Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (8 page)

 
          
"Who
is it? Who calls so angry at this hour?"

 
          
In
his despair, his anger, he had forgotten she was blind. He said bitterly,
"You do not know?"

 
          
"Calandryll?"
She stepped a pace toward him, into the moonlight, her eyes twin mirrors of the
milky disk. "Why do you come here so late?"

 
          
He
closed the distance between them, fists raised as though to strike her,
lowering them to thud against his hips. Reba stood her ground, head cocked.

 
          
"You
call yourself spaewife and you do not know why I come?"

 
          
"I
am a spaewife, no, I do not."

 
          
Her
voice was calm. It seemed her blindness armored her and that very tranquility
leeched the anger from him, leaving only despair in its place. He groaned,
close to tears that he fought to dam. Reba stood back.

 
          
"You
had best come in."

 
          
He
went past her into the darkness, pausing as she drew the door closed, sliding
bolts into place, brushing by him to lead the way to the room where they had
sat that morning. She found the tinderbox and struck flame to a lantern,-
pushed it toward him.

 
          
“Light
the lamps if you wish."

 
          
He
took the bowl and applied its wick to the lanterns set about the chamber. Their
light was mellow, revealing the plague-scarred seeress dressed in a sleeping
gown, overlaid with a green robe. Her hair was unbound, long and straight, her
face calm as her voice.

 
          
"There
is wine in the kitchen, if wine you need."

 
          
He
carried the lamp through; returned with the same flagon and the two cups. This
time it was he who drank the faster, aware that much more, after what he had
consumed at dinner, would tip him over into drunkenness. It seemed a sound
enough idea, but first there were questions.

 
          
"She
refused me. She is to marry my brother."

 
          
Reba
nodded slowly. "I read loss."

 
          
"You
did not tell me I should lose Nadama."

 
          
He
choked on her name and wiped a hand across his eyes; filled his cup afresh.

 
          
"I
told you all I saw," the spaewife said evenly. "I told you your
future is clouded—that you have choices."

 
          
"They
narrow apace," he retorted, voice hoarse with bitterness. "Nadama is
to marry Tobias and I am ordered to become a priest."

 
          
"Those
were options you outlined yourself," Reba murmured.

 
          
"I
did not
believe
them!"

 
          
Reba
sighed. "Calandryll, you are young and you are a stranger to
disappointment. I saw loss—I told you that!— were you not ready?"

 
          
"No."
He stared at her, head moving slowly from side to side. "No, I was not. I
thought ..."

 
          
He
broke off, stifling a sob. Reba said, "You thought you would have what you
most desired and so you saw my prophecy from that viewpoint alone."

 
          
He
grunted a reluctant affirmative. "Now I have nothing."

 
          
"Now
you have choices to make." Her voice was still musical, but harder now,
carrying the ring of battle horns. "What I read of your future still
stands; it is for you to choose whether you take that path or not. Nadama has
chosen her own path—does that not free you in a way?"

 
          
"I
wanted her," he muttered. "I
love
her."

 
          
"And
you have always had what you wanted." There was a distinct edge now, a
clarion like a challenge. “You have lived behind the palace walls; with
servants, luxury. Whatever you have wanted has been there for the taking. Did
you think to have your Nadama so easily?"

 
          
Welling
tears dried on his cheeks and his mouth hung open: there was truth in what she
said.

 
          
"I
thought ..." He faltered, shaking his head helplessly.

 
          
"You
thought because you love her, she must return your affection. It is common
enough; so is loss.
Nadama has chosen Tobias.
That is a fact you must
live with."

 
          
"You
did not foresee it," he said, resentfully.

 
          
"I
saw both loss and gain. You chose the interpretation."

 
          
"Yes."
Reluctantly. "Yes, I did."

 
          
"And
now it is for you to choose the path your life takes. What I saw suggests you
need not accept this duty you find so odious."

 
          
He
laughed sadly. "Your prophecies are vague, Reba."

 
          
"The
pattern, as I told you, is complex."

 
          
"It
is beyond me." He sighed, then asked, "This comrade I shall meet, the
one with whom I shall—
might
— travel? Tonight I encountered the
ambassador of Aldarin and he spoke of showing me maps—could he be the
one?"

 
          
"Perhaps."
Reba shrugged. "Perhaps not. I think that Aldarin is not very far."

 
          
Calandryll
drank more wine, though slower now, calming. There was iron in the spaewife's
tranquility, an immovable quality that imposed a degree of calm on his
disordered thoughts. "I should have known had he been the one," he
murmured. "Should I not?"

 
          
Again
Reba shrugged. "Perhaps. I think that tonight your judgment has been
clouded."

 
          
He
remembered Varent's words: "He said 'the vine bears many grapes.'"

 
          
"And
so it does," she answered, "and the beach has more than one pebble. I
am older than you and I tell you you will get over Nadama. I speak not as a
seer, but as a woman. You will find this hard to believe, but it is so."

 
          
She
was right: he did not believe it. He said, "I think I shall not. And if I
cannot, then I would go away from her. I cannot bear the thought of seeing her
with Tobias."

           
Reba smiled and said, "Perhaps
you begin to choose already."

 
          
Calandryll
grunted and said, "This journey you foresaw? This quest to far
lands?"

 
          
"Perhaps.
Perhaps your feet already tread that path. Perhaps you cannot see it yet."

 
          
"Perhaps,"
he allowed.

 
          
"What
will you do now?" she asked.

 
          
He
thought for a moment before replying, "I think I shall get drunk."

 
          
"That
is no answer. Not to me or yourself."

 
          
"But
it is an attractive alternative."

 
          
He
was calmer now, but the pain was still there, a knife turning in his heart, hot
as a furnace, cold as the grave. Reba sighed. "For a little while,
perhaps; but sooner or later you must sober up."

 
          
"Will
you read my future again?"

 
          
She
shook her head. "No, Calandryll, I will not. One prophecy in a day is
sufficient. There will be nothing new, and you know what you need to make your
choice."

 
          
"Then
may I drink your wine?"

 
          
"Not
that, either." Her voice throbbed, a dull bass note. "I would not
have the Domm's son drunk in my house. I cannot afford your father's
anger."

 
          
Resentment
came back like a fresh-opened wound and he pushed to his feet.

 
          
"Then
I shall leave you, spaewife, and find a more hospitable place."

 
          
Reba's
head lifted as though her sightless eyes followed him. The bass became a
clarion again.

 
          
"Calandryll!
Go back to the palace and get drunk there if you must. The streets of Secca are
not safe that you may wander them without danger. Better, find watchmen and
have them escort you home."

 
          
"Back
to that palace that shelters me from your world?" he demanded. "From
the real world?"

 
          
"For
now," she agreed.

 
          
"You
say I have choices to make. Very well, I shall make this one."

 
          
He
turned, ignoring her cry of warning, and stumbled into the corridor. He found
the door and fumbled with the bolts, dragging the portal open. Cold air struck
his face and he halted, head swimming, the shuttered windows across the narrow
street wavering, resolving into distinct outlines only when he concentrated,
blinking.

 
          
"This
is foolishness," he heard Reba say to his back. He shook his head and
walked away.

 
          
The
odors that had excited him that morning were dulled now by the dampness of the
wind, overlaid with the salt tang of the ocean, the street itself changed by
night and moonlight. Doorways and signs that had been glamorous in the sun were
dimmed, like closed eyes: the mouths of alleyways were maws of darkness,
vaguely threatening, oblivious of his heartache. He staggered past them, moving
instinctively toward the wider avenue that marked one boundary of the Seers
Gate.

 
          
Where
were the taverns? Where could he find wine to dull the pain? Not in the palace:
that was more prison than ever now, and he rejected the possibility. Likely the
feasting continued. Nadama would be in Tobias's arms, dancing, that smile he
had thought was his directed at his brother. Tyras and his father would be
drinking in celebration of the union,- and Bylath would be furious with him for
leaving as he had. Tobias would crow and he could not bear that. No, he would
find some place to drown his sorrow and face the Domm, face the pain, tomorrow.
He snorted bitter laughter as inspiration struck. Down from the Seers Gate,
beyond the Merchants Quarter, lay the Sailors Gate, and sailors drank. The port
garrison lay there, too, and soldiers, off duty, drank. Yes: the harbor was the
place to go,- there would be taverns aplenty there.

 
          
His
feet unsteady, he turned back, finding the alley he had traversed earlier,
following it through to the Merchants Quarter, taking that broad thoroughfare
eastward.

 
          
The
wind grew stronger and he shivered, sobering a little in the cold. He did not
want to be sober, for then he knew he would think of Nadama and Tobias and the
knife would turn afresh in his heart, carving new agonies. He saw a cat
studying him warily across the carcass of a rat and halted, returning the
animal's hostile stare. The cat's tail furred and it spat a challenge, as
though it feared he might contest its prize. Yellow eyes glared, then the
feline sank long fangs in the bloodied hide and carried the body swiftly off
into the darkness. Calandryll shrugged and continued on past the shuttered
warehouses.

 
          
It
seemed he walked for hours before he saw light ahead and quickened his pace,
breaking into a ragged run that brought him unsteadily into a plaza where
lanterns defied the night and tavern signs boasted all a thirsty mariner might
desire. He tinned in a circle, staggering, regaining his balance with flailing
arms, as he surveyed the inns. He chose the closest and smoothed his tunic, ran
careless hands through his hair, before pushing through the door.