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

by Don McQuinn

  Rising in the stirrups, she brought her face close to his, a hand on his shoulder. In perfect accord, they stopped the horses. Their kiss was a bond. Neither had a thought for anything else in that moment, so neither saw Tate. Behind them, she averted her gaze. Her initial sharing smile withered quickly. What took its place compared with the small, blasted plants of summer still clinging to the frozen cliff.

  Chapter 33

  Emso settled into the tub in the castle’s bathhouse. The square, stone form stood on a tall base. A small fire burned under it in an inset fireplace. The water steamed a rich aroma of cedar. Emso sighed luxuriously as heat dissolved the ache in cold bones.

  Moments later he was splashing violently, lunging for a drying cloth. From the open door, Jaleeta watched his thrashing modesty, pealing silvery laughter. Craning to see backward over his shoulder, Emso finally found his voice. “Scandalous! You shock, Jaleeta. You shouldn’t sneak up on a man in his bath.”

  Ignoring him, face alight with a daring, teasing smile, she angled to the side, taking some of the strain off his twisted neck. “Emso, be serious. Our heads are at the same level. You’re in a stone box. Whatever would I see that would embarrass either of us?”

  “Not the point.” The last word was accentuated; accumulated water on Emso’s lips spattered, triggering more laughter from Jaleeta. Emso’s indignant glare collapsed into indulgent resignation. “You’re a spoiled little fox kit. I hope you’re not so careless around the young men.”

  Shocked, Jaleeta advanced but not so far as to further disturb Emso’s composure. “How can you even think such a thing?” She tossed her head, sending heavy tresses flying in a gleaming arc. “Anyhow, you know my situation. With Louis. And Gan. You’re the only one I can talk to. I hoped you understood.”

  “I understand. Too well. I’ve tried to draw Gan out on the subject. He won’t discuss it. Pretends he doesn’t even know what I’m talking about.”

  “He’s afraid. He knows his old friends would be ashamed to know he’s becoming a tyrant.”

  “Never think he’s afraid.”

  Downcast, Jaleeta edged forward. “Isn’t there something that can be done? It’s Sylah; she controls him.”

  “You don’t have the years to judge him. Be careful what you say. What can you know of a man being owned?”

  A fiery wash raced across Jaleeta’s features. Intuitively, she turned away, aware that anger such as she felt at that moment was transfiguring. Emso must never discover that his little girl could resemble a vengeful demon.

  Emso saw only the reddened skin of her neck. “I’ve made you blush. I apologize.”

  “There’s no need. I know I’m not as wise as you. I lived with Tears of Jade, though. I’ve seen her control. I understand witchcraft.”

  “Take care. Such accusations are for Church. You can’t use the word witch and not expect to be challenged.”

  Jaleeta straightened. “I owe my life to Gan Moondark. If no one will speak for his soul, then I must.”

  Emso turned away from her. The severity of his frown etched his brow. Despite that he seemed more contemplative than irritated. Long after Jaleeta’s flouncing departure, when he started scrubbing, it was with a peculiar detachment.

  * * *

  Jaleeta waved to the Chosens playing outside the Iris Abbey. In no time she was the center of a laughing, shouting, crowd of children. From a pocket of her robe, she drew a section of bamboo. One end was fitted with a removable cap of polished bone. The tube itself was deeply carved with the image of a boar. Opening it, she produced a tightly rolled sheet of material, slightly thicker than a leaf and a dark, wine red. When unwound, it stretched a good arm’s length. She held it aloft, dangling it. Sunlight turned it into sheeting flame.

  “Strawberry leather!” The cry from small throats echoed from the abbey’s stones.

  “Enough for everyone.” Judiciously, Jaleeta tore off pieces of the sun-dried puree, handing it out carefully. The Chosens might be wards of Church, and therefore holy in many respects, but they were children. It wasn’t outside their scope to stuff a fair share of sweet into a secular mouth while extending a consecrated hand for more. Finally, there was one piece left, and one potential customer. A small girl, shorter and slighter than all, hung back. Not until the little one was jostled and half-turned by a departing older child did Jaleeta see the birthmark. On the right cheek, just in front of the ear, the small wine-red stain was an irregular blotch, with a short, jagged line issuing from the bottom. Jaleeta thought of lightning breaking from a cloud.

  Jaleeta waved the fruit leather, smiling, enticing. Solemn, the girl stared back.

  With supple grace, Jaleeta caught the child by the hand before she could get away. Jaleeta’s sultry whisper cajoled. “I understand. Really. Some of us are always alone, no matter where we are. Because it’s that way for me, too, I’ll always be your friend. You don’t have to be my friend if you don’t want to. It’s all right. But I’ll be yours. Now, take your strawberry sweet. Jaleeta wants you to have it.”

  The little girl’s head remained averted. The small hand reached. Like a newborn puppy, it moved with blind determination, seeking a bond transcending nourishment. The hand touched Jaleeta’s fingers. It stopped instantly. Jaleeta felt the connection. The hand drifted to the fruit leather, closed over it. The girl scampered away.

  “That was lovely.” Jaleeta rose swiftly, met by Janet Carter’s delighted smile. “Jay Six is so shy. She doesn’t play with the other Chosens. Not even the ones from the Mountain People.” Inflection made it known that Jay Six’s tribe was a particular test.

  Standing beside Carter, Sylah and Kate Bernhardt wore smiles of considerably less warmth than Carter’s. Bernhardt nodded. Sylah spoke. “The children look forward to your visits. It’ll take poor Susan forever to calm them down.” She gestured over her shoulder, where Susan Anspach shooed them to class.

  “I didn’t mean to make trouble.”

  Carter hushed her. “Don’t apologize. They need laughter. You bring it. Sometimes it’s too easy to forget how important smiles are. I know I do.”

  Jaleeta said, “They’ll appreciate your work a great deal more than a tiny piece of fruit leather. Little moments like this won’t even be remembered.”

  Bernhardt’s smile was thin. “Appreciation always waits in the future. Pleasures like sweet things and childish laughter may be temporary, but they’re here now.”

  Sylah said, “Please, excuse Jaleeta and me? We have to talk.”

  Carter winked at Jaleeta. “We’ll help Susan. She’ll need it. Come on, Kate.”

  Bernhardt’s fixed smile didn’t alter. She nodded before turning to follow.

  Sylah took Jaleeta’s arm, led her away. “I think it’s time for us to speak plainly to each other, Jaleeta. Why do you dislike me so? Do you believe I’m what Sister Mother calls me? Or is it me, personally?”

  “I don’t dislike you.”

  “Stop it.” Sylah was quietly firm. “You’re a very skilled young woman, but you’re no match for me. I’m trying to be your friend. I know something of being a stranger. I know what that can do to a person’s mind. Especially a woman’s mind, in this man’s world. You’re using them, aren’t you? That’s a fool’s choice. Eventually, they’ll ignore you. Worse, they may discover what you’re doing to them. There’s nowhere to hide then, Jaleeta. Now, then; why this dislike?”

  Jaleeta’s brain raced at a pace threatening to outstrip her heart. She bought time with silence. Head down, watching each slow, reluctant step, she remembered the words of Tears of Jade. The old woman warned that Sylah would interpret her face and body the way Skan warriors interpreted the sea. Jaleeta fumed, but quickly recovered. This conversation was too vital to permit remorse or anger.

  “I’m afraid.” Jaleeta complimented herself: Tears of Jade said that if you must lie to a Priestess, start with a truth. Come to the lie slowly, gently. “I’m afraid to think of anyone as a real friend. I remember my family dying when I
was captured. Since then, my life is lies. And threats. I use the men. Yes. One protects against another. I don’t trust any of them.” She met Sylah’s eyes, bold. “Anyone. Now you’ll tell Gan Moondark and Neela. I don’t care.”

  “Of course you care. You need them. Look at me.” Sylah stopped. Jaleeta had to turn to face her. Sylah put a hand to Jaleeta’s neck, just under the jaw, saying, “You have ambitions. You mean to use us all.”

  Jaleeta opened her mouth. Sylah pressed against her jawbone with a thumb. Jaleeta’s teeth clicked together. She inhaled sharply. The hiss was clearly audible. Sylah’s smile burned with contempt. Sure, controlled force hummed under her words. “Your eyes, your muscles, your blood, all tell more truth than your tongue. Listen. You know nothing of obligation. You feel none. I do. Gan Moondark and other friends saved my life. They offer me sanctuary and support for Church. Church will flourish and expand. I must provide the first nurturing. I am commanded. That can only happen here, in the Three Territories. Nothing will interfere. Nothing. Come to me as a friend, and I will protect you. Threaten Church, or the Teachers, or the Three Territories in any way, and I am your implacable enemy.”

  When at last Sylah released Jaleeta and stepped back, Jaleeta’s eyes remained fixed for a heartbeat, then rolled. Whites gleamed. She steadied. “I’m a guest of Murdat himself. I’m trusted.”

  “How well I know. You think you’re looking straight ahead into an exciting future. I tell you you’re looking down. Into horror. Let me help you.”

  Turning away, Jaleeta walked. Sylah followed. After a while, Jaleeta stopped. She looked up into Sylah’s face, hand to her throat. “There are things you should know. Things I’ve been told. Everyone in the Territories is in danger. I want to tell you. I fear, Sylah. I’m not a bad person. I fear.”

  “I know. I can wait. Come to me when you can. There are many forces working here. Youth and beauty are very weak weapons in such a struggle, Jaleeta. They’ll win you much less than you think.”

  Inwardly, Jaleeta triumphed. She’d anticipated a lecture of some sort. “I’ve behaved very foolishly.”

  Sylah reached out again, stroked Jaleeta’s temple as if the fingertips felt the mind inside. She said nothing. Jaleeta cursed the older woman’s enigmatic smile that left her confused and somehow ashamed. Sylah turned and left without speaking.

  Jaleeta wanted to scream at the straight, unyielding back drawing away from her. No one dismissed Jaleeta. Not without paying for the insult.

  Slowly, relishing her anger, Jaleeta made her way to the stables. A gull shrieked laughter at her. Pigeons in her path flurried aloft. Their glittering eyes stared down on her in mindless wonder. After assuring no one was watching, she pitched a stone at them. Their panicky flight failed to brighten her mood.

  A young groom hurried to get her horse and saddle it. She basked in the boy’s bumptious admiration, posturing for him. He stumbled and floundered comically. Satisfactorily. She moved to stand beside him while he adjusted the gear. He was fair, sturdy; she thought of new whaling boats, the rough strength of newly hewn wood. Crisp, golden hairs gleamed on bare, thick arms whenever one of the spears of light coming through the barn’s gaps and knotholes glanced off his flesh. Close-shaven, scrubbed, he smelled of strong soap. Under that, as shy as the boy himself, were warmer, elusive scents.

  Pulling the cinch tight, the stableboy finished. When he stepped back, he turned deep blue eyes on her. For a fleeting, tingling moment she saw past that diffidence, down into the raw, unexplored maleness of him.

  Foot in the stirrup, she reached to brace herself on a brawny shoulder. He quivered like a fly-plagued colt. She chided herself for enjoying him too much. An abrupt move swept her up into the saddle. Without looking back, she urged the horse outside at a jarring trot.

  There was no time for idle games. The passes were heavy with snow already. Spring, bringing the combined attack of the Skan and Windband, wasn’t that far away. No, dawdling at amusement was not only inappropriate, it was potentially fatal. It was time, instead, to assure that the fools destroyed each other. A song of excitement reeled through her mind, sending her carefully organized thoughts spinning off. She felt challenged. Strong.

  They thought to hurt her, couldn’t imagine her cunning. All of them. Sylah; empty threats. Lorso; muscles and lust. Gan Moondark and his sickening sweet wife. Emso; laughable. Tears of Jade; far away. Old. And doomed.

  Nalatan.

  Yet again, orderliness collapsed. The vision of the warrior-monk was suddenly intertwined with that of Lorso. Emso. The stable boy. Lassitude touched her, expanded within. It was heat and a secret, straining eagerness.

  She slapped at the horse’s rump with all her might. The sting of her hand and the startled animal’s headlong gallop cleared her head. Hair streamed behind her. She blended with her mount’s racing rhythm, blood pounding to that exhilarating tempo. Raising her chin, she shouted laughter at the world. She knew. Jaleeta knew.

  The greatest magic in the land was Louis Leclerc.

  He was a sword of unnamed, mystic power.

  He wanted Jaleeta. He would have her. Possess her.

  Exactly as the leopard, innocent in its ferocity, claims the bait in puny man’s clever deadfall.

  Chapter 34

  Some distance from Leclerc’s farm, Jaleeta reined to a slow walk. It wouldn’t do to arrive all disheveled on a sweat-frothed horse. Louis was a fool, but one exercised care, even in managing fools.

  She wondered what the farmers along the way thought of her raucous laughter as she pounded down the narrow road. They’d probably tell anyone who’d listen. She shrugged, smiling lazily. It was too late to worry about that. Soon they’d have plenty of tales to whisper about the wild Jaleeta. If they dared.

  Rested, but still full of life after its run, her horse tossed its head and pranced approaching Leclerc’s house. Jaleeta knew she was a pretty picture, long hair tousled across the back and shoulders of her down-filled jacket. Glossy black complemented the bright blue and its orange trim. Her beige leather skirt flowed smoothly to glossy ankle-high boots. The horse, a muscular gray, with proud, arched neck, was the perfect seat to display her beauty.

  Off to her left, naked apple trees stood in neat rows, scraggly branches jerking about in the wet wind. To the right, winter crops flourished in long, narrow beds. She recognized the frail green of hardy lettuce, almost overpowered by the robust verdance of spinach. There was broccoli, several beds of onion-things—garlic, shallots, leeks—and other crops she couldn’t identify.

  Leclerc grew vegetables in ways no one else considered. When he succeeded, he shared the knowledge freely. Farmers accepted with smiles and thanks. But they whispered about strange practices. There were stories; a man’s cousin saw something. Or a nephew did. Not actually saw, perhaps, but the cousin or the nephew knew a man who had. After all, Leclerc was the man who claimed that ashes mixed with sulfur and pigeon droppings was the secret of the roaring black powder that knocked down walls and tore men into pieces no bigger than a cat.

  It frightened Jaleeta to think of controlling Leclerc.

  It frightened her even more to think that someone else might.

  He came out to greet her. The aura of jealousy around him was like an intoxicating cloud. “It’s been a long time. I wondered if you’d ever be back.”

  “I hoped you’d come to Ola. I look for you every day.”

  He shook his head. “Unwise. I don’t want to see you if I can’t be honest with you. With myself. I thought you felt the same way.”

  Sadness marred her explanation. “I don’t feel safe riding so far alone. I wanted to, though. Neela’s always so busy with little Coldar. The Teacher women and Sylah have responsibilities. I don’t really know anyone else.” Again, the most delicate hesitation, the significant glance. Then, “There’s no one I want to be with.”

  Hurrying to her, he handed her down from the saddle. A waiting boy ran to lead the animal away. Once they were alone again, Leclerc was fr
iendly, but she felt his tension. He asked, “Has Gan said anything more about you and Emso? Emso’s not forcing himself on you? Did anyone say you couldn’t visit me?”

  “No one’s said I shouldn’t come.” She lowered her eyes, cut him another glance, appealing. “I’m a guest, Louis. I know my place, my obligations to hospitality. Those people, your friends, are very clever. They make someone like me understand and they don’t have to use words. Not the way I do. I’m too ordinary. Not like them.”

  “And what might ‘like them’ be?”

  They were at the door by then, and Jaleeta stopped, back pressed against the jamb. “They want to control things. People. I only want happiness. And security. A woman needs that.”

  He hung her jacket on a wooden peg on the back of the door. The heavy wood drummed comfortingly when he closed it, as if commanding the cold to keep its distance. He was curt. “Yes. Women should be protected.”

  Jaleeta twisted, peered sharply at him, but he was turned away. She moved to one of the cushioned leather chairs, sat down. “I’ve been watching Gan. It’s shameless of me. He’s my host. But he’s the strongest man there is. He’s not the largest or tallest. Why is he the leader? I think it’s because he’s smart and strong.”

  “Of course.” Picking up odd bits of disarray on the way, Leclerc made his way to the stove. A long-spouted kettle steamed at the back. He moved it to a hotter location, fumbled in a cabinet for a ceramic jar of herbal tea. After measuring the dried product into a teapot and setting out two copper mugs, he rejoined Jaleeta. He pulled a chair close, leaned forward. “You’re a perceptive woman. I think you see more, understand more, of life in that misbegotten castle than you let on.”