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

by Don McQuinn

  Patting her back he murmured assurances. “Trust me. You’ll never belong to Emso. I’ll fight for you. Never doubt.”

  They delivered the remainder of the meal. Gan took the lead in the conversation. He restricted it to inconsequentials, tactfully leading it back to mundane matters whenever the discussion tended toward warfare or weaponry. By the time the last morsel of a dried-apple cake was consumed, the adults were relaxed and little Col was sound asleep.

  Through it all, Sylah found herself drawn to Kate Bernhardt. There was an inescapable dignity about her that demanded admiration. At one point, the two fell into a quiet conversation of their own, initiated by Bernhardt’s repeated apology for risking the books.

  Sylah smiled. “I’m going to be blunt, Kate. I know exactly why you brought the books. I’d have done exactly the same thing, if I were in your place.”

  Squirming, Bernhardt looked away.

  Sylah said, “It’s something we all go through.” Bernhardt’s swift look of surprise and disbelief almost destroyed the confidentiality of their moment. Sylah hurried on, voice low. “It was the same with Clas and me. I knew he loved me long before he did.”

  “I don’t know what I know anymore. There was no Jaleeta there when you were falling in love with Clas, was there?”

  “What woman needs a flesh-and-blood rival? We imagine competition whether it’s there or not.”

  Bernhardt’s forlorn glance at Jaleeta showed how little she thought of that argument.

  “Kate, this will pass. Louis needs time with you. He’ll discover for himself that you’re everything Jaleeta pretends to be, and isn’t. Her beauty stuns men, but it hides an ugly mind.”

  “You’re really not angry about the books?”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t angry. I said I understood. I guess I even approve.” She sighed, affected resignation. “It’s very difficult being around frustrated love.”

  Bernhardt smiled appreciation. That quickly fell away. She was penitent. “Especially difficult for you. You’re separated from your husband. I’m a self-centered fool; you’re too kind.”

  “I’d like to think we’re both a shade more complex than that. In fact, I’ll tell you something about yourself that the brilliant Leclerc would have seen long ago, if he were half as smart as he thinks he is. You’re more than he deserves, Kate. If he loses you to that devious little bit of brightness, you’ll find someone better. And if it happens, I’ll make it a point of personal pride to laugh in Louis Leclerc’s face.”

  Out of sight of the others, Kate reached to take Sylah’s hand. Linked fingers clasped quickly and separated.

  Leclerc returned from the kitchen. He carried an iron candleholder made of two iron rings joined by four vertical bars the length of a man’s finger. A flat disk in the center of the lower disk held a squat candle. On the table, the upper ring formed a stand for a bright copper pitcher full of honey-sweetened cider. Thyme contributed subtle aroma to delicate steam tendrils. Once copper mugs were filled and everyone gathered around the table, Gan broached the subject of Moonpriest.

  “No weapon wins wars. Men do. Men who believe. Louis, I’m forever obligated to you. You’ve given us weapons to defeat Moonpriest’s weapons. But Moonpriest has beliefs, and his men hold to them. Only when I expose the falsity of those beliefs does Moonpriest fall.”

  Defensiveness edged Sylah’s response. “Church makes every effort to unmask him. We fight too, as hard as any.”

  Bernhardt said, “Are we going to quarrel?”

  Gan managed a rueful smile. “I meant no criticism. I was trying to point out that truth and faith are our strength. Perhaps Church knows something the rest of us should know.”

  Sylah shook her head. “I’m restricted to what I can learn from travelers, tradesmen, traders.”

  “Peddlers?”

  Sylah tightened her back muscles against the chill that danced up her spine. It was impossible that Gan could know of the connection between Peddlers and Church. “I haven’t spoken to a Peddler since spring. And he knew nothing.”

  Lazily, Gan looked away from Sylah, back to Leclerc. “What do you make of Moonpriest’s relocation to the seacoast, Louis? Can you see any advantage to it?”

  Nalatan interrupted. “He’ll hug the ocean as he advances north. You can’t attack his right flank.”

  Leclerc said, “I don’t think tactics has anything to do with it. It’s more than that.”

  Gan’s mockery was friendly. “What’s more important to men than tactics?”

  Leclerc grinned, but he held doggedly to his argument. “He needs the sea for something. I have to think what it is.”

  Gan’s brief humor fled. His response was slow, judicious. “He’s intelligent. Dangerous. Nevertheless, I fear him least. The Skan are the enemy.” He rose suddenly, startling everyone. Striding to the window, he swung an arm wide. “My Wolves can’t be everywhere. As long as I live, I’ll never forget watching that sharker track us north along the coast when we moved to confront the Skan fleet. We’ve made strides in our ability at sea. We’re still land people. Where there’s a coast, a sea people has advantage.” He spun away from the window, addressed Leclerc and Bernhardt. “Your people aren’t like my tribe. You don’t have the lust for personal glory that drives us, sometimes destroys us. But give us life in the battle to come, and dozens of tribes will sing your names in the firelight nights long after this mere Dog warrior is burned and unremembered.”

  Leclerc went ashen. Bernhardt spoke for both of them. “We’ll do our best.”

  “Excellent. I ask nothing else.”

  Outside, once mounted, Jaleeta drifted apart from the others. She drew Leclerc to her with a smoldering, insistent look. “I’m afraid for you, Louis. You saw the way he promised you all the glory? You and that woman? Now can you doubt that the two of them mean to snare you? They’re working together.”

  “You said she was working with Sylah.”

  “It’s the same thing. Sylah, Gan; Gan, Sylah; it’s all Sylah’s Church, and glory for Gan.” She relented, abandoned the whiplash tone. “Please, be careful. Don’t let them take you from me.” Then she was gone, galloping, looking back, waving, dark and exotic against the glowering sky and enfolding snow.

  * * *

  Alone, the couple sat in Leclerc’s main room for a long time. Desultory conversation struggled, the words lifeless as falling leaves.

  A husband and wife team now looked after the place for Leclerc; this evening they came and went as though it were commonplace for them to work around a couple bent on estranging each other. When Leclerc introduced them to Bernhardt, the wife, Larta, insisted Leclerc’s female guest stay with them in their adjacent new house.

  Kate and Leclerc were sharing amusement at Larta’s determined propriety when the stablehand came to report all secure for the evening. Leclerc hurried to the window, complaining, “We get so much overcast there’s not enough sunshine to bother a mole, then evening comes at noon. Lousy climate.” He stomped to the fire place, pitched in a length of wood.

  “It’s almost winter, Louis. The days are supposed to be short.”

  “I guess I ought to bless it. As soon as this weather stops, the war starts.”

  “Takes a lot of the welcome out of spring. Are you as worried as I am?”

  “Scared spitless.” He turned from the fire, finally involved in real dialogue. “Truthfully, Kate: Do you think we can carry this off without Tate and Conway?”

  Bernhardt sputtered, “Without? Are they all right?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no word. There was early snow in the mountains. Heavy.”

  “You think Conway and Donnacee are in trouble?” She rose, pacing.

  “Bad feelings, Kate. Nothing more. But I wonder; can we survive without them?” He moved to light candles. They could have been performing an arcane ritual, the dark-robed woman pacing from light to darkness and back while he darted from point to point.

  “Words. Silly words,” Bernhardt said.
“If they’re warriors, so are we. We define ourselves, justify ourselves.”

  Leclerc stopped abruptly. He threw the taper into the fireplace, faced Kate. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “We’re all complex. Are we cowards if we’re not actively in combat?”

  Leclerc’s gaze drilled past Bernhardt’s solemnity, seemed to seek an answer far beyond her presence. “You make me look inside myself. It infuriates me. You make logical decisions for romantic ends. How do you do that? What magic makes you sense the questions my heart asks my head? I dreamed of coming out of the crèche into a world of adventure. Well, I’m here. My contribution is mass destruction. You tell me if I’m a warrior.”

  “The better warrior wins. Your skills will decide the battle.” Bernhardt settled in one of the soft, leather chairs. She tucked her feet under her, compressed herself into a compact, comfortably warm ball. Firelight emphasized her features, illuminated the high, smooth brow, the broad, strong sweep of long cheekbones. Darkened eyes seemed to retreat. Slightly knitted brows lent power to the slightest change of expression.

  Leclerc spoke into the flames, consigning the words. “After I win this battle for Gan, why shouldn’t I be accorded the same honors? Is my contribution less than his because it’s based on intelligence instead of muscle?”

  “Is your responsibility less than his if we lose?”

  Leclerc sounded like he choked. “Damn. Thank you. You did it again, didn’t you? Made me answer the question I refused to ask myself.”

  “There’s a quote, like, ‘Victory has a thousand fathers; defeat’s an orphan.’ After you’ve won, the people who want to use you will crawl out of the woodwork. They’re the cowards, Louis. The people who use other people for personal gain.”

  “Well, you can quit babbling about not knowing which path you’ll choose. You’re a romantic. You’d rather die than back down.” He laughed, a sound that suggested loss, rather than humor.

  “Promise you won’t forget me.” The small joke hung in the air between them, too dangerous to touch, too important to ignore.

  Leclerc said, “I couldn’t do that if I wanted to.”

  If Bernhardt’s phrase was a spark, Leclerc’s blunt honesty fanned it. He came to stand in front of her. “You said you had an answer for why Moonpriest moved to the coast. Can you explain now?”

  Bernhardt heard the accentuated last word. He was accusing her of refusing to speak in front of Jaleeta. She exulted in the knowledge. Let him resent. “Moonpriest needs a source of electrical power generation.”

  “Why leave the gorge of the Mother River? The wind’s practically constant, and high velocity. Not to mention the waterpower available. And why does he need electrical current?”

  “He’s positioned himself to march north. At the coast near the mouth of the river he can still use windmills or waterwheels. What if he’s creating capacitors?”

  “Capac…” Leclerc couldn’t bring himself to finish the word. He stormed across the room, threw himself about in circles, gesturing. “That technology died with us. If you could build one today, what would you do with it? Put together a radio, tune in on the past? Capacitors. Why not a Ouija board?”

  Bernhardt grimaced. “A Ouija board in this world? Not unless you have a secret desire to be barbecue. But a capacitor wouldn’t be impossible.”

  “You think so? Where’d you get your information? You were an agronomist.”

  “We worked with a lot of appropriate technology; solar power, wind generators, waterwheels. I didn’t get into all of it, but I remember some. Did you know something that can only be a battery existed in the ancient world, long before anything like electrical power was understood? Some say it was a goldsmith’s secret; they used it to gold-plate things.”

  Leclerc’s patronizing was overshadowed by grudging respect. “There’s a lot of difference between a dinky electroplating charge and a mankiller.”

  “Don’t be obtuse. We know there’s plenty of copper. First, you hammer that into thin sheets. Separate them with cloth, impregnated with beeswax. Induce a charge, hook it up on some kind of backpack. A simple lead to a spear, and zap!”

  “Maybe. Maybe.” One hand stroking his jaw, Leclerc retreated toward the table holding the books. Absently, he picked one up, fondling it, turning it over and over while he ruminated on Bernhardt’s theory. “Not a spear. One contact point won’t do it; no circuit. Two capacitor terminals. That’ll give me two voltages, so we get a circuit. You want the current to effect as much tissue as possible, but what you have to have is a complete electrical circuit through the body. Two gapped tines, then. A pitchfork, the tines insulated from each other, and each attached to one capacitor terminal.” He held his hands up, thumbs touching his chest. “Ten inches apart.” He frowned, shook his head. “It won’t work. One shot, and the weapon’s useless.”

  “One shot’s all you need. A rank of spearmen, weapons leveled, advance on another body of warriors. There’s contact. Ten, fifty, a hundred capacitors discharge. All at once. Every man touched by a wired spear falls dead. Not some. All. Dead. It’s a recipe for panic.”

  “But the capacitors are drained.”

  “Normal arms back up the spearmen. And those two-pronged things aren’t exactly courtesy cards, are they?”

  The tone of the last swung Leclerc around, concerned. “This is hard for you.”

  “I hate fighting, I hate thinking of poor Jones as our enemy. I hate remembering science so we can kill people. Sometimes I hate me. We are doing the right thing, aren’t we?”

  “Absolutely. There’s a lot about Church I don’t like, especially the Church that’s opposed to Sylah, but this Moondance thing is plain evil. Still, what we have to guard against is tyranny. We can’t make someone like Gan invincible.”

  Bernhardt was suddenly wary. “He’s the most honorable man I’ve ever known.”

  Turning away, Leclerc muttered under his breath, “‘For Caesar was an honorable man.’”

  “What? I couldn’t hear you.”

  “Nothing. Thinking about weapons again.” Facing her, he was sad. “You don’t deserve all this, Kate. This world’s too harsh, too cruel.”

  “Well, I’m here. I don’t intend to leave soon, either. Anyone who thinks different is in for one helluva fast education.”

  Leclerc burlesqued shock. “Profanity. Not acceptable. And the forbidden ‘L’ word. You talked about learning. Super naughty.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “I never said ‘learning.’ Anyhow, that’s another reason why we have to win. The Three Territories is just the beginning. Our little girls are the new Teachers. The first thing we teach is equality.”

  “Someone always demands to be the most equal. A leader’s a necessity. Can you be sure your movement won’t be usurped?”

  “Yes, I can.” Bernhardt’s granite certainty filled the room. “All of us, Chosens and Teachers, swore a blood oath. The new Teachers will emulate the old. We live as Teachers, free, or we die as Teachers, free forever. Simple, no?”

  “Terrifying. If I’d known, I’d have forbidden any such oath. It’s too dangerous to even consider.” He knelt before her, one hand on hers on the chair’s arm.

  “You’d forbid me?” Bernhardt’s eyebrows lifted like warning flags.

  “Stepped right into that, didn’t I? All right, so I’d have argued against it. I don’t want to think about you being hurt.” The words finished on an edge of wonderment. Leclerc looked as if he wasn’t sure where they came from.

  Bernhardt rose, forcing him to stand back and get up himself. She said, “Don’t think about it then. Concentrate on winning. People depend on us.”

  “You’re right. It’s just that…” He made a face. “I’ll get Larta. She’ll take you to their cabin. Tomorrow we’ll start trying to make that capacitor. If it can be done.”

  “We can do it. We’ll be a good team.”

  Both turned away, pretending the words had no other significance.

  Chapt
er 43

  The thick, clinging scent of the solitary candle burdened the room. Jaleeta couldn’t place the aroma. Herbal, but with no suggestion of bright meadows or nodding blossoms. This was the perfume of shadows, of shaded hollows. Something lurked where that scent was born.

  Jaleeta glanced at the other woman, more than half afraid her thoughts were being read. Church forbade the practice, Jaleeta knew, but she also knew the Violet Abbess. At best, the woman had a flexible attitude toward Church’s rules.

  It was unfair, Jaleeta told herself again. She’d come straight here to report the meeting at Leclerc’s. Remembering the older woman’s response brought renewed color to Jaleeta’s throat: “If Gan Moondark and his friends choose to resort to witchery, so much the better for Church. But why come to me? Emso and the Barons need this information. I’m not involved. Are you sure no one saw you?”

  The candle was almost a finger-joint shorter since that speech. The Abbess’ ceaseless opening of the shutter to peer out into the night was not only unnerving, it made the room cold. Jaleeta shivered inside her furs.

  “You shake, child. Why so nervous?”

  “I’m cold. You keep looking to see if anyone followed me. They didn’t. Can’t we have a fire?”

  “A properly trained mind would throw off this little bit of chill.”

  “When I should have been trained, I was a slave.” Discomfort and indignation made Jaleeta bold. “Anyhow, Sylah’s women and all the Chosens get cold or hot or hungry or thirsty just like everyone else.”

  The Abbess was surprisingly mild. “As usual, you ignore the obvious. Church affords its best mind training only to those it considers likely to need it.”

  “Who selects them?”

  Archly, the Abbess stared down her nose. “Inquisitive, aren’t we? A dangerous characteristic. Especially for one flaunting her body for men as ruthless as Emso and the manly Nalatan. Oh. Didn’t like that, did you? You imagined I wouldn’t know of your flirtations? Never mind. To answer your question, the woman Church called the Harvester makes that selection. Our beloved Harvester is now Sister Mother of all Church. I was one of her selections. Now you know my secret.” She patted Jaleeta’s knee.