The Wittering Way

by Nat Burns

  RoseIII shook his head. “No. You need my protection.”

  I nudged him gently. “We are strong wits, RoseIII. This is a matter for magic, not brawn, I am thinking. And besides, you need to survive to be leader Thorn for the men of Witta.”

  “Some leader, to run from a battle,” he muttered.

  I touched his arm and blessed him. “Nos ex parte, ut semper ridere dum in amplexu tuae anam cara.”

  He sighed, nodded, and then turned to gather the other ones together to make ready to depart. I walked into the midst of them, laying hands, kisses and blessings all about. The fammies united and said their parting wishes as well.

  Moments later, only Yewsy and I remained with Brennen and Afton pressing close. We looked at one another. I could see the fear in her eyes and felt compelled to reassure her. I took her hand and we turned toward the citadel.

  Book Fourteen

  THE TOURNAMENT WAS some sort of battle game using the small but brightly lit square machines that everyone here seemed to possess. We managed to unlock the door using an unbinding work but it opened directly into a huge hall of seated Meab, mercifully all with their backs to us. We entered silently, although Yewsy had to clasp her hand across her mouth as she lurched in alarm when she saw the number of players and watchers crowded into the huge hall. Luckily the machines made a steady hum of noise and all gathered were raptly involved. We scurried to one side, into an empty hallway, where we paused, getting our breath under control.

  I felt the presence of my sister strongly here, so we ventured slowly along the empty passageway.

  The citadel was a very old structure, built long before the time of Thad Briite. It hailed to a time shortly after the eternal light of Soldar brought the original people of Sheadha to Lake Feidlimed. Once it had been a beautiful shrine, well-preserved and filled with pageantry during the time of the planet shifts and alignments. I had attended them with my join when still an atrebud. Now, just a handful of centuries later, it was unkempt, the floors worn and dusty, the wall hangings in disrepair. I frowned in grief noting that the furniture, all made from forest gifts bestowed from fallen Mother Trees, had disappeared. No doubt helping fuel the ovens where the metal was crafted.

  A sound along the corridor caused us to freeze in place. Dimming would be of little use in these odd, brightly lit passageways. Dimming worked best when shadow and plants were involved and there was neither here. I jerked Yewsy toward a door just as a trio of clanking metal-clad Meab turned into our hallway, immersed in a conversation. I received the sense that they were searching for intruders—us. Reaching behind, I oh-socarefully, sprung the latch and leaned against the door. We moved backward, silently into the room. I pressed the door into a tiny slit and watched the Brinc men and women move past. As soon as they were out of earshot, I pressed the door closed and took a deep breath.

  “Cleome?” Yewsy said, her voice wavering.

  I lifted my eyes and they fetched up on the face from one of my visions. There, in flesh and blood, reclining on a bed, was the gaunt face and the sunken, gleaming blue eyes of the woman Avapeony had been talking to when last I envisioned her. The lavish bed rested against the far wall. To our left was a long, heavy table, which bore two large glass squares with bright colors on them. They bore images of the deep forest of our Witta lands. There were no window openings in the room but the flat boxes were realistic enough to make one think they were looking out onto our lands. I would have loved to study them but time was not our ally.

  The rest of the room was littered with odd metal contraptions and many overstuffed linen cushions. Two chairs, one in a corner and one at the table were the only other furniture pieces. No wall hangings warmed the room and it had a sterile air and smelled metallic.

  The young girl scooted across the bed and gained her feet, her fammie wafting behind her. We looked at one another for a long beat.

  “I’m Cleome and this is Yewsy, with Afton and Brennen,” I said quietly, holding my hands out in the greeting of peace.

  The young woman held her hands in the same way, though I could tell it was an unfamiliar gesture for her. “You’re Witta clan,” she breathed.

  I was alarmed by the young woman’s thinness. In fact, now that I thought about it, everyone here was gaunt and starved looking, even the Lutis. The Lutis seemed wasted as well, with very little of their usual muscle flesh apparent.

  “Yes. We are here to fetch home my sister, Avapeony. I know you talked with her. Can you tell us where she is?”

  Fear contorted her face. “How do you know that? Who told you that?”

  I realized suddenly that she wasn’t supposed to be talking with my sister. “No one,” I hastened to assure her. “I see things sometimes. No one else knows.”

  “Good,” she said, then paused. “I’m Ronat. Ronat of Ray join, with Purth.”

  I quaked even as Afton touched Purth in greeting. Ray join. Of course. We were in dire trouble. “We...I just want my sister. One of your men, your leader, took her from my home.”

  Ronat’s eyes grew large. “You came all the way from Witta lands for her. That’s so far.”

  “Yes, it is,” Yewsy interjected. “Not to be rude, Ronat, but we need to leave. Please tell us where she is.”

  “On level two but you’ll never get there. Blass has men at the lifty thing.”

  “Lifty thing?” I asked.

  “The box that raises Meab from this floor to the next then up to the tower rooms.”

  “What about the games they’re playing? They seem busy,” Yewsy pointed out. “Won’t Blass’s men play?”

  Ronat’s eyes lit up. “I didn’t think of that! You may be right.”

  She dropped her robe, revealing a strange, close-fitting suit that covered her from her cloth boots to her neck. It was woven of tiny metal strands mixed in with the linen. She looked so thin that she resembled ancient drawings of the inhabitants of Lake Feidlimed when they had first arrived here.

  “Can you get us up there?” I asked.

  “I’ve gone before but no one saw me. I...I don’t know if I can do it again.” Ronat was clearly nervous.

  “Signe’s your father, isn’t he?” I asked, watching her reaction to my words. Her face tightened.

  “Yes, and I’m sorry for what he and his men did to your join.” She turned and touched some of the items on the table so she wouldn’t have to look at me. “He is heartbroken. Avapeony’s mother, your mother, was a powerful wit.”

  “Then why did he allow his men, no, order his men to kill her? We saw it all. He killed their father, too,” Yewsy said angrily.

  Ronat whirled and looked at Yewsy. “Don’t you think I know that? My father has been sick on honey wine since. This...this has torn my join apart as well.”

  To my surprise, Ronat’s face was wet with tears, her fammie dark.

  Pain manifested in many forms, I realized anew. “We need to fetch her home, Ronat. Please, help us.”

  She wiped at her eyes and fell into deep thought. By expanding my sense, I was able to feel her indecision. This was not just one Meab helping another, but would constitute a major life change for her. There was no going back from this moment on.

  Her eyes lifted to me and I saw the decision become real, there in her eyes. “There’s an old stairway,” she said. “We can use that.”

  Yewsy and I watched as Ronat fetched small metal items from beneath her bed and attached them to her suit. She shoved Purth aside and donned an over-tunic then shrugged. “Let us go,” she said firmly.

  We crept from her room and followed her along a second hallway, then a third, each one obviously less used than the previous. The final corridor, festooned with cobwebs and old banners from happier times, led to a large circular stairway at the end. The dusty, debris- strewn stairway seemed dangerously unsteady but Ronat mounted it and quickly made her way upward. We followed at a slower pace, and I was alarmed at the protests the boards and metal sounded upon feeling our heavier weights.

  “
Careful, Yews,” I cautioned as we reached the top.

  Ronat waited, her back pressed to a wall as she peered around the corner. “She’s just there,” she said, head indicating the hallway.

  Afton moved ahead and sensed the corridor. He came back and connected. “Six doors. She’s two down on the right.”

  “Do you sense any others?” I whispered.

  “No,” he said in my thoughts. “But...”

  “But what?” I questioned.

  He disconnected briefly and touched Purth. “I thought I sensed someone but Purth did not,” he said, reconnecting.

  I sighed. “Fine. We go forward.” I shoved Ronat around the corner and we three stepped into the brightly lit space. The brightness of the ceiling lamps hurt my eyes and made my head feel fuzzy. I could tell, by their low positions on our bodies, that the fammies weren’t enamored of them either.

  We crept along, slowly, until we had passed one closed door. As we paused at the next one, Ronat lifted the latch and we slid silently inside.

  Avapeony, sitting in a chair by the sole window, looked up in surprise. But the surprise was on us. Signe sat in the chair directly across from her. As soon as the door slid shut, it locked and a subtle, beeping alarm began to sound. Signe leapt to his feet and watched us as if bewildered.

  “How did you...” he began, but broke off to turn his gaze on Ronat. “Daughter? What is this about?”

  Ronat’s lips trembled but she drew herself up tall and spoke clearly. “We must let her go, Father. It’s wrong to hold her so.”

  Signe frowned as if not understanding her words. “Ronat, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying...” She moved across and took Avapeony’s hand. “We are leaving, Father. I go with my love to her home.”

  Her love? Yewsy and I looked at one another.

  Signe was as amazed as we were. “Leave? What are you about, child? You can’t leave your home.”

  Ronat laughed shortly. “This has never been a home for me, Father. I have no love of metal, of heat, of machines. I want cool water, trees with leaves. I want forest magic. I want to live by Witta magic, not Milesian cunning.”

  Avapeony eyed Ronat with adoration just as heavy blows thundered against the door. Within seconds the door flew wide open and soldiers poured into the room. Signe was roughly shoved aside and Yewsy grabbed from behind. Ronat drew a weapon and leapt in front of Avapeony to protect her as I grew magic and sent it through the soldier nearest me. He stilled, stunned by my will. Another lifted a small box and moved closer to me. I sidestepped and he fell against Signe. The chaos stilled for a mere few seconds as another soldier, one of Ronat’s brothers, entered the room.

  “Father? What is afoot?” he shouted.

  “Get the Witta clan,” Signe said, blood pouring from his nose. He swiped at it. “And Ronat—don’t let her—”

  He fell silent and we all realized that Ronat and Avapeony were gone.

  Without taking time to think, I fetched a handful of acorns from my path bag and tossed them into the air.

  Iaru, Chaac, Cocijo

  I call upon you now

  Fierce gods of the roaring

  Boreas and Aossi

  Sister and brother wind

  Bring your strength to me now

  Ninlil, blow, blow, blow!

  I bound the working and quickly pulled Afton, Brennen and Yewsy close even as harsh, unbearable pain raced up my back, making me arc into the raging storm my words had wrought. Yewsy screamed in pain as well and, spun by the wind, we flew up and slammed into the rock wall. My flailing hand, covered in blood, slammed against an opening—the window— and grasped at the edge, pulling us toward it. Hands clasped about my neck and I almost lost my grip on Yewsy, but I spoke a work of release and the hands fell away.

  “Levitation,” I screamed, hoping Yewsy would hear me and understand. She must have, for she pushed against me and together we tumbled through the opening. I opened my eyes and looked down and saw the barren rocky ground rushing up to

  meet us.

  “Hold us, Afton, Brennen,” I cried out, my numb hands trying to make levitation postures. Our descent slowed and a great stillness surrounded us. I saw Lutis lifting their eyes, watching us. Their uplifted faces were the final sight that filled me before I lost consciousness.

  Part Two

  Book Fifteen

  EXTREME SILENCE CAN be so loud that it’s deafening. I discovered this when absolute silence drew me back to consciousness. Where was I? I saw only a slate gray solidness through my slitted eyelids. My sense was at rest so I knew I was no longer in danger, yet there was still a mild sense of unease. And pain. There was a lot of pain. I quickly made the pain relieving gesture but it wasn’t very effective. My hands were still numb.

  A swishing noise sounded to my left so I opened my eyes completely and carefully turned my head. Strange, lengthy forms floated past, most peering in at me.

  “How are you feeling?” Afton said, arresting my movement. He sounded strange, and I soon realized why. He was surrounding me.

  “Where are we?” I queried.

  “You are healing,” he responded.

  “Ahh, so it is true,” I muttered.

  The Mothers had spoken of the waters of Lake Feidlimed saving lives when Meab were critically injured. I realized then that I was underwater and that Afton was using the lake’s power to keep me alive and to heal me. “Where is Yewsy? Is she okay?”

  “Her injuries were not as severe. She awaits you above,” he answered.

  “Good.” Sleepiness washed across me. “There’s pain...are you helping?”

  “Yes. Rest. Heal.”

  MY WATERY SURROUNDINGS were brighter when next I awoke, but the pain was worse. I flexed my hands, gratified that the numbness was wearing off somewhat, but I was concerned about the lingering pain that seemed to be twisting my back into knots.

  “Afton?”

  “Yes?”

  “Am I okay? Will I heal fully?”

  “Yes, but you will be disfigured.” His voice was sad.

  “Will I function? Will my wit be intact?” Tears sprouted in my eyes. I had no emotional stamina at present. I’d lost too much.

  Instead of answering, Afton began a slow, nauseating roll. “Stop! Afton, what are—”

  I cried out, bracing my palms against his soft, cloudy form. Suddenly, he became more porous on one side and lake water leaked in against my back. The pain, set off anew by cool water, made me cry out then grit my teeth. Afton lifted me slowly until the bright light of the sun warmed my wet, tunic-covered arms. I could see little through his opacity but sensed our sideways movement. I also sensed other Meab nearby.

  When Afton withdrew, I found myself outside, under a canopy of trees. Although Afton had gentled me onto a raised pallet, the renewed pain almost caused me to pass out. Once free of me, Afton spun himself dry then snuggled against my shoulder.

  “Well, well. Looks like you may live after all.”

  I turned and saw a delightfully familiar face.

  “Oh, Goddess. Broc! It’s been too long.”

  He smiled and toddled over to take my hand and pull up a stool to sit next to the head of the pallet. “It’s good to see you again, Cleome.”

  I would have loved to embrace him, but there was no way I could lift myself from the pallet. Broc was one of Widdershin join’s dearest friends, but I hadn’t seen him for more than a century. He looked good. I remembered suddenly being lifted atop his broad back as we tromped across the greens, waiting for Avapeony to be born.

  Broc was of the Iris clan, the ageless, eternal keepers of the wit. They, the entire small tribe, lived in the village of Ayfowg, which was situated directly on the banks of Lake Feidlimed. Whenever a Meab, as peyton, came for a new atrebud for their join, he or she would approach one of the Iris, who would then intercede with the ancient Sheadha of the lake. Three suns later, the atrebud would appear on the bank of the lake and the peyton would remove the fammie from the sma
ll atrebuds’s face, bringing both to full life.

  “I was heartily saddened to hear about the passing of my friends, your parents. Please remember that I am here for you and Ava, no matter what you need,” he said in his gruff, whispery voice.

  I squeezed his hand in gratitude. I thought of Avapeony then and my heart actually burned in my chest in a blaze of sorrow. My only hope was that she and Ronat had safely escaped the Brinc lands.

  “I’m worried about the burns on your back. They were severe and are healing slowly. How is the pain?” His fammie, Hinchigordy, connected with Afton to get a full report on my condition.

  “I will work on it, now that I am over the worst of it,” I said with conviction.

  “Turn, let me see,” he ordered. He helped me turn over and then, lifting my tunic, prodded the skin gently. I tried to ignore the pain of his stretching the burned skin as he changed the bandages, but it was a tough task.

  “This should help,” he said, plastering a fragrant mixture of pulverized herbs over the wounds. Herbs. I thought suddenly of my traveling companions.

  “Lemon. Saffron,” I gasped. “Afton, where are they? Where are the others? Where is Yewsy?”

  Afton had fallen into a somnambulant state and actually seemed to yawn before answering. “Lemon, Saffron, Yewsy, Capel, and Memo are fine.”

  I thought a moment. Wait. “RoseIII, Talew? You forgot two.”

  Broc touched me and I felt sleep take me over.

  WHEN I WOKE, I felt small, cool hands on my cheeks. Wind washed across me. “Wakey, wakey, little Meab.”

  I opened my eyes and was unable to focus on the green eyes made huge by proximity. A sudden gust of wind blew up my nose, and I heard the irritating hum of Jana wings.

  “I told you she was awake,” Tsisi said merrily. She hovered about my face, peering closely at me. “Are you well, Cleome?”

  I brushed her aside and rolled onto my back. There was pain still but it was almost nonexistent when compared with the earlier agony. I stretched, finding that sensation had fully returned to my hands and arms.