Maraift took a fold of her skirt and told Jihiy to bite it. Meridy gingerly gripped the little girl’s knee and calf.
Jihiy bit on the cloth and the soldier made one fast cut. Jihiy gave a muffled scream against the cloth, and then Inden tossed the quarrel aside and pressed a bandage against the sudden flow of blood.
Meridy put her hands over the wound. “Try to help me,” she said to Niniol, and sent up a wordless prayer to the God. Inden backed away.
Nothing happened. Niniol swore under his breath.
“You’re doing it wrong,” said a cool, critical voice behind them.
Jaift straightened and lifted her chin, and Niniol spun around, an ethereal sword glittering suddenly in his hand, like light and air.
“That’s a, well, sort of a friend of mine,” Meridy said quickly. “I met him just before I left home.”
The ghost boy gave Jaift a thoughtful look, slipped by Niniol without paying him the least attention, and knelt by the little girl. Sunlit dust motes traced his hands and the curve of his face, caught sparkling in his hair. He looked both more present than Niniol and less real. He must be, Meridy thought again, a very old ghost. She wondered once more who he was.
The boy put his translucent hands over the wound. “Put your hands over mine,” he told Meridy. “Don’t think about the leg the way it is now; think about how it should be. Only sorcerers can take the real into the ethereal; that’s what you need me for. I’ll heal the little girl in the ethereal and then you’ll bring her back into the real. Is that clear?”
It was clear enough, but Meridy protested, “I thought a ghost could only help his anchor heal someone—only help his anchor work magic at all.”
“You are my anchor now,” the ghost boy said impatiently. “One of them, at least. Making you my anchor enables our friend to act more freely elsewhere; that’s why he did it. That, and it enables me to keep an eye on you. Do you want to help this child or not?”
Meridy felt herself flushing. She asked, more meekly than was usual for her, “How do I get the healed part to stay real after it’s done?”
“Once it’s part of her, the little girl will hold it in the real by herself, exactly as though it’d healed naturally. Now, watch carefully, because I’m only going to have time to do this once,” the ghost boy added to Niniol. He leaned forward over Jihiy. So did Meridy. So, a trifle uncertainly, did Jaift, edging forward for a better view.
Jihiy glimmered, faintly transparent. The torn flesh of her leg smoothed out until only a scar was left. Jihiy cried. Meridy couldn’t tell whether the magic actually hurt her, or whether she was only frightened. The second the leg looked normal, Meridy blew a pinch of dust over it to help outline the ethereal, and she pulled girl back into the real. For a second she thought the healing was going to dissolve when she let it go, but the ghost boy had been right: It wavered for only an instant before settling thoroughly into the real, leaving not even a scar. With a surprised look, Jihiy hiccuped and stopped crying. Maraift hugged her and scrubbed a hand across her own eyes, blinking back tears of relief.
The ghost boy stood up, glancing over his shoulder as though he half expected and feared to see someone coming up behind him. He said crisply, “Keep an eye turned toward the ethereal, girl, and get off on your own as soon as you can! He will know his stroke missed, and he’ll strike again as soon as he may.”
“He, as in the witch-king? He, as in Tai-Enchar, who destroyed the High Kingdom and then died himself, two hundred years and more ago, when the sea came in and drowned Moran Diorr? That’s who you mean?” Meridy wouldn’t have believed any of this if it hadn’t been for the strange double-shadowed witch who’d tried to bind all the ghosts. As it was…she thought she did believe it. Anyway, she couldn’t disbelieve the ghost boy.
Everyone stared at her. Jaift said tentatively, “But surely that’s impossible.”
The boy spared Jaift a glance. “The witch-king has been dead a long time. That’s true. But witch as you are—you stepped right out of the world, did you? Changed the color of your eyes in a dream and then brought the dream into the real? That’s sorcery, girl, and no mere witchcraft. If you’re so clever as to manage that, you should surely know that dead does not mean gone.”
“But—” began Jaift, and stopped because the boy was shaking his head, faintly scornful and more than faintly impatient.
“I fear that Tai-Enchar does not quite comprehend that his time has passed.” The ghost boy’s voice fell into a storyteller’s rhythm. “For him, it is still two hundred years ago. For him, Moran Diorr is still falling; the sea is still rushing in. For him, victory still lies near enough to grasp in his hand. He seeks to step out of death into life. He still believes he may seize the High King’s crown with one hand and immortality with the other. He may be right.”
Meridy was starting to have a cold feeling that she might actually know the ghost boy’s name. She started to say so and then stopped, caught by an unexpected shyness.
Before she could speak, the ghost boy warned her, “He may particularly be right if he takes you into his hand, and therefore me, since you’re now my primary anchor.”
“And whose fault is that?” demanded Meridy.
The ghost boy gave her a scornful look. “You’d not have remained immured in your little village for much longer, girl. Even had the God not dropped my anchor at your very doorstep, our enemy would have found you eventually. For many years he has gathered witches to himself as he might, and made them into his creatures as he could, and likely enough you’ve the gift of sorcery in you as well. You must not permit yourself to fall into the hands of—”
“I know! You said, and it was so helpful—I’m sure I’d never have figured out the witch-king’s servitors would be dangerous if you hadn’t warned me!”
Affronted, the ghost boy raised his chin, but his mouth was crooked too, in plain amusement. “Neither stupid nor unlettered,” he conceded. “I do recall it. Very well. Know, then, that the loss of a servitor will give the witch-king pause, but only for a short time, until he may persuade another man to allow him entry to his soul—”
“Wait. They let him do it?” whispered Jaift, horrified.
This time the ghost boy’s nod was less impatient, as though he thought better of Jaift for her very horror. “Indeed, it cannot be done unless a man agrees to it, and generally only to a witch, and only by a sorcerer who is also a witch. Witchery to take a man’s soul, but sorcery to step into his place and look out of his eyes, and pure wickedness even to contemplate any of it. But, you know, there are many ways to cause a man to agree. Or a woman on occasion, of course: compulsion, trickery, lies, threats….The witch may be corrupted or fearful, desperate or merely foolish. It comes to the same thing, in the end: the creation of an emptiness for Tai-Enchar to fill.”
“And now he’s after me,” Meridy said, knowing it was true. “Because of you.”
“For my sake, I admit it, but also on your own account. Carad Mereth is seeking even now to frustrate all the witch-king’s aims; you should understand that, girl, since of course he made you my anchor not only because you had the capability to hold me but also so that he might himself be freed to go about the God’s business elsewhere. But the time for fearful retreat is giving way now to the need for bold action.”
“And you, between the two of you, you’ve pulled me into your battle with Tai-Enchar himself!” Meridy could hardly believe this even now, but the ghost boy was looking impatient again, so she said, with as much sarcasm as she dared, “Oh, well enough, well enough! But now the witch-king won’t wait long to strike again. All right, but what should I do?”
“Go north, of course! Everything lies north. You may have one day or two, but likely not more than that, so don’t dither about, girl.” And the ghost boy vanished, flick, gone, as though blown out by a sharp breeze.
Shaking her head, Meridy looked at Niniol.
“Arrogant youngster,” the guard captain agreed, frowning. “Older than he lo
oks, I’ll be bound, and keeping plenty of secrets behind his teeth for all he seems to speak out. This witch-king, you mean the witch-king, do you, as wanted to set up witches to rule ordinary folk and himself to rule over all? The one as gave witches a bad name straight through to this moment? That’s him, is it? It sounds bad.”
Meridy nodded reluctantly, resigned to everyone’s hearing all about this. Jaift already knew, after all. She agreed with Niniol about the ghost boy, too. Older than he looked, yes, and she thought she might understand the arrogance as well. She wished she could slip away somewhere quiet to think, but if the witch-king was going to send more outlaws…or another servitor…
Then Derren Gehliy stepped forward and said with surprising dignity, “I don’t think any of us know much about…about witch-kings, or any of that, but I know we have more wounded, Meridy, and I know that some of our men will likely die without a witch to heal their wounds.”
Meridy stared at him. She looked around, taking in Niniol’s frowning concern and Jaift’s trusting gaze; Derren’s steady resolve and Maraift’s somewhat flurried attempts to shelter all her younger children simultaneously. The man who had cut the quarrel out of Jihiy’s leg, Inden, was hovering nearby, uncertain and worried. He edged forward a bit at the merchant’s request and said apologetically to Meridy, “Ceir’s arm is near off at the elbow. He’s a young’un, miss, and that’s a hard thing for a young man, losing half an arm….”
“Of course I’ll help Ceir,” Meridy said helplessly, seeing no choice at all, no matter what dire warnings the ghost boy might issue. “Of course I will.”
She woke up much later, in stifling darkness pierced through by a dazzling line of light. She had a headache, but it was just a faint pressure at the back of her skull—vague memory suggested it had recently been much worse. Dark and that tight pressure at the back of her skull: those were the first things she was aware of. Only after a timeless uncomfortable interval did she become aware that she was being roughly and continuously jostled. This startled her at last into an attempt to sit up. She lost her balance before she was half up and toppled helplessly forward, grabbing blindly for support.
Jaift caught her. “Easy, Mery! You’re all right.”
Meridy blinked at her. She could barely make out the other girl, but Jaift’s tone was reassuring. She wanted to ask where they were, what had happened, but her mouth was cottony and dry and her tongue didn’t seem able to frame intelligible words.
“You’re in a wagon,” said Jaift patiently. “We’re still several days south of Riam, but we thought we’d better go on north as quick as we could, what with, um, everything. Father said it was silly waiting for you to wake up, since we didn’t know when that would be. You’ve slept a long time, almost twenty-six hours. But nothing terrible’s happened yet.” There was a rustle as Jaift pulled the canvas back to let more light and air into the wagon.
“Twenty…” Meridy’s voice failed her.
“You were exhausted after healing Ceir. And then there were all the others—both Demarr and Tiranas turned out to be almost as badly hurt as Ceir….”
“I don’t think I remember that part,” Meridy admitted. Her words sounded thick and strange to her own ears.
“Have some tea.” Jaift handed her a flask. “It’s cold, but it has a bite.”
Meridy sipped the tea obediently. The astringent taste of redneedle and sourgrass cleared her mouth and her mind. She said cautiously but much more easily, “In Cora Tal, witches are supposed to be given over to the prince, aren’t they?”
Jaift met her eyes. “Well, yes. But after all, we’re from Harann, not Cora Tal, and so are you. Father says he’s a merchant, not a White Swan guardsman, and it’s not his business to hunt up witches for anybody. All the men swore by the God not to say a word. Niniol was a popular commander, and Ceir’s like a younger brother to most of them.”
This sounded promising, but Meridy knew she had better get up and get moving. She was sinkingly certain that the wagons could not be moving fast enough to evade any new blow the witch-king—the witch-king! it still seemed impossible—might aim at her. Or at the ghost boy through her; she still was not clear exactly what was going on.
She did have one or two ideas about the ghost boy, though. She began, “Jaift, I think I might know who—”
Bur Jaift, clambering to her feet in the dim heat, was already going on and didn’t hear her. “I was worried it was taking too long for you to wake up, but Mother said you were resting normally and you’d wake up when you were ready. She’ll be glad to see you up, I expect.” She offered Meridy a hand and helped her climb to her feet, steadying her against the jolting of the wagon.
The woman driving the wagon looked around as the girls pushed the curtain aside and came out. “Ah!” she said. “Good! Want down?” She drew up her team of horses.
“Thanks,” said Jaift, and clambered deftly to the ground. She offered a hand to Meridy, who jumped down beside her, then looked around, blinking in the molten light of early afternoon. No wonder it had been hot in the wagon, with all this sun. On top of the next wagon, Niniol sat cross-legged, dust motes limning his hands and face, so Meridy knew she could bring him into the real if she tried. He was turning an ethereal knife over and over in his hands as he kept an eye out for trouble from every direction. He frowned at Meridy but didn’t get up.
“He’s been worried,” Jaift said, seeing the direction of Meridy’s glance. “So have we all. But nothing’s happened so far.”
Iëhiy bounded up, tail waving wildly, and danced along beside them. Meridy reached out, letting her fingers trail affectionately along his back. Iëhiy barked once, voicelessly, then dashed after the third wagon, leaping up to join Niniol.
“He’s rather splendid, isn’t he, your dog?” Jaift asked, a touch wistfully.
“He is.” Meridy found herself smiling. “I didn’t try to bind him on purpose, but I’m glad…I’m glad he’s with me.” She cleared her throat. “I’d better go talk to your father, I suppose. I wonder if he would let me have a horse….”
“You can’t go off on your own! Father’s been talking about it with some of the men. Obviously the wagons are too slow, but Ceir would go with you, and I’m sure others, too.”
Meridy hadn’t thought of this at all, and she blinked, nonplussed. A couple of the men to go with her! What a fine idea, although on the other hand she had no idea where she was going or what she was supposed to do. But she had all too clear an idea what enemy she might find set against her. She found herself seriously annoyed with Carad Mereth, who hadn’t warned her about any of this. And she was annoyed with the ghost boy, too, although…being annoyed with him seemed like temerity. The next time she saw him, she would make him tell her his right name so she would know who he was instead of guessing and wondering and feeling strange about her suspicions.
—
Maraift was riding, as always, in the first wagon. Her husband, unusually, sat beside her rather than riding alongside. The cut on his cheek had scabbed over and looked like it was healing well. Jihiy perched between her parents on the driver’s seat, chattering away with enthusiasm.
“Oh, look!” she said cheerfully as Meridy and Jaift swung up and found places to sit in front of the canvas that covered the load, “Meridy’s all better! Aren’t you all better, Meridy?”
“All better,” Meridy assured her.
“So’s my leg,” said Jihiy. “Look!” She pulled up her skirt to show the smooth skin. “All better! See?”
“A very nice leg,” Meridy agreed.
“Jihiy, sweet, put your skirt down,” Maraift said firmly. “Why don’t you go see what Little Derren is up to for me, please, dear.”
“All right,” said Jihiy agreeably. She jumped down from the wagon and ran off.
“We’ll make camp in an hour or so,” said Derren Gehliy, his tone a little tentative. “But why don’t you let Jaift get you something to eat before we halt? You must be starving.”
Meridy r
ealized that she was. “Thank you, excellent sir.” Jaift gave her an encouraging smile and climbed into the back of the wagon to rummage through the stores there.
Meridy glanced after Jihiy. “I’m glad Jihiy’s well,” she said, a little awkwardly, wondering how to open the conversation.
“The young are so resilient,” Maraift observed comfortably. “Which is probably good, considering the things the children do get up to. Not that older people can’t get up to just as much mischief, to be sure, but then they often do take a bit longer to recover. You’re looking much better, too, if you don’t mind my saying so, but of course you’re still so young yourself. Quite terrifying, what happened.”
“Yes, um…”
“And I suppose we’re expecting more trouble,” Derren said, his manner becoming brisk, which by now did not surprise Meridy. “It’s clear you mustn’t stay with my family—the children, you know—but you certainly can’t go off all by yourself, my dear. It’s not safe. Obviously. We’ve decided—Maraift and I and the men—that it would be best if you took a couple of the men and some of the better horses and rode on ahead. With enough money to see to your keep for a bit. Now, I’ve a notion your best move is likely to seek out the sanctuary in Riam and lay all this out before the priests. It’s priests’ business, right enough—I think we can agree on that! And then they can take care of this Godless witch who’s making trouble. But you’ll need an advocate, of course, my dear, because what with one thing and another you might be in an uncomfortable bind yourself. So first you must visit the office of my own advocate, or at least, not my personal advocate, of course, but the Riam partner, and we’ll arrange to have you declared a guest of my family, which ought to clear up any little problems you might otherwise encounter.”
Meridy stared at him. He meant, obviously, to protect her from the rule that witches had to present themselves to the prince in Cora Diorr. “But—” she said. “I mean, thank you, excellent sir, thank you very much, but aren’t advocates expensive?” She had the coins she’d taken from the brigands, but she was sure that wasn’t enough. “I couldn’t—”
The White Road of the Moon Page 10
