Witchlanders

by Lena Coakley

  Visser scurried away, the sword in her arms, avoiding Ryder’s eye. Ryder tried to imagine this man bending his body into the witches’ prayers.

  “You know why I am here,” Sodan said.

  “I do?”

  The coven leader smiled, and Ryder caught a glimpse of intelligence and humor in his round gray eyes. “What would you guess?”

  “Oh. I suppose you want me to join the coven.”

  “I do indeed.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Ryder turned to the group of gawkers at the other end of the bridge. “He’s come to ask me to join the coven, and I’ve refused!” he shouted. “If you really want to know!” The villagers looked away and tried to act as if it was just coincidence they were standing around at that particular spot.

  Sodan was smirking at him when he looked back. “A shame, when both of your sisters live on the mountain. . . .”

  “One of my sisters,” he corrected. “Skyla can do what she wants, but Pima is a temporary visitor. When I rebuild my farm, she will come and live with me.”

  Sodan was taken aback. “A cruel blow for Yulla, I fear.”

  “My baby sister is not a tithe for Yulla to steal.”

  “To raise a child alone, at your age . . .”

  “I have brought down the Gormy Man,” he said sharply. “I can raise a child.”

  “The latter might prove to be the more difficult.” Sodan sighed, leaning heavily on his stick. “How easily this problem would be solved if you were to live in the coven, and your whole family could be together.” The man was not above wheedling, Ryder could see. To his surprise, he found himself wavering.

  Sodan took advantage of the hesitation. “Now that we know what the chamber of spells can do, we cannot ignore it. It must be studied. Someone with your knowledge of singing would be invaluable to us. Skyla has already asked permission to study the catacombs, and I have agreed.”

  “Skyla?” The idea shouldn’t have surprised him. He remembered the look of wonder on her face as she gazed around the tomb of Aayse. “But neither of us can read the spells.”

  “I can, and I have agreed to teach her.”

  “You read Baen?”

  “I taught your grandfather.”

  His grandfather. The man was always coming up, though Ryder knew so little about him. Sodan could tell him more. The caves could tell him more. He was sure they held countless secrets about his family history, about magic, about the Baen. Briefly Ryder let himself imagine the life Sodan was offering. It wasn’t what Mabis had wanted for him, that was sure. He thought of the farm his father had worked so hard to build. The forest would overtake the ruined buildings; the planting hills would be covered with grass. But Ryder couldn’t pretend he was a farmer. The Goddess wouldn’t take back her gift. In front of him Sodan waited patiently. Ryder had the uncomfortable feeling that Sodan had been waiting patiently for him all his life, knowing he’d end up wearing red sooner or later.

  “And when the caves are studied, will we be allowed to share what we have learned with the villagers?”

  Now Sodan was the one to hesitate. “The situation is complex, Ryder. The villagers wouldn’t understand.”

  Ryder hissed, suddenly exasperated. “You people. You’re like thief spiders squatting on your hoard.” Even before the words were out, he knew he had gone too far.

  Sodan’s face grew red under his beard—a man like this heard few insults, Ryder guessed. He looked to his bearers, who stood a little ways off. Ryder was certain he would call to them at once and depart, but to his surprise, Sodan took a deep breath and swallowed his anger. It occurred to Ryder that Sodan must want him very badly.

  “I have had to bear your family’s arrogance over many generations,” Sodan said. “And I will tell you, it doesn’t get easier.”

  “We prefer to call it strong will,” Ryder said. “And . . . I’m sorry. I was rude.”

  They stood without speaking for a while as the cold wind picked the snow up off the ground and swirled it around their feet. Still Sodan didn’t call his bearers, didn’t leave for the village shrine.

  “Perhaps,” Sodan began, “at the discretion of the elders, some knowledge could be shared with the village. . . .”

  Ryder was amazed he had the power to get concessions out of the leader of the coven. He looked to his feet, frowning. “I won’t be a boneshaker, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Sodan shrugged, agreeing, but Ryder could see the old man was hoping he’d change his mind eventually. Maybe Ryder should change his mind. About everything. He might be happy in the coven. He could be with his sisters—and why shouldn’t he be the one eating the tithe instead of working for it for a change?

  Part of him wanted this, he realized with a start. Part of him really did want to use the gifts the Goddess had given him. Suddenly he felt a stab of loss for Kef—how he would have laughed. Everything about the idea did seem to make sense. Except that for the rest of his life he’d be singing alone. But that couldn’t be helped.

  “Sir,” he said hesitantly. “This will sound mad, I know, but if I do come to the coven, is there some way our people and the Baen could share the knowledge I find?” Sodan smiled indulgently and shook his head. “Not the spells, not anything dangerous, but the history. Our people lived together once—the catacombs prove that. They made magic together and were buried next to each other and probably married, too.”

  Sodan nodded. “Yes. I think it was your grandfather’s dearest wish to have lived during that time. It was a golden age. The covens were places of learning. And refuges as well, for Baen women forbidden to use magic. Their loss was our great gain, it is true, and their descendents are still among us, still contributing to the covens. But those times were long, long ago.”

  “Can’t people make a golden age come again?” Ryder asked. “Falpian—he already knows about the caves. Maybe someday he could come back here and help translate.”

  “Ryder,” said the old man, very gently. “You do see that no one in the Bitterlands can know about the existence of the echo site, or about the chamber of spells.” The look on his face was strangely tender, and he put a frail hand on Ryder’s arm.

  “Of course. You don’t need to worry about Falpian. He’ll keep our secret.”

  Sodan kept staring at him with his deep, kind eyes, as if willing him to understand something he didn’t want to say aloud.

  All at once, the blood seemed to drain to Ryder’s feet, and he pulled away from Sodan’s touch. “Just what kind of favor is Visser asking Dassen to do?”

  CHAPTER 28

  THE BITTERLANDS

  Ryder burst through the door of the tavern. “Dassen, stop!”

  Falpian was pressed into a corner, and the tavern keeper had his sword upraised, but between the two, Bodread the Slayer was snarling like a wild beast, his long body tense and slung low to the ground. Broken crockery and smashed chairs littered the floor. Skyla knelt on top of one of the tavern tables, her eyes frantic. Visser stood behind Dassen, muttering something.

  “Bo, stay back!” Ryder cried. Bo drew back against Falpian’s legs, but the dog’s eyes were still fixed on the sword. “Dassen, whatever that witch is telling you to do, don’t do it.”

  Visser glowered at him over her shoulder. “Don’t interfere,” she said. “Dassen, it is the coven who asks you to do this. In the name of the elders and of Sodan and of every witch who ever lived on the mountain, I ask you to kill this man.”

  Ryder came up to the other side of the tavern keeper, stepping over the remains of a broken water jug. Gently he laid a hand on his arm. “Dass,” he said. “I’ve got only one name to ask you by. And I think you know whose it is.” Dassen shot him a tortured look. “Please. You always believed my mother, even when she said unbelievable things. I know that killing this Baen is wrong. I know it. And I’m asking you to believe me this time.”

  Slowly the Baenkiller dropped to Dassen’s side. Visser gave a hiss of frustration.

&
nbsp; “You all right?” Ryder asked. Falpian nodded, but glanced fearfully back and forth between Visser and Dassen.

  “No matter,” Visser said. “There are a hundred others in the village who will finish this task at a word from me.”

  It was true. Ryder thought furiously. He should have realized earlier that Sodan couldn’t let Falpian across the border with what he knew. “Yes,” he finally agreed. “That’s why Dassen and Skyla are going to keep you here until Falpian and I can get away.”

  “What!” Visser’s eyes darted to the door of the tavern, but Skyla was off the table in a moment, standing between Visser and the exit. Visser glared. “Skyla, think what you’re doing.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.” She pointed to Falpian. “But he saved us all. You were there. You saw that Baen and my brother risk their lives for us. . . .” Visser made a dash for the door, but Skyla grabbed her by the wrist and held tight. “Oh, by the red, I truly am sorry, but I can’t let you go.”

  Visser struggled to free herself. “I will have Sodan remove you from the coven! You should ask Dassen for work in his kitchen, Skyla, because you will have nothing else. All your dreams of being a witch will come to nothing!”

  Skyla blanched, but she squared her shoulders, imperious as a queen, and didn’t let go of Visser’s hand.

  “Sodan won’t do that,” Ryder told her. “He needs boneshakers, and until he’s sure you don’t have the gift, he won’t let you go. Don’t make Sodan choose between the two of you, Visser. It might be you who ends up scraping plates in that kitchen.”

  Visser gaped at this, her face scarlet, but she couldn’t seem to find a retort. Ryder turned to Dassen.

  “Where are your hired girls?”

  “Gone for the day. But Ryder, I can’t hold a witch captive. She’s an elder, for Aata’s sake.”

  “I’m sorry, Dass. I know what I’m asking you to do. I know there will be consequences.” Nervously Ryder looked to the window of the tavern, but there were no villagers in sight—everyone had probably gone to the village square to pray with Sodan. “You’ll be discovered soon enough, but try to keep her in the storage room for as long as you can. Falpian and I will go through the forest and cross the river below Raiken’s farm—I think I can keep us from being seen.”

  Dassen shook his head and cast his eyes to the ceiling. “For your mother, Ryder,” he muttered. “I do this for your mother.” Reluctantly he took Visser by the arm and led her away.

  Ryder took his sister’s hand. “I want you to know that I’m proud of you.” He spoke quickly, checking the window all the while. “Whatever stupid things you’ve heard me say about witches, I’m proud you’re one of them. I hope you do grow up to be a boneshaker.”

  Skyla stared at him. “Me? But you’re the one with the gift.”

  “I’m . . . going to use my gift a different way.”

  A cloud crossed her face. “Wait.” She glanced at Falpian. “You’re just taking him to the border, aren’t you? You’re coming back.” As Ryder hesitated, she grasped at his shirt. “No. Not again. Not to the Bitterlands—you can’t!”

  “Kiss Pima for me. Try to make her understand.”

  “I don’t understand! Aata’s sake, Ryder. You—your leg. You’re not healed.”

  “She’s right,” Falpian said, staring at Ryder, as shocked as Skyla.

  But Ryder had made up his mind.

  Even the trees were white. Frozen fog had rimed their trunks and branches with frost. Falpian and Ryder had entered the clouds. Somewhere ahead was the border marker, but Ryder couldn’t see it. All he saw was the fog and the white trees looming up like ghosts.

  Behind him, Falpian was breathing heavily. The way was steep and they were both tired. “I can make my way from here,” he said. “It can’t be far.” His voice was muffled by a scarf.

  Ryder gave a faint laugh but didn’t lessen his pace. “You could have made your way from the village. Saved me this whole trip.” He glanced worriedly behind them, but because of the fog, there was nothing to see. Dassen would have hidden their departure for as long as he could, but by now Ryder was sure the village had been alerted.

  “I’m serious,” Falpian said. “You can’t come with me. You won’t be safe in the Bitterlands.”

  “Neither will you. The witches might cross the border to keep you from telling what you know. We’re better off if we stay together.”

  A note of fear entered Falpian’s voice. “Do you think they will?”

  Ryder hesitated, then lied. “No. Probably not.”

  Behind them, the smudge of sun grew lower in the sky. For a while the only sounds were those of their breath, and their steps, and the shush of their walking sticks digging into the snow. Sometimes Ryder caught a glimpse of Bo between the trees, a quick, pale shape. The dog traveled with them, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind, always on guard. Ryder marveled that such a big animal could be so quiet, appearing and disappearing without a sound, as if he were made of fog.

  “Think what you’re doing,” Falpian said, breaking the strange, muffled quiet. “I . . . I know how you feel. All the time we were at Dassen’s, don’t you think I was trying to think of a way for us to stay together? Together we are so powerful—but the Baen will give you the same reception the Witchlanders gave me.”

  “I have a gift,” Ryder said. “And I’ve decided not to waste it. I’m going to learn to sing.”

  “Ha!” Falpian said. “You think you’ll find a singing master in the Bitterlands? You think any Baen will teach you?”

  “I’m talking about you, fool. You’re going to teach me.”

  “Oh.”

  “I see it!” Ryder cried, before Falpian could say anything more. Ahead of them was the flat table of land where the border marker was. They took the last distance at a run.

  When they got to the border, Ryder’s legs crumpled underneath him. “We shouldn’t stop,” he managed to say, but he sat panting in the snow without getting up, the cold air shredding his lungs.

  “Your leg,” said Falpian. A few red spots were beginning to seep through Ryder’s leggings.

  “It’s nothing. I think a stitch has come out. Give me your arm.” He got to his feet. “We can’t assume they won’t follow. We’ll have to travel all night, if you can make it.”

  “If I can make it?” Falpian laughed.

  Ryder edged forward toward the place where the mountain fell away to the Bitterlands. There were fewer trees on this side; he should have been able to see the dizzying descent down to the gorge, but there was nothing but white blankness. It would be dangerous traveling in this weather, especially after sunset. Ryder knew from their previous climb that there were places where one wrong step could mean a deadly fall.

  “Let’s go,” he said, but his talat-sa was still standing next to the border marker, blurred by the swirling fog.

  “Ryder,” Falpian said. “They’ll kill you. Do you understand? My people will kill you.”

  “Lady Melicant,” Ryder answered firmly.

  Falpian gaped. “How would you—oh. All right, she’s a friend of my mother’s, what about her?”

  “Lady Melicant has Witchlander servants.”

  It took Falpian a moment to see what he was getting at. “Oh, no. No. That’s different, Ryder. They were loyal and followed her to the Bitterlands during the war. Nobody has new Witchlander servants.”

  “We’ll say you saved my life in the snow, and now I’m bound to you as your faithful attendant.”

  Falpian snorted with laughter. “And everyone will immediately think you’re a spy. And that I’m a dupe for not seeing it. No. It makes convincing the lords not to go to war all the harder, don’t you see? It’s too dangerous!”

  Ryder stood firm, arms crossed. “Falpian, you’re going up against a man who’s already tried to kill you once. Yes, taking me with you would be dangerous, but our singing together is our greatest weapon. Leaving me behind would be even more dangerous.”

  “It’s wrong
,” Falpian said. Ryder watched as a realization dawned on Falpian’s face. “And you know it! Even you think it’s wrong for you to come—you’re thinking it right now!

  Ryder let out a sigh of annoyance. He hated this link they had sometimes. There was no privacy in it. And he’d thought sharing a cramped cottage with his mother and sisters had been bad.

  “Yes,” Ryder agreed. “It’s wrong.” Without warning, his voice started to quaver, though he tried to stop it. “Somewhere above our heads there is a handful of stars that say I am meant to be a witch. They say, ‘Ryder lived happily in the coven with his sisters and worshipped the Goddess until the end of his days.’ And you know, a part of me really does want that. But I can’t figure out a way to have it and be sure you stay alive.”

  Falpian threw up his hands in frustration. “But I’m not asking for your help to stay alive! I don’t want to keep you from your family and from your . . . boneshaking destiny!”

  Ryder took a breath and kept his voice calm and firm. “I’m going with you because the thing you have to do is too important. If Sodan sends someone across the border, you might not last the night without me. And if your father decides to try to kill you again to keep you quiet, you’re better off with me than with just a humming stone. That’s the way it is. You’re stuck with me.”

  Falpian cast his eyes to the clouds. After a long moment, he said, “I’m not going to convince you, am I?”

  “You already know you’re not.”

  “Goddess help us.”

  Ryder laughed. “Wrong one. You’re Kar, remember?”

  Falpian pursed his lips, frowning. “We should at least sing. To know if they’re following. To know what we’re up against.” Ryder shook his head. “You did just say you wanted to learn to sing, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but . . .” Ryder couldn’t think of a reason to object. Singing would give them a vision of the whole mountain, and they needed to know if Sodan had sent an army after them, or one lone hunter, or no one at all. “After we sing, I never know how I did it. I can never really believe it happened.”