'Subtlety is wasted here, I see. Sample this, Vandien, and decide whom I threaten.' Her little hand rose swiftly, to flicker in the air before his face. Vandien jerked back from the expected slap. But her fingers did not touch him. Instead, a scream of wind whipped down the alley, throwing dust from the street into his face and eyes. Killian was gone. He squinted his eyes against the blast of air. A sudden buffet of cold drove him back down the alley, arms shielding his face. He crashed against the railing, falling over his huddled team.
He coughed dirt, tried to draw a breath through his sleeve. The piercing cold burned his scar like a brand and drove feeling from his fingertips. He staggered against the wind and slammed into the side of the inn. He forced his eyes open to slits; tears streamed from their corners. The wind drove him to his knees. He grovelled before it as he had not before Killian.
The roaring in his ears deafened him. It took a handful of breaths before he realized it was no longer the wind he heard, but only the rush of his own blood. The wind had stopped. The wan autumn sunlight was trickling down upon him, apologetically trying to warm him. Battered and numb, he slowly pulled himself up by the coarse stones of the building. Leaning against it, he blinked his begrimed eyelashes to clear his vision. The sight that met him was chilling.
The street was undisturbed. No loose boards were flung about, no shingles had been ripped loose. Temple Ebb banners hung limp. It was a quiet, sleepy street, a holiday morning street. The alley wind had been a special wind, a wind for Vandien alone. Killian had given him a sample of her skill. No reason for her to disturb the fisherfolk. Discipline only the teamster, who threatened to stampede the docile herd. It was as she had suggested to him. All he had to do was change his own mind. No one else would know, or think the less of him for it.
Ki? The Windsinger had said she was meddling in their affairs. In his dazed state, Killian's words still made no sense. Ki had always steered well clear of the Windsingers. He flexed his hands. Blood and warmth were returning to his fingers. Ki. Trust her to get herself into trouble when he was immersed in his own problems. He rubbed loose dust from his face. What should he do? Abandon his task here, go seeking for Ki? But the Windsinger had said that no harm had come to her. He winced, imagining how Ki would react if he came charging to her 'rescue.' No, Ki had said she would meet him here. She would expect him to be here, would come to False Harbor if she was in any real trouble. He had best stay where she could find him.
He stumbled into the common room and glanced around at the empty benches. The same boy was clearing the hearth, the same girl was oiling the tables. He wondered where Janie was. No one spoke to him as he made his slow way up the stairs and went into his room. The water in the ewer was lukewarm from standing, but it lifted the dust from his face. He dropped onto his rumpled bed. Lying flat on his back, he gently massaged the edges of the scar on his face. The concentrated ache began to ease. He already dreaded tonight, with the cold and the damp of the sea that would pucker the scar to new pain. If Killian were on the heights blasting him with wind, how could he hope to stand in that water, let alone dig for some chest?
Misery and discouragement engulfed him. There was no sense in even trying. He'd only be making a fool of himself. But if he did not try, the Windsinger would think him cowed; and he would lose whatever chance he had of lifting the scar from his face. His cautious fingers went on kneading, coaxing the stiffness from his face. Sometimes Vandien fancied that the scar was a living thing that had eaten into his face and would chew through his skull bones eventually and gnaw his life away. He let his hands fall back and was still. Loosen, loosen, he mentally pleaded, and slowly the muscles of his face went lax. The throbbing eased.
Warmth was seeping back into the rest of his body. The cold that had been knotted around his spine was loosening. He had been chilled by this morning's boat jaunt before the winds hit him and blew away his last reserves of body heat. He felt about and pulled a corner of the blanket over himself. His mind began to empty, his body to quest after sleep.
'Vandien! Wake up!'
His mind balanced on the razor edge between sleep and wakefulness, he slid his eyelids open, to gaze dreamily at Srolan hovering over him.
'No.' He started to close his eyes.
'Yes!' she insisted, shaking him.
He heaved a sigh and sat up on the bed. She immediately perched on the foot of it. He had to marvel at her. A huge cloak hung from her shoulders, the blue hood of it pushed carelessly back. The bright kiss of wind on her cheeks showed that she had but recently come indoors. She pushed her tousled black hair back from her face, and settled her hands in her lap, hugging them between her thighs to warm them. Her eyes were bright as gems, her mouth both bitter and excited as she told him, 'It's a wasp's nest you've stirred up!'
'Me?' Vandien was incredulous. 'I came to this village, an honest teamster in search of a quick job for easy money. Instead, I find myself flung into intrigue centuries old, and involved in a three-way tussle between an innkeeper who wants the folks entertained, a young lady who'd like to see this town humbled as she's been humbled, and a crazy old woman who...'
'Wants to see justice finally done!' Srolan cut in. She laughed merrily, a young woman's flirtatious laugh. Vandien found himself looking closely at her. There was a magnetism about her, a vitality that called to every instinct within him. He was not unaccustomed to the urges that a healthy lively woman could stir in him. In his younger days he would have been preening, shaking his dark curls, pulling himself up straight, swelling his chest with a breath. But he was a man grown now, and scarred across the face, no longer prone to strut for show.
And this woman? She was old enough to be his grandmother, his great-grandmother perhaps, though she made his skin tingle and his ears ring. She filled him with desires, but none of them were physical. He wanted... Vandien fumbled within his own mind. He wanted to stand proven in her eyes, to have her respect. He wanted those black eyes of hers to shine upon him. He wanted her to single him out in a crowded room as the only man worthy to hold conversation with her. He hungered, deeply and suddenly, for her friendship, and her trust.
She read him. 'I chose you well!' Her voice was warm. 'There are those who think deeper, men of greater stature and strength than you. There are better teamsters, and more cautious ones. But, Vandien, you feel. And by your feeling, you do things. You are as generous with your loves as with your hates. Out of a thousand, you are the one.'
His blood seethed with pride. Vandien found himself smiling without making sense of her words. The nibbling doubts he had felt about Srolan's motivations since his words with Janie were stilled. She came closer and took his hands in hers.
'What did she tell you? Janie?'
'Her grandfather's story. She spoke it like a litany, in his words, and, I swear, in his voice. What a burden to put upon a child.'
'The old are more often righteous than kind. And was it any use to you?'
Vandien shrugged. Her hands were warm, her eyes saw only him. 'I shall look in the southwest corner of the temple. The chest is not over large, but it is as heavy as two strong men can lift. And I shall not let my foot slip between any rocks.' He sighed. And I know full well that if I do find it, I may pay for it with my life. But that information came from Killian, not Janie.'
Srolan nodded. 'I thought I felt the tingle of wind magic in the air this morning. It's a good sign, Vandien. They fear you, and try to scare you off, but only because they fear you may succeed where others have failed. That is because you have the will to succeed.'
Srolan rose suddenly, dropping his hands. She paced a turn around the room, her blue cloak billowing about her with the energy of her movements. When she stopped, it was sudden, and her eyes pierced him for secrets. 'There is much more afoot with the Windsinger than our hunt, Vandien. I have been far afield this day. The winds will tell secrets, to any who know how to listen. I have been listening hard. The Windsingers' minds are turned from us, are focused on things closer to their
home. Killian fears, because she knows she stands alone against you. No help can be spared to her. Your stubbornness scares her. Believe me when I tell you this: her little demonstration for you this morning cost her. Summoning a wind is no trifling task. She will have to rest now, and reassemble her strength for this evening. My suggestion is this. Do not wait for her to be ready.'
Vandien found himself nodding. Through the unshuttered window was coming the early noise of a village that rises to festival instead of work. Idle talk and laughter rose. Beneath, the inn floor shook to the tramp of early traffic. Voices called for spiced wine, for a hot bowl of chowder. But in Vandien's room they planned, no merrymaking, but battle.
'Janie suggested that I follow an old custom. She told me to follow the tide out, not wait for it to ebb and then go out. The difference seems small.'
'An ebbing tide reveals things, Vandien. She gave you sage advice. As the water drains out of the temple, you may catch a glimpse of something revealed for a moment by moving sands. If you spot it then, and get a rope on it, you have all of the tide to haul it in. I've rope for you, by the way.'
'I assumed a fishing village would have plenty.'
'Not like this. This will not slip out of a knot, nor stretch when it gets wet.' Srolan produced a coil from within the voluminous cloak. Vandien looked at it in dismay. The line was no thicker around than his finger. She tossed the coil to him. It landed heavily in his lap. He fingered the smooth grey surface. He twisted it against its lay, but could get no strand to buckle.
'Kerugi made,' Srolan replied to his questioning glance. 'A friend sent it to me. Fine stuff. Those tiny fingers can weave the smallest strands into a tight whole. You can trust it, Vandien. As you can trust me.'
She strode to the window and glanced out at the alley and street below. 'The jugglers did come. That's fine. I must go now. You will be wise to get what rest you can, for your tide will be late tonight. But for me, holiday goes on below. There will be festival cakes and rare good drink. There will be stories, too, and song. Old as I am, I am a child for those things. No matter how they weary me, I cannot deny them to myself. Rest well.'
'What of Janie?' Vandien's voice halted her by the door.
'Janie? I've no doubt that she's out and about, below. She works a bit for Helti, you know, for he watches over her little sister by day.'
'I mean, when this is over, what of Janie?'
Srolan's shoulders fell. Her steps were slow as she came to lean on the foot of his bed. 'Janie. A pity we cannot save it all, make it all end as happily as an old tale. Well. If you succeed, her story will be vindicated. She is the granddaughter of a hero. For a day or so, that is. Then Janie will find that the doings of our ancestors carry little weight today. She will find she is still Janie, the daughter of a drunken wreck. She will be treated no differently. In fact, it may make things worse. If you are the granddaughter of a hero, folk expect more of you than if you are the granddaughter of a liar.'
'And if I fail?'
'You won't.'
'But if I did?' he persisted stubbornly.
'Then it would be just one more year. She would be teased for a few days past Temple Ebb, and then she would be forgotten. In a few more years, her sister will be old enough to help her with the dory, and they will earn a better living. She will have coin of her own, and more young men will look at her and consider that they might do worse. Not that I think Janie will ever take one of them. She remembers too well, that girl. She could list for you every taunt she has received since she could toddle. That's one problem of a village this size. All the children grow up as playmates. I doubt there is one man in this village who has never made a jest of her.'
'Except Collie.'
'Collie.' Srolan pursed her lips thoughtfully. 'That's so. He was too busy defending himself to have time to tease others. She might take Collie.'
'Might she leave False Harbor?'
'I doubt it. Few born here do, you know. Look at me. I was born here.' She came closer, her shadow falling over him. Her voice was soothing suddenly. Vandien did not start when her fingertips touched his face. She trailed the backs of her nails lightly over his forehead. His thoughts went wooly. 'Rest now. You can do nothing about Janie. She was here before you came to False Harbor, and will be after you've gone. Let her weave her own life strings. Go to sleep, Vandien. We shall need your full strength. I'll see that you are called in plenty of time to eat, before you go to follow the tide.'
She smoothed the pillow beside his face. He felt her deft tuggings as she pulled blankets up to cover him. It was odd, but he could not recall lying back on the bed. 'Sleep,' she told him again, and her touch was gone. He thought he heard the closing of the door, and then sleep took him.
SEVENTEEN
The points of light shimmered. That did not disturb Ki. Whether she stared at still lights or shimmering ones, it was all one to her. They could have all blinked out and left her just as calm. Some large translucent body was coming between her and the lights. It did not concern her. The closer it came to Ki, the more lights it smothered. After an eternity of observing it, it filled her eyes completely. The shimmering lights were all blotted away. The thing had swelled larger, or come nearer. It was all one to Ki, until it engulfed her.With reawakening came terror. Ki screamed, sliding back to life on the sounds of her own fear. She had no sense of location or time; only that she was alive and wished to remain so. Sensation after sensation struck her. She was cold. She was spattered with a foul-smelling liquid. Bells clanged close to her ears. She was blasted with sand that scoured the skin from her flesh. Brilliant lights pulled her eyes from their sockets, seared them to blindness. She was plunged into a darkness so intense that pastel sparks of light danced upon her brain.
Was it for seconds or days that she endured this? Ki did not know. But she knew that pain was life, and clung to it even as she fought it. The head on her arm chattered interminably to itself, but she paid it no need.
The universe split open like a rotten canvas sack and Ki spilled out of it, tumbling through light and cool air. She landed badly, thumping the air out of her lungs. Her head bounced against the hard-packed earth. The wizard's body landed heavily atop hers. His head was crushed between them.
With a grunt and a shudder, Ki shoved them off. She could stand that contact no more. She scrabbled blindly away from them, to collapse on her belly. Sweet, sweet grasses poked against her face, precious earth pressed her grasping hands. A stream of muffled curses rose behind her. She rolled farther away from them, onto her back. Her eyes watered as she stared gratefully up at a pale morning sun beginning to blaze in a pink and blue sky. She breathed deep of the smells of earth and grass and river water. Somewhere a horse snorted noisily. Ki gave a glad wordless cry at the sound of it. She heard her name called. She lolled her head in the direction of the call, grinning foolishly.
Dresh's body had struggled to a sitting position. His handless arms groped awkwardly about seeking for his head. The head was face down in dry grass where it had tumbled when Ki pushed it off her chest. The grass was muffling his shouts. More by chance than guidance, one of the block hands clunked against the head. With judicious pushes, the body was able to right the head on its mounting block. Ki watched in fascination.
Dresh's grey eyes blazed as he spat soil from his mouth. Like blind puppies seeking warmth, the hands were crawling up the body's trunk, dragging their shared block of stone behind them. Ki could summon up no amazement at the sight; it only seemed mildly comical, a clown's charade in early morning light, after the darker magic just survived.
When she could compose herself, she took a deeper breath of the fresh morning air. 'Are you alive?' she asked inanely, ignoring the stream of invective she interrupted.
'Small thanks to you, but I am!' Dresh retorted acidly.
'So am I. That's good, I suppose.' She could not call her mind to order. A thousand questions bubbled through her thoughts. None seemed pressing now. She asked at random, 'What brought us here
? How did you call it?'
Dresh stared at her, his eyes bright with tears. He coughed and spat out more dirt. His voice was hoarse. 'The summoning of that one is beyond my skills, teamster. There are those who say that only a Windmistress of the Windsingers has a voice that can call up one of those. And it is too draining of power for them to consider it worth their time. No doubt it was only our good fortune that one was in our path.'
'No doubt,' mumbled Ki as she rose to dust the leaves and dirt from her clothes. She had hardly heard his words, too many other things claimed her attention. She stretched, enjoying the freedom of possessing her own body and senses. It seemed a luxury beyond belief. And this world of hers! Had there ever been a more lovely place? The perfection of autumn leaves pressed against the blue sky, the subtle blending of scents in the crisp air! There was a wagon drawn up in the shelter of the trees. It was her own. Dust streaks marred the brightly painted panels of the cuddy. The open freight bed was splintered and worn from a thousand loadings. Never before had she seen it so clearly, or so gratefully. Beside it a large grey horse cropped grass. Harness marks scored his hide. Would she ever tug at the reins again without remembering Dresh's pre-emption of her body and will? A newly hatched guilt uncurled in her soul. Before it could nibble, Dresh's voice broke her thoughts.
'Ki.' His voice was weary, almost saddened. 'My powers are ebbing lower with every breath I take in this form. It has drained me more than I expected. I can no longer reassemble myself unaided. I must have Karn Hall at Bitters, with its congenial convergences, and my servants to assist me. And we must hurry. Rebeke may have given me up, but there are other Windsingers. Take my hands, if you will.'
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