“I still don’t understand,” she said at last. “I can see why they want you—if you can disobey temple law and get away with it, that not only makes your Bonemarch look powerless, but it encourages other people to do the same, maybe. But what’s all that got to do with me? What good does it do these Bone Hunters if they capture me?”
Atheris chuckled dryly.
“That you brought upon yourself,” he said. “I fled into Bregond, and you, a Bregond, an enemy, chose to risk much to rescue me. Why? And why were you there in that remote part of the country at all? The Bone Hunters will not be satisfied until these questions are answered, and you hold the answers. At best, I might have imparted to you the secrets of the temple. At worst, you and I are part of a larger conspiracy by Bregond to plant spies within the temple, to spread heresy—who knows?”
Atheris raised himself up slightly, glancing at Peri.
“I would like to know myself,” he admitted.
Peri shrugged.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she said. “I was on my way back from Agrond. I saw scavenger birds circling where your mare was killed, and investigated. I saw Sarkondish soldiers with a captive, and it never occurred to me it was another Sarkond.” She sighed.
Atheris chuckled again.
“I can believe such a coincidence,” he said. “But the Bone Hunters will not. They will not rest until they have captured us both and returned us to the Bonemarch.”
Now Peri would have done more than sighed; she could have wept.
And I thought I was stupid before. Why should the Bone Hunters believe I’d rescue a Sarkond from them simply by accident? I can’t believe it myself. I suppose there’s some comfort in the knowledge that I could hardly muck this all up any worse than I already have. No, that’s not true. Based on what I’ve done so far, I’d find a way.
“Tell me about these Bone Hunters,” she whispered at last. “You said they’re assassin priests, and mages, too.”
“They serve the temples in many ways,” Atheris said as if surprised by the question. “They are the eyes and ears and hands of the temples across the land and among the people. They are the only priests trained in physical combat—when I was allowed to learn the sword, I began to wonder whether my elders were considering such a role for me.” He grimaced. “I suppose that thought was what finally spurred me to take such a risk as I did, the likelihood that I might be destined for such terrible service.”
Peri digested that.
“Everyone’s afraid of them, then, these Bone Hunters?” she asked at last.
“Of course,” Atheris said, grimacing. “There is good cause for fear. Bone Hunters know the most potent of magics, the most terrible methods of questioning, the most subtle techniques of assassination. They are castrated and their faces scarred and burned to prevent them from forming any human attachment to others, and as the final test of their training they are sent to kill each member of their own family. They are renowned for their viciousness and lack of mercy. They live solely to use their terrible skills in the service of the Bonemarch, and therefore their appearance invariably bodes ill for someone. Likely the only happiness in seeing them results from learning that someone else is the cause for their visit.”
“Mmmmm. And they sent five of these fellows after you?” Peri asked skeptically, shivering a little at Atheris’s description. Atheris’s arm tightened slightly around her, and to her surprise, she didn’t mind. “Seems a little like going after a fly with a battle-ax, doesn’t it? Either that or you’ve really been holding back on your magic. Mahdha knows I haven’t seen anything that impressive yet.”
Atheris said nothing, and the silence grew awkward. Peri turned over to look at him.
“So what’s this terrible magical thing you were trying to do?” she said. “Make Agrond and Bregond drop off the edge of the earth? Raise up an army of demons from the Hidden Realms? Destroy the Barrier?”
Atheris raised his eyebrows.
“We were trying,” he said slowly, “to make rain.”
Startled, Peri rolled over to face him fully.
“Make rain?” she repeated blankly. “Is that all? My aunt K—” Peri stopped abruptly, remembering her resolution that she keep her identity a secret. “My aunt can pull rain into Bregond even in high summer. And specialized weather mages in Agrond can turn the finest spring mist into a raging storm in only a few hours.”
“I did not speak of bringing rain from elsewhere,” Atheris said patiently, “nor of molding what is already there. We were trying to make rain.”
“To make rain?” Peri asked stupidly. “You mean out of nothing?” She’d never heard the like before. Everyone knew a mage couldn’t invent weather, only manipulate it; otherwise dry Bregond would have surely been rendered as rich and lush as Agrond by now. And that was as it should be; let Agrond keep its farmers and Bregond its nomad herding clans, each to their place.
“Not out of nothing,” Atheris corrected. “Out of magic.”
Peri shook her head. That was an ambitious idea, all right—as presumptuous as her own hope that she’d invent a qiva of her own. At least if Peri failed she harmed no one, disappointed no one but herself. But manipulating magic on such a grand scale, using it to spit in the eye of the natural order of weather—the very daring of it filled her with a grudging admiration.
“Bright Ones,” Peri breathed. “How did you plan to do that? I mean, everything I’ve ever heard about magic says it can’t be done.”
“Man’s magic cannot do it,” Atheris said softly, shaking his head. “Nor can woman’s. But I—we—thought the two together might succeed where each alone had failed.”
“We?” Peri whispered, chuckling slightly. “Sounds like there’s a woman in this story.”
“Of course,” Atheris said after a brief hesitation. “My cousin Amis. I convinced her—” Then he stopped. “It was a foolish idea.” Abruptly he rolled over, turning his back to Peri.
Peri scowled but said nothing; she was, in fact, just as glad to have Atheris farther from her. She’d been taking entirely too much comfort, almost pleasure, from the contact. Well, he was a comely man—for a Sarkond, that is—and she was a woman, and just as well they keep their distance. And whatever he’d started to say, it hardly mattered; she knew what she needed to know:
First, that Atheris was useful to her only as long as she was stranded in Sarkond. Once she made her way back across the Barrier, he became a liability. A common heretic wasn’t worth taking to Aunt Kairi for questioning, as tradition demanded. Even so, practical though it might be, she quite couldn’t bring herself to turn him over to his Bone Hunters now, or toss him to one of the nomad clans to be slaughtered. Still, any debt Peri owed him surely extended no further than some money, a horse, and directions to the shortest route out of Bregond.
Second, that these Bone Hunters wanted Atheris—and by extension, her—quite badly, and so far, at least, nothing Atheris or Peri had come up with had managed to throw them far off the trail. That meant that Atheris’s concern was probably warranted, and little as Peri might like depending on a Sarkond, she was safer with Atheris and his magic than without him, and she’d be wise to follow his advice—at least here and now.
Peri rolled over on her side, her back to Atheris. There were things, she knew, that he wasn’t telling her. Fair enough; there were things she wasn’t telling him, either, and had no intention of doing so. Much better if nobody knew there was a member of the Agrondish ruling family—and soon-to-be Heir to the throne of Bregond as well—stranded on foot and all but helpless in Sarkond. As long as Peri could keep that a secret, as long as she could remain free, she hadn’t burned all her bridges in Bregond. Mahdha would remember her name, she could return home—
That is, as long as someone received the message on Tajin’s saddle and sent it on to Peri’s kinfolk, and as long as they believed that message. Because failing those two things, she was dead—or as good as—anyway.
Chapter Four
/> Peri roused before dawn to a persistent scratching at the tent pole. Checking the rags concealing her face, she at last pushed aside the tent flap and peered out. A young man crouched there, ducking his head apologetically.
“Forgive me, healer,” he murmured, not meeting Peri’s eyes. “My name is Minyat. I saw how you tended the girl’s baby yesterday. There is a wise woman traveling with us who says my wife is a fool to go with the others who have no hope, to seek Eregis’s touch in the temple. She tells us to go to Darnalek instead. Please, will you look at my wife and tell us your thoughts before we abandon the road to Darnalek and commit ourselves to Rocarran?”
Peri hesitated, then turned. Atheris was already gazing at her in weary resignation. He simply pulled on his boots, handed her hers, and followed her without a word.
Minyat and his wife appeared more prosperous than the average pilgrim; they had a tent, at least, and some supplies; a mule was tethered to a small wagon or a large cart, depending on one’s definition, beside the tent. The young woman on the pallet in the tent appeared healthy enough except for the huge lump swelling on the side of her neck. The frail, elderly woman kneeling at her side, however, sent a warning twinge through that intangible healer’s sense. Sharp gray eyes gazed at Peri out of the seamed face, and she shivered at the canny glance which seemed somehow to pierce her disguise.
“My wife, Irra, healer,” Minyat said apologetically, gesturing at the young woman on the pallet.
Tearing her eyes away from the older woman with some difficulty, Peri knelt beside Irra. Unlike the girl with the baby, Minyat’s wife seemed unafraid, not flinching as Peri carefully probed the round swelling. Peri bit her lip, marveling. She’d always thought Sarkonds barely human, horrible death-dealing raiders always poised just beyond the Barrier, waiting for an opportunity to sweep down and raid Bregondish clans or caravans. But apart from the Bone Hunters, she’d seen little so far to support her imaginings. These were people, and only that—plain human folks, a little strange in their coloring and the cast of their features, but ordinary hard-worn human beings nonetheless, subject to the same hurts and illnesses as her own kinfolk. Peri found the revelation strangely unnerving.
A small noise drew her attention; she found the old woman gazing sharply at her again.
“I know you are ... unspeaking,” the old woman said dryly. “But I understand the gesture language of the unspeaking. Your thoughts?”
Now Peri hesitated uneasily, sensing a trap, but she could not back out now. Any profession of ignorance now would seem more suspicious than a true answer. She could only pray that the gesture language was the same in Sarkond as it was in Bregond. No healer is needed, she signed. She needs fish and salt from the sea and will heal on her own in time.
“Interesting,” the old woman said. She coughed into a rag; once again Peri felt that sharp warning pang through her senses.
“I myself, when I had a shop and stock at my disposal, prepared a potion for this ailment,” the old woman continued after she had stuffed the rag back in her sleeve and relayed Peri’s signals. “One of the ingredients was sea salt.”
She turned to the young man.
“Sea salt can be purchased in Darnalek from alchemists,” she said. “Not cheaply, but I trust you’ll manage.” Abruptly she turned back to Peri. “Walk with me, warrior.”
I know what you are, her hands signed.
Peri went very still.
“Walk with me,” the old woman repeated.
Peri rose slowly, and when Atheris would have followed, not understanding, she held up her hand to stop him. The old woman ducked out of the tent and Peri followed.
Can I kill her? Peri thought sickly. I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I’ve never had to. Could I kill a sick old woman, even a Sarkond, to protect my secret?
A few pilgrims were rousing as the sky slowly lightened. The old woman did not stray far from the tent; she stopped and coughed again, and this time Peri saw the rag before the old woman tucked it away. It was spotted with blood, old stains and new.
The woman followed Peri’s gaze to the rag, then chuckled.
“Yes,” she said dryly. “It is my death. Feel here.” She took Peri’s hand and pressed it against her side. Peri felt the hard nodules under her skin, the heat of the disease consuming the frail old body.
You think you will find healing at the temple? Peri signed, cringing inside as she felt the presence of human death clearly and unmistakably for the first time in her life. There were powerful healers, she knew, capable of halting such diseases, but she doubted even they could offer much hope at such an advanced stage.
The old woman chuckled again, hoarsely.
“No,” she said. “I journeyed to the temple for Eregis’s touch, as is my duty, but I foresaw that I would never reach it alive. A bottle of Black Sleep waits to end my pain. Now that I have met you, I need wait no longer.”
Once again Peri froze with shock. Reflexively she almost spoke her denial, almost betrayed herself. A dry old hand on her arm silenced her.
“I sought the vision path,” the old woman whispered. “I knew my own death; there was little enough to lose. I saw with my spirit the face you seek to hide from my eyes.”
You are the enemy who comes as a friend, she signed. You are the one blessed with the warrior’s skill of death, and cursed with the healer’s gift of life. You seek to flee us and we force you deeper into our heart. You bring death and destruction to our only hope, and in destroying it, you will save us despite yourself. The blessing of Black Sleep will spare me from witnessing these things come to pass.
She paused to cough into the rag again.
“The price of vision is obscurement,” she said. “I know only that obstacles in your path only guide you more surely to your goal. Therefore I will hinder you in the only manner in which I can—by giving you aid and nurturing the gift that curses you.”
She thrust a leather bundle into Peri’s hand.
“Take it and be damned,” she whispered. “I thank Eregis that death will spare me from the gifts you bring. Do not look upon me again.” She muttered another word that Peri assumed to be a curse, turned away, and picked her way slowly, stiffly through the camps, leaving a stunned Peri standing where she was.
Atheris appeared at her side as if by magic. Peri felt a surge of relief for the simple fact that his presence kept her from going after the old woman. Any Bregond would respect her right to death. Any Agrond would at least try to talk the old woman out of it. Peri was Bregond enough to let her go, Agrond enough to feel guilty about it.
“What was that all about?” he asked, scowling.
Peri shook her head.
“Near as I can tell,” she said, glancing around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear her, “she hates me, so she decided to help me. She started muttering about prophecies, shoved this bag in my hand, and walked off.”
“Prophecy?” Atheris said slowly. “What prophecy?”
Peri shrugged.
“She was just a sick, crazy old woman talking nonsense,” she said.
“But what was it she said as she walked away?” Atheris pressed.
“I don’t know,” Peri said impatiently. “I didn’t understand it. Sounded like nichuatai or niachuatai or something like that.”
Atheris shivered.
“Well, which was it, nichuatai or niachuatai?” he insisted.
“I don’t know,” Peri said, forcing herself to patience. “I never heard either word before. I wasn’t even really listening. What do they mean?”
“Nichuatai means ‘misborn,’ like some of these unfortunates,” Atheris murmured, gesturing unobtrusively. “Niachuatai means ‘harbinger.’ “
“Well, given the conversation, it could’ve been either one,” Peri said irritably. “Look, it’s over, she’s gone, people are waking up. We’d better go strike our camp before somebody hears our conversation, hadn’t we?”
Atheris took a deep breath; to Peri’s surprise, he w
as shaking with tension, and for a moment she thought he’d insist on continuing their discussion despite the danger.
“Very well,” he said at last, with apparent reluctance. He followed Peri back to their camp; Peri was relieved (and a little surprised) to see that their belongings appeared untouched—Sarkonds were all thieves, weren’t they, and how could they resist such easy loot?—but Atheris took it in stride. He silently helped Peri bundle their supplies into two packs; when she would have absently shoved the leather bundle into her pack, however, he laid a hand on her arm.
“What did she give you?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Peri examined the leather. It was a rolled bundle tied with thongs, the beaded leather cracked with age but surprisingly well preserved otherwise. She untied the thongs and carefully unrolled the bundle; from the old woman’s remarks, she half expected some venomous beast to leap out at her. What she found, however, surprised her even more—an obviously old but carefully maintained healer’s kit, needles and lancets not of the usual carved bone, but of painstakingly polished silver, small horn vials and little pouches holding what investigation showed to be a fair assortment of herbs and powders, some of which Peri recognized, some she did not.
“It’s a healer’s bag,” she said, rolling the bundle back up and tying it securely. “A good one, too. My clan’s healer had one that was newer but no better.”
“You had none?” Atheris asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.
“I think I told you before,” Peri said from between her teeth, “I don’t have enough of a gift to be of any real use as a healer. I never had any gift at all until a few sevendays ago. For the last time, I have no training, I have no magic worth the name, I have no skill—”
“I disagree,” Atheris murmured, shouldering his pack. “I have seen you without the use of spells, without training as you say, diagnose two illnesses with a facility any healer might envy. You used no magic in their treatment, but their condition did not require it.” He touched his side. “You tended my own injury with amazing skill; I still can hardly believe it did not fester under the circumstances. There is no denying you have a true gift.”
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