The Storm Witch (43 page)

*What if she’s gone over to their side*

#Lionsmane says it is not so# #It is Lionsmane who knows her# #He is to be trusted#

Darlara bit her lip, wanting to continue the argument, but knowing that what they said was right. Mal put his hand on her shoulder and she covered it with one of her own. The other rested on her belly. It was too soon for there to be any roundness, but she touched it nonetheless.

“Dar.” That her twin spoke to her, instead of using the medium of the Crayx, showed how thoroughly he understood her need to stand apart, if only for a few minutes.

“Would have stayed,” she said. “Was floating into that current. Know he would have stayed.”

“Don’t hate him for choosing his own life.”

Darlara pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Don’t hate her either,” Mal added. Trust her twin to go unerringly to the right spot. “She has her rights.
We
have the bloodline. That’s what’s important.”

It took her a long while, but eventually Darlara nodded in agreement. “Just that I started to hope.”

#A communication comes from Lionsmane#

“Done?”

Parno opened his eyes and nodded. “What did I look like?”

Dhulyn considered. “As if you were playing a particularly difficult piece of music, and weren’t sure you remembered all the notes. You’ve told them everything?”

“Everything you told me. The White Seers, the Marked, the spirit of the little girl. Oh, and I told them to move the decoy ships back out of sight. Let the Mortaxa think they’ve been scared away. Once the Storm Witch is dealt with, it will be safe for the Nomads to come back.”

Dhulyn lay back on the bed. They had slept in their clothes, and she had only taken off the sashes that held the short Mortaxan swords. She’d be able to have her own weapons back now, if they could return to the
Wavetreader
.

“Parno, my soul, do you think they tell the truth, the Crayx? Are their treaties and agreements made with the Caids of old? Do their tales go back so far?”

“Not their tales, their memories.” Parno stretched out beside her, his hands underneath his head. “It isn’t some Crayx of long ago who knew and came to terms with the Caids, it is these Crayx, themselves. They spawn new bodies, but they are the same entities.”

“They knew the Caids? Before the coming of the Green Shadow and the rise of the Sleeping God? They knew the Caids then?”

“So they say. Though they weren’t always known to each other. The Crayx had been creatures of the deep ocean, living their long lives and thinking their long thoughts. Something happened which made the Crayx seek out the Caids, find the Pod-sensed ones who had always lived among them, unnoticed by anyone, and begin communication with the landsters. Once they were aware of each other, they quickly came to accommodations and agreement.”

“The Caids must have been a very different folk from what we are now, if that is what occurred. Nowadays we cannot get two groups of humans who live in neighboring valleys to agree so easily.”

“And a good thing, too, or we Mercenary Brothers would have very little work. No, the Crayx say they were not so different, but they had more knowledge.” He laughed as Dhulyn rolled her eyes.

“That’s blooded helpful,” she said. “
That
much we already knew. And so awareness of the Crayx became just another piece of the old learning that we on the land lost?”

“Not entirely,” Parno said. “Apparently it became customary for those with Pod sense to live at sea for long periods of time. And when the Green Shadow rose for the first time, those who were at sea stayed there, and never returned to the land, except for the havens. Eventually they became the Nomads.”

Dhulyn rolled over to face him, propping her head with an elbow. “But then they must still have some of the knowledge of the Caids?”

Parno shook his head. “The Crayx never had that knowledge—nor wanted it, so far as I can make out—eventually, the Pod-sensed Caids would have started to feel the same way.” When there was no response Parno looked over at his Partner. “You’ve gone white,” he said, sitting up. “Dhulyn?”

“It’s a little sterile.”

Xerwin stood to one side, watching Naxot as his friend watched the Witch Carcali spinning slowly around, taking in as much of the garden as she could from this vantage point. “This is the dry season,” he said. “In the winter it’s much more lush.”

“Oh, I know, I’m sorry. That didn’t come out the way I meant it.”

But perhaps it did, Xerwin thought.

“The plants are beautiful,” Carcali said.

It was still his sister’s voice, even if the intonation was completely different. How long, he wondered, until he no longer heard Xendra when Carcali spoke?

“I should have said formal, not sterile,” she continued, coming back down the path toward him. “The way everything is laid out in straight lines, squares, rectangles.” She gestured at a nearby edging of green hedge. “Even where things are rounded, it’s as if it was laid out with compasses.”

“I’m sure it was,” Xerwin said. “The garden has been this way as long as I can remember.”

“Perhaps the Holy One would enjoy the grotto.” Naxot was turning out to be tongue-tied now that he was actually in the company of the Storm Witch.

“Ooooh, a grotto, I’d love that. I guess I’m used to something a little rougher, more natural looking. We were always careful not to mess too much with what nature intended.” Her voice trailed away, as they followed Naxot, and the adult expression of frowning abstraction looked very odd on her little girl’s face. “I can’t do what your father wants me to do,” she said quietly. “I won’t. This time the Nomads went away by themselves, but next time . . .” She looked up at him, squinting her eyes against the morning sun. “Next time it may not be the Nomads.”

She was right. Xerwin knew she was right. But what to do? And how to do it?

“Did you have a chance to speak to the Paledyn?” she said.

“The Tarxin wanted her this morning.”

“Come, you two, it’s much cooler here.” Naxot’s voice called to them from farther along the path.

It only took the tinkling sound of moving water to make Carcali walk faster and in a moment more they were in the coolest part of the garden. Willows overhung a large pond filled with lily pads and surrounded by mossy rocks. Rough rocks had been built up on one side to create a tiny waterfall, and behind it was a small cave that could be entered using strategically-placed stepping stones.

“How lovely.” Carcali squatted down and trailed her hand into the water. “Where does it come from?”

“It recycles,” Xerwin said. “I’m not sure how, to tell you the truth, the gardeners look after it. All I know is that it uses the same water, over and over.”

Carcali picked out a rock bright with moss and sat down, removing her court sandals and dangling her feet in the water. There was another rock close by, and Xerwin took that seat for himself. He kept his sandals on, however, his feet dry, and his eyes on the Storm Witch. Naxot remained standing to one side. He couldn’t seem to relax.

“So you think my sister is gone?” Xerwin said.

She lifted her shoulders and let them drop with a small sigh. “Look, I know what you’re thinking. I’d say your sister was gone anyway, wouldn’t I? ‘How can I trust anything she says?’ you’re asking yourself. Well, I don’t know what will convince you.”

“Either you are lying, or the Paledyn lies.”

“And you don’t want it to be her, I get that. And not just because you want your sister back, am I right?” She was searching his face. “If it’s any consolation to you, I don’t think she is lying, the Paledyn, I mean. But . . .” Carcali paused, tapping her upper lip with her tongue. “It doesn’t seem likely she would make that kind of mistake.”

“What if the Paledyn is neither lying herself nor mistaken, but being lied
to
?”

Both Xerwin and Carcali looked up at Naxot. “Why would the Marked not lie?” Naxot said. “If the Golden Age of Mages and Paledyns is returning, the Marked will surely lose their special status. What are they, after all, but slaves with privileges?”

“Sure.” Carcali was nodding. “Think about this. Those Marked people dropped the ball, didn’t they? They were supposed to heal your sister by finding her wandering mind and restoring it to her body, this body.” Carcali tapped herself on the chest. “Well, how good a job did they do? And they tried to fix it you know, afterward when they figured out it wasn’t her—I wasn’t her—you know what I mean.” She didn’t wait for Xerwin’s nod, she went right on speaking. “And they couldn’t do it, could they? So then the Paledyn comes—she’s sort of like an official investigator, right? A neutral party who can look into things, arbitrate disputes, and so on?”