“Eight days on horseback, and all we get are stories of her youth?” Dhulyn said to Mar under her breath.
“I can hear you, young woman,” Sortera said, her thin lips pulled back in glee. “I may be old, but I am a Healer. My hands may trouble me, but my hearing’s just fine.”
“Your pardon, Grandmother,” Dhulyn said. “How old are you, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Oh, I don’t mind, but you won’t like the answer, see you. The truth of the matter is I don’t know for certain. I remember when there was a Tarkin named Jenshannon-a woman she was-but people tell me that can’t be so, that I must be thinking of Jen-aNej Tarkina.” The old Healer wrinkled her nose and shook her head in disgust.
Dhulyn rested her forearms on the edge of the basin and thought, mentally ticking off a list of names and dates. It was two hundred years, perhaps more, since noble names began to change to their present mirror-image form. Surely they were right, the people who told Sortera her memory was at fault.
On the other hand, the woman was a Healer.
“You may be right, Grandmother,” she said. “In any case, don’t listen to those who tell you your memory is at fault.”
Sortera’s laugh was toneless and without heft in the cool mountain air. “I believe you, Granddaughter, I believe you.”
“Tell me something else. In all that you have heard of the Mark, do you know of anything called a Lens?”
“Here it is,” Parno came into the room with a belt buckle in his hand. It was cast silver, shaped like a snarling cat’s head, and the teeth were sharp enough to cut through rope. “In the outer pocket of Dhulyn’s left saddlebag, right where you said it was.”
“All right, then.” Gun pushed himself back from the table and rubbed his eyes with stiff fingers. “We know it’s not me. I’ve no trouble Finding ordinary things.” He looked up. “But I still can’t Find the Shadow.”
“You’re sure you’re doing what you did before?”
Gun just looked at him, lips pressed together. Parno raised his hands, palms out. “Forgive me, but you have Found it twice before, and somehow I don’t think it’s just disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“I said, it’s not me.” Gun sighed and rolled his left shoulder, grimacing as if at a particularly stiff muscle knot. “I’m not even getting that other Library where I found the Tarkin.” The boy looked sideways at him. “I think it’s the bowl.”
Parno tried not to let his disappointment show. They’d been waiting until they arrived in Trevel to try using the bowl; on the trail there had been no way to hide what they were doing from the others.
“But you have no better luck finding the Shadow without the bowl.”
“That’s just it, I was getting better results in Gotterang-”
“Caids help us if we have to be in Gotterang for the thing to work.” Parno said. He pulled out a chair and sat down, rubbing the edge of the bowl with the tip of his right index finger. “Has the Healer tried it?”
“She has,” Gun said. “And reports no results.”
“Are we sure… she’s so very old.” Parno hated to say it aloud, but what if the woman was simply too old to Heal?
But Gun was already shaking his head. “I asked. Last week a hunting party came back carrying one of their members with a bad leg break. The bones had pierced the skin. She Healed it.
“And she wants me to go with her this afternoon,” he continued. “To help a small girl child who seems to have lost her wits. Together, Sortera says, we’ll be able to Find them, and Heal her.” Even he could hear the notes of awe and pleasure in his voice as he thought about the old woman’s plan.
As Parno Lionsmane blew his breath out with force, making the woven back of the chair creak as he leaned back, Gun forced his attention back to the matter at hand.
“Then this is not the Lens,” Lionsmane said. “It works for you because it is a scrying bowl. But it would work for everyone, if it were the Lens.”
“What about Dhulyn Wolfshead. Can we get her to try?”
The Lionsmane twisted his lips and looked toward the window.
“You’ve tried already, haven’t you?”
The man nodded. “Good news is, the vera tiles seem to work, though that may be because she’s closer to her woman’s time.”
Gun pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “That’s it then. We’re back where we started. We haven’t got the Lens.”
“Then you’ll Find it.”
Dhulyn Wolfshead’s quiet voice was filled with assurance, and Gun wished that it could do the same for him. He looked up at her impassive face and told himself there was no mistrust, no suspicion in her stone-gray eyes. He wasn’t sure he believed it.
“I don’t know what it looks like,” he said, sounding, even to himself, like a child trying to escape the blame of eating the family’s cakes.
“You didn’t know what Tek-aKet’s soul looked like either,” Parno Lionsmane said. “But you managed to Find that. This is bound to be simpler. It’ll be some artifact of the Jaldeans or even of you Scholars that no one thinks is of any importance.”
“Try again,” Wolfshead said. “Try the way you found Tek-aKet.” She sat down on the stool to Gun’s right, set her left ankle on her right knee, and folded her hands into her lap. The Lionsmane patted Gun on the shoulder before stepping back from the table himself. Behind him, Sortera sat against the whitewashed wall under the shuttered window, in the room’s only padded chair, nodding over the knitting in her lap. Mar had fallen asleep on the pallet next to the old woman, her thick lashes making circled shadows on her cheeks.
Would he ever feel completely forgiven, Gun thought, as Mar so obviously did? Unable to stay awake, sent to bed with a kiss on the forehead like a favored daughter, while he sat here with the scrying bowl in front of him. Gun took a deep breath and set his hands lightly around the edge of the bowl. He was still alive, so he supposed he knew that Wolfshead and Lionsmane both did actually forgive him. He couldn’t expect the affection they showed to Mar. Her offense had been against them personally, while his… He cleared his throat.
“Move the candle a little closer, please,” he said, and out of the corner of his eye saw the Lionsmane’s hand reach into the candle’s circle of light and move it. The light’s reflections on the surface of the water within the bowl flickered and moved, as if someone had taken a page of parchment and shaken it out like a sheet. The water-
is a bright sheet of paper. And he is to write the story of the Lens. Ah, here is the Library. He wastes no time looking around him, but follows quickly the dark line on the floor that only he can see, the thread that will lead him through the labyrinth of library shelves to… Mar?
Mar sits in a carrel, asleep with her head down on her folded arms. Of course. He’s thinking about her, sleeping so near him in the room, warm and soft. Her affection was in no doubt; bright and shining, he Finds it. He has to stop thinking about her, and think only of the Lens. He sees the line again at his feet and follows it, somehow knowing that this time he is going deeper into the library than he has been before, where he does not see even the shadowy outline of others. The line is fine and dark and leads him to…
Mar again. This time she’s snoring.
There was a quality in Sortera’s laugh that made the young Scholar blush. Dhulyn had been willing to swear the old woman had been sound asleep. “Easy to see what the lad’s trying to Find,” Sortera said. “Whether he knows it or not.”
Dhulyn got up and stretched, pushing her hips first to one side, then the other. “She’s right, my Scholar. It’s late and all you can Find is your bed. We’ll try again in the morning.”
As Dhulyn watched, Gun took off his boots, shrugged out of his tunic, and in his shirt and breeches squeezed himself onto the pallet beside Mar. He put an arm around her, but Dhulyn couldn’t tell if it was from real affection, or from lack of space. She hoped it was the former.
Parno tapped her on the shoulder and motioned with his hea
d to the door, picking up his crossbow and hanging his sword on his belt as he went. The door’s closely fitted planks gave immediately onto the steep stone staircase that ran between Sortera’s narrow house and the building that was its neighbor.
Parno stepped down until he was standing a stair below her, and cupped her cheek in his calloused hand. “My Brother, my soul.” He spoke softly, mindful of the Clouds that lay sleeping all around them. “You look tired. Get some rest.”
“I know what that means,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “When a man tells you that you look tired, he’s telling you that you look old.”
“If this is what you’ll look like when you’re old, I sincerely hope we both live to see the day.”
She felt her muscles loosen as she rested her forehead against his, felt his arms come up around her, drew in a breath full of his scent and nearness. “You’ll be late for your watch,” she murmured. She felt him nod, felt the touch of his lips on hers.
“I’ll go for now,” he said. “But I’ll be back. I’ll always be back.”
“In Battle,” she said.
“And in Death,” he answered.
She watched him until he’d gone all the way down the narrow stone steps and turned the corner into the street-just as narrow but not so steep-below.
Dhulyn stood there in her vest and linen trousers until the cold mountain air had time to make her shiver. Then she lifted the wooden latch and stepped back inside Sortera’s house.
Gun and Mar were both asleep, nested together like two arrows in a quiver. At first, Dhulyn thought Sortera had fallen asleep in her chair, but something about the length of the old woman’s regular breaths, the deliberate movements of her fingers along the needles of her knitting, told Dhulyn Sortera was probably in a Healer’s trance.
Wonder if she’s Healing herself, Dhulyn thought. One way at least to explain how so old a woman could still be alive.
There was another pallet in the interior room, but Dhulyn’s turn at watch along the upper slope would come soon enough to make sleep more of a bother than a help. Instead, she took Dal’s small box from the shelf beside the hearth, pulled the chair Gun had been using closer to the table, and sat down in the light thrown by the lamp they’d lit to eat their suppers by. She opened the box and began taking out vera tiles.
MAR IS DANCING. SHE WEARS A CLOTH-OF-SILVER GOWN WITH A CAREFULLY MENDED TEAR IN THE SHOULDER, A GOWN THIN ENOUGH TO SHOW THE SHADOW OF HER LIMBS AS SHE MOVES. WEDDING CLOTHES? DHULYN THINKS. SHE IS DANCING AT HER WEDDING. DHULYN LOOKS AT THE GUESTS, BUT IN THE WAY OF DREAMS, SHE CANNOT TELL FROM THEIR FACES WHO THEY ARE. AT FIRST THE DANCE IS A CIRCLE, MAR HOLDS THE HANDS OF THE PEOPLE NEXT TO HER, THEN THE CIRCLE BREAKS AND THE DANCERS WEAVE IN AND OUT, TAKING AND RELEASING HANDS AS THEY SKIP AND HOP PAST EACH OTHER, TURNING AND WEAVING A PATTERN IN THEIR DANCE. MAR IS NOT SMILING AND WHEN SHE LOOKS OVER HER SHOULDER AT WHERE DHULYN STANDS, IT IS A DIFFERENT WOMAN, OLDER, AND HER PALE BLOND HAIR IS DRESSED DIFFERENTLY. BUT SHE IS DANCING, STILL…
THE MAGE SITS AT HIS TABLE, HIS BOOK IN FRONT OF HIM, HIS FINGER TRACING THE LINE HE READS, HIS LIPS FORMING THE WORDS.
HIS LIPS FORMING THE WORDS.
DHULYN MOVES CLOSER, UNTIL SHE CAN SEE THE WRITING ON THE PAGE IN FRONT OF HIM, BUT SHE CAN’T READ IT. SHE LOOKS AGAIN AT HIS LIPS.
ADELGARREMBIL, HIS LIPS SAY. ACUCHEEYAROB. FETENTABIL. DEBEREEYAROB. ESFUMARRENBIL.
THE MAGE REPEATS THE WORDS SEVERAL TIMES AND CLOSES THE BOOK.
WHEN HE STANDS, DHULYN SEES HIS SWORD HANGING BY ITS SCABBARD FROM THE BACK OF HIS CHAIR.
“Dhulyn?” Mar’s pupils were so wide in the candlelight they looked black.
“Go back to sleep, my Dove.”
“I thought I heard you call me.”
“You’re dreaming, Dove. Go back to sleep.”
Mar shut her eyes and Dhulyn began replacing the tiles back into their box.
This would be a good hour. The gold one has gone to stand his turn at watch. Why not slip in now? Their energies would be low; there might be no better time. He looked up, a bird flew overhead, showing its silhouette against the almost full moon. His lips smiled.
“Wolfshead.”
Dhulyn had heard the soft sounds of booted feet behind her for some time, and so wasn’t startled by Karlyn-Tan’s voice when he finally spoke. She stopped at the end of the narrow lane and waited for him to join her before walking beside him across the small square.
“It’s late for you to be out.”
“I followed Cullen,” Karlyn said. “But it seemed he was just giving his bird some hunting, and when I saw him safely back into his quarters, I suddenly felt the need of company.”
“A few minutes earlier, and you would have caught Parno still awake.”
“I did,” he said, looking away from her as if to examine the face of the moon. “I saw him return from his watch and waited for you.”
Dhulyn glanced at him, but he was still looking at the night sky. They reached the spot where she was to stand her watch, where a young Cloudwoman yawned, waiting for Dhulyn to relieve her. They exchanged hand signals and the Cloud left them, silently moving through the empty streets to her bed.
The northwestern end of the valley in which the village of Trevel lay was marked with a small orchard of apple trees. There was no wall as such, only a few large boulders placed to give those who took the herds beneath the trees a place to rest their legs. On the far side of the orchard was a stream, and the shallow pass that marked the village’s vulnerable point from this direction. It was that pass that accounted for Dhulyn’s presence here, as every weapons-wise adult in Trevel-even guests if they were trusted-was expected to take a turn at guard duty.
Telling Karlyn to wait for her by the rocks, Dhulyn scouted through the orchard, ears primed to catch every sound and nose prickling at the sharp, clean scent of trees newly and thickly leaved. She heard the foraging of small animals under the trees halt as she neared and continue as she moved farther away. When she was satisfied that there was nothing in the orchard more dangerous than herself, she rejoined Karlyn at the rocks.
“I have heard,” Karlyn said after they had been silent for many minutes. “That Partnered Brothers often have lovers.”
It took Dhulyn a moment to realize that her mouth was hanging open, and to shut it. She set her crossbow on the ground, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin propped on her hands. She’d had lovers, of course, as had Parno, but she was always surprised by the offer. She let her eyes drop to Karlyn’s hands, with their strong fingers, resting on his knees.
“The bond,” she said, “is not how you imagine it.” They sat so close, she could reach out and touch him with no effort at all. As if he read her thought he lifted his hand and reached toward the side of her face. The moon, shining through the screen of apple leaves, was bright and full enough to give a green cast to the light.
“Look up, my Wolfshead. Let me see your eyes.”
Dhulyn straightened until her hands rested on her knees. Without pause, she lifted her head, smiling, and felt the little fold at her upper lip that created her wolf’s smile. As her head rose, she took a deep, steadying breath, raised her hands, and-just before their eyes could meet-she struck.
She caught the unconscious man as he pitched forward, easing him to the ground and searching through the laces on her clothing for something long enough to tie him.
“What was taking you so long?” Cullen said, stepping out of the orchard just as Disha landed on his shoulder.
“I had to be certain,” Dhulyn said. “Look.” She turned one of Karlyn’s hands palm up in the moonlight and compared it to her own. Her hand was pale and white in the moonlight, his showed a faint but unmistakable green cast.
Twenty-seven
THE LOCKUP IN Trevel proved to be a disused horse stall in the back of the headman’s house. Like every other building in the village, the walls were thick stone covered with whitewashed plaster, but the window opening had an iron grille, Parno no
ted, not shutters, and the door was barred from the outside.
Gundaron, bent over the trussed Karlyn-Tan, looked up and nodded. “It’s here,” he said.
Sortera leaned on her staff, shaking her head. “Nothing wrong with him that I can sense,” she said. “Barring that he’s unconscious, see you.”
“We’ll want to keep him that way,” Dhulyn said. “Can we?”
The old woman’s face creased as she smiled. “ ’Course you can, there’s drugs to do it, as you well know. But we’ll have to watch him carefully if we don’t want to kill him.” She thought a moment, frowning heavily. “Let me talk to the village Knife. Between us, we can work out the dosages, see you.” She tilted her head, focused her sharp eyes on Dhulyn. “How long do you plan to keep him this way?”
Dhulyn drew her eyes away from Karlyn-Tan. “As long as we have to.”
“We’ll need to look to our supplies, then,” Sortera said. “We can’t have innocent people going without because we’re using all we have on this one.”
“Then we’ll have to find a more permanent solution,” Parno said. “Wait for us in the other room, Grandmother. We’ll come as soon as Gun’s finished.” He turned to Dhulyn and lowered his voice still further.
“Are you certain it’s trapped?”
Dhulyn shrugged. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. From something Yaro told me, I hoped I could strike at the body fast enough to trap it in Karlyn, especially since it did not know I suspected it.”
Parno loosened the muscles in his jaw that kept getting too tight. “I’m surprised he let you get close enough for the Hooded Snake Shora.”
The Sleeping God Page 49
