I listened to my breath, thinking of inhaling deeply and letting my exhalation come when it would.
“However, I can give you a purpose, Rifkin Madman.”
I thought I did not react, but he laughed.
“There’s evil in Istviar. Humanity is threatened. It’s time to finish what the Warrior-Saint began.”
“Go away.”
He laughed again. “The witches live among us, Rifkin. They hold places of trust in our government. They establish a reign that will be far harder to overthrow than the Witches’ Empire. They’ll control us from places of political and economic power. They’ll rule the world if we don’t stop them.”
“Fine,” I said. “Let them.”
“Remember me,” he said, and he left.
Svanik Priest came five or six days later. His face was much smoother than it had been when he was a child. Now, more lines showed on the side that had never been burned. He came while I was practicing my leaping side kicks. “You don’t have to stay here,” he said at last.
I remembered that speaking to the Spirit had not helped, so I continued my kicks. From a tree I’d hung a bag of dirt that served as a target.
“There’s a place for you on the White Mountain.”
I kicked.
“You aren’t what you were, Rifkin. You were only concerned for yourself then. You’ve learned to love—”
I kicked again, and I had not thought I could kick harder than I had kicked before. I could.
“We all grieve with you. Vayil is at her mother’s now. We would have come sooner—”
I switched to leaping front kicks.
“We didn’t know, Rifkin. We rarely have messengers.”
I could do double front kicks before landing, though that called for judging the spinning of the bag between the first and second kicks.
“I loved Rileel, too, you—”
I spun as I landed from the last kick and said, “If you don’t want to learn whether I am still Second Student and you are still Third, leave now.”
He pursed his lips as though to speak, then nodded and left.
When Vayil came that afternoon, I faced her in fighting stance. She opened her arms wide to show she was defenseless. “Rifkin.”
I could not speak in sentences for fear of crying or attacking her. “Go. Away. Now.”
She nodded to me and went.
Someone brought food and water every day. Only later did I realize that it was the man I had paid to bring me happiness milk. I practiced and I meditated, but my meditation was a flight from thought and responsibility. It did not bring me peace. When I dreamed, the Black Shark chased my family, gnawing upon them while I could do nothing. Sometimes the White Lady appeared, and she would entice my family aboard her ship. They went trusting her. When they had boarded, the White Lady’s ship moved away as though a strong wind had caught its sails. Its masts were as bare as oak trees in winter. I screamed from the shore for the White Lady to return, to release my family or to take me also. She only smiled at me. Her smile said that I had conspired with her in my family’s death.
My last visitor was a boy in the vest and helmet of Kiyan’s guard. He came almost a month after Svanik and Vayil had returned to Loh. He said, “The Sea Queen asks you to come to Istviar.”
I nodded. “Lead me.”
Kiyan received me in the small room where we had often met. She wore a red and white silk sarong that I had admired, and her hair was tied back as if she were a student again with Tchanin. She smiled gently, and for a moment, it was as though I were returning again from the White Mountain and she was there to comfort me. “Hello, old friend.” Her voice was weak, and lower than I remembered.“
“Kiyan.” I nodded to her.
“I’ve heard. I’m sorry.”
I nodded again.
“I remember Rileel. I hope you treated her better than you did when we were students.”
“A little.”
“Good.” She clapped her hands, and the curtain to the room was brushed aside by a small, dark young man in loose silk trousers and silver jewelry on his fingers, arms, ankles, and ears. He smiled a secretive, superior smile as Kiyan said, “My son, Izla of Istviar.”
Izla assessed me with his glance. “This is the peasant who was your... friend, Mother?”
“This is Rifkin Artist, Izla.”
“Artist?” Izla laughed. “One of those fellows who break trees with their foreheads and fight bulls on feast days? He must be very proud. There aren’t many who are the equals of trees.”
Kiyan’s eyes closed for a moment. “My son is a fool, Rifkin. That is why I’ve asked you to come here.”
‘To teach him?“ I asked.
Izla laughed delightedly.
“No,” Kiyan answered. ‘To protect him.“
We stood in the room in silence. If Izla had laughed, I might have left then. He gnawed at the cuticle of the little finger of his left hand. My youngest son at Loh had done exactly that when he was nervous or thinking of distant things. “Very well,” I said. “I’ll protect him. From what?”
“Assassins. Rebellion. His own foolishness.”
“I can’t guarantee to save him from any of those.”
“I know that.” There was relief in Kiyan’s voice, and that pleased me.
“I don’t like this,” Izla said.
“Poor baby,” Kiyan answered.
“I can protect myself,” Izla said, and his hands were suddenly encased in globes of fire.
“Fool!” Kiyan snapped her hand at him. A gust of wind extinguished Izla’s flame.
I stared at them both. In songs, heroes wonder at such times if they have gone mad, but I did not disbelieve what I had seen. “Witches,” I said.
Izla smiled. “He is quick, for a peasant.”
“You see why my son needs protection?”
I touched my tongue to my lip, then nodded.
“The people whisper that Istviar is ruled by witches,” Kiyan said. “And they are right. It’s been a secret since the Witches’ Empire fell. I’m not sure how the rumor began.” She looked at Izla.
“I wasn’t careless!”
“Maybe not.” When she turned her eyes to me, she said with some pride, “Izla’s the strongest witch in generations, Rifkin. In our family it’s traditional to teach our children the truth about themselves when they reach their twentieth birthday, and then to begin instruction in using our art. Izla discovered his in puberty. One summer people in the palace began to feel as though they had no privacy, as if there were secret watchers hidden in the rooms. I discovered the truth one evening when I felt a clumsy spy in my mind and realized who it must be.”
“I am tired of this story, Mother.”
“Yes.” She touched his shoulder kindly. “You may leave us now, if you wish.”
“Good.” He went without a farewell.
“Are you frightened of us, Rifkin?”
I nodded.
“I’m still Kiyan.”
“I know.”
“It doesn’t change me.”
“I know.”
“You won’t betray us?”
I shook my head slightly.
“Thank you.” She closed her eyes, and I wondered if she were dismissing me. “He’s not a bad son, Rifkin. I don’t think so, anyway. I love him. But I didn’t raise him well. Maybe I should have sent him to the Priests, just as my mother sent me. Izla’s—” She opened her eyes. “He needs to learn about the world, but he might not have time.”
“You mentioned rebellion.”
“In the west. My consort’s gone in hopes of quieting his people. Maybe he can do something. I don’t know. I have agents among the people. They say the Warrior-Saint’s Spirit will return to Istviar and cleanse the city.”
“I’ve heard.”
She swallowed. I saw then that she was close to tears. “Have I been a bad ruler? I try to help the witches and the humans, and it only gets worse, Rifkin. Why?”
I had no
answer. After a moment or two she said “Go, Rifkin Guardian. Your old bunk is yours again.” I shrugged and nodded and went.
For the next fourteen months we watched the Ladizhar Alliance crumble. Messengers came each week with news from the west, from the isles, from the east, from the inlands. In the latter part of the fall of Istviar, the messengers came several times a day. For the most part we carried on life in the Sea Queen’s palace as best we could. Kiyan grew weaker as the strain increased. When the western provinces fell to the Spirits, the embargoes began. Kiyan walked each day through the streets of Istviar, greeting the people and promising that the shortages would end soon. It seemed that her family might have held Istviar, but on one of her walks a dark figure in a crowd threw a poisoned dart at her chest. The assassin escaped. When I learned the story, I doubted I could have saved her. I’ll never know. I was protecting Izla.
Izla passed most of the week of his reign in the throne room. He had clerks bring him texts from the palace libraries during the day. At night he had parties there, inviting ambitious offspring of Istviar’s wealthier families. It seemed there was always one who would accompany Izla to his chambers. His bed partners were never invited to subsequent parties, and all knew this. Perhaps they went with him because then they would not have to return. Perhaps each hoped to earn the Seaprince’s love.
The evening before the City of Ships fell to the armies of the west, Izla led me to the libraries. “I could not save my mother,” he said, “but I can save us, Rifkin. You still stand by the vow you swore?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He threw a sheaf of old papers onto a desk and smoothed one with the flat of his hand. “Here!” He pointed at hieroglyphs I could not understand. The age of the paper made his following words seem more credible. “You’re safe enough from the Spirits, Rifkin. They don’t care about a bodyguard. But they know my face. They’ll come with iron, and I don’t know how to protect myself against them. But you do!” He laughed. “I need your permission, Rifkin. I can’t force this. If you allow me, we will change bodies for a few weeks. I’ll travel along the coast in your body and no one will know me. You’ll go north, where no one knows Izla. In a week or two you’ll have my body safely away from the Ladizhar. The spell will fade then, and you’ll be free of your promise to my mother. Do you agree?”
I don’t know if he truly expected me to deny him. I nodded, and the rest happened as he said. I woke in the room in Izla’s body. My body had already gone. I took up my bodyguard’s gear and fled.
For several months after that I went to sleep each evening expecting to wake somewhere along the coast. Each morning I woke a fugitive. So I came to Castle Gromandiel.
* * *
15
CASTLE GROMANDIEL
NAIJI SAID “WAKE. It’s almost dawn.”
“Almost dawn. Right.”
She nudged me with her elbow, and I said “Hey!”
She sighed. “I thought a Master Artist would wake instantly.”
“I do.”
“And fall asleep as quickly.”
‘True. Hey!“ I scrambled against the wall to escape her tickling. ”I’m awake, woman.“
She grinned and walked into her room. I tried to decide if her buttocks usually swayed so nicely or if she was adding something extra for my benefit. “I’m very awake,” I called after her. “Care to come back and see how much?”
“No, Rifkin. There’s much for us to do today.”
“I thought you ruled here.”
“I do. That’s why there’s so much to do.”
“Right.” I saw no reason to wake fully, so I staggered through my morning habits, eventually becoming conscious in spite of myself. Someone had taken yesterday’s clothing and set out baggy black pants and a jacket with silver trim. When I put on the old brown boots and looked in the mirrored wall, I considered asking if the blue and burgundy outfit was still around. “Who’s been choosing my clothes?” I called.
“Talivane’s given you a few things that were his when he was younger.”
“Ah. I hope he dies soon. Painfully. In checked pants and a striped shirt.”
“Something’s wrong?” She came into the bathroom, then smiled. “You look like you’re going to a dance.”
“I’d like to. On Talivane.”
“It doesn’t matter. When all this ends, someone’ll fix better clothing for you.”
“They won’t follow Talivane’s suggestions?”
“No.”
“That’ll be nice, then.”
Naiji wore her hunting garb with a basket-hilted saber sheathed on one hip and a heavy knife lashed to the other thigh. I’d already transferred my collection of surprises to their hiding places, so I belted on my short sword, then picked up my axe with my left hand. When long ago I took it from a fellow who no longer needed it, it had a leather hood to cover its head. After I had to hammer someone to death because the hood was on, I threw the hood away. I ruined one pair of pants by carrying the thing unsheathed, but I didn’t bleed to death. I was careful after that.
Naiji tapped the steel stars that decorated my old belt. “Say! Are those throwing darts?”
I nodded.
She shook her head. “My, you are a sneaky one. Are you carrying any other weapons I don’t know about?”
I shrugged, a little embarrassed.
“And here I’ve been thinking you were just color-blind.”
That almost made me tell her what I kept in the boots.
We went to the kitchens. Avarineo sat at a table and slurped tea from a mug. “Morning, mistress,” he said.
“Morning, old friend.” Naiji rubbed his head like a dog’s, and he grinned.
“Morning, Avarineo,” I said.
He squinted, then smiled suddenly and said, “Morning, R-r-r-rifkin! I like you very, very much! You, R-r-rifkin, are Avarineo’s friend!”
I reminded myself again not to stand near any cliffs in the giant’s presence.
Dovriex came out from a door near the back of the kitchens. A grey smudge on his cheek suggested that he had been tending the smokehouse. “Good morning, Naiji, Rifkin! What would you like for breakfast?”
“Something vile,” I suggested.
He nodded. “Well then, my lucky fellow, you’ve come to the right place.”
“Hot mold in muddy water?”
“Better than that.” He handed me a bowl, and I stared into it.
“This looks like what you served yesterday.”
“Ah, but now it’s had time to age.”
“Not enough. It hasn’t decayed.”
“You haven’t tasted it yet.”
I took a bite. “You’re right. It’s decayed.” Then I saw that Naiji snacked on flatbread and jam. “But—”
“The privileges of rank,” Naiji said. “But I’m not cruel. Want to smell it?”
“You’re too kind. I’ll eat my scum.”
“This is scum?” Avarineo said. “I like this scum!”
“Guess who’ll get seconds,” said Dovriex.
“Guess who could keep them down,” I said.
Dovriex looked hurt. When Dovriex looked hurt, he scowled and rested his hand on the cleaver at his hip. I decided to be more considerate of his feelings in the future. I said, “Sorry. It’s not bad, actually.”
“You can have seconds, too, then,” he said.
On the other hand if I insulted him thoroughly, my end would be quick, and almost painless. “We’ll have to take care of Komaki soon,” I said.
Naiji glanced at me.
“If the Duke doesn’t kill us, these breakfasts will.”
Dovriex only grinned, so I finished the gruel. I sat there, drinking a bitter root tea and scowling at Naiji while she ate her second piece of flatbread and jam. That only made her seem to enjoy her meal more, so I smiled. She smiled back at me, and Avarineo said, “Lovey faces. Uck. Makes me sick.”
“Oh?” I said. “I didn’t think anything could.”
Do
vriex said, “Thanks, Rifkin. Half-rations for you tomorrow morning.”
“Promises, promises.”
I drank more tea, and Naiji and I smiled at each other for a bit. Dovriex busied himself with washing pots. Avarineo said, “Anyone making lovey faces should make them at someone tall and strong and handsome, not at foolish little—”
I glanced at him.
“—people like there aren’t any of around here, oh no, not like my good friend R-r-r-rifkin, oh no. He’s not a foolish little person. And anyone who says so will answer to me! I think I’ll go away now.”
Avarineo left. A minute or two later, Naiji said, “I think we should—”
“Make sure none of Komaki’s warriors have sneaked into my bedroom? I agree.”
Naiji smiled. “That’s silly.”
“You’re right. Let’s check your bedroom instead.”
“Rifkin.”
“Oh, all—” I turned as one of the twins ran into the room. “Sivifal,” I said.
“Livifal,” Naiji corrected. “What is it?”
“Your father, Lady. He’s awake. He asks for you.”
“And Talivane?” Naiji asked.
“No, Lady. You and the southerner.”
“Oh?” Naiji looked at me.
“Yes,” Livifal said.
I shrugged. Naiji said, “Then we go. Tell Talivane that Da’s awake.”
“Yes, Lady.”
We strode briskly from the kitchens to the infirmary. Naiji said, “Let me do the talking.”
“Sure.”
“What’ll he expect?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. He probably heard Izla’s voice, though maybe only I did.”
“Well, don’t worry about it.”
“Of course not. What’s the worst he can do to me?”
“Since you’re wearing iron, little.”
“Fine.”
“He might use the fact that he’s partially paralyzed to paralyze you. Then he’d have someone strip the iron from you so you could be tormented for a few days. And then he’d kill you. Da’s like that.”
“Oh.”
She reached over and squeezed my arm. “I was just teasing.”
Will Shetterly - Witch Blood Page 14
