by Andre Norton
Gafna’s stare came back to Lady Ewaren.
The commander gestured with his head and two soldiers grabbed Lady Ewaren’s arms.
“I don’t know,” she said again.
“Hunting.” This came from Willum’s wife. “Hunting, damn you all!” She sobbed and rocked forward over her husband, his blood smeared on her smock. “Why kill my Willum? Why? The one you want is hunting!”
She screamed other words, but Gafna shut them out and returned her attention to Lady Ewaren. They had her on the ground; one of her slippers had fallen off.
“Hunting where, House Lady? And with whom? With how many?”
Lady Ewaren shook her head, her hair coming loose and getting dirty and tangled. “Alone, and I don’t know where. I tell you again and again and again—I do not know where.” She tried to catch her breath. “But if I knew … if I did know … I would not tell you.”
Gafna dropped to her knees, mouthing over and over old Nanoo words, the start of another spell I had no knowledge of. Another no-see? Her gaze angled to the ground, and I could see her fingers stretching forward and touching the earth.
“Her fingers,” the commander said.
“Yes, Lord Purvis?”
The rage rose in me, threatening to choke me. The rage was so strong it pulled my mind back into the lodge house. Lord Purvis; I’d seen him through Gafna’s eyes, or rather saw his form. Encased in expensive armor, broad-shouldered and proud-looking. His armor and cloak, the braid and gold medals he wore—all were as much wealth as the Village Nar possessed. All of that wealth on one vile, vile man.
I’d seen his eyes through the slits in the helmet, dark and powerful and unblinking. I would remember those eyes. Until my last day I would remember them. I forced myself back into Gafna’s vision.
“The fingers of her left hand, Gisles. Break them. One by one. Perhaps the pain will cause the House Lady’s tongue to wag a little more freely.”
Why? Why couldn’t I take action rather than merely observe? Why couldn’t some part of me reach through Gafna’s magic and stop them from hurting—killing—Lady Ewaren? I was physically sick with grief over what was going on in the vision and over what I could not do. I knew what I would soon see, and my anguish hit me in the stomach as strongly as would a mailed fist.
Through Gafna’s ears I heard Purvis turn and click his heels, clap his hands. Footsteps indicated that men rushed toward him. Still, all I could see were Gafna’s fingers and the ground. I heard Gafna’s words, whispered, still not understanding the magic, if there was any, behind her odd speech.
“Into the houses, Gisles, Tate, Margal, Heroth. Kill them all. Let none escape. I’ll have no witnesses. Not a single witness. Understand?” A pause. “Now her right hand. One finger at a time. Then kill her.”
If there is such a thing as hell, it became the Village Nar. Screams so hurtfully loud filled my ears and blocked out all else. So terribly, terribly loud I knew Gafna could not concentrate. She balled her fingers into fists and struggled to her feet. She took a few steps toward Lady Ewaren, who also was screaming. A soldier was ripping the Lady’s green dress and was lowering himself over her.
Gafna turned away and ran.
I knew it was all the Nanoo could do, what everyone else was trying to do—flee from this company of hateful men who’d come to the Village Nar in pursuit of me. And all because of my father’s blood, the heritage that had given me the taste of magic. Because my father had sided with the Emperor, and the Empress had discovered it.
Because of my blood, the blood of the village was spilled. So very, very much blood, I knew the ground could not drink it all in. My heart hammered so wildly I feared it would burst through my chest … Gafna’s heart, her chest. It was her feet pounding across the village grounds, faster than I’d thought her aging legs could carry her.
The screams continued, worsened. I saw people running past me, mouths open, screaming.
Nothing but screams and blood and madness.
I felt madness touch Gafna’s mind. Then I felt a twinge of hope. She was running across the pasture now, chest tight and hot from her efforts, legs burning and mind reeling with what she’d seen and what she kept hearing.
“Oh, Lady Ewaren.” It was Gafna speaking. I wondered how I could hear the words over the cries of terror. The words were dry and spoken with great effort, and after the passing of a few labored heartbeats I knew they’d come from Gafna sitting in front of me. The vision was fading, and the lodge house and Gafna started to come into focus around me.
I looked at two scenes at the same time, both hazy and shifting and alternately interposing themselves over the other.
I felt myself being lifted, Gafna being lifted. A soldier on horseback had grabbed the back of her tunic and tossed her over his horse in front of him like she was a sack of vegetables. Through the Nanoo’s eyes I saw the horse’s side and leg and directly below I saw the pasture passing by. I felt the jarring sensation of the horse galloping, and the coarse feel of the man’s hand on the back of Gafna’s neck.
The screams were coming softer now, because the soldier was riding past the apple orchard and the flat rocks and was circling the Village Nar. Softer also because most of the people were dead. Fewer left to scream.
“Lord Purvis!” the soldier hollered. “I’ve caught a witch. A fast witch!”
I couldn’t see Lord Purvis, but I saw rivulets of blood running down a slope.
And then the Village Nar became indistinct, then winked out altogether, and I saw Gafna sitting in front of me. The stench of the lodge house hit me like I’d run into a stone wall.
“I could not save the House Lady,” she said. “Oh, Eri, I could not save her.”
“But maybe I can save you,” I returned. “Take my strength, Nanoo Gafna.” I spoke so softly even I had difficulty hearing my words. I knew Braxton behind me could not have overheard—and he was so close, I could smell the dried sweat that clung to his clothes. But Gafna? I was trusting that with her wyse-sense and the fact that she might be prying into my thoughts, she could effectively hear what I told her.
“Hurry. You have to hurry, Nanoo.” I didn’t know how much longer I would have with her before the Moonson guards demanded I leave.
She hesitated.
“Take my strength.”
My eyes begged her and she slumped forward, an act that looked convincing, giving her disheveled and bruised appearance. Her forehead touched mine, and she mumbled softly. To the man behind me, I suspect she sounded like she moaned in pain. I couldn’t understand what she said, not all of it, but I knew it was a spell. And I knew what it would do.
I shivered, feeling the warmth drain from me. It was an enchantment far beyond me, but not beyond a witch of Gafna’s stature. I’d never attempted to learn any healing magic, seeing no need for it in my earlier years.
As her spell progressed, I weakened, and Nanoo Gafna gained strength. My helping her was necessary, for I feared if she didn’t take some of my energy, she would not even be able to stand.
And she would have to stand, because I could not let her remain here.
Within heartbeats she was breathing stronger, wrinkling her nose at the smell of herself. She could have taken even more of my energy—my eyes encouraged her to do just that. But she leaned back, closed her eyes, and a measure of relief washed over her face.
“I think you’ve visited long enough.” The man called Braxton tapped my shoulder. “Time to leave.”
Bastien had taught me how to control my temper, as a warrior fights better when his emotions do not flare, when he thinks efficiently and acts rationally. I’ve prided myself on my ability to do that. But with everything that had transpired … well, I believe I’d left a lot of that control back in the dead Village Nar.
In one fluid movement I rose and jabbed both of my elbows back with as much strength as I could summon, even though Gafna had drained some of it. I connected with the man’s stomach and was rewarded with the great whoosh of his f
oul breath against the back of my neck. I leapt to the side as he bent over, grasping his stomach and sputtering in anger and shock. The scents of him only added to the misery of this place.
I held my breath, clenched my hands together in a single fist, and brought that fist down hard on the center of his back.
He dropped to his knees, the impact sending a tremor through the wood planks. He reached for the hand ax on his belt and opened his mouth wide to holler for the Moonsons.
I couldn’t let him call for help. I struck him again with my joined fists, on the side of his head, on the side of his neck, and then my hands flew apart and I grabbed him. Unconscious, he was falling. I caught him—barely, as he was heavier than even I’d guessed—and I lowered him to the floor. I couldn’t afford to have him strike the floor and make so much noise that the Moonsons outside would hear.
My hands ached from the impact against the man. I clenched and unclenched my fists and shook out my arms.
Despite the years I’d trained with Bastien—and despite all the times I’d trained alone—I’d never truly fought a man. I’d sparred with Bastien and others, even with Willum. But it had all been practice. I’d never purposely hurt someone, but I knew now that my training had served me well.
I could more than hurt someone if I had to. I could have killed this man.
A quick glance to the door showed me the Moonsons hadn’t heard the brief scuffle. I looked back to Gafna—she was staring at the fallen man.
There were only two windows in the room, these on the wall opposite the fireplace. For the size of the building, I’d expected more, but I suppose two were sufficient to let in air during the warm months, and, shuttered—as they were now—to keep out the cold in the winter. Shuttered now to keep people passing by from seeing the old Nanoo soldiers had beaten.
I rolled the man over and took his hand ax. I searched him and found a small, sharp knife he probably used for cutting food. I used the knife on Gafna’s cords, being especially careful slicing at the ones that held her wrists.
“That man…”
“He’ll live, Nanoo Gafna. But he’ll have some measure of pain to show for it.”
“Thank you, Eri.”
“Your hand,” I whispered. “They broke your fingers like they broke Lady Ewaren’s fingers.”
“Cruel men, yes,” Gafna said. I detected a little more strength in her voice.
“I’m taking you out of here.”
She nodded, but her eyebrows rose in the obvious question of how.
“I’m not sure how this is going to work,” I answered. “But we are getting out of here.”
23
Someone would see us climbing out of a window—certainly that was not the proper way to withdraw from the lodge house. I didn’t want to risk an alarm being sounded, and so left the windows shuttered. The door, then, but the Moonson guards would not give us permission simply to walk outside and leave.
I gave a last glance to the man sprawled on the floor. He was breathing regularly, and I hoped I’d not hurt him too severely. At the same time, I hoped he wouldn’t wake up for a while.
I gently tugged Nanoo Gafna the length of the lodge house, careful to touch only her right wrist and to thread our way through the tables so the broken fingers of her left hand brushed nothing. She managed only a shuffling gait—so many hours, days, likely, that she’d been tied to that chair. That she could move at all was a testament to her fierce will—and to the bit of my energy I’d given her.
“Quiet,” I whispered, though in truth I didn’t need to make such a warning.
I pointed to the wall behind where the door would open. She understood that I wanted her to stand there. She would be hidden.
My palms began to sweat, revealing my nervousness. I took shallow breaths and waited until the Nanoo stood against the wall. My heart hurt for her, seeing her shattered hand and fragile body. She looked like a stranger compared with the witch I knew who’d regularly walked miles and miles to come to the Village Nar in pursuit of fellowship and milk.
I touched the door, fingers trembling, feeling the roughness of the wood. I thanked the Green Ones that the Moonsons had let me come in here alone. But I’d left my weapons outside … and likely they’d not known a woman with my fighting mettle. So they had extended me the courtesy of coming in here in part, I suspect, because they felt pity for the Nanoo and so allowed her my company.
I did not intend to be so courteous in return.
I opened my mouth, searched for the wyse coursing in my blood and in the air around me, and I registered the Moonsons’ presence … inches away on the other side of the wood. There was no wyse about either of them, only the faintest trace of magic that is present in all things. Comparatively few people in this world are gifted to call upon the wyse. If only these Moonsons and everyone else knew …
Knew what I had learned from my father at an early age.
The Moonsons were talking, and I tasted their curiosity, the flavor sharply sweet. They wondered about me, about why I knew Moonson ritual. One Moonson’s curiosity was so strong it burned my tongue. He questioned all of this … me, Gafna, what he was doing here. Had he known Bastien?
I tasted their fatigue, too, their legs aching from standing in one place so long. These Moonsons were not used to such duty, but I tasted no complaints in that regard.
Were they the only Moonsons in the village? No, as they couldn’t stand there all throughout the day and night, they would need relief. So perhaps there were six or eight of them, the rest of them with Lord Purvis in a nearby village.
Two here at a time, plus a resident of Elspeth’s Knot to watch over Gafna and feed her occasionally. I’d thought it would have been easier to take Gafna with them while they recruited. But Lord Purvis had ordered her beaten too harshly for that.
Again the words of my bloodoath went through my mind, sounding loud and adding to my fury.
My fingers drummed against the door, and I stepped back, holding the hand ax behind me.
The taller Moonson didn’t open the door much, just enough for his head to poke inside. “Visit over?” His tone was pleasant enough.
I nodded. Before he could open the door wider for me to leave, I said, “There’s a problem with your man. He’s fallen.” I took another step back, pivoting as I did so I put myself squarely in front of Nanoo Gafna. I tightened my grip on the hand ax, the wood slick from my sweat.
“What’s this?” The Moonson came into the lodge house, squinting, as it was shadowy in here, a sharp contrast to the bright of day outside. He spotted the downed villager, who was snoring now, then noticed Nanoo Gafna was not in the chair, the cords lying on the floor. “What treachery, lady—”
My free hand shot forward, fingers closing on the thick cloth of his tabard and pulling him inside. I brought the hand ax high and slammed the end of the handle down hard on the side of his face, which his helmet did not quite cover. The one blow was not enough, and so I tugged harder on his tabard, pulling him down, even as my knee came up and struck him in the chest. The mail links were heavy, and it felt as though I’d connected with a big hardwood tree. But it was enough to knock the wind out of him.
I yanked him inside, just as his fellow loomed in the doorway, sword drawn and lips pulled up in an angry sneer.
“A docent of Bastien you claimed to be!”
I nodded. “No lie that, Moonson.” I caught my breath and bent my knees for balance. I tasted his hesitancy.
“Lady, we granted you a favor because we believed you. And you repay our kindness with—”
“Treachery, yes.”
His hesitation faded, and he drew his sword back.
I drove my heel into the back of the downed Moonson, who struggled to rise, then I ducked beneath the swing of the other’s sword.
“But treachery for a good cause.” My senses enhanced from using the wyse, I heard the blade whistle shrilly and felt the air above my head stir. I tasted the defeat of the man I stood on, as the pain a
nd injuries I’d inflicted on him welled up and pushed him into unconsciousness. I tasted the ire and confusion of the Moonson I faced.
“I’ve no desire to hurt you, lady, but—”
“Nor do I want to hurt you.”
We stood facing each other, hearts racing, eyes locked. There was something else in the air … pride and hope? Yes, that was coming from Nanoo Gafna.
Her hope drove me. When the Moonson pulled his blade back again, he let out a keening yell, signaling anyone nearby that there was trouble. I leapt forward, head down, slamming into his chest as I brought the ax handle hard against his temple. Forcing him to his back as we fell onto the street outside, I struck him again and again, my free hand pressing down against his throat.
When he stopped struggling, I jumped to my feet, tasting too many things—meat cooking somewhere, cow’s hide being tanned, and—subtler because of its distance—the rippling fear of animals in the slaughterhouse.
The overall reek of the village was the strongest, layers of sweat and dirt that clung to people who were more numerous than they were in Nar.
Grease from cookstoves.
The dander of the sheep and from dogs kept as pets. The glee of children playing in one of the spoke-streets. The fatigue of laborers. The love of mothers, and the perfume of flowers growing in window boxes.
All of those things I thrust to the back of my mind. Too, I forced the wyse away from me. The magic was a boon most of the time, but in my nervousness I’d allowed it to overwhelm me. I needed to concentrate.
“Wisteria.”
Nanoo Gafna had said my name three times before I shook off all the tastes and responded to her.
“I’m all right.” I rolled the Moonson into the lodge house, dropped the hand ax, stepped back outside, and shut the door behind us, still not bothering to check his condition. In truth, I feared I’d killed him, and I did not want to know for certain. Bad enough that I’d truly fought men—three of them—rather than spar for practice. Then I grabbed my weapons belt and draped it across my shoulder.