Waterdance

by Logston, Anne

  Peri was surprised when the caravan stopped at midday—not for dinner, as she might have expected, but for prayer. There was some elaborate little ritual that took place outside of her view, although she saw that one of the acolytes left with a live piglet and returned with a dead one. Peri certainly wasn’t bothered by the sacrifice of a pig that was probably destined for the stewpot anyway—the Bright Ones knew there were messier and more wasteful sacrifices in some of the temples in Tarkesh—but this time, in light of what Atheris had said (or avoided saying), she found it rather disturbing. He had said that male mages raised power by the release of life energies, and what greater release could there be than at the moment of death?

  And if such animal sacrifices served to raise power for the priests, what manner of magical operation could the release of energy from a human sacrifice empower?

  Atheris stayed with Peri rather than joining the priests at their worship, and Peri wondered briefly at his motives. Perhaps he found the practice somewhat distasteful himself; perhaps those feelings had formed part of the reason he’d attempted the dangerous experiment with his cousin. She fervently hoped so. The Bright Ones knew Atheris had had plenty of opportunities to raise a little power of his own in a far more bloody manner if he’d chosen to do so, either in Darnalek or when they were with the—

  With the—

  Peri froze, her mouth suddenly dry.

  Someone died in the night. It is not uncommon in such pilgrimages, with so many sick.

  Peri suddenly felt her gorge rising.

  Mahdha spare me, she thought sickly. Bright Ones look with mercy upon me. Oh, gods, all the gods—any gods—grant that I haven’t been a party to cold-blooded murder.

  “Peri?” Atheris said quietly. “Are you unwell? You suddenly went pale.”

  Peri swallowed hard. She couldn’t confront Atheris now, not when she had to keep her voice low and controlled for fear of the priest in the wagon seat hearing her.

  Mahdha forgive me, I can hardly bring myself to think about it, Peri thought.

  “I’m all right,” she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear her. “Just... tired.”

  Atheris’s expression softened.

  “Sleep, then,” he said gently. “There is nothing else for you to do while we travel.”

  Peri closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her.

  I’ve shared my bed with this man. He’s saved my life, protected me when he had no reason to stay and every reason to go, faced me honestly on the practice floor. He’s tended my wounds, fed me—and kept me clean, too, or I’d stink of my own waste. If he could be such a monster as I hardly dare imagine—what does that make me?

  The afternoon passed with excruciating slowness; exhausted, Peri finally drowsed uneasily, but she jolted awake when the wagon stopped. The sun was almost completely down. The priests must indeed be hurrying, to push on so late that they had to make camp in the dark.

  Atheris set up their tent—to Peri’s relief, well apart from the others—and returned to help her out of the wagon. Peri had almost worked up her nerve to ask about the dead pilgrims, however much she dreaded Atheris’s answer, but as soon as he settled her comfortably in the tent, he hurried back out to fetch fuel for their brazier, water, and blankets for Peri. He returned only long enough to make up her pallet, light the brazier, and set a pot of water to boil; then he left again to fetch back their supper—as Peri had expected, tender young pork, cut into small pieces and threaded on skewers to roast quickly.

  The food and herbs had helped; this time Peri, to her considerable relief, felt strong enough to sit up on her own and feed herself, and she thought she might even be able to walk a little once her supper had settled. She finished the food, bracing herself to ask—

  “Peri,” Atheris said suddenly, not meeting her eyes, “while you were fevered, you said many things, but what did you mean when you spoke of grieving for your dead?”

  She shrugged uncomfortably.

  “That Bone Hunter was the first human being I’ve ever killed,” she said. “A dear friend of mine once told me that when you kill, you drink in a little of the death, and if you don’t grieve it out, it poisons you.”

  Atheris grimaced.

  “You grieved,” he said disbelievingly, “for a Bone Hunter, an assassin who nearly killed you?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand,” Peri said shortly. “I didn’t grieve for him. I grieved because I had to kill him.”

  “I. . . see,” Atheris said remotely. “And this cleanses you?”

  Peri sighed.

  “That’s the idea,” she said.

  He was silent for a long time, staring into the brazier.

  “There are not enough tears in the world,” he said at last, very softly, “to cleanse me of what I have done.”

  Peri swallowed hard, taking a deep breath.

  “And what’s that?” she asked, barely loud enough to be heard over the crackle of fire in the brazier.

  Atheris gazed at her a long moment, his eyes unreadable.

  “I am a traitor,” he whispered, “to everything I believe.”

  And when Peri would have asked him what he meant, his lips on hers silenced her; and when his skin was hot against hers, she told herself she was too weak to fend him off, and too cold and frightened and alone to try.

  But later, in the silence before sleep, sharing his warmth under the blankets, she felt the sting of tears in her eyes and felt the presence of a poison that she, too, had not tears enough to wash away. He’s a traitor, she thought numbly. And so am I.

  Chapter Six

  Thanks to her restorative herbs, Peri was able to sit up in the wagon the next day. For once she had no difficulty maintaining the silence her disguise demanded; she felt no desire whatsoever for conversation. She simply sat on her pallet and stared moodily out the back as the wagon jolted onward.

  The landscape here differed little from the lands just south of Darnalek—not absolutely barren and blasted, but rocky and poor, the scant vegetation pallid and sickly looking. Peri sighed, hating to admit that Atheris had been right about the horses. Maybe Tajin, bred to manage on little water and poor fodder, could have survived a few days in this barren country—and then again, maybe not. The already underfed nags she and Atheris had bought in Darnalek would certainly have starved, if they didn’t die of thirst first.

  Peri stared at the sickly land, thought about the implications of it, and shivered. Was all this land sucked utterly dry of life, too, during the war, or had it been this bad before? Was drought alone responsible? Surely not; compared with this barren territory, even Bregond’s dry, harsh plains fairly teemed with life. Surely no land could be this dead short of curse or blight or something of the sort. The thought didn’t rest easily in her mind.

  What if it WAS this bad before the war? Compared with this, even Bregond is a paradise. What if the raids, the invasions, even the war, were never about greed and conquest, only about desperation and survival?

  Would anyone in Agrond or Bregond have even cared about the distinction?

  Peri rubbed her eyes wearily.

  It doesn’t matter. Unless the northern lands are just amazingly fertile and productive, there’s no way they can grow enough crops or breed enough livestock to feed the people. If they weren’t desperate before, they certainly are now—at least those who aren’t too hopeless even for desperation. And desperate people are dangerous. They’ll do anything, take any risk, because they’ve got nothing left to lose.

  She glanced at Atheris; he was also gazing out the back of the wagon, brooding at the barren land.

  A desperate religion might cling to outrageous prophecies to keep its people’s hope alive. A desperate temple might make human sacrifice in the hope of waking a god who has abandoned his worshipers. A desperate priest and priestess might risk their lives experimenting with forbidden magic. Oh, Bright Ones, what have I blundered into here? What pot’s about to boil over at this temple in Rocarran? And if they knew t
he daughter of the High Lord and Lady of Agrond and the Heir to Bregond was being dragged all but helpless through their country, would that add another coal to the fire under that pot? Oh, Bright Ones, Peri thought helplessly. I’ve GOT to get out of here.

  Whatever thoughts troubled Atheris, he kept them to himself. In silence they rode from sunrise to midday; in silence they sat in the wagon while the priests performed their worship; in silence they rode again from midday to sunset. Then there was the tent to set up in the twilight, and Peri even managed to help a bit, although Atheris had to bring their packs from the wagon, fetch fuel for the brazier and dinner for them, and make up their pallets as before.

  “Tonight,” Peri said, finally breaking the awkward silence after they’d eaten. “We’ve got to get the horses back and get out of here tonight.” To her unease, another small group of pilgrims had joined the caravan at a crossroads not long after midday; she assumed that the closer they got to Rocarran, the more frequent such meetings might be.

  Atheris sighed patiently, staring resolutely at the glowing coals in the brazier.

  “Peri, we cannot,” he said. “You are still too weak.”

  “I can ride,” she said stubbornly.

  “Likely you can.” Atheris shrugged. “But, Peri, if I cast the spell to make us unseen so that we can take the horses and leave, I will exhaust myself to the point where I will require your assistance. One of us at least must have the strength to get us both across very difficult terrain in the darkness, and you are far too weak to sustain the spell for me. We will have to wait until tomorrow night.”

  “What if there’s twice as many pilgrims all around us tomorrow night?” Peri demanded.

  “That matters nothing to a spell of concealment,” Atheris said quietly. “You can walk unnoticed past one man or twenty, as long as you do not stumble over him in your weakness.”

  Peri bit her lip. Every instinct told her it was a chance worth taking to get away a day sooner, but she couldn’t argue with Atheris’s logic. As little as she liked to admit it, she stood very little chance of getting away without his help; nor could she contest his greater knowledge of magic or of their pursuers. And Sarkond or not, dead pilgrims notwithstanding, how could she mistrust him after he’d risked everything to save her?

  And Atheris was right; she was weak despite the restorative herbs, weaker than she would have expected even after so severe an illness. Judging from his explanation of Sarkondish magic, she wondered whether the Bone Hunter’s “poison”—or perhaps even his sword—had some sort of life-draining property she hadn’t suspected. But she was recovering, albeit slower than she should be, and surely tomorrow she’d have the strength to make her escape. She’d simply have to. It would be her last chance to avoid Rocarran.

  The tent was too small to permit a comfortable distance between the two pallets, but to Peri’s relief Atheris seemed as determined as she to avoid any intimacy; after they ate, they dived into their respective bedrolls with as little conversation as possible.

  Peri, however, found sleep elusive; she was too full of unanswered questions and uncomfortable thoughts. Despite her physical lassitude she felt unaccountably restless and uneasy. After sitting up and fretting for some moments in the darkness, she realized she was almost holding her breath listening to Atheris sleep, the rhythm of his breathing, the faintest rustle of movement every time he shifted. A warm and disturbing hunger had settled into her body at some point. Stifling a groan, she leaned her head into her hands.

  How can I want him? How? For all I know he’s a murderer. And why should I expect any different, anyway? He’s a Sarkond! An enemy! I can’t trust him, I can’t want him, I can’t—can’t—This time Peri did groan softly to herself, clenching her fingers in her braids.

  There are traitors and criminals in Bregond and Agrond, she thought desperately. I never would have believed it before, but I’ve seen for myself that there are ordinary, kindly folk in Sarkond, like Orren and Lina, or Minyat and Irra. Why can’t I just tell myself that Atheris is a good, decent fellow fleeing from situations and practices that don’t sit lightly on his soul, and leave it at that? And if I can’t do that, why can’t I tell myself he’s a Sarkond, an enemy, and put him out of my mind—my heart? What’s the matter with me?

  “Peri?” Atheris’s voice in the darkness was very soft. “Is something wrong?”

  “No. Nothing’s wrong.” Oh, Bright Ones, don’t let him speak to me that way, his voice like that. Don’t let him—

  Then Atheris’s fingers, shaking slightly, touched her hand ever so gently, and Peri bit back a sob, knowing herself lost once more. His mouth tasted like wine and despair, and the air was too cold for the salty moisture on his cheeks to be sweat, but Peri could not bring herself to question or care, not when his skin burned so hot against hers and his fingers dug into her shoulders so hard that his nails drew blood. There was no Sarkond or Agrond or Bregond here, no barrier between trust and betrayal; only darkness and heat and this aching soul-deep understanding they shared, the unconsenting surrender to a hunger that could not be refused. The kiss of steel on steel—

  And all the while knowing that when the battlefield fell still and silent at the end, the darkness was not deep enough to hide guilt and regret.

  In the morning Peri dozed in the wagon, lulled by the monotonous creak of the wheels. She felt a little stronger than the day before, perhaps, but still not back to her normal level of energy, and that worried her; tonight they had to get away from this caravan, whether she was ready or not. Maybe a good long nap would help.

  Atheris was quiet, solicitous and seemingly worried about Peri but rarely meeting her eyes. He seemed to be dozing now, too, and no surprise; in fact, neither of them had gotten much sleep the night before. Peri came out of her doze and flushed a little at the recollection. A good thing Atheris had placed their tent away from the others.

  Bright Ones, what was the matter with her? She’d heard stories in court about her father and her mother—vague references to her parents’ legendary and sometimes scandalous passion, delivered with a chuckle and a knowing grin. Judging from the number of times she found her parents’ door securely locked (Estann had chuckled and said that precaution stemmed from a poorly timed visit by the chambermaid years before), Peri imagined that that passion had in no way declined, only been tempered by a greater caution. But she very much doubted that even her fiery mother would understand, much less condone, her behavior of the last days.

  Peri pushed the thought aside—she was tired, so tired of following the same track in her mind around and around in circles—and let the creak of the wagon wheels, the steady clop-clop of the horses’ hooves lull her again.

  It seemed she’d only just closed her eyes, however, before she jolted awake to Atheris’s touch on her shoulder.

  “Peri,” he murmured, very quietly. “Wake up. We’re in Rocarran.”

  “What!” Peri jolted upright and peered out the back of the wagon. Atheris was right; they were just passing through a broad gate in a heavy wooden stockade—in no way as dilapidated or laxly manned as the gate to Darnalek—that could only guard a holding of some significance. Everywhere she looked Peri could see priests, guards, peasants carrying their belongings and their children.

  “What are we doing in Rocarran?” she demanded in a whisper. “It was supposed to be another day away.”

  “I know!” Atheris snapped back in a whisper. “I know! But here we are nonetheless.”

  “Well, what are we going to do about it?” Peri asked, clasping her hands hard to hide their shaking. “We’d better get out now, head back out the gate—”

  He shook his head.

  “There are priests and guards everywhere,” he said. “We came with a pilgrimage, obviously to visit the temple. It will surely be noticed if we try to slip out the gate without doing so. And yet I fear there could be priests from my temple here who might recognize me.” He hesitated a moment longer, then sighed and pulled his pilgrim’s ro
be out of his pack.

  “I’m not putting mine back on,” Peri said firmly. “It reeks.”

  “You need not,” Atheris said, shrugging, “if you are prepared to take off your sword. It would not be permitted in the temple, and without the robe you cannot conceal it.”

  Peri grimaced but unpacked the robe and donned it before her nose could overcome her common sense.

  “If we mingle with the crowd entering the temple,” Atheris said softly, “we should be able to slip back out unobtrusively without attracting attention. For now, relax and wait for the wagon to stop.”

  Peri sat back, but she fumed, her fingers clenching nervously. What kind of miscalculation meant a difference of a whole day’s journey? And what in the world were they to do now? This was a temple, not a marketplace; there’d be no horses for sale here, and there’d be guards aplenty, too, to keep the crowds under control and to look out for the pickpockets that always seemed to attend such gatherings. So there was no way to buy horses, and precious little hope of stealing them either. There was no choice, really, but to sneak out of Rocarran as best they could on foot. Maybe they could join some pilgrims journeying back from the temple, although to the best of her observation they hadn’t passed anyone traveling in the opposite direction. No, something of considerable significance was happening here, and that meant vigilant guards at their posts on the lookout for any suspicious behavior.

  The wagon slowed, stopped. Peri made sure her mask of bandages was securely in place before she and Atheris scrambled out the back of the wagon with their packs. Then, turning, she froze as she saw the Temple of Eregis at Rocarran for the first time.

  The huge stone edifice was enough to take her breath away. She’d never seen anything so massive—not the royal castles of Bregond or even Agrond, not the grandest temple in Tarkesh—or so ancient in her life. The weathering of the massive stone blocks of the building had nothing to do with the strange decay Peri had seen in Darnalek; this holy place was obviously hundreds, if not thousands, of years old, with a grim and looming dignity befitting its antiquity. Gruesome statues of malformed beasts loomed over the few windows and doors; Peri’s mind flitted back unwillingly to those horrible, unfortunate pilgrims she’d seen, although none of them were in evidence now—they’d likely arrived long ago and entered the temple in one of the streams of pilgrims she could see marching in every door. Where did they come out? Perhaps there was an exit at the back.