Waterdance

by Logston, Anne

  “Bright Ones, what happened to you?” Peri said, rolling back to her feet, modesty completely forgotten. She pushed Atheris’s hands aside, gaping at the straight, narrow scar running down his chest from just below his collarbone to a point just above his groin. “You look like somebody gutted you!”

  Atheris hurriedly turned sideways on the bench, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms around them, hiding the scar.

  “It happened many years ago,” he said stiffly. “It is none of your affair.”

  Peri sat back down on her bench, shivering. The scar was too thin and even to be a battle wound or even hasty field surgery, and Peri could think of no illness or injury that would require such extensive cutting anyway. That horrible wound had been deliberately made. She thought of the blood spells Atheris had cast, and the burn scars on her mother’s hands, and her stomach heaved.

  “That’s something to do with your magic, isn’t it?” she said sickly. “By Mahdha, Atheris, you said women’s magic was life magic. Just what kind of magic is it men use? Death magic? Necromancy?”

  Atheris turned eyes full of pure outrage on her, then looked away again. When he spoke, his voice was tight and controlled. “Necromancy is an obscenity,” he said acidly. “You could perhaps call men’s magic death magic, since female mages are barred from those arts of death which would taint their power—battle magics and combat. It is true that my magic retains a link with death, for I had to allow death to touch me”—he touched the long scar pensively—“to fully understand and master the energies of life.” He ran his fingers slowly down that narrow line, his eyes closing. “It is a test that leaves its mark upon the spirit even more than the body.”

  Peri grimaced. She wanted to ask him whether he’d let someone else cut him open, or whether he’d done it himself—and then she realized she didn’t want to know. To cover her confusion she turned away and dumped another dipperful of water on the grate, producing a new cloud of steam. Sweat and condensed water slickened her skin and she dug soap from the bowl, scrubbing roughly while she gathered her thoughts.

  “You think me a monster,” Atheris said after a long silence. “Some evil demon who lives to cause death. But you are wrong. I have never used my magic to deliberately cause harm to another, although I do not deny I have the ability to do so. Only the Bone Hunters and battle mages use their power to such a purpose. And I had no desire to become either.”

  Atheris dug soap out of the bowl and began lathering his skin slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.

  “The difference in our magics,” he said slowly, “lies mainly in their source. Women draw their magic—the power of healing and growth—from within themselves. It is a power that gives life where there was none before. Men draw upon the energies of life that exist within all living things, themselves or others, such as the spells you have seen me cast. It is a magic that takes life, molds it, uses it. Do you see?”

  Peri shivered. Now she regretted allowing Atheris to use her blood for the protective spell he’d cast upstairs; it seemed somehow unclean.

  “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she said bluntly. She threw a little more water on the grate and picked up the scraper, sluicing the lather off her skin. Her braids felt gritty, but her hair would have to wait; she had no intention of un-braiding, wetting, lathering, rinsing, wringing, combing, and rebraiding her hair here in a sweathouse with this Sarkond. She pulled her pilgrim’s robe on over her damp skin, wrapped the towel securely around her hair and lower face, and hastily gathered up the rest of her belongings, leaving Atheris to finish his steambath alone.

  Back in the loft, Peri barred the door—Atheris could knock or, as far as she was concerned, sleep on the stairs—and hurriedly stripped off the dirty robe. She pulled on her linen breastband and hose, wishing she hadn’t sacrificed her under-tunic for bandage material; it left her with only her grimy linens and an even dirtier tunic and trousers. Sniffing the tunic, she grimaced and unhappily sloshed it and the trousers through the water in the bucket, which smelled marginally better than the fabric. If she stayed in the loft another night, tomorrow she’d wash her breastband and hose.

  Chores done, Peri wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bed and sleep, she was so utterly weary. But she knew the moment she lay down, Atheris would rouse her again, knocking at the door. Besides, this was her first moment of privacy in what seemed like ages; best enjoy it while she could.

  Forcing herself back to her feet, Peri slowly worked her way through the limbering stretches and lunges, each with its breathing pattern, that Danber had always insisted she perform before sword practice. As always the familiar exercises, the smooth and powerful sensation of her muscles moving under her skin, calmed her, bringing her chaotic thoughts back into focus.

  I am Perian. I am warrior. I am earth, deep-rooted and strong, mother of steel. I am wind, swift and light. I am fire, steel’s father, dancing, all-consuming. I am water, unbounded, ever-changing. I am warrior. I am Perian.

  “That is beautiful,” a voice said softly behind her.

  Peri whirled, her hand instinctively reaching to her hip before she realized that her sword was still in its hiding place, her dagger on the bed. To her dismay, Atheris stood there, the door closed and barred behind him.

  “You didn’t tell me,” Peri said between clenched teeth, “that your magic includes the ability to walk through walls.”

  “It does not,” Atheris said, smiling slightly. “But it requires no magic to open a door when you have neglected to pull in the latchstring.” He shrugged apologetically, then gestured. “Besides, when does a dancer mind an audience?”

  “I’m not a dancer,” Peri muttered. She picked up the discarded robe and pulled it on hurriedly over her linens. “It’s part of my sword practice.”

  “Truly!” Atheris raised his eyebrows. “I have heard it said that in Bregond, swordplay is a ritualistic art, but I never believed it. Apparently the rumors are true.”

  “I suppose the Ithuara does look kind of.. .ritualistic,” Peri said, tying the robe securely.

  “I know the Ithuara,” Atheris said absently, looking at her rather strangely. “That was something different.” Abruptly he stepped closer, touching Peri’s shoulder, and his eyebrows shot up. Involuntarily Peri remembered the sight of those droplets of water trickling down his skin—she hurriedly shrugged his hand off, stepping back a pace.

  “It has more than the appearance of ritual,” he said slowly. “You feel stronger now, yes?”

  “Of course,” Peri said irritably. “That’s the whole point, to build focus and concentration.”

  “It has built more than that,” Atheris told her. “When I used your blood for the protection spell in the merchant’s wagon, you were greatly weakened. Do you feel weak now?”

  Peri paused, taking a deep breath to bring her temper back under control. Sure, she’d felt tired almost immediately when Atheris had cast his spell. She’d almost stumbled with weariness walking down to the sweathouse.

  But she certainly didn’t feel weak and tired now. She felt calm, focused, alive.

  “All right, I’m not tired,” she said cautiously. “What does that mean?”

  “What that means,” Atheris said gently, “is that either your exercises were purposefully designed with the goal of generating life energy, or else you have unconsciously taught yourself to use them to that end. In either case the end result is the same.” His eyes sparkled. “Will you show me again?”

  Peri clutched her robe more tightly, cynically certain that Atheris was more interested in seeing her in her breastband and hose than he was in her practice techniques.

  “Why?” she asked. “You said you know the Ithuara yourself.”

  “I know the Ithuara,” he said patiently. “But I have never seen the movements you were making. Obviously Bregonds have augmented the qivas with this preparatory ritual, of a purpose which interests me greatly. If you have a means of increasing the magical energy at our di
sposal, can you not see the importance of that?”

  Peri took another deep breath.

  “All right,” she said. “But I don’t know anything about generating energy. To me they’re just exercises.”

  “Fine,” Atheris said, nodding. “Just show me.”

  Peri reluctantly untied the robe and laid it aside. She began the opening breathing patterns, moving slowly through the initial stretches.

  “Nothing is happening,” Atheris said, breaking her concentration. “Are you certain you are doing it properly?”

  Peri ground her teeth. “I can’t do much of anything if you keep interrupting me,” she said. “You wanted me to do this, I’m doing it. Now let me do it.”

  Atheris started to speak again, then closed his mouth with a sigh. He sat down on the floor.

  Annoyed, Peri started over—breathing, stretches, moving into the first patterns, her blood flowing fast and strong now, breathing controlled. She breathed out anger, breathed in calmness, clarity, strength.

  I am Perian. I am warrior. I am earth, deep-rooted and strong, mother of—

  “There!” Atheris said suddenly, interrupting her again. This time Peri was more startled than angry, a little frightened by the intensity of the Sarkond’s expression.

  “Fascinating,” he said softly, his gray eyes sparkling. “From a ritual designed for warriors—death givers—you generate within yourself true life energies. But how can that be?”

  “I don’t know,” Peri said self-consciously. “Look, I don’t know how many ways to tell you this. I don’t know anything about magic, life energies or death energies, or whatever. I know swordplay, I know horses, I know how to mix you up a wonderful poultice for a heat rash. What do you want from me?”

  “I want to understand,” Atheris said rather wistfully, “how it is that without even knowing how you do it, you have learned to do what I have dreamed all my life of achieving, what I made myself a heretic and criminal attempting.”

  “If I knew what I was doing,” Peri said with embarrassment, “I’d tell you.” The room seemed darker, she realized, and glancing at the windows, she noticed that almost no light came in through the cracks in the shutters anymore. “Look, it’s sunset and supper will be ready. Would you mind fetching it up?” She shrugged self-consciously. “My tunic and breeches are wet.”

  “Yes, yes,” Atheris said, shaking his head. He left still shaking his head, returning a few minutes later with a basket and a deep covered bowl.

  “Bread and vegetable stew,” he said. “After days of dried journey food, it smells wonderful.”

  Peri was less impressed. The bread was hard and stale and the vegetables seemed old and limp, and apparently nobody in Sarkond had heard of putting herbs and spices in their food, much less salt, but at least it was hot and thick and plentiful and, as Atheris said, it wasn’t dried journey food. She ate prodigiously and silently, and thankfully Atheris kept quiet, too, as if lost in thought.

  “There are only two blankets,” Atheris said softly when they had finished. “Will you be warm enough if we light the brazier?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Peri said shortly. She lit the brazier and made up her pallet. She’d sleep colder than Atheris in only her linens, but with the robe laid over the blanket she’d manage. She crawled into her pallet, turned away from Atheris, and closed her eyes, trying not to remember the night before and the warmth of his back against hers. Once more her years with Danber’s clan served her well; strange bed notwithstanding, she was asleep in moments.

  Sometime during the night she half roused, shivering; before she woke entirely, however, she grew warm again—Atheris must’ve built the brazier up—and drifted back into sleep.

  Peri woke grudgingly, still tired and sore, to some sound in the room. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and saw Atheris closing the door behind him. He was carrying another bowl.

  “Hot porridge,” he said by way of explanation. “Come, you must eat.”

  Blearily Peri pushed the blankets off—blankets?—yes, sometime during the night Atheris must have laid his own blanket over her. She flushed.

  “Thanks,” she said, plucking at the blanket. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “You sustain the spell that protects us,” Atheris said simply. “You need rest and food to maintain your strength. I suggest you perform your exercising ritual again after you break your fast, while I try my luck in the city.”

  Peri ate, not arguing when Atheris left her most of the porridge. He had plenty of money; he could easily buy something to eat in the market—probably something better than porridge, too.

  “If you leave this house,” she said slowly, “won’t the Bone Hunters know where you are?”

  “Hopefully they either followed the caravan, discovered we were not there, and turned back, or followed the pilgrimage and are too far away by now to sense me,” Atheris said, sighing. “But even if not, I have little choice. We must have supplies, horses, too, if I can find them; but if possible, what I would most like to purchase is a talisman to replace the blood spell that conceals us. Mages’ shops will be warded, and at least while I do business there I am concealed, if nothing else. I will certainly try to minimize my visibility as much as I can.”

  Peri sighed, too, but she could not argue with his logic. With any luck, the Bone Hunters would have either doubled back south, or, better yet, ridden on west after the pilgrimage. A couple of fresh horses and a hard ride straight south was surely her best option now. She and Atheris had traveled far enough west that once they crossed the Barrier, it wouldn’t take them long to reach one of the border garrisons, and from there, Olhavar and safety. But it would have to be a fast journey. She didn’t have any illusions that she could outride a magical attack.

  “Don’t buy horses,” she said. “Just look at what’s available. Better yet, ask Orren if he knows of any good horses for sale. When I can go out with you, we’ll look over the best of what you found, and I’ll see if there’s anything that’ll get us to the border reasonably fast.”

  “Gladly,” Atheris said rather wryly. “I know nothing about horses.”

  “Well, I hope you know something about water,” Peri said. “See if you can buy us something fit to drink. No wonder most of the people I’ve seen look sick. This stuff’s got to be tainted somehow to smell that bad. Buy wine or beer or ale or something if you have to.”

  Atheris looked at her oddly.

  “I smelled nothing in the water,” he said.

  Peri grimaced.

  Right, she thought wearily. Water magic. Well, at least it’s doing me some good for once.

  “I’ve got a touch of water sensitivity, so maybe it isn’t really a smell. Or maybe all the water in Sarkond is this bad,” she said. “If you’re used to it, you probably don’t notice it. To me it smells flat and dead, like water that’s been stagnant for a long time, and in Bregond, we don’t drink water like that. So see if you can find us something else to drink. The Bright Ones know we’ve got money enough. And by the way, don’t take it all with you, in case someone tries to rob you.” She’d have been embarrassed giving most people such obvious advice, but Atheris had a kind of—well, perhaps not naïveté, but a slightly distracted air about him that made Peri wonder whether he, like her mother, had had a rather cloistered youth.

  “As you say, then,” Atheris said, giving her another odd look. “I will be back as quickly as possible. Attend to your strength and remember to keep your bandages close at hand in case our host or hostess should knock on the door.”

  When he was gone, Peri latched the door, remembering to pull in the latchstring this time. She washed her breastband and hose in the bucket and considered her tunic and trousers, but they were still damp; she hoped they’d be dry before Atheris came back. Peri sighed and rooted in her emergency pack for her loincloth. At least it provided some covering, and if anyone knocked at the door she’d just pull on the horrible robe.

  Peri was so tired that it was an effort to f
orce herself to begin her exercises, but as always, the movements soon had her warm and limber and strong again. This time nothing interrupted her and she moved on to practice the qivashim, first defensive, then offensive, as best she could without a partner or even a practice dummy or post. The limbering drew the last remaining soreness from her bruised ribs, and Peri noted with satisfaction that the last few days of missed practice had not dulled her edge; her timing and form was as good as ever and she flowed evenly from one qiva to the next.

  Waterdance, however, continued to elude her. Her uncle Terralt was right. Her blade work was fine; it was her feet that were getting her into trouble. Even barefoot and on the solid wooden floor, nothing at all to trip her up, she couldn’t keep her footing. She had thought—and still did—that balance was the key to Waterdance, but there wasn’t much to be gained in throwing off her enemy’s balance if she lost her own as well.

  But that’s the problem, isn’t it? she thought, frustrated. Two people step onto the deck of a rolling boat and they’re BOTH off balance. The only question’s who falls first.

  That thought nagged at her, as if she was missing something vital, but the more she chewed at the problem, the more insurmountable it seemed. At last she disgustedly returned to the defensive qivashim. She’d worked through most of them when Atheris finally knocked on the door; to Peri’s surprise, judging from the light in the cracks in the shutters, it was midafternoon. She’d practiced most of the day away. She hurriedly pulled on her still-damp tunic and trousers and let Atheris in.

  He dropped several heavy bags in the corner; to Peri’s relief, there was a sword in his scabbard now, too.