Her hand lifted to her mouth, and she started on the nail of her index finger as she followed him through the door, across the anteroom within, and into the Tarxin’s private study.
It seemed that every lamp in the room was lit, including those in the wall brackets by the door. All the Tarxin’s rooms faced the sea, and the flames of the lamps flickered slightly in the wind that managed to get through the closed shutters of the three narrow windows. Carcali unclenched her hands and tried to stride forward with confidence, suddenly aware that she was the only person in the room wearing nightclothes.
As she drew closer to the table, the man looked up, and the face he showed Carcali was not that of the Tarxin at all. The man at the worktable was Xerwin. Suddenly, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart.
“Here, here, sit down.” Someone with very warm hands was taking hold of her arms and easing her into a chair. Something soft, heavy, and warm was draped over her, and tucked around her feet.
“Thank you very much,” she heard Xerwin say. “If you would leave us now? I will call when you are wanted. Thank you.”
“What did they tell you? Why are you so frightened?” Xerwin had taken her hands and was rubbing them between his own. Carcali coughed, trying to get the muscles in her throat to loosen.
“The Tarxin sent for me,” she croaked.
The rubbing stopped. “And you thought . . . ?” Xerwin shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Well, you would, wouldn’t you?”
“Where is he?” Things couldn’t be too bad if Xerwin was here, but there still had to be some kind of explanation. Now that it seemed she had less to be scared of, Carcali found she was starting to get angry.
“Through there.” Xerwin sat back and nodded toward a door on the other side of the room. He glanced at the door she’d come in by and leaned forward again. Carcali edged to the front of her chair and put her head as close to his as she could manage.
“Carcali,” he breathed. “He’s dead. I killed him.”
Carcali felt her mouth drop open. Was she dreaming? Had Xerwin somehow heard her thinking about it and killed the man? She blinked and swallowed. Time for all of that later. Xerwin was Tarxin now. That’s what they’d meant when they’d said the Tarxin had sent for her. That’s why they’d all looked at her that way, because her father was dead. The guards and soldiers were loyal to Xerwin, everyone knew that, but—
“Who else knows?”
Now Xerwin was blinking at her, his head tilted to one side. “Everyone,” he said, his voice puzzled. Then a light seemed to dawn. “Oh,” and with a flip of his hand he indicated how closely they were sitting. “No, this is just so that we can speak freely about other things.”
“Should I start crying or something?” Carcali suddenly felt that tears would come easily, she was so relieved not to be frightened any more.
But Xerwin was shaking his head. “No one would believe it, I’m afraid. Look stricken, by all means when we leave the room, but shocked more than grieved is what people will expect.”
Carcali nodded. “I can do that,” she said. “So what happens now?”
“This is the tricky part,” Xerwin said, lowering his voice. “You and I need to get to the Sanctuary of the Marked. Dhulyn Wolfshead is waiting for us there.”
“Why?”
He blinked at her. Carcali felt a flash of impatience. “I’m not Xendra, remember?” She shook herself. She’d been more frightened than she liked to think about, but there was no need to take it out on Xerwin. “I don’t know all the little rituals and ceremonies that come up when the Tarxin dies and there’s a new one.”
Now he was nodding. “Of course, of course. You are right, this is one of those rituals. You and I, because,” he cleared his throat. “Because we are the only ones of the Tarxin’s blood and must go to the Sanctuary and hold a vigil with the Marked. It is, uh, a tradition. Our wound is Healed, our hearts are Mended, and our serenity is Found.” He smiled. “Oh, and the Seers give us a Vision for the new reign.”
Carcali chewed on her fingernail. “They don’t have to touch us, do they? I mean, this is just a formality, right?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely, just a formality. In fact, all the more so because,” and he lowered his voice again, “you are not Xendra.”
“And the Paledyn will be there?”
“Just in case there are any questions afterward,” he said, tilting his head once more in the direction he’d said the old Tarxin’s body lay. He stood up and began to draw her to her feet.
“Wait.” She looked at the door and leaned toward him. “Wouldn’t we get them to come here? The Marked?”
Xerwin sighed and sat down again. “I can see I’m going to need to explain more to you,” he told her. “We’re not going openly to the Sanctuary,” he said when she was once more seated facing him. “Not yet. We’re going to go now, privately, to prepare for the real ceremony, with the Paledyn there to vouch that everything is correct.”
“But why the secrecy?”
He shut his eyes and sighed. “Because you’re not Xendra. And the Marked know this. Because Dhulyn Wolfshead assures them that it is correct to do so, they are willing to perform the ceremony, but there are special preparations that must be done privately. Then, the public ceremony can take place in the usual fashion.”
Carcali waved her hands in the air. “All right, yes, whatever you say.” That was the problem with primitive societies, she thought. Empty rituals, ceremonies stripped of all meaning because there was no longer any Art to inform them. To say nothing of the silliness that politics was responsible for.
“Then, if you are ready, this way.”
Xerwin could hardly believe that anyone, let alone a Storm Witch, would have fallen for the mass of confused nonsense that had just come out of his mouth. Though he had to admit, as he led Carcali through the hidden passage that was the Tarxin’s private corridor to the Sanctuary, he liked that bit about Healing wounds, and Mending hearts. That was inspired. He should have taken more time to create a better story, but all had ended well. Carcali was a little arrogant, in her way—as all powerful people were, he realized. Otherwise she would have listened more carefully to him, questioned him more closely. He should take a lesson from this himself.
Even with the woolly shawl still wrapped around her, Carcali found the walk through the hidden passages chilly. She was glad to get out into the main hall of the Sanctuary, and gladder still to follow Xerwin into a more enclosed area, where small braziers warmed up the rooms. The room they finally reached was quite a large one, filled with the soft lights of candles and small shaded lamps. The Paledyn was there, as Xerwin had told her, with someone else, a larger, golden-haired man behind her. But Carcali’s eyes were caught almost immediately by the two women on the far side of the room, standing close together, and holding hands. They peered at her as if they were standing at three times the distance.
They had the White Disease. Perfectly colorless, with pink eyes. Carcali had read about the affliction, but had never dreamed she would ever see such a thing.
“Look toward me, please.” Carcali turned her head toward the rough silk sound of the Paledyn’s voice, but her eyes remained fixed on the horrible twins. She felt cool fingers where her neck met her shoulder.
And then the world went black.
Dhulyn Wolfshead caught the slight form in her arms as the girl went down. She looked up at Javen Finder, who nodded.
“She’s there,” the Finder said. “The Storm Witch.”
“Carcali,” Xerwin said. “That’s her name.”
“Good,” Dhulyn said. “That may help us.”
“Dhulyn, Sister?” Amaia’s voice trembled and was in a higher pitch than normal. She clung to Keria, and both pairs of blood-red eyes were round. It was easy for Dhulyn to forget, having Seen them so often in Vision, that the White Twins were children themselves.
“Parno,” she said, as gently as she could. Her Partner immediately went to the two Seers, standing b
ehind them and putting his arms around them. Amaia leaned into his chest, and Keria grabbed his forearm in both hands and clung to him.
“There now, my hearts, my own ones,” he said in a voice that made Dhulyn’s own heart skip a beat. “You’re tired, I know, but this will soon be over, and then we can all rest.”
“Tired now,” Keria said, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. True, Dhulyn thought, they were all tired. The twins were tired as children were, more emotionally than physically. Still, the White Twins were not children, and they had an adult’s ability to set aside the immediate needs of the body, to understand that there were reserves, and that they could draw upon them.
“Come, my sisters.” Dhulyn put as much smile into her voice as she could. She laid the child’s body down on the pallet they’d prepared for it, and signaled to the other Marked with her eyes. Ellis Healer took his position at the girl’s dark head and bent low, his hands on her shoulders. Javen knelt to her left, centering the bowl carefully on the child’s abdomen. Javen then took Ellis’ left wrist in her right hand, and the child’s left wrist in her own left hand. Rascon Mender mirrored Javen’s position on the girl’s other side.
“Come sing with me,” Dhulyn said, holding her hands out to the White Twins. “One song before bed, please?”
Smiling now, Amaia and Keria let go of Parno and ran to Dhulyn’s side, taking her hands and forming a tight circle around the kneeling Marked, and the child’s body. Too bad there aren’t more of us, Dhulyn thought. Even she, hardened Mercenary as she was, could feel a great weariness hanging over her. They’d done what they could to restore their own life energies with food and drink while waiting for Xerwin, but it was little enough in the face of what they had yet to do. It wasn’t as though they had their pathway laid out for them, to run down swiftly. They would have to improvise as they went. That took time, and time took energy.
Energy. There was no ganje here, but there were other stimulants, other drugs.
“Ellis,” she said. “Do you keep fresnoyn in the Sanctuary? Or any of the fressian drugs?”
“Here.” Xerwin stepped forward, his hand already reaching into his pouch. From it he drew the tiny jeweled box that held his powdered fresa and held it out to her. Remm Shalyn was already pouring out a cup of the red currant juice on the nearby table. Dhulyn added the entire contents of the vial—not that it was much, and stirred it with her finger.
“Drink.” Dhulyn held the cup out to Keria. “Just a mouthful, mind.
“You put your finger in it,” the girl said, wrinkling up her nose.
“Ah, but I’m made of sugar,” Dhulyn said. “Watch.” She took a good-sized mouthful herself and swallowed. “Mmmm, that’s good.”
“Give it to me, I’ll drink it,” said Amaia. In the face of her sibling’s readiness to obey, Keria took the cup and, still grimacing, swallowed a careful mouthful.
“Now me! My turn!” Amaia finished the liquid that was in the cup and smiled, licking her lips.
Dhulyn handed Remm Shalyn back the cup, nodding to him and to Xerwin. She looked at Parno.
“In Battle,” she said, not caring who heard her.
Parno touched the fingers of his free hand to his forehead. “And in Death.” He lifted the syrinx once more to his lips.
Dhulyn took hold of the girls’ hands again, and this time they smiled at her. The room seemed very bright, the glowing light from the candles appearing almost to throb in time with the beating of her heart. When she moved her head, however slowly, colors and light trailed behind things, like paint smearing under a brush. The music, too, began to pull at her, and Dhulyn shifted her feet in time. Keria laughed, a deep-throated, woman’s laugh, and began to sing. Dhulyn and Amaia joined in. As the music and the dance swept over them, Dhulyn looked down at the body of the child. The child would want to dance with them. Would want to join them in their game.
THIS TIME THE VISION BEGINS WITHIN THE THICKET, WHERE THE CHILD STANDS On HER FEET. IT APPEARS FROM THE POSITION OF HER HANDS AND FEET THAT SHE HAS BEEN DANCING, BUT SHE STOPS WHEN SHE SEES THEM APPEAR. SUDDENLY SHE CRIES OUT WITH DELIGHT AND RUNS FORWARD, BRUSHING AGAINST DHULYN’S THIGHS In HER HASTE.
IT’S HER BODY, DHULYN REALIZES. XENDRA HAS SEEN HER OWN BODY WITHIN THE CIRCLE AND FAR FROM BEING FRIGHTENED BY IT, IS ANXIOUS TO RECLAIM IT. THE FINDER MOVES HER BOWL TO ONE SIDE AND, STILL PEERING INTO IT, TAKES THE STANDING CHILD BY THE WRIST. RASCON THE MENDER PLUNGES HER HANDS INTO THE CHEST AND INTO THE HEAD OF THE CHILD LYING AT HER FEET, AND STRUGGLES TO PULL THEM OUT AGAIN. SOMETHING RESISTS HER, BUT SHE GRITS HER TEETH AND PULLS. THE MUSCLES STAND OUT In HER FOREARMS, AND THE VEINS IN HER NECK.
“SING LOUDER,” KERIA SAYS. “SHE NEEDS ALL THE POWER WE CAN GIVE HER.”
MAYBE WE SHOULD HAVE GIVEN THEM THE FRESA, DHULYN THINKS. EVEN AS SHE IS THINKING, SHE RAISES HER VOICE. SHE COULD NOT SAY WHAT WORDS SHE IS SINGING, BUT SHE KNOWS THEY ARE THE SAME WORDS KERIA AND AMAIA SING.
SUDDENLY, RASCON THE MENDER FALLS BACK FROM THE BODY. SHE MOVES HER HANDS TO ONE SIDE, AS IF SHE WERE THROWING SOMETHING DOWN, AND A YOUNG WOMAN APPEARS. THE CHILD XENDRA LEAPS FORWARD, AND DISAPPEARS INTO THE BODY. THE HEALER LEANS FORWARD, THE FINDER AND THE MENDER AS WELL, EACH ONE WITH THEIR EYES CLOSED, THEIR LIPS MOVING.
DHULYN CATCHES THE EYE OF THE NEWCOMER. SHE RECOGNIZES THE CLOSE-CROPPED HAIR, THE FINE-BONED FEATURES. BUT SOMETHING IS WRONG. THIS IS NOT THE MATURE WOMAN DHULYN HAS SEEN WORKING AT HER ART. THIS IS A YOUNG WOMAN WHO HAS SEEN HER BIRTH MOON NO MORE THAN NINETEEN, PERHAPS TWENTY TIMES.
“THIS ISN’T RIGHT,” DHULYN SAYS. “SHE’S MUCH OLDER THAN THIS.”
Twenty-four
THE CHILD’S BODY GASPED, arching this way and that, but the Marked kneeling and standing around her remained impassive and still. The Mender, Parno couldn’t remember her name, perhaps she showed some agitation, her eyes moving under her closed lids, her lips pressed more firmly together.
The White Twins stood steady and firm, their skin so transparent that even in this light Parno thought he could see the movement of their blood under it. That same light gave Dhulyn color, made her pale skin a rich ivory, her blood-red hair almost ruby—though Parno couldn’t be sure whether this seeming richness was the result of the contrast between Dhulyn and the White Twins, or of his own wonder at being able to see her at all. He still couldn’t quite believe it. Let me not be dreaming, he prayed, though he couldn’t have said which god he spoke to. Or if I dream, let me never wake.
The Marked sat back on their heels. The Healer reached up with his six-fingered hand to massage the bony ridge of his brow. The Mender was breathing fast, the Finder looking around her, blinking. The little girl curled over on to her side, the palm of her hand tucked under her cheek.
The Seers did not move.
#She needs help# The thought came from nowhere. #Your Brother, your Partner, she needs your strength#
*How* Even as he responded, Parno had lowered the pipes and went striding over to where Dhulyn stood, eyes closed, holding the hands of the White Seers, ready to take her by the elbows and support her.
#No# #Urgency# #Keep playing# #Come with us# #Let your mind float# #Follow the music#
Parno set the syrinx to his lips once more, trying not to let his impatience get in the way of the music. How exactly was he supposed to let his mind float when Dhulyn was in danger? And how could she be in danger, for that matter, when she was standing right in front of him?
#Concentrate#
Parno squeezed his eyes shut, and made a better effort, letting the demands of the music control his breathing, letting the words of his personal triggering Shora run through his head. He felt himself relaxing, the muscles of his shoulder and neck loosening. He began to hear another tune, not competing with, but running counterpoint to the one he was playing. He began to play to that tune, answering it and following it with his own music, until he felt that the new tune carried him, and his music, away with it.
The new tune was the sound of the wind playing in the s
ame vast meadow that he’d sensed before, the vast garden of souls where those who had gone to the Crayx at the death of their bodies could be found. The new tune was the tinkling fall of an unseen fountain, the songs of the birds, and the humming of the minds that lived there.
#Come further in# #This way, look here#
Parno found himself in a cool blue grotto, an enormous limestone cavern with an underwater passage to the sea.
#This is our place of refuge# came the thought. #For your Partner a forest, for the child Xendra a sunny beach, for us, this cavern# #Come# A head broke the surface and Parno looked into the deep, round eyes of a Crayx. It was a pale green, with a copper iridescence to its scales. Parno touched his fingertips to the his scaled cuirass; it was from this Crayx, he realized, that his armor had come. The Crayx extended its long, narrow head, and Parno knew immediately what was wanted, and climbed onto its back. Its neck was only slightly larger than the body of a horse, and he was able to take a firm grip with his knees, and brace his hands on the ridged scales.
#The link to your Partner is very strong now, and her Vision prevails, aided by her White Sisters# #It is there we must go# #Now#
#Fear not# the Crayx told him, and then it dove into the water.
Normal, she felt normal. Carcali ran her hands over her face, hair, body, stunned with what she was feeling, almost frantic with delight. This was her real body, her own body. She seemed to be inside a hedgerow, but there was light, somehow, enough to see by in any case. There were people on their knees on the floor, and three others, standing to one side.
“This isn’t right.” She heard someone say. “She’s much older than this.”
And then she feels a sharp displacement of air.
The Storm Witch Page 35
