by DAVID B. COE
Licaldi closed her eyes again. "Do I have to tell you?"
"Of course not, child. I was just asking." I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, which still felt hot. "I think you'll be better in the morning," I said, wanting it to be true. "You should rest now."
She nodded.
I got up, crossed to my bed, and picked up this journal, intending to write down all she'd told me. But as I sat, she spoke my name. Looking at her I saw that her eyes were open again, shining with the light of candles.
"I told the Y'Qatt that I hoped the pestilence would come to their village," she said. "I told them I wanted them all to die."
Perhaps I should have scolded her. It was an evil thought, even for a child who must have been so angry and desperate and forlorn. But I merely nodded, thinking to myself that I probably would have said much the same thing.
So, now she sleeps, and I write, having learned at last all there is to know of her tragic tale. I am hopeful that as her fever fades and she grows strong again, she will be better off for having unburdened herself But it is only a hope. She is so young to have seen and lived such horrors. It is said among our people that where a healer's touch fails, time works its own magic. Some wounds, though, can never heal. Instead they fester
It remains to be seen which kind of wound fate has dealt this child.
Besh sat back and laid the daybook aside. Any doubt that had crept into his mind over the past turn was gone now. Lici was alive. He was certain of it. And more, she was wreaking vengeance across the land.
Sixty-four years to the day after she appears in the village, the old woman vanishes. And within a turn of her disappearance the pestilence strikes at three Qirsi villages, at least two of them Y'Qatt. He stood and strode out the door into the midday sun. Walking quickly to the marketplace, he found a Qirsi trader, a young woman who was selling wines from the Nid'Qir.
"Buy a skin today, good sir?" she asked, smiling at him.
"No, thank you. Tell me, though: Have you ever heard of a town called Tivston?"
"Tivston?" she repeated, frowning. She shook her head and made the warding sign against evil, as if she were Mettai instead of Qirsi. "I know Tivston. It's very bad there now."
"Yes, I've heard. Is it a Qirsi village?"
"In a sense, yes," she said.
And he knew. Even before she could say anything more, he felt the hairs on his neck and arms standing on end.
"They're Y'Qatt in Tivston; Qirsi who use no magic."
Besh nodded. "Thank you." He started to walk away.
"Of course, good sir. Perhaps now you'd like to buy some wine."
He knew he should have, out of courtesy if nothing else. She'd answered his questions, and so had told him the last thing he needed to know before speaking of this with Pyay. But the thought of taking even a sip of wine just then made his stomach turn. He merely shook his head and walked to the eldest's smithy.
Pyav was resting when Besh got there, his face ruddy as always and covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
"You're early today," the smith said, grinning as Besh approached. But then he seemed to notice the old man's expression. His smile vanished and he stood. "What is it?"
"I know where Lici is. Or at least where she's been."
Pyav's brow creased. "What do you mean?"
"I told you that her village was ravaged by the pestilence. It killed her family. It killed everyone she knew."
"Yes, I remember."
"It seems there was more to the story," Besh said. "She went for help. She was looking for Qirsi healers, but instead she found an Y'Qatt village. 1)
The eldest winced. "And they wouldn't help her." "That's right."
"But what does that-?"
"Runnelwick and Greenrill-they're near N'Kiel's Span, aren't they?"
"I believe so." Comprehension hit him like a fist. "Blood and bone," he whispered.
"I just spoke with a Qirsi peddler. Tivston is an Y'Qatt village, as well. At least it was."
"A conjuring?"
"Perhaps. Probably. Would it surprise you to learn that she could use her magic that way?"
"I suppose not." The eldest stared at the ground for a few moments, shaking his head slowly. "I wouldn't know how to do it. Would you?" "I couldn't even begin to conceive such a thing."
Pyav glanced at him, a sad smile on his lips. "And yet you figured it out. At least you think you have. Perhaps the workings of your mind are darker than you think."
Besh nodded, though he didn't smile in return. "Perhaps. They'll have to be if I'm to find a way to stop her."
Chapter 16
Pyav stared at him, as if wondering whether he had heard correctly.
"You?" the eldest said at last, sounding simple. "You're going after her?"
"Someone must."
That faint smile touched Pyav's face again and was gone. "You're a good man, Besh. I've said as much quite often over the past turn, and yet I'm not certain I knew how right I was until just now. You're honorable and clever, and you're even braver than I would have credited." He shook his head. "But you can't do this."
"Can't I?"
"How old are you, Besh?"
Besh might have been a good man, as the eldest said, but he knew as well as anyone that he wasn't without his faults, pride chief among them.
Ema had told him so more often than he could count, and so had Elica.
He felt himself bristling at the eldest's question, and he struggled to keep his temper in check.
"I'm old enough to know that Lici is our responsibility. No one else knows what she's done, and so no one else will think to stop her."
"That may be, but-"
"Will you go after her, Eldest?"
The blacksmith straightened, his expression hardening just a bit. "If need be."
"You have a family. Your children may be grown, but they need you still. You have a shop to maintain. You're eldest of our village. You're needed here."
"So are you, Besh."
"Not in the same way." The eldest opened his mouth, no doubt to argue the point, but Besh held up a hand, stopping him. "This isn't the self-pity of an old man, nor is it a last grasp at some sort of heroism. Elica has her husband and her children. Ema is gone. Aside from my garden, no one will miss me."
Pyav smiled again, the kind smile this time, the one Besh had come to know so well in recent days. "I know that's not true. I'm not certain what Mihas would do without you. Or Annze and Cam, for that matter."
Besh felt his throat tighten at the mention of Mihas and the little ones, but he knew he was right about this. "There are plenty of children in this village who get along without their grandfathers. They'll be fine."
"I can't let you do this, my friend."
"With all respect, Eldest, you haven't any choice. You can't keep me here against my will, and we both know that there's no one else you can send."
Pyav opened his arms wide. "Why send anyone at all?" he demanded, his voice rising. "What is it you think you can do? I admit that what you've told me is compelling, but we don't know for certain that Lici is to blame for what's happened in Greenrill and Runnelwick and… and… wherever else-"
"Tivston."
"Yes, right," he said impatiently. "My point is, this is all just conjecture on our part."
Besh frowned. "A moment ago you believed me. Now you don't?"
Pyav rubbed his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut. "I don't know what to believe. You've been convinced all along that Lici is alive still, that she had some purpose in leaving the way she did. And I allowed you to act on your suspicions. Perhaps that was a mistake."
"It wasn't. Don't you see? I was right all along. Sylpa's daybook proves that!"
"Sylpa is dead! Her daybook is a relic! Nothing more! Now, this nonsense has to end!"
The eldest appeared to wince at what he heard in his own voice, and for several moments neither of them spoke.
"I shouldn't have said that, Besh. Forgive me."
"Of cour
se, Eldest," Besh said, his voice tight.
"I'm out of my depth. You have to understand. You're so sure of yourself in this matter. You're so certain about Lici, and I don't know her at all. How am I to make the kind of decisions you're asking of me?"
"By trusting me," the old man said, surprising himself with his passion and surety. "You're right: I am certain about Lici. I understand the way her mind works, whether because I know her, or merely because I know what it means to grow old. She's out there killing entire villages, spreading some sort of plague among the Y'Qatt. And she has to be stopped."
"And you can stop her?" Pyav asked. "Don't get me wrong; it's not merely your age that makes me ask. I could send a man half your age and twice your size, and I wouldn't know how to tell him to stop her. If all you say is true, she's mad or evil, or both. And she commands magic the like of which I've never encountered among the Mettai."
"So are we simply to remain here then, and let her have her vengeance?"
The eldest's expression darkened. "You're trying to goad me."
"Not at all. I don't believe you need goading. You know as well as I that we have to do something. If there's even a chance that Lici is causing so many to die, we have to stop her, or at the very least warn the other Y'Qatt villages that lie in her path."
"Is that what you plan to do? Will you merely warn the Y'Qatt? And what will you tell them? 'An insane Mettai woman is on her way here, spreading disease wherever she goes.' Or do you have it in mind to do more? Do you intend to kill her?"
"Now who's doing the goading?"
"It's a fair question, Besh. You speak of stopping her. But how? If she's capable of killing so many, do you truly believe you can reason with her, convince her to stop? Because I don't think you can. If all this is true-if she's really out there killing the Y'Qatt-there will be no reasoning with her. You'll have to use force. You'll have to take her life to spare the lives of others. And I'm asking you, friend to friend, if you're prepared to do that."
Besh looked away and took a long breath. He'd thought of this already, and had come to the startling realization that he was ready to kill the woman if the need arose. Reading Sylpa's journal, he had come to understand Lici, perhaps even to pity her. Though he didn't care for her as he did for Sylpa, he couldn't bring himself to hate her. But she had become something darker and more dangerous than a young girl whose heart had been twisted by a cruel fate, or an old woman desperate to avenge old wounds before she died. Pyav had called her evil a moment before, and that seemed the right word. Whatever the cause of her pain, however just her rage and grief, she had become a demon, murdering indiscriminately, destroying the lives of people who had done her no harm at all. He couldn't allow that to continue.
He met the eldest's gaze once more, and nodded slowly.
"Yes, Pyav," he said. "If need be, I'll kill her."
The blacksmith's eyes widened, but Besh didn't give him a chance to speak.
"You think me old, kindly, a good man. And I may be all of those things. But I've been a husband and a father and now a grandfather. I would have killed to protect Ema and Elica. I'd kill today to keep Mihas safe. Lici is a threat not only to the Y'Qatt, but also to the Mettai. Our people are hated enough without some madwoman menacing the land using blood magic to destroy villages." He pulled his knife free and dragged the blade across the back of his hand. Blood began to flow from the wound, spreading into the fine lines that time had etched into his brown skin. Making a fist, he held up his hand for the eldest to see. "I swear this oath to you, Pyav-Mettai to Mettai, friend to friend, elder to eldest-if Lici can be stopped, I'll stop her. I won't return to our village until I've made good my oath." He lowered his hand, never taking his eyes off the eldest, and licked away the blood before returning his knife to its sheath.
Pyav shook his head slowly. "I fear you're nearly as mad as she is, making an oath like that."
Besh grinned, feeling his face color. He'd offered the blood oath on impulse-it wasn't at all something he would usually have done. But according to Mettai law, once made, such an oath could only be broken on pain of death. And that was all right, because when Elica heard of what he had done, she'd probably kill him.
"Is it madness wanting to protect my family and my people?"
"In this case, yes."
"Why? Because I'm old?"
Pyav nodded. "Because you're old. Because Lici is quite likely insane. Because you don't know where she is, or where she might go next. Blood and bone, Besh! This is mad in so many different ways I hardly know where to begin!" He rubbed a hand over his face. "And now I have no choice but to let you go."
"You could kill me and save Elica the trouble."
The eldest stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. "I'd forgotten about Elica. And here I thought that Lici was the dangerous one."
Besh shook his head. "After facing my daughter, going after Lici will be like paddling downstream."
Pyav's smile faded slowly. "I should go with you," he said after some time.
"No. I'm going precisely so that no one else will have to. I'll go alone."
"You have a better chance of succeeding if someone is with you. If this is as important as you say it is, you'll let me accompany you."
Besh could hear the frustration in the blacksmith's voice. The blood oath, he realized, had changed everything. It was up to Besh now to decide how he was to fulfill his vow; just as Besh would be put to death if he failed, another Mettai was subject to the same punishment if he or she did anything to interfere. Though Pyav was eldest, he was powerless in this matter.
"As I've already said, you're needed here."
"And you're a stubborn fool." Pyav shook his head again. "Will you at least allow me to give you some food to take along? The village owes you that much."
"Gladly. Thank you, Eldest."
"You won't like this idea, but you may need some gold as well. I'd suggest you take it from Lici's house."
Besh considered this. He'd fought long and hard to keep anyone from taking the old woman's coins. But knowing what he did now about all she had done, he felt justified in making an exception. He nodded once. "I'll do that," he said. "Tonight, after dark."
"Good." Abruptly, it seemed that Pyav didn't know what to say. "When will you go?" he finally asked.
"Tomorrow, with first light."
"What would you have me tell the others?" "The other elders, you mean?"
"The elders, the rest of the villagers. Whoever asks."
Besh shrugged. "Tell them whatever you think is best. The truth is fine as far as I'm concerned, but I'll leave that to you."
"Very well." They fell into another awkward silence until at last the eldest extended a meaty hand. Besh took it, and Pyav placed his other hand over Besh's, which looked tiny by comparison. "Gods keep you safe, Besh, and return you to us."
"Thank you, Eldest."
"I'll have the food brought to your home before dark."
"Not too much," Besh said. "I'll have only the one carry sack." He grinned. "And after all, I'm an old man."
Pyav grinned in return. "I'll try to keep that in mind." He released Besh's hand. " 'Til we meet again, Besh."
"Be well, Eldest. May the gods smile on you and your family and keep our village safe."
He turned away and started toward his home, wondering if this would be the last time he made this walk.
Cam was playing out front when he came within sight of the house. It was early still for Mihas and Annze to be back from their lessons.
"Grandfather!" the boy cried out, running to him. Besh found himself blinking back tears. Somehow he'd managed to convince himself that he wasn't needed, but what about his own needs? Perhaps it wasn't Elica who was going to kill him; perhaps it was the simple act of walking away from this house and this family.
"Where have you been, Grandfather?" the boy asked, as Besh lifted him into his arms. "Were you at Lici's house again?"
"I was," he said, making himself smil
e. "And then I went to speak with the eldest."
"Father helped me make a fishing stick. Do you wanna see?" "Yes, of course."
The boy smiled. "Maybe you can take me fishing later."
His eyes stung. "We'll have to see about that, all right?"
"All right."
He put the boy down and followed him to where the fishing pole rested in the grass. It was a simple pole, much like those Besh himself had made for Elica when she was a girl, and for Mihas when he was
Cam 's age.
"That's a fine fishing pole," he said.
"It's a fishing stick," Cam said, looking up at him.
"What's the difference?"
"Everybody has fishing poles. Mine's a fishing stick. That's what I call it."
Besh laughed.
Elica came out of the house and glanced in their direction. "I see you've found the fishing stick," she said, walking to the woodpile and gathering kindling for the cooking fire.
"Yes, I have." He looked down at Cam, who was holding the pole, pretending to fish. "I need to speak with your mother," he said, tousling the boy's dark hair. It was as soft as corn silk and as black as raven feathers. Will I ever touch this head again?
Cam nodded without even looking up. "All right."
Besh joined Elica by the woodpile and began gathering branches, all the while ignoring his daughter, who was staring at him.
"So?" she said at last. "You have something to say to me?"
"Inside," he said, turning away, climbing the stairs, and stepping into the house.
Elica was just behind him. "Is it the pestilence?" she asked, upon closing the door behind her. The house was dark with the door shut, and her eyes shone with the faint gleam from the single window opposite the hearth. "Everyone's talking about it in the marketplace. It is, isn't it?"
"No," Besh said. "It's not the pestilence. It's Lici."
She scowled at him. "Not this again."
"Listen to me. When Lici was a young girl the pestilence ravaged her village, killing her family and nearly everyone else she knew. She managed to survive and she went for help. She wound up finding an Y'Qatt village, and they refused to help her."
"Father, I don't-"