[Lyra 02] - Daughter of Witches

by Patricia C. Wrede - (ebook by Undead)

  When they finished trimming the saplings, Arelnath and Ranira carried them back to the campsite, where Mist waited. The three women used the cords and belts of the hammock to make a loose web between the two poles. They were just finishing when they heard a commotion coming from the other side of the bushes. Arelnath frowned and drew her sword. Before either of the others could say a word, the Cilhar woman had faded into the shadows among the trees.

  For a long moment, the noise grew closer without interruption. Then Ranira heard Arelnath’s laugh ringing through the bushes, and simultaneously the noise resolved into an unsuccessfully smothered squawking accompanied by a frustrated, “Shhhh! Stop it! Ow! Shhh!”

  The bushes parted, revealing Shandy holding tightly onto the feet of two large and very angry chickens, who did not seem at all interested in being carried upside down. Ranira burst into laughter, as much from relief as from amusement. “What are you doing with those?”

  “I was hungry,” Shandy said defensively. Mist had relieved him of the birds, but the boy was a sorry sight. His clothes were, if possible, more tattered than they had been when he left Drinn, and he was covered with scratches and angry red marks where the birds had pecked at him.

  “So are we all hungry,” Arelnath said, coming up behind him and sheathing her sword as she spoke. “But we are not carrying chickens. Where did you steal them?”

  “I went back up to one of the houses we passed last night,” Shandy said. “It wasn’t very far. There wasn’t anyone around, and then I saw those birds.” He looked disgustedly at the chickens Mist was holding.

  “So you took a couple of them and came back,” Arelnath finished. “Very simple. But why didn’t you hold them so their heads couldn’t reach you? It shouldn’t be hard to guess they would be unhappy about being snatched up. Didn’t you know they peck?”

  Shandy looked a little sheepish. “I was in a hurry,” he said. “And the farmers at the booths in Drinn never have any trouble. How was I supposed to know? And then, once I had them, I couldn’t let go.”

  Arelnath laughed again. “We are certainly indebted to you,” she said. “I have not had such a feast in days!”

  “I thought we had to leave quickly,” Ranira said. She was hungry, too, but she was still annoyed with Arelnath.

  “We will all be able to travel faster if we have eaten,” Arelnath said firmly. “And the birds will not take long to cook.” She looked toward Mist, then started forward, drawing her knife as she went.

  Cooking over an open fire without benefit of pots or utensils was a new experience for Ranira. At first she thought the hardest task was holding the fowl far enough over the flames to cook them without burning either her hands or the wooden stake that Arelnath had used to spit the birds. As the chickens began to cook, Ranira changed her mind. The most difficult part of cooking over an open fire was clearly going to be leaving the birds in the flame long enough for them to be thoroughly roasted. Though they were barely half-done, the aroma rising from the two fowl was already making Ranira’s mouth water in anticipation.

  At last Arelnath pronounced the first of the chickens completely cooked. It was quickly removed from the fire and divided; everyone began eating at once, in spite of burned fingers and tongues. Arelnath kept a watchful eye on the second bird, turning it from time to time as she ate. When it was finally finished, she removed it from the fire and tied it to a short branch, which she gave to Shandy to carry.

  Mist had been able to coax Jaren to swallow a little of the meat and some water, but by the time the others had finished eating, he had lapsed into a delirium. Mist’s face was tight with concern as, in silence, she helped Arelnath and Ranira lift the semiconscious bodyguard onto the litter. Mist insisted on taking one of the ends. “I am not drained physically,” she said when Arelnath objected. “It is only my spell-casting ability that is weak, not my arms.”

  Without further argument, they started walking. Travel by day was far more agreeable than stumbling along at night, Ranira decided. The wind had died, and though the air was cool, it was not acutely uncomfortable as long as she kept moving. Furthermore, it was much easier to see the various rocks, roots, and branches that littered the ground.

  The woods were larger than they had appeared the previous night. They walked for several hours before they finally reached the other side. Ranira took turns with Mist and Arelnath as a litter carrier. The wooden poles were much easier for her to handle than the unsupported netting had been, and she was able to carry either end of the litter without stumbling or slowing down the party. Even Shandy was able to take a turn, though he preferred carrying the extra chicken.

  A little before midday they broke through another screen of bushes into tilled fields. A little to the north, a green ribbon snaked through the neat squares, marking the course of the river Annylith. Here and there a square patch of green or gold marked the place where winter crops were growing, but most of the land was a furrowed, barren brown.

  At first, Arelnath insisted that they continue to walk across the plowed land, but their feet sank deep into the loosened soil, slowing progress to a crawl and leaving a clear trail across the fields behind them. Furthermore, it was difficult to hoist the litter over the occasional fence that blocked their way. At last Arelnath was persuaded to turn south along one of the narrow paths that ran by the edges of the fields. Eventually they reached one of the small, deeply rutted roads that led through the farms to Drinn, and they turned east once more.

  Homes and storage bins stood by the road in periodic clumps, and Arelnath worried aloud about their being observed. A little irritably, Ranira pointed out that they were much more likely to attract comment tramping across the open fields than walking down a well-traveled road, though she had to admit that anyone taking a close look at the group would find it more than a little unusual.

  In fact, the road did not seem particularly busy. Once, they did see a man pulling a small cart turn onto the road ahead of them, but he did not look back. Soon he had completely outdistanced them, and no other travelers appeared all day.

  At noon they stopped to eat. Ranira found a ditch with a little muddy water in the bottom, and they all drank from it. Arelnath carefully filled Shandy’s water bottle before she went back to help Jaren. The mercenary was weak, but not yet in the kind of pain that Ranira remembered seeing the other snake bite victim suffer. Still, she could not help eyeing him worriedly as they continued on their way.

  Late in the afternoon, Arelnath began studying the sides of the road for a place to stop. They were not fortunate enough to find another spot as sheltered as the forest, and the sun was nearly down before Arelnath finally settled upon a brush-filled hollow between two low hills. Wearily, Ranira and the others followed Arelnath off the road and into the bushes. Crawling while dragging the litter was difficult, but at last they reached the center of the hollow, where they collapsed gratefully.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Ranira was the first to rouse herself. She sat up, groaning in the semidarkness, and winced as her hair tangled in the twiggy branches of the bushes above her. She worked it free, then moved to shake Mist and Arelnath out of their stupor. Shandy was asleep, curled protectively around the second chicken.

  “Mist!” The woman stirred under Ranira’s insistent proddings and started to sit up. Ranira held her back. “Watch out for the branches,” she said.

  “Branches? Oh, I see.” Mist smiled ruefully. “I was more tired than I had thought.”

  “We are all tired,” Arelnath’s voice said behind Ranira. “Eat now. You will feel better afterward. Eat, and then cast your spells. There is not much time before dark. The Temple will attack as soon as they are able.”

  “It is not darkness that they wait for,” Mist replied. In spite of her apparent certainty, the healer started crawling toward Shandy and the cold, rather dusty chicken beside him. “The priests of Chaldon will not attack until Kaldarin rises.”

  “How do you know?” Ranira ask
ed nervously as Mist pulled the bird from Shandy’s grasp and began dividing it. The boy stirred, but did not waken.

  “The Temple waited until Kaldarin rose before they attacked us last night, though they felt my searching long before,” Mist replied. She handed Ranira a piece of chicken. “Kaldarin’s light strengthens Shadow-born, and the Temple of Chaldon is focusing all its power through their god. They will not strike until that power is at its peak.”

  Ranira lost interest in the conversation; the day’s walk had whetted her appetite to a razor sharpness, and she bit into the chicken hungrily. Mist did not attempt to reengage Ranira’s attention. She, too, was more concerned with eating, at least for the moment, and the meal was finished in silence.

  After she had eaten, Arelnath stretched herself on the ground beside Jaren, warming him with her own body heat. The brush-filled hollow was an almost perfect shelter against the night wind that was beginning to blow above them, but it was still far from warm. Ranira and Mist huddled together nearby, trying to find a way of being both comfortable and warm, while Mist tried to explain to Ranira what it was that her spells would do.

  The attempted explanation did not help Ranira much. She was too tired to concentrate well, and she was growing increasingly doubtful about the proposed attempt to “hide” Mist from the Temple priests and their spells. Finally, Mist abandoned the pretense of conversation, and they sat in silence as the darkness deepened.

  A dim pattern of shadows began to appear on the ground beneath the bushes. Mist stirred. “Elewyth has risen,” she said. “Kaldarin will soon be up as well. If you are still willing, Ranira, it is time for us to try.”

  “I am ready,” Ranira said, hoping that Mist would not see how uncertain she really was. Ranira could justify the healing spells, at least to herself. She had not, after all, ever asked Mist to remove the Temple’s binding, though she had certainly been glad to be free of the priest’s spells. But this was different. Willing participation in Mist’s witchcraft seemed improper and unsettled Ranira, even though she knew now that the Temple of Chaldon was well-versed in the magic it professed to despise. Yet she owed the healer a debt for the spells of healing and unbinding, and she was determined to repay it.

  Mist leaned closer, and her eyes searched Ranira’s face. Satisfied, the woman nodded. “You will not have to do anything except be still, but you may find it easier if you are comfortable. I will begin as soon as you are prepared.”

  Ranira shifted a little and looked up. “I am ready,” she said again. Would the woman never begin?

  For a moment more, Mist looked at her. “Close your eyes, and try to relax,” she said finally. “I think it will be easier for both of us.”

  Ranira obeyed. She heard Mist begin the chant. In her mind, she pictured the woman bending over the white stone as her voice wove a web of magic around them both. This time the chant was rhythmic but without distinguishable words. Ranira felt light-headed and lethargic at the same time, as if her mind were floating on a pool of thick honey. She felt something brush her face, light as a spider’s web, and the touch brushed her mind as well, sending a pang through her entire body.

  The spider-touch came again, but it was not really unpleasant, and Ranira was too relaxed to object. More of the gentle, invisible threads caressed her face, each finding its own anchor somewhere in her being. They fell like leaves around her mind, wrapping her in a cocoon of imaginary whispers.

  A tremor ran through the web, disturbing her. Without thinking, she opened her eyes. At first the scene she saw made no sense to her bemused mind; then she blinked, and everything snapped back into its proper place. Mist was slumped beside her, partially supported by one of the bushes, her eyes closed and a half-smile on her lips. A faint silver-blue glow hung like a fog about the stone that dangled openly from the chain around her neck. Ranira reached for it like a child reaching for a glitter-toy.

  A red flush stained the shadows on the ground, announcing Kaldarin’s rising. Suddenly the world exploded in pain. This time Ranira felt more than a heavy blow; the spell was like a sword cutting into her head, but the slicing stroke did not stop. She heard voices crying out around her, then realized that one of the screams was her own. But she was too caught up in pain to care.

  Somewhere under the flooding anguish she could feel Mist, writhing with her as the pain went on and on. ‘But she’s a witch and I’m not,’ Ranira thought hazily. ‘The Temple spell only works on witches, and I’m not a witch. Mist is a witch—and Arelnath—but not me!’ Pain made it difficult to think, but the habit of denial was old and strong. Ranira clutched at the familiar rejection. ‘I am not a witch,’ she insisted in her mind. ‘This should not be happening to me.’

  The pain began to abate. Ranira fought desperately and instinctively to keep the ground she had gained. Suddenly the attack shifted; the memory of her parent’s execution rose vividly before her, filling her with a different kind of pain and distracting her from her efforts. For a moment, she heard their cries once again, smelled the sickening odor of burning flesh, and felt the heat of the flames. Then she thrust the scene away, trying to force it out of her mind before it reached the moment that had haunted her dreams for so long.

  She almost succeeded—almost, but not quite. As if she stood once more in the courtyard of the Temple, she saw two figures clearly through a sudden gap in the smoke and flames; she reached out for them. A wave of fear and agony and protest swept out from them and engulfed her, then ceased in a shock that was more painful than the emotional storm that had preceded it. She screamed as she felt again the deaths of the two people she had loved and trusted. With all her strength, she threw the memory out of her mind, pushing it blindly toward whatever was waiting outside.

  Like a distant echo, Ranira felt a cry of anger and hurt that ended abruptly. With that, the pain, both emotional and physical, ceased. Uncertain whether the memory she had just relived was a product of the Temple attack or an unpleasant reaction of her own mind, she sagged against the base of a bush, ignoring the scratches that the twigs were inflicting. At least it was over. Her head hurt, she was drenched in sweat, and she felt exhausted. It was a moment before she realized that someone was speaking to her.

  “What’s the matter? Why was everyone yelling? Renra, are you all right?” Shandy was standing next to her, and she was surprised to see that the boy was in tears.

  “I’m all right now,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. Her voice creaked as if it had not been used in days. She decided to try again. “It is over now, Shandy. But I am hungry again. Is there anything left to eat?”

  Shandy nodded eagerly and scuttled off. Ranira sighed and put up a hand to straighten her veil. Only then did she realize that she was holding something. Puzzled, she lowered her hand without touching the veil, and opened it.

  A dim glow hung like mist or fog around the white stone. She dropped it as if it were a Temple snake, then scrabbled desperately after the stone, afraid she would lose it in the leaves. She retrieved it easily and held it gingerly for a moment, wondering how Mist’s gem had come into her hand. Automatically she turned to look for Mist.

  The healer was lying unconscious beside her, one arm outstretched as if in protest. A thread of blood traced a line from the corner of her mouth to the ground. Ranira would have believed the woman dead if she had not seen the folds of Mist’s robe slowly shifting in the moonlight as her breath came and went.

  She stretched a hand toward Mist, then paused. The last time the Temple attacked, Mist had gone into some sort of trance, and Arelnath had not tried to rouse her. This did not look much like a voluntary trance, but Ranira hesitated. Perhaps Mist should be left alone now as well. Still undecided, she turned to look for Arelnath.

  The Cilhar woman was sprawled across Jaren, but even as Ranira watched, she began to stir. Ranira was starting to crawl toward her, when Shandy reappeared. “There’s a little of the last chicken, and I found a bush with redberries on it. What are you doing with that thing?” the
boy said, frowning disapprovingly at the dimly glowing white stone.

  “Waiting for Mist to wake up,” Ranira said. “Stay here a moment, Shandy. I want to talk to Arelnath.”

  “That thing’s magic,” Shandy said, ignoring Ranira’s instructions. “You should throw it away. Magic is dangerous.”

  “Magic is dangerous? Oh, Shandy,” she laughed—a little hysterically.

  “What is all the amusement about?” a weak voice said from behind Shandy. “I could use a laugh right now. Oh, my head.”

  Ranira stopped laughing and pushed past Shandy to where Arelnath was shakily sitting up. “On second thought, don’t tell me,” the woman said as Ranira reached her. “If I laugh now, my head will probably explode. You seem to have come through all right,” she observed a little enviously. “How is Mist?”

  “She is alive, but she is unconscious again,” Ranira replied. “I didn’t want to try waking her, because I wasn’t sure whether she was doing it on purpose or not.”

  “On purpose?” Arelnath shook her head, then winced. “Oh, you mean the life-trance. Just a moment, and I will see.” She started to crawl in Mist’s direction. Ranira was appalled to see how weak she seemed. Ranira slid around to touch Shandy’s shoulder as Arelnath bent over Mist.

  “Were there more of the redberries?” Ranira asked in a low voice.

  “Lots,” Shandy said. He looked over at Arelnath, who was too preoccupied with her companion to notice. “You sure you want me to get more for them?”

  “Shandy!” Ranira was shocked. “They have helped us over and over. We never would have gotten out of Drinn if Mist hadn’t healed my leg and then held the snakes off while Jaren and Arelnath towed us through the river.”

  “And Jaren got bit by a snake, and Mist was too sick to walk afterward,” Shandy said. “They’re witches, and Chaldon doesn’t like witches.”