Widows of the Sun-Moon

by Barbara Ann Wright

  Her eyes squeezed shut, and he felt the call go out. No directed probes this time. Everyone would hear it. He gripped her hand, feeling her fingers weakening, wondering if it would be enough, if Lazlo would come, if the baby would be all right, if…

  Someone gasped and pointed at Caroline’s legs. Dillon watched, rapt, as the blood slowed, and the flesh began to knit together. Lazlo slipped through the crowd and knelt, grumbling as he worked, his hands passing over her legs. Her eyes had closed, face slack in sleep, her breathing deep and even.

  “Laz,” Dillon whispered, “the baby? My son?”

  “Fine.” He looked up at last. “What am I doing here?”

  Caroline was still out, and Dillon didn’t know if he meant here in the street or here in Gale or if he’d forgotten what he’d just done. “Helping, Laz. That’s what you do.”

  Lazlo stared at him for a few painful seconds, but when Caroline’s eyes opened, he gasped, one hand moving toward his forehead. “What was I saying?”

  Dillon didn’t answer, only helped Caroline to her feet after she assured him she was fully healed.

  “I couldn’t have taken this long to heal myself,” Lazlo said, breathing hard. “I couldn’t.”

  Before Dillon could say anything, Lazlo stomped away. The way things were going, they might have to keep him in a permanent state of confusion. At least he could still do what he did best, but Dillon was reminded of how much he missed the old Lazlo, the snits, the second-guessing. He didn’t just want a healer, though he supposed he might have to settle for one.

  *

  Samira’s eyes flew open to darkness. “Simon,” she whispered. The burn of lightning whipped through her memory along with a tattooed face and the drone of hundreds of insects in her brain. She sat up, and pain gripped her lower back. With a gasp, she grabbed at the rough bandages that swaddled her torso and eased back down.

  “Have you learned your lesson?” a sibilant voice asked from the dark.

  Samira squinted but saw nothing. “Are you drushka?”

  “Ahya, it is Reach. I am tending your wound.”

  She tried to remember. “The Storm Lord took Simon, and then…that woman…her eyes.” She shivered as she recalled her mind being overwhelmed by the widow. Only it hadn’t been her, not exactly.

  A rough touch grazed her bare shoulder, and she realized she was naked under a thick blanket. She sat up more slowly, and the rough hands helped her upright.

  “The enemy hunt leader stabbed you,” Reach said. “You were somewhat healed by shawness Horace, or you would not have survived to be tended by me.”

  Samira pulled the blanket up to her chin. She felt underneath her and found the rough texture of wood. “Where is Horace? Where am I?”

  “You are underground among the roots of the tree. We thought it best to keep you in as much quiet as we could. You have been sleeping for a day.”

  “And Horace? Simon? Mamet?”

  Light bloomed as Reach struck a match. As she lit a candle, the dancing shadows made the whorls on her face seem like a widow’s tattoos, and Samira had to look away. She lay in a bowl-shaped cavern that was covered in the roots of the enormous drushkan tree.

  Reach sat behind her and fussed over the bandages. “Taken, all of them, but we work to get them back.” She muttered something as her long fingers probed Samira’s side. “I will need to change the moss soon. You will tell me if you feel too warm or cold, ahya?”

  “Yes.” It came out a whisper. Taken. Her dear friend, his new love, and a young woman she’d grown fond of in so short a time, all gone in a moment. “The widow took Horace?”

  “And Mamet.”

  Ice bloomed in her stomach. They’d called Mamet a vermin. And if they’d come all this way to kidnap Horace, they weren’t going to give him back easily. “I have to help them.” She braced against the pain and tried to stand, but Reach pressed on her shoulders, keeping her down. Samira took a deep breath. “I can make you let go.”

  “Ahya, then you would have to escape the queen’s embrace to reach the surface, where many drushka wait, and all it takes is one scratch.” She pressed the tip of a claw down hard enough to illustrate her point.

  Samira fought down a wave of anger. A well-thought-out argument; that was what she needed, enough to make Reach see sense. As she tried to think, all her careful words abandoned her, and she fought down a sob.

  Reach sat on the branch in front of her and began to sing. The tension melted from Samira’s muscles. “Sa and Ashki hunt leader follow Horace and Mamet. Pool works with the plains dwellers and Liam to rescue shawness Simon. When you feel well enough, we will join them.”

  “They’re still just talking about it?”

  “Your mother should have named you Usta, the most stubborn of vines.”

  “What is the Storm Lord doing to Simon while we talk?”

  Reach smoothed Samira’s hair from her face. “And usta grows like fire, but some of the taller trees of the swamp would not be able to stand without its support.”

  Samira barked a laugh. “Who could I support right now?”

  Reach spread her hands as if to say anything was possible. “Now, we will see if you can walk, Usta. If you can, we venture aboveground.” She put her hands on Samira’s shoulders and leaned close. “Look in my eyes, Usta, and tell me you will not try to run from my care.”

  Samira sighed and pictured herself hobbling away only to collapse far from Gale. “I promise.”

  Reach stood. “I will find your clothes.”

  After she made a few stumbling circuits of the cavern, Samira refused to admit she was tired. Reach stayed by her elbow as she practiced walking, and she gritted her teeth whenever she felt a stab of pain. She wanted to see what was happening above, both to know what the drushka planned to do for Simon and also so she could see the sky and feel the wind. She didn’t like the idea of spending more time trapped in the dark.

  Finally, Reach agreed to go aboveground but ordered Samira to sit at Pool’s base while she found out the latest news. The sun was high, and drushkan and human children played in the long grass while the adults went about various chores. Samira spotted a familiar face: Lydia, the ex-prophet of Gale. She seemed happier than when they’d fled, at least a little. Samira remembered that her lover had died in the boggin attack. When their eyes met, Samira smiled, and Lydia crossed over to sit beside her.

  “How are you feeling?” Lydia asked.

  “Better,” Samira said, wondering if everyone knew she’d been injured. “You?”

  Lydia nodded and watched the children play.

  Samira hesitated then blurted, “Can you tell me what will happen to my friend Simon?”

  Lydia’s shoulders sagged. “It won’t help.”

  “Why?”

  “You won’t be able to change anything. If I tell you your friend dies or you never see him again, will that stop you trying to rescue him?”

  Samira shook her head hard enough to pull at her back.

  “Knowing doesn’t change anything.”

  Samira sighed. She knew that; she’d learned that, but she couldn’t accept it.

  Lydia gave her a wan smile. “I like the drushka. When someone told them I could see the future, they didn’t see the point.” She crossed her legs, leaning back and smiling. “I like minding the children. I’ve been watching Reach’s son while she tends you.”

  “Which one is he?” When Lydia pointed at a human child, Samira frowned. “Reach’s son is human?”

  “Adopted when his parents were killed in Gale. Careful,” she said, winking. “The drushka adopt us stragglers quickly.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I won’t be around long enough.”

  Lydia shrugged. Samira stared and wondered if she could have warned them about the attack or abductions. They could have prepared, but looking into the future made someone react, and that reaction changed what would have happened into whatever the prophet saw. Samira had never gone to see Lydia for that very reason.
If the news they gave you was good, you could happily look forward to it. If it was bad, there was nothing you could do to change it. Your negative reaction might even cause the bad thing you were so worried about. Better to hope, she supposed.

  Reach approached and helped her stand. “Pool wishes to see you, Usta, and you will have the news you crave.”

  “Usta?” Lydia asked with a chuckle. “I think you’ve been adopted already.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  When the geaver stopped for the first night on the way to Celeste, Cordelia was tempted to thank the Storm Lord. She needed some time on flat ground just to quiet her roiling stomach.

  “Fortunately for us, shawness Horace’s abductors will have to stop as well,” Nettle said as she looked to the east.

  The trail hadn’t been hard to follow, even as fast as the kidnappers had been moving. Nettle said she could have followed it blindfolded. Cordelia said she could see many uses for a blindfold until Nettle nipped her earlobe and told her to keep her mind on the mission.

  They rode hard the second day and had to stop to camp again. The handler seemed content to sleep at the side of his animal, leaving the campfire to Nettle and Cordelia. She lay on a blanket, staring at the stars stretching across the night sky. She’d hoped the kidnappers would have gone to ground before then, but they seemed determined to ride all the way to Celeste. She wondered how Horace was, if he’d awakened yet, or if they were keeping him asleep. She hoped they weren’t bashing his head in over and over. After a point, even he wouldn’t be able to heal himself.

  A tingle grew in her scalp as she realized there might be a way to find out. She glanced at Nettle, who seemed as absorbed in looking at the sky as she’d been. “I’m going to try something.”

  Nettle turned, and the firelight danced in her lichen-colored eyes.

  “When I left my body before—”

  Nettle sat up. “Sa, no.”

  “I know how to get back! I want to see if I can spot Horace.”

  Nettle’s lips tightened, and Cordelia knew the idea frightened her. Cordelia had never heard such panic in her voice as when she’d thought Cordelia had collapsed from some unseen danger. She’d once said she feared an accidental poisoning between them. She had to have thought that was what had happened.

  “It’s okay,” Cordelia said, squeezing her hand. “I’ll just be gone a minute. You were the one who said communicating like drushka could be a boon.”

  “Communicating, Sa. I said nothing about this leaving of the body.”

  “Scouting is quite useful, too.”

  Nettle looked away, but Cordelia knew she was weakening. “I do not like it.”

  “Only for a few minutes.”

  “One minute, as you said.”

  “That doesn’t give me a lot of time.”

  Nettle gave her a long look.

  “As short a time as I can manage, I promise.”

  Nettle didn’t like being helpless, either, but she spread her hands at last.

  Cordelia gave her a quick kiss and then focused on where they touched, at the light she sensed in Nettle even when ensconced in her body. She focused until she felt that uncomfortable tightening, but this time, she searched for the way out and found it within moments, leaving her body with a happy cry.

  She eyed the silvery cord attaching spirit to body and then willed herself into the plains, following the kidnappers’ trail in the moonlight. The dark landscape seemed a little brighter, and the light of another campfire shone like a beacon. She hadn’t yet seen any humans who glowed like the drushka did, but now she spotted a similar light around this other campfire; it had to be Horace.

  They didn’t seem so far ahead, but she could fly as a spirit far faster than she could walk or ride. Some of the tattooed people were asleep; others sat on watch. Their leader sat next to Horace, and he seemed asleep, his chest moving up and down. Mamet seemed the same, though she’d been trussed hand and foot.

  Cordelia lingered around the tattooed woman, trying to spot any weaknesses, to see if she spoke with or favored any of her fellows above the others, but she stared into the fire as if she could see into it, and for a moment, her face creased in pain before it settled. Nothing there.

  Cordelia didn’t want to make Nettle nervous, but she found her disappointment growing as she flew back to her body. She liked the physical world, some of it more than others, but she wanted to explore this new power. It…freed her. As she saw Nettle carefully watching her body and stroking her hair, she hurried. Nettle definitely fell into the “better parts of the physical world” category.

  As Cordelia settled into herself and opened her eyes, Nettle’s expression went from worried to relieved, and she pressed her thin lips to Cordelia’s forehead. “Welcome home, Sa.”

  “Horace and Mamet seem all right, if that makes you feel better.”

  “It does not. I prefer your body and spirit to be in the same place.”

  “I don’t know if we’ll be able to take them before they get to Celeste.”

  “Then we will have to sneak in after them. I will try to send this to the queen, but I do not know if she will be able to hear me over such a distance.”

  Cordelia grinned. “I’ve got an idea. You can use me like an antenna.”

  Nettle frowned. “A what?”

  “Try to talk to her through me while I’m out of my body.”

  “How would this work, Sa?”

  “Let’s just try.” Before Nettle could argue, Cordelia left her body again. She floated high into the air, the silver cord trailing out behind her. The plains spread out below, their campfire a tiny dot. Flutters of fear went through her at being so far off the ground, but that only added to the exhilaration.

  She felt Nettle’s call and tried to send it outward, reaching for the connection she felt to Pool. Funny how just a few days before this had scared the hell out of her, but now, with others counting on her, it seemed like a fantastic asset. Strange how the reverse was true for Nettle. Cordelia could feel her worry even as they both sensed a dim reply from Pool, who seemed to understand the message, and Cordelia got the hazy impression that Pool would try to follow if she could.

  After riding all the next day, the walls of Celeste finally loomed before them. They’d bypassed several small settlements after Horace’s kidnappers did the same. Cordelia told the geaver and handler to go back. They would sneak the rest of the way on foot.

  The stone walls were a dull pink in the light of the high sun, and people wandered in and out of large wooden gates. Pairs wore vests or robes that hung past their knees, flaring open over baggy trousers that were wrapped at the ankles and partway up the calves. Everyone wore light colors, standing out against the dark clay of the road and the green grass. Cordelia eyed the ballistae on top of the walls and smiled as she remembered the one her uncle had given her.

  Nettle gestured toward the river that snaked along the city’s northern side. The delta beyond was a riot of flowering plants, and in the distance, the ocean flashed like a mirror. “Perhaps we could find a way to swim inside?”

  Cordelia bit her lip and shook her head. It had never been one of her strong skills, and even now, it brought memories of almost drowning in the jaws of a prog. “Let’s get a couple of those robes and sneak in at the gate.”

  “One look at my face would give us away.”

  “Not if we wait for dark.”

  “You think shawness Horace can afford to wait?”

  “I don’t think they’d drag him here to kill him. They must need him for something.”

  “Shawness Simon was right, then. He burned out both their powers because he thought these gods could not resist them.”

  She nodded. “So, they might hurt him, but they won’t kill him, and he can heal anything they do.”

  “I pity him. Perhaps they simply desire whatever it was that gave them long life, and if he does it, he will remain safe.” She mumbled something that sounded like, “This would never have happened i
n the swamp.”

  Cordelia didn’t agree, but she knew enough not to argue. Nettle missed her home. All the drushka did, even those who were incredibly open to new experiences, like Shiv. But as Pool often said, “Our legs speak to our minds and teach them to keep moving forward.” No one was going back to the swamp while the Shi, leader of all other drushka, wanted them dead.

  “Let’s get closer to the road,” Cordelia said. “Then we grab a pair of people, wait for dark, and see what this city has to offer.”

  Sunset gave them a momentous gift, several pairs of Sun-Moon worshipers herding a pack of ossors inside the city. They’d seen plenty of creatures out in the country, but perhaps these were destined to be sold in the next day’s market. As Cordelia and Nettle sneaked from the long grass into the road, the creatures shied away from Nettle, keening harshly as they went.

  Nettle veered away, but Cordelia continued straight on, headed for where she’d seen one of the worshipers. She crept up behind him, spun him around, and punched him hard in the gut. When he doubled over, she bunched her hands into one large fist and slammed it down on the back of his neck. He collapsed, and she turned toward where a woman’s voice was calling. As an ossor pulled out of the way, revealing the woman, Cordelia gave her a solid punch to the jaw before she could cry out.

  She dragged both bodies out of the pack as the other drovers called for their fellows. She waved, careful to keep her face low, and hoped that signaled that everything was okay. Nettle stripped the worshipers of their outer clothing and handed one set to Cordelia. She didn’t even glance at the symbol on the back as she put it on. Months ago, when she’d been firmly in the Storm Lord’s camp, such an act would have disgusted her, but they were all just humans now.

  “The animals will not let me get close,” Nettle whispered.

  “Stay to the back.”

  She helped herd the animals from one side while Nettle lingered near the side of the road, waiting for the herd to pass. Cordelia heard the keening begin as Nettle got too close, and the other drovers called to each other. They couldn’t keep this ruse up all the way to the gate, not with the ossors panicking and the drovers wanting to know what was going on. They were going to notice the gap in their ranks.