by Dave Dobson
And then I became aware of a third source of coolness. A small source, perhaps the size of a walnut, somewhere across the pool. I stood with my eyes closed and visualized its location relative to me. Waist high, ten feet away. Near where Gora was standing. I directed my eyes at it, then opened them a crack. Sure enough, I was staring at Gora’s midriff. I closed them again to be sure, then peeked again. There were two pockets on Gora’s robe, and whatever produced the coolness was inside the left one.
Gora cleared her throat with some impatience. I opened my eyes and directed the pool. Vibrant images of shared meals flickered across the pool, some with Gora and a man, some with Boog and I, and some with people I didn’t recognize. A cook prepared and served a soup. A man with feathers in his long, white hair gazed across the table at a little girl. An old man wearing an iron collar washed the dishes in a stone basin. He seemed to be whistling.
I had never felt stronger control over of the pool. I could shift angles of perspective, coming nearer or flying farther out. I could even sometimes run time forward and backward. Even as I concentrated on the images, I could still feel the cool presence of the pool beneath me, and as I stood, I could feel something emanating from me, sinking through my feet into the floor, feeding the pool. It was something akin to the coolness, although not exactly the same. An energy, or a flow. I'd felt drained when the Augur grabbed me during the disastrous augury many months before, and this was similar, but far more measured and peaceful. Or perhaps it was all in my head, a daydream given life by Gora’s words, but it felt quite real.
I asked Gora if she’d seen enough. She had. She seemed impressed by the results. I think she also knew this was the best I’d done. She asked me several questions about technique and preparation, but I didn’t mention my attempt at focusing myself, not sure yet if it was really effective or merely a fluke. Finally, her questions dwindled into silence. I was tired, but not nearly as drained as I had as on my earlier attempts.
“You can go,” she said. “I’ll go see if your friend has ruined supper again. Tomorrow, I can try the pool myself once more.” She moved to the archway, and I backed away to ensure there was enough space between us.
“Hey, Gora,” I called after her. “What’s in your pocket?"
She turned, clearly surprised, and felt both of her pockets with a wrinkled, yellowed hand. “Nothing,” she said, after a pause, but I didn’t believe her. I could still almost feel the small ball of coolness there. “Why do you ask?”
“Never mind,” I said. “My mistake.” She didn't believe me either.
48
Midnight Augury
“You see coldness now?” Boog said. “Next, you’ll be hearing in color. Or tasting music.” He was joking, but I could tell he took me seriously. “The things you sensed…” he wiggled his fingers ominously, "were magical objects, right? The pool and the collar?”
“And whatever was in her pocket.”
“And they were all part of this ‘aspect of order’ business you’ve been going on about?”
“I think so, yes.”
“So, the thing in her pocket must be from order, too.”
“Or life, or growth, I guess.”
“Maybe it’s her magical medicine pebble. Treating her creaky joints.”
“I was thinking more like the collar controller.”
Boog pointed at me. “That’s a good thought. But it doesn’t help us much. Unless you’ve got an eight-foot-long set of tongs we could use to get it out of her pocket.”
“Maybe we could turn her upside down? And get it to fall out?”
“Hey, Madame Gora, I dare you to do a headstand? Or a somersault?” Boog laughed. “I found some rope today, and a rusty sword that should hold an edge. We'll get out of here one way or another. For now, I’m going to bed.” He stripped off his shirt and trousers and, with much sighing and grunting, squeezed into his little bunk. The previous residents of this place must have been closer to my size than his.
“I’ll go out scouting,” I said. “Don't think I can sleep yet.” I’d had a thought over dinner, as I chatted with Gora and Boog. More of a sad memory than a thought, actually. Of Clarice and I learning to use the warding rods, and of how much easier it might have been if we’d known about Gora’s ideas of aspects of chaos and order. That brought back a flood of memories, of Clarice, of our training, of Sophie, of the happy times I’d had at the Guild before all of this trouble began. But mostly of Clarice. I got myself to a very sad spot in my mind, and I truly longed to be able to see her again.
That made me think of the pool. And of Gora, seeing her father once more in the water. As I left our small room, I grabbed Clarice’s cloak from our things. I hadn’t been able to bring myself to discard it back at the chieftain's camp, and I’d carried it in the pack of food and supplies Gora made me wear as Boog and I trudged along behind her horse. It was foolish, maybe, to have taken it along, and a little disturbing, since it was still punctured and stained with her blood, but I was in no condition to give it up.
I also had the silver falcon pendant Clarice had always worn. I’d taken to wearing it myself, under my shirt. It seemed like the right thing to do. I wasn’t any bigger than she was, so it fit me well, and it was comforting, somehow, having that piece of her with me. With the pendant and the cloak, I had two objects bound together strongly by Clarice, so I was fairly sure I could coax the pool into showing her to me again. I worried that I might once again see her shot – see her killed – but even so, it would be worth it to see her face one more time.
I hadn’t told Boog of this plan. He might think it morbid, or worse, although he’d mostly walked a careful path, avoiding mentioning anything related to Clarice. I appreciated that. He’d been a good friend, trying to leave me alone in my sorrow, and to distract me from it when possible.
There was no distraction now. My throat was clenched up, a hard ball of soreness and pain at its center. My cheeks burned as I walked through the archway to the pool chamber. I no longer worried about Gora finding me. She seemed to keep to her room at night, and I didn’t think she’d mind me experimenting further here. It would be easy enough to explain my presence – the truth probably would serve better than any lie I could concoct.
I placed Clarice’s pendant on the first numbered rune and her cloak on the second. For our investigations, we usually wanted more objects, seven if possible, to flesh out the connections between them and provide the pool more guidance. But for my purposes, I assumed the two of them would be perfectly adequate. I stepped up to the pool, pricked my finger, and let seven more drops of blood fall into the pool. My fingers were speckled with cuts and holes from all the auguries we’d done, but I didn’t mind. I ran through the chant softly. It was becoming rote. I almost didn’t need to think of the syllables. My mouth and tongue made them all on their own.
Once again, when the sound of my voice echoed into silence, I closed my eyes and sought to calm myself. The pain in my throat lessened a bit, shifting into a warm blanket of sorrow that draped my shoulders and chest. My eyes felt wet, and they stung. I wasn’t sure if this was going to work. But again, gradually, I sensed the gentle coolness of the pool before me and of the collar around my neck. Once again, they resolved into sharply defined areas, almost like extended parts of my body, or like some outlandishly large and awkwardly engineered garment I was wearing. But I could feel them, and as I felt their coolness, I calmed further. My breathing slowed, and my heart settled into a dull throb.
I opened my eyes. The pool was already alive with colors and images. I saw Clarice and me in class, lectured by Lady Bizet on proper penmanship and grammar. This was only a bit over a year ago, but we looked much younger to me, much less weathered by time and trouble. Clarice, in particular, still had her long red hair and creamy skin, not at all the hardened, rough-and-tumble woman I’d ridden with on the border. As it was our final year of training, we’d been awarded our Inspector’s cloaks, and we wore them proudly to our classes. We wore the
m everywhere, I remembered. She fiddled with her pendant, and I willed the pool to focus more closely on her face. Suddenly, she laughed, and even though she was silent, I laughed with her, my breath damp and catching in my throat.
I watched for some time, and then with some effort I willed the pool forward in time, watching Clarice work her way through the end of her training. Then she took to the streets of Frosthelm, with Gueran, and then the images shifted to the border, until finally Boog and I arrived on the scene again. She had certainly had some adventures – some fights, some narrow escapes, and many nights under the stars, all before we ever arrived. I was careful not to go too far, not wanting to see the end of our time together – it was vivid enough in my memory, and something I’d rather try to forget.
I do not know how long I spent there, staring into the past. My control of the pool was excellent, better even than it had been earlier in the day. Eventually, though, my knees weakened, and my stomach began to hurt, and I realized I had been at it long enough to drain my strength. But I did not want it to end, so I kept searching, watching, replaying a past I longed to live in again.
Finally, a wave of weariness swam through my head, and I lost focus. The pool jumped forward in time, and I saw Clarice and I talking, her laughing and teasing me, on that final morning. I could not help but watch it again, as the arrow pierced her back, and she fell, and we were led away. I wept openly, shamelessly. The pool dimmed.
But then it illuminated again. I saw Clarice, on her back now, in the desert. The bloody arrow lay in two pieces by her side. She looked up at the sky, coughing. I could not bear to watch her die, but I was powerless, far too weak to direct the pool at this point. She clutched her pendant, and eventually, she sat up. As I watched, astonished, she struggled out of her jerkin and dressed her wound, binding her back and chest with long strips torn from our sleeping sacks. Her fingers frequently faltered, and she paused several times, coughing and gasping.
The image jumped again, and I saw her, hunched over, filthy, deathly pale, talking to a woman on a horse. The mounted woman looked like an explorer or trader of some sort. Her horse had bulging saddlebags, and she carried a bow and quiver at the back of her saddle and a small axe at her belt. She dismounted and helped Clarice up onto the horse.
Once again, the image shifted. Clarice was cleaner this time, and she looked much healthier. My heart leapt. She sat at a table, a quill in her hand, a long narrow strip of parchment in front of her, several long lines of neat, tiny script already in place. The falcon pendant lay to one side, its chain a pile of coils. She wore the cloak draped around her shoulders. She finished her writing, sprinkled the parchment with powder and blew on it, then rolled the strip of paper carefully into a tight little scroll, which she tied with a bit of thread. She took up the pendant, and with her thumb, she pushed on the falcon’s head. It flipped back, revealing a small hole. She tucked the roll of parchment into it and then snapped the falcon’s head back into place.
The scene faded and shifted once more. The rider, the one who’d helped Clarice, approached a cluster of tents bordering a rocky hillside. Horses stood tethered at the edge. As I studied the image, I realized that this was the camp where we’d been held. Our cave, with its stout wooden bars, was behind the camp, set in the hillside. The tent, in front of which I’d challenged the chieftain to let me duel to the death, was in the camp’s center. The rider approached the tents, and as she dismounted, she waved at someone and beckoned, summoning.
Gora moved into the scene and spoke with the rider, who gestured out toward the direction from which she’d come. The rider stepped over to her horse and opened a saddlebag, from which she pulled first Clarice’s cloak and then, after fishing around a bit, her pendant. She handed them to Gora.
I fell to my knees, even as the pool shifted to Gora handing me the items in the cave, and then to me, holding them in our dormitory room. Tears streamed down my cheeks, and I wrapped my arms around my chest.
Clarice lived.
I basked in that perfect, happy thought for a long time. The pool faded to darkness. Then I thought some more.
Gora lied to us.
The worst possible kind of lie. A flash of rage ran through me, but it was no match for my relief and joy. I let it pass.
I was an idiot.
I’d had the pendant now for weeks, and never noticed that it held a secret compartment. I rushed over to where it lay on the first rune and scooped it up. I pushed gently on the head at first, then harder. I looked for a catch or clasp, or some button to push. I saw the seam now, in the dim light of the chamber. It ran between the falcon's head and body, a line thinner than a hair. And I could see where the tiny hinge lay disguised under the falcon’s neck feathers. The craftsmanship was exquisite. I really didn’t want to break it, but I needed to see. I pushed harder, and it popped open.
The hole was empty.
The rage returned, and this time I let it grow.
49
Stick Your Neck Out
I think I eventually slept, but I couldn’t tell you when. Drained as I was from the pool, my mind still raced, as passions and hopes I’d tried my best to surrender came bursting back to life. I must have settled on fifteen different plans of escape, of interrogation, of bodily injury to Gora. In the end, all seemed lacking. In the morning, I told Boog what I’d seen. His elation nearly matched mine. He leapt about the room laughing and crowing in a manner I had not seen before or since. I think I had been too immersed in my sorrow to notice Boog’s grief for Clarice. I had not been much of a comfort to him, I’m sure. He hugged me so tightly, lifting me off the ground, that I thought my spine might be permanently dented to conform to his arms.
“What’s that noise?” came Gora’s voice from the hall, a coarse rasping growl. “I’ve made porridge. Come on now, we have work to do.” We looked at each other, full of emotion, and then we filed out of the room.
I will never be able to tell you how the porridge tasted, though I know I ate it. I had eyes only for the old woman, who had hurt me worse than I’d ever been hurt. And for what? No reason I could see. She sat as she always did, at the far end of the table, so that we would not be close enough to her to trigger our collars. She bent over her bowl, smacking and slurping as she studied three yellowed, curling sheets of paper, striped with neat rows of some arcane script.
I closed my eyes, seeking once again the calm focus I’d attained at the pool. It came grudgingly, but eventually I could sense the cool presence of my collar, then Boog’s. I pushed outward, toward Gora, hoping to sense the object in her pocket, but it was like wading through mud. In the back of my mind, anger and frustration poked at my focus like biting insects. I couldn’t shoo them away. My ire rose, and in a flash, I felt a sudden heat at the side of my left knee, a burning. I opened my eyes and looked down, thinking I had spilled my porridge somehow, but it was hotter than that, as if my trousers themselves were on fire. But only at the knee. I patted it and rubbed it, to no avail – the heat, and my agitation, increased. Gora looked over at me, and even Boog glanced up from his third bowl of porridge.
I froze. Under my fingers, at my knee, I felt the outline of the amulet in its hidden pocket, padded by the thick cloth of my trousers. “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Itchy." I closed my eyes again, focusing, but feeding my anger rather than seeking calm, and again, I felt a flash of intense heat coming from the amulet. Curious.
Once again, I sought to calm myself. Distracted by my discovery of the heat of the amulet, it was easier this time, and eventually, despite being ten feet away at the end of the long table, I found the spot of coolness in the pocket of Gora’s robe. I studied it, probing it, I suppose I’d say, with my thoughts, though the whole experience was alien and indescribable. You know when you taste a favorite food, or hold a loved one’s hand, and you find yourself much more aware, more focused, on how it tastes or feels, just for a brief moment? I found that I could do the same, focusing this new sense.
As I studied it, I real
ized it was not merely a ball. When I focused more closely, it was more like a hooded lantern. The ball was an intense cool spot, but it also gave off a short emanant flare, a little lance of coolness that extended out a few inches before fading away. There was no sign of this when I looked at the pocket with my eyes open.
An idea came to me. I tried to reach out to the cool ball resting in Gora’s pocket, to feed it from inside myself, as I had fed the pool during my auguries. The coolness of the ball intensified. And as I studied further, I saw the beam emanating from it grow stronger. It extended a foot or more now, well outside Gora’s robe. The beam pointed toward a corner of the room, back behind my chair.
I made a soft sound, directed at Boog. “Hsst.”
He looked up. Come behind me, I signed. Kneel. Head even with chair seat. Face corner.
Boog looked at me as if I were completely insane. What? He signed back, his thick fingers moving subtly.
Trust me, I signed, and repeated my instructions, trying to be specific about the position I wanted him in, although the Argot is hardly a precise language. Gora was thankfully still absorbed in her scrolls.
You’re a duck, signed Boog. The sign for duck was pretty close to that for lunatic. He took another bite of porridge, glanced at Gora, then flipped his spoon over behind me. Gora looked up as it clattered to the floor, but then fell back into her reading. Boog rose from his seat and walked over behind the chair. He knelt to retrieve his spoon, then looked back at me.
He wasn’t quite in the right place. Left one foot, I signed, placing my hands behind my back. Closer to wall.
Boog made a show of studying something on the floor, running a finger over a crack in the stone, as he crawled forward. I thought he was in the proper location now, but I wasn’t sure. I glanced once more at Gora. She still read, running a gnarled finger over her text. We would have to be quick. Boog looked pretty ridiculous down there on the floor. I closed my eyes, slowed my breathing, and reached out to the ball. When I found it, I took a deep breath, calmed myself, and willed to it every ounce of energy I had.