Quyloc looked at the spear in his hand that he’d paid a too-high price for.
“I can help you with one thing,” T’sim said. Quyloc looked up. “That weapon cuts flows.”
Quyloc looked back at the spear, then at T’sim questioningly.
“It is a thing of the Pente Akka. No flows can enter there, for they are severed immediately.”
“This cuts flows?” Quyloc said wonderingly.
“If you concentrate on them. But be careful.”
“Why?”
“That world is anathema to us. You see how the poison affects you. If you use the spear to sever flows, there may be unpleasant side effects.”
“What kind of side effects?”
“I don’t know. I just thought you should know.”
Quyloc went back to staring at the spear. When next he looked up, T’sim was gone.
Quyloc turned around and looked at the garden. There were golden flows all over it. He looked around. There was no one else out there.
He stepped closer. There was a patch of bean plants at the edge of the garden. He picked one at the edge of the patch and focused on the flow of Song connected to it.
He flicked the spearhead through the flow.
Nothing happened.
He moved closer and this time he stared at the flow for a minute, focusing all his attention on it.
This time the spear severed the flow cleanly.
The two ends flopped freely for a minute, then bumped into each other and stuck together. Soon he could see no sign it had been cut.
So maybe T’sim was wrong about side effects.
Jimith came out into the garden near the end of the day, to fetch some vegetables for the cooks. Jimith was young, no more than twelve years old. No one knew for sure. His mother was a maid in the palace, a young woman with no family. She died when he was but a toddler and he just sort of became the servants’ mascot. There were a number of servants who had been around long enough to remember his birth, but they were sharply divided when it came to the year. Some said eleven years ago; others said twelve.
Jimith preferred to believe it was twelve years ago. He was just small for his age, that’s all. Anyway, he might not be big, but he was strong and he was agile. Soft-footed too.
And cursed with an active curiosity. He’d been in every room in the palace, even the king’s—macht’s he reminded himself—chambers.
So when he went out to the garden to fetch vegetables, he didn’t just get what he was told to and go right back in. Instead he loitered. He picked up a small stone that had escaped the gardener’s eye, went to the low stone wall and threw it out into the sea. He watched it fall and make a tiny splash, then turned back to the garden.
That was odd. One of the bean plants didn’t look right.
Jimith went over and crouched by it. The plant looked rotted, all spongy and brown. A weird smell was coming off it too. Drops of some kind of clear fluid were stuck on the stem of the plant, slowly flowing downward. He reached out one finger to touch one of the drops…
Then hesitated, and drew his hand back.
He stood up, wiped his hand on his pants and ran back inside.
Sixteen
“What’s wrong with you!” the FirstMother yelled at Velma, slapping at her sleeve, which was blackened and smoking. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, FirstMother,” Velma said miserably, hanging her head. It felt like even the FirstMother’s sulbit was looking at her angrily. “I’m sorry, FirstMother.”
Velma and three other Tenders—Loine, Serin and Uriel—were arranged in a semicircle facing the FirstMother. They were all tired. It was midafternoon and they’d been at this right since after the morning service. The looks the other Tenders sent Velma’s way were anything but friendly; the FirstMother had made it clear there would be no stopping until they got this right, yet this was the second time Velma had lost control of the Song that she was diverting to the FirstMother.
It was the day after Velma had been sent to find the Insect Tender and bring her to the FirstMother. She didn’t know what went on between them, but the FirstMother had been in an especially foul mood all day. At breakfast she just started yelling at them all, telling them they were worthless, that if they didn’t work harder they wouldn’t stand before Melekath any longer than a rabbit before a coyote. She might still be yelling at them except that out of nowhere the Insect Tenders, all three of them, showed up. Which was odd, because they hadn’t come to any meals before. No one had even seen them eat. Maybe they ate bugs back in that strange shelter they were constructing in a little copse of trees that stood on a back corner of the estate.
At any rate, once they showed up the FirstMother went quiet. Just broke off in the middle of her tirade. Then she gave an odd sort of smile, a truly frightening smile actually, and said they should all strive to be like the Insect Tenders. Velma had no idea what she meant by that. Nor did any of the other women, as far as she could tell. Though she really didn’t have all that clear of an idea what the other women thought, or spoke of. Ever since the FirstMother named Velma as her personal aide, things had been different. Now whenever Velma walked up on a group of Tenders talking, their conversation stopped, just died out. Now none of them ever came up and just talked to her, not even Arin and Serin, who she’d known since she was just a girl. Sometimes she thought being Nalene’s aide wasn’t such a great position at all. Sometimes she thought she’d like to just be herself again, even if it meant living back in the old, rundown place. It was a dump, and people hated them, but Melanine laughed a lot and she knew how to take it easy on a person. Not like the FirstMother, who wouldn’t even let Velma use her name anymore, but made her call her FirstMother all the time, even when they were alone.
After that the Insect Tenders went with them to the morning service, something else they’d never done before. They stood in the crowd and just watched in that still, eerie way they had, while the FirstMother tried to pretend they didn’t exist. Which she obviously couldn’t, because she kept losing her words right in the middle of sentences and the service ended up being lots shorter than usual. Then she spent awhile yelling at the workmen who were building the temple with stones brought down from Old Qarath.
Sulbit training started as soon as they got back to the estate. Now it was afternoon and they’d had no lunch and hardly any breaks and Velma was so tired she thought she might collapse on the spot.
“Start again,” the FirstMother growled, glaring at Velma. “And try to hold on this time!”
Velma sighed and nodded obediently. Being melded with her sulbit she could simultaneously see flows of LifeSong and the normal world, although it always made her feel a little dizzy to do so. Making it all harder was the fact that she’d never felt comfortable melding with her sulbit. She always felt faintly violated, having another awareness there in the innermost recesses of her mind.
Five cow shatren were securely tethered nearby, one for each of them working on this. She saw the flow of LifeSong connected to the cow she was using and tentatively reached for it. She hated doing this. She could see how much it hurt and upset the cow, who was no longer strong enough to stand, but had collapsed onto her side, as had the rest of them. On top of that, this was the first time she’d tried to take hold of any flow larger than what sustained a medium-sized shrub. There was a lot more power in the cow’s flow than in a plant’s.
When Velma touched the cow’s flow the animal bawled weakly and she felt tears start in her eyes. She had to get it right this time. She didn’t want to keep torturing the poor thing.
With the help of her sulbit, Velma was able to get a reasonably secure hold on the flow of Song. Then she began bleeding Song off it, but instead of trying to hold onto the power herself, she diverted it to the FirstMother, who had once again turned around and was staring at a pile of stacked stones some fifty paces away that they were using as a target.
She only bled a tiny stream of power at first, wanting to get it a
imed just right before she went further. The streams from the other three Tenders were considerably thicker than hers was, all of them converging on the glowing spot on the FirstMother’s akirma that marked her sulbit. The stream of Song had to be focused exactly on the FirstMother’s sulbit. Otherwise, the FirstMother risked having her akirma gashed and possibly even shredded, depending on the quantity of Song.
Velma bit her lip and bled off more power. So far so good. Her stream got thicker, though it was still less than half the size of the others’. Cautiously she bled off still more power. Her stream was nearly the size of everyone else’s now and she allowed herself a ray of hope that this time she was finally going to do it. She just needed to hold it a little longer, until the FirstMother reached the limit of what she and her sulbit could handle and released the pent-up power at the target.
One of the cows bawled extra loud and began thrashing wildly. Velma turned her head to see what was happening, just for a second—
And completely lost her hold on the stream.
The stream began to whipsaw wildly. Spewing raw power, the end of the stream snapped around and struck the stream controlled by Loine, the Tender next to Velma. The power fed back down her stream in a sudden, uncontrolled burst and Loine was lifted off her feet and thrown backwards.
Chaos erupted, Tenders trying to shut down the streams they were diverting, the FirstMother yelling angrily, cows bawling.
A few seconds later the last stream flickered and went out. Serin was on her knees, retching. Uriel was on her feet but wobbling badly. They had not completely escaped the backlash.
Horrified, Velma ran to Loine, crying her name over and over. She knelt beside her, babbling apologies.
Moments later the FirstMother arrived. She shoved Velma aside so hard that she fell on her side. “Get out of here! Haven’t you done enough damage for one day?”
Tears streaming down her face, Velma stood up. More Tenders had arrived and were clustered around Loine.
“Is she okay?” Velma asked, but no one answered her. Adira turned and gave her a withering look.
With a wail, Velma whirled and ran off.
Velma ran blindly into the trees along the rear of the estate. She needed to get away from everyone. She needed to fall down and cry until there was nothing left. She was stumbling blindly down one of the stone footpaths when she came across the young Tender who had refused the sulbit. The girl—Velma couldn’t remember her name—looked up from scrubbing the stones and came to her feet.
“Are you all right? Can I help you?”
For a moment Velma just stood there, staring at her stupidly. No, she wasn’t all right. And she needed help, far more than this girl could give. She shook her head and pushed by her, leaving her behind.
She sat down in the dead weeds at the base of a tree that grew right up against the stone wall at the back of the estate. How long she cried she didn’t know, but it seemed the tears would never end. It was not just sorrow over the women she had injured—her mind kept recalling how broken Loine looked lying on the ground—but everything. Fear of Melekath. The strain of fulfilling the role of the FirstMother’s aide, a role she now knew she was horribly incapable of. Shame because she wasn’t able to live up to the FirstMother’s expectations of her. It was all too much and it all came pouring out of her in a flood.
Eventually the tears dried up and she sat there for a long time feeling completely drained and empty. She was a shell, hollow inside. There was nothing left. But she knew what she needed to do. What she would do. She would go to the FirstMother and resign her position. She would beg for forgiveness and ask for mercy. She would accept whatever punishment was forthcoming. If she was out here on the stone footpaths tomorrow scrubbing them with that girl, then it was only what she deserved.
Despite her resolution, however, she could not quite seem to make herself get up and go face the consequences. The sun slid to the horizon and still she sat there. Crazy ideas occurred to her. She would sneak off the estate and leave the city. She would live alone in the wilderness and pray to Xochitl without stopping, becoming like one of the legendary Tenders from long ago, women who withdrew completely from the world to live a life of prayer. Even as she thought these things she knew they were foolish. She was too weak and afraid. She would not last a week in the wilderness and she could not pray for more than a minute or so before her mind wandered onto something else.
She heard someone calling her name and started to respond but her throat was terribly dry and all that came out was a croak. But she didn’t try again. Better to hide here awhile longer. The calling moved away, then started to come closer. Finally, it became clear to Velma that whoever it was would find her eventually and she pushed herself to her feet just as Perast walked up.
It was difficult, but Velma made herself look at Perast. They had been Tenders together here in Qarath for almost ten years, but Velma couldn’t say she actually knew Perast. Maybe no one did. She expected to see condemnation on the woman’s face, but whatever Perast felt was well hidden.
“The FirstMother wants to see you.”
“Okay,” Velma replied. Her voice seemed to come from the bottom of a well. She brushed leaves from her robe and her hands felt very far away from her. When she went to leave the spot at first she could not move and she had a sudden, panicked image of women coming out here to carry her in for her audience with the FirstMother. But then she found the key to her legs and followed Perast, somewhat unsteadily, back to the house.
The estate house seemed curiously deserted. The only person Velma saw was a Tender who stepped out of a room as they approached. She was carrying used bandages but Velma could not see more because she hurried away and the house was quite dark inside, no lamps or candles having been lit. Perast led her to the FirstMother’s quarters, opened the door, then left.
Now Velma’s legs betrayed her yet again and she stood, shaking, in the hall, until the FirstMother said, “Come in, Velma.”
There was no choice but to obey. The FirstMother was sitting on the edge of her desk. She pointed to a chair before her. “Sit down.” Again, Velma had no choice. When she was seated, she steeled herself and looked into the eyes of the woman she’d known longer than almost anyone alive and still knew hardly at all. She could not read what she saw there—though she was certain she saw rage—but then she had never been much good at knowing what other people were feeling. Her whole life she’d felt like everyone else operated by this secret handbook that explained what others were feeling and how to understand them. Only she’d never received a copy of the book so she’d just spent her life faking it.
“First, I want you to know that I am…” The FirstMother’s words trailed off. Velma could see that she was struggling with something, but mostly she was just surprised that the woman wasn’t yelling. “I am regretful.” Now the FirstMother stood abruptly, went around her desk and sat down in her chair.
Velma was stunned. What was going on here? “FirstMother? I don’t understand.” Was she being cast out of the Tenders? Was that what the FirstMother was regretting? When the FirstMother didn’t respond right away, didn’t look up from staring at her hands, Velma continued. “I’m so, so sorry. It was all my fault. I failed you. I failed everyone. I know you’re going to strip me of my position and it’s okay. I know I don’t deserve it. I will take any punishment you give me. Please don’t make me leave, though. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Now the FirstMother did look up and Velma’s confusion increased. Where was the rage that she had grown so used to seeing? Why did it look like the FirstMother had tears in her eyes?
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Velma stared in awe while the FirstMother rubbed her eyes. It looked like her hand was shaking, but surely that was just the bad lighting.
“This is not your fault, Velma. It’s mine.”
Velma’s jaw dropped. “It’s not…but I wasn’t paying attention and then I…but, you…”
The First
Mother shook her head. “I have been pushing you, all of you, too hard.”
“But…Melekath is coming.”
“So he is. But we won’t put up much of a fight if we’ve already killed ourselves off. I knew you were tired. I knew you were all tired. I could feel your control slipping. I should have let you stop before…”
“No,” Velma said. “You’re the FirstMother.”
“Which means I don’t make mistakes?” The FirstMother gave a rueful smile. “If only that were true.” Now the FirstMother looked at her. “Go get some rest. I will need your help in the morning.”
“You mean I’m…I’m not…I have my position? But I don’t think I’m very good at it. I think you should choose someone else.”
“Are you defying your FirstMother now?”
Velma winced reflexively, then was even more confused when she realized that although the FirstMother had rebuked her, she didn’t actually sound angry. And with the FirstMother, when she was angry, she definitely sounded angry. With the FirstMother, Velma didn’t need the handbook. She was easy to read.
“Loine has suffered some burns, and she doesn’t remember anything of what happened. She doesn’t remember the whole day, actually. But she’s going to be all right. You can go see her in the morning.” Still Velma sat there, struggling to come to grips with what had just happened, or not happened, in this case. “Go to bed, Velma.”
Dazed, Velma stood and made her way to the door.
“Good night, Velma.”
“Good night, FirstMother,” Velma echoed dutifully.
“Velma.”
“Yes?”
“Call me Nalene when we’re alone. We’ve been friends a long time.”
Velma nodded, then practically ran from the room. The only thing that made sense was that she was dreaming. She was probably still lying out there on the grass, nearly dead from her mistake. Certainly that hadn’t just happened.
Seventeen
Guardians Watch Page 13