She stiffened. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“What’ve you learned?”
“That someone else lives in my skull. What’ve you learned?”
She laughed. “Oh, Rifkin...” She relaxed in my arms and began to stroke me too. “Later, Rifkin. Ask me later, please?”
“Certainly, Lady. Whatever you wish.”
“How did you learn?”
“About the other? Remember when your father fell?”
I felt her chin nodding against me. “Yes,” she said.
“That wasn’t me. It was someone else in my mind.”
“No, Rifkin. Not someone else in your mind. Another mind in your skull.”
“I know. I figured that—” I stared at her. “How much do you know?”
“Shush.” She hugged me. “Calm yourself.” Her voice became almost bitter, almost self-mocking. “There’s no knowledge too terrible to bear.”
“How much?” I repeated, not caring for anything then but an answer.
“That there are two minds in your body, Rifkin. Which belongs and which is the intruder, I can’t tell. Whose the other’s is, I don’t know. But I can guess.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.” She squeezed me again. “This body belongs to a witch, and you aren’t one.”
The night seemed colder then. I moved away from her to spread my sleeping pallet and then to wrap myself in a blanket. She watched without speaking. At last, I said, “When did you guess?”
“I didn’t guess, Rifkin. I told you I looked into your skull when I healed you in the woods. I learned more than I told you.”
“What else?”
“That’s all.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I studied her. “I wish I could tell truth as you do.”
She laughed. “No, you don’t. Will you share your blanket?”
“You’re warm enough in your clothes.”
“That can be remedied.” She began to undress.
“Why do you trust me?”
“Because you’re honest, Rifkin.”
“And the other? Do you trust him too?”
“Not at all.”
“I lied this afternoon. I, Rifkin Truthteller.”
“Oh?”
‘To the Spirits.“
“So? What’s a lie told to liars?”
“A lie.”
“Oh. What did you say?”
“I told one I would kill him.”
“And you didn’t? I’d think you’d be proud of that.”
“You weren’t there.”
“No.” She was naked now. “You’ll share?” I opened the blanket, and she hurried in. “Thanks.” She pressed herself against me. A hand began to caress my thigh.
“No,” I said.
“You’re strange, Rifkin.”
I glanced at her. “Me? Old Rifkin Twominds? What makes you say that?”
“And you can joke any time?”
“Not always well. I’m sorry.”
“You shouldn’t worry about the other.”
I had to think a moment to know whom she meant. “No?”
“No. It may be his body, but you control it.”
“I thought he was dead.”
She nodded.
“He wants it back,” I said.
“How do you know that?”
“I don’t. But he never spoke before. He must want it back.”
“How long have you had—”
“This body?”
“Yes.”
“Two years. Almost three.”
“And you still want it?”
“Yes.”
“Then keep it, Rifkin.”
“That might not be easy.”
We lay there in silence for some time. I said, “Your turn, now. What did you learn this evening?”
“Not yet, Rifkin. If we’re still alive tomorrow night, I’ll tell you then.”
“As you wish, Lady.”
“Who is it?”
I started, thinking she had heard someone I had not, then understood. “Izla Seaprince,” I said.
“That’s the name Chifeo spoke.”
“He was more accurate than I thought.”
“Why did you deny it?”
“Because I’m Rifkin. Rifkin...” I searched for another name to identify myself, but I could not find a single one.
“Rifkin,” Naiji agreed. She kissed my cheek.
“Not Izla,” I said.
“No. Not Izla.”
“How can I kill him?”
“I thought you never chose to kill.”
“Is there a way?”
“I don’t know, Rifkin. Talivane might.”
“I don’t want to be in Talivane’s debt.”
“You don’t have to.”
“No?”
“No. Just learn to live with Ixla.”
“Izla,” I corrected.
“Right. What’s the story?”
“You’ll tell Talivane?”
She said softly, “He doesn’t need to know any of this.”
“What if the other takes over?”
“From what I could sense of him, Talivane would prefer him to you.”
That amused me in a morbid way. “Probably true.”
“Well?”
“It’s getting late,” I said.
“So?”
“The short version, then.”
“The long.”
“Or none at all,” I said.
“The short would be fine.”
“There was once a prince and a bodyguard who changed bodies, planning to change back again. They never did.”
She stared at me. “That’s the story?”
“Enough of it, for now.”
“What happened to your first body? Your... original body? Is it dead?”
“I don’t know. It might be. Perhaps that’s why Izla speaks inside me now.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
“Very.”
“And?”
I turned away from her, as if I would go to sleep. “I don’t know.”
“You mentioned a son.”
“He died, Naiji. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Your original body may still be walking around, and you don’t care?”
“I care very much. What can I do?”
“Go back. To Istviar.”
I turned over to face her. “You saw Chifeo’s reaction to me. Any Ladizhan I met would think I was Izla Seaprince. The Spirits pursue him with orders to kill him. They have good reason to do so. All I can do is flee.”
“To here?” Naiji began to laugh.
“Stop,” I said.
“Sorry. But of all the places you could come—”
“I thought it was coincidence at first, Lady. But if Izla is awake in my skull, he may have directed me. Magic seems to make him stronger. At least, he never spoke before, that I noticed.”
“And now?”
“Twice. Once when your father fell. Again tonight.” I suddenly remembered the sensation of being watched while Naiji healed me in the woods. I wanted to curse her for waking him then, but I realized that I would have died if she had done nothing.
“And you never recognized him.”
“No. I thought he was dead. Two minds in one skull...” I closed my eyes. “It never occurred to me.”
She laughed. “A number of things never occurred to you, Rifkin. You wear a witch’s body. You should learn to use it.”
I brought my hand up the inside of her thigh. “I have.”
She giggled and caught my wrist. “Not like that. As a witch.”
“I’m not one.” I turned to move my other hand along her side.
“You are, Rifkin,” she said patiently. “You are. That’s why I brought you here. I’d never have trusted some magicless human the way I trust you,”
“But I’m—”
“Magic is in your body and your blood, Rifkin. Don’t ever allow yourself
to be tested with iron like you did this afternoon. It was only your ignorance and your disbelief that saved you.”
“I’m Rifkin,” I said. “Not a witch.”
“You want to stay Rifkin and not become Izla Whatzis?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Learn to use your magic, then. I suspect it’s the only way.” She lay there, holding me. “Well?”
“Maybe.”
“I don’t lie to you now.”
“I know.”
“I could teach you.”
I swallowed, then said, “Do so.”
“You’re frightened?” she asked in surprise.
“A little.”
“A lot. Poor Rifkin.” She wiped sweat from my forehead. “Relax. Izla won’t destroy you while you sleep, nor will Rifkin Justanotherhuman become a wizard tonight. The little tricks take months to master, and the art of magic requires years. I’m not about to begin teaching you now.”
“Good.”
“But you should learn.”
“I will.”
She stroked my brow, then kissed it softly. “If I can help you escape Izla, I will.”
“Thank you.”
“I like you, Rifkin.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“No, Rifkin,” she said patiently. “But I like you.”
“That means you’re thinking of the things we could do together?”
“No. It just means I like you.” She squeezed me. “Go to sleep.”
I closed my eyes and began to concentrate on my breathing, as though I planned to meditate. That usually let me sleep almost as soon as I lay down, but too many thoughts kept peeking into my mind. I almost whispered “Good night, Izla,” just to show myself that I could still joke in the face of danger, a talent many fools pride themselves on. The thought that he might answer kept me quiet.
After a bit I remembered what Naiji had said about being willing to couch with a boundman, but never willing to sleep with one. I said her name quietly as I started to ask when she would leave me. A faint snore was her answer.
* * *
14
ISTVIAR
KIYAN OF ISTVIAR gave me a post in her mother’s guards. We were secret lovers, or so we thought, though many people would smile when I would leave the barracks to spend an evening out, or when Kiyan would have me attend her for an afternoon of personal instruction. My two years in the City of Ships were happy ones. I became an instructor of sorts, teaching the palace guards what I knew of the Warrior-Saint’s Art and learning other techniques from those who knew them. When Kiyan’s mother died and she became the Sea Queen, she sent for me. We met in Kiyan’s bedroom. When I moved to kiss her, she held up her hand between us, offering a heavy coin purse without comment or expression.
“What’s this?” I asked, taking it.
“Your pay.”
“Ah.”
“I’m going to marry.”
“And this isn’t a dowry.”
She smiled and caressed my cheek. “No, Rifkin. I’ve decided to marry one of the western princes. It’s for the good of Istviar. It’ll strengthen the Alliance.”
“Ah. For the good of Istviar. I understand.”
“I still care for you, Rifkin. I might be tempted to keep you here if I didn’t.”
“Which means I must leave?”
She nodded. “I don’t expect him to keep a lover, Rifkin. I can hardly keep you.”
I nodded slowly.
“I have met him. He seems kind.”
“I’m glad of that.”
“Really?”
“No,” I said. “Well, yes. Maybe.”
She laughed and beckoned to me. “One last time, old friend?”
I swallowed carefully, set the bag of coins aside, and said, “Of course.”
In the morning, lying in her sheets, I tried to memorize her features and wondered whether I loved Kiyan or only what she represented to me. She woke, snuggled against me, and said, “I’ll miss you.”
“Good.”
She must have heard some bitterness in my voice. Her eyes opened and she studied me, completely awake. “Rifkin. If I send for you, will you come to me?”
“Though ten thousand soldiers should bar the way.”
She laughed and put her head against my neck. “What a dope.”
I returned to Loh. I was older, and I was rich, and I had served the Sea Queen. I discovered that the Searich line did not despise me, and that little Rileel, one of Vayil’s sisters who had been widowed the year before, was much more attractive than I remembered. Rileel and I lived together for nineteen years. Vayil and Svanik both came to Loh to visit, and we even practiced the Art together, and I was content.
News traveled slowly between Istviar and Loh, but we heard of Kiyan’s marriage, and later, that it resulted in a son. Kiyan’s rule seemed to be a good one, though people muttered that she was too kind to Istviar’s witches. She decreased the witches’ taxes and no longer required them to inhabit Istviar’s witches’ quarter. Still, Istviar prospered under her rule, and I knew of no serious discontent in the Sea Queen’s country.
The Searich family grew richer while I lived with them. We bought a fourth boat. When Istviar established a garrison in Loh, I arranged a contract with the garrison’s leader to supply them with fish. Rileel and I had four children—a son by her first marriage, then twin daughters, then a son. When Kiyan’s messenger came—
I write this too quickly. I can already hear the complaints of my favorite critic. Very well, I’ll tell more of my later life in Loh.
When I was one of Tchanin’s students, Rileel was a gawky girl who thought she loved me, and I had little time for her. I never saw her for what she was; I saw her for what she was not. She was not her older sister, and she was not Kiyan. I knew her flaws very well: she laughed too loudly, and she giggled at the most simplistic jokes. Others in Tchanin’s class had noticed the looks that Vayil’s sister gave me. They kidded me about her. She embarrassed me, and I was Second Student, who deserved far better than Vayil’s silly sister.
When I returned to Loh, Rileel was a widowed mother who bore her sorrow well. I was rich, and I had bought a hut and a small boat. For the first week I spent my days in the boat, trying to learn what the smallest children of the fishing families already knew. I spent my evenings sober, but in the second week, I passed two evenings quite drunk on happiness milk. When I woke the third morning of the second week, Rileel was waiting in the yard outside my hut. I knotted a sheet like a sarong about my waist. ‘“Leel. Mornin’.”
“You need a helper in your boat,” she said quietly, not meeting my eyes.
I nodded.
“All of my family know these waters.”
“I know.”
“My lover’s boat was caught in a storm when he was too far out.”
“I heard.”
“I was too pregnant to be with him.”
“He shouldn’t have gone out too far.”
“If I’d been with him, he wouldn’t have.” She looked up, and her eyes, I noticed, were a very common brown, but that brown was no less attractive for being common. “If you take me as a helper, I’ll only ask a quarter of your catch. And I’ll double that catch.”
“Great,” I said. “That guarantees two fish today.” When she smiled slightly, I said, “You could work on one of your family’s boats.”
She didn’t answer. I thought of Vayil’s independence, and realized that it was a trait of the Searich family.
“No matter, Rileel. You’re ready to go?”
“My mother is caring for my son. I’m ready.”
We caught more fish that day than I had caught all week.
Rileel moved into my hut seven months after that day. Our daughters were born almost a year later, and our son, ten months after them. And now I will tell the next part much too quickly, and I will make no apology. We had eighteen good years in Loh. I continued to practice the Art, even though I knew that I loved my family and
my village too much to seek spiritual transcendence. I taught what I could to my children. In the nineteenth year plague came to Loh, and I watched my family die.
I do not know why the plague never touched me. I had been very sick for a week in Istviar; perhaps that satisfied the spirits of illness. I only know that in that spring, a trading ship came to Loh from a western city. A week later people began to sicken. Sores developed in their mouths, their groins, their armpits. They screamed. They soiled themselves like babies. They become unconscious. They died. One-fourth of Lori’s people died in three weeks.
When I had buried the last of my family—my eldest son, Rileel’s firstborn—I went to the man who made happiness milk and gave him a fistful of coins. “Bring a jug every morning to my hut. Tell me when I need to pay you again. I have more coins.“
“Yes, Rifkin Searich.”
I stared at him until he said, “What did I say? I didn’t mean—”
I tapped myself. “Rifkin Freeman.” “Of course.”
“A jug every morning,” I repeated. “And when you want more coins, I’ll dig up more for you. Amazing, isn’t it? Gold doesn’t rot in the earth.”
When he said nothing, I returned to my hut. I tried very hard to stay drunk after that, but after several days, I shattered that day’s jug and began to practice the Art again. I may have practiced for an hour or so every day while my family lived, but when they died, I practiced all day. I remembered enough of what I had learned on the White Mountain, and I set myself new tests. One day three months later, as I did the Thirteenth Pattern—the longest and most difficult—in reverse at one-fourth its normal speed, I became aware of a black-garbed figure watching me.
I finished without altering my speed. I did the final bow to my watcher, who nodded in approval. He was a small, dark man with his hair cut close to his skull. He returned my bow and laughed. “I heard that a madman lived in Loh who was a greater follower of the Warrior-Saint’s Art than any Priest or Spirit who ever lived.”
“You hear exaggerations.”
“So I see.” His clothes were more closely tailored than those of a Priest. He could only be a Spirit. When my family lived, his presence would have frightened or angered me. “Still, you’re very good.”
I sat to begin meditating.
“Come to Moon Isle. We’ll have a place for you.”
I let my lids half close.
“You cannot want gold, or you would not live like this. So I won’t offer gold to you.”
Will Shetterly - Witch Blood Page 13
