by J. V. Jones
No one spoke. Ash sat and suffered Heritas Cant’s gaze as if it were a necessary torture. Since she had been wakened an hour earlier she had said little and seemed glad to sit and listen. Now all eyes were upon her as she readied herself to speak.
Raif kept his face still, as he had done all through Cant’s speech. He would not show his fear to this man . . . or Ash. Especially not Ash.
Finally she moved, rocking forward on the bench so that her face caught the light. Angus’ hand came up to touch her wrist, but she shook it away as if it were a moth or a bit of dust. Gray eyes met and held Cant’s gaze, and then she spoke a command. “Tell me what I am.”
Heritas’ good hand came up to support his drooping jaw. A thin line of drool slid along his chin. “To know what a Reach is you must understand where the Blind lies in relation to our world. The two exist alongside each other and within each other, yet remain wholly separate places. They are divided by a gray plain, a no-man’s-land known as the borderlands or the Gray Marches.”
“The Gray Marches,” Ash repeated, showing her teeth.
“Yes. March is an old word meaning the boundary between lands.” Heritas Cant’s smile was knowing. Angus had not told him who Ash was, yet it was obvious he had already worked it out. With a little click of his sticks, he carried on. “These borderlands hold the Blind apart from our world. Powerful sorcerers can enter them, some may even catch a glimpse of the Blindwall, but no one but a Reach can know them truly. And no one but a Reach can lay her hands upon the wall and breach it.”
Ash flinched at the word breach. Angus muttered something to whatever gods he believed in. Raif concentrated on the mud walls behind Heritas Cant’s back, watching them ooze and drip and deteriorate as he imagined putting his fist into Cant’s face. The cripple was taking pleasure in this. His green eyes glinted as he took another breath and spoke.
“A Reach is born every thousand years, a man or woman who can enter the dead space of the borderlands, approach the Blindwall, and free the creatures who lie beyond it.”
When he was sure the anger had left his eyes, Raif turned to look at Ash. Almost she didn’t shake. Her hands were clenched on the table before her, the tendons on her wrists pulsing. Slowly her gaze rose to meet his. A question filled her large gray eyes, and even before he fully understood what it was she asked, Raif answered with a swift jab of his jaw.
Acknowledging his reply with a smile not quite cool enough to hide her relief, she turned back to Heritas Cant and said, “So you think me a Reach?”
“Yes.”
“And you think I was born to free the creatures in the Blind?”
“Yes.”
“And if I tell you that for the past six months I have dreamed of creatures calling me, begging me to reach out and help them, then you will tell me I have been listening to the creatures of the Blind?”
“Yes.”
A muscle at the corner of Ash’s lips began to quiver. She worked quickly to stop it, white teeth jabbing at lipflesh. “Answer me this, then, Heritas Cant. If I am not the first Reach to be born, why is the Blindwall still intact?”
Angus and Heritas Cant exchanged a glance. Heritas shifted in his chair, his good hand dealing awkwardly with his legs. When he spoke his voice was peevish. “The wall is still in place for several reasons. First of all, breaks can be sealed if swift action is taken and certain conditions are met. Second, not all Reaches have lived to an age where they could cause a breach. And third, a place exists where a Reach can discharge the power that builds within her without threatening the integrity of the wall.”
Raif frowned. Compared with Cant’s other answers, this one was short and evasive. Raif thought of asking why it was that some Reaches didn’t live long enough to cause a breach, then decided against it. All possible answers worried him.
Ash did not reply straightaway. Her fingers traced along the table’s edge, fingernails collecting wax. Finally she said, “Do I have no choice but to discharge this . . . power that is building inside of me?”
Heritas Cant nodded. “You are the Reach and you have newly come into womanhood and by all rights you should have caused the breach by now. Great power masses within you; I felt it when I laid my hands upon your skin. It pushes with cold force, displacing organs, feeding upon your blood, forcing the air from your lungs. It must be released or it will destroy you.”
“But she has fought it so far,” Angus cried.
“Yes, and look what it has done to her. She is being eaten from inside. Her body is skin and bone, her skin is yellowing with jaundice, her breathing is shallow. And you cannot see what I have felt: the punctured kidney, the compressed chest organs, the poisons cumulating in her liver, the rapid beat of her heart. Soon her mouth will run dry, her gums will turn gray and crack, her eyes will sink into their sockets, her hair and fingernails will—”
“Enough!” Raif stood. In his anger, he sent his chair cracking against the wall. Angus and Ash turned to look at him. Heritas Cant regarded him with interest, as if he were seeing some new species of insect for the very first time. Raif sent a look to wipe all fascination from his face. “Tell us what we must do.”
Again, a certain unspoken communication passed between Angus and Cant. Raif hardly cared. Will you help me in this? Ash had asked him across the room moments earlier. Yes, he had replied in an instant.
Crossing the room, Raif was aware of the size and health of his own body compared with the wheel-broken shell that was Heritas Cant. He saw envy and even the cold sparkle of fear in the man’s green eyes, and he could not say he was sorry for it. Drawing himself up to his full height, he sent a hand down for his sword.
Heritas Cant shrank back.
“Raif,” Angus warned.
“Stay out of this, Angus,” Raif said without looking around. “If I were to harm anyone over this matter, it would be you. You knew it all from the start, from that very first moment outside Vaingate. That’s why you saved her: to bring her here to Cant.”
“No.” Angus rose. Raif heard the soft scrape of chair legs, saw Angus’ growing shadow on the wall. “I moved to save Ash for other reasons. I—”
“I know what you mean to say, Angus. You have your reasons yet cannot speak them.” Raif turned to face his uncle. “Don’t think that just because you switch a subject or avoid it completely you can stop me from thinking on it. You are my uncle and my respect is your due, but I will not stand by and let you deliver Ash into this man’s hands.” Only as he spoke did he realize the truth of what he said: Heritas Cant did want Ash. With all his broken bones and misjointed limbs he suddenly looked like a spider to Raif.
Angus shook his head softly, though his eyes were hard gold. “No one wants Ash harmed here. No one. Heritas has told us of the dangers, and he does not lie. Now we must find a way to save her. You heard what he said—she will die if we do not act.”
Raif waved his uncle’s words away. He believed Heritas Cant had spoken the truth—some of it—but he also believed that Cant was more concerned about a possible breach to the Blindwall than he was about Ash. Turning to Cant, he said, “What is the name of this place where she must go to release her power safely? I will take her there.”
“There is not much time,” Heritas Cant said, anger at being forced to cower in his chair making his voice shrill. “You have seen her blackouts for yourself. These will only get worse. Her health will only get worse. As I said earlier, I can set wardings to keep the voices at bay, give drugs to steel her mind, but these measures will prove effective for only so long. This place lies several weeks to the north. It is not an easy journey at any time of year, but now, in winter . . .” Cant clicked his sticks. “Gods spare us all.”
“Just tell us where it is.” Ash sounded tired. Raif saw where she had scratched the varnish from the table with her nails.
“I’m not sure of the exact location of the Cavern of Black Ice . . .”
“Black ice?” Ash said, paling visibly.
“Yes. The caver
n lies beyond the Storm Margin in the west. I’ve heard tell that it sits beneath Mount Flood, in the crease where the mountain and the Hollow River meet, ten days south of Ice Trapper territory.”
“What is it?” Angus asked Ash, ignoring what Cant was saying completely.
Ash lowered her head. “I’ve had nightmares about a cavern for as long as I can remember. Terrible dreams, where I’m trapped or crushed or lost.”
“And were the walls of this cavern formed from black ice?” Cant’s green eyes glowed with interest. Ash nodded, and he made a little satisfied sound. “Then your dreams have been showing you how to survive. This cavern is as old as the Blind, and may indeed be made from the same substance. I cannot be sure. What I do know is that it had been used by Reaches before you. It is said to absorb a Reach’s power, hold it within its walls, and stop it from causing a crack in the Blindwall.”
Ash didn’t look convinced. She glanced at Raif, but he could offer her no help. “But the nightmares . . .”
Cant made a calming gesture with his hand. When he spoke his voice was surprisingly soft. “The creatures in the Blind can infiltrate your dreams; that is how they call to you. Every time you fall asleep you are vulnerable to them. Now that they sense you are close to releasing your power, they have grown bolder and have laid siege to your waking mind as well. Their weapon is fear. You have fought them so far, bravely, with such strength as I can hardly imagine.” With a small shrug of his shoulders, Cant highlighted his own physical weakness. “Do not let them stop you from doing what you must.”
Raif leaned against the table. Suddenly he didn’t know what to make of Heritas Cant. Nothing was straightforward here. Secrets and traps lay behind every word. There was truth, but it was not the whole truth, and he wondered how much Cant was keeping to himself.
Smoke from the lantern rose and shivered like a fifth presence in the room. Raif watched as Ash breathed it in as she spoke. “If I go to this cavern, will it be the end of this . . . this thing that I’m part of?”
Cant sighed heavily, the nostrils on his still fine nose flaring to two dark holes. “Yes and no. The power that is building inside you has only one purpose, and once it is safely discharged you will never know its like again. Yet you will still be a Reach; that will not change. You will be able to walk the borderlands at will, hear and sense the creatures that live there, and your flesh will become rahkar dan, Reach-flesh, which is held sacred by the Sull. Why, I do not know. Why Reaches exist, I cannot tell you. Perhaps the sorcery that originally sealed the Blind was flawed. Perhaps it is impossible to build a prison without a key.” Cant smiled briefly. “Perhaps one day when you ask me that same question I may have an answer that suits us both. One thing I am sure of, though, is that if the Endlords and their Taken are freed from the Blind they will destroy us all. They walk in death, they are sustained by hate, and their memories last as long as the sun.
“Yes, Asarhia March. You do well to look afraid. I, who have spent a lifetime learning about these matters, am more afraid than you can see. I know the names of the beasts. I know what is in there, some of it, and even that small portion of knowledge burns like the fires of hell in my mind. So travel north along the Storm Margin with this young man who has broken one of my chairs and does not trust me, go and wade through waist-high snow, crawl over black ice, and release your power safely. And when you’ve done, come back to me, and then perhaps I’ll tell you about the creatures of the Blind, recite a list of their names and their deeds. For if I told you now, I would only be unburdening myself at your expense. And although I am a sick man, with little but knowledge and counting to live for, I seldom act out of spite.”
Green eyes made brilliant by speech and strong emotions glanced briefly, accusingly, at Raif. “’Tis better that I know much and you know little. Let me worry and you act.”
Raif felt blood pumping up through his neck to his face. He didn’t know if Cant’s words were meant for him or Ash. Either way he felt frightened and stirred. He wanted to be gone, now, away from Cant and the spinning silk of his knowledge, away from Angus and his hidden motives, back to the wide-open spaces of the clanholds. He was boxed in by secrets. Getting at the truth seemed an impossible task; Cant was too clever, and Angus was too well practiced. Together they were bent on controlling Ash and probably him as well.
The door to the chamber looked inviting; one push and it would open, one short walk through the adjoining tunnel and he would be outside in the night. Punish Moose, and he’d be in the clanholds in less than a day. Blackhail would never have him back, but Dhoone might take him, or one of the lesser clans like Bannen or Orrl. Outcasts could find homes in other clans; Gat Murdock had been taken in by Ewan Blackhail after he’d fought with Wort Croser over a woman and her dowry of two poorly drained fields. Raif tried to think of others but failed. He looked from the door to Ash, and as soon as their eyes met he knew he would go nowhere, not tonight. She had asked him to stand by her, and he had agreed. And as a clansman he was bound by his word.
A small sound, like half a breath, escaped his lips. Who was he to take refuge in a promise? He, who had broken faith with his brother and his clan? Raif closed his eyes for a moment, willed the pain not to come.
“I know the Storm Margin as well as any man,” Angus said, breaking the silence that had possessed the chamber since Cant had finished speaking. Uncharacteristically, he seemed ill at ease and could find nothing to occupy his large hands. “Let me take you and Raif as far as Mount Flood. You’ll need someone to show you the ways of the ice. The Margin is beset by white winds in winter. It’s easy to become lost or fall victim to cold sickness or the ’bite. I can teach you how to wait out storms, show you how to find food beneath the rime, and make shelter by burrowing into old snow. Packs of ice wolves range the Margin, and in dark seasons they become desperate enough to attack men. I know their signs and their trails and how best to avoid them. I’ll see that you get to Mount Flood alive and unharmed and in good time.”
Finished, Angus looked from Ash to Raif. It was the closest thing to a plea Raif had ever seen his uncle make. Raif knew Angus possessed skills that he did not, yet every clansman worth his lore learned early about hard living in the white weather. Wolves and ice storms were part of clan life. Raif sucked in breath. Why, then, was it so important to Angus to come with them?
Ash looked first to Raif, then to Angus. “How soon do we leave?”
It was all planning after that.
Heritas Cant left them as they spoke of supplies and routes and clothing and horses. Rising gracelessly from his black wood chair, he muttered something about things that needed to be prepared. Watching him support his broken body with the aid of two sticks, Raif found himself admiring the strength of will that lay like an iron plate beneath Cant’s skin. He did not trust him, yet he respected him, and it occurred to Raif that perhaps in the cityholds that was the most he could expect from another man.
With Cant gone, Angus took control of matters and began to plan a route that would involve only minimal time spent in the clanholds. Raif recognized his uncle’s consideration and was grateful for it, and as the night wore on and he learned more about the Storm Margin and the bleak wind-carved wastes that surrounded Mount Flood, he gave thanks to the Stone Gods that Angus would be with them.
Later, much later, when the goose-fat lantern had all but dried and the flames chewed away at the last bit of rope, Cant returned to the chamber bearing two copper bowls and a knife of gray steel. Angus, who had been in the process of warning Ash about cold sickness, stopped speaking in midsentence and rose to help Cant. Angus’ great red face was showing signs of strain, and his ready smile was missing as he greeted the broken man.
It had been a long day for all of them. Ash and Raif watched each other across the table as Angus and Cant arranged things at the other end of the room. Raif suddenly wished they were alone. There were things he wanted to say to her, small things that no one else had asked or said. He wanted to know if she
felt strong enough for the journey north, if she was afraid, how much she believed of what Heritas Cant had said.
Ash smiled gently, rubbing eyes that were nearly red. “You wouldn’t let anyone near me earlier.”
Raif felt heat come to his cheeks. “I didn’t want you to fall asleep again,” he said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded gruff.
“I’m glad you’re coming with me.”
With those words the night changed one last time. Cant came forward, bearing the first of the copper bowls. His eyes glittered like two pieces of seaglass as he said to Ash, “Lie down on the bench. I must place what wardings as I can upon you.”
Ash’s eyes flicked to Raif. Her mouth made a small grimace of fear.
“I will not harm you,” Cant said. “The cost is only to myself.”
“But . . .”
“But what? Would you rather I did nothing and allow the creatures of the Blind free rein to take you? Your mind was last held by them for four days; would you wish to let them seize it again?”
Ash shook her head.
“Lie down then, and let me do what I must.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Ash brought her feet off the floor and lowered her back onto the bench. She was shaking, Raif noticed. So was Cant.
“Angus. If this young man is to stay and watch, you must take him in hand. I will not have him throwing his fine clansman’s body around, raging about things he does not understand.”
“Aye, Heritas.” Angus beckoned Raif to his side. “The lad will stay by me, I’ll see to that.”
Raif did not like being spoken of as if he were a child, and he suspected Heritas Cant had done so to punish him one last time for breaking the chair. Still, he crossed to where Angus stood at the head of the table and settled himself in place against the edge.
Cant’s spine had too many vertebrae. As he bent to loosen the ties at Ash’s throat, they poked through the thin fabric of his robe like fishbones. Who broke him? Raif wondered. What crime bears the sentence of the wheel?
