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

by Don McQuinn

  Gan didn’t like the look of it.

  When Sylah joined them on the wall, he abruptly told her it was no place for her. She sniffed. “Twenty men? Riding up here like they were coming to market? Not very frightening.”

  “We don’t know who or what they are. Or what sort of men Sister Mother might send, now that her Harvester’s been killed. At least keep out of sight.”

  She tossed her head. The rich skein of black hair caught the light wind, fanned out like a wing before settling. Part hung down her back, part draped her shoulder. She reached across her body with her left hand to straighten it. The massive gold bracelet on that wrist gleamed back at the sun.

  The lead rider’s mount checked. It danced and pranced. Then it was charging, so swift, so unexpected, the rest were many lengths behind before they started.

  Tension sang along the wall. Men tested bows. The sound of murdats leaving scabbards was like metallic rain.

  The rider came on, the horse’s mane streaming, tail bannered in flight.

  Sylah looked at Gan, saw expressions too swift to actually register, like watching raindrops strike still water, each impression unique, each too brief to distinguish. Her own heart leaped. She spoke one word. “Him?”

  His grin answered. With an involuntary cry, she was racing down the stairs, running for the gate.

  Clas na Bale swung to the ground while his charging war-horse was still skidding to a dirt-throwing, shuddering stop. He swept her up in his arms, pivoted, spinning, until she squealed delight and alarm. He kissed her, and for a moment the world whirled more. Holding her at arm’s length, his look absorbed her. He said, “Never again. As sure as I hold you now, I’ll never let go. Not for anything.”

  “Yes.” It was what she lived to say, the only thing she could say. And it wasn’t enough. She pressed on. “We’ll be together. I don’t have to go anywhere. We’ll live in the same place. No more quests, no more—”

  He kissed her again, and it occurred to her that “yes” was quite enough.

  Gan stood off to the side, waiting. Clas finally noticed him. The men embraced. All around, Wolves murmured among themselves, pointed at the strange, black square tattooed on Clas’s cheek. They commented on his scars. Several expressed surprise that Gan’s mentor was a bit shorter than his pupil. Others noted that he had muscles like a prairie bear.

  Then Clas was beside Sylah again, an arm around her as if she might disappear without contact. To Gan, he said, “We tried to get here in time to help. I’m glad we weren’t needed.”

  Grimly, Gan corrected him. “You were needed. We won, but we lost many. Too many. Even a group this small would have helped.”

  “We have this many more Dogs, including ten Nightwatch with their dogs. And twice as many Smalls.”

  Gan blinked. “Smalls? With you?”

  Too nonchalant, Clas said, “Didn’t you know? We’re great friends, Dogs and Smalls. Wonderful people.” Suddenly sly, he added, “Ask the Donnacee one. Fox would have told you, but Moonpriest tells us he didn’t survive.”

  “My scouts said you spoke to Moonpriest.”

  “I warned him off Three Territories land. He’s negotiating to leave wounded and the families of his dead with the Rivers who helped them. The Rivers aren’t enthusiastic.”

  Sylah said, “Church will take the families. I’ll send a War Healer to take care of any men they leave behind.” Both men stared. She went on. “They’re people. They’ve been misled. Now they stand a good chance of becoming slaves. I’ll send Priestesses to bring them here.”

  “You may be right.”

  Clas said, “Put aside land for Smalls. Lots are coming up from the south. Most will want places in the foothills and into the mountains.”

  “Why didn’t the ones riding with you come in now?” Gan asked. “And what about the rest of the Dogs?”

  Clas shifted uncomfortably, cut a sheepish glance at Sylah. “A sort of ceremony. A brotherhood thing. For men. Tinillit’s in charge. Tate knows him.”

  Sylah was cautious; ceremony and brotherhood had religious connotations. “The Smalls seem to know some interesting things about the mind. Rather like the way you control pain.”

  “That’s it.” Clas brightened, squeezed her with the arm already tight around her shoulders. “They can teach us a lot. They’ll work with Church, too.”

  The rest of Clas’ Dogs were in the city by then, the younger ones admiring the buildings. They mingled easily with the other packs. Some of the new arrivals were veterans of the war against Altanar. They pointed and spoke loudly, showing off their experience, swapping stories with the defenders down off the walls.

  The threesome of Gan, Sylah, and Clas rode for the castle. Gan sent runners to find his closer friends, including Leclerc and Bernhardt, who were rebuilding the farm. Everyone else was gathered in the castle’s dining hall when a diffident young man entered, hat in hand, to explain that Leclerc and Bernhardt had urgent need to talk to their fellow tribesmen. The couple requested that all the others join them on the farm.

  The idea amused the group. Festive, everyone talking at once, they rode south. They were still in a holiday mood when they arrived. Louis and Kate, with true rural hospitality, greeted their guests from the porch, handing out hot tea. A table labored under a load of fresh bread, smoked ham, cheese, butter, and a bowl of honey cookies.

  Sylah noted that Leclerc seemed to have something on his mind. She remarked on it to Lanta. Her small friend agreed. “He’s anxious. Not exactly troubled, but he’s eager for everyone to be relaxed. Some new proposal, I suspect.”

  The Seer wasn’t far wrong. Soon afterward, Leclerc asked for attention. “I must do something very rude now. I have to ask all my fellow tribesmen to separate from wives or husbands, and come with me. There’s something we must discuss in great privacy.”

  Gan rose, teacup in hand. “There’s enough trust within this group to accommodate a little privacy. We’ll wait here. Better yet; those who stay behind will start a fire. We’ll cook outside tonight, a campfire dinner. All right?”

  It was decided. The “tribal” group, on horseback, followed Leclerc and Bernhardt. The hosts refused to discuss the reasons for the journey on the way. The ride took little time, and brought them to a ridge overlooking a small valley. Where they stopped, a For cloth covered an object on the ground. Four sturdy wooden legs provided no clues. Dismounting, indicating the others should do so, Leclerc and Bernhardt positioned themselves in front of it.

  Leclerc reached into a pocket. He withdrew the red book, flourishing it dramatically. “People of our time. In crèches, as we were. Gone.” He held the book toward them, face out. “Remember these numbers? The doodles? They’re why we’re here. Radio frequencies. Low-range radio frequencies.”

  Conway reached for the book, looked at the numbers. “Damned low, Louis.”

  “They carry better. Easier to pickup. And I’ve done it.” Leclerc lifted the For cloth. The thing under it was weird-looking.

  Carter said, “It looks like an electric insect. What’s it do?”

  In answer, Kate and Leclerc went in opposite directions. They stepped away a few paces, then came back, each carrying a long piece of wire. Kate pointed. “Louis strung a wire—an antenna—across this valley. This is probably the crudest radio anyone’s built since long before Marconi, but it’s a radio. He’s getting a signal.”

  While Leclerc attached ground and antenna wires, he described a tube about the length of a man’s arm, wrapped with beeswax-insulated wire, finest any of them could remember seeing in this world. A bared strip of those coils ran the topmost length of the tube. Attached to one end of the device was a miniature version of the spear capacitors. This one was about five inches long and two inches in diameter. A separate wire attached it to the terminals at opposite ends of the tube.

  A raised wooden bar spanned the length of the coil, the support for what Leclerc called a slide. The latter was a thin, pointed copper leaf, designed to move along the bar.
It touched one of the fine bared wires at a time. Another fine wire led from the slider to the spark gap, which was two wooden blocks drilled to tightly accommodate copper wires. Where those wires exited the blocks, they were honed to needle sharpness. The block not wired to the slider was attached to the ground wire.

  The silence quivered with repressed excitement. Leclerc’s voice literally shook, as did his hand when he pointed at a small sundial. “See those three rocks, there? When the shadow strikes each of those, I get a signal. Long. If that was it, I’d say it’s a machine, like the ones that kept us alive, sending a dead hand down the centuries. But I’m getting random signals, as well. Some long, some short, but always on the same frequency.”

  Tate said, “I can’t believe this. Someone…?” Implication overwhelmed the sentence.

  Leclerc nodded. “Transmitting. Someone with massive power, or I’d never identify the signal. Looking for us.”

  “Or someone like us.” It was Carter, ever practical, frowning. Leclerc wasn’t pleased about being corrected, but he nodded affirmation.

  Anspach said, “Do the times of reception give you any clue about the transmitter’s location?”

  “Not a thing. But we have the locations of the other crèches.”

  Conway shook his head. “We can’t be certain it’s one of them. If your assumption that this is a signal is correct.”

  Bernhardt rounded on him. “It’s correct. We’ve checked it. Every day. Four days. It’s correct.”

  Gently, Conway said, “Four days isn’t very long, Kate.”

  Tate was next. “It’s long enough for me. Louis gets these things right. Can we listen? It’s about time.” She pointed at a marker, about to be touched by the gnomon’s shade.

  “There’s nothing to hear.” Leclerc pointed at the tiny gap in the wire leading to ground. “Watch there.”

  Tense, crowded together, the group stared. “There!” Leclerc shouted, pointing. Tate straightened. “That? That fuzzy little blue thing? That’s your signal?”

  Too busy looking at the spark to be offended, Leclerc struck the air with a fist. “Right on time. As advertised.”

  Long after the spark disappeared, they concentrated on the gap as if still seeing something. Yearning. It was Conway who broke the silence. “Okay. It’s a signal. Now what?”

  Carter whirled up from her crouch, stepped back, and faced them all. She raised a hand. “Not yet. No one say anything. There are others involved. We’ve got to think.”

  Tate demurred. “Think, yes, but fast. We’ve got to decide: Do we go looking for whoever might be out there, or not? But Janet’s right. There are others involved. For me, it’s Nalatan. For her and Sue and Kate, it’s the Chosens.” She winked at Leclerc. “Well, maybe them, too.” Louis had the good grace to color vividly as he grinned. Kate positively glowed. Tate went on. “If anyone wants to go or stay, that’s it. I say we decide on the way back to the farm. When we get there, we speak out. No questions from anyone, no arguments. Agreed?”

  There was a long, deep silence. Absently, Leclerc disconnected his primitive radio and covered it. He spoke thoughtfully. “I suppose it’s best. Our own decision, arrived at for our own reasons. I’ll go first, after we’re back. If no one minds.”

  Hesitant glances found no objection. The silence continued. The ride back to the farm was very long, very subdued.

  Still full of cheer, Gan greeted them from in front of a fire ebbing to coals. “Good timing. We can cook soon.” He stopped, studied their faces. His own fell. “Something’s happened. Why so serious?”

  They dismounted, almost shamefaced. Tate moved quickly to be with Nalatan, and Conway moved to Lanta with hurried strides. She looked at him with alarm, but he just shook his head.

  Leclerc said, “We came to you as travelers, Murdat.” The title made Gan wary. Leclerc hurried on. “You know us as different from all others. You know us as people who trust you as you trust us. Now I ask you to accept a mystery. We—all of us of our tribe—have received a message, sent in a way known only to us. If such a secret is discovered outside this gathering, we shall all die as condemned witches. We are not. We are merely different. We ask you to understand that, to accept it, and to understand that this message requires us to decide what to do with our lives. We are going to tell you all, you who are so precious to us.”

  Carefully, making a three-sign, Gan said, “Who speaks first?” As he did, Neela eased away from him. She, too, made a three-sign, and although she drew back, deferring to his leadership, she remained close enough to come to his aid.

  Clas na Bale ostentatiously shouldered in front of Sylah. Muscles bunched in his jaw when, equally forcefully, she refused to be shielded.

  The talk of mystery and witches wasn’t sitting well.

  “I speak first.” Leclerc was firm. “I’ve helped the Three Territories and you. I also envied you. I told myself I should rule.” Gan’s expression darkened. Leclerc ignored it. “I was mistaken. I’m not a leader. But I can help you be a better one. I can make the Three Territories stronger, safer. I swear you my loyalty. I stay with you.”

  Gan nodded, solemn. He looked to Bernhardt. “And you, Kate Bernhardt?”

  Flustered, off guard, Kate waffled, hands jerking, mouth working. She blurted, “The children. The Chosens. And… And other stuff. I mean, I’m staying here.”

  Leclerc moved to her. Grim determination emphasized his awkwardness. Still, when he took her hand, it was gentle and confiding. She looked at him in amazement. He said, “If she’ll have me, I’m asking her to marry me.”

  Kate stammered. Exploded. “How can such a bright man be so silly? Are you asking him or me? Of course I’ll marry you. I love you, you fool.” And she kissed him.

  The applause stopped before she did, but when it was opportune, Conway told Gan, “I stay. There’s a world to build here. Trade. Defense. Perhaps conquest. It’s a challenge I want to confront.” He saluted. Gan smiled, returned it. When Conway turned to Lanta, she embraced him. She said, “I would have gone with you. I’m glad we’re staying.”

  Conway heard something in the words, spoken directly against his chest. “Why? What’re you telling me? Is there some Church law I was breaking, or something?”

  Still pressed to him, Lanta shook her head. “Not now.”

  He looked over her to the others, baffled. Sylah curled her lip at him in a pitying sneer. Gan snorted laughter. Tate’s look made him feel he’d taken his first step into boot camp. He swung his head like a stunned ox. “What?”

  Lanta stamped her foot. “I wasn’t going to tell you like this. Everyone else certainly seems to have guessed. I’m pregnant.”

  Hands under her arms, Conway lifted her until her head was higher than his. They laughed like children. He whooped, then howled like a wolf. She put her hands to her ears, then to his mouth. Suddenly, stricken, he lowered her, clumsy with apology. “What am I doing? Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you?”

  Dryly, Neela said, “She fought a war a few days ago, Matt Conway. I think she can stand a bit of exercise. Congratulations, Lanta; what wonderful news.” Again, there was applause. The other women crowded around her, hugging, congratulating. When the hubbub slowed, Conway drew Lanta with him to the fire, opposite Tate. As they sat down, he whispered, “I love you. I’ve never been so happy.” She smiled, the look confiding, sharing. Then she snuggled against him.

  Carter stepped forward a pace toward Gan, shrugged. “The Chosens—they need us. I mean me. I’m staying.”

  Anspach said, “Me, too. Those children are like my own. I couldn’t leave. Not for any reason.”

  Sylah left Clas’ side, moved to embrace both women. She was laughing aloud. “I almost died, holding my breath. You don’t know how happy you made me. I’m going east with Clas. I want to start an abbey there. I was going to ask you to be the new Iris Abbess and Violet Abbess here.”

  Gan interrupted their impromptu celebration. “It’s not like you to be last, Tate. I think I know
why.”

  Tate sat by the fire, wipe across her knees. Like petting an animal, she stroked it as she spoke. Pointedly, she looked directly at Gan, refusing to acknowledge Nalatan, sitting beside her, shoulder to shoulder. “You’re right. I’m the one who goes. I have to discover what’s out there.” With that, her composure broke. It was a minuscule fracture, just enough for a glance at her friends, to include them in her hidden meaning. She continued. “Glory for your people is your fate, Gan Moondark, and for a while your fate was ours. We grew in your light. Even those who stay here, though, have their own goals now. Mine is away. I don’t know where. I will seek it. Outside walls.”

  Nalatan put an arm around her shoulders. Tate shivered, sighed. As if letting go of something treasured, but outgrown, she relaxed to lean against his strength.

  The others seemed to leave them alone in some unstated, mutually understood agreement. Nalatan said, “We are different, we two. Different from everyone. I marvel that I found you. Thank you for saying we must go. Are you sure you did it for you? Not because I hate the walls?”

  “I did it because it’s what I want.” She squeezed his hand. “Now I’ve got everything I want. Except food. Are we going to eat?” They were laughing when they rejoined the others.

  The rest of the evening went smoothly, albeit a bit strangely. The tinge of melancholy was offset by other considerations—of accomplishment, of challenge, of decisions long put off and finally determined. If their laughter was sometimes a shade forced, it was never without warmth. They ended sitting around a fire of such spent coals that the pale glow nearly drowned in the light of myriad stars. For some while, they were all quiet, caught in that splendor.

  Finally, Gan rose. He said, “I doubt we’ll ever see a night like this again, this group. These companions. What times we’ve had! But there are other things to come. So let us all say one last good night as a band. Tomorrow is different. Another world to build, another world to create, another world to discover. A salute, one to another. To the love of friends for friends.”

  All stood. There was a salute. And embraces. Some tears. Quietly, whispering the good night Gan suggested, they parted.