by Kate Elliott
I had seen him before. Only not like this. Before, he had hidden the true crackling strength of his gaze and the coiled power of his presence.
The man and Kehinde were eyeing each other with the look of dogs who aren’t sure whether they will become friends or attack.
“I expected a courier,” she said. “An ambassador, to open talks between your people and mine.”
“I am my own ambassador,” he said with a lift of his chin that had more power than a grand flourish. “As I must be, in these troubled times.”
“Truly,” said Brennan, a little curtly, “I would have expected you to arrive with more of a retinue.”
“Numbers breed attention,” said the man. “You understand why I must avoid attention, here in the enemy’s country. However, be assured I have many agents already in the city.”
I knew him.
He looked at Bee and nodded, as if they had already met, although that was impossible. “You must be the eldest Hassi Barahal daughter, just as Helene told me. Black curls, she said, very young, quite beautiful, and with as much subtlety as an ax.”
Mouth agape, Bee pulled her sketchbook from the knit bag and opened it to the page with a sketch that matched his person, and the door’s frame, exactly. He’d rendered her mute.
But his gaze had already moved on. To me.
“And you must be Tara Bell’s daughter. It was so strange to see you that day when you climbed into the wagon in Lemanis. I thought you must be hers, for you look just like her, except for the hair and the color of your eyes. The youth’s presence with you confused me, you calling him your elder brother. And it was too early to meet you. Helene was never wrong about such things.”
I blinked. “You’re Big Leon. The carter’s cousin. We last saw you at Crane Marsh Works in the middle of Anderida. And these two, and the woman outside… a party of five and their mules and wool. What? Were you the one who was sick and about to die?”
“The authorities became suspicious. We split up, and I came ahead, carried by the wings of those who have remained loyal all these years to the cause.”
“You walked into Adurnam alone?” demanded Brennan. “With all the mage Houses and every prince in northwestern Europa hunting for you? That seems rash.”
“And irrational,” said Kehinde thoughtfully. “We could turn you over to the Prince of Tarrant for a significant reward.”
“But you won’t. For you see, I am never alone. The hopes and ambitions of too many people are carried on my back.”
“You’re Camjiata,” I said.
He had a way of tilting his head that made it seem he was about to laugh but had decided not to. That made you want to have a chance to laugh with him, if only you could find a way to surprise that laugh out of him and earn the praise of having amused him. “Of course I am Camjiata. Who else would I be? At last, after the patient work of many years and many hands, I am free.”
Chartji stepped forward, offering the traditional bowl of water.
He doffed his hat politely, drank it all in one thirsty gulp, and wiped his lips with a sleeve. “And now we have business to do, and no time to wait.”
“Did you come looking for me?” said Bee breathlessly. I could not tell if she was terrified, or exhilarated, or making ready to punch him in the face. “Did she tell you how to find me? Your wife, I mean? The one who walked the dreams of dragons?”
“Yes. It was the final thing Helene said to me before they killed her. She told me that the eldest daughter of the Hassi Barahal clan would learn to walk the dreams of dragons. Find her, she said, because you will need her, as you have needed me.” He lifted his right hand in the orator’s classic gesture, and we all stared, waiting for his next words, because a person could not help but stare at him. He commanded our stares. “That’s what puzzled me on the road, you see. Because Helene said that the eldest Hassi Barahal daughter would lead me to Tara Bell’s child.”
“B-but I’m Tara Bell’s child,” I said, and everyone looked at me.
“Of course you are,” said Camjiata. “You could be no one else but who are you. So must we all be, even Helene, who knew that the gift of dreaming would be the curse that brought death to her. Yet even then, even at the end, the gift compelled her to speak. For those were Helene’s very last words, the very last words I ever heard her say.”
He paused. And I waited. We all waited. A log shifted on an unseen fire somewhere in the house. Beyond the closed door, the rising light brought the city of Adurnam to life with a new day.
“She said, ‘Where the hand of fortune branches, Tara Bell’s child must choose, and the road of war will be washed by the tide.’ ”
“A fanciful turn of phrase,” said Kehinde, “but as I have a pragmatical turn of mind, can you tell me what you think it means?”
He smiled as if, having meant to catch our interest, he had nevertheless not lost his ability to enjoy the pleasure of knowing he had done so. “Why, the depths of the words are easily sounded. She meant that Tara Bell’s child will choose a path that will change the course of the war.”
He looked at me. They all looked at me.
“Which means you, Catherine Bell Barahal. Because that child is you.”
Look out for the second book in
The Spiritwalker Trilogy:
COLD FIRE
by Kate Elliott
Acknowledgments
A few years ago, my three children (all then in high school) and their friends Jamie Blair and Stephen Blocker asked me if I wanted to world build with them, and thus we began collaborating. Out of collaboration sprang stories, and eventually Cold Magic, during the writing of which they offered, and I asked for, suggestions, advice, ideas, and corrective so that in some ways this is far more a collaboration than any kind of novel conceived and written by me alone. Also, they read scenes and drafts multiple times, and we discussed plot points and background details. This project would not exist without them. Of course, they wouldn’t exist without me (oh, and their dad, but whatever, honey, we love you, but the “shower of meteors” idea just didn’t work with the backstory we’d already set up), so I guess they and I are finally kind of even?
So, to Rhiannon, Alexander, and David: you’re my favorite kids ever. Love you, yr Mom.
Awesomely valuable beta readers and research consults and advice givers (don’t blame them, though, if there’s something in the text that seems wrong or mishandled—it’s my fault, not theirs). Listed in no particular order (and I’m missing someone, to whom I apologize in advance):
A’ndrea Messer, Michelle Sagara, Darcy Kramer, Katharine Kerr, Amanda Weinstein, Melanie Ujimori, Naamen G. Tilahun, Kari Maund, N. K. Jemisin, Edana MacKenzie, Andrew Vitro, Theodore Vitro, Robert and Bernice Littman, Jeanne Reames, Karen Williams, Sherwood Smith, Constance Ash, Catherine Wood, Rebecca Houliston, Cynthia LeCount Samaké, Barou Samaké, and Jay Silverstein.
Ann Marie Rasmussen got articles for me I could not access myself, usually with titles like “The Quarternary History of the English Channel: An Introduction.”
My thanks to my agents, Russell Galen and Danny Baror (I know they’re just doing their job, but I still appreciate their work above and beyond).
And, of course, a special and fulsome thanks to the fabulous Orbit crew.
extras
meet the author
Jay Silverstein
KATE ELLIOTT has been writing stories since she was nine years old, which has led her to believe either that she is a little crazy or that writing, like breathing, keeps her alive. Her previous series are the Crossroads Trilogy (starting with Spirit Gate), The Crown of Stars septology (starting with King’s Dragon), the Novels of the Jaran, and a collaboration with Melanie Rawn and Jennifer Roberson called The Golden Key. She likes to play sports more than she likes to watch them; right now, her sport of choice is outrigger canoe paddling. She has been married for a really long time. She and her spouse produced three spawn (aka children), and now that the youngest has graduated high sch
ool, they spend extra special time with their miniature schnauzer (aka The Schnazghul). Her spouse has a much more interesting job than she does, with the added benefit that they had to move to Hawaii for his work. Thus, the outrigger canoes.
Find out more about the author at www.kateelliott.com.
interview
Where do you get your ideas?
I don’t know. Really, I have no idea where I get my ideas. I just think that way. My eldest sister recently asked me if I count things. She explained that when she’s sitting around, perhaps waiting for her order to come in a café or in a line at a store or to board at the airport, she counts things: the number of chairs, the windowpanes, tiles on the wall, bags, people, whatever. She called it a bit of a compulsion, and wondered how many other people did the same thing. I don’t count things, I told her; I make up stories in my head.
No, but seriously, where do you get your ideas?
I think different people have a knack for different skills and different ways of being creative, some of which we make a big fuss over and some of which we tend to ignore. For instance, think of shopping for clothes. Whether you go to a store or shop online, first you look at an item and imagine—in your mind—how it might look on you or how you wish it might look on you. Then you try it on to see how it looks, but at the same time you’re probably imagining scenarios in which you might wear it. That’s creative thinking.
In my case, almost everything I see, experience, read, and learn is like a piece of clothing or a pair of shoes. I am always “trying on” scenarios, events, actions, and reactions: Can I build a story out of this? Can I put it together with another thing? Is it exciting? Do I want to know more? Does it fit what I want to do? Every new story is kind of like an outfit, put together out of pieces that I hope work well together. As a writer, I am always observing, on the lookout for “pieces of story” that will add up into, say, a fabulous, eye-catching evening ensemble, or the kind of tough, sleek gear you would go adventuring in.
What do you think is a major influence on your writing?
My mother immigrated to the United States in 1949. She had just married my father, himself the grandchild of immigrants on both sides of his family. I grew up in a household that was certainly American (small town, rural America), but it was also an ethnic household in that we had culture-specific ways of celebrating holidays, special foods that the other kids in my school didn’t eat and had never heard of, and we spoke a second language at home. As a child, I felt strongly a connection to the idea of there being other cultures and lands outside the one I was growing up in.
I think my interest in writing science fiction and fantasy, in writing about “other” cultures, in writing stories about moving between lands and worlds, and about being an outsider or a traveler, grew directly out of my experience as the child and great-grandchild of immigrants.
What interests do you look for in your reading?
My dad taught history. So in addition to my experience as a first-generation American (first generation born on American soil), I also was raised in a house where a love for and discussion of history and current events was always present. I have pretty wide-ranging reading interests, but in nonfiction I admit I am most interested in the social sciences, like history and anthropology and religion. I ended up married to an anthropologist—go figure (although he was a police officer first). As for fiction, I have just one rule: Don’t bore me. I love reading a good story that’s well told.
What is this outrigger canoe paddling you mention in your biography?
Outrigger canoes come from the Pacific; they are an adaptation invented by Pacific Islanders in the distant past. In the ocean, waves and wind will easily tip over a regular canoe. By adding the outrigger, you give the canoe more stability in offshore conditions. Polynesians reached the Hawaiian Islands by means of outrigger canoes, in one of—if not the most—daring voyages of exploration known to humankind. After settlement, outriggers were used throughout the islands for getting around, fishing, making war, and so on. These days, six-person outrigger canoe racing is the official team sport of the state of Hawaii.
What is the official individual sport of Hawaii?
I’ll give you one guess. I mean, Hawaii is where surfing was invented.
Do you surf?
No. I don’t do sports that involve balancing and moving at the same time. When I tried skiing as a teen, I couldn’t even get up the rope tow much less down the bunny slope.
How did you get into paddling?
We moved to Hawaii in 2002 when my spouse got a job there with the government. Within a month of arriving, I’d seen newspaper articles about outrigger canoe racing. I wanted to try it (my ancestors were Vikings, after all), but no one at my spouse’s work knew anyone who paddled. Anyway, because his work demanded a lot of travel, I had enough to do with writing and being the always-on-call parent. But the summer after our youngest (twins) graduated from high school, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen for a while. As we chatted, catching up, I mentioned that she looked great in her sleeveless dress. With the greatest enthusiasm, she told me that she had just completed her first season of paddling. She invited me to try it out, by paddling the “winter season” (the off-season, aka the recreational season) with her canoe club in Honolulu.
I fell in love with it from the first time I went out, although I guarantee that when you first start paddling, the main thing is that you are so sore the next day you can hardly move. But being out on the ocean more than compensates for the aches and pains. We saw dolphins. We saw turtles. We sat on the water offshore and drank in the green hills and the ever-shifting clouds that catch on the Ko’olau Range. The true beauty of the islands is, for me, most deeply experienced from the water. Oahu is an amazing emerald island rising from the middle of the world’s largest ocean. From out on the water, the Waimanalo-side cliffs stagger you, the remnants of the great crater that was once present on Oahu when it was a living volcano, now cut sheer and shaped in ridges and folds by water erosion. Even the high-rises of Waikiki look beautiful, framed by the Ko’olau Mountains behind.
After that winter recreational season, I found a club closer to where I live, called Manu O Ke Kai (which means, approximately, “bird of the sea”). Now I paddle year-round and race both short and long distance in a six-seat canoe, and I also have a small one-person outrigger for extra practice and fun. The great thing about paddling is that anyone can do it, young and old, big and small, male and female, experienced athlete or novice.
Sorry: I didn’t mean to go on for so long. I guess I got carried away by my enthusiasm.
Why, in the dedication, do you call The Spiritwalker Trilogy a “mash-up”?
A mash-up involves taking songs, or video clips, or bits of disparate media from different sources and “mashing” them up together to make a song or video or program or other content that is a new whole based on a bunch of different parts. So when I call Cold Magic an “Afro-Celtic post-Roman icepunk Regency novel with airships, Phoenician spies, and the intelligent descendents of troödons” (which were a small, intelligent, and agile species of dinosaur), I’m thinking of the novel as a mash-up of disparate elements. Since I happen to really enjoy mash-ups, it made sense to me to try one.
What’s the most interesting and unexpected information you uncovered doing research for the books?
As I do research for every novel, I always learn many cool and amazing things because human ingenuity and creativity seems boundless (fortunately for us all, since the human capacity for cruelty and selfishness is also vast). Topics I investigated during the course of writing this novel include Celtic Iron Age Europe, the Roman Empire, the Mali Empire, the Phoenicians, the Quaternary Ice Age, airships, and social, transportation and economic structures of eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century Europe. No one of these strikes me as “most interesting,” but because I have limited space and the reader has limited time, I’ll talk here about Mali.
Mali is a country in West Africa, s
ometimes described as “one of the poorest in the world.” Yet historically, Mali birthed three successive rich and powerful empires before the arrival of Europeans and colonialism. One of the emperors of the Mali Empire, Mansa Muso, began a pilgrimage to Mecca in the year 1324 CE, accompanied by a huge retinue. During his trip, he gave away as alms so much gold that his largesse caused regional Middle Eastern gold prices to drop precipitously for several years after. That strikes me as quite a contrast to being called “one of the poorest countries on earth.” It made me wonder why things are so different now when they weren’t that way before (beyond the usual fluctuations of empires and history). In short, the economics of today’s world don’t benefit a country like Mali. If you’re interested in such issues, you might try reading Dust from our Eyes: An unblinkered look at Africa by Canadian journalist Joan Baxter who lived and worked on the continent for over twenty years. Also I encourage interested readers to check out the writings of Malian writers such as Amadou Hampâté Ba and Aminata Traoré.
Here are a few things I learned to admire and love about Mali, although this list barely scratches the surface: Mali is well known for its fabulous music, with musicians such as Ali Farka Touré, Habib Koité & Bamada, Baba Salah, Toumani Diabaté, Djénéba Seck, Assan Kida, and the great singer Salif Keita. (One of my favorite albums is Habib Koité’s Afriki.) The tradition of music, and that of the great epic historical narratives, is very old, and griots (or djeliw) are foundational to the transmission and stability of this history. Mali also has a fantastic textile tradition, ranging from embroidery (done by men), mud cloth (bogolanfini), bazin (cotton damask dyed and tie-dyed and embroidered and starched and beaten and folded flat so that it is almost “crisp”—that is, it makes noise, like rustling, when you wear it), weaving, and more. Mali is a multiethnic society, people from many different groups living together within a tradition of harmony, and leavened by a really great sense of humor and joking. In Mali, family, and the connections you have to other people, is at the heart of everything.
