by Sharon Shinn
“And was she a healer as well?” Kirra asked.
Senneth smiled. “Ah—well—it has occurred to me more than once that you might have a very mixed heritage. Perhaps one of your ancestors was descended from the Wild Mother, and another from the Dark Watcher. You are blessed because you have two sets of skills, and two goddesses who guard you.”
“What about me?” Cammon said.
She regarded him thoughtfully. “I am not so sure about you. I am not, perhaps, conversant with all the gods. But I think you might derive your powers from the Lady of the Waters, who dwells in the riverbeds and the depths of the ocean. Water responds to every wind and every change in season—winter freezes it, spring releases it. If you blow on the surface of a pond, you send ripples in every direction. So you might call it a sensitive medium. But, as I say, I am not entirely certain.”
“This is ridiculous,” Justin began in a contemptuous voice, but Tayse cut a hand through the air to silence him, and he said no more.
“Are there other gods? And mystics with other powers?” Cammon asked.
“There might be. I don’t know,” Senneth said. “I only know the bits and pieces I have put together from tales my grandmother used to tell. And, as I say, I could be completely wrong—but it is a theory that seems to make sense to me.”
“But then—why would—how did—why did the gods choose some people to bless with power, and not choose others?” Kirra asked.
Senneth smiled. “I don’t know the answer to that, either! My guess is—oh, some time ago, centuries ago, the gods saw that the faith of the people was failing. And they decided to walk through Gillengaria, either together or apart, to try to reclaim their people. I don’t know if they showed themselves only to the devout, or if they walked naked and terrible through every settlement and invited the villagers to look at them. I don’t know if they selected one person in this town and another person in that town, and laid their hands upon the chosen, and transferred some of their own power into those bodies. I don’t know if they took human lovers to produce children that were half mortal and half divine. I don’t know if the whole exercise was a jealous competition to see which god or goddess could win the most converts. I don’t even know if it happened. I just know that there are a handful of us in Gillengaria who appear to have been touched with an inexplicable power, and I know that the gods have all but disappeared from our land. And I cannot help but wonder if there is a connection.”
“You say the gods have disappeared,” Cammon said. “But the Pale Mother is all around us, at least here in the south. Does that mean she won the competition, if there was one? Does that mean her—her children have some kind of mystical power?”
“I don’t know that, either,” Senneth admitted. “I have never heard of one of the Daughters displaying any kind of special ability. Maybe the moon goddess has no power, and so she is the most jealous one of all. Maybe that is why she hates the descendants of her brothers and sisters with such passion—why she wants to see them all banished or murdered, because she knows they have power, and she has none. Or maybe there were never any gods, and they never walked through Gillengaria. I don’t know. It is just something I have wondered.”
She glanced at Cammon. “But it might explain some things— why you could locate this building, for instance. You are sensitive to magic—or perhaps you are sensitive to divine power. This shrine is a place of divinity, and so you could perceive its existence.”
“Yes, well, you can always twist a consequence to match a theory,” Justin said, unable to contain himself any longer. “But to think—to hear you say—that you and your friends are gods—”
“I didn’t say we were,” Senneth said mildly. “I don’t think even the gods are gods in Gillengaria anymore. I just think they left some traces of themselves behind.”
“I believe it,” Donnal said quietly, and the others all looked at him. He had sat so quietly this whole time, in his accustomed place beside Kirra, that it was as easy to forget he was in the room as it was to forget the raelynx. Neither of whom should be overlooked, Tayse reminded himself.
Donnal went on. “There is a temple to the Wild Mother on Danalustrous lands, which I found one day by accident. A small place, completely open to the elements after so many years of neglect. I didn’t even know what it was the first time I came across it. But there was”—his hand made a half circle in the air—“a mosaic that took up an entire wall. Broken and fallen to pieces by now, of course, but you could tell it had once been beautiful. It depicted every creature that runs or flies across Gillengaria—hawk, hound, rabbit, fox, fish, cat—every one of them. As if this was the one place in the whole land all of them could be safe.
“I found that place one winter when I’d been hunting, and I’d gotten hurt, and I needed shelter for the night. And when I staggered in, and rested against that wall, I felt—I can’t explain. But I knew it was a place of power. And inside it, I healed faster than I believed was possible. I woke in the morning, and my wound was almost gone. I knew it was a holy place, and I went back as often as I could after that. I did not know what kind of offerings to bring, or even what god had once sheltered there, but I would sit, and I would meditate, and I would feel myself grow stronger.”
“You never took me to such a place,” Kirra said.
He smiled at her. “I will take you the next time we are on your father’s lands.”
Justin threw his hands in the air and leaned back against his packs. “Magic and superstition!” he burst out. “Old tales and crazy notions born of a fever on a cold night!”
Donnal looked at him, his dark face neutral. “Very well, then, how do you explain it?” he said. “Because you have seen what we are all capable of. The fire burns without fuel—I can take any shape I desire. If we were not touched by gods, gods who are still in some sense present in this world, then how do you rationalize the things that you know we can do?”
“It might be magic, but it is not divine,” Justin said flatly. “I can’t explain the difference, but I know there is one.”
Tayse held up a hand, bent on stopping the argument before it could properly begin. “It doesn’t matter,” he said to Justin quietly. “It cannot be proved or disproved, and since we have not been asked either to contain them or exorcise them, we do not have to care how they were made. Myself, I find it a story no worse than other stories—true or untrue—but it does not matter. What matters is that the king trusts them, and he has given them to our care. As long as they carry out their mission and do not betray the king, they can think what they like, and we can keep our opinions to ourselves.”
“Yes, but does the king know this bit about being children of the gods?” Justin demanded.
Tayse turned his eyes thoughtfully toward Senneth. “I don’t know. I have no idea at all what the king knows about these people, or how he came to choose Senneth for this mission.”
Senneth grinned. “No, I have not shared my theories with anyone except the five of you,” she said. “Certainly feel free to repeat them to King Baryn if you think they will have some bearing on how he views me.”
“I am more interested right now in how he knows you at all,” Justin said.
“My father had done some services for him for many years,” Senneth said. “I was in and out of the royal palace more times than I could recount for you, when I was a child. The king, as you know, does not view mystics with any revulsion. He seemed intrigued to learn that I had left my father’s house for such a reason.”
“And how did he learn of it?” Tayse asked.
Senneth’s eyes flicked to Kirra. “Malcolm Danalustrous told him, after I had spent some time tutoring his daughter. In fact, the king summoned me to his side for the first time more than ten years ago, and he asked me if I would exercise my abilities on his behalf.” She shrugged. “Since then, every year or so, as my wanderings have taken me, I have made a visit to the royal palace to give my greetings to my king. I suppose he does not think it is so
very bad a thing to have a mystic in his employ whom he knows and trusts. The arrangement has suited us both.”
It sounded plausible enough, but, to Tayse’s ears, still a little too glib. What kind of service had her father provided to the king? Nothing even remotely military, or Tayse would have known about him. Perhaps he was a farmer or a merchant trader—perhaps he dealt in fine velvets and silks, or wines imported from Arberharst and too expensive for any but the royal table. It was her right not to be specific, of course—they had all left certain details out of their stories—but still, there was something about her explanation that seemed to skirt the truth.
“I have not seen you before, on any of these many visits you made to the king,” Justin said suspiciously.
“No, and I have not seen you, either,” she replied. “I imagine there might be more than one visitor to the royal palace who is not brought down to the guardhouse and introduced ’round to all the men.”
Kirra giggled; Justin looked furious. “Enough,” Tayse said. “There is no point in baiting each other over any of this.”
“Well, he couldn’t make it more clear that he hates and mistrusts all of us,” Kirra said. “He should at least pretend to respect us if his king finds us worthy of his regard.”
Justin looked hot to reply, but Tayse stared him down. “I think we could all work a little harder at pretending to respect each other,” Tayse said, and this time it was Senneth who stifled a laugh. “But for now, perhaps, we should call the conversation ended. Turn in for the night, work harder on our civility in the morning.”
There was a moment’s silence while the four mystics nodded and seemed to realize, suddenly, that they were exhausted, and while Justin struggled to contain his stirred emotions. He was a King’s Rider, and a damn fine one, but there were days Justin was still a gutter boy fighting for his life and hating everyone in the world who did not have to fight equally as hard.
“Should we post a guard?” the younger man asked eventually in a cool, professional voice. “I could take first watch.”
Tayse could not help a smile. “I’m not sure the sun itself will be able to find us by tomorrow morning,” he said. “I think we can all sleep tonight without fear.”
Senneth looked at him, and her smile was easy to read. The sun will find us easily enough, because she will come looking for me, her expression said. Tayse shrugged and almost smiled back, then turned to unroll his blankets and lay himself down for the night.
CHAPTER 14
IN the morning, they found themselves snowed in. The storm had continued soundlessly but relentlessly throughout the night, and now there was a good five feet of snow piled up all around the small temple.
“Just as well we didn’t try to camp in the open,” Tayse said, peering out the door and measuring the drifts with his eyes. “We’d have been buried.”
“I think we’re here for another day,” Senneth said. She was standing beside him, surveying the white landscape, and she did not sound overjoyed. “Or two.”
Tayse nodded. “Well, we’re safe—we’re warm—we don’t have to worry about going thirsty. I’m not sure how long our food supplies will last, though.”
“Kirra and Donnal can hunt,” she said so casually that for a moment he imagined them going off with traps and bows over their arms. Then he realized what she really meant, and a shiver of distaste ran down his spine.
“What about your pet raelynx?” he asked to conceal his reaction.
She smiled. “I’m not sure I trust it yet to go out killing,” she said. “The longer I can keep its violent instincts in check, the more contented it will stay. I think.”
He turned away from the door. “Whatever you think is best,” he said, and realized it was not a very good answer.
But for the moment, their supplies were adequate, and it was so cold that neither Kirra nor Donnal expressed much interest in taking predator shape and setting out in search of game. That left six people cooped up in a small space with nothing to occupy their time.
“Get out the practice swords,” Tayse said to Justin. “It’s time to do a little training.”
Kirra announcing that she would rather be hacked to pieces by Gisseltess men than ever attempt to learn swordplay, only the five of them spent much of the day engaging in mock combat. There weren’t enough practice blades to go around, and the only ones Tayse trusted to use real weapons were the two Riders, so he and Justin used their own swords and daggers while the others feinted and parried with clumsy wooden versions. Cammon was not so hopeless as Tayse had thought he might be, and for a while Tayse paused to watch the boy as he jousted with Senneth in front of the wall with the painted sun. Senneth was better, of course—Senneth was downright good, with natural-born strength and an excellent sense of her opponent’s techniques—but Cammon seemed to have an uncanny ability to dance out of her reach just before she was about to land a blow. Part of that mystical talent they claimed he had, Tayse supposed—the ability to read the thoughts and desires and plans of the people around him and somehow turn this knowledge to his advantage.
Tayse did not find the thought particularly comfortable.
They switched partners throughout the day, to expose them all to a variety of strengths and weaknesses. To Tayse’s amusement, Justin spent part of the day taking on both Cammon and Donnal at once, expending his furious energy by exhorting them to come at him, don’t be cowards, band together now, boys, and you might have a chance to do me in! But Justin was so very good. Even the two of them together, with their clumsy thrusts and lunges, would have no hope of disabling Justin.
“That leaves me to fight you,” Tayse pointed out to Senneth, and she willingly took up her sword.
“Though I have to say,” she said, “that my whole body is starting to ache. Woeful indeed will be the day I have to fight from sunup to sundown. I think my arm would fall off even before someone sliced me to ribbons.”
“The more you train, the stronger you grow, and the longer you can fight in the field,” he replied. Testing her while he spoke—thrust, feint, pull back, circle, strike. She was quick; her sword was before him every time, though she was not making much effort to attack.
“I cannot imagine ever training hard enough or long enough to be as good as you,” she said, panting just a little.
He grinned. “You have other skills,” he said. “You might combine those with your swordsmanship.”
“I would,” she retorted, “if my goal was to win. Right now my goal is to get better.”
He dropped his sword point to the floor. “Maybe you are the one who should be training me,” he said. “How to fight against magic.”
She lowered her own weapon, leaning gratefully on the wooden sword as if it were a cane. “Interesting idea,” she said thoughtfully. “But I only know my own magics.”
“When we had that skirmish on the road,” he said, “you did something to the swords of the others—turned them too hot to hold. How would I defend against that?”
She considered. “Carry a glove that can withstand great heat,” she suggested. “Such as the cooks wear in the kitchen. You could still hold the hilt and wield it. The blade might be even more dangerous then,” she added with a grin.
“Wait,” he said, and went back to dig through his packs. He had an old pair of leather gloves, clumsy and thick; he wore them to pull down the walls of burning buildings when he wanted to get to enemies inside. He had never tried to wield a sword while wearing them.
Tucking them into his belt, he returned to the place where Senneth waited. “Now,” he said. “If I am your opponent and you want to disable me, how would you fight?”
So they raised their blades again and the metal clashed against wood. Almost instantly, he felt the hilt burn against his hand, so hot a faint glow came off the metal. This was the trick—to toss the blade to his left hand, while with his right he pulled the glove free and slipped it on, all the while feeling the flesh on his other palm blister and peel. All the while
parrying her advances. He was as quick as he could be, but he knew she could have done him some serious damage during that interlude if she had been really trying.
The glove on—the sword back in his right hand—awkward but not impossible to lift and swing the blade. Senneth was laughing, spinning in and out of his range, livelier now that she knew he was having some trouble adjusting. He was still stronger than she was and he parried without danger. He was starting to feel a little more confident when a sudden spark of fire against his belly and along his leg caused him to swallow a cry and glance down at his body.
The buckle of his belt glowing like a coal—the dagger in its hilt red with heat.
“Damn,” he muttered. Still fending off her attack, he forced his hand into the second glove and then unbuckled his belt and let it fall. “Does this mean I can’t go into battle with any metal anywhere near my skin?”
“If you’re in combat against me,” she said cheerfully. “But I have more tricks than this.”
“Keep them coming,” he said, and drove his hot sword straight toward her body.
Through a sudden wall of fire.
This time he did yelp and leap backward. A thin sheet of flame was suspended between them, and through its coruscating ruby surface he could see her pacing, waiting for him to make his next attack. It was as real as the fire last night; he could feel the heat against his face and throat. Behind him where the others were fighting, he heard all sounds of battle stop. Everyone must be staring in their direction.
“And how do I fight through this?” he asked.
“It depends on how greatly you fear fire,” she said.
“If I leap through it to reach you—what then?”
She laughed. “Then—any number of things. If I was truly afraid and I truly wanted to stop you, I would set you ablaze.”
“You can do that?” he demanded.
