Heroes And Fools totfa-2

by Margaret Weis

  No comfort to her at all as she learned this new cadence of her days. . work at the mine, wash and eat quickly, go and sit at Taya’s bedside until Quinn came to relieve her. Sleep until morning sunlight and begin again.

  Sometimes she thought she would go mad with the routine of it-with the numbness of lifting one foot after another, always knowing what the next step would bring. When she looked at the progress of the mine, however, and the workers who looked now to her for inspiration and motivation, the surprising pride of that washed away the pain of seeing Quinn with Taya, with his bowed back and his old man’s face.

  The hours became days, and the days became weeks. The time for May Fest had come and gone with hardly a mention by anyone of celebration. Taya’s return had cast as much of a pall upon the small village as it had upon Quinn.

  The only time Demial ever saw Quinn was at Taya’s side. Occasionally, they stepped into the yard together for a moment, but it was always painful, seeing him, stooped with sadness and mute with anguish.

  She knew that something had to happen, eventually. She could not go on indefinitely. When it came, she was not prepared for it.

  She turned one day from putting the bundle of soiled bedclothes outside the door to find Taya’s gaze upon her. The blue eyes were open, unblinking and clear.

  “Demial,” she croaked, “I knew it was you.”

  She was sane. Totally lucid, as she had not been in weeks, not since that first night. After weeks of babbling nonsense, Taya was looking at her, clear-eyed and sane. What would Taya say now? The words that Demial had feared all these weeks: Revelation. Condemnation. She had thought herself beyond caring, but she found she was breathing rapidly.

  Taya tried to lift her hand to reach for Demial.

  Demial drew back, just one tiny step. She flushed with shame. How many nights had she sat there, holding the crooked fingers, soothing a mad woman’s ravings, and now when Taya reached for her, she backed away in horror? Just when she’d thought there was nothing more Taya could take away from her. . Taya sapped her courage.

  “Taya?” she whispered again, and she swallowed and forced herself to move forward, to sit on the edge of the chair and to slip her cold fingers into Taya’s.

  “Demial. I knew it was you.”

  The words were like sandpaper coining out, so dry they hurt to hear. Automatically, Demial caught up the cup of water she kept on the bedside table, lifted Taya’s shoulders, and held the cup to her lips.

  Taya sucked at the water hungrily. It eased the harshness of her voice. She held onto the cup, held onto Demial’s arm with growing strength. “Demial. I knew it was you.”

  “Of course it’s me.” Demial extricated her arm and the cup from the thin fingers, and Taya made no attempt to draw her back. She lay on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling with her sharp, blue gaze.

  “I saw you. . on the path. The day I came. . back.” The voice, though stronger, was still ragged. Each breath was still an effort. “Mountains,” she said, then stopped to gulp for air, and Demial thought she was slipping into madness again. Instead, Taya went on. “I wasn’t sure. Didn’t know. But I had to. I came home. . to the mountains. Looked and looked. . for the mountains. For a long time, I. . couldn’t find my way.”

  Demial could say nothing. She was amazed and just a little in awe at the image that came into her mind of the weak and half-mad Taya searching, determined to find her way home.

  Taya turned her head, pinning Demial with the surety in her expression. “Then I found. . mountains. I hid. Saw you. On the path. Saw you. I knew. . I’d made the right decision.”

  Demial shifted under the weight of Taya’s gaze, edging back in the chair. “I don’t understand.” But she was afraid she did. Taya was one of the few who knew who she was, what she’d done. Taya had come home to expose her.

  Eerily echoing her thoughts, Taya said, “I know about you.” For this statement, the ragged voice had strengthened, had gone silky and soft. “I know all about you. I saw you. With Ariakan’s legions. With your gray wizards and your robes. You were. . You were like. . a storm. A fire. Lightning. Your leader fell, and you took up her staff. You carried on the battle. You were. . magnificent. Even the troops in my company were inspired by you. They charged for you, dying. Dying.”

  Taya’s voice, at last, faded.

  Automatically Demial lifted the cup of water and the thin shoulders, supporting Taya so she could drink. Her fingers were so numb, she couldn’t even feel the cotton nightdress or the burning flesh beneath.

  The water strengthened Taya again. “They all died, didn’t they? All except you. I should have known you wouldn’t die. It’s what you’ve always been best at, isn’t it? Surviving.”

  Praise and condemnation all in one. Admiration for someone who had betrayed her own people. “I don’t-”

  She stopped, confused. Taya was the one person who knew, the only one who’d ever known that Demial had saved herself, had survived the raid on the village that fateful summer day, had secured herself a position in the Gray Wizards by betraying the location of the village and the valuable mine.

  “I suppose you’ve come to tell everyone the truth.”

  Taya stared at her with something like pity. “No. No, I haven’t. I wasn’t sure until I saw you, but then I knew I’d made the right decision. I came home to die.”

  Demial jerked, dropping the cup. It clattered on the hard-packed floor, showering droplets of water in a shiny arc.

  She jerked again as Taya reached out and grabbed her wrist. “I knew when I saw you. That you could do it, for me.”

  “Do it! Do what?” Demial snatched her arm away. She jumped up and back, sending the chair clattering to the floor, but she knew. Oh, gods, she knew! She wheeled to run away, but Taya’s voice stopped her. It had gone soft and whispery again, low enough that the slither of Demial’s robe on the floor was enough to drown it out.

  She couldn’t move away. “What?”

  “You can do it, Dem. If not for me, for Quinn.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Demial snapped automatically. She forgot all the careful schooling she’d given her face. Smile. Smile softly. Smile brightly, and no one will ever know. “Nobody calls me that. I hate it when people call me that.”

  “Your father called you that,” Taya said softly, with pity and understanding in her face. As well there was a hard-edged something that Demial had tried so hard to school out of her own: determination and malice.

  Fire and nausea rose up in Demial’s stomach. Her fingers clenched and unclenched. If Taya said it again, if she looked at her like that again, Demial could do it. She would do it and gladly. Except. . except. . Abruptly all the fire went out of her, all the anger and the hatred. She couldn’t do it. No matter what, she couldn’t do it. It was as much a shock to her, a revelation, as it would be to Taya. She really couldn’t do it. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t.”

  Taya laughed, an ugly, disbelieving sound that turned into a hacking cough. Her shoulders shook. Her lungs sounded as if they were old, brittle paper being ripped in half. She turned her head on the pillow, wiping her own mouth, leaving the linen cover stained with phlegm and blood. “Yes, you can. You’re the only one who can.”

  Demial righted the chair and set the cup gently in its place. It gave a soft tap of metal on wood.

  Taya reached for her arm again.

  The other woman’s flesh burned, but she didn’t know if it was because Taya’s skin was so hot or because hers was so cold. Before she could shake her head again, Taya said, “You can do it, Demial. Kill me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Help me die.”

  “I can’t.”

  Taya caressed the tender flesh on the inside of her wrist softly, like a lover. “It’ll make you safe. After I’m gone, there won’t be anyone, will there? There won’t be anyone who’ll know about you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I won’t. I can’t.”

  Taya turned her brittle nai
ls inward and dug them into Demial’s wrist. “You have to. Why does it matter? I’m dying anyway. You’ll only be helping me. It’s not like it’s murder. You’ve never minded murder anyway, have you?”

  Demial shook her head, aware that the movement might be interpreted to mean “No, I’ve never minded murder.” Something inside her was breaking, tearing, with a sound like Taya’s coughing. “You don’t. . I can’t. . I don’t. . You don’t understand. Things are different now.” She stared at Taya with mute appeal, wanting to beg.

  Taya gave up. Her fingers went limp on Demial’s skin. Tears welled up in her eyes. They seemed tinged blue, like a high mountain lake reflecting the sky, until they escaped her pale lashes. Then they looked like big drops of silver, sliding down the pale cheeks. “Oh, Demial, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for all the things I said in the past. You must know. I don’t think the others realize it, but you do. You know I’m never going to be better. You can’t think I want to lie here like this. I see you watching Quinn. I see you watching him wasting away, day after day. I saw him on the path, too, that day I came back. The man who comes in here every morning. . that’s not the Quinn I saw. Neither one of us wants him to waste away.”

  Demial was tired-so tired. It was too much, too difficult to make her brain work. If she could just lie down for a while, just a little while. “I can’t.”

  “You have to do it, if not for me, then for Quinn. I know there’s no room in your heart for me, but surely you’ll save Quinn.”

  That was the end of it. Taya fell back onto the pillow, and her eyes drifted shut. She was limp and waxy. Her chest barely moved with her breathing. She looked like a corpse already-except for the tears. Big, silvery, raindrop tears oozed from beneath her lids and ran down into her hair.

  Demial didn’t move for a very long time. Her legs and arms felt as dead as Taya looked.

  How odd, she thought. How odd to realize how much she’d changed, to finally understand how much the mine and the village and Quinn and all of it meant to her. How odd to learn how much she hated herself for what she had been. .

  She laughed softly to herself. If she hadn’t felt the Vision fade, hadn’t felt her goddess slipping away, the magic slipping away, she’d believe the gods were still present. She’d believe they were trickster gods, working a mean-spirited joke.

  She stood as Taya stirred. The sick woman’s eyes opened. They were tired now, and bloodshot, but still they had the power to stop Demial. “I’ll be back,” she told Taya. “It’ll be all right. I’ll be back.”

  Taya nodded, believing her. Trusting her.

  The air was cool and refreshing after the closeness of the hut. There was a light breeze blowing, wafting the scent of someone’s fire and meadow flowers and coming rain. The night was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. The only indication that there was even anyone in the village was the flicker and glow of candlelight and firelight through the windows. It shone even from her own windows.

  She stood in her doorway and looked about in surprise at the spotless room. A merry fire was blazing in the fireplace. The table was cleaned of her leftover meal. Her blankets were spread smooth over the mattress. The floor was swept.

  With a sudden twinge of panic, her gaze flew to the fireplace, to the staff that was leaning there, exactly as she had left it. She felt ashamed for her momentary, uncharitable fear. Someone had come and looked after her home, looked after her, the way she was looking after Taya. That was all.

  She wondered if it had been Quinn, but she knew it wasn’t. She wished it could have been, but it was probably one of the people who worked with her at the mine.

  Quickly, before she could change her mind, she snatched up the staff and hurried back to Taya’s hut. As she approached the door, she saw that it was open. She rifled through her mind for an excuse to give to Quinn, for some reason that would explain why she’d left Taya unattended to go and get her walking staff, but there was no one inside except for the slight figure on the bed, and she realized she must have left the door open when she left.

  The cool air had whisked into the room, setting the fire and the candles to dancing. It had also set Taya to shivering.

  Demial closed the door quickly. “I’m sorry. I left the door open.”

  Taya smiled. “Yes. It was nice. The smell. . so much nicer than the air in here. I love the smell just before the rain.”

  Demial swallowed. For how long had she hated this woman? How many times had she looked at Taya’s pale, blonde beauty and longed to kill her? Now. .

  “You have to, Demial,” Taya husked, staring up at her. The woman was reading her mind. Her hands moved under the light sheet that covered her. “For Quinn. You have to let me give him this.”

  Demial nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She wasn’t sure what she’d say, whether she would cry or scream or just mumble nonsense of the sort she’d heard out of Taya’s own mouth.

  “How will you. .?” Taya let her gaze wander to the ceiling, to the wall, back to Demial. “How will you do it?”

  Demial brought the staff into Taya’s range of vision, holding it to her breast, wrapping both hands around it.

  Taya looked at it, looked back at her, eyes wide. “Your leader’s staff? The one I saw at the battle.”

  Demial nodded again. “It has. . it still has some magical powers. I don’t know how. I don’t. .” She stopped, realizing that the staff did not have much power left, that this might be its last spell. She wondered if she could go through with it.

  “You’ll tell Quinn that I was awake for a while? Tell him. . I love him. I’d give him to you, but. . he was always yours anyway, wasn’t he? He always loved you best anyway.”

  Demial’s mouth dropped open. “You’re crazy!” she said without thinking, then regretted the words immediately. She felt flushed with shame.

  Taya only smiled. “Maybe,” she said softly. She looked at Demial and said, “I’m ready.”

  Demial wanted to scream at her, “I’m not!” but she didn’t. She went to the door and threw it wide open. Crossing to the tiny window, she opened it, too. Fresh air, even heavier with the coming of rain, flooded the small room.

  Taya’s smile widened, and she whispered, “Thank you.”

  Demial couldn’t watch her, couldn’t watch what she was going to do. She knelt near the fireplace, turned so that she could see the fire on one side and the bed on the other. She turned so that she didn’t have to watch Taya die.

  She waited long moments for her hands to stop shaking, for her heart to calm. Then she closed her eyes, and she wished for death for Taya. She wished for peace and an end to pain. The spell was slow in coming, so gradual she feared that she had miscalculated, that the staff hadn’t enough power left in it. It began to sing to her, to hum with power. The spell grew in the staff for a long time, the power building until the staff was vibrating in her hands, shivering as if it would break free. She clutched it tighter, thinking to control it, but there was no controlling the magic now.

  The staff leaped in her hands, jerking her shoulders painfully. It cracked apart, breaking under her grip, sounding extraordinarily loud, like a tree falling or like the crash of lightning. She cried out and fell away from the exploding wood. Fragments flew up toward her face. A sharp pain stabbed as a splinter gashed her temple, and the magic spilled out over the room, washing across the broken pieces that lay across her lap and on the floor. The sensation wasn’t malignant or horrid, as she expected it to be. Instead it was cold, so cold. The magic smelled of shadows and molting leaves. Blood trickled down her face. She shivered and whimpered softly and slapped at her own body, frantically brushing the pieces of broken wood off her.

  The spell burst away, leaving her alone and bereft, and it touched Taya. It was beautiful. It was blue, like her eyes, and swirling, like a summer sky filled with clouds. It formed into a strange crescent that traveled up the length of Taya’s body and down again and up again. Taya smiled and held her hands up, fingers s
pread, as if she was feeling the touch of a light spring breeze. With each pass, the magic was less substantial, until it was nothing but a shimmering movement, a something in the air that was there but not visible.

  The next instant it wasn’t there at all, and neither was Taya. Only her body remained. Demial could tell, without even rising up to look at her. Even in her frailest moments, Taya had never been so still.

  Demial climbed to her feet, looking down at the shattered remains of the staff about her feet. The staff was intended to be her salvation, fixing the mine and binding Quinn to her.

  She gathered the pieces, light as dried corn husks. There was no life in the wood now, no beauty. It was as dead as the body on the bed, as lifeless as her dreams. She threw the pieces into the fireplace and watched the glowing embers there catch at dried wood. She watched the tiny blue flame that leaped up and consumed the remains of the staff. None but a wizard would ever understand the emptiness that came over her when she saw the staff become ash.

  Demial forced herself to approach the bed. She’d seen hundreds of dead bodies, torn apart with bloody wounds and with eyes gaping. She’d killed scores herself, in battle, with her magic, with weapons, even with her own bare hands, when the battle lust took her. It took all the courage she had to approach this one, but she was glad she’d forced herself to look.

  Taya’s face was even paler, but she was so peaceful. The thin, pink mouth was soft and relaxed, still hinting at the smile that had brightened her face as the spell embraced her.

  Demial started to pull the blanket up over her, to cover her face. Even in death, though, she couldn’t bear to weigh the fragile body down.

  When she left the hut for the last time, Demial closed the door behind her gently, leaving the window open to let in the cool air. She walked back through the night, noting that most of the huts were dark now. Had it been that long, since she’d gone to her hut for the staff? Her own fire was still burning, low but bright and cheerful, in her fireplace.