Witch: The Moondark Saga, Books 7-9 (The Moondark Saga Boxed Sets Book 3)

by Don McQuinn

  Lorso was almost rigid with suddenly increased tension.

  From the corner of his eye, Gan noted the postures and attitudes of the crew. Openly hostile, they didn’t seem poised to attack. There was a signal, then, something they knew to watch for.

  And Lorso was poised to send it.

  Turning his back, ignoring prickling shoulders, Gan forced himself to wave easily for Conway to approach. Then, facing Lorso again, Gan said, “We have nothing to negotiate, Lorso, except the lives of your men. My people are moved inland; you’ll find no slaves, no loot. My Wolves wait for you. The lightning weapons are ready.”

  The sailboat thudded against the sharker. Gan leaped aboard.

  Lorso’s righthand crept upward. Now the crew stirred. The signal involved that right hand, then. Behind him, Gan snapped his fingers, and was rewarded by the scraping of metal on metal. He knew it as the sound the lightning weapon made when prepared to speak. A tremble of anticipation raced up his spine.

  The Wolf sailing the boat heeled it over in a tack that made the rickety mast groan. The rough sail cracked full, threatened to split.

  Behind the bucking, straining little boat, the sleek lengths of the sharkers rocked in careless, indolent dance. Gan thought of cats watching a mouse.

  Yet nothing happened.

  The sharker that trailed the Wolf column up the coast joined the fleet. A signal flag skipped up the mast of Lorso’s vessel, and the new arrival rowed alongside.

  Gan watched from the water’s edge. Turning to his friends gathered behind him, he said, “I told Lorso two lies; that Dog warriors were riding to Ola, and that we left units on the coast trail. I think he believed me. Anyhow, the scout captain’s trapped. If he tells Lorso he didn’t see our numbers shrink—which you all know didn’t happen—he has to wonder if he failed, in which case the Skan fleet possibly lands in an ambush. If the captain says he did see changes in our numbers, Lorso has to strongly suspect he’s looking at a hard fight for little gain. We can hope he’ll leave. Nevertheless, I want two-man scout teams along this beach all night. If the Skan come ashore, the teams are to retreat silently and warn us. We’ll fight from concealment on the high ground, not down here on the flat. Silence all drums until you hear the command drum. Two men out of every ten awake at all times, sharing the watch. All men and animals fed by sundown. Cold rations. No fires, no lights. I’ll sleep with the Jalail pack in the center of the formation.” He turned back to the sea, oblivious to the activity behind him.

  Later, Tate, Bernhardt, Leclerc and Conway sat together looking out over the black silhouettes of the sharkers. A sinking sun flamed rotund summer cumulus. The peaks of the distant Whale Coast were broken teeth against dying fire.

  Bernhardt broke the silence. “You think they’ll come in the dark?”

  “No.” Conway hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. “These Skan come for loot, and Gan hit the right note when he told them there was nothing here for them. No loot, no shoot. They’ll go home.”

  “When?” Leclerc packed doubt into the word.

  “Now!” Tate jerked to her feet, almost falling in her excitement. “Look. Sails going up. Everywhere.”

  Distant shouts came from the ships. Brazen horn signals followed. A drum set an oar pace. More horn blasts shuddered, eerie now that the boats were almost invisible. Stern lamps pierced the darkness, golden against the blackness of the sea. The bobbing lights formed a pattern, four lines of five. They moved in order toward the extinguished sun. Then they disappeared.

  “Oh-oh.” Tate was immediately apprehensive. “I don’t like that. We don’t know which way they’re going.”

  Leclerc thrust himself against the night. “They could be going to Ola? Getting behind us? What about Carter and Anspach?”

  “Lanta.” Guiltily, Conway added, “And Sylah.”

  Tate put her hand on his shoulder. “They’re just giving us a quick twitch. A parting shot.”

  Each joined in the general mumble meant to reassure. Leclerc decided to turn in. Bernhardt made the same move. Tate, Nalatan, and Conway remained, sitting so close together both men were actually in contact with Tate’s shoulders. Again, there was a long silence. This one was different, however. It resonated between the trio, a pregnancy of nebulous, unspoken questions. The baffled need to articulate something was almost palpable.

  It was Conway who left. Nalatan said, “Donnacee, what’s wrong with him? Doesn’t he realize Lanta loves him?”

  “Of course he does.”

  “Then why this distance? Why are they so sad all the time?”

  She shrugged, the movement gentle against his shoulder. He put his arm around her. She continued to stare after the vanished fleet, speculative. “I don’t know, lover. Look how long it took me to realize I was in love with you. It’s not always easy.”

  “I worry about him. A good man, very much alone. Sometimes I think he’d do anything if she’d accept him.”

  Tate twisted, faced Nalatan. In the night, she could see no expression to help her interpret the last remark. Defensively, she said, “That had a nasty ring to it, as if Conway might do something disloyal. I hope I heard you wrong.”

  Nalatan made no effort to soften his words. “When a man’s dying of thirst, he won’t ask the cost of a drink. Conway would never hurt a friend. Intentionally.”

  Tate’s intended furious retort turned sour in her mouth. She swallowed hard, eating words. This man she loved renounced his vows, his entire life, for her. If anyone knew the cost of loving another, he did. She kissed him, telling herself everything would work out. It certainly had in her case. Nalatan took her in his arms. She forgot Conway and Lanta.

  Chapter 14

  The soft glow of twilight flowed across the Inland Sea. Below the castle’s jutting balcony, water polished to the sheen of jade carried small balancebars. Sails, lazing under an easy breeze, still drove boats fast enough to purl silver wakes.

  Neela broke the long silence holding the group standing around the small table. “I love to watch water curl away from the front of the boat. A silver ribbon that comes from nowhere, glitters, and disappears.”

  “A bone in her teeth,” Tate said, and her gaze was far away. Twice, Neela said, “What?” before Tate heard her. Stammering at her blunder, Tate sought Conway’s reaction. His reassuring smile indicated she hadn’t compromised their secret past. The other strangers to this world—Janet Carter, Susan Anspach, Kate Bernhardt, and Louis Leclerc—were equally undisturbed. “It’s an old expression,” Tate said. “We say the boat looks like she has a bone in her teeth.”

  Neela laughed. “A strange thing to say, especially when you call the boat ‘she.’ So aggressive sounding. Your boats are always ‘she’?”

  “Of course. They’re beautiful, courageous, thrifty, and no man ever really controls one.” Tate winked at her friend.

  When the general laughter quieted, Gan observed dryly, “They can be very distracting, as well. We’re here to determine what to do about these, not admire the view.” He pointed at the table.

  Besides his wife and the strangers, there were Sylah, Lanta, Nalatan, and Emso, only that afternoon returned from pursuit of the broken Kwa. Everyone stared at the exposed secret of the Door.

  Books.

  Fastening his attention on Sylah, Gan went on. “Since the beginning, Church law requires any writing from the time of the giants be surrendered to Church and burned in the Return ceremony. Despite being cast out by the new, false Sister Mother, all who know you understand you’re still Church. You’re the Flower, destined to find the secret of the Door. But your secret is forbidden. Books are learning. Learning caused men to challenge the giants and be destroyed. It’s evil.”

  Carter, thin and intense as a knife, said, “Knowledge isn’t evil. It isn’t good. It just is. How it’s used is what makes it good or evil.”

  Lanta said, “The Apocalypse Testament tells us, ‘The foulest deeds are done in the guise of the fairest favor. Truth told by dishone
st tongue is the liar’s poisoning.’”

  Diffident as ever, Anspach couched her argument in more personal terms. “Reading is learning, Gan. You’ve said yourself how much it’s going to help you administer the Three Territories when we’ve trained more people to read. What’s in these books will bring better lives to all your people.”

  Instead of answering Anspach or Carter, Gan stared hard at Conway, then at Tate. He said, “I’ll ask you for the truth now, Donnacee Tate. You exchanged blood with Clas na Bale. You would never disgrace him by lying to me. Of all your tribe here, only you and Conway have seen inside these books. Is that true?”

  Tate nodded, wary.

  “How, then, do the others know what’s in them? How can they say these will help me? Is there witchwork here, Donnacee?”

  Tate’s mind raced. If she looked to Conway for reassurance, Gan would think they had a story between them. If she tried to explain about the world that died, and the crèche that brought them to this time, Gan would assume she’d gone mad. Or more likely decide they were all witches.

  Clas na Bale would never shame Donnacee Tate. Therefore, she must speak the truth.

  “We all know what’s written in the books.” She paused, heard slow inhalation by her friends. She also saw the way Gan and Emso edged hands closer to their weapons. Emso was frightened and angry, a dangerous combination. Gan was rigid. Nalatan looked as if he might be ill. Behind Gan, Shara and Cho sensed the force of the sudden tension and lumbered to their feet. Tate continued. “We don’t know everything that’s in them, of course, but we all have some of the information. In our tribe, we’re made to know about books. No one knows everything. Some know more than others. For instance, among us, Leclerc knows the most about making things.”

  Gan interrupted. “He’s helped us build. He destroys as easily. The black powder is a blessing. It saved us many, many lives. But it is not an honorable way to fight.” He stole a guilty glance at Sylah. “The Violet Abbess quoted to me from the Old Book of First Church. She said the Old Book tells that the giants struck men with ‘roaring fire that devoured high buildings and smoke that killed without being seen.’ I think of those words when Leclerc’s black powder kills.”

  Tate plunged ahead. “You should think of those things. You must always think of the cost of war. Your mother prophesied that your destiny is to bring glory to the Dog People. You have. Your life isn’t over, though. There are other people who would join you. They need your strength to resist those who would destroy the Three Territories and debase Church. And you.”

  “I want no kingdom. I fought Altanar and the Barons of Harbundai because they gave me no choice. I—”

  Tate spoke over his protestation. “Want it or not, you are Murdat. Choice? Will the Skan stay away? You never hurt the Skan. They come to kill and pillage anyhow. To the south, Kos hopes to make slaves of you. To the east, Windband prowls like wild dogs. What choice will they offer the Three Territories?”

  “We’ll fight them if we must.” Gan was sullen. That alone showed how well he understood the danger.

  Pushing her advantage, Tate said, “You know you must. We’ll help you win. With the knowledge in the books. You don’t have to touch them. That way no one can say you’re—forgive me, Murdat, but I must use the forbidden word—no one can ever say you’re involved in teaching.”

  Gan winced. Emso tugged at his murdat.

  Nalatan took a tentative half step toward Tate, then caught himself and made a three-sign. “The thought is forbidden, Donnacee. To speak that word as act, to suggest one human do it to another…”

  An agitated Leclerc ignored Nalatan’s religious concerns. “What gives you the right to tell Gan I’m the one who’ll use these books? We’re already in trouble just because you brought them here. Now you want to make me the heavy, the guy out front. You want someone to bring science and technology to this world? Do it yourself.”

  Clearly surprised by Leclerc’s reaction and puzzled by the strange, unknown words, Gan immediately moved to restore peace. “I heard Tate’s words, Louis. I heard respect. No one here is in trouble. I sense great opportunity.” He smiled suddenly, unexpectedly. Walking away from his friends, he drew a candle from one of the pyramidal racks standing about the room. He put some tow into a ceramic box holding smoldering coals and blew on it until he had a flame. Gan resumed his remarks as he moved about the room, touching light to the remaining candles. “Cloaked in every opportunity is disaster. Consider the power of these small, unmoving, unspeaking books. Church is split. The dark religion, Moondance, rushes to take advantage of the confusion. Sylah and Lanta are outcast. Each of you who accompanied Sylah on the quest has suffered loss, been tested to the limit of endurance. Nations, too. Mighty Kos is crippled. The all-conquering nomads of Windband were turned back for the first time. A terrible price has been paid, just so we can look at this treasure. What more avalanche do we unleash if we use it further?”

  “Return.” Emso’s voice was stone against stone. “The One in All will strike, as in the beginning. Return the books.”

  Sylah stalked to the table, face set, long, black robe swishing anger. “The books are the secret of the Door, promised by Church for generations. I found them. I keep them.”

  “You keep them?” Emso’s blunt, lined features mottled, twisted. “Flower you may be, Priestess, but Church herself you are not. Whatever power is in these things belongs to Church, not one person. Murdat must decide for you. Without him and the Wolf packs of the Three Territories, you have nowhere to hide.”

  Sylah faced Emso, imperious. Gan almost exclaimed aloud. She was transformed into the woman he’d met when their lives first entangled. Sky-blue eyes glared. Thick, black hair flowed and swirled, angry as a cat’s twitching tail. He’d forgotten how commanding—and how beautiful—she was. “I know my debts. I know my enemies. I will bring Church to its rightful place.”

  Conway said, “Not alone, Sylah.”

  Sylah clearly heard the gently chiding tone under the declaration of loyalty. The haughty manner eased. With a thankful glance at Conway, Sylah looked back to Emso. “Forgive me. I overstep. I see beyond the Three Territories. I see Church as she was, always reaching, always bringing better life to more people. Such a goal needs a leader, Emso, and I am the Flower. I wanted to find the Door, but I never wanted to be more than my own person. Now I’m obligated to bring the power of the Teachers to the world.”

  Emso’s anger softened to his normal expression of general disapproval. He sent an irascible glance at Gan before answering Sylah. “Everyone around here worries about doing good. I say we Return the books because if we don’t, every fool who can put together a gang of thieves is going to come trying to steal this ‘treasure.’ More fools will want to kill the anti-Church that holds the ‘treasure.’ That accounts for all the fools but us. And we’re too few to rule everyone else. Unless your books can stop armies. If someone’s going to put a sword in my guts, I want it to be a fight over my land or his, not those silly things.” He flung a hand out at the books, then hurriedly made a three-sign, as if the unintended closeness might contaminate. Chin up in defiance, he finished, “I can’t even read, Sylah. And proud of it. It’s the way.”

  Softly, Gan said, “I ordered that all my leaders learn reading. We’ll discuss your pride later.” Emso’s glare at the table made it plain where he placed the blame for his predicament.

  Gan settled into a large wooden chair against the wall, far from the candles. The faint glow that reached him cast his eyes as dark and sunken. The fist bracing his cheekbone pulled his mouth into an unintentional snarl. Above him, the carved head of the chair featured a scene of a cougar defending its deer kill against a marauding pack of coyotes.

  Tate was considering the symmetry of the images when someone touched her shoulder. Turning, she found Sylah indicating she wanted to talk on the balcony. Tate followed, then waited patiently while her friend organized her words.

  “You were very brave tonight, Donnace
e. No one else wanted to tell Gan what he already suspected. Clas would be proud that you honored his blood.”

  Tate said nothing, thinking only of the way she’d shaded the truth, bent it to fit her needs. Nor did she confess to the most confidential find behind the Door. Only Tate and Conway understood the importance of the small red notebook that confirmed the existence and general location of the other crèches constructed by the world that had destroyed itself.

  Sylah said, “I know you could have told him more than you did. I’ve had my suspicions about you people from your distant land all along. The feeling’s grown stronger ever since we opened the Door. Perhaps someday I’ll have my curiosity satisfied.” She laughed, then, but as cheerful as the sound began, it trailed away, ended on lingering melancholy.

  When Sylah continued, she averted her eyes, looked out to the starred night. “I speak of suspicions because I want you to see I’m not afraid to acknowledge them. Suspicion isn’t necessarily distrust. You’re my friend. I’m yours. Our goals haven’t always been the same. They’ll differ again. But I love you as my sister, and I turn to you in need.” She paused, gathering strength. “Everything that was said about the danger of books and learning was true. Leclerc’s knowledge helped Gan end many lives. What other destruction have I put in Leclerc’s hands? Or the hands of others, less good-hearted?”

  “Knowledge and wisdom don’t always grow on the same tree. People will use whatever they can to get whatever they want. Wisdom would have all of us wanting a mutual good.”

  “The goal of Church. The mutual good of all.”

  “Not anymore.” Tate turned to rest her elbows on the balcony rail, facing Sylah and the room. Silhouetted against the warm candle-glow and movement of the intermingling group in the room behind her, Sylah was an enigmatic, vaguely mysterious figure, her features obscured within the confines of her hood, her hands tucked into her sleeves. Tate went on. “As long as the Harvester rules as the new Sister Mother, Church will be no more than another piece in the unending power game. If Church is to be a force for universal good, it starts here, Sylah. With you.”