The Waterless Sea

by Kate Constable

  ‘But we’ re going faster, with the rafts, than we did with him.’

  ‘We have a long way to go yet.’

  ‘How do you know, Vin, you slept on the hegesu’ s back all the way –’ Calwyn grimaced and passed a waterskin toVin; there were dark circles beneath the older boy’ s eyes, and he had let the tent-sail drop three times that day. ‘Drink,’ she urged him. ‘Why don’ t you swap places with Oron, and come onto the raft with Halasaa and me? It will be easier for you, with three on a raft.’ Vin hesitated, then nodded his agreement.

  Haid had milked the hegesi at dawn, but there was only enough milk for each of them to take one sour, refreshing gulp. ‘They don’ t like travelling on the rafts, Calwyn. Their milk will dry up altogether if we keep on like this.’

  ‘We must use the rafts while we can. If the ground becomes rougher, we’ ll have to abandon them.’

  ‘Without their milk, we may as well butcher the hegesi, and just eat them!’

  ‘If we must,’ said Calwyn, and ignored the shocked look that Haid and Heben exchanged. Haid had been provoking her; he hadn’ t expected her to take him seriously. To a desert-dweller, a hegesu was worth infinitely more alive than dead. To kill an animal that provided milk and wool and dung and transport, just for one meal of meat, was sheer folly. Calwyn understood this, but they couldn’ t go on carrying the hegesi indefinitely. There was more dry-grass than arbec in this part of the desert; it was poor grazing land. The children, for all their bravado, were weaker every day, especially Vin, and she was worried about Halasaa. He had done his best for the sick herdswoman of the I’ beth, but he had come back exhausted. He was sitting now, head bowed. His hands, usually so expressive and full of life, hung slack over his knees; he didn’ t even brush away the flies that clustered round his face, and she wondered if he were listening to the tormented murmuring of the land.

  Yet she wondered if the sighing of the spirits of the trees might not be preferable to the silence that hung so heavy over the desert. There was no birdsong, no rustle of grasses or burbling of streams, not even the gentle breathing of the wind, unless she or Mica set it in motion. For almost a year, Calwyn had lived either on a boat or within the sight and sound of the sea. It was only now that comforting murmur had gone that she realised how deeply she had come to love it.

  Her hands shook as she replaced the stopper in the waterskin. She missed the sea, and the island, and Darrow, and Tonno, andTrout. And oddly, she was missing Mica, too. She and Shada spent every moment together. Though Shada was several years younger than Mica, the older girl was protective of her, and they whispered and giggled just as the other novices had done in Antaris, leaving Calwyn out. Calwyn knew this shouldn’ t make her feel so hurt and lonely, but it did.

  Like Halasaa, she had bad dreams, the same dream every night: that she was searching for Darrow in the rubble of the Palace of Cobwebs, desperate to find him, but at the same time dreading she might find him dead. And in the dream, over and over again, she found not Darrow, but Ched’ s small body, or Amagis, grinning lifelessly up at her.

  ‘Calwyn –’ It was Heben.

  ‘Oh, what now?’

  He ignored her irritated tone. ‘I’ ve had the looking-tube out. Something’ s coming across the plain, from the east, out of the mountains.’

  ‘Soldiers?’

  ‘I don’ t think so.’ He handed her the tube. ‘It looks like wasunti.’

  At first, all she could see was a cloud of dust, a long way off, heading toward them. Then the shapes in the dust resolved themselves into striped, muscular bodies, moving fast, heads down. Calwyn lowered the tube. ‘There must be thirty or more.’

  Heben nodded grimly. ‘It’ s a large pack. I hope we can outrun them.’

  ‘We’ ll have to try,’ said Calwyn, and Heben called them all to clamber back onto the rafts again.

  Periodically through the day Calwyn checked on the position of the pack. For a time it seemed that the wasunti were travelling west unaware of the presence of the rafts and their cargo. But by late in the day, their direction was unmistakable. The pack was headed toward them, to cut them off. Heben called a halt.

  ‘Calwyn, what do you say? Should we keep going, try to lose them?’

  ‘You know more about the wasunti than I do. What do you think?’

  ‘They have our scent. I don’ t think we can lose them now.’ Heben hugged Shada protectively to his side.

  ‘They can smell death,’ said Oron, looking pointedly at Vin, who by now could scarcely lift his head.

  Vin’ s weak voice came from Calwyn’ s raft. ‘Leave me here, then. I’ ll make a meal for them. It’ ll give you some more time.’ ‘Don’ t talk nonsense,’ said Calwyn sharply. ‘We’ re not leaving anyone.’

  ‘You’ ve already left one boy behind,’ said Oron blandly. As was Merithuran custom when speaking of the newly dead, he did not use Ched’ s name. ‘Why notVin?’

  Calwyn felt the sting of his words, but she kept her face expressionless.

  ‘Shut up!’ shouted Shada. ‘They rescued us! You think they’ d feed us to the wasunti ?’

  ‘We could leave them the hegesi. That might satisfy them,’ suggested Heben, but Calwyn could see that he was unwilling. Calwyn turned to Halasaa. ‘Can you tell what they intend?’ Dully he lifted his head. They mean us ill.

  ‘Then we must prepare to defend ourselves,’ said Heben grimly. The others stared at him, some trustful, some wary, some too exhausted to care.

  Only Oron was openly hostile. ‘Defend ourselves? With what?We haven’ t any weapons. Wasunti hate fire, but we have nothing to burn.’

  ‘Halasaa can speak with beasts,’ said Calwyn. ‘He’ ll be able to keep them away –’ But Halasaa spoke silently, to her alone. My sister, I cannot. I hear their thoughts, but I cannot fend them from us.

  Oron couldn’ t hear his words, but he saw Halasaa shake his head. ‘He can’ t help! What will we do? Blow them away with wind-spells?’

  Mica thrust her face close to Oron’ s. ‘You want me to practise on you?’ she spat. ‘Calwyn can drive em away. You’ ll see! Can’ t you, Cal?’

  The sight of Mica’ s face turned to her, bright with trust and hope, made Calwyn’ s breath catch. ‘It’ s true,’ she said shakily. ‘Heben, I have some knowledge of the Power of Beasts, the magic that tames animals. Perhaps I can keep them at bay.’

  Heben nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said brusquely, then he began to call out commands. ‘Haid, Shada, gather the hegesi together. Mica, Vin, Halasaa, prop the rafts in a circle, we’ ll stretch the tents between them. Vin? Did you hear me? Oron, you collect some stones.You know how to throw a rock, don’ t you?’

  ‘Wasunti aren’ t afraid of stones,’ said Oron sourly, but he obeyed.

  While the others made ready, Calwyn watched through the looking-tube as the cloud of red dust drew nearer. Her heart beat as fast as the swift legs of the wasunti could run. If she couldn’ t hold them off, if the magic failed, then they would be helpless prey for those strong jaws and savage teeth. Oron was right; a pile of stones wouldn’ t keep them away for long. Taris, give me strength! she called silently. But the moons were invisible, and Calwyn felt as if the Goddess were far away.

  The rush mats were propped in a ring, with the tents pulled tight between them to make a thin barrier. Calwyn could have wept at the pitiful inadequacy of their defence. Haid and Vin knelt at the centre of the circle, trying to keep the hegesi calm, but the animals sensed the approach of predators, and strained at their tethers, bleating hysterically. The children stood facing out, weighing stones in their hands, each with a waiting heap of rocks piled at their feet. Mica caught Calwyn’ s eye, and gave her a grin of encouragement. Calwyn smiled back, close to tears.

  ‘Wasunti,’ she called. ‘Wasunti.’

  They came at dusk, in the time of the longest shadows, when cold air fell like a shroud over the plain. They came in silence, not running now, but padding slow and soundless across the red dirt, their muzzles at t
he ground. Calwyn saw their golden eyes on all sides, unblinking, watchful. Watching her.

  Oron bent his arm to throw.

  ‘Not yet!’ barked Heben, and a growl rose from a wasuntu’ s throat, warning them. The hegesi bleated frantically, rearing and rolling their eyes. The other wasunti began to growl softly. Like a chantment of iron, thought Calwyn wildly. Her voice had dried in her throat. They were watching her, the children, Mica, Halasaa and Heben. Their eyes flickered anxiously between the prowling beasts and herself. They were waiting, all of them, human and animal, waiting for her to act.

  Calwyn began to sing.

  The ancient song rose in the crisp air, the song she thought of as the song of the bees. Slowly Calwyn turned as she sang, directing the chantment to the beasts that prowled around their fragile circle, trying to push them away with the force of her magic. She held up her hands as she used to in Antaris, to draw the power down from the air, from the moons, from the sky, the realm of the Goddess.

  But something was wrong. The chantment was thin and feeble, not grasping firm. The others didn’ t know it; Heben and Mica watched, wary but confident, and their hands that held the stones were relaxed. But the wasunti knew, and perhaps Halasaa, though when she stole a glance at him, his eyes were closed and he swayed to and fro, far away from her.

  The wasunti crept closer. Imperceptibly, the circle tightened. The menacing growls threaded through her song, but her chantment did not touch them. It floated over them like smoke.

  Goddess, help me! Calwyn breathed deep, trying to force the power through the ancient words. The ring of amber eyes surrounded them, mocking her. The wasunti bared their teeth; ivory gleamed wet in the light of the setting sun. They were very close, their hot breath steaming in the chill air. Behind her, Calwyn heard one of the children sob. The magic would not hold; the power drifted out between the notes like water flowing through a net, like sand trickling between her fingers – That was it. She had called on the Goddess, in her realm between the stars. But this chantment belonged to the land, to the life that sprang from the mud, and the power must come from below.

  Tremaris, Merithuros, mother of the wasunti, give me strength! Calwyn breathed in again, drawing up power from the soles of her feet into her whole body and out into her song, and then, only then, she felt it come true. The wasunti heard her. She stared into their amber eyes, strong and commanding, and she felt she could understand the ancient words whose meaning had dissolved generations ago:

  Hear me, beasts, and obey!

  Go about your work;

  I will not interfere with you.

  Be at peace in your place

  And I will leave you in peace.

  She sang, and the wasunti began to whine softly. They stopped prowling; Calwyn could see them in the fading light, seated on their haunches, tongues lolling. She remembered the fierce winged arakin of the Wildlands, and how they had returned her song, and now the wasunti did the same. They raised their muzzles to the sky and began to howl, with mournful dignity, showing the soft white fur of their throats. Their howling filled the night.

  Then, one by one, they lowered their heads and trotted away, each in a different direction, and vanished into the gathering dark. As the last one disappeared, Calwyn’ s song died away. Then she dropped to her knees, and let her head fall to the dirt, and she wept as if her heart would break.

  ‘Calwyn! Calwyn!’ Shada threw her arms around her neck. ‘Why are you crying? It’ s all right, they’ ve gone away, they’ ve all run away!’

  Calwyn couldn’ t answer; she was sobbing too hard.

  ‘Let her alone!’ She heard Mica’ s fierce whisper as she pulled Shada away. ‘Let her cry.’

  The tears flowed and flowed. Calwyn didn’ t try to check them. She lay there helpless while spasms of sobbing shook her. She longed to feel Darrow’ s arms around her, and a wave of rage surged through her. Where was he? He should be here, by her side, helping. . .

  At that moment she felt the warm weight of a hand on her shoulder, and she jerked round, almost believing that she’ d see

  Darrow smiling down at her. But it was Halasaa’ s clouded eyes that stared into hers.

  Come.

  Too exhausted to question him, she wiped her eyes and followed. He led her away from the ring of mats, to where a low boulder stood shadowed in the twilight. Oron sat stiffly in the dirt beside it, his eyes wide with shock. His tattered robe was soaked black with blood; gingerly, Calwyn lifted the cloth. The boy’ s leg was gashed from knee to ankle, ripped open by a wasuntu’ s jagged teeth.

  Calwyn shut her eyes to the sight; she felt almost too tired to care. She forced herself to ask, ‘What happened?’

  She spoke to Halasaa, but Oron answered. ‘I – ran after.’ The boy’ s voice stuttered, and his hands twitched convulsively on the red dirt. ‘Threw – stone. Bit – bit me.’

  Halasaa knelt beside Calwyn. I cannot heal him.

  What? Calwyn felt a stab of fear sharper than anything she’ d felt when the wasunti were near. Instinctively she spoke in silence, not wanting to frighten Oron further. What do you mean?

  I have tried. But I am not strong enough.

  You’ re tired, that’ s all. We’ ll bind his leg. You can try again later, when you’ ve rested.

  I need more rest than you can give me. Halasaa’ s eyes were steady, boring into hers. You must heal the boy.

  ‘Me?’ The word burst from Calwyn before she could stop herself. But I can’ t! I don’ t have that power, I don’ t know what to do!

  I will show you. But the magic must come from you.

  I can’ t, Halasaa! How can I? The Power of Becoming is a gift of the Tree People, not the Voiced Ones.

  Halasaa picked up her hands and turned them so they lay, palm upward, loosely clasped in his. You speak as aTree Person does. You speak with the beasts. Perhaps you can dance like a Tree Person, too. Halasaa took her hands and laid them over the gaping wound in Oron’ s leg. Feel the flow of the river through the boy. Do you feel it?

  Calwyn had no strength left to argue. Wearily she allowed her hands to rest on the gash. She felt the slow throb of Oron’ s blood as it pumped from his body, leaving him weaker at every moment. There wasn’ t time for this; she would show Halasaa that it was no use, then she would bandage Oron’ s leg . . . But while these thoughts ran through one part of her mind, with her other sense, the sense of becoming, she could feel the light within the boy, the light that was part of what Halasaa called the river.

  Go slowly. Breathe with him, let your blood flow in rhythm with his.

  Calwyn obeyed. It was not easy at first; the light of Oron’ s being was not steady. Fear and pain and mistrust made it flicker and jump, but she found that the unwavering pressure of her hands helped to calm him. She breathed; she heard Oron breathe; then they were breathing together. His heart beat, and hers beat, and they were beating together.

  Let your strength flow into him. Halasaa prompted her. Let him draw strength from you. Let it flow into his body.

  And she felt it, with a jump of surprise, like a spark flying. At the place where her hands rested on his wounded leg, she and Oron were one, connected, as her energy, her light flowed into him. The boy moaned, and leaned back against the boulder with his eyes squeezed shut. Calwyn felt a similar sensation as in Halasaa’ s dream, that she was inhabiting Oron’ s body. Yet at the same time, she was outside it, holding it – You know where the hurt is. Go to where the river is disturbed.

  Yes, she could sense the injury with her inner awareness, like a rough place in a piece of weaving, like a shadow cast across a patch of lamplight, like a fallen log in the middle of a stream, the water bubbling and eddying around it.

  Follow me. Halasaa’ s hands were on top of hers now, and as he lifted his fingers, she moved hers in response, tapping out the complex rhythm that was the dance of healing. His hands moved much more slowly than when he worked alone, so she could follow the movement. Knit up the wound, Calwyn. Make it whole.
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  She couldn’ t tell whether the power flowed from Halasaa, through her to Oron, or whether it came from herself alone, or if she merely shaped the force that lay within the boy, but she felt it, in the tips of her fingers and behind her eyes. She felt the healing, as the flesh knitted under her hands. Slowly, slowly, the wound drew itself together, and as it did, Calwyn recognised the nature of the chantment. It was the same as the magic they used to heal and restore the great ice Wall of Antaris, making whole what was damaged, making strong what was weak. Marna’ s long-ago words darted into her mind: All the chantments are aspects of the same unknowable mystery, just as each face of a jewel strikes light in a different direction. Calwyn sat on the red dirt, so far away from the mountains of her homeland, and felt the familiar power flow through her.

  At last the chantment was complete. The river’ s flow was untroubled, the cloth smoothed out, the light undimmed, flawless and whole. Oron’ s wound was healed.

  It is finished. Halasaa’ s voice was calm, but Calwyn saw a desperate, exhausted relief in his eyes as he lifted his hands from hers. She took her hands from Oron’ s leg. The moons had risen, and in the silver light, she could see clearly that the flesh was intact. There was not a mark to show where the teeth of the wasuntu had ripped it open.

  Oron lay pale and silent, gasping for breath. Calwyn staggered to her feet. ‘We must keep him warm – Shada! Take him to the fire. Mica, can you see that he eats?’

  She put out a sudden hand to Halasaa as her knees buckled. Now she knew why he had been growing weaker. The Power of Becoming was not an easy magic. Unlike the other chantments she had known, the strength of it came from within the chanter. Calwyn felt as though the marrow had been drained from her bones. She swayed against her friend. Halasaa – how could you find the strength? All the children, all that healing, bodies and hearts. I didn’ t know what it was I asked of you.

  It was not you that asked it. Halasaa put his arm around her shoulders and led her to sit by the fire, next to the shivering Oron. And I am strong. I was strong.

  He lowered himself beside her and stared into the flames. It was a small fire, barely large enough to warm the three who huddled by it. Heben pushed bread into their hands, and Mica brought them cups of water. ‘Don’ t you sing up no more water tonight, Calwyn. You done enough. We can last till mornin.’