The Waters Rising

by Sheri S. Tepper

  “Some beastie.” This was a deeper voice, smooth and oily, like the slosh of pig slop in the bucket. “That’s what woods are full of, lovely lady. Lots of little beastie creatures hunting their dinner.”

  Xulai felt a dark-sleeved arm cover her face, felt Abasio’s head close beside hers, his slitted eyes peering at the newcomers from a face he had painted dark with mud. Something moved on her hand. She opened one eye to see two tiny black eyes, a wriggly nose, two fragile ears like new leaves, a striped back beneath a curved tail: a chipmunklet, scarcely bigger than her thumb. It sat on the edge of her sleeve and peered intently at the noisy intruders beyond the temple.

  “So, where is this night wanderer?” the high voice queried, a voice of ice and knives and shattered glass. “Where is she, Jenger?”

  The man answered soothingly, “Duchess, lovely one, I think your informant is mistaken. There’s no reason for children to come out here at night. Orphaned children wander during wars or famines, of course, but there’s no war or famine at Woldsgard. As we have been told”—he chuckled, a thick, glutinous sound that was not really one of amusement—“Justinian, Duke of Wold, houses and cares for his people well. There are none without a roof over their heads and a hearth to warm themselves by.”

  The woman sneered. “So the duke is a fool, wasting his substance on nobodies. Well, he should be more careful about the people he puts beneath his roof! One of them is mine, and she tells me she has seen a child come out of the castle at night and enter the woods.”

  “How old is this roaming child supposed to be?”

  “I don’t know,” the woman answered angrily. “That’s what I’d like to find out. My spy looks down from a great height. She says it’s a child, could be any age at all. Perhaps a ward or by-blow of the duke’s?”

  “And you care about this for some reason?”

  “My own reason, Jenger. If she’s only a toddler, I care little. She’d be a pawn at best. But I would care greatly if she were a game piece held in reserve, someone much older than that.”

  Xulai trembled, the words echoing in her ears. Much older than that . . . I would care greatly. The couple approached, climbing the stairs to the altar.

  “How strange,” said the man. “Look at the patterns carved here . . .”

  As he spoke, the altar stones began to glow, faintly, like coals kept from a long-spent fire.

  The woman growled, “Dolt! Fool! Pull your eyes away and keep them so. This is a shrine of Varga-Grag, hag goddess of all earthly desolations. You have no business being here, looking at it.” She gave a croaking rasp of barely suppressed laughter. “For that matter, considering my allegiances, neither have I. Neither my mother, the queen, nor I would be welcome.”

  The man laughed, unembarrassed. Neither of the intruders seemed to notice how the glow from the stones brightened as they turned away and walked around the altar to stand behind it, staring directly toward Xulai. “Your pardon, ma’am. Our being in this particular place is the result of following a path, but . . . this is where all paths end.”

  Xulai almost stopped breathing. She could feel the speaker, feel his presence oozing toward her as he peered into the darkness. The chipmunk had crept beneath her curled hand and was looking out between her fingers at the man, a dark silhouette against the bloody glow from the temple stones, brighter now. Xulai’s companion closed his arm about her, only a bit, just enough to reassure her. Something hard lay along his side, and she realized he wore a sword. He was armed! Mere peddlers were not usually armed.

  The man near the altar went on: “There’s not even a game trail among the trees back here. Wherever your child may be, he or she is not here. If you want me to bring some men and search the woods around here in daylight, I’ll be happy to lead them, though we would need the duke’s permission since we’d be trespassing.”

  “Which is why we’ve been camped down the road and have come alone,” the woman snarled, raising her hand to thrust aside one of the low branches that overhung the platform. “The Duke of Wold won’t know we’re trespassing. Never mind. I’ll have my grubby little spy, Ammalyn, follow the child next time she ventures here.”

  The man asked, “Why do you think this thing you want is here at all? Why do you think she ever had it? Or are you really seeking the miraculous device that Huold is said to have left in these lands? Wasn’t that somewhere in Marish, on the other side of the Icefang range?”

  The woman said impatiently, “Huold’s device was something else entirely. Everyone has a story about that thing. It is even rumored that Justinian found Huold’s device and gave it to that woman as a betrothal gift, but that’s merely another old tale grafted onto a new occasion. No, the thing I seek is a more recent thing, a powerful device of some kind that was in that woman’s keeping! She must have brought it with her from Tingawa.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Because she isn’t dead, Jenger! I would have succeeded in killing her long ago if she did not have some powerful protection! She must have brought it with her!”

  Abasio’s arm tightened around Xulai to prevent her moving, for she had trembled in both horror and anger at the woman’s words.

  The man said, “But neither her protection nor Huold’s talisman is as old as this shrine.”

  “No. These desolation shrines were built by the Forgal people who survived the end of the Before Time, well before Huold was born.”

  “Then what made you think the thing you want could be here?”

  “Only the rumor of a child sneaking about. I have a man loitering near the castle to learn what’s happening, what’s being said. He knew we were nearby. Ammalyn told him to tell me about this child. It occurred to me the woman might have sent a child to hide something, and the something might be what I’m looking for.”

  “It doesn’t sound very likely.”

  “The woman I’m killing all too slowly has done many unlikely things, Jenger. Besides, I have a talent. I can smell the heat of power, smell it like the smoke of a distant campfire. Whoever holds it, my nose will find them and they will lead me to it. No matter how many men and how much time it takes.”

  “Why does it matter to you?” he said, again soothingly.

  Her voice was furious. “Because the Sea King’s ambassador told me the Sea King will buy Huold’s device. The Sea King will buy anything of value to Tingawa. The reward is very great. A very great payment indeed.”

  “And what is that?”

  She turned to face him, her eyes glinting red, reflecting the glow of the stones, or perhaps, Xulai thought suddenly, they were lit by the same fire that lit the altar stones, ancient evil, heaped like eternal coals, ready to spring into flame if they were fed.

  “The Sea People have taken the Edgeworld Isles, Jenger! What they found there is beyond imagination. They found ease machines! Ease machines in vaults below the great library, and books that tell about them and how to use them!”

  The tall man’s face betrayed something very like fear. “From the Before Time? How could things like that have stayed hidden?”

  “The Sea People’s hearing is different from ours. They hear with echoes. They heard the vault, the hollowness! They knew it was there and needed only to find the way to it. There was much delving, Jenger, much exploration, but they found the vault full of machines!”

  “But I thought you already had machines. You said—”

  “There are a few little ones at the Old Dark House. Enough to kill that woman of Woldsgard, if used correctly. I confess to a mistake with that one . . .”

  “You? I don’t believe that,” he said caressingly.

  “Yes. I did. It was decades ago, I was much younger, and I cursed her hastily, badly. However, when I sent the curse, I made copies of the sending, many of them, and eventually they’ll do the job. She can’t go on fighting them forever! Ammalyn tells me she can’t even speak anymore.”

  “And that’s the only machine you have?”

  “I have three othe
rs: one to find people, one to send sounds and sights, one to make speaking mirrors—as you well know—but nothing really powerful.”

  “I thought it was your magic that’s killing her.”

  She laughed, genuinely amused. “Don’t be silly, Jenger. There’s no such thing as magic. No. My favorite machine makes lovely curses, invisible clouds of very small, powerful killers. I can make the cloud and keep it alive in a special kind of vial. Then, if I get close enough to the person and release the cloud, the cloud will find that person among all the peoples who may be near, no matter where the person is hidden, so long as I release it nearby!”

  “Any person?” he said in a choked voice.

  “Any person I choose—if I have their code. That’s what the books call it, the code.”

  “What code?”

  “The code of themselves! The code that makes each of them unique. It’s in their fingernails, in their skin. It’s in their spit on the rim of a wineglass. That’s where I got the code of the princess, while she was at the court of King Gahls. I made my cloud and I carried it here to Woldsgard, near the castle. And once my cloud had settled upon her, she was doomed. The very cells of her body have been slowly, inexorably destroyed by my cloud.” She laughed again. “Clouds, I should say. In her case, I have to keep releasing them. It is almost like magic, isn’t it?”

  Xulai, staring, saw a malevolent vapor spread from the woman’s mouth, smelled something vile. She held her breath so she would not inhale, for she knew she would choke if she breathed that laughter. Abasio’s arms tightened around her as they watched the woman laughing and swaying on her feet as though dancing. “Like your pigeons, Jenger. Like your homing pigeons at the tower. My curses will find their roost in one person only, one in the whole world.”

  Above her, a branch, red-lit from the glowing altar below, moved, as though thrust by a puff of wind. It danced above the woman’s head, moved down toward her hair as though to caress her. She, laughing, reached up to thrust it away. “But the machines I have are useful only for killing one person at a time, or finding someone who wishes not to be found or watching people who are far away. The ones the Sea King has found, the ones in vaults . . . ah. Worlds can be moved with those, and once we have them, Jenger, no power in the world will stand against us.”

  She took his hand and tugged him almost gently away, around the altar, their footfalls retreating over the bridge, their voices fading. Beneath Xulai’s hand, the chipmunk grasped her little finger with all four paws and clung to it as she rose, its beady eyes fixed on something behind her. She followed its gaze to the many pairs of eyes in the forest around her, close to the ground, red disks in the darkness, reflecting the bloody light still emanating from the altar. They were chipmunk hunters, no doubt. Xulai lowered the little creature into her pocket, feeling it settle into a corner, taking up residence.

  “You have found a friend,” Abasio whispered. “Such little creatures are good friends. They can hide and hear and remember. You also should remember what the woman said. There was a spy who looked down from a great height, and her name was Ammalyn.”

  Xulai whispered her reply. “She’s a scullery maid. From down in the scullery, she could spy only dirty pots, but from her bedroom, high up under the roof, the windows look down upon the orchard, the wall, and beyond the wall to the forest. If she has seen me go past the wall, she will also see me returning. That is, if I use the path, and the Woman Upstairs told me not to leave the path.”

  “Well and well, your Woman Upstairs hadn’t expected trespassers to be abroad in the night. We’ll find a solution to that. Let us wait until that red light fades. I do not trust it.”

  “Is it evil?”

  “It is said by those who made a study of such things that those upon whom the red light falls will die within the year.” He shook his head slowly. “In this case, one might hope, but it’s only a saying.”

  They waited. The red light faded slowly, dying reluctantly, exactly like the coals of a fire. When it was dark, they moved up toward the altar, and as Xulai went up the step she saw something moving in the air before her eyes, a cobweb, a tendril. “Can you reach that?” she asked him, pointing.

  “A lock of hair? No, not so much as a lock, only a few hairs pulled out by their roots. Long ones, from the woman.” He lifted them from the branch where they were caught and passed them to her. Xulai stood, staring at them for a long moment, trying to remember everything the woman had said. Ah, yes. She took a handkerchief from her pocket, wound the hairs around her fingers, and folded the linen square around them, replacing it in her pocket. Tomorrow she would tell the Woman Upstairs about having the hair . . .

  With Abasio’s hand on her shoulder, she passed the third pillar and the second, both silent. From the first pillar they could see the castle wall and the orchard gate, closed.

  “Someone is watching from a window,” she whispered. “So if I go back the way I came, she’ll see me. But if I go some other way, I may run into those people. They may even be waiting for me . . .” Her voice trailed into silence.

  “So,” said the chipmunk. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” She almost wept, finding in that moment no wonder left over to spend on a talking chipmunk.

  “Stop that!” the chipmunk ordered. “It’s always easier to whine than to do something, but something must be done! Now, figure it out. Think! Velipe vun vuxa . . .”

  “Duxa vevo duxa,” Xulai said, finishing the saying. “ ‘Wisdom comes from putting little things together.’ That’s what the Woman Upstairs says, but how did you know, chipmunk?”

  “An interesting saying indeed,” said Abasio, strangely moved. He wanted to sweep this little one up and carry her away into safety and did not trust the feeling! As though some monitor upon his shoulder cautioned him. He said, instead—as he would have said to a much older woman—“Do you think she talked merely to exercise her tongue? Words are useful tools only when one does something with them!”

  Xulai felt suddenly angry. “I don’t have any little things to put together!”

  “Don’t be stupid,” said the chipmunk. “The world is full of little things. You seem to be a little thing; so am I.”

  This, she found, was a surprising new thought. Of course she herself was a little thing—or was considered to be so by too many people—but the surprising thought was that the Woman Upstairs might actually have meant these particular words to be useful! Putting little things together. Actually, the Tingawan words meant “Wisdom comes from piling nothing much on nothing much.” Well, starting with herself, she could put herself on a path, which might be little enough. Then she’d need a way to discover whether the people were still around, then. . .

  “Path,” said chipmunk, reading her intention. “To the right.”

  She examined it. Yes. Very narrow and dark and tree covered, so that no one could see her from above. She moved toward it. Caught in a twig, at eye level, was a bit of cloth.

  “A little thing,” she murmured. “The woman went this way.”

  “And?” demanded the chipmunk.

  “She went,” Xulai said. “The threads are trailing away from me, so she was moving away.”

  “So, if you move slowly?”

  “I won’t catch up to her. Or him.”

  “You might get lost,” the chipmunk jeered.

  “No,” she replied. “The path is just at the edge of the trees. I can see the castle wall.”

  Suddenly the tall white stone beside her asked, “Abasio, is Xulai taking the chipmunk home with her?”

  “Would she be wise to do so?” asked Abasio.

  “I’m afraid my cats . . . ,” murmured Xulai. “They’ll . . .”

  “Nothing of the kind,” said the stone. “The creature will be quite all right in your pocket. Take it. Keep it safe. Nice to hear of you again, Abasio. It’s been too many years since the great battle at the Place of Power. Some of my fellow watchers were there.”

  Xul
ai’s pocket squirmed briefly, as though in agreement. Xulai, though she realized the stone and her companion were not strangers to one another, was too weary even to wonder at it. What Ushiloma did was goddess business, and Xulai was not required to understand it. Instead, she merely moved onto the new path, so concentrated upon listening that she scarcely noticed the tripping roots and snatching briars. She was no longer fearful, only desperately weary. All that was important was getting back to the Woman Upstairs.

  Soon the path swerved around the tower, and Xulai stopped, staring at the level, bare ground between the trees and the tower. It was kept that way by the groundsmen so as to give no cover to possible attackers. Not that there were attackers, nor had there been for almost a hundred years, but Justinian, Duke of Wold, Lord Holder of Woldsgard Castle, stayed in readiness, when he could spare time from his grief. From here, she could see nothing of the upper part of the castle except the tower itself. The watcher could not possibly see her.

  She raced to lean against the wall, looking upward. “If I can’t see the roof, the roof can’t see me,” she muttered to Abasio, who replied by patting her shoulder. Staying close to the stones, she circled the wall tower, checked again to be sure the roof was out of sight, then stayed close to the wall until she reached the tiny gate and inserted the key. Here she and her companion were sheltered from above by the tangled branches, the fruit-bearing tendrils now bare but still contending with one another in the breeze. The key clicked; she went through, Abasio stooping behind her, and the gate locked itself. Xulai murmured thanks to each tree as it sheltered them from the spy above, all the way to the kitchen garden. Even from here she could not see the high windows.

  “Why are the poppleberries in a separate orchard?” the man murmured.

  “They pick on other trees,” whispered Xulai. “They beat all the leaves and fruit off. If you want to pick the fruit for jelly or pies, they will pop you unless you have a woodsman standing by, threatening them with an axe! No one knows who first found them or created them. They’ve just always been here . . .” Her voice faded as they approached the kitchen door, which was waiting unlatched, as she had left it. Inside, she turned wearily toward the stairs, saying, “Please, will you come with me?”