by Tad Williams
“Shaped?” I asked in surprise. “What does that mean?”
“Remember,” she said, “we are children of the Dreaming Sea, Kes. Our nature is change. Even back in the Garden, the Keida’ya masters had begun using our own nature to breed us into beasts of burden or living tools, like the Delvers.”
“The Delvers?” This was new and astonishing. “You mean the famous builders, the creatures who could shape solid rock as if it were wet clay? They were also Tinukeda’ya once?”
“Yes, but no matter what was done to them, they are all still Tinukeda’ya, still Vao—that is our own name for our kind—just as you and I and Sholi are. Change was forced upon their bodies, but not their minds and spirits, although some of their less fortunate kin like the carry-men had even their knowledge of themselves taken from them to make them more useful servants. And it was not only Utuk’ku’s Hikeda’ya who used our folk that way.” Her expression had become stern, even angry. “All the Nine Cities in these lands were built by our kind, and they brought far more to making those monuments than just strong backs. The Vao were the guiding spirits that created the shining walls and towers of Asu’a, your home. Your masters seem to have cheated you of this knowledge, Kes.”
“I cannot believe that. My master Hakatri has never lied to me.”
“There is a difference between telling a lie and avoiding a truth.”
I turned to Sholi, almost as if I hoped she would contradict Lady Ona, but instead she was watching me with what looked like keen interest.
“I do not mean to insult your Lord Hakatri,” Ona went on. “I do not doubt his kindness to you, but even the most honorable Zida’ya never lifted their voices against the terrible treatment of our folk. Hakatri’s silence may come mostly from shame.”
I could only shake my head. “This is much to take in, Lady Ona.”
“I know, Kes. But few of us who still remember these things will speak of them. You are a favorite of one of the most powerful Zida’ya lords. I would rather burden you with knowledge than leave you happily—and dangerously—ignorant.”
Dangerously? I was very quiet after that, which should be no surprise, and the two ladies shifted their conversation toward more ordinary things—the mortal servants, the weather, the few guests who had come to Ravensperch between my two visits. But Ona’s words would not leave my thoughts.
“The more we speak together, the more I realize how little I know, my lady,” I said to her at last. “May I ask you about something else that has puzzled me? You told me when we first met that your name was Sa-Ruyan Ona. Is the name of Ruyan common among the Vao?”
“No, Kes,” she said. “My name means I am of that line, just as yours means you are of the Pamon clan.”
“But my clan name is merely that of my family, Lady. Ruyan the Navigator is famous the world over! Are you truly of his blood?”
“So I was always told and so I believe. Perhaps that is why I care so much about our people’s past—and our future.” But before I could ask her anything else, Lady Ona abruptly rose from the bench. “Come, Sholi,” she said. “The time has come for our friend Kes to take his message to His Lordship. You and I must also put on more acceptable garb. Look! It is almost noon and we are still wearing our night clothes.”
Sholi yawned and stretched, which does not sound charming but was, even in my troubled state. “I am tired after all that wine and talk,” she said. “I think I might go back to bed.”
“You will do nothing of the sort.” Ona pretended to be strict. “We have the week’s accounts to do, and the cook has demanded I go through the larder with her so she may plan for the next trip down to market. First, though, lead our friend to Lord Xaniko’s retiring room.”
“Is His Lordship expecting me?” I asked, still a bit befuddled by the swift change in the conversation.
“He asked us to send you to him at midday,” said Ona. “That hour has come. Sholi will take you. If my husband does not answer at first, knock again. On days like this he is often far away—in his thoughts, I mean.”
I supposed from the significant looks that passed between Ona and her friend that Sholi was also meant to give me some message, but she stayed silent as she led me through the castle to the tower, then up the steps. When we reached the heavy oak door she paused to look at me, and I prepared myself for some whispered revelation. But Sholi only nodded—not so much to me as to herself. “We hope we will see you again before you depart, Pamon Kes,” she said quietly, then left me there on the doorstep. Puzzled, but with the purpose of my journey now at hand, I knocked. I was prepared to knock again, but Xaniko’s voice bade me enter.
Inside the tower room the windows were all covered; a single candle burned in a dish on a small table. Lord Xaniko sat in a high-backed chair beside the table, wearing his usual dark clothing, his head low and shoulders hunched, so that my first impression was of a raven, or even a bat. His long white hair was braided in back but hung down on either side of his face like curtains. The room itself must have been his library, with books and parchment scrolls stacked high on shelves along the walls.
“So. Armiger Pamon from Asu’a.” Xaniko did not sound particularly pleased by my entrance, but neither did he seem angry. In fact, he seemed like one who cared little about such mundane things as visitors and conversations of any sort. I had the clear feeling that I was disturbing him at a time when he would rather have been alone, so I bowed and greeted him with all the trappings of proper respect, then told him of the invitation from Protector Iyu’unigato and Lady Amerasu, and I set Initri’s rose ring on the table before him as proof of what I said.
“Tell them I will not come,” he said when I had finished, then pushed the ring away with the tip of his forefinger, as though he did not much want to touch it.
Surprised, I stood silent for a long moment after this abrupt refusal. “Is there anything else I can tell them, my lord?” I finally asked. “Is there some medicament you know of that might give my master relief from pain? After all, you told us that you had been burned by dragon’s blood as well. You showed us your hand.”
For the first time Lord Xaniko really looked at me, as though he had forgotten that day until I spoke of it. “It is useless,” he said. “There is nothing to be done.”
“I do not understand, Lord.”
“I cannot imagine why—can it be made any clearer?” He pulled the glove off his crippled hand and lifted the burnt flesh toward me. “There are times when the pain of this is almost beyond bearing. It was spattered with the Snareworm’s blood more than three Great Years ago—long, long before you were born—yet there are days it still pains me as badly as it did when it happened. Your master’s wounds are worse.” He shook his head. “But that is not the whole of the story. Worm’s blood . . . it has power, terrible power. It fills your head with thoughts and infects your dreams as well. Does your master talk about his dreams?”
“Yes. But dreams are common with fevers—”
“Not this kind. Not dreams that show you other places—other worlds, even. Not dreams that tell you what others are thinking, or what the future will bring.”
“Do . . . do you have such dreams, my lord?”
“Not every day. But I do have them. It is like a sort of fit. I do not know when it will come until it is upon me. Sometimes it is an ecstasy, like casting off the chains of life and stepping out to bathe in the sea of stars. Other times it seizes me with such dreadful visions that my heart feels like it will burst. But the pain, the burning feeling in the flesh—that never goes away for long. And I fear it will be the same for your master, or even worse, because his injuries are greater than mine.”
My own pain from touching the dragon’s blood had largely faded, and I suppose I had half-hoped something like that would one day be true for my master as well, so Xaniko’s words felt like a blow to my body; I may even have taken a staggering step backward. “Are
you saying that my master will never recover?”
“I am saying exactly that, Armiger, and I am also saying that in some ways, the master you knew is gone, just as if he had died in Serpent’s Vale or whatever the wretched place is named. He will never be the same. The worm’s black blood is in him now. There is no remedy, or I would know of it.”
I could barely draw breath. “And his terrible pain will never cease?”
Xaniko lifted his gloved hand in a gesture. “Oh, the pain, that is the least of it. That comes and goes, though it never entirely recedes. There may be things that the healers of Asu’a can do to ease it a little.”
I must have stared at him in a way that was unbecoming, but at that moment I could barely even think. “You put a dire weight upon me, my lord,” I said at last, and picked up the witchwood ring the masters of Asu’a had sent. “You will not come to Asu’a, and the only message you send is that all is hopeless for Lord Hakatri.”
He laughed harshly. “What did you expect? That because I had suffered something like, I could come to Asu’a and anoint him with a secret healing oil and all would be well again?” The Exile got up and walked to the window, as though he could look right through the heavy draperies that covered it. “Putting aside the distaste I have for your master’s kin, who never offered me kindness or even civility until now, I tell you in truth that there is nothing I can say or do that will help. I cannot be clearer than that.”
“So that is the whole of your reply?”
“It must be.”
“And you have never found anything to ease the pain of your own wound?”
He lifted his hands. It was hard not to stare at the red and ruined fingers. “Nothing. Witchwood is too much like the dragon’s blood. Any medicine like kei-vishaa that is made from it will eventually fail. Your master’s caretakers will find that as time passes it does less and less to ease his suffering.”
I was in such despair that I almost did not hear what he had said, but after a moment it struck me. “What do you mean, Lord Xaniko, that witchwood is like dragon’s blood?”
“So my studies tell me.” He waved his crippled hand at the shelves lining the walls. “Since I was wounded, I have read every book I could discover that speaks of wormsblood, and I have corresponded with healers of many kinds and many races. I have learned much about the horrifying pain it causes and the bond it creates between the blood-burnt and the Dream Road.”
“I still do not understand. How can the blood of a creature like the Blackworm also be like witchwood?”
“Because they both come from the living heart of the Garden—from the Dreaming Sea.” As I sat, struck by hearing those words again so soon after Ona had used them, Xaniko sat down once more as if suddenly weary. “Your own people likely understand it better than I ever could—some even say your kind were born from that lost ocean. But even the Tinukeda’ya healers who have shared their knowledge with me have not found a way to counter the effects of such burns, though they admit the connection is real.”
“Connection?” I was overwhelmed by so many new ideas, but even more by Xaniko’s refusal to help my master.
“Between the dragons we unknowingly brought to this land and the witchwood we carried here because we had built our lives in the Garden around it.” He pulled the glove back over his scarred fingers. “I am weary now of talking. Go back to Asu’a, Armiger. Tell them what I told you. Assure the high lord and lady that I am not lying or withholding anything that might aid their wounded son. I have no aid to give because I cannot even aid myself.”
Though I was reeling inside, I bowed and made my farewells as courteously as I could manage, then let myself out. The last I saw of Xaniko the Exile he was staring at his wounded hand as though it did not belong to him.
* * *
• • •
I spent that evening with Lady Ona and Lady Sholi, but I was so stunned by my audience with Xaniko that I am sure I did not make a very satisfying companion. I shared a little of what he had told me, but otherwise found it hard to make conversation, even in such agreeable company. All I could think of was my master, whose terrible suffering I had hoped would at least diminish over time, whether Xaniko could help or not. Now I would have to tell him that there was no relief to be found at Ravensperch, or perhaps anywhere.
I went to bed early, apologizing to the ladies, who were disappointed but gracious.
In the morning I made ready to ride. My heart was heavy, and as I tightened Frostmane’s saddle straps in the stable, I heard someone call my name. When I looked up, I saw Sholi standing outside the doorway of the stable.
I washed my hands in a bucket and went to her. Her presence lightened my spirit a little, which was heavier than it had been since we had brought my master home. Seeing her bathed in morning sunlight as I left the dark stable was like coming upon a hidden stream in dry hills.
“I heard you are leaving,” she said. “I came to see you off.”
“I would have come to give thanks and make my farewells in person.”
“My lady is not feeling well today. And Lord Xaniko is still in his tower room.” She smiled. “The only one to whom you must bid farewell is me, and here I am.”
I was sad about the news I had to take to my master, very sad, and the thought that I might never again meet this pretty, clever, and kind young woman only added to my misery. “It was good to see you, Lady Sholi. It gives me a little heart to know such kind folk as you and your mistress are in this world.”
“Your own folk.”
“My own folk. Yes. In Asu’a, the other Tinukeda’ya are less like me than my masters are, if I can say that without sounding conceited. In a strange way I feel at home here, and it is hard to leave.”
“It is also difficult to see you go, Kes,” she said, then drew a letter from her sleeve. It was sealed with wax. “My lady sent this for you. She bade me give you her kindest regards and her wishes for a safe journey. As do I.”
She seemed to be waiting for me to say or do something else, but I could think of nothing appropriate, so I took the letter and bowed. “Farewell, Lady Sholi,” I said. “I shall always remember my time here at Ravensperch with fondness, but I must bear the news I have been given by Lord Xaniko back to my master.”
Sholi stared at me and flushed with what looked like anger, as if she would denounce me or even curse me. A moment later she forced herself to a more ordinary expression. “You are a bit of a fool, Pamon Kes,” she said evenly. “But it is not all your fault, and I will miss your company.” Then she turned and walked away across the courtyard, leaving me to stare after her in wonder and sadness.
* * *
• • •
Having failed to bring back Xaniko, I did not hurry my return to Asu’a. As I rode down the mountain from Ravensperch I read Lady Ona’s message.
To the Honorable Armiger Pamon Kes,
I am sorry I was not able to see you off this morning. I was unwell and I beg your pardon for sending only this letter instead.
I must confess that I never believed you would be able to convince my husband to accompany you. It would take far more than a sudden invitation from the lord and lady of Asu’a to lure him from this place. He chose Ravensperch and its remoteness for a reason. He is as unlikely to leave it as any animal that feels threatened is loath to leave its burrow.
But that does not help you in your quest to aid your master, I know, and so I wish to share a suggestion with you.
I understand that your master’s health is your first responsibility. If Lord Hakatri continues to search for a cure for his suffering, I suggest he should not scorn the possibility of help from our own Tinukeda’ya folk—your folk, Kes. My husband has consulted those he knows, but there are more than a few Vao healers in the wide world. Many of them live among our Niskie kin in the mortal city of Nabban. Just as they differ from your master’s kind in ot
her ways, some of the Sea Watcher healers may have knowledge about his dreadful condition that his own people do not, since the dragons are said to have first come from the Dreaming Sea, back in the Lost Garden—as we of the Vao also did, according to our oldest stories. Also, it is not impossible that the mortals themselves may have found new healing arts that the immortals do not know. If your master is truly desperate for help, there are worse places he could go than south, to the lands that now belong to men.
I wish you luck, and I wish it for your unhappy master as well. I know he means much to you. I hope you will come back and see us again before too long. We enjoy your company very much.
She signed it, Your friend, Ona, Lady of Ravensperch.
As had been true after my first meeting with the residents of Xaniko’s tiny fiefdom, I was left puzzled. Ona’s letter said, “We enjoy your company very much,” but Sholi had called me a fool to my face. I admired Sholi, and she seemed to enjoy my company as well, but it seemed arrogant to believe she thought of me as anything other than a pleasant diversion in a lonely place. And even if she did feel real affection toward me, the sort that might grow into something deeper, had we not both agreed during our first meeting that I could not leave Lord Hakatri and she could not leave Lady Ona? So how could there be a purpose to anything between us beyond friendship?
I had promised my life and service to my lord. Perhaps that was foolish, as Sholi had said, and perhaps Lady Ona was right when she suggested that my master’s folk had misused my people—but even that did not release me from the bonds of love and honor that held me.
That night, in my camp beside the road, my mother came to me in a dream, dressed in mourning white and wearing a blindfold of linen across her eyes. “My child,” this beloved phantom said, “I will always be a part of you, just like the Dreaming Sea.” When I awoke, I thought it was only a sort of fever-dream created from Ona’s words. But as I think back now, after all that happened, I believe it was true memory, and I am grateful for it.