by Dawn Cook
Alissa slumped to the sand. It was done. There was no need to do more.
The glow surrounding her tracings went out.
33
From behind Yar-Taw came simultaneous cries of surprise and pain as Alissa’s mental scream tore through his mind. Clutching his head, he lurched to catch himself against the table. His breath came in a haggard gasp, and then the unheard shriek was gone. “Wolves,” he panted.
The harsh afternoon light stabbed deep behind his eyes to set up a soft throb in time with his pulse. “What the ashes was that?” Swallowing the last of his vertigo, he pulled his head up. Slowly the light became tolerable. He squinted to find Keribdis at the center of her impromptu stage, staring at her empty palm in shock. His stomach twisted in horror. Keribdis had torn Alissa’s source from her while the girl was alive and watching.
Then Yar-Taw went slack in awe and understanding. The mental shout. Alissa had used her source before Keribdis could claim it. The child had used her entire source in one final defiant gesture. “Useless,” Alissa had cried. A last show of rebellion.
Heart pounding, he spun to Alissa. His chest clenched in helplessness as he found her slumped in the plainsman’s arms as they sprawled on the sand. She had to be dead. No Master could live without a source. Strell desperately rocked her, whispering. How had he gotten to her so fast? he wondered. Everyone else was still picking themselves off the sand. Then Yar-Taw remembered that Strell was a commoner and hadn’t felt her mental shout.
Close beside them was Lodesh. His hair was in disarray, and he carried an unreal mix of grief and helpless anger. His lip was bleeding. Yar-Taw glanced at Strell, wondering what had happened in the moments he had been incapacitated.
There were several tweaks on his awareness, and his tracings began to resonate in response to others setting up healing wards. He decided to live with the bruise across his tracings until it healed on its own. He might have a more dire need for the ward later.
“Stay with me, Alissa,” Strell whispered, and Yar-Taw started. She was still alive?
Tensing with a righteous anger, Yar-Taw turned to Keribdis. She was stock-still in bewilderment. “What?” she stammered, staring at her empty hand. “What happened to it?”
“She used it before you could,” he said, surprised to find his voice hoarse. “Damn you, Keribdis.” For the first time in his life, Yar-Taw saw Keribdis struggle for understanding.
“But—I was going to give it back,” she said, dazed.
“When?” He straightened, his motion slow as he felt the weight of two decades of folly fall upon him. He had waited too long, and now it was too late. “After she groveled at your feet for it?” He glanced at Alissa, his breath quickening. “After you hammered her into submission? After you broke her down to what you have made the rest of us? You ripped it from her soul!”
Keribdis shook her head as if clearing her thoughts. “I was teaching her humility.”
Yar-Taw laughed. It was a bitter, mirthless sound. “You taught her the power of self-sacrifice. You taught her you were vengeful and cruel, moved by jealousy. And you taught us the same.”
Keribdis stiffened, jolted back to her usual self. “I just saved everyone’s life.”
“You killed us,” he said with a false calm as he took a step closer. “Alissa was the Hold’s transeunt. She was our future.”
“Silla is our future.” Keribdis haughtily adjusted her sash, her face twisting with a savage satisfaction as she looked at Alissa slumped against the plainsman. “That”—she pointed—“was an accident. I can bring six like her up in two centuries. And do a Wolf-torn better job of it than Talo-Toecan did.”
Jaw clenching, Yar-Taw took another step forward. “We don’t have two hundred years,” he said tightly. Beso-Ran slipped behind him, giving him strength.
“She’s still alive,” Strell said raggedly, and Yar-Taw heard by the pain in his voice how deep their unfortunate bond went.
Keribdis pursed her lips, and Yar-Taw’s frustrations swelled. “I think giving you the privilege of teaching the next transeunt was a mistake,” he said, gratified when Keribdis’s face went slack in surprise. “I think if you hadn’t done this, you would have crushed her slowly so we couldn’t tell,” he added, his jaw aching from clenching it. “I think you were afraid of her.”
Despite his efforts, his words got louder. “I think you wanted a transeunt that you controlled,” Yar-Taw said, coming nose to nose with her, not caring that she was white with rage. “And when Talo-Toecan,” he shouted, “nurtured one better than you could have, making her into someone you couldn’t manipulate, you killed her!”
“She’s not dead!” Strell cried desperately. “Someone tell me how to help her!”
Yar-Taw said nothing, focused on Keribdis. That Alissa was still alive was a miracle, but no Master could live without a source. And to tell the plainsman that was beyond him right now.
Keribdis’s mouth snapped shut. “She was insane. You saw her! You all saw her!” she cried as she took a step back. “She still had her feral consciousness! Are you blind?”
“Not anymore.” Yar-Taw tugged his sash straight as he felt the support of the Masters coming to stand behind him.
Keribdis sputtered in disbelief. “She bruised everyone’s tracings while I was holding her strength in my hand!” she raged. “You would not be alive had she held her source at the time!”
“None of us would be hurt if you hadn’t ripped her source away and dangled it before her like her still-beating heart.” Yar-Taw heard Strell’s horror-filled intake of breath as the man finally understood what had happened. “She could have done far worse. She didn’t.” Yar-Taw took another step forward. “You are the beast, Keribdis. You tore Alissa’s source from her soul. The punishment for such a crime has been written.”
For a heartbeat, Keribdis stood with incredulity in her eyes. “She was going to destroy us all!” she exclaimed. “Didn’t you see?”
Yar-Taw steadied himself, forcing his feeling of illness away. He could feel the rest of the conclave behind him, their agreement brushing the edges of his bruised tracings. His breath was slow and even. “The punishment for taking another’s source while alive is to be made feral, Keribdis,” he said evenly.
Keribdis blinked in disbelief. “You wouldn’t,” she breathed. “You can’t. I was right for what I did, and you know it. You’re cowards!” she said, pointing. “Afraid to make the choices that must be made. She was a mistake! She never should have been allowed to be engendered!”
“She was a Master, Keribdis. And you took her source.”
“She was a foothills half-breed that Talo-Toecan dressed up and played pretend with!”
Strell took a ragged breath, and Yar-Taw tensed. “She was—a Master,” Yar-Taw said, hammering at the word. “One you couldn’t control, and that’s why you killed her.” His eyes went hard. “You’re tried and sentenced, Keribdis.”
Keribdis went white. For an instant, Yar-Taw saw fear. She lost her arrogant stance as he felt a collective nod from the Masters behind him. Then she pulled herself straight, her mouth curving upward into a mirthless smile. “Who will do it?” she said, her voice mocking. “The law says I must lose my sentience. Will you take it, Yar-Taw? Beso-Ran? Neugwin?” The proud lines returned to her face as her gaze went over Yar-Taw’s shoulder and among the Masters.
Yar-Taw stiffened. She was right. There were so few of them now, even her crimes could be overlooked to keep them one step further from extinction.
“No,” she said caustically. “None of you will because you know I’m right. I saved you, and you’re too cowardly to admit it. She was a blasphemy. An abomination. A putrid caricature of what a Master is.”
There was a gasp from Strell, and Yar-Taw’s breath came quick in anger. “Leave, Keribdis,” Yar-Taw said. “Leave, and don’t come back to the island.”
Keribdis laughed. “You know I’m right, or you’d take my sentience right now.”
“It’s cal
led mercy, Keribdis. Leave.”
“It’s cowardice!” she asserted. “And you can’t make me leave. Not any of you alone. Not all of you combined. But I’ll be damned before I stay with such ungrateful, shortsighted fools.” She turned her back to them and walked away, confident they wouldn’t harm her. Yar-Taw’s mouth twisted, knowing her trust was well-founded.
Once more in the sun, she gave them a disparaging look ripe with disgust. Her hair glinted, and she pulled her ribbons from it as if divorcing herself of an unwanted burden. “Go back to Talo-Toecan with your tails tucked,” she said caustically as the last fluttered from her. “And when he calls you fools, come back, and I’ll accept your apologies.”
Yar-Taw spun at a blur of motion. It was Strell.
Lodesh was quick behind the man. “Stay out of it!” the Keeper shouted, lunging to bring Strell to a halt two man lengths before reaching Keribdis.
Strell rose with a frightening determination. Lodesh yanked his arm, throwing him spinning back into the crowd. Keribdis watched, unafraid and uncaring. Lodesh dabbed at his lip again. “I will not stand before Alissa and try to explain why I’m alive and you’re dead!” he shouted at the incensed plainsman. “Stay where you belong. You can’t do anything!”
Frustration and rage, quickly followed by hopelessness and grief, passed over Strell. Shaking off the hands supporting him, he stood protectively over Alissa. His hands were clenched to make his neck and arms like cords. “They’re letting her get away with it,” he said bitterly, and Yar-Taw felt a twinge of guilt. “That—animal—hurt Alissa. She’s dying, and your precious Masters are going to let her go. Without even an acknowledgment she did wrong!”
Keribdis made a patronizing sound and shifted. Golden and shimmering in the noon sun, she leapt into the air. The backwash from her wings threw dry sand into the air. When Yar-Taw dropped his arm from his face, she was gone. He felt ill. She had been right, though. They were cowards: cowards for not following through with her sentence, cowards for allowing her to tell them what to think for so long, cowards for not stopping her before she did—did this.
Sick at heart, he turned to face the aftermath of Keribdis’s jealousy.
34
“Help me,” Strell said. His face was so grief-stricken that Yar-Taw cringed. “Help me get her somewhere,” Strell insisted.
“Strell,” Yar-Taw said. “I’m sorry. A Master can’t live without a source.”
Crouching, Strell pulled Alissa into a sitting position to better grip her. “She isn’t dead yet,” he snarled. “Damn you all to the Navigator’s hell.”
“Piper . . .” Lodesh warned, glancing uneasily at Yar-Taw.
“Shut your mouth, Lodesh,” the plainsman said, struggling to pick her up. “You may be frightened of them, but I’m not.”
Yar-Taw bowed his head. There was nothing he could do. He stood unmoving as the rest of the Masters began to slip away. Silla was already gone, probably frightened by Keribdis’s bloodlust. Alissa should have never come. She should have let them stay lost. She should have let them languish into nothing.
“Someone needs to find Silla,” Yar-Taw said, catching Beso-Ran’s thick arm as he passed. “I can’t sense her. She’s using that new block of hers.”
The heavyset Master nodded. He glanced at Alissa before walking away.
“Connen-Neute?” Neugwin called. “Connen-Neute? Are you all right?”
Yar-Taw turned, alerted by the worry in the woman’s voice. Her long-fingered hand gently shook Connen-Neute’s shoulder. The young Master was sitting where he had been during the trial, Silla’s cushion empty beside him. His face was slack in concentration. His eyes were closed. His breathing was slow and deep. Clearly he was in a deep trance. Then Connen-Neute’s head tilted as Strell lurched to his feet and Alissa’s head thumped against his chest.
Yar-Taw’s face went cold in understanding. “Stop!” he shouted, causing Neugwin to straighten in alarm. “Don’t touch him. Strell, don’t move.”
The Masters within earshot hesitated, looking back. He strode to Alissa, peering at her cradled in Strell’s arms. Instead of showing pain, her face was as blank as Connen-Neute’s. “They’re linked,” he breathed.
Neugwin gasped. “How?” she stammered, going pale.
“Connen-Neute said they’ve pickabacked,” Yar-Taw said. “He snatched her consciousness up and is keeping her alive.” Yar-Taw reached for Alissa.
“Stay away!” Strell exclaimed as he backed up. “You were going to let her die.”
The plainsman’s face was angry and desperate, and Yar-Taw held his hands up in placation. “Don’t—don’t move!” he said. “Please. Connen-Neute has pickabacked her consciousness on his. He’s keeping her alive, breathing for her, keeping her heart beating, but if you move her too far away, it might kill them both.
“Please!” Yar-Taw cried as Strell took a mistrustful step backward. “If she dies, Connen-Neute dies with her. He might not be able to separate himself from her.”
Yar-Taw felt ill, proud of Connen-Neute but cursing the young Master’s sense of responsibility at the same time. Around him, the conclave dispersed, their faces and motions subdued with understanding at the double tragedy. Neugwin stood helpless over Connen-Neute. Tears slipped down her cheeks, unremarked upon and without shame. Wyden stood beside her. It was only a matter of time. They would lose two children today, not just one.
“Then, she’s—she’s all right?” Strell asked, sounding as if he was afraid to hope.
Yar-Taw shook his head. “How long can this last?” he said, gesturing weakly as Wyden helped Neugwin to a bench. “An hour? Until sunset? A day? Connen-Neute is strong, but when he fails, they’ll both die.”
Neugwin huddled into herself. Wyden sat beside her and rocked the adult Master like a child. “He looked so like his mother,” Connen-Neute’s aunt whispered, and Yar-Taw felt a stir of anger as he realized they were all to blame for this.
Strell closed his eyes. He buried his face in Alissa’s tumbled hair. When he looked up, Yar-Taw was astonished at the determination, not despair, in his eyes. “Someone put a cushion in front of Connen-Neute,” Strell rasped, and Lodesh’s eyes widened at the tone of command in the plainsman’s voice. “I want to set her down in front of Connen-Neute,” he said louder, frowning until Lodesh put a pillow on the ground.
“Strell . . .” Yar-Taw protested.
“You were going to let her die on the sand,” he said bitterly. “You will do what I want. If Connen-Neute is keeping her alive, it might be easier for him if she is sitting up as he is.” He awkwardly knelt with Alissa. She slid to the ground, half supported by the plainsman. “Forgive me if I’m wrong, Alissa,” Yar-Taw heard him whisper as he propped her awkwardly up like a doll. Strell’s breath came in a hopeful gasp as her posture straightened. “It’s working!” he whispered as she took on a more normal appearance.
Neugwin pulled her head up. Her tear-streaked face was utterly blank. Strell put Alissa’s hands in her lap, mimicking Connen-Neute. Her fingers curved to match Connen-Neute’s, broken though they were. Carefully, Strell pulled his supporting hand away. Alissa sat firm.
Face tight with anger, Strell rose. “I want that tent moved,” he said belligerently.
“I’ll do it,” Neugwin said abruptly.
“I’ll help you,” Wyden added.
Strell’s anger vanished. The heartfelt look he gave the two women overflowed with gratitude. Used to such quick transitions of emotion, Yar-Taw nevertheless grunted in surprise. Neugwin rose with Wyden’s support. The two passed in front of Yar-Taw. Neugwin’s hand reached out, but she didn’t touch Connen-Neute.
Yar-Taw blinked as he found Strell staring at him with hot accusation. The man was holding one of the chairs for support. The fatigue of the last few days clearly pulled at Strell, gnawing at him like a cur. “Put a preservation ward on Talon,” Strell said bluntly.
“Strell . . .”
The plainsman’s eyes narrowed. “I have sat and done
nothing,” he said. His hand was shaking as he held it out to keep Lodesh from saying anything. “I’m done with it. Every time I let one of you Masters near my Alissa—”
“Your Alissa?” Yar-Taw questioned.
“My Alissa,” Strell said, his voice hard. “Every time you tell me what’s best for her, she ends up unconscious, burned, under a ward, or nearly dead. I’m tired of saving her. Now, listen. And do what I say.” Pulling himself upright, Strell poked a finger into Yar-Taw’s chest. “And before you get uppity with me, I’m not a student. I’m not a Keeper. I’m Strell Hirdune, the Hold’s piper with a room in the tower. You will treat me with the respect that comes with that.”
Yar-Taw’s jaw dropped. He could kill the man with a thought. How could Strell presume he was an equal? His gaze darted to Lodesh. The Keeper stood with shock and alarm on his face. “Piper of the Hold?” Yar-Taw questioned.
“Piper of the Hold,” the agitated plainsman snarled. “Do you understand?”
Yar-Taw was at a complete loss. It was like a little dog yapping at the heels of a bull. But what would it hurt to give a little? To placate him would do no harm, and the man certainly had the courage of a raku. “What do you want?” Yar-Taw asked.
Strell picked up Alissa’s bird. Never more than a step from Alissa, he faced Yar-Taw. His face was lined with grief and anger, and he cradled the small bird as if it were a child. “Put a preservation ward on Talon,” he said, his voice cracking. “When Alissa wakes, she’ll want to say a proper good-bye, not one to a mound in the sand.”
“Strell . . .” Yar-Taw began, then hesitated as Strell’s jaw clenched. “All right,” Yar-Taw said cautiously, putting the ward in place and wincing at the hurt from his bruised tracings. It was a small thing, not worth arguing over. And easier than telling the man she wouldn’t wake to say that good-bye. Not when Strell was so raw with pain.
The plainsman slumped as if a hard knot of emotion had loosened. “When I’m sure Alissa is getting no worse, I’m going to the boat. Lodesh? You’re coming with me. I’m going to need your help sailing it.”