Finally, Dion thrust her away. The wolfwalker opened her eyes; her own hands trembled like leaves. Her eyes were glinting. “It’s not enough,” she managed.
Roethke tried to take Asuli’s place. “Use me,” he said to her.
Automatically, almost repulsed, Dion warded off his hands. “You’rejustachild.”
“I can do it.”
“No,” she said.
“I want her to live.”
“You haven’t the strength,” Dion said sharply, but her voice was hoarse.
“She’s my mother.”
“You’re too small, too young.”
“Stand back, boy.” Tehena pulled at his shoulder, her own voice flat and hard. But deep in her mind, an image flickered of a child of her own she had killed.
His young face set in stubborn lines. “I might not be as big or strong as you, but I have will,” he said.
Dion turned unfocused eyes to him. Through wolf eyes, she saw his shoulders, straight; his face, set.
He stood his ground. “She has to live,” he said. “Use me.”
She stared at him for a long moment. Her voice was a murmur, more in the wolves than outside of them. “It is fitting, perhaps … that her life comes from you, since your life came from her.” She hesitated, then stretched out her hand and touched him.
A minute only, and the boy was trembling. Tehena started to pull him away, but he cursed her with a childish word, and the lanky woman nodded grimly and let him stay with Dion. But another minute, and Roethke shook like a wire. Abruptly, Dion shoved him away. The wolfwalker trembled herself. She stared at his mother, unseeing. Her hand groped for something—anything, but what she found was the bedpost. Unconsciously, she clenched it. There was a sound without noise, as if the air compressed around her. Something seemed to explode. The wolf eyes glimmered; slitted eyes blinked. Energy flowed for a moment. The bedpost burned white-hot. And Dion pushed the last large mass of worms out of the woman’s chest.
The spell was broken; the wolfsong dimmed and died. Dion slumped to the floor.
Kiyun leaped forward, his arms, weakened, were still strong enough to keep her from hitting the floor hard. Carefully, he lifted her and carried her out to the couch in the living room. Roethke was torn between following and staying with his mother, and he caught at Asuli’s arms. “Is she healed? Is she all right? Will she be okay?”
Blankly, Asuli looked down. “She’ll live;’ the intern said slowly. She got her healing kit again and began to close up the incisions.
Gamon and Tehena looked at each other. Kiyun rubbed his eyes. “Carry her back now, or wait?”
Tehena shook her head. “With the wolves outside? Who knows what they would do?”
“We’ll wait,” Gamon said flatly.
He nodded and sat heavily in one of the chairs near Dion. Ten minutes later they heard steps on the porch. Tehena stiffened and rose. It was the woman who had originally let them in, and she had a healer in tow. “Roethke?” the first woman called out.
The boy appeared. “It’s okay,” he told them. He half bowed to the old healer.
Elibi looked at him, then at the three who stood in the cramped living room, then caught a glimpse of Dion. The old woman stared. “But this is the Master Healer Dione.” She moved to the wolfwalker’s side, ignoring Tehena’s automatically protective stance. Gendy, she touched Dion’s face. “Ah, Dione,” she said softly. “It’s been so long since you’ve come home to us.”
“Who is she?” Roethke asked.
Elibi turned. “The wolfwalker, Roethke—you’ve heard of her. She was born just over those hills. Grew up climbing the same mountains that those in the inn are here to scale.”
Gamon had gotten to his feet. “You knew her when she was young?”
“I trained her in Ethran medicine. She was barely a young woman then. So eager to learn—so eager to do. She looks …” Her voice trailed off. “She looks exhausted,” she said flatly.
Roethke studied Dion. “She came to heal my mother.”
“Aye, she would. She has that kind of stubbornness—never could accept the inevitable.”
Gamon smiled without humor. “You know her, all right.”
“Enough to be worried about her still.”
“Worried?”
“That she still takes each patient on as part of her personal war against death. It always seemed to me as though since the moons had taken her mother from her, she would keep every one else from their path. I thought once that she’d try to depopulate the heavens one by one till she found her mother again.”
Roethke’s voice was low. “I told her I’d share Momma with her, if she could keep my momma from dying.”
“Ah, child.” Elibi’s voice was gentle. “There’s not much even Dione could do to help your mother now.”
“But she did.”
“Did what?”
“Healed Momma.”
Elibi sighed. “Roethke …”
“I saw it,” he insisted. “Her eyes turned gray, then yellow, and she melted the wood. And the worms came out of Momma’s skin.”
“Roethke,” Gamon said quickly.
Elibi stared at him. “Dione has always tried her best, and she would have wanted to help your mother, but…”
Roethke shook his head. “She didn’t want to do it.”
“Dione would not have turned you down, Roethke.”
“She cursed and broke the furniture. She snarled. Her eyes turned yellow then, too.”
“And you stayed near her when she was like that?”
“Asuli said I had to be brave, no matter what she did, so that she would do the healing. Asuli said that lady would keep Momma from dying.”
“Asuli said that, did she?” The healer’s voice was mild, but there was a steely tone in it, and Gamon had a sudden vision of where Dion had learned some of her habits. The old healer put her hand on the boy’s shoulder, then moved toward the back bedroom. She took in the worm bowl, full of bloodred, hairlike clots; took in Asuli, bandaging the last of the incisions. She eyed the intern for a long moment, then stepped in and checked Xiame’s pulse.
Elibi frowned and checked Xiame’s pulse again. She gave Asuli a sharp look. “When you came to see me, I thought you wanted experience seeing patients with parasites. You said nothing of this involving Dione—I’d have come with you if you had.”
“Dione stopped wearing her healer’s circlet. I thought this would snap her out of it.”
Elibi’s voice was hard. “At the cost of speeding Xiame toward death?”
“The patient isn’t dying, Healer. Check her pulse again.”
“Dione bled her—that’s obvious—to get rid of some of the worms. But Dione would know that the cytro would leave too many dead worms in her bloodstream. There will be clots from Xiame’s lungs to her brain. This woman will be dead in a day.”
“You’re wrong. The patient’s pulse is stronger than before.”
“I felt that, aye. But that could simply be a reaction to losing some of the worms.”
“It’s more than that. The woman is cured.”
“Dione is no faith healer to play games with people’s hope. She knows there’s no cure for hairworms. She would never have bled a woman just because a boy asked.”
Asuli shrugged and kept her eyes on the patient.
Elibi’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly. “I may be old, but I’ve still the eyes to see what you’re thinking. Just what did Dione do?”
Asuli finished her bandaging, then looked up. “I may be a temporary intern, but I don’t dispute my healer’s work, no matter how long I’ve been with her. That is for you and Dione to discuss.”
“I don’t doubt it.” The old woman’s gaze was sharp as she took in the alignment of the wounds.
Roethke watched her from the door. Finally, he asked, his voice small, “What does Ovousibas mean?”
Automatically, Elibi answered, “It’s an Ancient art. One that the Ancients used with the wolves …”
Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the bedpost. She couldn’t help her sharp intake of breath.
Almost involuntarily, the old healer reached out to finger the wood. The carved post seemed to have melted: part of it was detailed with designs of vines and flowers; part of it was shapeless and filled with finger depressions. She tested the bedpost for strength, pressing against it with one finger, then rubbing at the surface. Some of it came off like ash. The old woman found herself staring at Roethke’s mother, at the pattern of the cuts, at the bowl that Asuli washed; when she looked up at the intern, whatever she saw made her blanch with a deep-seated terror. The healer closed her eyes for a moment as she sank heavily to the bed. “Moons above,” she whispered.
“Healer,” Asuli began.
The old woman raised a hand to halt the intern’s words. Then she opened her eyes, set her wrinkled lips in a determined line, and called for Kiyun to come into the room. When he did, she pointed to the bedpost. “Can you break that off?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Then do so. Put it in the fireplace. Make sure it burns completely.”
Elibi and Asuli covered Xiame with a sheet, and the burly man kicked the post. What was left of the wood broke off with a crack. He picked up the chunk with the melted end and rubbed his fingers over it. It felt odd—as if it was somehow lighter and drier than it had a right to be. The melted section almost crumbled in his fingers. Thoughtfully, he carried it out to the fireplace in the other room. When he started to build a fire, Gamon raised his eyebrows, but Kiyun gave him a meaningful glance toward the other woman who was there. Gamon joined him at the hearth.
“The healing—it was never like this,” Kiyun said, his voice low.
The older man nodded. Neither said what they were thinking— that the currents that had crackled out of the wolfwalker’s eyes were not of wolves or of humans.
Elibi returned to the living room and motioned for the other woman to leave. “I will send Roethke for you when we need you again.”
The other woman nodded. She left quietly, but not before she took another glimpse of Dion’s haggard face. Asuli, who had followed Elibi in, started to sit in one of the chairs, but Elibi shook her head. “You too,” she said flatly. “You’re staying at the commons house? Then go there and wait. I’ll send for you when it’s time to discuss what you’ve done.”
Asuli’s face shuttered, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she turned sharply on her heel and strode from the house.
Elibi sat heavily in one of the living-room chairs. No one spoke, but the silence was not uncomfortable. It was merely one of waiting. After a few minutes, Tehena got up and went to the kitchen, foraging for something to eat. She came back with a loaf of bread, cold meatrolls, and tubers still warm from the ash pit. She offered some to Elibi, but the older healer shook her head, then went back to the bedroom to sit with Xiame.
It was an hour before Dion opened her eyes. Her breathing changed; then she looked at the room. It was still fogged, but the sense of the Gray Ones was fading. Slowly, she sat up. Her limbs no longer trembled—they felt rubbery and numb, as though they had passed through exhaustion into a state where they had no strength to shake.
Wordlessly, Tehena handed her a meatroll and a mug of rou. The wolfwalker tore into the meatroll, but waved away the mug as she let her gaze take in the others. “Asuli?” she asked. Her voice was still half a growl, but she didn’t care.
“Outside,” Tehena answered. “The healer sent her away.”
“Elibi.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Gamon nodded.
The other healer heard her voice and came into the living room. “Dione.” She nodded.
Dion started to rise, felt her knees buckle, and sat again heavily on the couch. “Healer Elibi. It’s been a long time.”
“It has.” Elibi looked at her soberly. “We need to talk, Dione.”
* * *
Later, out in the front of the commons house on the cold wooden steps of the porch, Asuli stared at her hands. She had felt Dion’s mind—had felt the wolfwalker’s pulse as if it were her own. She had felt a power that reached past skin and bones into the very cells of another human being. She sucked in a long, slow breath. Everything she had done, everything she had learned in the last ten years was nothing. She put her head in her hands and cried.
XX
From the Blue Mountains north,
From the Night Islands east,
From the Red River west,
This land is Ilwaco,
Of suicide hills,
Of star-shattered skies.
Star-castles of ice.
And eyes made of stone:
Land of Aiueven
And alien death.
Elibi stood with Dion at the hitching post and watched the wolfwalker lash her gear to the dnu. “You could stay,” the older healer said.
Dion paused and looked at her. “You know I can’t, Elibi.”
The old woman sighed. “Asuli will remain with me, then.”
“I don’t think you can do much with her in a ninan.”
“I don’t either. That’s why I’m taking her on a full internship.”
“You’re not.”
“I am.”
Dion almost smiled. “I admire you, Elibi, but I don’t envy you a bit.”
“Nor I you, Dione. You’ve not chosen a simple road. What you seek …” The old woman shook her head.
“What I seek is a cure, Elibi. No more. No less.”
“For the wolves or for yourself?”
Dion gave her a crooked smile. “I’m not sure there’s a difference, but then, I’m not sure that matters.”
“It matters to me.”
“You always were a softie.”
Elibi chuckled. “That’s not what you said when you were my intern.”
“And that’s not what Asuli will say either, I wager. I think I’m going to enjoy thinking of her stuck here with you.”
The old woman put her hand on Dion’s arm. “I wish you would stay, Dione. There is so much you could do here. So much you could teach the other wolfwalkers—so much you could teach me.”
Dion shook her head. “I spent the last thirteen years of my life doing that in Ariye. They will send someone to help you. This, I do for myself, for the wolves.”
But Elibi’s searching gaze was shrewd. “It’s not the wolves youTl be seeking, Dione. I see something else in your eyes.”
The two women exchanged a long look. Dion touched her arm, and they hugged suddenly, almost fiercely. Elibi pushed her away. “Move, Dione. Don’t stay put. Go run with your wolves in your mountains. YouTl find no peace among the graves.”
“I’ll search where I must,” she returned.
Elibi nodded slowly at the shadows in Dion’s eyes. “When one has nothing left to lose, that is when one can do the greatest good.”
“When you hear the wolves …”
“I’ll listen for you.”
Elibi watched as the wolfwalker mounted. Gamon, Kiyun, Tehena, Dione … The four figures rode slowly away, heading toward the mountains. Within minutes, they were barely distinguishable from the trees that lined the road. Elibi stared after them. Her voice was soft. “Ride safe, Dione—with all nine moons above you.”
* * *
It took four days to follow the mountain roads to the fork that led to the home of Dion’s twin brother. There Gamon paused and asked Dion to turn off toward the village with him. She shook her head.
He touched her arm. “They are family, Dion. You need to see him, and he needs to see you.”
“He knows me, Gamon.” The rush of emotion almost broke her, and for a moment she couldn’t see. She swallowed and hid her shock that the waves of grief could still blind her. She forced her voice to steady. “He knows already what I feel,” she said. “He lives with that, as I live with his emotions. As twins, we are too tightly bound for either to be unaware of the other.”
“Awareness isn’t the kind of comfor
t you need.”
“It’s enough for now.”
“Is it? Or is it an excuse you use to keep from facing your family?”
“That isn’t fair, Gamon.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it’s true.”
“I hate it when you’re right.” But she didn’t smile.
“You’re going to have to face them sometime, Wolfwalker. You’re going to have to accept their comfort.”
“It’s not their comfort I’m avoiding.” The older man started to interrupt her, but she cut him off. “Gamon, when I first bonded with Hishn, there was no one to guide me as a wolfwalker, to warn me about growing too close to the wolves. My father and brother—nearly everyone in my village—could see the changes I went through. But they assumed those changes were normal for being a wolfwalker. So I ran trail and learned to struggle and fight and survive. And then I came to Ariye, and kept doing those things because you had a need I could fill.”
Gamon nodded. “You were so clear in what you did—so focused and confident. It was as if the Heart of Ariye had somehow become visible to us all, through you. All the centuries of working toward going back to the stars, and you made us believe it could happen.”
She stared at him. “I never had anything to do with that part of the county. I never even thought about your goals until I mated with Aranur.”
He shook his head. “It isn’t that, Dion, but the other things you do that make you such a focus. You risked yourself, you sacrificed for us, and you didn’t break, no matter what happened. You pushed yourself to do what was necessary, not just what you thought you could do. And simply by living, you showed us what a single scout could accomplish. Or a single healer. Or a single wolfwalker or woman.” He let his gnarled hand cover hers. “It is never the big miracles that give simple folk heart: Hope is important, but it won’t reach the stars like confidence will. You build that confidence. If something can be done, you do it. If it can’t be done, you work around it. Aranur saw that in you long ago. It stunned him then—I remember it clearly—that you could do so much yet be so unassuming. It was as if, through your own simple focus, he suddenly saw the potential of every person he met. That is the Heart of Ariye, Dion. The potential. The dream. The ability to harness and focus that potential, and the confidence to explore it. That heart is still in you, Dion. Ran-donnen, Ariye—they are the same. In you, they blend together.”
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