Full Circle (35 page)

Bramble answered quickly, before the others could say anything. “Some of it. But joining the enchanter isn’t the way to —”

“It might keep us alive!” the mother with the baby exclaimed. “They killed my sister and her two sons. For nothing! Nothing…” She began to weep. Her husband put an arm around her shoulders and glowered at them, as though her tears were their
fault.

“The enchanter can’t be stopped, they say. His ghosts will protect us.” He looked at Acton, assessing his bulk and the sword
at his side with some satisfaction.

Acton was listening thoughtfully, assessing each member of the group, but he stayed behind Baluch and said nothing.

“The enchanter wants to kill everyone in the Domain without Traveller blood,” Ash said.

The Travellers looked at each other. It was news to them, and a shock. Some faces were troubled, some implacable, but others
wore a touch of satisfaction.

“Might be the only way,” the leader said finally. He looked up at the canopy of leaves. It was growing darker. “Camp here,”
he ordered.

These were people who lived on the Road. Bramble admired their competence as they set up camp, built fires, dug a privy. They
kept their bags packed, so they could leave at any moment. She and the others helped and by the time they were all sitting
down to eat, the Travellers made a place for them in the fire circle.

They shared what they had, and it was the best meal Bramble had eaten since the morning she’d woken up in Oakmere, unexpectedly
alive and ravenous. Carrot soup, roasted rabbit and greens, griddle scones and a dark fruitcake that the woman with the baby
said kept well on the Road.

After they’d cleaned up and repacked their gear, Ash took out his pouch and glanced at Bramble. She nodded. It was worth a
try.

“There is a new stone in the bag,” he began, more gently than he had at Wooding.

They listened, but unlike the Travellers at Wooding they had seen recent murder, and not by ghosts. They would not be convinced.
Acton tapped Ash on the knee.

“Speak,” Ash said readily.

“Greetings —” he began.

The dark, grating voice brought the Travellers to their feet. Parents lifted children into their arms and two of the littlest
began to cry.

“There’s no need to be afraid —” Ash said.

“I am Acton, come from the darkness beyond death —”

They stared at him white-faced. One man picked up his pack. The woman with the baby took a step backwards, covering her child’s
face to shield it.

“He won’t hurt you,” Bramble said.

“Ghosts don’t speak,” the youngest man said. “Ghosts don’t speak!”

He began to back away, his eyes fixed on Acton. The others moved too, slowly backwards, gathering their packs as they went
until they were at the edge of the clearing.

“We mean you no harm,” Baluch said in his most soothing voice, but they weren’t listening, Bramble saw. Their whole attention
was given to Acton. Acton the invader.

“Are you really Acton?” the leader asked, his voice rough.

Acton spread his hands in a gesture of good faith and took a step forward.

“I am Acton,” he confirmed. I am here to —”

The young man broke and ran and the others followed, disappearing into the trees.

“Come back!” Ash cried.

He might as well have been mute. In a few moments, they were alone in the leaping light of the fire.

Acton looked down at his hands. They were shaking. “Afraid. So afraid of me,” he whispered.

Bramble wanted to reassure him, tell him that they feared a nightmare story, a figure out of legend, not him. But it was him
they were afraid of — and if it had been a thousand years ago, they would have been right to run.

Ash said so. Bramble thought for a second that Acton would hit him, but he clenched his fists and walked a little way into
the trees.

He came back some time later.

“Speak,” Ash said.

“They will join the enchanter,” he said.

“They’re right,” said Baluch, the first time he had spoken since the Travellers had gone. “They’re safer with him.”

Acton said nothing, but something had changed in his face; a new awareness, Bramble thought, of the consequences of his actions.
He would not be so fast to declare himself the next time they met Travellers.

The next day they passed through fields and woodland and more fields.

They were ahead of the enchanter’s march, which fretted Acton. When they stopped for the night where a stream formed a clear
pool he paced around the fire circle.

“We should make our stand here,” he said, indicating the broad sweep of pastureland they had ridden through that afternoon.
“Before he gets to Turvite.”

Bramble hesitated. What if he were right? She drew Ash aside.

“Why not cast?” she said.

Ash looked over at Acton. “See what the gods say? You’re right, now is a good time.”

Since the wind wraiths had appeared he had barely spoken, except to spread the word about Evenness and a new world waiting
on the other side of this crisis. Bramble had believed him, too. The world was shifting. But somehow she couldn’t see the
new one. It seemed too far away, as though she only had the time she was living in, moment by moment. As the hunter had lived,
moment by moment.

They stepped through the ritual and Ash examined the stones. “They say we must go faster.”

“Well, we can’t!” Bramble said, exasperated. “The horses won’t stand it.”

“There’s another way.” He hesitated, as though he were about to say something she shouldn’t hear. Baluch, sitting beside him,
put a hand on his arm.

“Bramble has met her,” he said reassuringly.

Ash looked startled. “You’ve met the River?”

Bramble shook her head. “Not me. I met the Lake.”

Baluch waved his hand dismissively. “The same being in a different mood.”

“The River is the Lake’s little sister,” Ash said, as though he parroted something he’d heard many times.

“All rivers, all streams, all lakes in the Eleven Domains are part of her,” Baluch said gently. “It’s why we can hear her
everywhere.” He looked at Bramble. “She will take us the River’s way to Sanctuary, if you wish.”

The River’s way, she thought. Faster than horses? The way Ash came into the Weeping Caverns? Acton moved closer, listening
with interest, and Ash sat back, saying nothing more.

“Will She take Acton, too?” she asked.

Ash and Baluch both considered for a moment, as though listening to someone speak, then shook their heads. Acton moved away,
his face expressionless for once.

“Sorry, Bramble,” Ash said, as if he were not sorry at all. “We’ll have to raise him again when we get there.”

Bramble felt her gorge rise at the thought. She had been able to do it once, when she hadn’t known what it would take, but
to deliberately banish Acton back to the darkness beyond death and then go through that, that flaying alive. “No,” she said.

“Bramble —” Ash said, exasperated.

“With you two gone, we can make a better pace,” she said briskly. “I can ride each of the horses in turn, and go cross country.
We’ll be there much sooner. It’s better this way.” She forced herself to grin at him. “Neither of you are really riders, after
all.”

At least there was no argument about her not being safe on her own. She could have no better protection than Acton. His own
people worshipped him and he terrified the Travellers.

“You won’t be able to talk to him,” Ash warned.

She shrugged. That might be a relief.

Ash looked at her with some compassion in his eyes. “If you have anything to say, say it now.”

She did have something to say, and knew that she had better say it convincingly. She walked around the fire to where Acton
was saying goodbye to Baluch.

“I want to make something clear,” she said. “We are not going to confront the enchanter here. We are going to Turvite as quickly
as possible. I will not wait for you. I will not turn aside. Whatever dreams you have of raising an army and marching on Turvite,
forget them. That’s not going to happen twice.”

“I want to protect it, this time,” he said, and paused. “A way of paying part of my debt.”

“You’re not here to fight,” she said. “You’re here to help others, not to lead.”

He smiled at her. It had a hint of the cozening smile in it, but it was far warmer, and full of laughter. “Yes, Mother,” he
said.

“You’ve been spoilt from the day you were born,” she said in mock reproof. “You’ve always had everything you wanted.”

“Not now,” he said, suddenly serious, looking younger, eyes open with that impossible flicker of blue. “I can’t have what
I truly want.”

He meant her. It was clear. He wanted her. But was it real, or just that, for the first time, he couldn’t reach out and take
what he fancied?

She stared at him, but she didn’t know what to say. She was not going to pour her heart out in front of Baluch and Ash.

“You will be together in your next lives,” Baluch said.

She blushed, hard, feeling the red climb up from her heart to her face.

Acton looked startled and then laughed. “I promise,” he said, serious again. “In our next life.”

She couldn’t speak. Not in front of the others. But she nodded, feeling exultation climbing through her, filling her with
something wilder than joy. They both smiled. Whatever linked them was as tight as a bowstring.

“I think we can go now,” Baluch said to Ash, and his voice was a mixture of amusement and a kind of regret. He looked older
than before, as though their exchange had exhausted him.

“Aye,” Ash said.

He hugged Bramble goodbye and the warm pressure of his arms was both comforting and a reminder of what Acton would never feel
like to her. She let out a breath as Ash and Baluch walked to the pool and stood beside it.

They looked back and raised their hands, then took a step forward into the water, and were gone.

She walked down to look at where their footprints ended, then turned back to Acton.

He was gone too.

M
ARTINE DID
not want to go back into the council chambers, but Sorn insisted. “Come with me,” she said.

They left Cael sitting on the hall bench and opened the door.

The warlords were still arguing.

“Apologies won’t stop them!” Thegan said forcefully. “He’s prepared to sacrifice any number of his own people to take his
revenge — do you think apologising would make any difference to him?”

Sorn coughed politely and he whirled, impatience clear on his face.

“My lords, councillors,” Sorn said. “This is Martine, a stonecaster who lived formerly in this city. She has a suggestion.”

“Well?” Thegan said, pre-empting Ranny or Garham’s right to speak first.

Garham’s face closed in with anger, and somehow that bolstered Martine’s courage. “In Turvite,” she said calmly, “we bespell
the doors of stonecasters’ houses, to prevent ghosts from entering.”

“Can you bespell the whole city?” Ranny asked.

“I don’t know,” Martine said. “I’ve never tried to do more than my own door. But I am not the only stonecaster who can use
that spell. If we worked together…”

“Good!” Garham said. “At last, a sensible suggestion. Boc, send for the stonecasters of the city. I want them here now!”

Boc hurried out with a spring in his step, and faces lightened around the table.

“If it works for Turvite…” Merroc said.

“We can protect all our towns and villages,” Arvid said, finishing Merroc’s thought. He shot Martine a look of admiration
and mischief. “If our stonecasters agree.”

“I am sure they will,” Martine replied. What was the man thinking, to even suggest otherwise? Did he
want
to see stonecasters imprisoned and forced to work?

“And we have the Well of Secrets,” Merroc said, inclining his head politely to Safred.

Safred raised a hand in denial. “My lords, I am not a stonecaster, nor a caster of spells. I can relay messages from the gods,
and I can heal, but that is all. If I can help, I will, but do not rely on me for spell casting.”

Thegan scowled at her as though she had personally betrayed him. The others got to their feet and stretched.

“No sense waiting here while these casters are gathered,” Coeuf said, leaning heavily on his son’s arm. “I’ll be at my inn.”

He was followed out by the rest of the warlords and councillors, Ranny last. Thegan nodded to his men to take a break and
they left too. Only Thegan, Sorn, Safred and Thegan’s son, Gabra, remained.

Martine was struck by the resemblance between Safred and her cousin. They might have been mother and son, if she’d had him
young. Safred was looking at him, too, and then at Thegan.

Martine’s Sight stirred, and she moved forward to Safred’s side. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Whatever it is, don’t say it.”

“I have to,” Safred said. “It’s part of this pattern, I can feel it.” She turned to Gabra and nodded. “It’s good to meet you,
brother,” she said slowly.

He frowned. Thegan stood very still, his face blank.

“Cousin,” Gabra said.

Safred ignored him, looking at Thegan. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know my father’s son?” she asked.

Sorn was even stiller than Thegan. Then she took a deep breath in, her face pale, her green eyes cold, and faced him. “Time
we had a child, you said. Were you going to pimp me, too?”

Impatience swept over him. “I didn’t
pimp
her! She always wanted Masry, but he was obsessed with the green-eyed Valuer bitch. She only took me as second best, and
when I gave her the chance to lie down with him, she jumped at it!”

Gabra stood with his mouth tightly closed, looking more like Thegan than he had done before.

“And me?” Sorn demanded. “Who did you have in mind for me?”

He looked at Gabra.

Sorn laughed, her voice hard. “Your
nephew?
Oh, perfect!”

“It’s the bloodline that counts,” Thegan snarled. “Masry was the true heir anyway — his son inherits, his son’s son inherits.
The way it should be.”