by L. W. Jacobs
She woke now, rolling away from Feynrick with a groan. He chuckled. “Someone taste a little too much mountain man lager last night?”
She just groaned again. Ella could relate—between the revelation of her resonance’s true cost, her regret over putting them all in danger, and the worry about staying despite the danger, she’d hardly slept. I probably look forty-five this morning, she thought darkly, resisting the urge to hide her face from Tai as he sat up. He had been so good about it.
He won’t be for long, a voice said inside.
Ella started. She’d been waiting for the revenants Nauro gave them to wake up, but she knew that voice.
Of course you do. You wouldn’t forget your old master?
“No,” she groaned. Was Odril even dead? Apparently her revenant thought so.
The others looked at her, and she blushed. So much for hiding her old-woman’s face. “What?” Tai asked.
“Nothing—just my revenant. It finally seated, and it’s pretending to be Odril.”
“Trade you for feeling like I’m dying and going to be sick all at once,” Marea said from the other side of the tent.
“No,” Ella said. “No, I don’t think you would.”
Nice to see you again, too.
Feynrick chuckled, but Nauro looked distinctly unamused. “Because of Ella’s little prank last night, we are all on thin ice. I am deadening the air, but as a precaution we should all stop talking about anything incriminating. No knowledge of revenants. No Tai. No Ayugen, no hidden purposes. We are who we told them we are, only.”
“And if we get any signs they are gearing up to attack, we run,” Tai said. “More knowledge on the stones will do us no good if we die here.”
Was it wrong that the thought of dying with Tai was somehow comforting?
Yes, Odril said. But then, you’ve always been a sick little girl.
Not a little girl, anymore, Ella thought back at him, missing LeTwi and Telen for a moment, even if they’d been lies. Didn’t this revenant realize how much she despised Odril? I’m an old woman, remember?
A sick old woman. Even worse.
They went through the motions of morning, Feynrick stirring coals and heating leftovers as they took turns using the woods and dressing. Marea was badly off, refusing breakfast and fretting about Avery, if she’d made a fool of herself last night. How wonderful it sounded, to have those be the biggest stakes of your life.
But then, that’s what she got for falling in love with someone like Tai. Sure, they had relationship problems sometimes. But they also had to fight gods.
The star was high in the north when she climbed from the guyo. Ollen’s people once again stood in a circle around the stone, but they were silent today. She looked a question at Nauro, hating that she still needed him, that they had to work together, but he seemed to bear no ill will toward her this morning.
Of course not. He had basically ruined her life last night, so he was probably feeling great.
“The skies,” he mumbled. “Look to the skies.”
Meaning revenants. Ella unfocused her eyes, watching the peripheries, but the smell hit her first: dead leaves, but not the slight whiffs she’d gotten during their training sessions. Overpowering autumnal rot, like the salt marsh forests at the beginning of wet season, thick and humid and pungent.
Then she saw them, at first fleeting, then filling in as her eyes adjusted. The air was rife with revenants: hundreds, maybe thousands of them, all spinning around the central pillar of stone, a vortex of dead souls in strange order.
Marea gasped behind her and Nauro hissed. “Don’t look. Act normal, keep walking. You can’t see them, remember?”
Ella started out of her reverie too, trying to go about her daily motions, but it was so hard. Now that she was looking, they streamed everywhere through her vision, flitted cold and sour through her stomach, overlaid the normal scents of needleaf and cookfire with dead leaves.
And the strange thing was they were so orderly, the whole mass of them dipping or twirling or reversing direction in sync, as if they were a huge school of fish, or a troupe of dancers under careful choreography. And yes—there was Ollen, back to the stone, directing the revenants like a ghostly orchestra.
Not trying to hide it, then. The reason they had decided to risk staying was that they reasoned Ollen didn’t see them as a threat. Apparently he saw no reason to try to hide what they were doing now. Or maybe this display was to draw them out, a spectacle so grand they couldn’t help but react. And they were tied to their lies now, needing to act as though nothing was amiss, despite the stream of souls rushing around them at all times. Gods.
But what else could they do? They played their parts, Feynrick tinkering about the camp as Tai went off into the woods—though not too far. She, Nauro, and Marea made their way toward the waystone, taking measurements as they went.
It all felt like such a farce. She wished to scat she knew if Ollen’s sudden change last night had been from realizing she knew about shamanism, or realizing he was giving away too much information. If it was the first, they were in real danger. If the second, not only were they safe, but the man might seriously be considering initiating her into their cell. Which she had no intention of going through with, but it might get her a revenant—because Nauro certainly wasn’t giving her one now.
I would have given you one, Odril said.
Sure you would have, she thought back. Too bad you are one now.
For half a second, hope sprung up—Odril had been a shaman. So wouldn’t his revenant be a shamanic revenant? Then she remembered, this wasn’t Odril at all. This was some other revenant reading her memories and taking on the persona of Odril to try and control her. Though it was a damned odd choice.
No, I—
Don’t even try, she cut him off. You know exactly as much about shamanism as I do, because all you know is what’s in my mind. And I would never trust you to teach me anyway.
That shut him up.
They kept a respectful distance all morning, consulting over books and discussing theories and generally trying not to be overwhelmed by the amount of revenants streaming through them at all times.
“What do you think they’re doing,” Ella asked in a low voice, when it seemed unlikely anyone would overhear.
“I don’t know,” Nauro said, nodding and pointing to a place in his book. “That sort of combined effort is not easy, and there’s no reason I know of to do it otherwise so—”
“So it must have something to do with the stone,” she finished, excitement mixing with disgust in her belly. She hated that she had to work with him on this, but it was too important to let personal difference get in the way. Thank the Prophet he seemed to feel the same.
“An agitation to stir the stone?” he asked.
“Or just a critical mass of ghosts,” Marea said, looking a little better as the morning wore on.
“We won’t know until we’re at the right stone,” Ella said, “but for now I don’t see how it relates to she who seeks uai from the stone must first give it. Revenants don’t give uai—unless they’re being thralled to the stone somehow?”
“Impossible,” Nauro said, though he looked a little doubtful. Ha. Did the master of shamanism just learn something from the upstart young lady?
Old lady, you mean.
Ollen’s circle broke up around sunrise again, and he and Credelen made their way up the bowl to where she and the others were stationed, looking through their notes. Fear uncoiled like a waking snake in her belly, and Ella tamped it firmly down. She had to be bubbly, bright, stupid. If they were going to attack, they would have already.
“Blessings of the morning to you,” Nauro called. “I hope my patron didn’t upset your revels too much last night. She can be—hot-headed, at times.”
There was no need to fake her blush, but she did have to swallow her pride to agree. “Yes, I am so sorry! Marea and I should never have come. We will leave you in peace from now on sirs.”
> Ollen merely looked between them. “No need for that. It was—enlightening to have you around.”
That could mean he enjoyed it, or he was enlightened as to their real purpose here. Damn the man!
“Did Avery say anything about me?” Marea asked, then immediately went scarlet. Good. Perfect. Her teen drama was just the kind of diversion they needed.
Credelen gave an indulgent smile. “I imagine he made a few cracks to his friends, but no dear. A drunken young lady is always welcome in our tents.”
The lecher. Odril chuckled.
Nauro cleared his throat. “I trust the morning has been beneficial to you?”
Scat. The man accused her of prying too much?
Ollen gave the hint of a smile. “It has. Will you be needing access to the stone this afternoon?”
“Oh, yes,” Ella put in, pouring on the ditz, “if it’s not too much trouble to you sirs.”
“On the contrary,” Ollen said, “I’m quite interested to see what you do.”
So there it was. Not only were they not a threat, he thought maybe they knew something worth finding out. And so he was tolerating them—at least until he decided to force it out of them.
Great.
They wasted the afternoon in misdirection, coupled with a few of their own experiments, but really Ella was out of ideas for how to interpret ‘giving the stone uai,’ and wasn’t about to try copying what Ollen had done, lest they blow their cover.
Sometime after the sun dipped below the trees—it rarely got above them these days, while the star seemed to make almost a full circle in the sky—Avery walked over to them, and he and Marea chatted a while, the girl blushing occasionally. Ella left them to it—the burly youth was the least of their concerns at the moment, and the way they drew eyes gave her a chance to try a few more things on the stone.
Still, by the end of the day it was clear they either needed to find out what Ollen knew, or go to the next stone. There was little left to learn here on their own.
Nauro concurred. “It isn’t safe staying here,” he said, pulling boots off in the cramped guyo, “and my sources aren’t clear whether an unactivated stone can even be opened. So unless we come up with a better plan than Ella’s to learn what they know, we would be better served moving on.”
“We could kidnap him,” Feynrick said, pulling the flap closed against the chill air. “We do it all the time in the hills. Wouldn’t even have to hurt too many people, just slip in and grab him and tie him up.”
“He’s a shaman,” Nauro said. “You might find him harder to tie up than your average hilltribe wench.”
“Not to mention our nine-to-one ratio if it came to a fight,” Ella put in.
“Mindreading,” Tai said. “They’ve been—fuzzy, every time I tried, but maybe if we can surprise them, catch them just waking up or sleeping.”
Nauro shook his head. “They must be deadening the air in shifts. And like as not, they are old hands at keeping their thoughts veiled, even without deadening the air. It’s a way of life for shamans, because our knowledge puts us at risk.”
Silence for a moment. “Marea,” Ella said, hating to bring it up, but having no better ideas. “I’m only asking this if you’re comfortable with it, but Avery—”
“What, you want me to spy on him?” she asked, eyebrows shooting up.
“Not on him,” Nauro cut in. “On his camp. His superiors. See if he knows what they know.”
“Or if he can find out,” Feynrick said. “Maybe you could work out a trade?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Marea blushed and frowned at once.
Idiots. That was not how Ella would have approached the topic.
“No way,” Marea said. “Not only am I not going to put that on Avery, but that would just make us stay here longer, when all I want to do is go.”
“Even if it means leaving your dogleg behind?” Feynrick asked, still grinning with teeth.
Before she could answer, Nauro had sat bolt upright, eyes glazing. “Someone approaching,” he said. “Unarmed, but from Ollen’s camp.”
Tai struck resonance, Feynrick laid hands on his weapons, and Ella readied herself to slip, hating it now that she knew the cost. But she’d rather get old fast than die now.
Footsteps sounded and the guyo flap opened, letting in a cold breeze.
A stocky young man stood in the doorway.
“Avery?” Marea cried.
He glanced at her, then his eyes took in the rest of the cramped space. “No time,” he said, sounding older than he looked. “They’re coming for you.”
“What do you mean,” Nauro barked. “Who is?”
“Ollen, Credelen, the whole camp,” Avery said, meeting the man’s eyes. “They know.”
“Know what?” Nauro barked, but it was too late for that, obviously. Avery had figured it out somehow.
“That you’re a shaman,” Avery said. “That you’re all from Ayugen, and you’ve been lying, and that man there,” he levelled a finger at Tai, “is Tai Kulga, Godslayer.”
24
It was all Tai could do not to strike resonance then and there, get a headstart on whatever attack was coming. Nauro had said if the shamans knew who he was, they would either try to thrall him or kill him.
Not without a fight they wouldn’t.
Tai raised his voice over the sudden din in the tent. “What do you want?”
“Standard cut,” Avery said. “I’m a journeyman, and sixth in position among your cell, if this is a cell, so a fifth of a half. We can negotiate later. We need to go now.”
Avery was a shaman too, or an initiate at least. He had to be, to know the language. And he’d figured out their secret somehow.
“No,” Tai said. “Feynrick, Nauro, see to the girls. I’ll hold them off. I appreciate the warning, Avery, but you should run. You’ll only slow us down.”
“You need me,” Avery insisted as Tai pushed past him out the flap.
“Why?” someone inside asked. Shouts sounded from the other side of the camp. It was true then. Ollen was coming.
“Because I know what Ollen knows.”
Tai stopped in his tracks. Meckstains. There was no time for this. “Prove it,” he snapped. “Why were they singing hymns?”
“An unholy chorus,” Avery said. “I can recite the whole passage. But only if you take me!”
Tai glanced at Ella and Nauro—they were the experts, and they seemed to accept it.
“Done,” Tai said. “You know the closest path to the river?”
“He does,” Nauro said, pushing out of the guyo, “and you should go with him. Let me handle Ollen.”
“We’ll stand together,” Tai said, squinting across the moonlit bowl, where Ollen’s camp appeared a mad scramble of men and torches.
Nauro put a hand on his shoulder. “You are brave, and noble, but that is foolish, Tai. You cannot yet fight as these men do. Save your party. Go.”
“This is saving my party. I’ll stick to the edges. Keep them off the others at first.”
“Fine,” he snapped. “But when I tell you to go, you go.” He began walking toward the other camp.
Feynrick had Ella on his back, and Avery Marea on his. They stood there with resonances struck, watching him. Waiting for orders?
“Go!” Tai cursed. “I’ll keep them off you.”
“No,” Ella said. “You come with us.”
The first of Ollen’s camp was charging across the bowl, air suddenly alive with resonance.
“I’ll follow as close as I can,” Tai said. “I will catch you at the river.”
“You promise?” Ella asked, intense despite being slung over Feynrick’s shoulder.
“I promise. Now go.”
The brawlers ran, and Tai ran with them, not wanting to give away his resonance, give them a clue which one was Tai Kulga, Godslayer.
Were they really calling him that?
The brawlers were pulling ahead by the time they reached the trees, and Tai slowe
d. Their tracks would be easy to follow in the snow—part of the reason he needed to make sure no one followed. That if Nauro couldn’t handle twenty shamans, someone kept Ollen’s party away from Ella and the rest.
Twenty shamans? The man had barely handled one on the way here. What was he doing?
I can handle them, a voice came in his mind, but only if they’re focused on me. Stick to the woods, they will try to flank me.
Nauro. Using mindsight to speak directly to him. Even as he did Tai saw the first line of Ollen’s men go down with muted thumps, like invisible boulders had dropped on each one, mangling them.
Ancestors. Was Nauro doing that?
A contingent of them split off toward him, no doubt told off to track them down. Tai struck resonance and wafted into the trees. Maybe Nauro could handle them. It looked like ten men were coming after him.
Nauro was taking thirty. Could he handle ten?
Yes. Unless they were shamans.
They will attack like Ydilwen did. Use your shamanic sight. Avoid the revenants.
Easier said than done—he could barely see them in broad daylight. He unfocused his eyes all the same, seeking with his senses.
More screams sounded from the clearing. How Nauro was fighting a clutch of shamans and still calmly sending him thoughts, Tai had no idea. It didn’t matter. A pack of men rushed underneath him, resonance roaring, crying out when they found Feynrick’s trail. Brawlers, then.
He could handle brawlers.
Tai dropped from the branches, silent, his resonance no giveaway in the roar of theirs. The men moved at brawler speed—but at the front, two carried other men slung over their shoulders. Shamans, then, or some other resonance. Tai grimaced. He would have to be careful. Pick them off slowly.
The first he took down with thickened air to trip him and a dropkick to the head to knock him out. This worked for the second and third as well, Tai choosing the slowest in their team, the ones at the back of the pack.