Witch: The Moondark Saga, Books 7-9 (The Moondark Saga Boxed Sets Book 3)

by Don McQuinn

  Tears of Jade sniffed, disinterested.

  Lorso cleared the harbor while Domel was still walking back to the Skan fort. Steering the boat down the coastline, Lorso watched the older man and smiled, despite a persistent dizziness. He was sure Tears of Jade’s smoke had something to do with it. She obviously used it to smother his anger. She was very wise.

  Both Domel and Tears of Jade thought themselves very wise, skilled in the ways of intrigue. What they’d forgotten was the power of love. Lorso laughed aloud, the sound catching in the sail, riding the wind with him. Two days, Tears of Jade said. That meant three nights.

  The sun warmed the wooden boat, bathed him in a luxurious ease he hadn’t known since he fished these waters as a child. Humming, he set a course for a favorite spot, a sheer cliff that plunged into the sea. Where a familiar stunted fir jutted from a foothold in the vertical stone face, he secured his bowline.

  Rummaging in his gear, he retrieved line and yarn-wrapped lures. Bright yellow material winked and wiggled as it sank out of sight into the blue-green depths. A small fish darted out of a cleft, struck at the lure. The metal lump bounced sideways. The fish lurched back to cover to ponder life’s treacherous deceptions. As soon as the line went slack, Lorso hauled in until his bait was just off the bottom. He jerked on the line, knowing that below, out of sight, the lure leaped and fell back tantalizingly like a crippled fingerling trying to reach shallower waters.

  Something struck, hard. Snubbing the line, Lorso let it play out for a while, then reclaimed it hand over hand. Soon he had a thrashing quillback on board, its mottled black and brown scales like a fine working of bronze and iron.

  A nearby beach afforded an excellent pullout. Lorso idled away the afternoon. It was dark when he finished eating. Picking his teeth with a bone, he decided it was time to return.

  He sailed in the dark with the surety of generations of experience. Each wave told him of a particular shore formation. When the small boat yawed, he knew exactly what underwater current or surge created the movement, how deep the water was, and how long until he cleared that anomaly and moved into the next. In addition, he had the stars and the unmistakable profile of the mountains.

  He rigorously avoided looking at the mountain that formed Sosolassa’s beak. Telling himself he was challenging Tears of Jade’s orders, not the desires of the god, he pressed on. The rumble of distant surf took on the mutter of anger, and he prayed for guidance.

  For a man of Lorso’s skills, landing the craft and creeping to Jaleeta’s cabin undiscovered was no more trouble than a walk in the starlit dark.

  She waited for him, a beckoning whiteness against the cloaking night. As he stepped across the threshold he was struck by that perfect image of their love; shadowy, secret forms, hidden from all eyes, hardly visible to their own. Theirs was a romance of darkness, of passion that allowed no visible flame, yet melted away everything. Their time was measured in star tracks, their conversation virtually limited to the incoherencies of ardor.

  Tonight, however, Jaleeta’s outstretched hands flattened against his chest, held him away. She sobbed. Lorso stepped back so quickly his shorter leg betrayed him and he staggered clumsily. Scrambling forward, he came to where she sat on the edge of the bed. He clutched at her knees, and once again she held him at arm’s reach. “How could you do it? I thought you loved me. You said you did. You lied!”

  “Lied? Me? About what? When? Of course I love you.”

  “You say it now. To get what you want. It was the same today with Tears of Jade, wasn’t it? All you care about is yourself.”

  Thoroughly baffled, Lorso settled back on his haunches. “What did she say?”

  “She said you won’t be Slavetaker anymore.”

  “So we can be together, Jaleeta. So I won’t have to go to the Mother River. So I can stay here with you through stormtime.”

  “And what happens to me? When you ask Tears of Jade for me, will the Navigators let me go to a warrior? Even a sharker captain? Tears of Jade says the Navigators decide who gets a bed slave, so long as the man pays the slave price. No captain has enough furs, jade, or gold for me. Slavetaker could own me for nothing, because Slavetaker meets with the Navigators. But you don’t want me.”

  “I do. You know I do.” He pressed forward. She resisted, making a hushed squeal, rolling off the other side of the bed. She said, “You want me. Slavetaker doesn’t. I love only Slavetaker.”

  Fury, power, pride surged in Lorso like a northwind wave, crashed against his self-image. He rose, prepared to roar. He choked back the sound, compressed all his need into a whisper so urgent it raked his throat. “Whatever you want, whatever you need, I am that man. Whoever says different, whoever says he would touch you, dies. If Slavetaker is who you love, come to me.”

  The softly blurred whiteness of her stirred. Leather bed straps sighed. As did Jaleeta, taking him in her arms.

  Chapter 19

  The Nion captain stepped ashore from the small rowboat with the wary step and tense, craning pauses of a buck deer coming to water. It was apt behavior. There were predators hidden from him at every quarter, including Skan swimmers silently maneuvering to cut off the rowboat’s escape seaward.

  Tears of Jade and Domel waited on the land side of a small fire. Domel sat on a log close to the flames, bareheaded, hands ostentatiously clasping his bent knees. Tears of Jade was farther back, on a proper chair. She wore a black dress of shiny material that shimmered in the firelight. Her wide-brimmed, veiled hat shielded her face, while her hands remained hidden in the folds of her sleeves.

  The Nion was dressed for combat. His outer layer was boiled leather. Glossy artwork decorated every part of it. On the chest was painted a ferocious demon, one clawed hand holding a screaming warrior while the other hand raised another warrior to the monster’s fanged maw. Hidden on the reverse of the leatherwork were intricately sewn bamboo stalks. The third, final layer was thin steel plates. It was highly protective armor, but heavy enough to slow a man. Two swords, one long and one short, hung in ornate scabbards on the captain’s left side. His helmet was gilded steel, artfully formed in the likeness of a crowing cock. The outstretched wings were genuine feathers. The tail, made of steel simulating feathers, was attached to the main element by steel rings; it trailed protectively over the captain’s neck.

  Physically, the Nion captain wasn’t much taller than Tears of Jade. He was far broader, however, with a thick, barrel chest and sturdy limbs. The legs were exaggerated by leather greaves. Exposed forearms showed compact, solid muscle. Dark-browed, skin burnished to a red-gold by the flames, he continuously looked all around with dark, curiously shaped eyes. Right hand across his body, the captain gripped his long sword.

  From behind the veil, Tears of Jade taunted the Nion. “So nervous, Hada? An ancient spirit woman and a man so old he needs help to lace his boots; we frighten you?” In the silent darkness, her rustling, insinuating voice had an earthy quality, as if it issued from the forest itself.

  Hada smiled pleasantly. His hand retained its grip on his sword. “It’s possible things lurk in the woods that even a spirit woman doesn’t know about. I prefer caution to sorrow.”

  “Always the wisest course.” Domel nodded sagely. “The plan satisfies you?”

  Hada gestured with his free hand, a flip of dismissal. “What could be easier? I claim I found the girl adrift, escaping from you. I deliver her to Ola. She gives me a token proving I provided safe passage, I return that here to you, and you give me the jade we agreed on.”

  “And we return the son you leave with me as proof of good faith.” Tears of Jade imitated Hada’s gesture, the clawlike hand making a slow, almost mocking appearance, then disappearing again.

  For the first time, Hada’s accent intruded heavily on his speech. Tightly, he replied, “My son waits in the boat. You have the girl?”

  Domel whistled. Behind Tears of Jade, bushes rustled. Hada stiffened. Jaleeta and her mother appeared, the older woman in leather legging
s, skirt, and blouse. Jaleeta wore a robe similar to Tears of Jade’s. There was no hat, but a hood hid her face. Hada relaxed and smiled. “There’s no need to cover her so completely. My men obey. She’ll be in no danger.”

  Tears of Jade bent forward, raised an admonishing finger. The flames of the fire suddenly collapsed to fitful, struggling wisps. The coals hissed agonized fury, the suspiration of a dying reptile. All but Tears of Jade recoiled with startled cries.

  Slowly, the ancient woman forced herself erect. Domel, recovering some of his poise, offered a hand. She irritably pushed it aside. As she rose, so the fire regained its strength. The diminutive figure appeared to lift the flames, blend with them. By the time she pulled aside her veil to glare at Hada, the fire was as it had been. “The Nion care nothing for our god, but I warn you, harm to her is harm to Sosolassa. His is the power of the sea. He quelled the fire so that you may know his presence.” She paused momentarily, then, “The exchange, Hada. I would see the boy.”

  Hada looked to Domel. The Skan said, “We waste time. You need the tide to be clear of here by dawn. We have many hours of travel to the sunset side of the island.”

  When Hada was on his way to the rowboat, Tears of Jade whispered to Domel. Her gaze remained fixed straight ahead, her lips barely moved. “My orders need no approval from any man, Domel, nor do I give reasons to scum like Hada. Remember who I am.”

  Easily, Domel said, “No one ever forgets you. You must remember that Hada isn’t Skan. He doesn’t appreciate your—qualities.” His covert smile was quietly smug.

  Hada returned with a bareheaded Nion boy of perhaps fourteen, his hair cut in an uncompromising bowl all the way around at the level of the tops of his ears. Facially, he closely resembled his father. He was a shade taller than the adult simply dressed in a pullover blouse and trousers of coarse twill. His boots were of fine, glowing leather; their tops were covered by heavy leggings. The sword and scabbard at his side were plain. He tried with all his might to look at Tears of Jade without showing fear. When the small woman advanced on him through the fire, rather than around it, he quailed. Had he the presence of mind to look at the adult males present, he would have noted that they, too, were openmouthed in shock. Jaleeta and her mother clung to each other.

  Smoke curled from the neck of Tears of Jade’s robe. More swirled from under the ground-sweeping skirt. She circled the two Nions. The boy shivered violently. Deep in his chest, Hada rumbled a stern, wordless warning.

  Walking back through the fire, Tears of Jade carefully avoided the fern frond on the ground in front of her seat. It marked the sealskin bladder hiding under its thin layer of soft earth. Thinking of Domel’s expression and his frightened yelp, Tears of Jade bit her lip to resist laughter. It was always amazing how a small trick could have such great effect. A bladder full of water and a short length of seal intestine leading underground from the bladder to the center of the fire. A step on the container forced the water out into the base of the flames, temporarily quenching them. And wearing a soaked undergarment to protect one while walking through the fire was uncomfortable, but hardly a major miracle.

  Such simple things. And grown men squealed and thought deeply and shakenly of gods and their vengeance. Even poor Domel, who was sure most of what Tears of Jade did was purest trickery, dared not disbelieve.

  Tears of Jade glanced sidelong at the sacred peak. Ideas for magic were Sosolassa’s gift, sent to her that she might glorify his godliness. Humor for Sosolassa. She laughed with the god. Not by herself. Never.

  Tears of Jade faced Hada. “A handsome youth. A credit to his father. And mother.” The latter remark brought a minute change to Hada’s expression. The old woman’s lined face seemed to quiver, as at a private joke. She went on. “What is his name?”

  Hada smiled, condescending. Accent even more pronounced, he said, “You could not speak correctly. In your words, Axe.” To make himself clear, Hada made a chopping gesture.

  Tears of Jade said, “I will step aside to say good-bye to the girl. You may do the same with Axe, if you wish.”

  “No need.” Hada’s back stiffened, his face grew hard. “Nion sons understand duty to father.”

  “I’m sure.” Tears of Jade took the silent Jaleeta’s elbow, led her to the farthest edge of the firelight. “Cast doubts or fear from your mind. I’ve told you all we know of those who surround Gan Moondark and the witch, Sylah. Do as I have ordered. You will be richer and more powerful than your small dreams can envision. Betray me, and I shall know it. You understand what I will do?”

  “Yes. I know.” It was a sigh, a shudder.

  Tears of Jade put a hand on Jaleeta’s sleeve. Between ball of thumb and the knuckle of a forefinger, the older woman gathered a fold of material and the flesh under it. Tears of Jade pinched and twisted. Jaleeta gasped, shrank away. The grip tightened, generated a low moan of pain. “What do you mean, ‘yes’ you fool? You can never know what I will do, how I will act. You obey. You do not ‘know.’”

  “Yes. Yes, I kn—I understand. I’ll do exactly as you want. I swear.”

  “Certainly you do. Because your mother is here. She’ll live well, so long as you succeed.” Tears of Jade released the pressure on Jaleeta’s flesh. Taking the arm in her free hand, she stroked the affected area. “Poor darling.” The sere voice tried to croon. Instead, the solicitous words had the nervous whisper of wasp wings. “Sometimes I think you hope to trick me one day. Everyone does. Sooner or later. They come to me with their hopes, their dreams, enmities, all carefully disguised as truth. They think I’ll help them. I use them. All of them. As Sosolassa wishes. Now I use you. The god orders. He promises reward. Obey, my beautiful Jaleeta. Obey and thrive. Come. The adventure begins now.”

  * * *

  Three days later, under a flat, gray sky that pressed against the earth with dank persistence, the squat Nion trader dropped her sails and wallowed to a stop inside the stone jetty of Ola. Crewmen threw lines to waiting boats, where oarsmen bent to the task of hauling her alongside the wooden dock. As soon as a wooden brow was properly secured, Hada hurried ashore with Jaleeta in tow. In daylight the young woman’s robe showed the intricate geometrical patterns of Skan decorative art, red-black on black. Something like a spasm of hatred raced from man to man throughout the entire port area. Every step the couple took toward land was followed by dozens of pairs of eyes. The everyday shouts and sounds of ship commerce dwindled to no more than the sigh of wind in rigging and rub of wood on wood.

  Long before Hada and Jaleeta passed through Ola’s southern gate, Gan was on the wall. Neela was at his side, young Coldar wide-eyed on her hip. To his right, Sylah, Bernhard, Carter, and Anspach also watched the confident, strutting Nion approach across the greensward between the castle and the city. Several paces behind him, Jaleeta’s bowed, hooded figure hurried to keep up.

  Carter said, “That’s a woman with him; I’m sure of it. She’s practically running. Inconsiderate fool.”

  Baiting her, Gan said, “Or a boy. In that robe, it’s impossible…”

  “You know better.” Carter’s grin flashed on and off, quick enough to be missed by the inattentive. Gan thought to himself how that smile typified the woman. A mind as sharp and cutting as a shortknife, the edge of her temper never far from the open. Still, she’d taken to the ways of Church; the young Chosens claimed her total being. Around them, she was loving-kindness personified. Gan couldn’t watch her in the company of her wards without thinking of a snow leopard with its kittens. Carter exhibited the same graceful, delicate care and love. Gan also knew how that patience flared into raw ferocity at the slightest suggestion of danger to her young.

  Yet he could never forget that Carter had broken under stress once. It was a disconcerting shadow.

  Gan shook himself free of thoughts of Carter. Neela, sensitive to her husband as always, looked up at him, a questioning frown on her brow. Gan said, “The Nion’s almost here.”

  Neela grabbed his arm as he moved to leave. He tu
rned with a look of vast surprise. She laughed at him. “You’re not leaving us here while you talk to this mysterious Nion and his Skan companion?”

  Gan swept them all in a continuing look of total incomprehension. “You’re curious? Unimaginable. I never suspected it. Of course you can come with me. Remember, though; proper procedure. Nions conduct no business with women present. They think it’s bad luck. I’ve often wondered—”

  Sylah interrupted. “Wonder what your life will be like if you say one more word, Gan Moondark. Just one.”

  He grinned. “You’ll be hidden behind the curtain that divides the room.” He pointed at Coldar. “Not him, though. You’ll never keep him quiet.” Approaching two, Coldar cared nothing for the sense of his father’s words. The attention was satisfactorily stimulating. He whooped and grabbed at the accusing finger. Father and son exchanged conspiratorial chuckles. Gan said, “You see?”

  Neela huffed mock irritation. “Ladies, you go ahead. I’ll find someone to watch this little disturbance, then join you.”

  Instead, as a group, the Church women surrounded her, leaving with her. They sneered in unison passing Gan.

  Alone, the light amusement slipped from his face. He called to Shara and Cho, setting off down the stairs.

  Whatever the woman with the Nion represented, it was hard to imagine any good falling from it. The Skan would send no woman to conduct official business. The Nion-Skan relationship was always treacherous. Ruefully, Gan considered that his own relations with the Nions were delicate. They were an aggressive group, eager to defend anything they considered theirs. Worse, they exercised little discrimination in deciding what was theirs to defend.