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

by Don McQuinn

  “Not a word that I heard about. You know how he keeps things inside. It’s no surprise, considering. He needs room, Donnacee. He’s no city-dweller. We knew that.”

  They clopped along without further discussion after that. In her heart, Tate blessed Conway for saying “We knew that,” just as she’d kissed Gan for including himself in her troubled mind. At the same time, she cursed Matt Conway, her best friend, for a forced heartiness that offended worse than an outright lie.

  Had he heard something he wouldn’t repeat? Or was he simply trying too hard to be reassuring?

  Why had she asked?

  A wolf howled in the distance. Response floated back across the crystalline night. Tate heard the calls as inexpressibly sad, and she raised her chin as if she would answer. Instead, she whispered, “Hunt well, Gan’s brothers. Hunt well, and know one envies you your terrible innocence.”

  Chapter 3

  The faint knock startled Tate. She flipped a blanket over the detail-stripped wipe on her bed and called out, “Who is it?”

  “Jaleeta.”

  Tate said, “Who?” then recovered. “Come in, please.” She rose to meet her unexpected visitor.

  Tate had no way of knowing Jaleeta had on the same clothes she’d worn to visit Nalatan. The shorter woman posed in the hallway, off-white cloak contrasted with dark stone. Contrasting black boots shaded into the background, adding to the impression that Jaleeta floated, rather than stood. Tate studied the face above the supple leather. Dark brows and eyes and full red lips further accentuated skin white as milk.

  Mentally inventorying her own appearance, Tate resisted the urge to look down at the mess she’d made of herself that morning. Greasy hands, grimy fingernails; surely the utmost in fashionable squalor. Insouciant frayed cuffs on the rough, stained sweater that featured a cunning hole at one shoulder to daringly expose the baggy homespun shirt. And, of course, scruffy old Wolf field trousers, the kind with the weave so hard the troopers called them iron butts. All that, and a madcap, simply crazy, frazzled bandana to crown the ensemble. Enchantment.

  Tate smiled sweetly. “Come on in, Jaleeta. It’s nice of you to visit.”

  Jaleeta returned the smile, swept past. Tate sat on the bed, gesturing her guest to the chair. Jaleeta seated herself, then, “We’ve never really gotten acquainted. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, too. Hoped to see you at last night’s party.”

  “I don’t like parties. The men—the ones my age—are… what’s the word? Frivolous? A woman likes to feel a man has a steady, concerned side. Exciting men usually forget there’s more to life than excitement.”

  It was said with such offhand candor Tate laughed in spite of herself. This was, after all, the woman complicating Kate Bernhardt’s life. Tate said, “Women usually wait a while to discover that. At some cost.”

  “It seemed important for me to learn quickly.” Jaleeta made a wry joke of the allusion to her past.

  The attempt sat poorly with Tate. Something suddenly jarred. Jaleeta was not only entirely too beautiful, she was far too complex. Tate thought of the lithe seals that frolicked in the Inland Sea. Their swift appearance and disappearance gave them an almost sinister grace, a capacity to make the mind distrust the eye.

  Jaleeta continued. “I hope you’re not angry because I didn’t ride out to greet you with Neela and Gan and the others. I really didn’t want to.”

  “Why not?”

  “The thing about your husband. When he left, I was afraid you’d come home before he got back. I just felt so terrible. It’s silly, I know; I mean, I never even spoke to your husband. Not really.”

  Nerves tingled at the back of Tate’s neck. Hair rose. There was a hitch in Jaleeta’s words, an inflection. Tate said, “It was the most disappointing moment in my life. I understand, though. If I’d been thinking, I’d have known he’d have to get out of here. Neither of us can stand being enclosed.”

  Animated, Jaleeta stood up. “I knew that’s what you’d say. I’m so pleased.”

  “Pleased? About what?”

  “That he left because of that. That’s what Gan told me, and I wanted to believe him. The other was depressing.”

  Again, a tremor ran through Tate. “What other reason could he have?”

  Quickly, as if waiting to answer, Jaleeta said, “Only one. Of course. Everyone’s heard how devoted you are to each other. But she said it wasn’t so.”

  Tate ground her teeth. “Who said what wasn’t so?”

  “The Violet Abbess. She had some long talks with Nalatan. She said he was very concerned. It’s the new weapons. He started to worry if they were anti-Church. He must have heard it from Emso; he’s always complaining to Gan about the new things. Nalatan’s whole life was Church, but everyone knows how much more you mean to him. Even if the new things bothered him, he’d never leave for that reason. After all, didn’t he tell Gan himself what his reason was?”

  “Nalatan talked to the Abbess? You know that?”

  Eyes wide, Jaleeta sat back down. “She told me. You’re not going to tell her I said anything, are you?”

  “Damned well told I am. We’re not talking about lost baggage, girl. Whatever it was that sent my husband out of here, you depend on me finding out.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you,” Jaleeta fluttered. Tate noted, however, that the eyes that met her own were composed, focused.

  After a perfunctory washup, changed to a dark blue quilted shirt and lighter blue pants, Tate pulled on a green blanket-thick cloak. To Jaleeta, she said, “Things got away from me, there. Sorry.”

  “Certainly. I didn’t explain well. All I want is to be your friend, and I was clumsy. It’s my fault.”

  Tate mumbled something. The walk to the Violet Abbey was without much conversation and devoid of incident, save one puzzling moment. They passed a detail of Wolves, shepherding yet another wagonload of supplies from the docks to the needy, and the young leader idly glanced at the two women hurrying past him. Idly, that was, until recognition struck him. He sat bolt up right, clearly startled. His belated salute slapped the side of his head. He blinked foolishly, continuing to stare after Tate returned the salute.

  Surreptitiously, Tate peered back over her shoulder. The unit’s pennant was the stylized owl of Mull. One of the dissident baronies. She made a mental note to ask Emso about discipline in that organization.

  A Priestess ushered Tate and Jaleeta into the Violet Abbess’ quarters. The gaunt, older woman sat in a rocking chair in front of a blazing fireplace, blanket across her lap, embroidery hoop in hand. The scene reeked of staging, yet the welcome seemed genuine. As her guests pulled up chairs, the Abbess put aside her work and rang a small bell. The Priestess returned. At the Abbess’ urging, Tate accepted a cup of tea, specifically requesting chamomile for its soothing properties; she warned herself that this was no time or place for temper. The tightness in her back muscles, the feeling of preternatural alertness, was like readying for combat. Tate remembered a fight with a sharker captain, and intuition warned her that she was in similar danger, despite tea and comforting hearth.

  The servant Priestess brought three plain ceramic cups and two hammered silver pots enfolded in down insulators. Tate admired the waxed wooden tray with handles carved in marvelous likeness of leaping dolphins. With the servant gone, the Abbess poured. Handing Tate her preference, she said, “The first thing I want to say is that Church is truly sorry to learn of your difficulties. Nalatan is a fine man, as you are a fine woman.”

  Tate sipped, eyeing the Abbess over the rim. Then she said, “Your Sister Mother tried to kill both of us. She’d enjoy watching us burn. So tell me what you know of Nalatan.”

  Coughing discreetly, the Abbess dabbed her lips with an exquisite lace handkerchief no larger than a man’s palm. “You are all they say. But don’t misjudge Church, my dear. All who come to Church are forgiven. Never forget that. Nalatan remembered. It’s that simple.”

  “N
ot a chance.” Tate drank tea, shook her head.

  “Oh, I doubt he’s on his way back to the Dry, but he was terribly concerned about fighting for Gan Moondark. He’s not alone, child. Many are disturbed. Those who break Church tradition are broken by faith.”

  “I’m not your child. And I’d like to hear you reconcile ‘forgiven’ and ‘broken by faith,’ when we have more time.” Tate put her cup on the tray, got to her feet. “If you don’t have anything definite, I’ll leave now, Abbess. Thanks for your help.”

  From the corner of her eye, Tate saw the Abbess’ gaze flick in Jaleeta’s direction before she continued. “There is one other thing.” Tate stopped, turned. The Abbess was tight-mouthed, as though she’d bitten something incredibly bitter. “You may hear rumors about Nalatan. About another woman. He spoke to me of them, asked me to speak to you in his stead. It’s very distressing, but he asked me. He wanted to assure you the tales are untrue, and he wanted you to hear it from another woman, one he trusts and hopes you’ll trust.”

  “There’s no other woman. And he’d go to Sylah, not you.”

  Chin rising, eyes flashing anger, the older woman still spoke calmly. “He came to me. Your husband is finding his way back to his roots. I believe our conversation is over.”

  “Forevermore.” Tate whirled as quickly as she could, caught Jaleeta’s avid, fractional smile an instant before the younger woman managed to turn it to frowning concern. To Jaleeta, Tate said, “You’ve enjoyed this, haven’t you? I owe you one, sweetlips. I can’t figure out exactly what your game is, but when I do, we’ll have another cup of tea and I’ll teach you about messing with me.”

  The Abbess hissed anger. “Never use the forbidden word here. This is a holy place.”

  Numbed by the inanity of the remark, Tate could only laugh. On her way down the narrow stone passageway her guffaws echoed off the walls. Once in the cold daylight, however, the shallow humor faded quickly.

  Had Nalatan actually gone to a woman like the Abbess?

  There were good reasons to believe it could happen. Nalatan’s background. Loneliness. Strange surroundings. Worst of all, forced to live with the burden of a wife who left him to pursue her own secret agenda. Still, it didn’t feel right. Once more, Tate found herself thinking of water, of looking down at something obscured and distorted.

  She walked a long time, thinking, until a tumbling, headlong stream blocked her way. It shocked her to realize she had no recollection of her route, and when she looked back at the walls of the city, the distance surprised her.

  Just as she started to return to the castle, a harsh, descending cry drew her attention skyward. An eagle soared overhead. Wings stiff, it banked, stooped. Pumping once, it increased speed. The last Tate saw of it, it was dropping on some unknown prey. Awed, she felt the bird’s arrogant pity for all trapped, earthbound creatures. She remembered the eagle from the day the Violet Tender died, and the one that glared into her eyes, into her mind, up in the Enemy Mountains.

  Gan looked up from his table when the Wolf guard admitted her. His smile disappeared immediately. He shook his head. “You can’t imagine how much you remind me of Nalatan right now. He wore exactly that expression…”

  “When he came to tell you he was leaving here. Well, me too.”

  “You couldn’t possibly catch him.”

  “I’m not looking for him. I’m going off by myself, to stay with the Smalls.”

  “Who?” Gan refused to believe his ears. “We need you here.”

  Tate hipped herself up on the table, looked across at Gan. “Something’s going on, Gan. It’s all over your face. Some troopers saw Jaleeta and me together this morning; they gave us a very strange look. Now I think I know what it was all about.” She waggled the finger under his nose. “You ought to see your face. You heard the whispers that prune-faced Abbess told me about, didn’t you? My man wouldn’t cheat on me. That’s a fact.”

  “What whispers? Who called Nalatan a cheat?” Gan appeared genuinely startled.

  “It’s not important. The point is, like him, I have to get out of here. There’s something I want to do.”

  “Do? You’re risking your life. For what?”

  Tate held his gaze with her own. “It’s nothing I can explain, but I’ll tell you this. If what I have in mind works, it’ll benefit you. If not, no loss.”

  “That’s very mysterious. Tell me, do your friends know of this decision?”

  “No, and they won’t hear about it from you until I’m long gone.” Tate got off the table, straightened to go. Gan raised a questioning eyebrow. The expression suggested little cooperation. Tate continued. “I got to thinking today. It dawned on me, I’ve gotten into a lot of trouble since I came here. Maybe I’m not the contributor I think. I couldn’t save my poor dogs. Or my horse. Dodoy saved my life, remember? And Sylah, when that tiger came at us.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Gan’s sharp anger brought Karda’s head up in a surprised jerk. “Sylah says the tiger was dead when it hit the ground. Your dogs and horse were the gifts of my tribe. They were bred to live in danger and die in service. That’s their world. And mine. And yours. Or so I believed.” He paused. “No. I’m right. I know you for what you are. You’re the one who’s uncertain.”

  Tate smiled weakly. “Maybe. But I need to think. I won’t get anything done looking over my shoulder at that Violet old crow or that snip, Jaleeta.”

  Gan tensed. “Jaleeta? Why her?”

  “A feeling. She irritates me.”

  Twin red spots showed up on Gan’s cheekbones. “You misjudge her. Nalatan may come back while you’re in the mountains; how will you know?”

  “Tell him to head for the main pass, but don’t send him if it makes you shorthanded. In that case, though, please send a runner, or something.” She laughed lightly. “Just don’t leave me out there in the woods without one fine reason, you hear?” Then, almost instantly, she was quiet, hesitant. “Don’t you dare tell him, but I really do want him to come after me. But I really have to find out if he will. I guess what I’m hoping is that we can have a marriage like yours and Neela’s. You all are a team. We have to learn how to be one.”

  Gan moved away from that subject. “You think these Smalls are so good they’ll see someone coming for you?”

  “Absolutely. That’s one reason why I’m going. They’ve got some interesting skills. Will you apologize to everyone for me, once I’m gone? I don’t need any good-byes.”

  The request hung between them long enough for Tate to nervously shift her weight from foot to foot. Finally, Gan nodded. “I will. Do what you must but remember, please, how much your friends love you. Nothing foolish. Promise me that.”

  “No more foolish than my friend, Gan Moondark.”

  Gan smiled ruefully. “Small comfort in that.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and was gone. Gan looked after her for a long time, then reached for Karda, scratching his ears. “What have I done, boy? I do love her, you know. Have I become part of her pain? If Nalatan is unfaithful, have I made things worse? If he’s hurt her, he’s hurt me; what do I do about that?”

  Chapter 4

  A brilliant sun burned down on the Skan coast, its warmth stark contrast to Lorso’s chill mood. He walked the rocky beach alone. Limp notwithstanding, long strides carried him north until intervening hills hid the fort and village of his people from view.

  Staring into the sea, he saw kelp tendrils sway and imagination made them Sosolassa’s slithering tentacles. Tearing his gaze from that, he concentrated on the wave-battered rock of the headland ahead, and was imagining the throne of Sosolassa, where the god watched his white-rotten, decaying slaves dance attendance on him.

  It was such thinking that required Lorso walk alone. His thoughts permitted no confidant. Lately, questions keened in his mind, more insistent, more dangerous than stormwitch song.

  If others besides Tears of Jade spoke for the god in the past, what assurance was there that only one should speak f
or the god in the present?

  Lorso stopped abruptly, looking around as if his mind’s words roared over the surf’s crash. Walking on, he determined to focus better. Experience told him he planned best when he took time to concentrate.

  To settle himself, he examined his surroundings. Normally, he paid little attention to the concept of beauty. Beauty this land had, however, in almost overwhelming abundance. Trees, darkly green, cloaked towering mountains. Snow masked the taller crests. Just ahead, a rivulet leaped from a cliff face. The silvered froth of it tumbled eagerly to the cobble beach, raced to embrace the mother sea. Crystal-green combers rose high, charged the beach. Sunshine dappled their spume-crowned heads, blasted shifting, dazzling light patterns through their heaving bodies. They threw themselves at Slavetaker’s feet, roaring. Brotherhood.

  Lorso struck a fist to his chest, over his heart.

  It was evening when he escorted a sour, reluctant Tears of Jade into the All. He felt the eyes of the god, reassuring, and he took the speaker’s platform with confidence.

  Once the gathered Navigators were quiet, Lorso spoke of Moonpriest’s unexplained move to the coast. He complained of the restricted area, where even Skan allies were forbidden entry. Suspicion and anger slicked across an audience heretofore neutral and curious. Lorso thought of oil on water, the way it spread and spread, wringing color from above and below, altering everything it touched. That was what he must have.

  To regain Jaleeta.

  Words flowed from him, soft-spoken, reasonable. What magic did Moonpriest work? he asked. What friend changed an agreed-upon battle plan without consultation of any kind, then insisted it only reflected a different route of advance? What friend denied landfall to friends? What friend allied Moondance with Church, with no confirmation or collaboration for the Skan? What friend said nothing of religious alliance with the true god, Sosolassa?