Metyein began to speak, giving reports on building, supplies, and training. “Kebonsat and I have been drilling with the troops regularly. They won’t break under the first attack, anyhow, and they’ll likely not cut off their own hands or shoot their neighbors,” Metyein said sardonically.
“Any word from Koduteel? What’s Aare up to?”
Metyein reported what Juhrnus had said.
“I sent him to Patverseme for help.”
“So what are you doing for supplies?”
“Some of our shipments have come through, and we got a harvest in, such as it is. Our hunters have to go fairly far afield anymore, but they’ve been preserving the meat, so we have stores. I’ve sent fishermen up the Sadelema River above Mysane Kosk and we’ve dried barrels of trout and grayling. We’ve been cutting hay for the horses in the mountain meadows. We’ve enough to last.”
To last until Aare came? Or until Mysane Kosk swallowed up the valley? And how much time was there between the two?
“No word from Reisiltark?”
Metyein’s only answer was a silent shake of his head.
“Where’s Juhrnus now?”
“On his way home, with any luck. I expect him by early next month.”
“How is Emelovi?”
“She’s . . . coming along. My father always said that information was three-quarters of the battle. Once you know what you’re working with, you can decide what to do. That’s Emelovi. She started paying attention. Now she asks intelligent questions and makes useful suggestions. She’s a good judge of character and potential. At least, most of the time.”
“Kebonsat?” Soka asked knowingly.
“She’s unbent with him. At least enough to be civil. But more than that—” He shrugged.
“What about the nokulas and the wizards? Any attacks?”
“Quiet. But we figure they’re waiting for Reisiltark to return and Aare to get here. We aren’t much of a threat until then.”
“And what about the plague?”
Metyein drew a heavy breath. “We were doing well. A couple of cases here and there, nothing out of control. But then a month ago, it got worse.”
Soka’s mouth went dry. “How many?”
“Total since you left? Just under eighty dead. There’s about forty still alive now. We lost Gamulstark, too.”
Soka stared. So many . . .
Soka had seen the plague at its worst. He’d hidden in a plague wagon to escape Koduteel. He’d seen the bodies and the pyres, but somehow he hadn’t thought of how many people died of it. How many could still die of it. Unexpectedly he thought of Roomila and felt a pang of something he didn’t care to examine too closely.
“Any luck finding one of these plague-healers Reisiltark told us about?” he asked roughly.
Metyein shook his head. “We found a body in a village south of here. It had been hacked up with an ax. Wasn’t much left. They don’t look like nokulas, not really. Mostly it’s in the eyes. But they are definitely not human. And scared folks are going to kill something like that before it can kill them. I don’t know if we’ll ever get to one of these plague-healers before someone slaughters it.”
Soka watched his friend, seeing the lines of worry pulling his mouth and eyes down. He hesitated, not wanting to add to the burden the other man shouldered. But he had to be told.
“There’s something else,” he began.
Metyein stiffened. “What?”
“We had a lot of trouble with the caravan. A lot of wheel trouble and so forth. But in one thing we were lucky. The roads were absolutely clear. Hardly two inches of snow where it was deep.”
It took a few moments for the information to sink in.
“No snow? But it’s midwinter. I thought it was just an effect of being in the valley—” Metyein thrust himself to his feet and paced to the other side of the room and back. He stopped, his eyes meeting Soka’s.
“It’s going to be an early spring.”
“Very early,” Soka agreed.
“Reisiltark won’t be back before Aare gets here.”
Soka didn’t answer.
Metyein tapped his thigh, thinking, as he stared at the floor.
“I’d better get Kebonsat and Emelovi. We’ll have to adjust our plans. What about your father?”
Soka lifted one shoulder. “He’s one of the best. You’d be a fool to not use him. As he said, it’s in his best interests for us to succeed.”
Metyein came to stand before him, stretching out a hand. Soka stood and took it, gripping tightly. “You did well,” Metyein said soberly, putting his other hand on Soka’s shoulder. “I know how much it cost you to go to Bro-heyek and beg for us. I was never so proud in my life as when I saw you riding at the head of the caravan. And beside your father, no less.”
Metyein’s words lit a glow in Soka. He grinned. “I told you. I won’t fail you.”
Chapter 34
A fist pounded on the workroom door. “Come quickly!”
Reisil set aside the spell she’d been working on, yanking open the door with a frown. But the young nahualli messenger was already knocking at another door, shouting her message. Reisil glanced over her shoulder unhappily. It contained bins of the spiky-shaped rinda made of stone, wood, cloth, metal, and clay. There were three low workbenches set in a triangle and a scattering of cushions for sitting. On one of the tables was the spell she’d been working on. She hated to leave in the middle of it. But the summons was imperative. With a frustrated sigh, Reisil closed her door and sealed it. She used wards of her own making. She joined the other women emerging into the corridor.
The workshops were located underground beneath the living quarters of Atli Cihua. She’d had hers for six weeks, since just after Miidagi, when the dark power of the Demonlord began to wane and the Lady’s waxed golden. Before that, she’d been schooled in the meaning and history of each rinda. And there were a lot of them. Fifty-two of the greater rinda, a hundred and six of the lesser, and the thirteen moon rinda. After she’d demonstrated a thorough understanding of each, her teachers had given her some sense of crafting the spells. Unlike the wizards who constructed chains, the nahuallis built spell sculptures, or so Reisil had come to think of them. The pieces of rinda were fitted together like a three-dimensional puzzle. Figuring out which to choose and how to order them was the hard part.
When at last they’d given her a workroom, Reisil had locked herself inside nearly round the clock. She slept on her seat cushions, and came out only when her stomach wouldn’t let her ignore it any longer. She’d forgotten to bathe as well, but by the end of the first week, the other women had refused to let her eat until she was clean. And they had scrubbed her. Now Reisil made sure to bathe more regularly, and retired to her room for at least a few hours’ good sleep.
Working with the nahualli rinda was both easier and harder than the wizards’ rinda. Creating the puzzle-sculptures seemed nearly effortless. But choosing the rinda to achieve her effect was confusing at best. There had to be balance, and some of the rinda fit together better than others, as if their natures called to or shunned others. The greater rinda were most difficult to work with, requiring a great deal of stamina and a constant flow of power. They seemed to have a mind of their own, and controlling them was grueling. As for the moon rinda . . .
At first Reisil had hesitated even to touch them. They were made of pure silver and they radiated something that reminded her of the nokulas. They felt molten, seeming to change shape to mimic other rinda. It took all of Reisil’s concentration and magic to control them and fit them together as she wanted. And she still had no idea how to construct the spell-sculpture that the copicatl had shown her in the cavern.
She was beginning to understand some of what was happening at Mysane Kosk. The wizards had sought to open up a well of power. Instead they’d opened up a kind of drain. The magic of Cemanahuatl was emptying into Kodu Riik through Mysane Kosk. But the magic of Cemanahuatl wasn’t merely an unformed flow to be molded as desir
ed. It already had form: the rinda.
They existed already, floating in the nethersphere. The shapes Reisil used to build spells in her workshop were rinda that had been captured. Left alone in the nethersphere, they merged and combined naturally to create balanced, natural spells that then were too heavy, too solid for the nethersphere. Spontaneous creation. The rinda wanted to be. They wanted solid form and purpose. This natural impetus made it easier to shape them. It also accounted for the changes at Mysane Kosk, and for the nokulas.
Reisil remembered the spell-chains that made up the nokulas. The nahualli rinda were never meant to be chained together. But the spell the wizards cast had called them out of the nethersphere and allowed them to combine with the rinda in the original wizard spell. The result had been spell-chains that married the two rinda to create new beings, new landscapes. That was why none were the same. No combination was alike.
Reisil had begun experimenting with combining some of the wizard rinda with the lesser rinda of the nahuallis. Her first attempt had been to create a cup of hot kohv topped with nussa spice. Nothing that existed in Cemanahuatl. The first fifty attempts had gone badly. Then . . . it had worked. The rinda had seemed at last to understand what she wanted them to do. The right blocks seemed to jump into her hand.
She’d experimented with other spells. The greater rinda were much more recalcitrant to her wants, and the moon rinda . . . She could almost hear them singing , a siren song of want and power. She found her hands drifting toward them and had to concentrate every waking moment not to succumb to their call. Her dreams were filled with song that made her heart race and her body ache with endless want. She didn’t sleep often.
Today she’d begun trying to merge the nahualli rinda with the ordinary Kodu Riikian words she’d used in creating her wards. If it worked—An idea was beginning to worm its way up into her mind. She couldn’t quite reach it yet. But soon. She just needed a little bit more time.
Reisil joined the nahuallis congregating in the blue room. More and more came in, filling it to bursting. There was no space to sit. Reisil suddenly realized that there were far more now than had been at the first council. They’d been slowly drifting into Atli Cihua. Were all the nahuallis in Cemanahuatl here? She tried to count. There had to be nearly four hundred. If not all of the land’s nahuallis were here, most were, Reisil guessed.
A gong sounded and quieted the buzz of voices. Then Ilhanah rose in the air, floating above so that everyone could see. Her eyes glittered with excitement.
“The pahtia draws to a close. The remaining champions are near Tizalan. They will ascend the Temple soon. We must go. We leave in an hour.”
Reisil stood confused as the nahuallis fled to prepare. Leave? She wasn’t ready. She had to stay and figure out what to do!
She waited as Ilhanah descended lightly to the floor.
“I can’t leave,” she said bluntly.
Ilhanah’s expression tightened. She’d been one of Reisil’s teachers, but their sessions had grown frostier and more wooden as the days progressed. Reisil wasn’t sure why. Sharing so much with an outsider, perhaps. Or perhaps Ilhanah was starting to agree with Piketas.
“The pahtia ends. The nahuallis must gather. It is our way.”
“Surely I can stay and work,” Reisil said, but Ilhanah was already shaking her head.
“It would be a dishonor to Ilhuicatl.”
Reisil wanted to argue more, but could see that Ilhanah was not going to change her mind.
“When will we return?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended. Easier to catch flies with honey, she silently reminded herself.
“As soon as we may,” was Ilhanah’s unhelpful reply. Then she softened, seeing Reisil’s dismay. “We serve Ilhuicatl. We must be there when his son is born to Cemanahuatl.”
As Reisil returned to her quarters, she had a sickening feeling that this was the last time she’d stand in Atli Cihua. She’d learned a lot. And an idea had begun to simmer. But was it enough? It had to be.
She went first to her quarters, stuffing her few possessions inside her pack. Then she returned to her workroom, locking the door behind her. For a moment she thought about barricading herself inside and then dismissed her foolishness. The nahuallis would pry her out by whatever means necessary, and she dared not challenge them. Every day reports came in of things getting worse in Cemanahuatl: more death, more terrible storms, more news of unmaking. More and more of the nahuallis had begun to look at Reisil with a kind of fatalistic hopelessness. As if they’d given up on her. Defying them might push them to desperate measures: to destroying Ti’Omoru. Piketas wasn’t the only one who argued it was their best chance of saving Cemanahuatl.
Reisil looked at the bins of rinda, wondering what she should take with her. She found herself staring at the thirteen moon rinda. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she gathered them up. Their song intensified at her touch and she shuddered with the power that streaked through her.
She turned to her pack. It seemed ludicrous to just jumble the rinda inside and toss it over her shoulder. Would the nahuallis even allow her to take them? No. She had to hide them.
Reisil piled the rinda on a table. She grabbed her stylus and the ink she’d made from charcoal, sap, and plant dye. She opened her pack and began to write on the inside. Her hand moved quickly and surely across the leather. She hurried as fast as she dared. She didn’t want to force them to come for her.
At last she finished. She was sweating and breathing hard. She scooped up the moon rinda and dumped them unceremoniously inside, ignoring their song. Dear Lady, let my spell hold.
She tied the pack closed and instantly the song muted. Reisil let out a sigh of relief. She slung it over her shoulder and left the workroom and sealed it again. If any nahuallis were left behind, they’d have to work hard to open the door. Hopefully it would be too late to stop her by the time they got it open.
The journey to Tizalan took eight days. They went overland the first two. All but Reisil had dyed their hair violet and painted their faces with rinda. Only the elders, Reisil noticed, were permitted to wear the greater rinda. None wore the moon. Saljane floated above, jumping from tree to tree. Reisil was delighted to see her. Once Reisil had begun experimenting with the rinda, the goshawk had decided to retreat back outside the walls of Atli Cihua to keep from distracting her ahalad-kaaslane.
Midmorning on the third day, they came to a great river, its sluggish waters green and murky. The opposite side was a dim, gray shadow that faded into the clouds. A flotilla of canoes carved of a strong, light wood and covered with bark were tied within the trees, protected by wards. They boarded them as the rain began again. There were ten women in each.
As she paddled along, Reisil had a chance to think. Yohuac’s face haunted her. Would she see him? Would he see her? Did he even live? Baku didn’t answer her when she reached out to him. The idea was nearly crippling. Her body spasmed and she dropped her oar. Ampok fished it back out of the water, handing it to her wordlessly. Reisil was very glad of the nahualli’s habitual chill silence. She couldn’t have borne talking at that moment.
On the the sixth day, the enormous river they followed joined another, even larger waterway, fully two leagues across and very, very deep. Enormous fish and other things swam in the swift waters. Now only six of the nahuallis in each boat rowed. The other four watched the water restlessly. Power crackled in the air as they held ready to defend the flotilla of canoes.
“Keep your hands and legs well inside,” Piketas advised. Reisil didn’t have to be told twice.
She continued to reach out to Baku. He never answered.
~Can you reach him? she asked Saljane.
~No.
~Is he—? She couldn’t finish the question.
~I don’t know. She sounded as worried at Reisil.
They came at last to Tizalan at sunset on the eighth day. Cemanahuatl’s only city, Yohuac had once told her. It was glorious. It glittered like a jewel on an island i
n the middle of the great river. The buildings were made of yellow stone, with copper-colored roofs. The temples were shaped like tall, blocky pyramids, reminding Reisil of the rinda spell-sculptures. They were leafed in hammered gold and sparkled with precious stones. Rising out of the middle of it all was one that appeared to be made entirely of gold. A long stairway led to the top, its steps stained rusty brown. Reisil swallowed, knowing it was blood. Her body went cold.
Upon seeing Tizalan, the nahuallis let out a piercing cry. Inside the city, gongs began to sound, one after another until Reisil thought she’d go deaf. They guided their canoes into a shallow harbor, and a crowd of people came down to help disembark. No one spoke, but there was a rising excitement in the air.
Reisil caught Saljane on her fist as the goshawk dropped out of the sky. She lifted the bird onto her shoulder.
“What’s happening?” she asked Ampok, who came to walk beside her as they paced regally into the city.
“Six days ago, those who survived the pahtia entered the Temple of the Sun. Five entered. Soon we will witness Ilhuicatl’s Choosing. We go to wait.”
And wait they did. The crowds around the temple parted to allow the nahuallis passage. The witches made a loose circle around the entire temple, and then sat cross-legged to wait. Three more days passed. People brought them food and drink, and some would wander away periodically to relieve their bodies and return to take up their silent watch.
Reisil found it increasingly difficult to sit still. She fidgeted, biting her nails to the quick. Her head ached. She ate little, and slept less. All she could think about was Yohuac. Was he inside? Was he alive? Where was Baku?
Suddenly, between one moment and the next, the sky went dark. Clouds streamed in like flocks of birds swarming. Reisil felt a tingle across her skin. The earth thrummed. Power pressed in on her and she found it hard to catch her breath. As one, the nahuallis stood. Reisil scrambled to join them.
The sky was black, pregnant and heavy. The wind died. The silence was absolute. Then the clouds parted. A streamer of yellow sunlight slipped through, illuminating the Temple of the Sun in a dazzling glow. There was a stirring at the top of the bloody stairway. Reisil’s heart clenched. She stood on tiptoe.
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