by DAVID B. COE
Her son shook his head and laughed bitterly. "Believe what you will, Mama. But we'd best take care with the next set of spells we conjure for the Eandi. Because if we have another day like this one, they're going to start asking questions."
She nearly said the first thing that came to her mind: They already are. Qalsyn's lord heir had already made it clear that he didn't trust them and didn't like relying on their magic. If this occurred to Mander as well, he kept it to himself.
"We should never have left the village," he murmured after a lengthy silence.
They'd had this discussion before, and Fayonne wanted no part of it today.
She didn't want to be out here on the plain any more than he did. Mander knew this, but still he blamed her. And maybe it was her fault. But she still believed that they might find a way to escape the curse, and as eldest it was her responsibility to give the people of Lifarsa an opportunity to live as other Mettai did.
Once, little more than a hundred years ago, their ancestors had been among the most prosperous of Stelpana's Mettai. They lived farther south then, in a village called Rheyle at the southern tip of Bear Lake. They were farmers, cloth weavers, trappers, basketmakers. Merchants-Eandi and Qirsi alike-came from every corner of the Southlands to trade with them.
From what Fayonne's father and grandfather had told her, she knew that other Mettai villages came to resent the people of Rheyle, and perhaps with good reason. It wasn't just that they were so successful, or that they lured peddlers and their gold away from neighboring villages. Rheyle's leaders grew more aggressive as time went on and for a brief time-nearly two years-they engaged in small raids on these other villages. They took fertile farming lands from one, and a bountiful woodland from another. By the end of the second year, the men and women of Rheyle had established four small hamlets as protectorates of the main village. Even Fayonne's grandfather once admitted to her that they were wrong to have done so. He also stated his belief that they would have continued to expand had the other settlements in the Bear Lake region not banded together to stop them.
When Rheyle's soldiers next attempted to take land from Gavdyre, a fishing village on the lake's southeastern shore, warriors from other villages came to Gavdyre's defense. In a bloody skirmish known to the Mettai as the Battle of Seven Villages, the new alliance drove off the men from Rheyle.
Emboldened by their success, they then attacked Rheyle's other protectorates, defeating each of them in turn. When all of the outpost villages had been conquered, they turned their attention to Rheyle itself. They didn't attack this time, but rather used magic fueled by blood taken forcibly from Rheyle prisoners captured in the preceding battles.
They placed a curse-the Curse of Rheyle-on the village's people and their descendants. It laid waste to their once-fertile lands. Suddenly their soil seemed poisoned; crops that had thrived for years before now barely managed to stay alive. Game animals, both large and small, forsook the woodlands surrounding the village. Rheyle's hunters and trappers had to range farther and farther from home in order to find their prey. Much the same thing happened to the lake waters near the village. Schools of fish seemed to vanish overnight.
But the curse did more than that. It touched their magic as well. Spells that Rheyle's people had conjured with ease for centuries abruptly stopped working. Or if they did work, they turned dark, as had this day's conjuring of the blood wolves.
After suffering under the curse for several years, the people of Rheyle finally made a difficult and painful decision. They abandoned their village, moved northward away from their enemies, and established a new settlement on the northwestern shore of Bear Lake, which they called New Rheyle. When they found their new home they thought the lands as rich as any they had ever seen.
Within a year, however, New Rheyle was no better than their blighted first home had been. The curse had followed them. A year later, they fled New Rheyle and built yet another settlement, which they called Dranig, as if by abandoning the name "Rheyle" they might confound the spell and thus escape it.
Three years after that they left Dranig, and settled in what became known as Lifarsa. Lifarsa proved no more immune to the curse than the other settlements had been, but the village's leaders concluded that there was nowhere they could go to escape the magic of their enemies. So they remained in their newest home and did their best to make a life for themselves there, regardless of the curse.
In the hundred years since, none of Lifarsa's eldests had tried to find a new home for their people. Until now.
It wasn't that matters had grown any worse in recent years. But Fayonne could see how the curse wore on her people; she herself knew how great a burden it was. So when Jenoe and his soldiers came to Lifarsa offering them an opportunity to make a new home for themselves far away from the Companion Lakes, she leaped at the chance. How could she not?
Mander was probably right in thinking that the curse would follow them no matter where they went. But what kind of a leader would she have been if she refused even to try?
"Maybe we shouldn't have left," Fayonne finally said, drawing her son's gaze. "Maybe we can never escape the curse. It was placed on our ancestors and they've passed it to us, and it's possible that no matter how far we go, we'll always carry it in our blood and in our magic. But no spell is perfect. We're far from the Companion Lakes, and we increase that distance every day. Mettai magic is blood magic, but it's also earth magic. Look around you, Mander."
He did, taking in the great expanse of the plain.
"Our blood may be the same, but this is different earth. Maybe the curse will be weaker here. Maybe that's why the Eandi soldiers were only wounded by the wolves."
The look on Mander's face told her that he hadn't considered this before. He nodded thoughtfully.
"We'll still have to be careful," he said.
Fayonne managed a smile. "Of course. But perhaps it can work to our advantage. The wolves killed those poor children, but they also killed white-hair warriors, even after the marshal told us to call them back. Without meaning to, we've brought the Curse of Rheyle to the Fal'Borna. Maybe it's a weapon we can use."
Clearly Mander hadn't considered this, either.
Chapter 9
E'MENUA'S SEPT, CENTRAL PLAIN
I should be tanning rilda skins," Cresenne said lazily, making no effort to leave the warmth of their blankets.
Grinsa had his arm around her, and her head rested on his shoulder. Their fingers were laced together.
"Maybe you should go then," he said, in the same languid tone. "Hmmm."
They kissed and then Grinsa lay back once more and closed his eyes. They had made love for much of the night, until their pent-up passion for each other was finally sated. They'd dozed off, awakened before dawn and made love once more, and then had fallen asleep again. Grinsa felt quite certain that the a'laq would be looking for him soon enough, but until then he had no intention of going anywhere.
Bryntelle was awake on her small pallet, chattering to herself. Occasionally she glanced Grinsa's way and let out a small laugh, as if she couldn't believe that her father was actually there.
Grinsa couldn't believe it, either.
He could hear voices outside the z'kal. Others had been up and about for some time now. And with war coming, he knew that the haven he and Cresenne had carved out for themselves over these few precious hours wouldn't last much longer.
He'd said as much to Cresenne the night before, when he told her that E'Menua had agreed to recognize the legitimacy of their joining, and that he had pledged himself to fighting alongside the Fal'Borna.
"I know that we're not part of their clan," he had said. "Not really, at least. But I couldn't-"
She held a finger to his lips, then kissed him. "I know," she whispered. "I expected no less. I don't want to stay here, and I don't like E'Menua, but if the Eandi attack these people, I'll fight, too." Suddenly her brow furrowed and a slight smile touched her lips. "He's willing to accept that I'm your wife?"
she asked, as if finally realizing what Grinsa had said moments before.
He smiled. "Yes."
"How did you get him to agree to that? I thought he'd go to Bian's realm thinking of me as your concubine."
"Well, he might. But he understands now that he can't control me with magic or threats. And he knows that I'm capable of humiliating him in front of all his people if he tries."
"Grinsa, you don't want to make him afraid of you," she said, clearly unnerved by this. "That's every bit as dangerous as making him angry. If he thinks you're a threat to him, he'll find a way to kill you."
"It'll be all right. He's not going to kill me. He's not even going to make the attempt."
"You don't know what he's capable of doing. He's… cruel. He likes to control people, just for the fun of it, just for the satisfaction of knowing that he can. If you defy him…" She shook her head. "You need to be careful."
Grinsa narrowed his eyes. "What did he do to you?"
But Cresenne shook her head. "Not now." She kissed him again. "I'll tell you tomorrow, but I don't want to talk about him tonight."
Neither did Grinsa, of course, and he gladly gave himself over to his hunger for her. Now, though, as the sept awoke, and the sounds of morning beckoned to them, he asked her about it again.
This time Cresenne didn't put him off, though her expression darkened, as if just thinking about it made her angry.
"He didn't really do anything to me," she said. "Remember when we first arrived in the sept, and every morning the Fal'Borna brought us food and firewood?"
Grinsa nodded.
"Well, they didn't do that for us so much as they did it for you, because you're a Weaver." She shrugged. "That's how they treat their Weavers."
He understood immediately. "So once I was gone, they stopped bringing you food and wood."
"The wood I could find on my own," she said. "I had to gather it each day after I finished tanning, but I didn't mind so much. The food, though; we didn't come here early enough to plant crops or hunt rilda. We had nothing."
"Why didn't you tell me any of this?" Grinsa asked. He rolled onto his side so that he could look her in the eye.
"I knew how angry you'd be. And there was nothing you could do. You were looking for the cursed baskets and the woman who made them." A smile lit her face. "Besides, I handled it."
He smiled in turn. "How?"
"F'Solya convinced me to go to E'Menua and ask for his help."
"F'Solya is your friend who tans the skins with you, right?"
She nodded. "She's been a good friend. But of course E'Menua saw this as an opportunity to split you and me apart. He wouldn't let me buy food from the sept. Instead he made L'Norr share his food with me; I was to go to his z'kal for my evening meals."
"L'Norr?" Grinsa repeated. For a moment he couldn't imagine why the a'laq would send her to the young Weaver. He didn't know L'Norr well. The man was Q'Daer's closest friend, and as one of the sept's Weavers he wielded some influence in the settlement. But he hardly struck Grinsa as someone who would willingly take advantage of Cresenne's misfortune. But then it occurred to him why E'Menua would have chosen this man to share his food with Cresenne. L'Norr was young, handsome, and he had not yet been joined to a Weaver. By forcing the two of them together in the middle of Grinsa's lengthy absence from the sept, the a'laq hoped to foster a romance between them. E'Menua was as clever as he was devious.
"I guess the a'laq wasn't satisfied with you being only my concubine," he said, grinning. "He wants you to be L'Norr's, too."
She didn't look amused. "It's not funny. L'Norr has a concubine already, and she accused me of trying to steal her man. For a while there everyone in the sept believed her. Even F'Solya."
"I'm sorry," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "What did you do?"
"I convinced her that she was wrong," she told him, clearly pleased with herself, "and that L'Norr was in love with her."
Grinsa laughed, drawing a delighted shriek from Bryntelle. "And was he?"
She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I think he is now. But I convinced her that she had nothing to fear from me. That's all that mattered to me."
He shook his head, still laughing. "I think that you're more dangerous than E'Menua."
But thinking this, he looked toward the entrance to the z'kal, his laughter fading. After a moment, he stood, pulled on his britches, and walked to the flap that covered the entryway. Peering outside, he saw that the ground around the z'kal was hare. No wood; no food.
He turned to face Cresenne, who was pulling on a shirt.
"It seems I did make him angry," Grinsa told her.
"Still no food?"
"No wood, either. Being a Weaver doesn't mean what it used to around here."
He meant it as a joke, but neither of them smiled.
"What should we do?" Cresenne asked.
"I'll talk to Q'Daer. He might be able to help us. If worst comes to worst, you and Bryntelle will go back to L'Norr and I'll find another source of food." He pulled a pouch of food from his travel sack and threw it onto the blankets. "In the meantime, we have enough there to last us a few days."
She nodded, but Grinsa could see the disappointment on her face. "I'm sorry," he said.
"It's not your fault. I just assumed that everything would be all right once you were back."
"We'll leave here as soon as we can. I swear it."
Cresenne nodded once more and they finished dressing in silence.
When Cresenne went to the tanning circle as she did every day, Grinsa sought out Q'Daer. He found the young Weaver sitting with L'Norr outside the a'laq's shelter. Seeing him approach, Q'Daer averted his eyes and wouldn't look at Grinsa even when he offered a greeting.
Grinsa stopped in front of the two men and, rather than forcing a conversation with Q'Daer, turned to L'Norr.
"I want to thank you," he said.
L'Norr shifted uncomfortably. "For what?"
"For feeding my wife, of course. You were most generous to share your food with her. I'm in your debt."
"It was nothing. I was just doing what the a'laq…" He swallowed, suddenly as reluctant as Q'Daer to meet Grinsa's gaze. "It was nothing," he said again.
And abruptly Grinsa understood. E'Menua had anticipated what he and Cresenne intended to do next.
"He ordered you both not to share any more with us, didn't he?"
He had expected that neither man would respond. It seemed, however, that the time he had spent journeying with Q'Daer had built some small rapport between them. Q'Daer glanced back quickly at the z'kal. Then he looked up at Grinsa and nodded.
"I don't know what you did, Forelander," he whispered. "But the a'laq is determined to punish you."
"Is he in there?" Grinsa asked, indicating the z'kal.
Q'Daer nodded again and started to stand. Grinsa raised a hand, stopping him.
"I don't need you to announce me."
The young Weaver shook his head, the familiar scowl on his square face. "You're just making matters worse," he said.
"I'll take that chance."
He stepped past the two men, pushed the flap covering the entrance aside, and entered the z'kal. E'Menua sat in his usual spot on the far side of his fire pit, facing the entry. He regarded Grinsa mildly, as if he'd been expecting him.
"You intend to starve us?" Grinsa asked, not bothering with any of the formalities E'Menua usually demanded of his people.
"Not at all," the a'laq said, his voice even. "But I don't intend to feed you, either."
"You're angry with me, so you're punishing my wife and my child." He sneered. "What a great leader you are."
The embers in the a'laq's fire pit and the small open circle at the top of the shelter offered scant light, but still Grinsa saw the man bristle. "Watch your tongue, Forelander! Q'Daer and L'Norr are just outside. If I wanted to, I could order them to kill you, and for all your might and your bluster, you'd be powerless to stop them."
He'd
been back for less than a day, and already Grinsa had grown weary of this man. He nearly responded with a threat of his own, something that would have made it clear to the a'laq that Grinsa could kill him before he ever had a chance to call for the young Weavers. But Q'Daer had been right a moment ago, and so had Cresenne. Threats and defiance would only make matters worse, and for now at least, with war coming and Besh and Sirj at the mercy of this man, Grinsa had little choice but to remain here.
"I don't want to fight you, A'Laq," he said, addressing E'Menua by his title for the first time since his return. "And I don't think that you want to have me killed. I don't even think you really want to starve us."
E'Menua said nothing.
"So what is it you do want?"
"You seem to think you know me quite well," the a'laq said. "Answer the question yourself."
"I've already told you that I won't marry a Weaver."
The a'laq dismissed the idea with a disdainful wave of his hand. "You flatter yourself, Forelander. And anyway, aside from the n'qlae there are no female Weavers in the sept. My daughter will come into her power soon, but trust me when I tell you that I have no desire to see her joined to you."
Grinsa chuckled. "No, I don't suppose you do. But if not that, then what?"
E'Menua merely gazed back at him.
"I've already told you that I'll march to war with you and your people, that I'll fight to protect Fal'Borna lands. Do you want me to promise that we'll stay here, even after the war is over?"
"Take some time to think about it, Forelander. Perhaps you'll figure it out eventually."
"And in the meantime, we'll have to forage for our own food, is that right?"
No response. It occurred to Grinsa that perhaps Cresenne was right in saying that he'd been handling this the wrong way.
"We'd be most grateful, A'Laq, if you would consider helping us through the Snows. We have no stores of roots or rilda meat. We came to you late in the year and now we have little choice but to ask for your help."
