The Wisewoman (Waterspell 3)

by Deborah J. Lightfoot

  Megella got to her feet and rinsed her teacup in the spring.

  “The villagers have made their bed. Let them lie in it. They distrust anyone who is different. They treated me and my remedies with deep suspicion, even as they accepted my help. All the years that I lived alongside them, I suffocated under the weight of their superstitions. More than once, the cry went up that I was a witch and should be burned. Better sense prevailed each time, but I lived constantly under the threat of destruction. When Carin came along and I saw what she was—what she might become and how her gift would endanger her there—I had to get her out of that place.”

  Carin stood, came to her, and hugged Megella tightly.

  “I’m so glad you sent me north,” the girl whispered in Meg’s ear. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again or get the chance to thank you. If it hadn’t been for you, I never would have known where I fit—or found the man I love.”

  * * *

  The next two days of their journey passed uneventfully. They met a few travelers on the road, none threatening. Occasionally they were overtaken by other northbound riders who had no slow-moving vehicles in their party. Megella saw their amusement as they passed her “woodpecker wagon,” and she almost regretted her choice. She caught the scowl on Theil Verek’s face as the faster riders spurred by him, some of them chuckling as they went.

  “The lord of Ruain is behaving himself better than I expected,” Meg murmured to Carin. The girl sat on the seat beside her, handling the reins of the wagon team with a skill that confirmed the first impression Megella had formed of the foundling, so long ago: This young lady was a remarkably quick study. “I have looked for him to draw his sword,” Meg said, “and decapitate the ruder individuals among our fellow travelers.”

  Carin nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing. He has an awful temper. I was sure he was going to kill me when he first found me wandering his woods. I’ve never been so scared in my life.” The girl glanced over at Meg. “He kept me in knots for months afterward, too. Everything I did and most of what I said seemed to infuriate him.”

  “Widgeon,” Megella said, patting the girl’s knee, “I expect that he was more angry with himself than with you. You were a riddle, a mystery, an unknown element. And men who pride themselves on being their own masters do not react well to unknown elements. Those things they cannot control will sow the seeds of self-doubt and consternation. A man who expects to be always in charge dislikes feeling balked or confused. It makes him angry. I venture to say that you felt his wrath because you created vast confusion in Theil Verek’s mind.”

  Carin smiled. “He had me in a muddle too, I can tell you, Meg. I wanted to hate him. I told myself that I ought to hate him. But there was just something about him …”

  The girl trailed off as she gazed ahead at the man who so obviously fascinated her.

  Farther ahead still, up the road that ribboned through the grasslands, Megella saw a structure that should not be there. No—it was not a structure. Nothing permanent, at any rate. As they drew nearer, she made it out:

  A wall crossed the road, a nearly solid wall formed of haywains and heavy farm wagons. The vehicles stood squarely in the path of traffic, and just as many others had been rolled off the shoulders of the road into the deep drainage ditches that edged the traveled way. And patrolling the wall, the ditches, and the gullied ground beyond were ten mounted men.

  “Come no closer!” one of the men shouted when Verek’s party came within earshot.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the wysard yelled back. He rode a little nearer, despite the man’s warning, but stopped when five of the guards raised their bows. “Why have you blocked the road?”

  “Disease!” the patrol leader shouted. “South of here—a bleeding disease. No one may pass to the north of this point until they have proved themselves fit.”

  “What proof do you require?” Verek bellowed. “Send a man to face me and I will demonstrate my fitness.” He drew his sword and held it high to catch the sun.

  “Beggar all,” Carin swore softly at Megella’s side. “Does he have to pick a fight with them?”

  But no man of the ten patrollers accepted Verek’s challenge.

  “Five days!” their leader shouted. “Take this token”—the speaker gestured at a bowman who was aiming high now, preparing to lob an arrow in Verek’s general direction—“and bring it to me in five days. If none of your party shows signs of illness then, at that time you may pass.”

  The arrow struck the road well away from Verek, its head burying up in the soft shoulder. The wysard sheathed his sword, then rode over to lean from his saddle, grab the shaft, and yank the arrow free. He brought it to Megella and Carin in the wagon.

  “Today’s date,” Verek said, handing the arrow to Meg. “See it? Scratched into the shaft. They actually expect us to cool our heels by the roadside for five wasted days. Look there.” Verek pointed eastward.

  Megella followed his gesture and saw a few other wagons, not part of the blockade but arranged haphazardly around a large stock pond. People were milling about, a few standing and talking, some collecting water from the pond while others dragged kettles out from under the tarpaulins that covered whatever goods they were hauling.

  “They’re camping,” Meg said. “Squatting here until their time is up.”

  “And then they’ll present their dated arrows and learn whether that fellow’s word has any worth,” Verek growled, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the man who had blocked his path. “But notice how few riders are detained alongside the wagons. Those who travel horseback have simply cut east or west. Once out of sight of these self-appointed guardians of the public health, they are free to resume their northward path.”

  Megella sighed. “Find me a saddle for one of my cobs, nephew, and I will ride.” She patted the painted wood of her wagon. “You have had many reasons to object to my conveyance, but this latest occasion must task your patience beyond endurance. I will give up my comfortable wagon and ride horseback. But I must have a saddle—one with a high cantle. I could never keep my seat in the sort that you favor.” She indicated Verek’s huntsman’s saddle with its flat topline.

  “Are you sure about this, Aunt?” he asked, looking at her dubiously. “Could you ride that far?”

  And suddenly Megella saw herself as her nephew must see her. She’d once cut an imposing figure—a big, rawboned woman who could subdue an uncooperative patient with a single well-aimed punch. But now her muscles had gone to fat, her joints creaked, and her brown hair had turned mostly white. Verek could see only an aging woman: dowdy, shapeless under her layered shawls … impossible to picture bestriding a horse. In her own mind’s eye even, Megella could not summon up an image of herself astraddle.

  Take Carin and go, she started to instruct Theil. Leave me here.

  But the girl intervened.

  “Let’s join those other wagons,” Carin said. “At least for tonight.” The girl looked from Verek to Megella. “Aren’t you at all curious about what that man said of a sickness in the south? A bleeding disease, he called it. But we’ve just come up from that way and we didn’t see anything amiss. So what’s going on? Let’s stay here tonight and talk to those people.” Carin pointed at the campers. “Maybe they know. If a bad disease is spreading, people may need your help—both of you.”

  As if to emphasize this last point, she gazed particularly at Verek.

  Megella stared at the girl. Then she turned to look also at her nephew.

  He met her glance with no hint of condescension but with a slightly abashed nod of acknowledgment. “We two are the healers, Aunt Megella, and yet we speak of leaving the people to their fates.” Verek sighed. “I ache to go home. But Carin is right. If called upon to dispense your well-crafted remedies, we could be the difference between a local outbreak and a general epidemic.” The wysard looked southward. “I hope to Drisha there is nothing spreading but a rumor.”

  Verek heaved another sigh as
if resigning himself to his duty, then led the way to the stock pond. Carin guided Meg’s wagon as it rattled behind him over the rough ground. They claimed a spot crowding the edge of the pond. Over time, Megella pointed out, as more travelers found their way blocked, the grassy flats nearest the water would likely fill up. Latecomers would be required to haul their water to outlying campsites.

  As soon as the girl had the cobs unhitched and tethered to graze, Carin was all for walking to the neighboring camps and questioning anyone who would give her their attention. But Verek restrained her.

  “Stay here, fìleen, if you please,” he said. “Let me talk to our fellow travelers. You have a way of speaking that sets you apart from the common plains-dweller. Your clothing, too, will draw attention.” He ran his hand gently down her arm. “That’s a man’s shirt you’re wearing. Remember?”

  Carin glanced down, then looked up at her wysard and smiled.

  “It’s one of yours—the only dry shirt Myra could find for me after I called up the Jabberwock that time. I scared myself so desperately, I ran out in a rainstorm and got soaked to the skin.” The girl fingered the tie-cords at the open throat. “Did I ever properly thank you, my lord, for letting me wear one of your best shirts?”

  “Yes, I believe you did,” Verek murmured. He caressed Carin’s arm again and looked like he was about to kiss her.

  “Wheesht. First things first, my ducks,” Megella said, interrupting them. “While you two have been gazing longingly into each other’s eyes, I have been studying our fellow travelers. None show signs of sickness—at least, no symptom I may detect from here. Nevertheless, Theil, I suggest that you do not get too close when you speak with them. They, likewise, will want you to keep your distance, judging by the standoffish way in which they have arranged their wagons around this watering hole.”

  Verek nodded. “I hope all our neighbors will remain at arm’s length,” he said as he remounted. “The less we have to do with them, the better. But if anyone should come ’round and engage you women in conversation, and you find it necessary to mention me, do say that my name is Forester. These people need never hear a mention of the province of Ruain or the House of Verek.”

  Megella met his gaze. “We will keep your secrets, Theil. I wish to guard my privacy also. Here amongst strangers, I will be Millicent,” she said, choosing the name of an ages-dead ancestress on her mother’s side.

  Carin grinned. “Then I want a new name, too. I’m Alice.”

  “Of course you are.” Verek lightly laughed as he rode away at a leisurely pace to the next encampment over.

  While “Forester” made the circuit, stopping well away from each wagon to call out a few words of inquiry and hear the people’s replies, Megella and Carin made themselves as comfortable as possible, given that this would be a cold camp. Without wood to fuel it, they could have no fire.

  “Let me go look for brushwood, at least,” Carin said. “A hollow just there”—the girl pointed off to the east—“could hide a thicket and we wouldn’t know from here. That’s something I learned early, walking this country after you sent me away. The land here looks flat, but all over it’s cut with gullies like that place we were camped when the Winfield rider found us.”

  Carin stood up. “Where the gaps hold water,” she added, studying the eastern horizon, “the brush grows low and thick.” The girl fingered the butcher knife at her belt. “Give me an hour, Meg, and I’ll bring you firewood.”

  Megella shook her head. “Wait, please, widgeon. It’s early yet.” She pointed westward, where the afternoon sun still shone brightly. “Let’s decide about the fire later. We have some of the ham left, so we will eat tonight even if we cannot cook.” Meg patted the blanket that she’d spread over the grass. “Come sit with me, Carin, and tell me how you destroyed the necromancer. I do not like to speak of Morann too much when Theil is near. The subject of his mother must cause him pain, however resolutely he hides it.”

  Carin sighed, and—to Meg’s slightly nearsighted eyes—looked a bit green in the gills at the mention of Morann.

  “She horrified him,” the girl said in a low voice, resuming her seat beside Megella. “I don’t know what she did to him when he was a child. He’d tried to forget that she even existed. But as he faced her on the mountain, he said something about ‘dark recollections’ filling him with terror. And, of course, there’s his missing finger.”

  Megella nodded. “I had wondered about that. An accident with sword or knife, I’d assumed.”

  Carin shook her head. “I don’t think so. I believe the witch cut off his finger to punish him when he wouldn’t give in to her. He was just a boy, but I think that even then he was standing up to her.”

  “Which is something only a strong wysard could do,” Meg said. “None but the strongest could have confronted that creature in her ancient stronghold and lived to tell the tale. How did you survive? Morann would have been at the height of her powers, and Theil hard-pressed to summon forth the Ruainian magic that was … um, is … his own.”

  Carin raised her chin slightly. Had Meg’s slip of the tongue offended the girl?

  Of course he’ll get his powers back, Megella thought. He merely needs to get home to his great cave and its well of magic. And he’d be a far piece further up the road to Ruain by now, if I had not been holding him back.

  “I am a selfish old woman,” Meg burst out, so suddenly and with such vehemence that Carin started visibly. “In the morning, you two must go on. Take your wysard home, widgeon.” Meg patted Carin’s hand. “That’s what you set out to do, and I should never have gotten in your way. I will throw in with another of these travelers.” She jerked her head at a wagon that, in contrast to her own brightly painted vehicle, was a dull, muddy brown. “A good wisewoman can always make her way.”

  Meg pointed then toward the blockade, where the size of the patrol had grown from ten men to twelve. “Or maybe I’ll just settle there. Those fellows hail from Greaterford, I believe. If memory serves, it’s the next town north from Winfield, and I am thinking it’s the town they would be wanting to protect from the plague.”

  “If there is a plague,” Carin said. “You told me to wait on the wood, that it was early yet and we might not need it. Well, I’m saying the same to you, Megella. Wait. Let’s see what Theil finds out from our fellow travelers. Maybe there’s nothing to the rumor and no reason to keep the road closed. You know Theil wants you to come with us to Ruain. You’re the last of his family.”

  Megella wanted to hug the girl for saying that a barely connected, nearly forgotten in-law had any place in the House of Verek. But Carin had jumped up again, and now she was scanning the banks of the stock pond.

  “I don’t see him anywhere. Do you, Meg?”

  Getting off the blanket was harder for Megella than for the lithe young woman who was standing with her hands shading her eyes, squinting in the sunlight that glinted off the pond. But when Megella finally creaked upright, she joined the girl in studying the landscape that stretched away to the east and northeast. Verek was not in sight.

  “Perhaps the magical call of his lands proved overpowering,” Meg murmured, “and he went on without us.”

  Carin tilted her head. “He’ll be back. He might be scouting a route past the roadblock. Or maybe he’s gone hunting. He liked the taste of that plains antelope the other night.”

  The girl spoke with such complete and confident trust in her wysard, Megella could not doubt that both of them would see Lord Verek again, and soon. She poured herself a drink of the pond-water with which they had filled their wagon casks, and handed Carin a cup.

  “Then settle again with me, widgeon, and finish your tale,” Meg said. “You were about to tell me how the two of you defeated Morann in her home waters.”

  “We couldn’t have done it if the witch hadn’t been standing in the middle of her pool of magic,” Carin said. “What I mean to say is, she was standing on the water. It was weird fizzy stuff, but she walked on it like
it made a solid floor under her feet. When Theil began his attack, she put herself in the exact middle of her pool and threw thunderbolts at him. She wasn’t paying attention to me.” Carin smiled. “Theil’s plan worked perfectly. He drew Morann’s fire while I rattled off the words of a spell.”

  “A spell of your own?” Megella asked, a bit awed to think that the girl’s native gift had manifested itself so speedily—and to such deadly effect.

  Carin shook her head. “It’s something I got out of a book. The spell calls the Jabberwock. It’s a dragon that comes from the world where I was born, and it’s fierce. Here on Ladrehdin, it can exist only in wizards’ waters. They give it shape. As soon as I recited the spell, the Jabberwock came howling up from the waters under Morann’s feet. It toppled her in, and she was too far from any edge of her pool to haul herself out in time. The dragon swallowed her whole.”

  Meg stared at the girl.

  Such a matter-of-fact account … as though this young wysard feels herself able to conjure firedrakes and slay necromancers with one hand tied behind her back. And maybe she can, Megella mused, studying the slim, auburn-haired castaway from a world called Earth. Of course she can. She did.

  “There he is,” Carin said suddenly.

  Megella, following the girl’s finger-point, spotted Lord Verek riding in from the east, rising up gradually from what had to be one of Carin’s predicted gullies. Also as the girl had foreseen, the man had been hunting. Slung across the saddle in front of him was another of the small antelope that grazed these unfenced grasslands.

  He did not bring his kill to his womenfolk. Verek delivered the animal to the encampment directly across the pond from their own. He lowered it into the arms of a squat, thick-bodied man who was, Megella guessed, the father of the many children who hopped out from under their wagon and greeted Verek with excitement. The woman of the group—the children’s mother, undoubtedly—handed up to Verek a bulky bundle. Their trade completed, the wysard turned his horse and rode to Carin and Meg at a trot.