The Fate of the Tala

by Jeffe Kennedy

  “Difficult, but mostly I want plenty of power—and any divine assistance I can get—because I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “Except when you expanded the barrier the first time.”

  I shook my head. “I didn’t do that. My magic assisted—and I provided the pathway to the barrier—but Ami’s magic amplified the spell, and Ursula’s mind guided the position of the barrier. Most importantly, we had the potency of the blood sacrifice of a king as a catalyst.”

  She frowned a little, intrigued and puzzled. “I don’t quite understand.”

  “They set a match to the bonfire that was the king’s death,” Nakoa said in his deep voice. “Once the blood of a king—or queen—is spilled into the soil of their realm, it creates powerful earth magic. It only needed a little push from them to take shape.”

  I nodded at him. “I understand much more about it now than I did then.”

  “How did you learn?” Dafne’s face lit up with curiosity.

  “By doing, mostly. Not everything is in books,” I teased.

  “Hmm.” She looked between us, then shrugged. “One day I’d love to interview you in depth, record some of this arcane information.”

  “There are good reasons not to write some things down.”

  “I disagree. Not writing things down is how critical information is lost.”

  “How about we debate that if we survive the war?”

  “There is that.” Returning her focus to the map, she checked her measurements once more, then marked the equivalent distance all along the circumference of a circle drawn in dashed lines that must represent the barrier. Withdrawing another instrument, she checked a setting, then drew a new arc of circle inside the old one.

  “I’ll have to reconfigure the big map, too,” she mused as she drew, “but this handles at least Nakoa’s kingdom. It looks like the barrier retraction will affect only the tail end of the archipelago—this chain of islands here. Particularly these three. Those should be the only ones that the new barrier position will intersect.”

  Nakoa peered over her shoulder, nodded. “I shall inform their neighbors, too, as a happy precaution, and give orders that all boats along the path find safe harbor from fearfully stormy seas.” He sat, carefully transferring the bundle of sleeping baby to the crook of his other arm, and began writing a letter.

  “How accurate is this map?” I asked Dafne.

  “Very,” she replied giving me an owlish—and perhaps slightly offended—look. “My data are excellent.”

  “I don’t doubt you, but how do we know so precisely how far into our side of the barrier that peninsula and the surrounding ooze extends?”

  “Because we’ve charted it. Look,” she angled the map to show me the fine grid lines and numbers at each juncture. “I learned some of this from Shipmaster Jens and added to it with information in the library. Once you have a system in place, it’s quite simple to measure the size and position of landmasses and their relative position to each other. From that you can know locations on the surface of the water, too.”

  It didn’t seem simple. “It looks to me like your figures are within a ship’s length.”

  “A bit less,” she agreed with cool confidence. “I actually know with even greater accuracy than that. I allowed room for error.”

  “Room for error,” I echoed.

  “While I know my figures precisely, I don’t how accurate your sorcery is—or what landmarks you plan to use—so I allowed for some distance on either side of this projected location.” She tapped the new barrier circumference with her quill.

  Landmarks. How would I know how far to pull the barrier? I suppose I’d thought I would simply pull until I didn’t feel the Deyrr taint anymore. But obviously that wouldn’t work as I knew full well the barrier retained the taint for some time. “I don’t know either,” I admitted.

  “May I make a suggestion?”

  “Please.”

  “How well do you know the Annfwn coastline to the north—even into the Northern Wastes?”

  “Quite well.” Not many Tala lived in that frigid realm, but those few with First Forms that preferred cold temperatures and icy landscapes thrived there best. What I hadn’t traveled in person, I’d traversed in my mind.

  “Perfect.” She pulled out another map, this one showing much more of the world on a single sheet, everything shown on a much smaller scale. “Give me a moment,” she muttered. She extracted a new tool, this one with two arms attached by a spring. Consulting her first map, she marked the distance off the Dasnarian peninsula we’d decided should be the location of the smaller barrier, then noted it on the bigger map. Setting one point of her instrument on that mark, she opened the hinge to put the other point down.

  Right on the Heart of Annfwn.

  I nearly jerked in surprise, and must’ve made some sound because she glanced up at me, then at Nakoa. “Nakoa, would you mind fetching my other book bag?”

  He grunted, finished the line he wrote, and His Highness King Nakoa Kau Po strode off to fetch her bag. I would’ve been amused, if I weren’t so alarmed that Dafne knew exactly where the Heart lay hidden, deep under the sea. Exactly under the center point of her circle.

  “Sorry,” she said, quickly and quietly, “but it’s simple geometry. The barrier is a globe projected by the Heart—that much has been abundantly clear—and thus the Heart is at the center of its circumference. I figured out where it must be a long time ago. And I’ve told no one, I promise.”

  At least she’d marked it with a simple dot, no label. And I trusted Dafne. Her quest for knowledge would get her in trouble some day, however. “Just remember there are good reasons the Heart’s location has been secret all this time.” I raised my brows at her and she realized the import of my warning, nodding somberly. I studied the map, her perfect circle encompassing so much more than I’d realized. “So, tell me, do you know all the lands the barrier passes through?”

  She smoothed a hand over the far south and east where some landmasses had been lightly sketched in. A few had labels, fewer still details of coastlines, cities, and other geographical features—more were mostly suggestions of lines. “I don’t need to be familiar with those lands to know where the barrier goes, or where it will be when you move it. See?” She affixed her quill to one end of her instrument—the end not on the Heart—by way of a spring clasp. Holding the pin firmly on Heart, she spun the instrument so the quill drew the new circle all across the map of the world, just inside the previous circle. “See? Simple geometry.”

  I stared at it, more dumfounded than I should’ve been. “And this is a guess of where the barrier traverses?”

  “It’s an accurate depiction,” she corrected. “Everywhere my people have been able to corroborate, the barrier exists in actuality within a forearm’s length of my predicted location. And that error, frankly,” she confided, “is most likely human failure to measure precisely. Not from my calculations.”

  “Well, yes. It doesn’t bear thinking that your calculations could be imprecise,” I said, deadpan, and she wrinkled her nose at me.

  “At any rate, this is what I suggest,” she said, tapping the map where the paired circles crossed the northern Annfwn coastline. “Instead of retracting the barrier out at sea, do it here: This landmark would be perfect. Then you can better ‘see’ what you’re doing.”

  “That’s rather brilliant,” I said, bemused that it hadn’t occurred to me.

  “Thank you. High praise.”

  My eyes strayed back to those shadow lands, the ones barely sketched in, inside the barrier with us. “Has Ursula seen this?”

  “No. I told her she could see it after she deals with Deyrr and Dasnaria. The last thing we need is for her to be fretting about being responsible for these other lands and sending diplomatic delegations to them. Time enough to save the rest of the world after we’ve saved ourselves.”

  “Most pragmatic.”

  “Thank you. And thank you, Nakoa,” she sai
d as he returned with the bag. He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and sat to review his letter.

  I still couldn’t stop looking at the map, at those distant lands in the southeast. Some intuition about them tickled the back of my mind. “May I see something?”

  “Of course.” She rotated the map for me.

  I traced the coastline of one large continent, one with outlines only and very few details of the interior, then smoothed my fingers inland. That intuition warmed, as if the map itself emanated heat here, a sense of Danu’s bright light. I peered at the neat lettering uncertain how to string the unfamiliar sequence of letters into a sound. “What is this place?”

  “Chiyajua,” she replied immediately, having been watching with intent interest. “Where you have your fingers is a region called Nyambura.”

  A great river had been marked as running through Nyambura, ending at a delta on a far ocean, with a city marked there.

  “Chimto is the delta city,” Dafne told me. “If the river has a name, we don’t know it. Actually, we don’t know much about Chimto except the name. This place—” She tapped a smaller town on the coast closest to the Port of Ehas. “This is the harbor city of Bandari. Ships from Ehas put in there from time to time, which is why we know anything about this place at all. Why are you interested?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied absently, still trying to absorb what the buzz of intuition might mean. “Are there elephants here?”

  “Elephants?”

  From the surprise in her voice, I might as well have asked if Moranu’s moon swam in that river. Dafne recovered quickly though, with her agile mind and lively curiosity.

  “I’d want to double-check my sources—the relevant natural histories in the library at Nahanau—but there are elephants here, in Halabahna.” She indicated another barely sketched continent well south of Dasnaria, then laid a straight edged instrument across it and over to Chiyajua. “The latitude is approximately the same, so it’s possible. Because elephants require a particular climate,” she explained when I blinked at her, “so there’s a greater likelihood of a similar climate occurring on another continent at the same latitude, though there’s no guarantee.”

  “This is what comes of having a wife who lives in the library,” Nakoa rumbled, ruffling Dafne’s hair with affection, showing a rare smile. “Little Fierce Lena is waking and will demand your loving attention soon.”

  Dafne began packing away her instruments. “Do you need the map still, Andi?”

  “No, I have what I need. Thank you.” At least as far as the map was concerned.

  Dafne rolled it up with the other maps, assembling everything into neat packages. They both rose, Nakao giving the indeed fussing baby a thick finger to mouth. She gazed up at him with wide, deep blue eyes, and I realized I hadn’t seen their color before. Tala eyes in a brown Nahanaun face. An image came to me of her as a young woman, rich caramel brown hair tumbling around a face with Nakoa’s broad cheekbones, dominated by those deep blue eyes. Rain and lightning lashed around her and she laughed, arms upraised as if conducting the music of the storm.

  “Is everything all right?” Dafne asked me, concern etched between her brows. She looked at her daughter, though, and I knew she meant with young Salena, not me.

  “Yes,” I reassured Dafne and Nakoa, who’d begun to frown also. The wages of being a sorceress: people always watched you for the least hint of how events would turn out. “I saw your daughter in the distant future as a young woman. Fierce, proud—and apparently she has your gift for storm-bringing,” I told Nakoa.

  His face broke into a wide smile, like the sun breaking through clouds, and he pressed a kiss to his daughter’s forehead. “Of course she does.”

  “A certain future?” Dafne persisted, however. “Not just a possible one?”

  I mentally sighed. “There are no certain futures, but yes—according to my data, which are very accurate—this seems most likely.”

  She made a face at me. “Funny. But I ask because… well, some of the ways you talk about us losing this war, of Deyrr taking over the world, makes it sound like there’d be nothing left. After.”

  I understood what she asked and debated how—or if—to answer. “If we lose the war itself, there are ways to defeat Deyrr. I have a contingency plan.”

  She glanced around, making sure no one listened. “As the n’Andanans did before us.”

  I nodded, appreciating her quick mind more than ever.

  “I’m glad you’ve said so,” she added. “That solution—extreme and last resort though it may be—had occurred to me also, and I’d considered mentioning it to you. I wasn’t sure how the idea would be received, so you’ve laid at least those concerns to rest.”

  Salena finally decided Nakoa’s finger wouldn’t produce anything to sate her hunger, and she let out a frustrated wail of demand.

  “Here now, little Lena.” Dafne traded her things for the baby, cuddling her daughter. “Let’s go feed you.”

  “You could nurse out here,” I said. “The Tala aren’t much concerned for modesty in general, you know, and especially not nursing.” Once babies were born and healthy, the Tala loved them. They reserved all their superstition for before that point.

  She grimaced. “I know. Maybe I’ll get there, but for the time being I’ll stick to privacy.” She yawned massively. “Besides, it’s a good opportunity to nap since she falls asleep once her tummy is full.”

  I smiled at the tenderness in her face, the child in my womb turning and stretching. I could wish that my visions of his future were as clear—and as promising—but even for a sorceress, such wishes are mostly wasted effort. Perhaps because we know better than anyone how rarely things turn out as we wish.

  ~ 13 ~

  Kelleah found me next. She arrived so hard on the heels of Dafne and Nakoa’s departure that I suspected she’d been discreetly lurking nearby.

  “Your Highness,” she called by way of greeting, striding up purposefully. She moved with the vitality of a woman with many things to do, but in a soft, almost dancing way. Her colorful dress swirled around her earth-mother’s body, all of her bouncing with each step—and it made me smile just to see her.

  She opened her arms to embrace me, so I stood, letting her enfold me. Kelleah’s hugs aren’t perfunctory—she holds onto you for a while, her abundant affection suffused with healing energy, even when she’s not actively healing you—so I relaxed against her ample bosom, enjoying being held. It felt like being mothered, except I didn’t much remember what that felt like. “You’re tired,” she murmured, stroking my hair.

  I huffed out a sigh. “I’m beginning to think that’s my name, everyone keeps saying that to me.”

  She laughed, finally releasing me and sitting, but keeping my hand in hers, a steady trickle of vitality flowing from her and filling all my empty places. “I won’t tell you not to do all that you’re doing—I’m sure you have plenty of people to tell you that, and we all know we’re depending on you to do those things—but do keep in mind that you’re only mortal. I can also tell you that the pregnancy is going well, but I know that you’re sorceress enough to monitor that yourself. So why did you want to see me?”

  Abruptly I realized I had no idea what to say. My original plan of getting Kelleah to intervene with Rayfe no longer applied. Knowing that Rayfe was compromised by the enemy—and not just being difficult, or moody, or overprotective—changed everything. “I promised Rayfe I’d have you check on me is all.”

  She gave me a knowing look. “Old crusty Vanka has been bending his ear with her caterwauling about sequestration?”

  Despite everything, I laughed, some of the tightness around my heart loosening. “Of course. I think Rayfe would’ve packed me off up the coast by now if I weren’t needed here.” Or would he—how much of that was him and how much of it the high priestess trying to get me away from the cliff city?

  “Vile custom.” She snorted disdainfully. “I look to you to set a new fashion among the
Tala women. Sending them off to live in caves where they have nothing better to do than brood and worry serves no one. Except maybe letting the fathers off the anxiety hook. I hope you and Rayfe will set a new example there, too.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I replied, thinking it doubtful any of the Tala would follow my lead, presuming that I—and Annfwn itself—survived the war.

  She didn’t miss that I didn’t include Rayfe in my reply. “Is our king being difficult?” she asked in a gentle voice, peering at me knowingly.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to reply. She’d know if I lied to her.

  Kelleah narrowed her gaze. “Specifics, please. I can’t help you if you don’t trust me.”

  Oh, wonderful. As if I hadn’t confessed this painful information enough. “He moved out of our bed,” I said, hoping that would be enough for her to chew on.

  “Ah.” Kelleah squeezed my hand, comforting and earnest, then shook her head. “Men. I’ll talk to him, all right?”

  “Thank you,” I said, suffusing the connection between us with my gratitude. I doubted Kelleah could do much against the high priestess’s grip on Rayfe, but I appreciated her willingness to try. “I love him so much,” I added, impulsively, and quite before I’d formed the thought to say so.

  She put her other hand on top of mine, holding my hand in both of hers, warm green gaze steady on mine. “Of course you do. And he loves you. The love between you two will be the stuff of legends. I believe in that.”

  Though I was too choked up to say so, I could only hope that would be true. And that the legend wouldn’t be a tragic one.

  I sat there only a few moments after Kelleah left before Zynda arrived, Shaman with her. Belatedly hopping to my feet, surprised enough to be awkward, I inclined my head in formal welcome. “Shaman. How blessed am I that you came to me.”

  He grunted in agreement, eyeing me askance, his Tala blue eyes almost black from performing the rites of Moranu. Without access to the Heart, Shaman and his fellows used other ways to amplify and focus magic—methods that also bleached their hair white. Among a wild people, Shaman and his fellows were the wildest. They scorned human vanity, excising the habits of childhood, so they never bothered with niceties like unsnarling hair or manifesting with clean garments when returning to human form.