Colors in the Dreamweaver's Loom

by Beth Hilgartner

  "Do you think we can manage to put the tent up here?" he bellowed. "I don't think we have a chance if we can't. The only person fit for this sort of travel is Vihena—and possibly the shapeshifter. If we put the tent up, we'll have to dig ourselves out when the wind stops, but at least we'll have a chance. Are you game to try?"

  "Why not?" she responded. "What's the worst that could happen?"

  "We could lose the tent."

  "Well, if you're right, we won't need it again if we don't make the attempt." She unslung her pack and dug out the poles. She gave them to Ychass, then got out the tent itself. It took all of them, with much effort, to get the thing anchored. It was lopsided and rather unsteady, but they all managed to get inside. Remarr insisted that they lace the door flap shut before they finally collapsed into exhausted heaps and slept. Outside, the wind moaned around them.

  When they woke, the world was silent. It seemed eerie after the noise of the wind. The light inside the tent was dim, too, as though the daylight were weaker in the wake of the storm. As Zan's sleepy mind tried to make sense of that, she noticed Remarr sitting up gingerly. As she watched, he pushed his hand gently against one side of the tent; Zan realized it was bulging inward with the weight of the sand.

  "Up," he said quietly. "We'd better dig out before the tent tears. It's not as bad as it could be, but it's bad enough. Help me with the flap."

  Fortunately, the flap was on the lee of the dune their tent had caused. They crawled out between two long arms of drifted sand. Remarr showed them where to begin work, and soon they were all busy pushing the sand away from the sides of the tent. When the whole of the tent was exposed, Remarr sat back on his heels and sighed with relief. He unhooked his veil and pushed back his hood, shaking the sand out of it and running his hands through his hair. Iobeh pushed her hood back too, with a smile. Her smile vanished as Remarr's face clouded with concern. She tugged at his sleeve. What is it? What's wrong? she signed.

  He watched her, at a loss. Ychass came over. "She wants to know what's bothering you."

  "It's the storm," he replied, directing his answer to Iobeh. "It wasn't really possible to choose our course, and we've strayed quite a distance from our path."

  The others, hearing his voice, had gathered around. "Are we lost?" Karivet asked.

  "No," Remarr answered, but there wasn't much reassurance in his tone. "I know where we are, within a few miles. The problem is water. Even before the storm, we were two hard days' journey from the next small water hole. It's closer to three days' journey now, and I don't think we can do it. We can carry only about two days' worth of water. It will mean cruelly short rations."

  At the mention of water, Zan felt thirst burn her throat. She forced her voice to remain calm. "If that's the nearest water, we'll just have to do it."

  "But it's not the nearest water," Remarr admitted unhappily. "There's a nearer spring, maybe four hours from here, but it's a large one. There will almost certainly be Wild Khedathi there."

  "We're bound to meet them sooner or later," Vihena said. "We've seen them from a distance already. Surely you weren't expecting to travel through their territory for weeks without meeting them?"

  Remarr ignored the scorn in her voice. "Actually, I was hoping just that. The dry lands are vast. We have been following a path few people would take, since we travel on foot, without animals, and toward a destination few people seek."

  Vihena sighed. "So you hoped—and your hope has failed. But it's not a matter for such concern. You've said you're a coward, Remarr, but even you can't be afraid of them!"

  "But I am afraid of them, Vihena Moirre—as you would be if you had any sense."

  "Don't be stupid. The Khedathi are honorable people—they are your people! What can you fear from them?"

  Zan heard Remarr's inward struggle with his temper, though none of his anger showed on his face. When he spoke, his voice was patient. "All you know of my people, Vihena Moirre, is based on the Tame Khedathi, the Khedathi who have taken service with Vemathi merchants. Of course the Tame Khedathi are honorable as you understand it; their honor is defined by their masters. The Tame Khedathi have bargained for comfort, and they understand the rules they must observe. In the dry lands the world is different. Honor wears an unfamiliar face. If we found our death at the hands of the Wild Khedathi, it would be not murder in cold blood but an honorable defense of their lands, their water, from outsiders. No doubt you have been told that all Khedathi wish to leave the dry lands. That is not true. The ones who go are a rarity, and they are not much loved by the people they abandon. Khedathi, Wild and Tame, have contempt for defectors."

  "What do you recommend?" Zan asked. "Is it really impossible for us to reach the safe spring?"

  She heard his thoughts clearly: I don't think the small ones would survive. The shapeshifter would, and Vihena might. 'Tsan? Gods, who knows? And I? I'd rather risk the desert, but I must think of the others. "There's no safe choice, 'Tsan," he said at last. "I fear we would not all make it to the small spring."

  Zan nodded slowly. "How likely are we to survive an encounter with the Wild Khedathi?"

  "I don't know!" Desperation frayed his voice; his thoughts roiled, too turbulent for Zan to read. "But you cannot negotiate with thirst. Of course, we may not be able to negotiate with the Wild Khedathi, either. 'Tsan, you want me to make the decision, but I can't; I dare not."

  Zan heard contempt in Vihena's thoughts and rounded on her suddenly. "You needn't be so smug, Vihena," she snapped. "When you don't fully understand what's at stake, decisions are always easy." Vihena recoiled, shocked, and Zan felt suddenly ashamed. She rubbed her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, Vihena, it seems I'm always taking out my ill temper on you. Look, let's get out of the sun while we think about this."

  As they crowded into the tent, Karivet got Zan's attention. Ask me, he signed. Perhaps my Gift can resolve the question.

  Zan nodded and began trying to frame her question. She touched his hand and met his eyes. "If we go to the large spring, what will happen?"

  "We weave the patterns of our choices on the Loom of Fate," he replied in that eerie, expressionless voice.

  Wrong question, Zan thought. Oh, help. She tried again. "Which destination gives us the best chance of success, the large spring or the small one?"

  "Who can weigh one's life in the balance except oneself?"

  Zan bit her lip. Her shoulders were knotted with strain. She couldn't seem to frame the right question. "Can't you tell me anything that would help me decide?" she blurted.

  "The smaller spring is dry."

  Zan released him, staring in shock. "Oh, Christ," she whispered, beginning to shake as she realized how close she had come to making a disastrous decision. Karivet's face was pale. The question, he signed to her. It has to be the right question.

  "I suppose that settles it," Remarr said. He managed a wry smile for Karivet, which did not mask the sudden bitterness in his thoughts. "You are full of surprises. The gift of prophecy does not grace the Khedathi. I always thought it was a legend."

  "I wish it were," Karivet said. "It frightens me. I cannot ask my own questions, and I never know what I am going to say. There are things better left unknown, unspoken, and I cannot choose to keep silent once the question is asked. It is a fearsome responsibility."

  "This time," Vihena said bracingly, "you saved our lives."

  The look he gave her was bleak. "Perhaps." Iobeh went to him and put her arm around him. The tension gradually eased, replaced by a sense of peace.

  Ychass met Zan's eyes. Are you doing that? she thought. I don't want to be soothed.

  It's Iobeh, Zan responded. Be at peace for her sake.

  The shapeshifter's mind went silent, as though a door had been firmly shut. Zan suppressed a sigh; she was so touchy.

  "I think," Remarr said quietly, "we should try to rest. It will be best to come to the water at night. Then there is a chance we can slip in and fill our skins without being seen. Besides, we will not
be able to conserve water if we travel by day."

  Zan sensed something dark in his thoughts. "Remarr," she began, reaching out to him and touching his arm. He twitched away from her and lay down, turning his back toward her. Zan struggled with her conscience for a moment, but resisted probing him further. With an inward sigh, she tried to settle herself for sleep. Soon she could hear the others' even breathing around her, but sleep eluded her for a long time.

  THIRTEEN

  Vihena woke them at dusk. In the half-light they took down the tent. After they ate a sparse meal and drank a few sips of water, they stowed their gear and set out. They moved under stars, which cast faint light on the vast expanse of sand. Zan looked up at the sky; she still hadn't gotten used to the unfamiliar constellations, though Karivet and Iobeh had begun teaching her some of their names. She saw the Loom, low on the eastern horizon. It made her think of Eikoheh, and she smiled wistfully as she realized how much she missed the old woman. With an effort, she turned her thoughts to matters nearer at hand.

  "What are we going to do when we get to the spring? Will the Wild Khedathi be asleep? Can we just sneak up, fill our water skins, and creep away?"

  Remarr answered her. "I haven't really thought about it. I can't help hoping there are no Wild Khedathi there. If a clan is camped there, they will have set a guard, even if it is only one person, to watch for storms."

  "Hadn't we better make a plan, then?" Zan pressed. "I mean, before we get there? Voices carry so well here."

  "Yes, yes. Make a plan." He sounded disgruntled.

  "Remarr, you're the only one who knows what the situation is likely to be," she pointed out patiently.

  "Do you work magic, Wanderer? Can you put them all to sleep, or make us invisible in their eyes?" he demanded angrily. "How can I make a plan? I don't know what you can do!"

  Zan flinched. "I've told you," she insisted. "I hear thoughts—sometimes."

  "Yes, and your companions prophesy, change shape, and . . ." His eyes fell on Iobeh. "And gods know what else. And none of this you saw fit to tell me!"

  Zan bit her lip. "Look, I'm sorry; I should have told you. I would have, too. I was just waiting—"

  He laughed, a jangling, bitter sound. "Don't say waiting for the right moment. We've been traveling nearly a week, Wanderer."

  "But I was," she pleaded, hoping for understanding. "In the land of my birth, I am a very ordinary person. I don't have any special gifts or talents; I don't have a destiny or a name out of legend. I'm not used to being so different. I'm not used to my spirit-gift. I should have told you, but I was afraid to. I have enough trouble accepting what is happening to me—how can I share it with anyone?"

  Vihena spoke up, her tone philosophical. "She didn't tell me, either, Remarr. You weren't singled out."

  "But we are traveling together," he protested. "It is not right that we have secrets from one another."

  "No?" Ychass challenged.

  "No. It is not the way of the dry lands to keep secrets from one another."

  "How are we to know that? None of us are from the dry lands, Remarr, except you," Karivet pointed out.

  "Besides, you have kept secrets from us," Ychass remarked.

  "No. I told you I was a coward."

  Starlight glinted in Ychass's colorless eyes. "Yes, but you did not tell us you are Outcast, and that a meeting with the Wild Khedathi will probably cost you your life."

  Zan bit back a cry of protest. Remarr turned toward her angrily.

  "Don't vent your spleen on 'Tsan," Ychass went on. "She didn't tell me this—I took it out of your mind. 'Tsan has scruples. I don't bother with them."

  A long look passed between Remarr and the shapeshifter. It took all of Zan's control not to pry.

  After a moment Ychass laughed shortly. "Very probably," she remarked. "But listen: if there are people at the spring, I can sneak into their camp and bring water out. No one will notice a night-flying bird, and the guard's attention will be outward. It will take me some time, but it should be safe enough—as safe as anything is, in this game of the Wanderer's. What you should be considering, Remarr, is where we can shelter, come morning."

  Ychass, Zan thought at her, how are you going to carry water if you' re a bird?

  When I shift shape, the things I am wearing change, too. There are limits, of course, but a full water skin I can manage.

  How— Zan began, but the shapeshifter cut her off sharply.

  How do you hear thoughts? It's my people's gift—or curse. I can't explain it. We are the way the gods have made us.

  They walked on in silence. After a time a sliver of moon rose, adding only a little to the starlight. They had been walking for several hours when Remarr halted them with a gesture. He pointed, and they saw the glint of light on water. It was a broad pool of silver, set in a small patch of darker ground tucked into a fold between two ridges of pale dunes. Though the oasis was still a mile away, they could see tents like their own crowded around the water. Remarr laid a finger on his lips and gestured in the Khedathi handlanguage. Zan found she had no trouble following the thoughts behind the signs, and she translated easily for the twins.

  No sound. Noise carries. Can the shapeshifter manage?

  Ychass nodded. Water skin, she thought to Zan, who gave it to her. The shapeshifter poured the contents of her own skin into Zan's, then slung the empty bag over her shoulder. I can only take one at a time. Consolidate the contents of the others while I'm gone. Keep your mind open, and I'll tell you if I run into trouble.

  What if you do? What then?

  The shapeshifter shrugged. Call on the gods, she thought as she became a small bird.

  Zan followed her flight until she was lost in the darkness.

  Time slowed, and even their quiet breathing rasped in the silence. Iobeh fidgeted, their anxiety weighing on her. Remarr sat without moving, but Vihena fingered the hilt of her sword. Zan finished emptying all the water skins into one; their contents barely filled it. She laid the four empty skins on the ground before her. When the silence had stretched almost unbearably, Ychass returned. She took her own shape before them, unslung her now full skin, and picked up one of the empty ones. Then she flew off again.

  It took a long, tense time, but finally all the skins were full. The group set out again, traveling northwest. Remarr indicated that they must walk briskly if they were to make camp by daybreak. The place he had in mind was a little like Redstone: a deep, dry gully full of rock formations, which would hide them from casual eyes. There they could wait out the day, and it was only about a five-hour walk from there to the next small spring. By the time they reached their haven, the sun was just rising. They were too tired to bother with the tent. They found a deep crevice to shelter in and went to sleep.

  Early in the afternoon, Zan woke. She found that though the twins and the shapeshifter were still sleeping, Vihena and Remarr were awake. They had moved apart from the others and were talking in low voices. Zan approached them rather diffidently. Remarr was silent, but Vihena greeted her cheerfully.

  "Join us, 'Tsan. We haven't enough to do, so we're solving the world's problems in our spare time."

  Zan sat down next to her, managing a faint smile for her joke. "I think I owe both of you an apology."

  Vihena shrugged. "If you mean about not telling us about your spirit-gift, I don't blame you. You had no way of knowing whether I was feigning friendship to get information."

  "You're generous, Vihena," Zan said. "In any case, I apologize for not telling you both sooner." Her eyes slid, almost unwillingly, to Remarr's inscrutable face. He would not hold her gaze. "What more can I say?" she asked him, pleading.

  His dark eyes flicked to her face, then away again. "Nothing. You have apologized. Clearly, your duty is discharged."

  "Then why do I feel there's a great gaping well of pain and guilt waiting for me every time I meet your eyes?" she demanded.

  He looked at her, startled. "Why should it matter to you?" he asked at last, his v
oice cool, without inflection.

  Vihena looked from one to the other, her eyes full of curiosity. Suddenly Zan felt like a zoo animal. She couldn't stand to meet anyone's eyes; she buried her face in her hands.

  "I'm sorry, I'm just not very good at friendship," she muttered. "I don't mean to alienate everyone."

  In that same uninflected voice, Remarr said, "Are you listening to my thoughts now?"

  "No!" She raised her head as the word was torn out of her. Tears filled her eyes.

  Remarr's expression came suddenly alive. He reached over to her and gripped her wrist. "Then do—I will never have the courage to say this aloud."

  Zan hesitated, fearful in some unnamable way. Then she reached out with her mind. His thoughts were jumbled, strewn about like flotsam by the intensity of his feelings. She picked up bits, tags of memories, remembered jibes. It was clear that growing up had been hard for him. I could never learn the Discipline, she heard him lament. It wasn't clumsiness, for the harp answers to my touch, but I could never make a blade dance for me. What use a Khedath without a sword?

  She laid her free hand over his and spoke gently. "But didn't you find acceptance among the Vemathi?"

  He shook his head, and his thoughts filled with bitterness. Even my gift of music is ignored. If one's dog speaks, one does not expect it to utter great poetry; one does not listen beyond the marvel. I am so tired of being merely a peculiarity.

  "We're all misfits here," Zan whispered. "Perhaps that means we all belong together."

  He merely nodded, but his thoughts elaborated. That's why it hurt so when I thought you didn't trust me.

  "It wasn't a lack of trust, Remarr, truly—just heedlessness and my own inability to understand or accept my role here. You do believe that, don't you?"

  He met her eyes then, and nodded. His smile was like a benediction, and it unknotted some of the tension in her shoulders.

  Vihena spoke up into the lightened atmosphere. "If apologies are in order, Remarr, I owe you one, too. Khehaddi tells me it is one of my great failings that I often accept the judgment of others without enough consideration. My friends on the guard do not think well of you—it's because they don't understand you, I think. I fear I've accepted their opinions without considering for myself. I've done you an injustice and I'm sorry for it."