’t leave his work because of a whipping.” She gathered her skirts and returned to the field. Milo clucked at the horse.

  “Don’t you ever tell anyone who you are, you hear me?” he hissed.

  “I wasn’t–”

  “We never talk about it, we never think about it unless it’s just you and me. The prince is dead, you got that? He won’t live again until you reach that palace. Until then you’re my friend. We left Rogren to find our fortune together.”

  “Why are you yelling?” Adric clung to Milo’s waist. The dizziness had returned. “I wasn’t going to tell her.”

  “Because.” Milo leaned forward, balancing his weight. “If you say you who are, they’ll think you’re crazy. Out here, they don’t whip crazies, they kill them. So if you want to survive, you say nothing.”

  “All right.” Adric closed his eyes against the dizziness, but it seemed to grow worse. Every place he went seemed to be worse than the one before. He opened his eyes again as the horse entered a small village. Adric wrinkled his nose at the combined smell of garbage, cooking meat, smoke, and feces. The village was smaller than a city street. The hovels were made of stone with no mortar. Rags filled the larger crevices to prevent cold winds from blowing through. Doors hung ajar because they could not close. Buckets covered with flies sat outside doorways.

  In the center of the village, a fire burned in a circle of stones. Dogs ran toward the horse, nipping its heels when they caught it. Milo cursed and swung at them, nearly making Adric lose his balance. The dogs ran away.