“No further need, but we couldn’t be doing this without you. Thank you, Tyrsell,” Darian replied with feeling.
: You are most welcome. I hope that your plan succeeds.:
Tyrsell slipped away into the darkness, leaving them alone with the young barbarian who was just waking.
“What did you do to me?” he demanded angrily, his face contorting with the pain of his headache. “Is this some demon-born torture you’ve worked on me?”
“No,” Keisha said, “it only feels like one.” As the young man’s eyes widened to hear her speak his own language, she continued. “Our magics enable us to take what we wish from your mind, and it seemed useful to have command of your tongue. So, as you can see, there is nothing that you can keep secret from us, but taking your knowledge exacts a toll in pain from you and we would spare you that; you can suffer more of this, or you can answer our questions. The choice is yours.”
“Personally, I’d answer her,” Darian added sternly. “Or you’re likely to wish someone would kill you to be rid of the pain in your head. The more we take, the worse it will get.”
His face paled, and he appeared to wilt—and without that sullen, defiant expression, he looked several years younger than Darian.
“What do you want to know?” he asked, defeat written large in his expression.
“Your name, first,” Keisha said.
“Hywel, son of Pedren, son of Hothgar the Ugly, son of—” he began, obviously quite prepared to recite a lineage back to the beginning of his tribe.
“That’s enough!” Keisha interrupted, stopping him. “Hywel will do.”
“So, Hywel, why have your people fortified their camp?” Darian asked, keeping his stem expression. “We offered to treat with your people, but they are rejecting our offers with apparent hostility.”
“Because we are not fools!” the youngster retorted. “You threaten us, you come upon us with magic and warriors. Are we to simply lie down and allow you to slaughter us? Why are you so hostile to us? We had heard that the peoples of the south were hospitable and welcomed strangers!”
“You mean ‘soft,’ don’t you?” Darian asked cynically, and the young man flushed, then paled. “Well, you’ve found out differently. We’ve seen your kind; we know what to expect from you. Four years ago, one of your clan war parties came down here, looting and killing, making slaves and worse out of my folk, ruining what they didn’t steal! Why shouldn’t we meet you with fighters and magic? We should have met you with fire and the sword for what you did the last time!”
He started to warm to his subject, but the young man interrupted him, with a curious look on his face. “Why do you say it was my people who did this to yours?”
“You’re from the north,” Darian replied stubbornly, anger burning in the pit of his stomach. “You look the same, barring a few decorations.”
“There are many Clans and tribes in the north, and most of them look the same to an outsider,” Hywel retorted, eyes flashing. “Nevertheless, they are not all the same. My people have done nothing to yours. It was not my people who put yours to the sword. My people,” he added proudly, “do not trade in, keep, or make slaves. Our fighters do not make up war parties to loot the wealth of others. I do not know which of the marauding tribes brought harm to you, but we are not them.”
That simple statement brought Darian to a halt; it had never occurred to him that the tribes of the north could be as different as, say, Valdemar and Karse.
“My Clan is Ghost Cat,” Hywel continued, with such pride that Darian was surprised. “And we are very like our totem. We are solitary hunters, we have our own herds. Our fighters are not thieves—they serve and protect the Clan from those who would steal our wealth. We prefer being unseen, like the Cat. None fight more bravely when we must,” he continued with bravado, “But we do not seek conflict. We walk by ourselves, seek our own path, and all places are alike to us.” He tilted his head to one side, looking at Darian curiously. “What totem did your enemies follow?”
“A bear,” Darian replied, wondering how much of Hywel’s speech to believe. “And the shaman bore the sign of the eclipse.”
Hywel’s eyes nearly popped with surprise. “And you drove them off? Indeed, you are either lucky beyond belief or god-touched! That is Blood Bear, and they live for battle; when they can find no enemy, they fight among themselves! Most Clans avoid them at all cost; they have even violated Midsummer Truce in one of their rages!” He dropped his voice to a whisper and looked anxiously from side to side. “Some of their warriors gained the aspect of the Great Bear itself, by venturing into the Forbidden Places with their shaman. This I know, for I saw some of the Bear Warriors, when I was still at the women’s fire. It is said that they are the ones who brought the Summer Fever out of the Forbidden Places, which they dared to enter in their madness and their search for further unnatural powers and monstrous servants.”
That seemed to clinch it; the entire speech rang of the truth, for Darian hadn’t mentioned the half-bear warriors, or the lizardlike creature that had served as one of the leaders. Further, the youngster could not possibly know that they knew about Summer Fever and how it began. That brought Darian to a momentary standstill, at a loss for what to ask next, his anger running out of him.
Keisha, however, was fully prepared to take over.
“What brought you out here in the darkness?” she asked sternly. “Why were you skulking about like one who would do ill? Were you planning to steal from us?”
“No!” Hywel said indignantly. “We are Ghost Cat, not thieves! I would not soil my honor by theft!”
“But if your people had closed themselves into their camp, why were you outside the walls, and at night?” Keisha persisted. “Did you mean to spy upon us?”
He stared at her, stubbornly, but with fear at the back of his eyes.
“I can, and will, take the knowledge from you,” she threatened. “Do you give it to me freely, or would you care to have your pain redoubled and have me gain it regardless?”
He closed his eyes, and whispered miserably, “For my brother. I came for my brother. He has the Summer Fever, and I prayed to our gods to send me a sign, to send me a guide to find one of the Wise Ones who can cure all ills. The fever has taken two of my brothers already, and I think to lose Jendey would kill our mother. I prayed and fasted, and tonight, the Ghost Cat that has led us for so long appeared to me, and led me—here—”
Darian felt chill mixed with awe—for there had been that strange, ghostly shape leading the boy, and it had vanished utterly just before they caught him.
And what if this is the hand of their god, leading him to us because of Keisha?
He exchanged glances with Keisha, and she changed to Valdemaran. “This is a little too spooky,” she said, shaken. “I saw him following—something. Kuari saw it, too, didn’t he?”
“I know. I guess you saw what I saw?” At her nod, he shivered. “Now what?”
“If a bout of fever has started in the camp, the odds are that it’s going to cross over to us,” she replied. “But—this might be what I was hoping for. Earlier today I suggested to the Healers that if we could get a single victim outside the camp, we might be able to find a treatment without being under threat ourselves.” She shrugged. “What do you say about letting him bring his brother out, and letting me take a chance with him? I wouldn’t be in their power, and he wouldn’t dare hurt me, not after what we’ve done to him.”
“We could just go back and let the Healers make sure we haven’t caught it—” But that would be throwing this gift back in the face of the god, who clearly intended that he and Keisha should do something. He didn’t think that would be a very politic move at this point.
“Besides,” Keisha continued, with a grimace, “There’re two more things going for this idea. First of all, this is a child we’re talking about; not even Lord Breon would object to helping a child. Secondly, we obviously have to decide right now, and we can’t afford to wait arou
nd to ask for permission. Hywel isn’t going to have a lot of time to sneak in, get his brother, and sneak back out again—and this may well be the last time he can get out.” The grimace turned into a crooked smile. “It’s easier to beg forgiveness than get permission, so I think we ought to figure on begging forgiveness.”
“You’re sure you want to go through with this?” Darian asked dubiously, trying to think of good reasons to veto the notion, but fairly sure that anything he could think of, she’d have a counter for.
She sighed. “I don’t want to, but I have to. I can’t explain it any other way, except to say that this is something that I have responsibility to handle. I was given the Healer’s Gift; it’s my duty to use it.”
But he already understood; hadn’t he said essentially the same thing to Firesong?
He drew his knife, and Hywel tried to shrink back, clearly expecting that he was about to be murdered. But when Darian slit his bonds instead and stood up, he remained seated, staring up at Darian and rubbing his wrists.
“Go!” Darian snapped, gesturing with his knife. “If you want a Wise One for your brother, go now and bring him back here—just you and him, and no one else! We have a hundred eyes in the night, and if you bring anyone else, we will not be here, and your brother will die.”
Hywel’s expression changed, from fearful to hopeful and back again. “Is this true?” he breathed, “Do you mean this?”
“Do you believe in the guidance of your Ghost Cat?” Keisha asked softly. “I am a Wise One.”
That was enough to decide him. He sprang to his feet. “You will never regret this!” he cried. “Never! I will serve you all my days, and my spirit will defend your children and your children’s children after I am ashes!”
With that, he turned and ran off into the dark, running as surely as if his feet had eyes, and the eyes in his head were those of an owl.
Darian looked askance at Keisha. “Did we do the right thing?” he asked, suddenly unsure.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, staring into the darkness after Hywel. “We did the only thing we could all live with.”
The Ghost Cat Shaman
Sifteen
“I have an idea,” Kelvren said, a few moments after Hywel had vanished into the darkness. “I hearrr the strream not farrr frrom herrre. Go therrre, and wait forrr my rrrreturrn.”
He took to the air, leaving the two of them alone. Darian listened for a moment, then moved off to the right, the mage-light bobbing along over his head. Keisha followed him, and within a few moments, heard the sound of the stream herself.
Darian brought them to a spot on the banks of the stream, a larger version of the freshet beside their camp, which tumbled noisily over flat rocks in a series of small waterfalls. Here they found a place where moss made a thick, soft carpet beneath their feet, kept well-nourished by the spray from the stream. Keisha sat down with a sigh, and Darian did the same. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked, worried for her sake. “This isn’t anything like you’ve done before.”
She licked her lips, and stared off into the darkness for a moment, wearing an expression that suggested she was testing her own resolve. “I know. And I’m not sure. But the rest of you can’t do without Nightwind, Gentian, Grenthan, and Nala, and the apprentices aren’t even as far along as I was two years ago. I thought that learning to use my Gift was going to be hard, and it was at first, but only at first. It was a lot like riding; once I knew what to do and what it felt like to do it right, it was just a matter of exercising those muscles until they were strong and didn’t hurt anymore—and I’ve been doing that a lot, as much as I could stand. Plus, I can talk to Jendey, and it’s going to be scary enough for him to be handled by a stranger. It would be worse if they couldn’t even speak to him. If not me, who else?” She made a face, as she thought of the endless wrangling in the Healers’ tent earlier that day. “Besides, the others would want to debate this idea for hours, and all the time this little boy would be getting sicker. I need to stop this fever as early as possible.”
Darian rubbed his tired eyes. “I wish there were some other way, but I can’t think of anything.”
“Neither can I.” She cocked her head to the side, listening intently, as she heard the sound of labored wing beats. “Is that Kel?”
It was, and he carried a clumsily wrapped bundle. “I have prrrovisionsss, a tent, and yourrr herrrb-bag, Keisssha,” he said smugly, once he was down on the ground. “Alssso, bedrrrollsss. You can make a little Healerrr’sss tent might herrre, and bessst of all, no humansss will know that thessse thingssss arrre misssing until you tell them, Darrrian.”
“How?” Darian asked, staring at the bundle. “How did you manage to get all that?”
Kel looked even more smug, if that was possible. “I have my waysss.”
Keisha hugged his neck, much to his pleasure, before seizing the bundle. Darian helped her untie it and get the tent and camp set up. It was a very small tent, barely big enough for two people, but if the weather turned it would keep Keisha and her patient dry and sheltered. It wasn’t long before they had everything set up, with a tiny campfire to keep the mage-light company, and there was nothing more to do but sit and wait for Hywel’s return.
“I wish I’d brought handiwork,” Keisha sighed, fidgeting with her medicine-bag, pulling things out, looking at them, and putting them back in again. “Even mending. Something to keep my hands busy.”
“You could ssscrratch my crrresst,” Kel suggested brightly. “It isss verrry lucky to ssscrrratch a grrryphon’sss crrresst.”
“Is that true? We’re going to need plenty of luck,” Keisha replied, as Kel stretched out his head in her direction.
“It isss well known,” Kel assured her, as Darian kept back a laugh at Kelvren’s bare-faced ploy to get a scratch. “A long and trrreasssurrrred trrradition.” Kel’s eyes glazed with pleasure as Keisha’s dexterous fingers rubbed the sensitive skin under his feathers. “Ahhhh,” the gryphon sighed. “Don’t you feel luckierrr alrrrready?”
“We’re going to have a chance to test that tradition,” Darian said, jumping to his feet as Kuari alerted him. “Here comes Hywel with the boy.”
Boy? Closer to a toddler, rather. When Hywel ran up to them, panting with exertion, the little one he carried in his arms could not have been more than five or six years old at the most. Keisha waved Darian away and took the fur-wrapped burden from Hywel herself.
“Don’t come near us,” she warned, before Darian could move to help her. “There’s no point in two of us being exposed.” She laid the boy down on one of the bedrolls. “How long has he been sick?” she asked Hywel.
“A day, no more.” He stroked his brother’s damp forehead with surprising tenderness. “You see, already he is lost in fever, and that is not good. It is those whom the fever takes hard and early—who—die—” The last three words came out sounding strangled, as Hywel choked back what could have been a sob. He rubbed his eyes fiercely, as Darian stood well off, feeling distinctly awkward and useless.
“Hywel, you stay with me; all I need is an extra pair of hands, and if Jendey wakes up, he’ll be easier with you here.” She looked up from the boy, and shrugged. “You and Kel might as well go back and tell them what I’ve done. I’m sorry to have to leave you that unpleasant chore, but you can always tell them that I did it before you had any idea what I was planning.”
“Oh, and try to lie to Firesong and Starfall? Digging a well with my teeth would be easier, and a lot less painful.” He smiled crookedly. “No, we’re in this together, and I’d better get back and get it over with.”
He wanted to ask if she was going to be all right and knew it was a stupid question. “Remember all that luck you just got,” he said instead, feeling horribly helpless.
“I will,” she said, as she put the child down on one of the bedrolls, but it was clear that her mind was on the boy and nothing else, and he was just distracting her.
He started to leave, then turned back.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you, Keisha,” he managed, and stopped himself before he said anything ill-omened.
At that, she looked up and smiled with surprising warmth. “Thank you,” she replied softly. “Now go, because I don’t want anything to happen to you either. Don’t let the Herald-Captain eat you alive!”
Knowing then the best way to help her would be to obey her, he left, but slowly, looking back over his shoulder until he couldn’t even see the light from the tiny campfire anymore.
Oh, this is a very sick little boy, she thought, taking the child into her arms. He was so fevered that heat radiated from him. Keisha’s first act was to unwrap the child from his bundle of furs, strip him of his sweat-sodden clothing, and wash him down with cool water to bring his fever down a little. Fever was a good thing in principle, but this boy’s fever was so high that he was in danger of going into convulsions unless she cooled him.
She sponged him a second time with something that killed body-insects, wrapped him briefly in the furs so that the fumes would work on whatever bugs he carried, then unwrapped him and sponged him a third time with plain water. If fleas did carry the sickness, she’d just protected herself.
That done, she dressed him in one of her old shirts and bundled him into the bedroll. “Take those furs and things out of here and put them out somewhere to air for about five days,” she ordered Hywel. “Either that, or, bury or burn them.”
She heard a choked-off sound, as if he were about to object, then silenced himself. A moment later, he and the filthy furs were gone.
Only a day! I’ve never seen a fever progress so quickly. She waited impatiently for Hywel to return as she checked reflexes in Jendey’s arms and legs. Whatever this illness was, at least the paralysis and wasting hadn’t set in yet—or at least it hadn’t set in so much that there was a noticeable difference from healthy reflexes.
Deep down inside, she was afraid, horribly, desperately afraid—but she buried that fear in work. As long as she could keep working, she could keep the fear at bay.
Valdemar 11 - [Owl Mage 02] - Owlsight Page 40
