by Holly Lisle
Kirtha nodded. “Yes, Mama.” The little girl smiled, pleased to be able to show off one of her tricks in front of adults. She stared at the candlewick, and her face grew serious. A moment passed, and then another—and then she frowned. “I can’t find the light lines, Mama,” she said. “Where are they?”
Medwind and Faia exchanged looks. “Her too, then,” Medwind said quietly.
“Mama!” Kirtha said. “Fix it! Bring back the light lines!” The child’s face clouded—Faia could see a temper tantrum coming.
“I can’t, littlest,” she said, hoping to prevent the explosion. “I can’t fix anything anymore.”
“I want the light back, Mama!” the child yelled, and closed her eyes—as if to summon the thunder. But the thunder came no more readily than the fire, and the child, in a rage, threw herself on the floor and screamed and cried.
“I know how she feels,” Medwind said, watching the display. “I’d do the same thing if I didn’t think I’d shatter my bones trying it.”
“Bedtime,” Faia announced, and picked up her daughter.
She glanced at Medwind, who said, “She can sleep on my mat. I don’t think I’ll dare sleep again. Too afraid I’ll never wake up.” The ancient Hoos woman sighed deeply, and seemed to shake off her despair. “Call the man back in. Let me talk to him.”
Faia stepped out, to find that Gyels hadn’t gone to stand in the snow and the dark after all. He sat by the fire in the main room, talking to Choufa. Faia called him back, and he returned to Medwind’s private chamber.
The old woman waited until he seated himself, then asked, “So—what of you? You have any magic to speak of?”
“Me? Magic? No. I never did have any magic. I’m a hunter. I track game—capture it live for breeders or kill it for food and hides.”
Medwind frowned again. “No help there. No help from the rest of the people here, either. We met when we were released from the emeshest. There is no magic left among us.”
Faia frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would the Lady curse all of us?”
The old woman clucked her tongue. “You and your Lady… she didn’t curse any of us, Faia. I don’t think your Lady had anything to do with what happened here at all. I would guess this spot has become taada kaneddu—a god-desert… a taboo place. One or the other of the gods has declared the ruins taada and the rest have pulled all magic away from this place—and everyone in it.”
Faia brightened at that idea. Then all we need to do is leave here, and walk until we’re outside of the—”
“Kaneddu.” Medwind supplied the word Faia wanted. “It means a zone empty of magic.”
“Exactly.” Faia smiled. “We walk out of the ruins, and out of the kaneddu, and you’ll be back to normal. We both will.”
Medwind pursed her lips and nodded slowly. “If the circle of the taada kaneddu is small, that will work. Kirgen or one of those damned Bontonard scholars can check as soon as the storm stops. You’ll meet them soon enough, I’m sure. Bytoris something and Geos something else. They eat like a herd of starved goats, and skulk around poking into everything. I can’t stand ‘em.” She sighed, and the spark of anger that had given her face some animation died. “If the circle of the kaneddu is large, though, I’ll never survive the trip.” She leaned forward and rested her hands on her knees.
“I want to ask a favor of you, Faia. If the circle is too large, go outside of it for me—and when your magic comes back, figure out a way to bring me to you.” She closed her eyes, and an expression of pain ran across her face. “Help me get my life back. I’m too young to be this old, Faia.” She whispered, “And I’m not ready to die.”
Choufa had come back into the room with Gyels. She sat beside Medwind and put an arm around her. She looked at Faia with desperation in her eyes. “Please. Save my mother.” She bit her lip and looked like she was going to start crying again.
Faia crouched in front of her friend and rested a hand on her shoulder. “You saved my life once,” she told the old woman. “I don’t know that I will be able to turn back time. But whatever I can do, Medwind, I will do.” She took a deep breath. “I swear by my Lady, whatever is in my power, I will do to give you back your life.”
Behind her, Gyels said softly, “You are very brave, Faia. Very brave.”
Chapter 9
FAIA left Medwind sitting by the fire with Choufa tending her, and Kirtha sleeping on the mat. She went into the large, cold greatroom and sat by the hearth fire in the room’s center—she’d intended to be alone, but Gyels followed her out and settled next to her on the rugs.
“I meant what I said,” he told her.
She didn’t answer him. She hoped he would leave her alone, but that did not look likely.
“You’re very beautiful, and very brave. And your daughter is a courageous little girl. You must be a good mother, too.”
Faia looked at him sidelong. “Indeed,” she said dryly. “I’m to be given a place in the minor pantheon of deities next Watterdae.”
Gyels laughed, not at all offended by her flippant remark. “I’d worship at your shrine.”
Faia chuckled in spite of herself. “I won’t be taking supplications from my worshipers for at least a month—I have to get used to the work.”
“You look very like a goddess of love to me. I could help you learn your duties.” He leaned closer to her, so that she felt the warmth of his skin like a lover’s touch.
He was, she thought, beautiful. His dark eyes were bottomless pools that drowned the light, and his lips were full and firm, curved in the slightest and most enchanting of smiles. She leaned forward—then caught herself and pulled back. She’d been too long without a man to hold—the hunger of her body could easily outpace the caution of her mind. He was a gorgeous creature, but she didn’t know this one well at all.
So she flashed a dangerous smile at him and said, “Remember what happens to all the handsome young hunters who woo love goddesses.”
He tipped his head to one side and grinned at her. “I don’t know what happens to them. Why don’t I kiss you, and you can show me.”
“The goddesses turn the hunters into eels or fishes, and feed them to their cats,” Faia told him. Her voice held the slightest hint of laughter.
His eyes widened and he backed up slightly. “Ah,” he said. “And do you have a cat, lovely Faia?”
“I do.” She smiled “I have a cat named Hrogner—he’s clever and wicked, and he has hands. He would never drop a fish I threw to him.”
“Hrogner,” Gyels murmured. “I never much liked Hrogner.”
“Neither did I,” Faia agreed, with perhaps, she thought, too much emphasis. So she added, “But he makes a good cat.” She thought about the cat, and hoped he would be all right. Somehow, she didn’t think she was going to be home by the next week.
“Being a cat would play to Hrogner’s strengths, I admit,” the hunter said. Then he sighed. “Perhaps your husband’s… death… has been recent? You are not ready for someone to come courting yet?”
“No.” Faia played with the tip of her braid, looking at the way the hairs looked very red when she held them in front of the firelight. “It isn’t that.”
“Then you simply do not wish to be love goddess to my mighty hunter, eh?”
That wasn’t true either. Her body was more than willing—her mind, however, found that sudden physical desire more frightening than attractive. “Not tonight,” Faia said politely.
“Ah.” Gyels smiled. “There is hope in that statement, in any case. May I ask some other night?”
Faia stood and looked down at him. “I make no promises.”
Exhausted, she retired to Medwind’s room to sleep next to Kirtha. Gyels stayed in the greatroom; Faia looked back long enough to see that he was making a bed for himself out of the rugs spread near the fire.
He wasn’t far enough away, she thought. His presence made her feel raw and naked and vulnerable. And even in another room, she could sense his prese
nce.
Chapter 10
FAIA woke to the sounds of heated discussion in the greatroom. She stretched and rolled over. Through the narrow smoke-slits in the domed ceiling, she could see stars—that meant nothing but that the storm had ended. From the raised voices one room away, she guessed that any storm that had been outside had long since moved indoors.
“You won’t leave her! Not now!”
“I have to.” That’s Kirgen, Faia thought, recognizing the voice in spite of the unusual volume and stress of it. He sounded both angry and frightened.
“Faia knows the mountains.” Medwind was keeping her voice calm and reasonable, but Faia could hear the forced edge to it. “You’ve learned something of them from living in these ruins, but you can’t begin to think that a trek through the worst of the mountains in the Tide Mother winter will be anything like huddling around a fire in one of these cozy domes.”
Time to go out and see what is happening, she thought She wandered to the doorway between the rooms.
“I’ll have to learn quickly, then, won’t I?” Kirgen shouted “The other alterna—” He looked up from his seat by the hearth fire and saw her, and whatever he’d planned to say died on his lips.
“Good morning, Faia.” Medwind’s smile was thin.
Faia nodded to Medwind, but her eyes were on Kirgen. Kirtha curled in her father’s lap, playing with the gold-banded braids that hung to his shoulders. He looked very much the scholarly, stuffy saje—very little like the cheerful young man she’d so enjoyed that one night years ago. He seemed unaware of his daughter’s presence, or of the worried look in the child’s eyes—his anger with Medwind, and with whatever the two of them had been arguing about, was the only emotion Faia could see in his face.
“Hello, Kirgen,” Faia said, keeping her voice even.
He nodded stiffly. “Faia.” He looked into her eyes, and the room narrowed down to exclude Medwind, Choufa, the hunter Gyels, even Kirtha.
“Why the fight?” Faia asked him.
“Roba is near her time. I suggested to Medwind that you stay with her and help deliver her baby while I went in search of the end of the magicless zone.” His face flushed, and his eyebrows lowered.
“I suggested he stay here with his wife, and let people who knew the mountains go tramping around in them,” Medwind said.
“Perfectly sensible. Why would he leave her?”
“He thought you might be too fragile to make the trip.”
Faia’s voice went cold. “I told Medwind I would go—I did not offer to do anything I was not capable of doing. And in fact, I swore that I would seek help. Would you ask me to forswear myself?”
“Your daughter needs you here with her,” Kirgen said.
Faia looked away from Kirgen long enough to glance at Gyels and Medwind. Then she glared back at him. “My daughter has her father here—she can stay with you, and you can stay with your wife. I would not take you from the birth of your child.” She saw him flinch as he recognized the fury in her eyes. “Or do you also question that I will do what I promised to do?”
Kirgen flushed. He was a city boy—but he also came from the paternalistic side of Ariss. A woman’s oath had, until recently, counted for little there, and no matter how much Kirgen had come to accept women as equals, Faia knew he was still a product of his upbringing. His mind might accept, but his heart still doubted.
The hunter had been looking from Faia to Kirgen, a thoughtful expression in his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” he said to Faia. “I admire your… courage. And I know the mountains.”
“No,” Faia said.
“Don’t be stupid!” Kirgen glared at her. “If you insist on going, take help with you.”
“There’s no need. The trip may be very short,” Faia said. “The magic-barrenness may end just outside the city walls.”
“It doesn’t,” Medwind said “The hunter went out for us many hours ago carrying a lightstaff. He ran the distance someone unused to the mountains could walk in a day, watching to see if ground-magic would light the staff.”
Gyels said, “It never did. So I ran farther. I’m strong,” he said, “and I can do things most men cannot do. I ran the distance of a second day’s journey, along the high road—and still the staff did not light. So I ran back. If you go, you will have more than two days of walking to reach this place your Hoos woman thinks exists—if it exists at all—and in that time, many things could happen to you.” His expression grew tender as he looked at her, and he said “I would be honored to travel with you and offer my blade to protect you.”
Faia felt again that overwhelming desire to be with him, to let herself slip into his arms, to feel the love of a man once more. Overwhelming physical desire; a twinge of nervous caution. She did not flatly turn him down, though; she’d learned enough guile to avoid that mistake. It only led to arguments, and arguments could be lost as easily as they could be won. Instead she said quietly, “I will consider your offer, Gyels. Thank you.”
However, Medwind’s expression grew puzzled. She narrowed her eyes and looked from Faia, to Gyels, and back to Faia again. Then she pointed a gnarled finger at Faia and said, “You and I must talk. Alone.”
Chapter 11
KIRGEN took Kirtha back to his and Roba’s dwelling; Choufa went along to help Roba; Gyels politely made his excuses and got out from underfoot. When they were well gone, Medwind turned on Faia and said, “What are you doing? You’re turning him down without even giving him a chance.”
Faia turned her back on Medwind and said, “We aren’t going to discuss this.”
“By the gods we are.” Her friend’s voice rose. “You’ve been living like a cloistered celibate since Kirtha was born, and I haven’t said anything to you. But you haven’t been happy, Faia—and now I can see why. You refuse opportunities without even considering them.”
“You were right not to say anything.” Faia turned and studied her friend. It was almost impossible to see, in the old woman facing her, the young woman Medwind Song should have been—yet Medwind Song was looking at Gyels with those young-woman eyes.
“I did consider his offer, Medwind. It takes everything I have in me to keep myself from throwing my arms around his neck and dragging him off to some dark, cozy corner and bedding him. Obviously you’ve felt the pull of his attraction, too.”
“More than I would have believed.”
“I noticed.” Faia looked down at the backs of her hands, and rubbed her right thumb along the backs of her left knuckles. “But for all that he’s a pure gem of a man, I don’t entirely trust him.” She signed. “I’d like to trust him—and I have nothing but the convenience of our first meeting that makes me doubt him.”
“Convenience? You met him in a cave, in total darkness, when he was trapped under a scaffolding cave-in.”
Faia smiled slowly. “Exactly. How lucky for him that I happened by.”
“Remind me that I don’t want you doing any favors for me. You might decide, once you’ve found a way to make me young again, that it is entirely too convenient that you were able to help me—and that I must have plotted the whole thing to use you.”
Faia arched an eyebrow. “I have reasons for my suspicion. I traveled to the ruins with Witte—who turned out to be none other than the god Hrogner. He was a vile little god—he used me, and made a great deal out of the fact that I would never be able to get even with him. He said that no mortal could ever hope to kill a god.”
“Of course not.”
“Then he proceeded to die.”
Medwind pursed her lips.
“And after I had nearly escaped the First Folk caverns with Kirtha, I run across a man so irresistible that when I am in his presence, I find myself able to think of almost nothing but touching him—a man I rescue from darkness and certain doom, who would have died had I not coincidentally happened along just the series of tunnels I did.”
Faia took a deep breath. “I don’t want to think this, but I suspect that Gyels is Hrogner,
hoping to use me and make a fool of me yet again.”
“Hmmmm.” Medwind settled in front of the fire and stared into it. “Your hunter Gyels is as fine a bit of horseflesh as I’ve ever seen—and I’ve had ten husbands, Faia. Nine of them at one time.” She raised an eyebrow and her grin quirked to one side. “Briefly, I had nine husbands at once. It became too much of a good thing. But, damnall, girl—so what if he is a god? If I were you, I’d take him—I wouldn’t trust him, perhaps, but I’d have the pleasure of him. Hold your heart in reserve—but by Etyt and Thiena, girl, don’t waste that body.”
“I wish it were that easy.” Faia rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. “I’ve been alone too long, though. I’m afraid he might come to matter to me in spite of all my caution.”
Medwind clucked her tongue. “Hearts are made to break. Still, give yourself a chance. Take Gyels with you—you have no idea how far you have to go, or what you’ll have to get through to get there. He’d be useful in the mountains. Don’t bed him right away. If you would feel better with other people along, then take them—though I think you’re throwing away a wonderful opportunity to be alone with him. Why don’t you take the Bontonard scholars with you. We need to get them out of the ruins, anyway. Without magic here, and with the Tide Mother’s false winter sure to kill most of this year’s crops, we’ll need our stored food for ourselves.” Medwind nodded. “In fact, if you and the hunter would lead them back to their city, that would solve a big problem for us here.”
Faia nodded. “I can do that—but is their city in the right direction?”
“If my guess about the taada kaneddu is correct, then we’re in the center of a circle. It shouldn’t matter what direction you travel, so long as you go in a straight line.” Medwind shrugged. “And if my guess is wrong, at least you’ll get them home.”
Faia considered traveling with Gyels. Her heart raced at the idea, and she wondered if she was insane to even consider it. Still, a hunter would be a useful companion.
