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

by Don McQuinn

  Nalatan backed away, slammed against the hall wall, ludicrous, unable to retreat, too afraid of himself to advance. Jaleeta walked past him with one last thought. “You will help me rise, Nalatan. To keep Gan alive, to keep his friends alive. And you’ll be glad. We have much to enjoy, you and I.”

  It was some time before Nalatan trusted himself to reenter the room. He sat down in the chair with the boneless crush of sacked grain. Little by little, his color improved. Standing, he flung open the shutters, flooding the room with frigid air. The first gust slammed shut the heavy door. Seated again, he closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, steadied. Muscles eased.

  When at last he reopened his eyes to the glowering, cloud-rushing sky, he was totally changed. He strode confidently to Gan’s reception room, where Gan sat alone at his ornate table with his dogs. He greeted his visitor with a smile. “I was just thinking I need someone to talk to.”

  “No, Murdat. Not just conversation.”

  Gan sobered. “What have you learned?”

  “Nothing definite.” Nalatan tasted the lie, dirty. He hurried on. “On patrol. There’s unrest. The Wolves look over their shoulders. They’re unsure of some. They talk of men in high places.” Sweat started. The dogs regarded him curiously.

  “The dissident Barons.” Gan leaned back in his chair. “Emso has come to trust the Ondrat one completely, visits with him. Even in this winter’s weather, Ondrat’s men watch the coast for Skan.”

  “I know Ondrat saved Sylah, but—”

  Gan’s laughter interrupted. He walked to the fireplace. “You and Emso: His suspicions go down, yours go up. With you two watching my back, I can concentrate on the enemies in front of me. I’m a lucky man.”

  Nalatan swallowed. “You should know. Jaleeta. Both Leclerc and Emso are interested in her.”

  “Oh, I know that.” Gan turned from the fire, winked broadly. “She tells Neela everything. The two of them embarrass her. She’s far too young for them. Just the other day she was saying she visited Leclerc. Lectured him about what a fine woman Kate Bernhardt is. Matchmaking. They have to do it. Women, I mean. Men are blind in these matters. Men need facts, not moonlight tales.”

  “I have to leave here.” The words boiled out of Nalatan.

  Sympathetic understanding quickly replaced Gan’s surprise. “I forgot, Nalatan. Talking about all this. It’s pointless to go after Tate, you know. The snows are unbelievable. She’s safe, hidden away, waiting for better weather. And I need you.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start looking for her. She may still be on the sunrise side. But I have to get away from Ola. Outside walls.”

  “If you don’t search for Tate, then what?”

  “Moonpriest. I can find out what he’s doing.”

  “A far mission, my friend. Dangerous.” Nalatan’s blank stare made Gan smile. Dryly he continued. “Can you do that and return in time to meet Tate?”

  “I can try. But I need to get away.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps.” Gan drew into himself. After a long pause, he sighed. “When will you leave?”

  “As soon as I saddle a horse.” Nalatan stepped away from the fireplace. “I’ll go east. No one will miss me until tomorrow, at the soonest. By then, I’ll be far south.”

  Gan’s chuckle was rueful. “Almost unseemly haste. A man could think his hospitality was being rejected.”

  “Never that. But it’s for the best. For everyone.” He gulped, wished he could pull back the last.

  Gan merely nodded. “Our secret, then. The official story is that you’ve gone on your own. I don’t know where. Until I speak to Tate.” They shook hands.

  * * *

  At the evening meal the following day Neela said, “You’re going to have to say something about Nalatan’s disappearance, Gan. The rumormongers say he deserted you.”

  Jaleeta choked explosively. Neela raced to pat her back. When Jaleeta recovered, her smile was nervous, disconcerted. “I heard nothing of this. I was with the Chosens all day.”

  Gan was condescending. “I’m not interested in rumors.”

  Neela’s look was shrewd. “No? Then you know something.”

  Flustered, Gan tried brusque denial. They argued with the good humor of two people who are not only fairly certain of the eventual victor, but don’t really care if there is one. Neither noticed Jaleeta’s near-manic intensity.

  In the end, Gan said, “Oh, all right. But it’s not to go outside this room. He said he wanted out of Ola, so I asked him to do something for me. All very simple.”

  “Then why all the secrecy? And rush?” Neela was disdainful. And a bit skeptical.

  “I’m glad he’s gone.”

  Gan and Neela started, stared at Jaleeta. Her face was splotched red. When she realized the others were watching her, she looked down at her lap. Then, “I went to talk to him yesterday. He always seems so lonely. I was just being nice. He… He’s not the way everyone thinks.”

  Neela and Gan exchanged stunned looks. Neela put her arm across the other woman’s shoulders. “He didn’t do anything, did he?”

  “Not really. He grabbed me. Said things. He stopped chasing me when I got outside. Where people could see.”

  Gan said, “You should have told me,” trying to keep sick anger out of his voice.

  Jaleeta looked away. “He’s your friend.”

  Her face was still red. Gan was impressed by the tight-lipped determination. Pain and humiliation made her look more angry than embarrassed. “Exactly what did he say?”

  Neela jerked upright. “Gan!”

  Jaleeta’s look, full of disappointed understanding, destroyed him. He apologized. Neela led the younger woman away, who mustered a small, brave smile.

  Alone at the table, Gan shook his head. Sometimes one could look straight at the darkest deception, and see nothing but bright honesty. It made a man think.

  Chapter 2

  Capriciously, the abnormal storms turned to clear, cold days little more than a moon after Nalatan left. When a man from an outlying timber camp rode into Ola with the news that Tate, Conway, and Lanta were on their way to the city, an impromptu celebration blossomed.

  Bedraggled, trail-grimed, all three reacted as if clubbed when Gan led a welcoming party to greet them. A particularly flustered Tate was brushing at her clothes, arranging her hair, rubbing mud off her boots on her horse’s flanks long before she could recognize anyone. As the oncoming riders closed, she scanned faces with increasing anxiety. Appearance was forgotten. She rose in her stirrups.

  Gan and Neela exchanged glances. As much as they relished welcoming home a friend, they dreaded breaking the news of her husband’s absence. More than anything, they hated the unbearable secret hidden in their hearts. Together, they raced ahead of the crowd, determined that Donnacee should learn of Nalatan’s mission to the south from no one but themselves.

  Tate continued to look past Gan and Neela, her smile fixed and strained now. When her friends reined to a stop in front of her, her expression questioned. And feared. Rapidly, Neela broke the news, finishing, “He had to get out, away from walls, he said. And no one thought the storms would stop. He’ll be wild when he gets back. He missed you so, and now this.”

  Tate tried to be calm. “I understand. I really do. We spent the whole time in tight little snow caves, practically buried alive. I know about walls.” Then her resolve almost cracked. “It’s just that I looked forward to him so much. It hurts, Neela. Bad.”

  Neela spun her horse around, put herself next to Tate, threw an arm around her. “Be strong, Donnacee. Please. The people need heroes now, and they’re welcoming three of them home. Help us.”

  Tate gripped the pommel, straightened. “I’m all right. Let’s do it.” She moved ahead, forcing the others to hurry to catch up.

  The threesome were allowed to bathe and sleep the rest of the day away, but at nightfall, celebration demanded them. No one commented on Tate’s dispiritedness. In her presence. When the night was half over, howev
er, Gan made excuses in the town for his friends and withdrew with them to the castle. A smaller party ensued. That was when Tate drew Gan aside. They sat in a dark corner, large mugs of beer in hand, and she regaled him with their adventure. She pressed Tinillit’s case, asking Gan to grant them land. He agreed readily. It was in her mind to tell him of the weapons cached in the passes, but the pact protecting all such equipment forbade. For all that, she had ideas of her own about those mountains. Her ideas.

  At one point, they fell quiet for sometime. Tate looked out onto the crowded floor. Couples danced to stringed instruments. Most reminded her of guitars, but some were much slimmer, some much deeper. The rhythm section was a man in the middle of a circle of graduated drums. He played melody on them, as well. The music was lively, merry.

  Facing Gan again, Tate said, “After the second storm hit, it kept snowing for weeks. We had snow huts. At first, living in my personal little white box, with more snow coming down all the time, I thought I’d go crazy. I mean, in there I was warm, but so alone. Outside was cold, storms. The huts weren’t built to entertain guests, believe me. If I wanted company, I crowded in with Lanta and Conway. Not to mention the dogs.”

  “It must have been very difficult,” Gan said.

  Tate was watching the party again. “Sometimes I was so jealous of Conway and Lanta it scared me. You and Neela too. How do you help envying happy people when you’re miserable?”

  “I’ve never known anyone who wasn’t guilty of that, one time or another. I know you can’t let it control you. We’re not worried about that, are we?”

  She smiled broadly, then rose. Before he could move, she bent across the small table and kissed his forehead. When she sat down, he was smiling, but surprised. She said, “That’s for saying ‘we.’ You really are a sweet man.”

  He glared mock fury. “I am Murdat, warrior, ruler of the Three Territories.”

  “You’re a big old pussycat.” She sniffed, turned away. He chuckled softly, and the silence that fell over them this time was companionable.

  “One more question, Gan, and then I’m through here for the night.” She looked deep into his eyes. “You know what I’m going to ask, don’t you? So tell me—why’d Nalatan really leave? The whole story.”

  Nervous fingers tapped the table. Gan drained the last of his beer. The mug thumped heavily when he lowered it to the table. “I told you, Donnacee. He said he had to go, that he felt closed in.”

  “Where was he going before you asked him to scout out Moonpriest?”

  Gan glanced around. “Careful. No one knows that. I don’t know where he was going. We’d already agreed he couldn’t find you, because he didn’t know where to look.”

  “He wasn’t going somewhere definite?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Tate shook her head, stood up slowly. “Strange. Man says he’ll wait here for me, then changes his mind. I can see why he’d want to go, but why didn’t he have a place in mind to go to? Doesn’t make sense.”

  Gan waited until she was through the door and into the hall before he dabbed the sweat off his upper lip.

  When Leclerc and Conway called on her early the next morning and insisted she join them to view Leclerc’s latest accomplishments, she accepted with alacrity. They rode out the snow-packed trail, savoring the day.

  Kate Bernhardt greeted them from the porch. Tate waved happily, thrilled to be with yet another of her friends. Inside, Kate offered fresh bread, a large crock of pale butter, and blackberry jam. After the cold ride, food and hot tea disappeared quickly.

  Leaving for the workshed, the women fell in behind the men. Tate gave Kate a quick hug. “We lived on dried fruit, dried vegetables, dried meat. Some game and forage. Pemmican. Other stuff. I dreamed of hot bread and melted butter. If I’d dreamed of jam this good, I’d have started walking, blizzards or no. Oh, that was good, Kate. I love you.”

  Bernhardt glowed. “I’m glad you liked it. It’s all new to me. I live with Louis’ housekeeper. She’s been teaching me.”

  Tate squinted. “Live with the housekeeper?”

  Kate missed the import. “A husband and wife keep up the place for him. I have the attic space in their house. Her name’s Larta, and…” She stopped as if she’d hit a wall, then turned, crestfallen. “With the housekeeper. And her husband. Not exactly the way I’d have it.”

  It was Tate’s turn to be abashed. “Oh, Kate. I thought I was being funny.”

  Bernhardt linked arms with her, explaining the triangle that was her, Jaleeta, and Leclerc, ending, “Even so, I want to marry the man, not just sleep with him. Is it possible for us to be old-fashioned? Considering certain weird ramifications?”

  “You be anything you want. I’m on your side.”

  They were entering the shed then. Leclerc said, “Let’s show them what we can do, Kate.” Like a proud parent, he led Conway and Tate to the rolling mill that produced sheet copper. Then he took them to the storage shed to show off completed, stacked capacitors. Conway whooped. While Bernhardt explained manufacturing details to Conway, Tate and Leclerc discussed technique.

  Conway’s voice carried over. “Show us the generator, Louis.”

  Leclerc hurried them back to the workshed. They played with the generator like children. From there they walked to the first of the new buildings. The unseasoned, untreated wood was studded with golden drops of sap, and the building was rich with the smell of new-sawn lumber. It was uncomfortably warm. Smiths worked at furnaces, at anvils. Younger men, some literally children, served their apprenticeship at workbenches and at bellows.

  Conway gestured at men pulling copper wire through a series of smaller and smaller holes drilled in a steel plate. “They’re making wire. For another generator?”

  “A much bigger one.” Leclerc frowned. “We’re having trouble casting the shaft. It’s not just a matter of making something bigger, we’ve learned. We’re breaking new ground here, technologically.” He flashed a twisted smile. “Rebreaking new ground, at least. There’s nothing in the Door books to cover this kind of metallurgy. But we’ll get it. Come on—one more thing to see.” Cheerful again, Leclerc took them to the last building, another new one.

  Men and women worked on catapults. Noticing the pairing, Tate looked a silent question at Bernhardt, who explained, “The smiths won’t admit women to their craft. Just won’t. Maybe the iron settles in their heads; I don’t know. Anyhow, we’re training women here.”

  Tate nodded satisfaction. “Armorers. That’s what they’re called. People who make weaponry are armorers. They should know that.”

  Kate beamed. “They will.”

  On the way back to the farmhouse, Conway indicated the distant barn. “You still make your black powder in there?”

  “No. Too dangerous. I needed a place to store the materials and work and still keep the secret to myself. I’ve got a sort of bunker, just over there. See the stovepipe coming out of the low mound? The door’s hidden under snow now.”

  “Whoo!” Tate burlesqued great excitement. “A secret laboratory. You really have become the Defense Department, haven’t you?”

  Leclerc laughingly shooed her inside the house and complained about lack of respect. When he followed with a pompous demand for an increased budget, the others booed heartily. When they were serious again, Leclerc launched into a technical monologue about the larger generator, adding, “More power opens the possibility of different weapons. It’s exciting.”

  Bernhardt said, “You should see him. Always with his nose in those books.”

  Tate and Conway both started. Indignation sparked Conway’s questions. “Books? Here?”

  Guiltily, Bernhardt said, “I brought them. He needs them.”

  Not wanting to spoil the atmosphere, Conway softened his initial manner. “Is that safe, Louis? I mean, we hear about raiders, and all. This place is no fort, you know? What about the red book; it’s not here, is it?”

  “Well, yes, actually. They’re all hidden. When I’
m not using them. Buried, out in my bunker.”

  Tate made a rude noise. “With the black powder? Come on, Louis.”

  “Well buried. Safe. I guarantee it.”

  Bernhardt worked to smooth things over. “They really are well protected. And he does need them. He’s got some wonderful plans. Not just weapons, either.”

  Leclerc was eager to lighten the conversation, as well. He grinned at Tate and Conway. “My greatest fan. And the one with ideas, as often as not.”

  Deferentially, Bernhardt contradicted. “We don’t always agree. We’re really different about what we think Moonpriest is up to.”

  Leclerc made a wide gesture of dismissal. “He moved to the coast. We’ve heard reports of windmills. It’s nothing. He’s probably got belt-driven saws to cut timbers for his wallkillers, or some such. It’s nothing.”

  Bernhardt argued with quiet tenacity. “I think he’s making hydrogen.”

  Tate made a face. “Beg pardon?”

  Bernhardt went on. “We know his moon altar works on electricity. If he’s built windmills, that steady source of power could be to electrolyze water, break it down into hydrogen and oxygen. If he’s capturing those gases, he can throw genuine bombs with that wallkiller thing. I’m glad you’re here with plenty of ammunition.”

  “If, if, if,” Leclerc objected. “Too many ifs. Our catapults will smash his wallkillers, no matter what they throw.”

  Shortly afterward, riding back to Ola, Tate asked Conway, “Did anyone say anything about Leclerc and Jaleeta last night?”

  “Who? Oh, yes; the girl who got away from the Skan. All the single guys know about her, for sure. Her presence in the Three Territories gives a whole new resonance to the term Wolves. I guess Emso’s eyes glaze whenever she goes by, but no one mentioned Louis. The guys said she’s Old Church. She’s a For, and a lot of them are that way. Demure. Obedient. She sticks pretty close to Neela. Or the Violet Abbess. Spends time with the Chosens and our friends. They love her. Aside from that, there wasn’t much said about her.”

  “‘Aside from that?’” Tate snorted laughter. “You got everything but her dental record and glove size, you twit.” Then, hating it, she asked the question she dreaded might have an answer. “Was there anything about Nalatan? Why he took off the way he did? Didn’t he say anything to anyone but Gan?