The Waterless Sea

by Kate Constable

  Calwyn found herself too tired to speak with her mind, almost too tired to use her voice. She whispered to Halasaa, ‘I’ m sorry. I didn’ t realise – how hard it is –’

  The task of the healer is difficult. And I have grown weary these last days. But I am glad, Calwyn. I had thought I was the last of my kind. But I can teach you. The power will not die with me.

  Calwyn was silent. She was glad, too; she knew how heavy a burden Halasaa carried, being the last to hold the secrets of his people. And tonight had shown that the dances of becoming could be taught. But she hoped that they could find others to learn the magic. She and Halasaa were the same age; passing the gift to her was no real solution. They would have to teach children –

  She closed her eyes and a smile flickered over her face as her thoughts drifted. Perhaps she and Halasaa should bear children together, to inherit the gift from both father and mother! She’ d never thought of Halasaa in that way. Yet she did love him, and she felt closer to him in many ways than she did to Darrow. Her heart ached. Darrow was a strange and solitary man. She knew that he cared for her, in his own way, and she had no real doubt that he would come back to Ravamey, when he was ready. He was a good teacher. Together they could set up the college of chanters she had dreamed of last winter. . .

  Her last confused thoughts were of sitting beneath the tall trees on the hill behind Halasaa’ s garden. There were children at her feet, these children, other children, listening, as the novices had listened at Marna’ s feet in Antaris, the past and future intertwined. The wind sang in the trees at her back, and the sunlight glittered on the bright sea . . .

  She didn’ t know that Halasaa had wrapped her in a cloak and laid her down beside him to sleep, while far away the wasunti howled to one another across the silvered sands.

  The next day Calwyn was bone-weary. The chantment of healing had drawn something out of her that sleep alone could not replenish. She sang up some snow to fill the waterskins, and helped Mica summon the wind for their rafts, but she had no strength for anything else. When they paused to rest, Shada brought her pieces of flat bread and dried meat, and a mouthful of their precious milk in the bottom of a cup, and coaxed her to eat. ‘Come on, Calwyn. There’ s a long way to go, you know.’

  ‘I know.’ Calwyn smiled with cracked lips. It was true, they needed her; she must take care of herself. She forced herself to chew on the dry meat.

  ‘It’ s wonderful what you did for Oron.’ Shada settled herself cross-legged on the sand, to make sure that Calwyn finished her meal. ‘Why didn’ t you do it before?’

  ‘I didn’ t know I could. I thought only Halasaa could perform that magic. And it’ s hard, Shada, much harder than singing chantments as we do.’

  ‘That’ s not hard. Gada says, it’ s easy as breathing...’ A shadow crossed her face.

  Calwyn thought back to the collapse of the Palace, when the song of ironcraft had leapt out of her, almost without her willing it. She hadn’ t tried to sing any chantments of iron since then; in truth, she was afraid. And she didn’ t want anyone to know that she’ d done it, even once. The Singer of all Songs. Marna had said that the prophecy of the Singer of all Songs could never be fulfilled, because a man could not sing the chantments of ice, and a woman could not sing the chantments of iron. But it was not so. True, Samis had failed to master the songs of ice-call. But Shada had the gift of ironcraft. . . And I sang it, too. . .

  To her relief, before she could finish her thought, Heben called to her to hurry, and she clambered up to take her place on the raft again.

  In the days that followed, they progressed slowly south, skirting the mountains that lay between them and the harsh lands of Hathara. Day by day, the ground became harder and more rocky. At last no chantments of ironcraft could hold the rafts together any longer, and the remnants of the rush-mats were abandoned. Now they trudged on, across the dirt.

  One day Heben slaughtered two of the hegesi, despite Haid’ s protests. Vin and Oron drank the blood, and drew strength from it. The children tried to make Halasaa drink it too, but he would not.

  Calwyn forced down a little of the thick, dark liquid, though part of her revolted. They had so little food. All the children had grown weaker. The meat of the hegesi heartened them for a day or two, but they were all becoming more and more exhausted and feeble. Even tough little Mica was flagging; she could barely rouse herself to a quarrel. And Heben, who Calwyn relied on more and more, had begun to falter. He took possession of the looking-tube and raised it to the horizon a hundred times a day, searching for the end of the mountains, that the children said signalled the edge of the vast plain of Hathara.

  ‘I don’ t understand,’ he murmured. ‘We should be almost there.’

  ‘We’ re going in circles,’ Oron muttered through chapped lips. His face and hands were peeling from sunburn, and his ragged robes were red with dust. ‘We should turn west, head for the sea, and strike out again from there.’

  Heben shook his head, and scratched a rough map in the dirt with the point of a stick. ‘No. If we are here, it’ s further to the sea than it is to Hathara.’

  ‘But you don’ t know where we are. We could be here – or here – or here!’ Oron swiped his foot through the map.

  ‘If Tonno was here, he’ d steer us by the moons,’ said Mica. ‘Then we’ d know we was goin right.’

  ‘Or Trout, with his direction-finder,’ said Calwyn, with a wan smile.

  ‘We are on course,’ said Heben sternly. ‘I have lived in the desert all my life, I know how to find my way.’

  ‘No one is questioning you,’ said Calwyn hastily.

  ‘ Tonno’ d steer us right,’ muttered Mica. ‘He’ s been sailin and steerin by the moons longer’ n Heben’ s been – been –’ But her sentence petered out, and she lapsed into a miserable silence. Calwyn sighed; it was unlike Mica to let an argument die.

  As for Halasaa, he grew quieter every day. Calwyn walked beside him whenever she could. Do your dreams still trouble you, Halasaa?

  My dreams? He looked at her, but didn’ t seem to see her. I am always dreaming.

  Even when you’ re awake? Are you dreaming now?

  Always. Always dreaming. He set his lips and walked on into the harsh beating sun.

  That night Calwyn couldn’ t sleep. She wrapped herself in her cloak and crawled out of the tent. It was the time of the Lonely Maiden, with only one moon, and the stars blazed across the sky, horizon to horizon. She had never seen such a huge sky, even at sea. The air was like crystal, freezing cold and clear. Calwyn clutched the cloak under her chin, and knew that her hands were trembling, not from the cold, but from exhaustion and hunger. A dry sob sat in her throat like a stone; she couldn’ t swallow it. Would they all die here, in this barren place?Would their bones lie bleached on the parched plain? She thought of Ched’ s small face, turned sightless to the sky.

  She stared up at the endless stars and the single desolate moon. For the first time in her life, when she tried to pray to the Goddess, she found she could not. Words deserted her. Her dry lips moved, but formed no sound. She had no sense of the presence of the Great Mother Taris. Calwyn felt utterly alone.

  She stood there for a few moments more, staring up at the comfortless sky. Then she turned and went back into the tent, where the children were sleeping.

  The next day the terrain began to change. Now the stony plain was cut across with gullies, and they had the weary work of climbing in and out of them, always heading south. Calwyn paused to wipe the sweat from her forehead. How could she be so thirsty, and still make sweat?

  ‘These are old stream-beds,’ said Heben. ‘Flowing down from the mountains to the sea.’

  ‘Streams!’ Mica grimaced. ‘You’ re jokin, ain’ t you?’

  A long time ago. Halasaa stared straight ahead, his eyes unfocused, seeing things the others could not see. No longer.

  ‘Come, Sukie, come, Heggy.’ Haid coaxed the hegesi. ‘Come now, come home now.’

 
; Home! Would they ever see home again? Calwyn dragged her feet, one step after another. She squinted at the horizon. The land dipped, about a hundred paces ahead. ‘Another gully,’ she called over her shoulder.

  Shada moaned. ‘I can’ t – I’ m so tired –’ ‘Come on, come on Sukie,’ said Mica, trying to make her smile, but Shada was beyond that.

  ‘We’ ll be with Gada soon,’ said Heben, but he spoke without conviction.

  Calwyn looked up, blinked, and looked again. It had come at last, the moment she’ d been dreading. She’ d begun to see what Halasaa saw, she was sharing Halasaa’ s dreams. She could see trees walking over the slope, wavering shapes that moved inexorably toward them. A dry sob broke from her throat.

  Heben shouted. One of the children cried out. Calwyn rubbed her eyes, and saw that the dark shapes were not trees, but people. Soldiers, she thought. She parted her lips to sing a chantment to keep them away. But her mouth was so dry that no sound came out. Her head swam, and she sank to her knees. They had struggled so far, and now they were lost.

  Then she knew for certain that she was dreaming. One figure broke away from the group and came running to catch her as she fainted. Her vision shrank into a black tunnel, and the last thing she saw was Darrow’ s face bent over hers, and the last thing she felt was his strong arms around her as she fell.

  six

  The Black Palace

  WHEN CALWYN WOKE, she thought she was on Fledgewing. White canvas stretched above her, and a cool breeze played over her face. Her body ached in every joint, but it was pleasant to lie still, in shade. She closed her eyes and listened dreamily to the soft music of the chantment that made the breeze.

  A cool, dry hand touched her burning forehead. The chantment broke off, and Calwyn heard Mica’ s voice. ‘How’ s her fever?’

  ‘Coming down,’ said a low voice.

  Calwyn’ s eyes flew open. Darrow! Feverish, her mouth dry, she used mind-speech without thinking. Darrow. . .You’ re here! I have so much to tell you!

  His quizzical grey-green eyes widened as her words sounded in his mind. After a moment he said, ‘Don’ t try to talk. Drink this.’ His strong hand supported her head, and he tilted a cup to her lips.

  The water was cool and silvery; Calwyn had never tasted anything so delicious. She struggled to sit up, but Darrow eased her down again. ‘Rest, Calwyn, you’ re not strong enough. Just rest. We’ re taking care of you.’

  Drowsily she sank back. Halasaa, is Halasaa all right?

  Darrow looked grave. ‘He is resting, too. Don’ t worry. Go back to sleep.’

  For a moment Calwyn resisted. How could she sleep? There was too much to do: the children to care for, Halasaa, Mica, Heben, the wasunti to keep away – But Darrow had her hand clasped firmly in his, and she surrendered. Her eyes closed, and she slept again.

  She did not see Darrow’ s face as he stared down at her, the taut line of his mouth, and the tenderness in his eyes.

  When she woke, much later, she saw that the white canvas was a tent. Darrow still sat, cross-legged by the pile of hegesu skins on which she lay. She said weakly, ‘I dreamed I was on the deck of Fledgewing.’

  Darrow smiled. ‘We’ re in the camp of the rebel fighters. Tonno and I joined them in Hult, to take them to the Black Palace. We will all go there together now.’

  ‘ Tonno is here?’ Calwyn sat up eagerly, but her head swam, and she dropped back; she was weaker than she’ d thought.

  Darrow nodded. ‘You’ ll see him soon enough. Mica has been telling us your adventures.’ He poured her a cup of hegesu milk. ‘Here. This will give you strength.’

  She sipped it gratefully; she couldn’ t believe that she’ d ever thought hegesu milk tasted sour.

  ‘Halasaa, and the others? Are they all right?’

  He gave her a searching look that she didn’ t understand. ‘You asked about Halasaa before. Do you remember?’

  She shook her head. Darrow seemed to be waiting for her to say something. After a moment he said, ‘The children are better off than you. You had the beginnings of sunstroke, we found you just in time.’

  ‘You found us? I think it was we who found you –’ Darrow smiled.

  ‘And Heben?’ asked Calwyn. ‘How is he?’

  Darrow’ s smile disappeared. ‘I believe he is quite well,’ he answered coolly. ‘Tired, and ill-nourished, like all of you.’ There was a pause. Then Darrow leaned forward and touched his finger to the medallion that Calwyn still wore between her brows. ‘This belongs to Heben, does it not?’

  ‘Oh – this?’ After so many days, Calwyn had forgotten it was there. ‘I pretended to be part of his clan, to get inside the Palace.’ She tugged it off, and looked up to see a peculiar expression on Darrow’ s face.

  ‘It wasn’ t – a love-gift?’

  Calwyn smiled. ‘Of course not! Believe me, Heben would no sooner give me a love-gift than – than Halasaa would!’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Darrow. Then suddenly the grave look returned to his face. ‘Halasaa is very ill.’

  ‘This desert is killing him,’ said Calwyn.

  Darrow was watching her closely. ‘Mica said that you healed the leg of one of the children. A great gash from knee to ankle, knitted up without even a scar.’

  ‘Halasaa showed me what to do. . .’ Calwyn’ s voice faltered, then she met Darrow’ s gaze steadily. ‘Perhaps I could help him.’ Wordlessly Darrow held out his hand to help her up. Her knees buckled as she walked out of the tent, and she was grateful for the support of his arm.

  The camp was larger than she’ d expected. It was a cluster of ten or more long tents, and twice as many smaller ones. The bigger tents were ranged about an open space, with awnings strung up for shade. Groups of men and women sat cross- legged beneath them. One group, Heben among them, bent over small grindstones, sharpening spearheads. Two men made bread by a fire, and a woman brewed tea in a blackened kettle. Calwyn heard the bleating of a flock of hegesi nearby.

  As she and Darrow crossed the space between the tents, Mica sprang up with a glad cry. Darrow held up a warning hand and she fell back, trying to hide her disappointment. Calwyn waved to her feebly. Mica looked bronzed and healthy; with her hair wrapped in a Merithuran scarf, she might have spent her whole life in the desert.

  Darrow held back the flap of the small tent where Halasaa, too, lay on a pile of skins. Calwyn gave a cry of joy at the sight of Tonno sitting beside the bed. The burly fisherman pulled her into a hug that crushed her ribs. ‘It’ s good to see you safe and well, lass,’ he said gruffly, but then he looked down at Halasaa and shook his head. ‘No change.’ He gave Calwyn’ s shoulder a rough squeeze as he ducked outside.

  Halasaa was not conscious. His face was pale, and his hands rested limply by his sides. Calwyn knelt and picked up one hand, pressing it between her own. She took a deep breath. She wanted so desperately to help her friend, but she feared that her new skill would fail her.

  Halasaa! she called to him silently. Can you hear me? Halasaa!

  But no answering voice echoed in her mind. Darrow watched her, his grey-green eyes unreadable.

  Closing her eyes, Calwyn tried to remember what Halasaa had told her. She slowed her breath to his rhythm, seeking the light of his being. It was difficult; she was still weak herself, and she missed his reassuring voice, leading her through each step. This time there was no great wound to draw her attention, no single bodily hurt to be mended. She slowed the beat of her blood to match his. Halasaa! I am here. Where are you?

  It was no use, she thought; she knew too little of this magic to help him without guidance. Tears prickled behind her eyelids. But she knew that Halasaa was so weak, she might be his only hope of healing. She breathed deep, and sent out her awareness again.

  After a long time, just as she was ready to give up, she found the flame she sought: weaker than Oron’ s had been, a dim glow. Halasaa! Hold onto me! She tried to channel her own strength into him, as she had done with Oron. But the power seemed to flow right t
hrough him, escaping like water through a net, without strengthening or helping him. Where was the injury, the flaw in the fabric, that drained his life away, and drained the power she poured into him? She searched, but she couldn’ t find it, and at last she knew that she would never find it.

  Exhausted, Calwyn’ s head slumped into her arms. ‘I can’ t – I don’ t know enough, I don’ t know how!’ She looked up at Darrow with her eyes full of tears. ‘I think it must be a sickness of the heart, from his dreams.’ Carefully she laid Halasaa’ s hand on his chest. Without looking at Darrow, she whispered, ‘That’ s what he said of you, when you went away. He said that there was nothing he could do to heal a sickness like that.’

  After a pause, Darrow said under his breath, ‘I’ m not sure I am healed even now.’

  Blindly Calwyn reached out her hand, and he clasped it, and they sat for a long time in silence.

  Later that night, after Calwyn had eaten and slept, she and Darrow, Heben and Fenn sat talking by a small fire.

  ‘There is chaos around the Palace of Cobwebs – or rather, where the Palace of Cobwebs used to be.’ Fenn looked at Calwyn. ‘I believe we have you to thank for that, my lady.’

  ‘Not only me,’ said Calwyn uneasily. ‘Have you heard, were there many killed when the Palace fell?’

  ‘Some were killed,’ said Fenn evenly. ‘I don’ t know how many. And others perished when the Army leaders took over the Palace.’

  Calwyn lowered her head. Those lives, as well as Ched and even Amagis, weighed on her conscience. But she could not have left the children to suffer. What was right, and what was wrong? When she was a novice priestess in Antaris, she had always believed that those who had power, like the High Priestess, had the wisdom to match it. But where did wisdom come from?What would Marna have done, in her place? Not for the first time since she’ d left her home, she wished she could ask her Lady Mother for advice.