The Tenth Power (29 page)

It was the day after the battle, and everyone came crowding in, finding places to sit or stand. Briaali and Darrow had the warmest seats beside the fire, but with so many bodies crammed inside, the little room was soon warm and stuffy.Tonno sat on the windowsill, Keela perched on a stool nearby, and Trout leaned against the wall, gnawing at his lip.Tree People of both factions sat cross-legged on the floor. The headwomen of the villages of Antaris crowded shyly together, wary of so many strangers. Lia and several of the most senior priestesses were near the front of the room, Ursca and Janyr among them. Halasaa and Sibril stood, tall and silent, by the door.

Sibril was leaning on a stick; he had been badly wounded in the battle. His knee was smashed, and his face was heavily bandaged. One of the villagers had wrested Tonno’s sharp knife from him and used it to gash his face; half his ear had been sliced off, and his cheek slashed open to the corner of his mouth. Calwyn and Halasaa had not yet been able to heal everyone, and Sibril had refused their help while there were other warriors still injured. He meant it as a noble gesture no doubt, but Calwyn saw beneath it a sulky boy’s hostility. He was beaten, but he could not admit it.

As she glanced at Sibril’s dark, sullen face, half hidden by bandages, it struck Calwyn that since she’d sung the shadow chantments, her awareness of others’ anger and misery, their cruelty and grief, had sharpened in the same way as her sense of life and magic had sharpened after the Knot of theWaters. She could read Sibril’s defiance, Lia’s doubt, Briaali’s fierce impatience, as plainly as she read the signs on the Wheel. When she looked at Darrow, she saw loving encouragement. But she shied from meeting Trout or Tonno’s eyes; she was afraid of seeing blame in their faces, as well as searing grief.

Calwyn stood in the centre of the room, with theWheel in her hand. ‘We are all grieving this day,’ she said. ‘There is not one of us in this room who has not lost someone dear. But I must ask you to set aside your anger and your blame, and listen to what I have to say. If we do not act, and act swiftly, we will find ourselves mourning the death of Tremaris itself and after that, there will be no one left to mourn for us.’

Everyone in the room was still, and Calwyn knew that she had their attention. ‘This is no time for keeping secrets. For all our sakes, I am going to speak of matters that have been kept hidden, secrets of the Tree People, and secrets of the Voiced Ones. If anyone here objects to that, now is the time to speak.’ She looked around the room, and though she saw doubt on several faces, no one spoke. Calwyn took a deep breath. ‘Very well.’

As briefly as she could, she told them about the Power of Signs, theTenth Power. She read out the message of theWheel for them all to hear, and told them of the vision that had come to her in the forest.

She mouthed the words, and she knew as she spoke that she was persuading her listeners. But her argument seemed empty to her own ears; though she tried to speak with passion and conviction, she was no longer sure that she believed what she was saying. She could read the emotions of everyone in the room, but she could not read her own heart; it was a lump of ice, a frozen stone. She had not yet shed one tear for Mica.

‘The Wheel says:
this world breathes chantment as we breathe the air,
and drinks in the dance like water
.’ Calwyn looked from one face to another. ‘I believeTremaris needs our magic to live, to nourish itself. But for many generations now, chantment has been neglected and the dances forgotten. It is we who are killing our world, through our own ignorance and folly.’

They did not understand her. All around the room she saw blank faces. Calwyn sought Briaali’s gaze. ‘Our magic is woven into this world, and this world is woven of our magic. It’s like the forest. The trees draw up their food from the soil, and when they fall and decay, they enrich the soil in their turn.We, the peoples of Tremaris, are nourished by this world, but we have neglected to feed it in return.’

Briaali’s eyes were like chips of black diamond, and she pulled her cloak of burrower pelts close. Her words were thoughtful, as if she puzzled it out while she spoke.
The Tree
People are born of Tremaris. Our magic, our dances of becoming, were born
here. But the Voiced Ones came from the dark between the stars, and brought
their sung magic with them. How can your chantments feed our world?

‘Hear me, wise one. Hear me, all of you.’ Calwyn’s words were emphatic. ‘TheWheel says, the song and the dance are one music. One music, one magic. Marna once told me that all kinds of magic are like different faces of the same jewel.’ She held up her fingers to count them off. ‘The Power of Tongue, which allows us to speak and sing together. The Power of Beasts, which tames animals.The Power of Seeming, which creates illusions and hides reality.The Power of Winds, which governs winds and weather. The Power of Iron, which can move any object, except for fire, water, air or living creatures. The Power of Becoming, the magic of life and change and healing. The Power of Fire, which makes heat a nd light. The Power of Ice, which is the magic of dark and cold. And the Great Power, the mystery that lies beyond us all, the mystery at the heart of every magic.’ She paused, to let her words sink in. ‘I have been blessed with the gift of Becoming, as well as the powers of chantment, and I can tell you, the same magic breathes in both. Chanters and dancers, it is the same. Tremaris is parched and dying. This world thirsts for the offering of our magic.’

For a few moments, there was silence.Then Darrow said in a low voice, from far back in his chair, ‘What must we do, Calwyn?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Briaali, Halasaa, all of you who have been to the Knot of theWaters, will remember the figures painted on the wall of the cave.They are dancers. I believe that the Tree People gathered there – perhaps once a year, perhaps more often – to perform a great dance of healing, a Dance of Becoming.’ She looked around, impressing her words into their minds. ‘We must do the same. We must dance, singers and dancers together. The interweaving of our magic is the only thing that will save Tremaris.’

A dance of healing?
Halasaa’s forehead creased, and he exchanged a glance with Darrow.

‘You don’t want to try that again, lass,’ mutteredTonno, and his voice cracked as he added under his breath, ‘Can’t lose you, too.’

Calwyn said steadily, ‘Yes, I attempted a dance of healing before, in the desert, and it went wrong, but I know why. I shouldn’t have tried to do it alone.This will be different.This time the dancers must work together, so the magic will not be too strong for them.’

Lia said, ‘Here in Antaris, the priestesses sing together. Magic is stronger when many voices sing the same song.’

‘And strong magic does not harm those who sing with the protection of many voices,’ said Calwyn. ‘The same will be true of this great Dance of Becoming.’

Halasaa turned to Briaali.
Wise one, you are learned in the old
ways. Do you know of such dances of healing, with many dancers together?

My learning is like a net, more holes than string.
Briaali’s words were wry.
But Halwi, your father, who knew more than I, never spoke of such a
ritual. A dance of healing is performed by one alone, not by several together.

‘But the paintings in the cave show many dancers,’ insisted Calwyn.

My child, there are dances for birth, and for death, and for the celebration
of pairing. At these times we dance together. It is those dances that are painted
on the walls.

Calwyn opened her mouth, and closed it. All at once she was sure Briaali was right. Her so-called vision had been a hollow dream, the message of theWheel no more than a plea for peace. She looked down, feeling the weight of theWheel in her hand, and said nothing.

But then Darrow whispered, ‘Sometimes the form of a ritual is preserved when its original purpose has been lost.The dances of celebration may be an echo of these great life-giving dances that Calwyn has described.’

‘She saw them in a dream,’ said Lia sceptically.

‘She saw a vision of the truth.’ Darrow cleared his throat impatiently, and whispered, ‘Perhaps your Goddess spoke to her.’

His voice was faint, but his grey-green eyes were as alive, as keen and bright as ever, and a respectful muttering ran around the room as he spoke. If she could, Calwyn would have seized his hands and kissed him.
Thank you
, she murmured to him in mind-speech. Aloud, she said, ‘Maybe it was the Goddess. Or maybe it was the caves, the Knot of theWaters, the forest that remembered, and spoke to me.’

Briaali nodded slowly.
I have said it often, we must learn to listen.
But what is the use of listening if no one heeds what is said?
Her sharp eyes twinkled.
Only you and your brother among us have the gift of the
old magic.Who else will dance this Dance of Becoming?

‘The sisters have the gift of chantment, and Darrow… ’ His name slipped out before Calwyn could stop herself. When she saw how he flinched, she wished she could have bitten out her tongue. She hurried on, ‘Briaali, if you and your people will teach us the dances you have learned, and the High Priestess and the sisters join the Dance of Becoming, the magic will work. I know it.’ She looked at the village headwomen. ‘The villagers are welcome to join the ritual, too. I know you have your own dances, your own music and festivals. Please, bring your dancers and your musicians to help us.’

A mutter of dissent broke out among the priestesses.

Darrow said clearly, ‘This is work for everyone, not just chanters! The villagers were fit to fight, and die, to protect Antaris. Are they not fit to make music, to save all Tremaris?’

The murmur of protest died away. Briaali inclined her head.
We will teach you. Let the Dance of Becoming be the rain that
quenches the thirst of our world.

Trout murmured, ‘From the rains, the river; from the river, the sea; from the sea, the rains…’ His voice was thick with unshed tears. Tonno covered his eyes with his hand.

Calwyn said, ‘Yes. Chantment flows in a circle – a wheel.’ She pressed theWheel between her hands, fully understanding the meaning of its shape for the first time.

Lia said in her dry, matter-of-fact way, ‘The wheel turns, as they say. I must confess, I find it hard to believe that any amount of dancing will help us. But I suppose it cannot hurt.’ She shot a look at the senior priestesses. ‘I must consult with my sisters. Do you propose to travel beyond theWall, to this cave by theWaters, and hold the dancing there?’

Calwyn shook her head. ‘There’s no need for that. The valley of the blazetree is a sacred place, as sacred as the Knot of theWaters. In six days, the three moons will be full. That gives us little time to prepare; I hope it will be long enough.’

One of the priestesses cried out, ‘Lady Mother, the time of the full moons is reserved for Strengthening theWall! And the valley is sacred to the Goddess. Bad enough to invite in the common folk of Antaris. But you cannot allow these men, these Outlander savages, to enter there!’

Before Lia could reply, Calwyn cut in sharply. ‘The Outlander savages, as you call them, lived in these lands long before the Daughters of Taris came. No doubt the valley of the waterfall was a sacred place to them, before we ever set foot there. And what is the strengthening of the Wall, compared with the strengthening of Tremaris?’

Lia said quietly, ‘If any priestess considers this ritual to be an affront to the Goddess, she need not join us. But I will dance.’ ‘Sibril?What do you say?’ Calwyn turned to the leader of the warriors.

I will not dance.
He stared at the floor, and the words were dragged from him. He seemed very young, a sulky boy acting the part of a man.
My warriors will not dance.

Do not be so sure!
Briaali’s black diamond eyes flashed at him, and she sent private words into Calwyn’s mind.
Do not be angry
with the boys. They are young and foolish, but they could see no other way.

Suddenly one of Sibril’s lieutenants stood up, straight as a spear, head high.
We have had our taste of war, Sibril. It was not as you
promised, and we want no more. We have held a council. You are not our
leader any more.

Sibril still looked at the ground, but he flinched as though he had been punched. The young lieutenant nodded toward Calwyn.
The men have agreed to follow this daughter of the Tree People.

Calwyn tried to catch Sibril’s eye, but he would not look at her.
I respect the ways of the Tree People. So do we all.We want to use the
Tree People’s magic to heal Tremaris. Surely you cannot object to that?

Sibril made no reply.

Young man!
rapped Briaali.
You have been treated with more honour
than you deserve. In any other place, you would be imprisoned, or worse, for
the trouble you have caused. Lift your head! Show the Singer that courtesy, at
least.

Sibril raised his head and darted a look at Calwyn. But then his eyes slid away again.

Calwyn turned to the young lieutenant, and said gravely,
I
thank you, and your men. I hope to be worthy of the trust you have shown
me.

The young man flushed, crimson through copper, and abruptly sat down.

Briaali stood.
We will all dance, Tree People andVoiced Ones together.
The day you propose would be the longest of the year, if the seasons ran as
they should.We will dance on that night beneath your sacred tree.

The young lieutenant and his friends ducked out of Lia’s rooms before the priestesses and villagers began to move. Sibril limped out painfully, his head hung low; the other warriors did not wait for him.

Darrow said quietly to Calwyn, ‘They will put all the blame on him, so they can cleanse themselves of shame, and begin again. That will be harder for him to bear than all his injuries, he is so proud.’

Calwyn stared after them. ‘They seem such awkward boys, for a war party.’