Deep Water

by Pamela Freeman

  They all crowded to the cliff edge to peer over, but there was no sign of her in the churning surf below.

  Piper turned back to watch, eagerly looking for Salmon. The ghosts had been startled by Tern’s disappearance, but now they hefted their weapons. One of them, the one Crab had walked beside up the hill, looked at her. She nodded. He nodded back, then threw his spear with all his might at Acton.

  Acton raised his shield but the spear never reached it. It vanished in thin air once it left the ghost’s hand, melting as the water sprite had melted. Some of Acton’s men jeered, but other Turviters gripped their spears and rushed. Acton’s men scrambled to meet them, training and experience pushing them to present shields as a solid fence. Acton and Asgarn were in the center. Baluch took the rear, organizing another line of men behind them in case any attackers broke through. Bramble almost expected the clang of spear on shield, all the unholy noise of battle that she had come to know so well.

  But the ghosts silently slid into and through the fence of shields, through the line of swordsmen, and out the other side, stumbling to a stop before they got to Baluch’s line. Acton’s men shivered and made faces of disgust as the ghost chill hit them, but then they realized what had happened and broke ranks, laughing and jeering and whooping with relief.

  The women watching cried out in despair. Piper’s heart was beating too fast for comfort; too fast for safety. It seemed to swell in her chest as though it were going to burst. Bramble realized that Piper felt like she was going to die — wanted to die, to join with Salmon. No! Remember the baby, Bramble thought toward her. Willed her to look at Searose, to remember that her baby needed her. Astonishingly, Piper did. She turned her face away from Salmon and looked at Searose, clutched her tighter and cried over her wispy black hair. Bramble wasn’t sure if Piper had really responded to her thought, or if it were just mother love working. It didn’t matter. The dangerous moment had passed.

  At least, one dangerous moment.

  The ghosts had backed away toward the cliff behind Acton’s men, leaving nothing between them and the women. Acton’s men, now the first jubilation had worn off, were glowering at the women. They were tossing down their swords and shields. Some of them were smiling, and it wasn’t a smile Bramble liked. Then Acton stepped forward.

  “I gave you until sunset to bury your dead and leave your houses. I think you have just forfeited the right to bury your dead. Clearly, you don’t care if they sleep in peace or not. So I say now: take your things and go.”

  “They’ve forfeited more than their right to bury their dead,” Asgarn objected. He came to stand next to Acton, glaring at the women. “They’ve forfeited everything.”

  Acton shook his head, and smiled irrepressibly. “Come now, Asgarn. It was a good try, but it failed. You would have done the same, if you thought it might work. I would have.”

  Asgarn looked exasperated and wiped one hand over his chin as though buying time to decide what to say. “The men deserve —”

  Acton cut him off, his face for once serious. “The men deserve to be treated as though they are men of honor and not rutting drunken hogs.”

  “Honor operates between equals,” Asgarn said. He gestured to the women in disdain. Piper’s heart leapt in fear as his glance passed over her and the baby yelped as she gripped her too hard. “These are not equals. Look at them. They’re barely human. Runts.” The last word was spoken with scorn, a contempt that Bramble had heard many, many times on the Road. “Shagging Travelers,” were the words usually spoken in her time, but the tone was the same. The men rumbled their agreement, but Acton wasn’t moved.

  “I gave my word,” he said. “Go,” he said to the crowd of women.

  Some of them turned to head down the hill, but Snapper folded her arms. “Where do we go?” she asked. “A bunch of women and childer, with no way of making a living. We know how to fish, but this is the only harbor from here to forever. Easy to save our lives and feel good about yourself, but we’re still dead by the end of winter, with no shelter and no food.”

  Asgarn turned away with a shrug of distaste, but Acton listened, his face growing serious. Baluch said something quietly in his ear, and he nodded.

  “There’s a village,” he said. “It’s abandoned. You can have it on two conditions. One is that our boats are left undisturbed as they go up and down river. The other is that you accept any other . . .” he searched for a word, but failed to find it, by the look on his face, “any other people who need shelter. I don’t know what the place is named, but it’s a few miles upstream of here. Call it Sanctuary.”

  “Go on, then,” he added to the women, as though shooing a flock of chickens from his door, “go on, get going.” Laughter threaded underneath his words and Bramble felt a mixture of annoyance and admiration. He was such a — an idiot! He could be as generous as a rich man on his deathbed, but he couldn’t see that Asgarn was dangerous. He was too straightforward himself to recognize the point where shrewdness turned to deviousness. That was a point that Asgarn had reached long ago.

  The women gazed at their men, gathered on the cliff edge. Acton’s men didn’t like it. They glared at the women and then one of them started to bang his sword on his shield and shout, “Ac-ton! Ac-ton!” Others joined in. Where before it had been a noise of celebration, now it was a threat.

  The women hastily gathered their children and turned to go, talking about the new village as if to pretend that they weren’t frightened. Some of them knew it. They carefully didn’t mention why a village would be abandoned, but after the threats from the soldiers, they were filled with relief to turn toward their houses. Except Piper. She looked helplessly toward Salmon. He pointed to the north, toward a group of large boulders down the hillside about fifty paces away. She nodded and gave the baby to Snapper, kissing her on the head first. Then she walked down with a group of other women, slipping between a gap in the boulders as they passed so that Acton’s men wouldn’t realize she was there.

  Salmon was waiting for her. They came close together, but couldn’t touch. He curved his hand as though touching Piper’s face, and the tears flowed hot down her cheeks. Bramble was tired of grief. She felt exhausted by it. There had been so many deaths: Sebbi and Elric and Asa and Friede and Edwa, so much grief and so much mourning and so much revenge. She wondered why the gods were keeping her here, now the important part of the story had happened. What use was it, forcing her to see, to feel this, too?

  “Herring got away on the boat,” Piper said to Salmon, talking around the lump in her throat, sobbing a little. His face lit with relief. His son then, too, was safe. Bramble wondered how old Herring was. Where the boat had gone, if this was the only port “from here to forever.” The Wind Cities, maybe. Surely these people had heard of them?

  Then Acton appeared through the gap in the rocks, fumbling with his trousers. He had clearly slipped away for a quiet piss, and he stopped in surprise and a little embarrassment as he saw Piper and Salmon.

  “You’d better get going,” he said to Piper. “My men are drinking again. I can hold them a while longer, but after that, I make no promises.”

  “I don’t understand why you are stopping them,” Piper said. “I always heard the blond barbarians raped and tortured women.”

  Acton’s face filled with incongruous enjoyment, as though she had made a joke. “My mother had strong views about rapists,” he said, his eyes dancing, and even Piper, standing by her dead husband, was warmed by that smile. Bramble felt a stab of irritation with her. He’s your enemy, she wanted to say. But he was also Piper’s protector, which had not been part of the story. Bramble had never heard of Sanctuary.

  Acton looked at Salmon, who was glaring at him, and back at Piper. “Your man will be fine, you know,” he reassured her. “He died fighting, his sword in his hand. Swith the Strong will welcome him into the hall of heroes, and he will feast in the company of the brave forever.” His tone was earnest. There was no doubt that he believed it.

 
Piper looked at him, bewildered. “What are you talking about?” she said. “Death is just a door. Afterward, we go on to rebirth, if we have lived well and justly and pleased the gods.”

  Acton’s face twisted in surprise.

  Astonishingly, this was what the gods had wanted her to see, to hear, because the waters rose up like a breaking wave and smashed her away into darkness.

  Leof

  KEEPING ARROW, HIS chaser, in condition was the perfect excuse to get away from the fort. Leof felt ashamed that he needed to, but it had been two days since Arrow had been exercised, and she was getting restive. His groom was quite capable of riding her usually, but in this mood Leof wouldn’t trust her to anyone but himself. That was his excuse, anyway. He rode down the valley, inspecting the ditches and stake-traps which were being built in rings around the hill. Every man from the town who could be spared was working there, for all the daylight hours, but even so, it was progressing slower than Leof would have liked. That was another good reason for a ride, to encourage the workers and speed up the work.

  At the bottom of the hill he turned aside and went down his favorite path, which led through the valley to a spring-fed pool which flowed out to become the best water source for miles. He told himself he was looking for a way to defend that water, which was crucial for the farmers in the valley. The pool itself was on common ground, and no one’s direct responsibility. Which made it his.

  The pool was overshadowed by a huge old cedar tree, the fruit of some long-ago warlord’s trade with the Wind Cities. The story went that he had swapped his daughter for the seedling, but Leof doubted that. No warlord would give away so great a prize without getting a lot more than a tree back.

  Under the sweeping branches the cedar scent was so strong that Leof felt slightly drunk. He dismounted and led Arrow to the pool and waited while she dipped her head to drink, glad of a moment’s quiet. It was cool and beautiful here, and it seemed a long way away from the noise and movement at the fort. The pool was ringed with moss-covered rocks and the water spread out between them serenely, with only the faint ripple from the underground spring disturbing its reflection of the tree.

  Leof was watching a branch reflected in the water, thinking about Sorn and the way her hair caught the light with sudden fire, when he saw a face appear in the pool.

  He jumped back, startled, and Arrow’s head came up with a whicker.

  There was a man standing on the other side of the pool, smiling at him, his hands raised to show that he meant no harm. Leof relaxed a little, although he was silently berating himself. No one should have been able to sneak up on him like that! He was a warrior, not a love-struck mooncalf.

  The man was old, very old, with long white hair braided into plaits around his face and with the back left free. He had a full beard, too, which was unusual. So were his clothes — leggings and gaiters and a long, full tunic, almost like a woman’s. He wore a gold arm-ring in the shape of a dragon high on his left arm. His eyes were very blue and he had surprisingly good teeth for such an old man. Leof wished his own teeth were that straight.

  He nodded. “Greetings, sir.”

  “Greetings to you also, young man.” The old man looked at him consideringly.

  Then a voice seemed to come from inside Leof’s head, or from the water, or from the air itself; it surrounded him, it filled him.

  “Listen,” it said. It was his mother’s voice.

  He and Arrow had ridden to this pool a hundred times before, but Leof felt suddenly that he had ventured into an unknown wilderness, where anything might happen. His heart sped up, his hands were clammy, and he felt for his sword.

  “The Lake sent you,” Leof said with certainty.

  The man smiled. “Well done! I was expecting you to ask, ‘Who are you?’ Indeed, I am her ambassador. Her mouthpiece, if you will.” He had a beautiful voice, warm and deep and flexible, but there was a hint of an accent, a slight brogue. A voice it would be easy to trust.

  Leof set his heart against being persuaded by that voice. “And?”

  “Child, there is great danger approaching, and you will need the powers of the Lake to survive it.”

  “I will need?”

  “Your people. All our peoples. The Lake is not your enemy, but she will not be conquered. There is no living power in this world which could conquer her.”

  Leof latched on to that hint. “What about the power of the dead?”

  “If the dead acquire such power as that, your people will be in a sorry state. Convince your lord.”

  Leof smiled ruefully. “My lord goes his own way.”

  The man laughed, companionably. “So did mine, once. But if you are loyal to him, you will convince him. The Lake will resist.”

  Leof hesitated, but his inborn impulse to honesty won out. “He doesn’t believe in the Lake,” he admitted.

  The man went very still and his eyes widened a little. He whistled in disbelief. Leof was surprised by the purity of the sound — it was like the whistle of a young boy.

  “That — explains.” He lifted a hand. Oddly, given the roughness of his clothes, his fingernails were long and well cared for. “Be resolute,” he said.

  Leof blinked. The man was just — gone. Just not there. He hadn’t stepped away, he hadn’t moved. Just disappeared. Leof began to shake. True enchantment. True enchantment, not necromancy or trick or potion. He had never heard of such power — and Leof knew that it was the power of the Lake, not of the man. The man had been an ordinary human. Leof forced himself to cross the stream on the stones that ringed the pool and look at the ground where the man had stood.

  He felt a great relief when he saw footprints, even though they only led from the pool to the tree, and not away from it. At least his sense that the man was alive and real had been right. An ambassador from the Lake. He jumped back across the stream with more energy, and collected Arrow.

  The question was, should he tell Sorn about this? He should tell Thegan, no doubt, although Thegan would jump to the conclusion that this man was the enchanter he had declared was his enemy. His shocking ability to disappear would be the proof. Leof paused, reining Arrow in at the end of the river path, looking across the field to the fort on its hill. Should he tell Thegan? If he didn’t, was that treason? Consorting with the enemy?

  He longed to discuss it with Sorn, to lay it all out for consideration by those wise green eyes. But private conversation had to be avoided at all costs. So, what if he said nothing? If Thegan ever found out, it would be the pressing box for sure, and then the gibbet. The sun was going down. He would miss evening muster and inspection of the horses. He clicked his tongue to Arrow and she started off gladly, happy to be heading home. He put aside the decision for now. Or perhaps… This would be a good excuse to go to Carlion. He could put Wil in charge for a few days and ride down to tell Thegan personally. It was too… odd… to put in a message. How could he describe it properly?

  Then he could leave Sorn for a while. Let them both recover. Perhaps even persuade Thegan to keep him in Carlion and send Eddil back to command in Sendat. He had at least as much experience as Leof.

  He had to tell Thegan. The man had even asked him to. He ignored a suspicion that it would make the situation in Baluchston worse. But Thegan wasn’t going to listen to him about the Lake anyway. He cantered Arrow up the hill more cheerfully. Secrecy wasn’t in his nature and he felt much better having decided to take action.

  As he went, he saw a local farmer pacing out the course of the next chase. He sighed. As temporary lord in Sendat, he couldn’t compete in any of the chases. He had to hand out the prizes if asked. Since Bramble’s roan, Thorn, had died he’d gone back to racing in every chase he could, instead of just the ones Bramble wasn’t in, and he missed the regular dose of excitement. Missed winning, too. He patted Arrow on the neck and said, “One day soon, girl,” and she tossed her head in response as he headed her for home.

  Leof left the next morning, with no more than a public explanation
to Sorn that he needed to discuss some elements of the fort’s defense directly with Thegan. She was puzzled, he could see, and so was Wil, but they both accepted his statement. Sorn organized food for him to take and Bandy, his groom, prepared for the trip with enthusiasm. He had a ghoulish curiosity and couldn’t wait to take a look at the wreckage the ghosts had caused.

  The trip to Carlion was uneventful, although everywhere they stopped he was besieged with people wanting to be reassured that they weren’t going to be murdered in their beds. He did the best he could, thinking wryly that they’d never have dared accost Thegan in the same way.

  Carlion itself was… odd. Leof realized that he’d expected to see the kinds of things he had seen in other towns in Cliff Domain which had been attacked by the Ice King: houses burnt down, or stripped bare of all they had. But ghosts had no reason to loot. It appeared they didn’t use fire, either. They just killed.

  So the streets of Carlion were the same as ever, aside from a few shattered and hastily repaired shutters and doors. But there were far fewer people on the streets than the last time he was there. He saw fearful eyes peering out at him from behind windows and doors as he rode down the steep streets toward the Moot Hall. But the fearful people staying indoors weren’t enough to account for the emptiness of the streets. Carlion was a town stripped bare, but of people, not things. Arrow’s hoofsteps echoed forlornly from the brick walls, too easy to hear now the normal bustle of cart and handbarrows and vendors was gone. Leof could even hear the seagulls down at the harbor, and the wash of the waves against the docks.

  The Moot Hall, he found with some relief, was bustling as usual, although most of the bustle was provided by men in Thegan’s uniform. He was hailed immediately by one of the sergeants.

  “My lord’s in his office. Top of the stairs. Is there news from Sendat?”