Carousel Seas – eARC

by Sharon Lee

  “Thank you,” he said. “I wonder…” He stopped.

  I looked up into his face.

  “Don’t be shy.”

  “Yes, my lady. It is only that I wonder—what…has become of the jikinap I had held in trust from my liege? The former lord…had considered it prudent to see his oath-sworn capable of their own defense—and of protecting those higher in the House.”

  Right.

  “I need to talk to you about that. My apologies for the delay.”

  “I’ve not been…discommoded, my lady. I had only become aware of the absence, and wondered if I had earned your displeasure.”

  “You haven’t displeased me, but you might find yourself displeased with me.” I sipped coffee, and looked him straight in the eyes.

  “On the night I took your oath—just previous to that event—I gave my jikinap to the land of which I am Guardian. I did this to keep certain events from the attention of the Wise One.”

  “Yes,” Cael said, as if this was perfectly reasonable. Of course, Cael wasn’t a fan of the Wise either, was he?

  “Having committed this act, I thought I had done with jikinap. When I accepted your oath, it was as Guardian of this land, and through the power inherent in the land.” I hesitated, wondering if I ought to go into the healing aspect, or if that would just confuse the narrative.

  “So I have become part of this land, through you, its Guardian,” Cael said slowly. “With me, the land accepted my power. Thus far, I understand. But what I do not understand, my lady, is what weapon I have been given in return, so that I may stand my liege’s man and protect her and her interests, which include myself.”

  “We’re going to have to figure that out,” I said. “I should let you know what you’ve gotten yourself into. I’m a new Ozali, and untrained. Though I’m easier with the powers attending my Guardianship, I’m still learning those, too. I make errors—of ignorance, mostly, but that doesn’t matter if my ignorance results in harm.”

  I bit my lip.

  “I learned yesterday—quite a number of things. But the thing which may help us answer your question is that I found my full powers, poor as they are, available to me through my connection with the land. If you reach, as you would, for something typical to your power…”

  His eyes blazed. He snapped to his feet and retreated to the living room, dropped into a crouch and thrust his arm up and out, as if about to receive—

  A spear.

  To be precise, a warrior’s short spear, used for close-in fighting, and a very tricky weapon it was.

  Oh, any half-trained oaf—I include myself among that number, as my weapons instructor had done—could poke at an opponent with the thing, and even do damage, but to master it required dedication and a certain capacity for focused violence.

  I was, let’s say, impressed.

  Cael straightened, the spear spinning a complicated arabesque between his long, dark fingers. He dropped to one knee, head bowed, the spear held steady in his hand, haft aligned with the inside of his forearm, butt end caught between elbow and body.

  I applauded.

  His head jerked up, startled, then he grinned, his delight illuminating the already sun-filled room.

  “I have lost nothing!” he declared springing to his feet. “It has merely been stored in a different trunk.”

  Which was actually a pretty good way to look at it.

  “Excellent,” I said, grinning myself. “However, if the spear has no immediate task—”

  It was gone before I could finish the sentence, tucked back into whatever trunk it now lived in, and held against need.

  I reached for my coffee just as the cell phone trilled. The number on the screen wasn’t familiar. I hit the answer button.

  “Is that Kate?” a woman shouted into my ear before I could say hello? “Frenchy, here. I need some help down here at the Camp. Fella’s come in with dogs; says he’s been hired to clean out some wild cats. He ain’t listening to reason, and I can’t hold him much longer.”

  “I’m there,” I told her.

  “Hey!” her voice came strongly out of the speaker. “You can’t fire a gun inside o’town, you damn’ fool!”

  I ended the call. It sounded like Frenchy was going to need her line real soon now, to call the cops.

  “I will come, also,” Cael said.

  I looked at him over my shoulder.

  “I don’t—”

  “I know about dogs,” he said firmly.

  Well, yeah; I guess he did.

  “All right, then, come on.”

  I reached out, grabbed his arm, thought about the town dock at Camp Ellis…

  * * *

  “I’m here to exterminate vermin,” a man’s voice said, loud enough to be heard in Portland. “If I was you, I’d just go back inside my shed there, pour another shot o’Allens into the coffee, and let a man get to work. It’s gonna get done, with or without your screechin’.”

  I headed toward the black pickup truck in the middle of the lot. Frenchy was standing between the shouting man and the Dummy Railroad shed, legs braced, and a wary distance between her and the dog.

  The dog was a monster—black and tan, with a big square head and a big square jaw. He was muzzled and there was a businesslike leash attached to his harness, but somehow these things only drew attention to the fact that this dog was a hunter, and quite possibly a killer.

  Another dog sat, harness-free and unmuzzled, just behind the man’s left leg; some kind of hound, I thought. It looked like it had started out white, then been spattered with black paint. It was watching the altercation between his boss and Frenchy with interest, his head tipped to one side.

  “Frenchy!” I called, reaching for the power at the base of my spine—which wasn’t there.

  Because I was standing on another Guardian’s land—and I’d given my land all my power.

  Maybe not so smart, after all, Kate.

  Well, at least I could create a diversion; help Frenchy keep the guy talking until the sheriff arrived.

  “Kate, thanks for coming.”

  “She ain’t the sheriff,” the guy said. “Step outta the way, girls.”

  “Jim Robins, you cussid dub,” Frenchy snarled, settling herself where she stood. “You ain’t settin’ them dogs on cats inside this village. Fine thing it’ll be, that Howie o’yours takin’ a kitten in somebody’s dooryard, with the kids lookin’ on through the window!”

  “Got a contract, paid for. If them cats is smart as Walt Spinney has ’em, they’ll run away an’ hide, now won’t they?”

  He whistled, sharp and high.

  The leashed dog tensed, his ears pricking.

  “Gonna do the job I was paid for,” he said, and rapped out, “Oscar! Find!”

  “He has left you,” said a voice that had lately become familiar. “His oath to you was not strong, and he has accepted mine.”

  I turned, carefully, and there, indeed, was Cael, standing some eight feet away, the black-spattered dog sitting at his side, the line of his body expressing one long smile. His tail drummed the tarmac twice, and stopped.

  “Oscar!” the man said sternly. “Heel!”

  The dog raised his head to look adoringly up at Cael, who smiled down at him and said something I almost understood in a guttural tongue I’d never heard before. The dog’s tongue lolled in what might have been a doggy laugh.

  “You stealing my dog?” the guy asked menacingly.

  “No,” Cael said. He used his chin to point at the muzzled dog. “You would do well to take that one and leave. There is nothing for him, or for you, to hunt here, in the heart of the village.”

  The guy jerked on the leash and started forward, the big black-and-tan keeping pace, head low and menacing.

  I felt a ripple under my feet; saw the tarmac flow over the guy’s boots and harden. Perforce, he stopped walking, but like he’d chosen to do so—and he cast not one single curious look downward.

  Magic-blind, this one; the wyrd just d
idn’t exist for him.

  “You like dogs? How about I send Howie here over to you?”

  “If you loose that dog on me, I will have to kill him,” Cael said, as calm as if he was discussing the weather. “His oath is strong, and it does him credit. I would not like to kill him. Be warned, and go.”

  “Stupid flatlander.” One smooth move removed the muzzle and the leash. The dog sat where he had been, and the sense of menace grew stronger.

  “Last chance,” Robins said. “Gimme back my dog and go.”

  “No.”

  “Howie. Take him!”

  The dog went from zero to sixty in a heartbeat, launching himself with a snarl. Cael leapt to meet him, caught him by the throat—and held on.

  The dog roared, back feet scrabbling, lips peeled back from wicked teeth, inches from Cael’s face—and Cael held him, apparently without effort, looking directly into the dog’s eyes, his face growing sadder as the dog’s efforts faltered, and the big body slumped. He took the weight of it down to the ground, kneeling, his hands still on the massive throat, easing the body down until it was lying on its side, and then it was over: a shuddering breath, and nothing more.

  Robins yelled, snatched at his gun, and brought it up. I heard the snap when he took the safety off and there was no time to think it through.

  I flung my will out like a whip, even as I felt the Words rise to my lips.

  “To me.”

  Robins squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.

  “What the hell—?”

  “It’s not loaded,” I heard someone say, belatedly recognizing the voice as mine.

  I lifted my left hand, and watched with interest as I slowly opened the curled fingers, to reveal—

  Six bullets.

  Damn, Kate.

  Jim Robins stared at the bullets, more in disbelief than awe, snapped the gun open, and checked the chamber.

  I saw a very faint quiver of unease pass over his face before he holstered the piece, and looked beyond me, his shoulders sagging.

  Cael was still kneeling beside the dead dog. He stroked the big square head, ran his hands down the still body, speaking in that language I could almost hear. Finally, he rose, his face wet with tears, and faced the man held in Frenchy’s thrall.

  “You are a very cruel man, Jim Robins,” he said, and his voice was not quite steady. “You are not worthy of dogs, and they will know that now.” He took a breath, and I saw the briefest flicker of power crackle ’round him.

  “Dogs are your enemies now. All dogs, everywhere.”

  Behind him, the obedient black-spattered hound growled where he sat. His former owner started, and stared beyond Cael.

  “Oscar?” He took—he tried to take—a step forward, but Frenchy’s binding held.

  The growl increased. Cael turned his head slightly and spoke; the dog quieted, and Cael looked back to Robins.

  “You should leave now. Go where there are no dogs.”

  “I’m not going without Oscar.”

  “Would you end it now and here? But, no. He has a large heart, and regarded you well. I will not require your death of him.” Cael leaned forward and I felt the power building, like a static charge that released in a single word.

  “Go!”

  Robins jumped. Frenchy pulled the land’s grip away so fast that he staggered and almost fell as he ran for the truck. He scrambled the door open, climbed inside; the engine started with a roar.

  He peeled rubber, getting out of the lot.

  Cael turned away, back to the body of the big dog, knelt, and murmured. Oscar, apparently freed from the command that had held him quiet during the excitement, trotted over, nuzzled his former pack mate, then licked Cael’s cheek.

  “He died a noble death,” Cael said, “in service of his oath.” He raised his head and looked to me, his hand fondling Oscar’s ear.

  “This death, you understand, it was necessary because he could not deny his oath. He served that man; he loved him. There was no other way.”

  “Cael.” I knelt on the other side of the dog—Howie. Cael raised his eyes to mine.

  “That last bit—about all dogs being his enemies, now. Was that just for dramatic effect?”

  “No, my—Kate. It was a true curse.” Frenchy made a funny noise in her throat. I didn’t blame her.

  “That means he won’t live out the day.”

  Cael said nothing.

  “Ain’t murder if a dog turns on ’im,” Frenchy pointed out. She knelt next to me.

  “Cael?”

  He looked at her; she held out her hand.

  “I’m Frenchy, Guardian of this piece of land here, Camp Ellis, and everything in and on it. I’m pleased to meet you, and I want to thank you for your service to my land.”

  He took her hand and bowed his head over it.

  “I am pleased to meet you, Frenchy, and pleased to be of service.”

  “That’s fine. Now, I’m wondering about Howie. Best if he ain’t here, if the cops I called show up, or if Robins comes back with his own. I can let the land take him, right here, unless there’s some other little thing you’d like done.”

  “You are kind. Yes, let the land have what remains. His spirit runs already with the Great Hunt.”

  “Right you are.”

  The tarmac under Howie’s body softened and sank. We watched as the big dog slowly disappeared below the surface, until he was gone, and the tarmac hardened again over the place.

  “It is done,” said Cael, and took a breath.

  “Cael,” I said, “there’s a problem with that curse.”

  He looked at me. “It is a strong curse, Kate; it will not fail.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. See, if a dog kills that man, the law in this land says the dog will be put down. Killed. I don’t know if you want that outcome.”

  There was a longish silence.

  “This is a cruel world,” Cael said finally.

  “Not the world, but, sometimes, the men of it. In this case, the operating force is ignorance. There’s very little jikinap in this world, and almost no Ozali. The village peacekeepers wouldn’t be able to detect the presence of the curse. They’d assume the dog had gone bad—that it was a ‘man-killer’—and must be prevented from killing again.”

  “I will not have any dog suffer for that man.”

  “Maybe we can do something else. But this curse that you’ve laid on him—can you call it back?”

  He rubbed Oscar’s head, and the hound sighed in doggy ecstacy.

  “I cannot call it back.” He narrowed his eyes, staring at the blameless section of asphalt where Howie’s body had been. “I can set…a blessing upon him, however.”

  Frenchy snorted.

  “A blessing?” I asked. “What will that do, exactly?”

  He smiled.

  “My blessing will hold him from harm. No dog will be able to savage him. But they will fear him, and hate him. They will cringe away from him and they will not heed him.”

  I bit my lip…

  “That’s fair,” Frenchy said. “Them dogs was Jim Robins’ living—his handling of them, is what I’m sayin’. If he don’t have the dogs, he don’t have a job.” She paused. “Other thing is, he’s not well-liked, himself. Mostly tolerated ’cause the dogs got results.”

  I nodded and looked to Cael.

  “Do it.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. I felt a flicker, like heat lightning. Cael opened his eyes.

  “It is done.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And now we need to—”

  “Wait,” said Frenchy, staring over Cael’s shoulder. “Here comes somebody.”

  I looked, and here, indeed, came Old Mister, escorted by—

  My fluffy, ridiculous cat.

  I came to my feet, as did Frenchy. Cael rose and spoke a word to Oscar, who sat, leaning happily against his leg.

  Old Mister paused before Cael, looking up at him with a measuring stare. Breccia continued on, strop
ing against his ankle, and then weaving ’round mine.

  I bent down and picked her up.

  “How in God’s name did you get here?” I demanded, and abruptly recalled the night that Borgan and the cat and I had unpacked and studied Prince Aesgyr’s shortcut. Borgan had asked if he could make a copy, and I had told him sure, and then told the cat that she could make a copy, too.

  Gotta watch that, Kate.

  “It was the duty of my station,” Cael was saying, apparently to Old Mister. “I am master of hounds. That I could serve you is my pleasure, but, if you will take my advice, you must look to better protections for your folk.” He tipped his head as if listening. “For that, you must apply to your own Guardian. If she does not have the way of it, perhaps my liege will teach her.”

  “Sounds like we’re in for some work,” Frenchy muttered.

  “If it’ll keep the cats safe, it’s worth it, right?” I asked, bending down to pick Breccia up and tuck her over my shoulder.

  “Right you are.”

  “Then, if you got a second right now, we can step into your shed and I’ll share with you—and Old Mister, too—a working that’ll let you move from here to there without going in between.”

  “Sounds too damn’ useful not to have in hand,” Frenchy said. She jerked her head toward the shed. “Best get it done now, though; lot’ll start fillin’ up soon.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Tuesday, July 11

  There’s one thing to be said for getting up at four o’clock in the morning: you can sure get a lot done before the workday starts. On the other hand, if you’ve been that busy, you do need to have a second breakfast.

  We were just sitting down to fresh coffee—courtesy of Cael—and grilled sharp cheese with strawberry jam sandwiches, which was what occurred to me as a good idea.

  The dog sniffed at the cat food, sneezed, and had a drink from what had, until now, been the cat’s bowl.

  “We’re going to have to get him some dog food,” I said, looking in the fridge. “There’s nothing here that I’d be comfortable feeding him—leftover fried chicken is right out.”