by DAVID B. COE
With the Kett behind them, the two travelers continued north, though they began to angle westward once more. At some point they would have to cross the farmlands between the Great Forest and Mertesse, but Grinsa wanted to make certain that they spent as little time as possible in the open.
For a court boy who had enjoyed a comfortable childhood and still desired the comforts of a noble’s life, Tavis was a surprisingly good travel companion. He rarely complained of being tired, and had no trouble matching the pace Grinsa set for him. When the gleaner complimented him on this, a few days after they had crossed the river, the boy smiled.
“You should save your praise for Hagan MarCullett.”
“Xaver’s father?”
“Yes. He’s my father’s swordmaster, and as many times as he’s had me run the towers of Curgh Castle, I ought to have the endurance of an Uulranni mount.”
They walked a short time in silence, before Tavis glanced at him again.
“What about you?” the boy asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve always heard that Qirsi are weaker than the Eandi, yet you don’t get tired as one might expect. When we rest it’s usually for my benefit, not yours.”
Grinsa shrugged. “I’m a Weaver.”
“So Weavers are stronger than other Qirsi—physically I mean?”
“Usually, yes.”
“Is that why my people are so afraid of your kind?”
The gleaner hesitated. Since the night he rescued Tavis from Kentigern’s dungeon, with the help of Fotir jal Salene, first minister of Curgh, he and Tavis had rarely spoken of Grinsa’s secret. When the boy asked him questions of this sort, he usually gave a terse answer, making it clear that this was not a topic he wished to discuss. Perhaps, though, the time had come to tell Tavis a bit more. They had been traveling together for nearly half a year now, and if the visions Grinsa had of the boy prior to Tavis’s Fating proved to be accurate, they would be together for some time to come.
“What do you know about Weavers, Tavis?”
“Not much really. I know that Weavers led the Qirsi invasion of the Forelands, and that after the army of the Southlands was defeated all the Weavers were executed.”
“But you don’t know why.”
“I’d guess it was because you’re stronger than the other Qirsi, not only physically, but also in terms of your magic.”
“You’re right, we are. But that’s not why we’re feared. That’s not why the Eandi have been executing Weavers for the last nine centuries.”
“Then why?”
“Have you noticed how many different types of magic I possess?”
“Now that you ask, you do seem to have a lot. You healed me in Kentigern’s dungeon, you shattered the guards’ swords in Solkara and raised a mist. I’ve seen you conjure fires, and you made the peddler answer your questions when he didn’t want to.”
“That’s five. I also made Shurik’s horse rear in Solkara.”
“Language of beasts.”
“Yes. And you forgot the fact that I’m a gleaner.”
“Seven,” Tavis said. “Is that all the Qirsi powers?”
“There’s one other. My people call it weaving and divining. It allows us to read the thoughts of other Qirsi, sometimes we can even enter their minds. Only Weavers have it.”
“So Weavers wield every kind of Qirsi magic.”
“Yes, but there’s even more to our powers than that. Because we possess all the magics, and because we can touch the thoughts of other Qirsi, we have the ability to combine the magic of one Qirsi with our own and with that of others.”
Tavis stopped walking. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said, though judging from what he heard in the boy’s voice, Grinsa guessed that he understood all too well.
“Weavers do just what our name implies. We weave together the magic of other Qirsi. A Weaver who leads an army of shapers, for instance, wields the power of all his soldiers as if it were his own. Fotir and I carved a hole in the wall of Kentigern Castle the night you escaped Aindreas’s prison. With an army of shapers and a bit of time, I could have reduced the entire castle to rubble. With an army of fire wielders, I could burn this forest to the ground in a matter of days.”
Tavis gaped at Grinsa, the expression on his scarred face a mix of awe and abject fear.
“How did the Eandi ever defeat you?” he whispered.
“The easy answer is that the Qirsi army was betrayed by one of its commanders, a man named Carthach. He told the Eandi how the magic of the Weavers worked.”
“Why do you say that’s the easy answer?”
The gleaner looked away, abruptly thinking of Cresenne, whose hatred of Carthach, and thus all Qirsi who lived in peace with the Eandi, had driven her to the conspiracy. The rifts that still divided his people and now threatened to plunge the Forelands into a maelstrom of murder and war could all be traced back to Carthach’s betrayal. Talking about Carthach with other Qirsi was difficult enough. Speaking of the traitor with an Eandi was humiliating, even now, even for Grinsa. He should have known that any discussion of his powers would lead here.
“That’s the easy answer, because it’s not really true. By all accounts, the Eandi were already beginning to turn the tide of the war before Carthach betrayed the Qirsi army.”
“But how could they?”
“Because our powers aren’t truly meant for war. Woven properly, we can destroy a castle or burn a forest, or even turn a stampede of wild horses. But as our power grows, it becomes more difficult to control, even for the most accomplished Weaver. The same shaping magic that can shatter a castle wall is nearly helpless to block a volley of arrows. Your people had begun to realize this and had changed their tactics.” He started to walk again, as did Tavis. “We would have been defeated eventually anyway. I believe Carthach did what he did to save Qirsi lives.” He glanced at the young lord. “I can say that even though I’m a Weaver, and even though since the time of Carthach’s betrayal my kind have been hunted and killed by the Eandi.”
“Are there other Weavers in the Forelands?”
“I would expect so,” Grinsa said. “I doubt Weavers were ever common, but neither do I think that they were as rare as they seem to be now. Certainly nine hundred years ago there were enough in the Southlands for the Qirsi to send eight with the invading army. They wouldn’t have done so had there not been at least that many in the army that remained to protect the Qirsi homeland. And I doubt that all the Weavers were used as generals.”
“Then what’s happened to them all?”
“What do you think?”
“Were they all killed?”
“Many of them were in the first century after the invasion failed. But one rarely hears of Weavers being killed anymore.”
“Then where are they?”
Grinsa smiled, though it felt forced. “There just where I’d still be if I hadn’t come to save you.”
Tavis’s eyes widened. “In the Revel?”
“In the Revel, in the festivals of Sanbira and Caerisse and Aneira, in Eandi courts. They could be anywhere, Tavis. They hide their powers, fearing for their lives and those of their fam—”
He halted suddenly in midstride, weathering a wave of nausea that nearly drove him to his knees. How could he have been so foolish? How could he have forgotten?
“What is it?” Tavis asked, his brow knitted with concern. “Are you ill?”
“How long has it been since we left Solkara?” Grinsa demanded, scouring his mind in his rush to count the days.
“What?”
“The day! What day is it?”
“I’m not certain. With all the walking we’ve done, I’ve lost count.”
Grinsa closed his eyes. “We fled the city on the last day of the waning,” he said more to himself than to the boy. “I haven’t noticed the moons the last few nights. Damn!”
“It’s been overcast,” Tavis said. “The moons have been hidden. But I believe we’re close to the Nigh
t of Two Moons. We may even be in the next waning already.”
Grinsa nodded, exhaling heavily. “I think so, too. Demons and fire!”
“What is it, Grinsa? Why are you suddenly so concerned with the day?”
“I think Shurik knows that I’m a Weaver. Indeed, after what I did to evade capture at the city gates, I’m certain of it. For years I’ve been claiming to be a gleaner and nothing more, and yet, in the space of just a few moments, I shattered swords and raised a mist and a wind. Shurik is certain to have noticed.”
“Yes. But surely you’ve thought of this before now.”
“Of course. Yet, somehow I managed to forget about Keziah. I should have warned her right away.”
Tavis still looked confused.
“In the past, it’s not only Weavers who have been killed, but also their families. Wives, children, parents, even siblings. Different types of Qirsi magic tend to run in a family. You have your father’s eyes and your mother’s features. My children may have my powers, and so might Keziah’s.”
“But you said nothing to Shurik about Keziah. How would he know that she’s your sister?”
“There aren’t that many Qirsi in the Forelands, Tavis. For every Qirsi in Eibithar, there are ten Eandi, maybe more. No one knows that Keziah is my sister because I haven’t given anyone cause to wonder if I have family. But our father was a minister in Eardley. Not a first minister, but a man of some importance. If Shurik believes me a Weaver, it will be a small matter for him to learn everything about my family.”
The boy appeared to consider this briefly. “So you need to get a message to the City of Kings,” he said at last.
Again the gleaner smiled. He had hidden this from Tavis during the warmer turns, when they fled Kentigern. But with all that he had told the young lord this day, there seemed little sense in preserving this last secret. “Actually, no. I need only wait until nightfall, and then I can speak with her.”
“How?” Tavis asked, sounding like he didn’t really want to know.
“I wouldn’t know how to explain it. It’s enough to say that the same power I use to wield her magic also gives me access to her dreams.”
The boy paled. “Please tell me this only works with Qirsi.”
Grinsa laughed and began to walk again. “It does. I promise.”
For a long time they journeyed in silence. The gleaner sensed that Tavis was pondering all he had learned about Weavers and Qirsi magic. At some point the questions would begin again, but for now Grinsa was content to say nothing.
His fears might well have been unfounded. What he had told Tavis was true: if it occurred to Shurik to search for Grinsa’s family, it wouldn’t take him long to find Kezi. But that seemed unlikely, at least for now. The traitor had been so frightened at seeing Grinsa in Solkara that he had called for Eandi guards to save him. This was not a man who would go out of his way to draw Grinsa’s wrath. Still, he owed it to his sister to warn her, and he should have done so days ago.
Late in the day, as the sun dipped low in the western sky, sending golden rays of light through the forest, like slender fingers of the goddess, Grinsa heard voices approaching from the north. Looking back at Tavis, he saw that the young lord already had his dagger in hand, and had slowed, dropping into a crouch. Quickly scanning the wood, the gleaner spied a thick cluster of smaller trees a short distance to the left. Drawing his own blade, Grinsa pointed toward the trees. Tavis nodded, and they made their way to the center of the copse, moving as quickly and quietly as they could. A few moments later, several soldiers came into view, all of them wearing the red and gold of Solkara. They made no effort to keep silent, and they walked in a loose formation, indicating to Grinsa that he and Tavis had strayed close to one of the forest roads.
When the men were well past them, the two travelers resumed their journey, angling slightly to the east again. Obviously they still needed to use caution while in the wood—there would be no fire again this night—but the fact that the men were headed southward, back toward Solkara, gave Grinsa some cause to believe that the worst of their troubles were over. It had been half a turn since they escaped the royal city. No doubt the Solkaran soldiers were beginning to lose interest in the hunt.
They stopped for the night just as darkness enveloped the wood, spreading their sleeping rolls on the forest floor before eating. Enough of the peddler’s food remained to provide them with an ample meal, but tomorrow they would be forced to eat roots and berries again, unless they managed to find another trader or chanced a cooking fire.
Tavis had said little since their conversation earlier that day, but finally, after their meal, he cleared his throat awkwardly. His question, though, when it came, surprised the gleaner.
“Why did you save me from Kentigern’s prison?”
Grinsa hesitated. “I’ve told you before. I saw in your gleaning that you had been imprisoned unjustly. I had to do something.”
“I remember you saying that, and I believed you at the time. But that was before I knew how much you risked coming for me. If you hadn’t done that, you’d still be a gleaner in the Revel. No one would know that you were anything more, and your sister wouldn’t be in any danger.”
“If I had done nothing, Mertesse would hold Kentigern Castle, and Aindreas and your father would be at war.”
“So you saw that in my gleaning as well?”
Grinsa started to answer, then stopped himself. Along with the nature of his magic, Tavis’s Fating had been one of the topics of conversation he had managed to avoid during their time together. Even now, he wasn’t certain that the young lord was ready for the truth. More to the point, though, it seemed to the gleaner that Tavis had earned the right to make that choice himself. Grinsa had realized some time ago, several turns before Bohdan’s Revel reached Curgh this past year, that his fate and Tavis’s were tied to each other. Now the two of them were bound by circumstance and need as well; only the gods could say how long they would remain together. But surely the time for secrets had passed.
“I had a vision of your fate long before your gleaning, Tavis. I saw the two of us journeying together throughout the land, and fighting side by side against the conspiracy.” He paused, straining to see the boy’s face in the shadows. The moons were not yet up, and he could only guess at Tavis’s reaction. After a moment, he went on. “What I showed you in the stone was your future, but not your fate.”
“You said the same thing to me once before, in the dungeon.”
“I remember.”
“You wouldn’t explain what you meant then, though I asked. Are you ready to now?”
“It’s very simple really—it should be clear. You weren’t fated to die in that prison, or even to spend very long there, though I’m certain it felt like an eternity at the time. It was your future, but you were destined to win your freedom, to join the fight against the conspiracy and search the land for Brienne’s killer.”
“None of that would have happened had you not freed me from the dungeon. Isn’t it just as possible that what you showed me in the stone was my true fate, and you altered it by coming to Kentigern?”
Grinsa smiled. Here lay the burden of the stone, not only for the gleaner, but also for the child who peered into its depths, hoping to glimpse a promise of glory or joy. He had tried to explain this to Tavis as well, just after the young lord first saw himself in that wretched prison, but Tavis had been beyond reason then, already falling into the black despair that would lead him to raise his blade against Xaver MarCullet.
“Our fate changes all the time, Tavis. Every choice we make, every path we choose to follow, turns us toward a different future. The stone, for all the wisdom we ascribe to it, can only show us our fate at a single moment. More than anything, it serves as a signpost, a marker indicating the direction our lives might take. If we find hope or pleasure in the vision it offers, we make choices that will take us in that direction. If not, then perhaps it can warn us away from decisions that lead to darkness. That’s wh
at I hoped would happen when I showed you what I did. I intended your Fating as a warning, and I hoped that it would save you from the misery we both saw in that image. At the time, I had no idea how you would end up in that prison. I knew only that you were innocent, though you would doubt that yourself. Had I known that you were powerless to prevent what happened, I would never have done what I did. Certainly I never intended to cause you or Xaver such pain.”
He had long expected that when he and Tavis finally had this conversation, the boy would respond to his revelations with outrage. But once more, Tavis surprised him.
“You altered my Fating to guard your secret,” he said, his voice low. “If I had seen us fighting the conspiracy together, I would have known that you were more than a gleaner.”
“Yes.”
“And then you risked everything to save me.”
“After what I’d done, I felt that I had to.”
“A lesser man wouldn’t have.”
“A braver man would have shown you the Fating the stone intended.”
Even in the darkness, Grinsa could see the boy shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know that much about bravery. But I’m grateful to you just the same.”
For several moments neither of them spoke. Tavis lay down on his sleeping roll, wrapping himself in a blanket.
“How soon until you can…go to your sister?”
Grinsa looked to the east. White Panya was just appearing above the trees, her pale glow seeping through the wood like a sorcerer’s mist. Judging from how late she was rising and how far into her waning she appeared, he guessed that they had to be at least three nights past the Night of Two Moons. Perhaps four. Once again, he cursed himself for his carelessness.