by Linda Nagata
Smoke’s woman had disappeared on the far side of a thicket to attend to personal demands. When she returned, Nedgalvin watched her with narrowed eyes. She was pretty, but nevertheless he found her dull as most women were dull. He smiled to himself, knowing Takis had corrupted him and that ordinary women couldn’t satisfy him anymore.
Ketty glanced at him, saw his smile, and went to hide among the horses.
Then somewhere behind him he heard a woman speak.
He spun around as a shiver of superstitious fear ran through him. He stared into the woods, but he saw only trees, with a few scraggly bushes between them. Doubt touched him. Had he imagined the voice? Was it only a trick of the rain?
Then she spoke again. This time her voice was distant but clear. Where are you?
“Thellan.” It was her. He knew it. He knew her voice. It sent a rush of heat through him. Thellan was like Takis. She was no ordinary woman.
He raced to get his horse.
Ketty was standing among the animals. She looked at him with wide, frightened eyes. “You heard her too, didn’t you? It was the Hauntén woman.”
“I’m going after her.”
He untied his horse and swung into the saddle. Then he saw her. Thellan. She was a distant figure beneath the trees, but he knew her. He’d dreamed of that tall, strong body for days, dressed in close-fitting leather so tantalizing that any woman of the south who wore such clothes would be burned.
He kicked his horse hard, forcing Ketty to scramble out of the way as he charged into the trees. Behind him the other two horses neighed in protest. Maybe they tried to follow, he didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was closing the gap that separated him from Thellan.
Without taking his eyes off her, he reached into a pouch on his saddle and pulled out a narrow, six-inch steel spike. He ducked to avoid a tree branch. Then he called out to her, “Thellan, why have you come?”
For a moment he dared to believe she’d been touched by the same lust that affected him.
Then he drew closer and saw the contempt on her face. A moment later she transformed into a white wraith of fog and streamed away. She was taunting him! He followed her anyway, determined to have her.
At the center of a forest clearing she became a woman again. She stood waiting for him, her long hair loose around her shoulders and her sword raised high. “Lutawan pig!” she spat at him. “It was men like you that Dehan hired to hunt my sister.”
These words stirred in him a flash of anger—not at her, but at those Lutawans who had stooped so low as to take the Trenchant’s money. And next he thought how brave she was—how extraordinary—to face him on foot as he galloped into the clearing. From her stance he knew she’d never faced a man on horseback before. Though his sword was still in its scabbard, the advantage was his. Her need for revenge would soon be her undoing.
He was almost on top of her when she lunged at him. He yanked the horse aside. Her blade sliced air. At the same time he kicked free of the stirrups and launched himself at her. She was taken entirely by surprise and they fell together into the dripping ferns. He had the spike ready. He drove it into her shoulder, pinning her in the world. She screamed and thrashed like a mad thing. “Thellan, hush! Hear me. Know that I’ve dreamed of you ever since that day you came to Samerhen.”
He couldn’t tell if she listened. Her green eyes were wild, unfocused. And she was strong! Stronger than any woman should be. In the wet muck his grip on her slipped. She wriggled free of the spike. Then she slipped into the world-beneath and streamed away, a ghostly plume of fog.
“God bind you, you Hauntén witch!”
But Hepen the Watcher was far away and did not hear Nedgalvin’s prayer.
Ketty’s horse broke its tether and tried to bolt when Nedgalvin galloped away. She leaped to grab its reins and then took hold of Smoke’s horse too. Together the horses pulled her off balance, but she dug her heels into the wet ground and held on until they settled.
Ketty was both frightened and furious. Thellan surely must know where Britta had been taken—but what hope was there of winning her compassion when Nedgalvin was after her like a mad man?
“May the wrath of the Hammer fall on you!” Ketty cried.
They had agreed to come in peace! But the Lutawan had ruined it—and for what? He couldn’t hope to hold the Hauntén woman. Even if he got his hands on her, she would just slip away, fog in his fingers.
“But then,” Ketty whispered to herself, “we must be getting close. Or why else would Thellan be here at all?”
Why else indeed?
And with this thought she realized that something had changed.
The voice of the river was softer. Ketty turned to look, and to her astonishment the level of the river was rapidly falling. Already the flood had dropped two feet below the steep banks and as she watched it dropped two feet more. Ketty was so astonished it took her a moment to notice a woman standing on the east bank—a Hauntén woman, she couldn’t doubt it—tall and thin, with a narrow face, but it wasn’t Thellan. This woman was older, her hair mostly gone to silver. It looked long, heavy and bedraggled in the rain, but Ketty could see the gleam of her green eyes even from across the river.
The Hauntén held a leather-wrapped bundle nestled against her shoulder. She patted it and swayed as a woman will do to sooth a baby. In a low, wholesome voice she called to Ketty, “Come daughter, cross, before the Lutawan demon returns.”
Ketty glanced behind her, but she did not see Nedgalvin. She looked up the river, but she did not see Smoke. She looked at the water. It still ran muddy, but she guessed it to be no more than a few feet deep now, with the current running slower. So she scrambled onto her horse and, leading the second animal behind her, she forced it down the steep riverbank.
The mud was saturated. It gave way beneath the horse’s weight and they skidded down atop a small, sloppy landslide. The second horse balked and Ketty almost lost the reins, but she held tight to the saddle and hauled on the leather straps until Smoke’s horse was unbalanced enough that it had to follow.
Then both horses were in the water, wading swiftly to the far shore.
The east bank was not quite as steep, but Ketty still had to work to convince the horses to climb it. She guided them up at an angle, her lips pressed together as she prayed for them not to slip. Then she was over the top, with the second horse climbing swiftly up the path the first had made.
She jumped down at once, leaving both horses to wander while she ran to meet the silver-haired Hauntén, who waited for her with a half-smile. She held out her bundle to Ketty. “This is my granddaughter. My name is Otani, and I’m the mother of what was stolen to make Smoke.”
Ketty took the bundle, and there was Britta’s pretty little face, nose wrinkled against the rain drops, seeming happy to be swaddled in blankets and packed into the leather carrier. Ketty sank to her knees, so overcome she thought she might faint. She held Britta and kissed her and wept, while the voice of the river grumbled beside her. Finally Ketty looked up at Otani. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for what was taken from you.”
Otani knelt with her. “My family wanted justice. They wanted to heal my heart. It’s why they took Britta, but another mother’s pain can’t heal mine. You’ve come this far to claim her, she’s yours.”
Just then a column of white fog raced from the trees on the western side of the river. Ketty saw it and stood up in alarm. The fog streamed across the muddy water and a moment later it resolved into Thellan. Her shoulder was bleeding, but she held her sword with a firm grip. Ketty shrank away, holding Britta close against her shoulder. What if this fierce Hauntén did not agree with gentle Otani? Thellan had come all the way to the Puzzle Lands to claim this child!
But the Hauntén’s gaze swept past her, to fix on Otani. “He’s a beast, just like the ones who came after you. Release the waters now, before he returns!”
Otani’s horrified gaze was fixed on Thellan’s wound. “Did he try to pin you?”
/> Thellan spit her contempt. “These Lutawan soft cocks! He had a steel spike, but he was alone, and I escaped. Here he comes! Release the waters.”
Ketty saw Nedgalvin whipping his horse to a dangerous gallop as he raced back through the trees. Otani saw him too. Her chin rose, and immediately a low grumbling rumble sounded from upriver. Ketty gasped. “I have to cross back before the water comes!”
Thellan grabbed her arm. “Don’t be stupid!”
Nedgalvin had reached the west bank. Ketty clearly saw the fury on his face, but she didn’t understand it. “He’s one of us. He said he would come in peace.”
“He came in lust,” Thellan said. A harsh laugh escaped her. “I thought it was Smoke’s lust I felt, but it was him.”
“Smoke? And—but—him? Isn’t he in love with Takis?”
Thellan shrugged. “He’s Lutawan.”
Upstream a massive toe of brown water slammed around a curve in the bank. Nedgalvin glanced at it, but he whipped his horse down the high bank anyway, forcing it into the water. Ketty was sure there was no chance that he could get across in time, but she was wrong. His horse lunged across the channel and began climbing the near bank as the flood swept down on him.
Thellan saw the danger too. “Otani, go!” she ordered, and Otani vanished in a plume of gray smoke. Thellan pointed to Ketty. “Run! Take my niece into the trees before that madman—”
Nedgalvin crested the bank just as the flood ripped past. He raised his whip and brought it down hard against his horse’s rump, sending it flying toward Thellan and Ketty.
“Into the trees!” Thellan repeated before unfurling into vapor.
Ketty scrambled to escape the horse’s plunging hooves.
What was going on? What was happening? Nedgalvin had never been friendly, but he’d traveled with them, eaten food with them, promised Takis he would start no war with the Hauntén—but if Ketty hadn’t gotten out of his way he would have run her down.
So she took Thellan’s advice at last and ran toward the trees.
Nedgalvin spun his horse around and cut her off.
She froze, still clutching Britta against her shoulder and daring to hope he would somehow prove to be a friend and not an enemy. But hope withered under his grim stare and died utterly when he drew his sword. “Call them back, Ketty, or I’ll kill you and the child.”
A breeze rustled the leaves, giving them a whispering voice just like that day in midsummer before Britta was born, only this time she understood them. Run, Ketty, they said. Run! At the same time a heavy white mist flushed up from the ground, like the mist Smoke had called to hide them from her father.
Ketty ran.
Nedgalvin was between her and the trees so she darted for the horses instead. They’d found a bush to chew on a few paces up the riverbank. With Britta snug in her right arm, she caught the nearest horse and scrambled one-handed into the saddle. Then she kicked it hard and sent it running.
But Nedgalvin was already beside her. He forced his horse against hers so that she almost lost her seat. Holding tight to Britta, Ketty leaned forward to grab the rein close to the bit. Then she hauled as hard as she could.
The horse slipped and almost went down, but it recovered. Ketty dug her heels into it. “Run! Run!” she screamed as it raced away at a right angle from Nedgalvin.
But then Thellan came back. Ketty saw her thirty feet ahead, then twenty, then ten, her arms waving frantically as she screamed at Ketty, “Turn back! Turn back!”
As the horse plunged past her Ketty saw the river just ahead, its muddy waters running even faster than before as if to make up for being pent in, held back.
Ketty hauled hard on the reins but the horse lost its footing in the mud. She kept her seat as it went down on its chest. She could feel the swirl of water against her foot. Then the horse was lunging, struggling to get back to its feet.
That was when the riverbank collapsed. Ketty’s arm tightened around Britta as a wave of muddy water enfolded her, pummeled her. She lost her grip on the saddle. She felt herself tumbled, rolled, whirled around and around, and all she could think was that she had to hold onto Britta, hold onto Britta, hold on . . .
The Hauntén whore had come back.
Nedgalvin saw her try to wave the idiot Binthy girl away from the water, but Ketty went in anyway, disappearing like a dropped stone beneath the flood, and the baby with her.
Thellan scrambled down the riverbank, her gaze intent on the water as if there was a chance she could fish Ketty out! Her back was turned to Nedgalvin. She seemed to have forgotten he was there.
He got out his bow and nocked an arrow. Thellan’s pursuit of the current was stopped by a large tree at the very edge of the water. She paused beside it, her palm pressed against the trunk as she leaned out to search the water downstream.
Nedgalvin aimed for her hand. The arrow flew true. It pierced Thellan’s palm, nailing her hand to the tree. She screamed, but she did not vanish. The steel arrowhead in her flesh pinned her in human form. Nedgalvin sent his horse racing to close the gap between them as she seized the arrow’s shaft with her other hand and tried to pull it out. Mud flew over her as Nedgalvin’s horse skidded to a stop. He jumped out of the saddle.
Thellan saw him and reached for her sword but Nedgalvin was faster. He hit her with his fist, a roundhouse blow to the side of her head, and then he caught her as she collapsed.
He worked the arrowhead out of the tree, but not out of her palm. He broke the shaft off, and then he used a piece of cloth to bind up her hand. He would do a proper job of pinning her later. For now he wanted to be far away when Smoke came back.
He heaved her sword into the river. Then he hoisted her over his shoulder and returned to his horse.
A long, terrible wail resounded through the treetops. The other Hauntén, the bedraggled, gray-haired old witch, coalesced beneath the trees, just a few feet away. Nedgalvin glared at her. Very calmly he said, “Stay back, or I’ll kill her.”
He didn’t think it would come to that. The old Hauntén didn’t look like much of a threat. She wasn’t even armed and, obedient to his order, she backed away. She spoke as she did so, though he couldn’t hear what she was saying. He didn’t care. He hauled himself onto the horse. Then, settling Thellan’s limp form in front of him, he set off at a slow canter, heading south.
The surviving horse saw him and, unwilling to be left alone in the forest, it followed.
~
My father, Dehan the Trenchant, was a cruel and murderous man, but he served the Koráyos people and they loved him for it. No doubt it will be the same with my nephew. Though he’s still a tiny creature within Takis’ womb, he will be Trenchant after her, and like any strong leader, he’ll do what’s necessary to preserve and defend the Puzzle Lands. By contrast my brother Smoke is murderous but not cruel—and the Koráyos people despise him. Why? Because he’s capable of murder without passion; murder as a matter of convenience. Anyone could be his next victim, and everyone who meets him knows it.
Retribution
Smoke had been gone far longer than he’d intended, but it was hard to run the threads here on the edge of the dark heart, where every geometry distorted his vision and pushed him away. But at last he’d come across a wide, still pool at the top of a waterfall. He guessed it was deep, but the current was slight and it looked like it would be safe enough for the horses to swim. He was trying to decide how far along the river he’d come when a prayer reached him.
It was an irresistible summons, impossible to ignore, delivered in a woman’s voice, one he’d heard before, demanding that he Come. Now.
He dove into the threads. For a moment he was lost among their coils and tricks, but then a clean path blazed before him and he raced its length.
Many minutes passed as he traversed the world-beneath until the prayer brought him back to that point on the river where he’d left Ketty—except that he was now on the east bank. A woman stood alone within an expanse of mud churned up by horses’ hoo
ves. She was Hauntén.
Smoke made the mistake of looking into her gleaming green eyes. He felt his soul begin to tear, just as it had when he’d met Pellas’ gaze, just as it had when he’d glimpsed the spirit in the midwife’s cottage. A cry ripped from his throat. He fell to his knees, raising his arm to hide his eyes. He didn’t need anyone to tell him the truth. His blood told him the truth. This was the same spirit he’d seen in the cottage, and it was his Hauntén mother.
Her footsteps drew near, squishing in the mud. Her hand squeezed his shoulder. Then she crouched beside him. Her arms encircled him and he felt her trembling. He guessed that she wept.
“I’m not him,” Smoke told her harshly.
“I know it,” she answered in a low and tender voice. “Don’t be afraid. Look at me.”
“I can’t!”
“Look at me.” It was the command of a woman and he was compelled by it, just as he’d been compelled by the command of the midwife—until she’d asked too much.
He looked up, and once again he met her green gaze. He felt the terrible pain of fission but this time it lasted only a moment, before swiftly fading. “I give you up,” she said firmly. “I release my claim on you. Be what you are.”
He couldn’t see the workings of her spell, but a seam he’d never been aware of sealed inside him and he felt whole, stronger than he’d been just a moment before—until she tore him apart again by telling him all that had happened.
He stood on the riverbank, staring at the rushing brown water, and it seemed to him he looked at a flowing, sinuous monster, one that had gobbled up everything that mattered to him.
Otani stood beside him. “Your obligation is to the living,” she said. “I put it on you to rescue Thellan.”
Thellan?
Smoke hated Thellan. But he did as he was told.