Daughter of Witches

by Patricia C. Wrede

  Ranira stopped laughing and pushed past Shandy to where Arelnath was shakily sitting up. “On second thought, don’t tell me,” the woman said as Ranira reached her. “If I laugh now, my head will probably explode. You seem to have come through all right,” she observed a little enviously. “How is Mist?”

  “She is alive, but she is unconscious again,” Ranira replied. “I didn’t want to try waking her, because I wasn’t sure whether she was doing it on purpose or not.”

  “On purpose?” Arelnath shook her head, then winced. “Oh, you mean the life-trance. Just a moment, and I will see.” She moved to crawl in Mist’s direction. Ranira was appalled to see how weak she seemed. Ranira slid around to touch Shandy’s shoulder as Arelnath bent over Mist.

  “Were there more of the redberries?” Ranira asked in a low voice.

  “Lots,” Shandy said. He looked over at Arelnath, who was too preoccupied with her companion to notice. “You sure you want me to get more for them?”

  “Shandy!” Ranira was shocked. “They have helped us over and over. We never would have gotten out of Drinn if Mist hadn’t healed my leg and then held the snakes off while Jaren and Arelnath towed us through the river.”

  “And Jaren got bit by a snake, and Mist was too sick to walk afterward,” Shandy said. “They’re witches, and Chaldon doesn’t like witches.”

  “Well, I do not like Chaldon,” Ranira snapped. “Or his Temple. What is the matter with you, Shandy? You act as if you would be glad to see the Temple guards catch us all.”

  “Not you, Renra!” Shandy said, horrified. “Just the witches. Witches are bad luck.”

  “Mist and Arelnath say I’m a witch, too,” Ranira said angrily. “I suppose if they turn out to be right, you will give us all to the Temple and go off to enjoy yourself while they burn us. There is probably a big reward.”

  “Ah, Renra,” Shandy said in genuine distress. “I wouldn’t do that. Anyway, you aren’t any witch. They’re wrong.”

  “Maybe.” Ranira was beginning to wonder, but this was hardly the time to explain to Shandy. She fingered the white stone absently as she looked at him. “Letting them starve would be just as bad. Maybe worse. You wouldn’t have to watch if you turned them over to the Temple.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t do that!” Shandy said sullenly. “I don’t blab to the Temple. I didn’t mean to starve them either. I brought the chickens back, didn’t I?”

  “You don’t think about what you are saying enough,” she told him. “Go get the redberries. Or if you don’t want to, tell me where they are and I’ll get them.”

  “Ah, Renra,” Shandy said disgustedly. “I’ll go.” Ranira thought she heard him mutter something about magic as he walked, but she was not certain, so she let him go without saying anything more. She watched until he disappeared among the bushes, then turned back to Arelnath and Mist.

  Arelnath was watching her. “Problems?” she asked as Ranira reached her side.

  Ranira sighed. “I don’t think Shandy likes you very much. I don’t know why. He wasn’t acting like this in Drinn.”

  “Drinn was his home,” Arelnath said. “There, he was our guide. We could not have remained hidden for an entire day without his help, and he knew it. Now he feels insecure, for he is no longer necessary. Is it any wonder he resents us?”

  Ranira said nothing. Arelnath’s analysis was uncomfortably close to what she herself had been thinking, and she had the uneasy feeling that the other woman knew it. She almost missed Arelnath’s next sentence.

  “I think, too, that Shandy is jealous of us,” Arelnath went on.

  “Jealous?” Ranira frowned. “Why should he be jealous?”

  “Shandy sees you worrying about Mist and helping us,” Arelnath replied. “You were a special friend to him in Drinn, were you not? It is not surprising that he feels threatened, when his best and only friend turns away from him to strangers. And witches as well—which makes it worse.”

  “I will have to talk to him,” Ranira said. She was surprised by Arelnath’s explanation, but she could see how it fit Shandy’s behavior. Still, he should know better. Did he think she was going to forget two years of friendship just because the three foreigners had helped her? “How is Mist?” she asked.

  “Badly hurt, but alive,” Arelnath replied. “Your help was at least that much use. I think we should try to wake her; this is no willing trance.”

  “Will this help any?” Ranira asked, holding out the white stone. Its steady, unexplained glow made her uneasy. She was suddenly anxious to be rid of it.

  “Mist’s moonstone! What were you doing with that?” Without waiting for an answer, Arelnath took the stone from Ranira’s hand and frowned at it. There was no trace of the chain that had suspended it from Mist’s neck. Arelnath threw a puzzled glance at Ranira, then ran her hand around Mist’s neck. Almost at once, she lifted the glinting, threadlike chain from the folds of Mist’s gown.

  The puzzled expression on Arelnath’s face deepened. She brought the dimly glowing stone close to the chain, and to Ranira’s eyes the two seemed to leap out of Arelnath’s hands. There was a barely audible click as chain and stone met. Then the moonstone was dangling from the chain once more. Arelnath released her hold on the chain, and the necklace slid out of sight again.

  “That should help a little,” Arelnath said. She reached under Mist’s body and winced as she tried to move the other woman. Ranira hurried to help, glad to be of some use. Between the two of then, they succeeded in bringing Mist back to consciousness, but only just. The healer was disoriented and spoke only a few words, which made no sense at all to Ranira. They managed to feed her a few of Shandy’s redberries before she slipped into unconsciousness again, but they could not rouse her a second time.

  Arelnath abandoned her efforts to reawaken Mist just as Shandy returned. She accepted the boy’s grudging offer of the redberries he had collected, then lay down beside Jaren once more and quickly fell asleep. Ranira, still munching redberries, was surprised and disturbed; Arelnath was not a consistently pleasant companion, but she had always seemed energetic. The Temple attack must have been more wearing than Ranira had supposed.

  A snore from beside Ranira broke in on her thoughts—Shandy, too, had fallen asleep again. There would be no talking to the boy tonight. She might as well go to sleep herself. Feeling singularly dissatisfied, she finished the berries and curled up on the ground next to him.

  Chapter 15

  COLD SUNLIGHT SIFTING THROUGH the bushes woke Ranira. She shivered as the last shreds of the nightmare evaporated, and the movement brought her fully awake. With a sigh, she relaxed. At least this time the dream—a black-clad man with dagger in hand, chasing her while Gadrath watched—had not been vivid enough to make her scream and disturb the others. A strand of hair tickled her nose as she sat up—her braid needed to be remade. She put the dream out of her mind and looked around.

  Arelnath was already awake, sitting beside Jaren and absently chewing redberries. The cause of her abstractedness was not immediately obvious, and Ranira hesitated to break the silence. She shifted uneasily. The faint rustle of movement brought Arelnath’s head around.

  “He is worse again,” Arelnath said without preamble. “I do not think he will last four days. It has only been one and a half since he was bitten.”

  “It is the cold and the traveling,” Ranira said. “It weakens him and makes the poison act more quickly. If we could find a place to stay…”

  “With Temple guards chasing us? It would be death for us all if we stayed in one spot more than a night.”

  A rustle in the bushes beside Arelnath announced Shandy’s arrival. “Renra! I thought you’d wake up soon. I brought you some more berries.”

  “Thank you, Shandy,” Ranira said as she accepted the berries. She turned back to Arelnath. “Why are you so sure the Temple has sent someone after us? We haven’t seen anyone since we left Drinn. Perhaps the High Priest will not let the guards leave the city, even to look for u
s. After all, it is Festival week.”

  “Ah, Renra,” Shandy said before Arelnath could answer. “The Temple chases everybody. You know that.”

  Arelnath laughed and shook her head. “I must agree with Shandy. Do you think the Temple of Chaldon will take the chance that we might get a warning to the people of the Third Moon? No, they will follow us, and soon. I am surprised we have seen none of them already. They have been relying too much on their spells, I think.”

  “You may be right, Arelnath.” Though Mist’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, both Arelnath and Ranira heard it clearly. Their heads snapped in her direction; Ranira’s hit the lower arc of the branches, and she winced. Mist smiled. “I owe you thanks for my life, child,” she said to Ranira. “And to you, Arelnath.”

  “I do what my oath demands,” Arelnath said, her lips tightening. “If you owe me a life, it is Jaren’s.”

  “I can do nothing for him now,” Mist said with a sigh. “Even with Ranira’s help and protection, I was badly drained when the Temple attacked us last night.”

  “Protection? What do you mean?” Ranira said. “I did not do anything. You told me you would work the spells!”

  Mist’s face clouded. “You did not contribute to my spells, if that is what you fear. I doubt that you could. You have a block against magic the like of which I have never seen. It saved us both last night, but I fear you may never be able to use your power freely because of it—it is too much a part of you.”

  “But I am not a witch,” Ranira said automatically. She saw Shandy nod his agreement, but his mouth was too full of berries for him to speak.

  “That is what I mean,” Mist said, smiling ruefully. “You are too good at denying your abilities. It is a pity, for you have great potential.”

  “Renra’s not a witch!” Shandy said loudly. Immediately, he choked on a too-hastily swallowed redberry. Ranira pounded his back.

  Arelnath was watching Mist narrowly. “If Ranira can block magic so well, why are you so wearied?” she asked. “I thought you were not going to fight the Temple, but hide.”

  A puzzled look crossed the healer’s face as she struggled to a sitting position. “I do not know,” she said. “And I did not try to oppose the Temple spell; Ranira’s block did that. It is almost as if my own power were working against me. I have not felt like this since…” Mist stopped short and her face went white. Ranira looked at her curiously, wondering what memory could have such a profound effect on the ordinarily calm healer, but Mist did not seem inclined to finish the sentence.

  “Well, I hope Ranira’s block is strong enough to protect you when the Temple strikes again tonight,” Arelnath said, ignoring Mist’s last comment after one penetrating look at the other woman’s face. “I do not think we will get very far today.”

  “We may not have to,” Mist replied carefully. “I am not certain, but I think the Temple priests believe we are dead. Did you not notice how suddenly the attack ceased?”

  “Dead? The spell was strong, but they could hardly be sure of a killing blow if they did not even know where we were.”

  Mist glanced at Ranira, who returned the look with a puzzled frown. The healer hesitated, then said, “Any magician who would cast a spell over a long distance must have a way to know when the spell has succeeded, or he might continue to use his power when it was no longer necessary. The Temple of Chaldon is no exception. The priests knew their spell would be painful. They designed it so that they would sense the death-agonies of anyone of power and skill who was caught in it. Ranira accidentally sent out exactly the feelings the Temple hoped to find, and they were deceived, at least enough to stop their attack. We will know tonight whether they are certain of our deaths.”

  “I would rather be certain now,” Arelnath said. “How could Ranira convince the Temple of Chaldon that it was killing magicians?”

  Comprehension hit Ranira like a blow. “My parents,” she said in a strangled voice. “The Temple felt my parents die, as I did.”

  For once Shandy had nothing to say; Arelnath, too, was silent. Mist looked at Ranira. “I am sorry,” she said. “I had no wish to cause you pain.”

  Ranira started to reply, then stopped and swallowed hard, “Mist,” she said in a voice she hardly recognized as her own, “tell me truly. Could the memory of watching someone die have fooled the Temple priests?”

  Slowly Mist shook her head. “A memory of another’s pain, however vivid, would not be strong enough to convince a sorcerer that he had successfully killed,” she said reluctantly. “The sensation of death is unmistakable.”

  “Then how…” Arelnath looked at Ranira and stopped in mid-sentence. Ranira ignored her.

  “And so, the Temple was deceived because I felt my parents’ deaths with them,” Ranira said, still concentrating on Mist. “I lived it anew instead of simply remembering. But an ordinary person could not have done that, could they? It would take someone who is a… who has power.”

  “Yes.” Mist seemed to be waiting.

  Ranira went on. “The Temple of Chaldon was watching for the deaths of those ‘of power and skill.’ Could they have been misled by the deaths of two ordinary people, even if such deaths were relived by a person with power?”

  Again Mist shook her head. Ranira felt the blood drain from her face, and she had to force herself to speak, to ask one last question, even though she knew with certainty what the answer would be. “The priests of Chaldon were trying to kill witches. If my memories deceived them, then my parents must have been witches. Am I not right?”

  Even more slowly than before, Mist nodded. “I am sorry,” she said again. “I know how you feel about magic.”

  Ranira closed her eyes and leaned back against a bush, feeling her world crumbling for the third or fourth time in as many days. The successive shocks were too much to absorb in so short a time: Gadrath’s proposition, Lykken’s death, certain death as the Bride of Chaldon and then impossible escape, leaving Drinn, and, finally, Arelnath’s claim now that she, Ranira, was a witch. Ranira wanted to be left alone, to think—but that was not possible. Someone was tugging at her sleeve. She opened her eyes.

  “Renra?” Shandy said almost plaintively. “Does that mean you really are a witch?” His eyes begged her to deny it, but Ranira nodded jerkily. She could no longer refuse to accept the truth of the accusation, though it upset the very foundations of her life. If her parents had been witches, then so was she. Shandy looked at her in distress. “But the Temple burns witches.”

  “If they caught us now, we would all burn anyway,” Ranira said wearily. “What difference does it make?” The boy did not answer.

  Arelnath cleared her throat, and Ranira’s head turned. “We had better start moving,” the Cilhar woman said. “I am sorry, too, but I do not think that memories will confuse the Temple of Chaldon for long. If we hope to survive this night, we must be farther from Drinn.”

  “I think the Temple will prefer to save its power to attack the Island of the Moon,” Mist said. “It is growing too close to the Night of Two Moons for the priests to waste their power on inessentials. Even with such a great number to draw upon, they will need as much as they can manage to destroy the island.”

  “If they do not send spells after us, they will send men,” Arelnath said impatiently. “In either case, it is safer for us to move—the farther, the better. With Jaren to carry, we will not be able to travel fast so we must start as soon as we can. We have wasted enough time already.”

  Without waiting to see what the others would do, Arelnath turned and began tugging at Jaren’s litter. Mist sighed and went to help her pull the stretcher over the rough, twig-strewn ground. It soon became obvious that it would take them far longer to maneuver Jaren’s litter out of the brush-filled hollow than it had taken to move him in.

  Ranira helped the other two women as much as she was able, but in the confusing tangle of bushes it was hard for more than one person at a time to move the litter effectively. For three people it was nex
t to impossible. When they finally reached the road once more, Ranira felt as tired as if she had spent a day scrubbing floors for her bondholder.

  None of the others seemed to feel much like continuing at once either. Arelnath stopped as soon as Jaren’s litter was clear of the bushes and stood up, panting. Mist sank down beside the road in undisguised relief while Shandy looked around uncertainly. Ranira sighed and sat down abruptly, trying to relax before she had to begin walking again. Her muscles were sorer than she had thought when she first awakened; she had not noticed the stiffness until she tried to move.

  It was Arelnath who finally got them moving once more. She and Ranira each took one end of the litter, leaving Shandy and Mist to make their way alongside. Their progress was slow, and several times Ranira noticed Arelnath watching Mist with thinly veiled concern. Though Mist did not complain, she stumbled repeatedly, and there were new lines of tiredness on her face.

  Jaren himself was yet another handicap. The poison was working in him more strongly. He had begun to moan and thrash about, and several times he nearly fell from the litter. At last Arelnath stopped. While the others rested briefly, she sliced a strip from the hem of Ranira’s robe and with it tied Jaren to the wooden poles that made the framework of the stretcher. It was an awkward arrangement at best, but it kept him from falling during the periods of delirium.

  Jaren’s brief spells of lucidity were almost worse for his companions than the times when his mind wandered, for when he could think clearly, Jaren also felt the pain of the slowly working poison more acutely. He did not scream or cry out, as the nameless victim at the Inn of Nine Doors had done, but his grimly determined efforts to remain silent were painful to observe.

  The strain of continued flight had taken its toll on them all. Ranira was grateful when Arelnath called a halt at mid-morning. “There it is,” the warrior said with satisfaction as she and Ranira set down the litter. “We will have to turn off the road soon, but we are much closer than I had expected.”