The Tenth Power (5 page)

Calwyn opened her mouth, then closed it.

‘Well, go on, dear! You’ll need water, and I know Taris will excuse the use of magic for such a simple thing, in these dreadful times! I daren’t haul the buckets up and down that blessed ladder as well as everything else!’

‘Cal’s too tired, ain’t you, Cal?’ Mica looked up quickly. ‘I’ll melt the snow with the Clarion.’

But Ursca had heard only the first part of what Mica said. ‘Of course, my dears, you must all be exhausted.’ She laid a hand on Mica’s head. ‘This little one is ready to drop! Have you eaten?’ She rummaged in a corner of the loft and produced a round of stale cheese, some old flat-cakes, some spander-nuts, and a handful of dried apple pieces. ‘Our dear Lady Mother can’t swallow much more than bitterthorn brew now, but I always keep a titbit or two here to tempt her.’ She looked ruefully at the unappetising morsels. ‘Never mind. I’ll have Gilly bring you some stew when she comes in the morning. ThoughTaris knows, there’s not much to put in it. Calwyn dear, you must eat and rest. And your friends, too.’

Trout needed no more prompting. ‘Thank you,’ he said fervently, tearing one of the flat-cakes in half.

‘Thank you!’ echoed Mica.

Calwyn accepted a piece of flat-cake, but she didn’t eat it.
I
can’t even sing up a bucket of water
, she thought bitterly.
Not even that.

‘Oh, dear, there aren’t any spare blankets,’ fretted Ursca as she stoked the tiny stove.

‘We got our own sleepin-furs,’ said Mica. ‘Don’t you worry bout us.’

‘Shouldn’t you go now?Won’t they miss you?’ said Trout.

‘Yes, I mustn’t stay any longer. I’m glad you’ll be with our Lady Mother, Calwyn dear. Her mind is troubled. I can’t be here as often as I’d like, and I fear the Goddess may take her soon. Now remember, so long as you don’t touch her skin, you’ve nothing to fear, no matter what Tamen says. Your friends can tend to her, they’ll be quite safe.’

Calwyn said, ‘Mica is a chanter.’

‘Oh! But – she’s an Outlander.’

‘I were born in the Isles of Firthana,’ said Mica. ‘My grandma were a windworker, and so am I.’

‘Well, fancy that,’ said Ursca blankly. ‘A windworker.’

‘I’ll take care of her,’ offered Trout.

Ursca looked at him doubtfully. ‘Dear me! Still, I suppose we’ve no choice, and with Calwyn to watch over you…She has a gift for healing, this one! Sleep tight, my dears. Gilly will come to you in the morning. Best pull up the ladder when I’m gone.’

Ursca’s curly grey head disappeared down the ladder, and presently they heard a faint thread of song as Ursca sang a chantment to fill her footprints with snow. Then the only sound was Marna’s laboured breathing, and the rustle of mice in the hay. The three looked at one another, subdued.

‘I’ll see if I can plug that gap.’ Trout clambered up and started wrestling hay bales into position.

‘Cal?’ said Mica in a small voice. ‘I ain’t goin to die, am I?’

‘Don’t be silly, Mica, of course not. Your skin didn’t touch Athala – you were wearing gloves.’

There was a silence.

‘Calwyn?’ askedTrout over his shoulder. ‘Chanters know other chanters, isn’t that what you and Darrow always say? So why can’t Ursca andTamen tell that you’re not a chanter any more?’ Calwyn took a sharp breath, and it was Mica who answered. ‘There’s too many chanters here,Trout – too many!’ she repeated with wonder. ‘Spose you was sittin in the middle of a whole flock of gulls, all squawkin away, and then one goes quiet. You’d never know, would you?’

‘I suppose not,’ said Trout doubtfully as he shoved the last bale into place. ‘There! But it’s still freezing in here.’

‘Want me to give the Clarion a blast, Cal?’

‘All right,’ said Calwyn dully. ‘A small one.We don’t want to set all this hay alight. And Mica – ’

‘Mm?’

‘You saved us tonight, with the Clarion. But I don’t think we should use it as a weapon. It wasn’t made for that.’

‘It were to save Trout!’

‘I know, I know. But you could have burned Lia – ’With a pang of guilt, Calwyn realised that she hadn’t asked Ursca to make sure Lia was all right. How selfish she had become. The disgust in her voice was more for herself than Mica as she said, ‘We should find another way.’

‘There weren’t no other way!’ cried Mica, tears springing to her eyes.

‘All right, never mind,’ said Calwyn sharply. ‘There’s nothing to cry about.’ Suddenly she was unbearably weary; her bones ached with tiredness. She pulled a sleeping-fur from the pack and made herself a nest in the hay, close to Marna.

She could hear Mica and Trout murmuring to each other; perhaps they were grumbling about her, and the fine welcome Antaris had given them. Mica blew gently into the Clarion. The little horn glowed golden, and a soft, clear note filled the cramped hayloft. At once, the room grew warmer; the lingering smell of damp began to disperse. Calwyn sank down into a dark, warm place, and she slept.

three
The Dark Chantments

WHEN
CALWYN
WOKE
, it was still night. The candle-lamp burned low, but Mica had set the Clarion in the middle of the hayloft, where its slow-fading heat could reach every corner. Winds gusted around the barn, shaking the ruined timbers, but they were safe and snug inside. Mica was curled under a fur on the far side of the loft, and Trout snored beside her.

Close by, Marna stirred, muttering in her sleep. Calwyn gazed down at the High Priestess, her features softened in the gentle light.
Don’t touch her
, Ursca had warned, but Calwyn was safe. Tentatively she rested her hand on Marna’s thin white hair, in the same gesture Marna had so often made.The High Priestess sighed deeply and opened her faded blue eyes.

‘Marna, Lady Mother!’ whispered Calwyn.

The old woman smiled at her with love, and laid her trembling hand on Calwyn’s bowed head. ‘Little daughter,’ she murmured. ‘You’ve come back at last. Calida, my daughter, welcome home.’

‘Lady Mother, it’s Calwyn! Calida died long ago.’

The old woman’s eyes were closed, almost hidden in a web of wrinkles. Her white hair, which had once shone like a silver crown, hung in damp wisps around her pale, sunken face. ‘Calwyn, my little daughter,’ she murmured, and tears seeped from beneath her eyelids. ‘The Merithuran stole her from me.’

‘No, no, Lady Mother! I’m here, I’ve come home. Please, don’t cry!’

‘Old eyes water,’ said Marna distinctly. Suddenly her eyes opened. She stared directly at Calwyn, half-humorous, half-sorrowful, and Calwyn knew that she recognised her. Marna struggled to lift her head. ‘Help me…to sit up. Careful. Give me your sleeve.’

Calwyn eased her upright, and propped the pillows behind her. The High Priestess was light and fragile in her grasp.

‘Calwyn, my child, why did you wait so long? So much…to tell you.’ Marna had to pause after every few words, fighting for breath, and her voice was so faint that Calwyn had to lean close to hear her. ‘The secrets of the Goddess…must not be lost. I should have taught them to Tamen, but…’ Marna grimaced, leaving the words unsaid. ‘I waited for you, child.’

Calwyn hesitated. She couldn’t tell Marna that she had lost her gift of chantment, not now, as she was dying. The knowledge would break her Lady Mother’s heart. But was it right for the High Priestess to pass the secret lore to someone who could never use it? Cravenly, Calwyn seized on another way out. ‘Have you forgotten, Lady Mother? I’ve never been initiated, I have no right to hear the Goddess’s secrets.’

Marna smiled. ‘I have not forgotten. Yes, in strictness, this lore is…forbidden to novices. But in dark times, some rules must be broken, so that more important ones may be kept. You have survived the Outlands…come back to us. That is initiation enough.’

Calwyn swallowed. ‘I’m not worthy, Lady Mother,’ she whispered. ‘Please, don’t tell me anything.’

Marna’s faded blue eyes flashed with their old fire. ‘There is no one else to tell, child! You must not shirk your duty to the Goddess, to your sisters, to Antaris…and the world beyond.’ The old woman fell back on the pillows and smiled faintly. ‘There, little daughter. I didn’t mean…to scold you.’

Calwyn whispered, ‘I would rather be scolded by you than praised by anyone else, Lady Mother.’

‘No time for flattery,’ murmured Marna, but Calwyn thought she seemed pleased. The High Priestess shifted against the pillows. ‘There is a sickness in the fabric of the world, little daughter…Broken, but it can be mended…The Wheel, you must find the Wheel. The Wheel holds the answer. But you will need the Tenth Power to unlock it.’

‘The
Tenth
Power?’ Calwyn stared at her in alarm.There were only Nine Powers of chantment. Marna must be delirious. Almost in tears, Calwyn clasped the High Priestess’s hand.

‘Secret,’ whispered Marna. ‘Secret lore…TheWheel…’ ‘The Wheel? Is it – is that an object of power? Like the Clarion?’

‘Object of power … the Tenth Power, yes.’ Marna’s voice faded; she seemed to be losing her strength. ‘TheWheel is safe …with your friends.’ She let out her breath in a soft hiss between her teeth. Her eyes closed, and her head lolled back.

‘Lady Mother? Lady Mother!’

But the High Priestess was deep in sleep, and Calwyn was reluctant to rouse her. She lowered Marna, and tucked the quilts around her. Then, stiff with cramp, she crept back to her corner. Trout and Mica had not woken, and it was the steady rhythm of their breathing that lulled Calwyn into a troubled sleep.

URSCA
WAS RIGHT
to say that Gilly had changed. If Calwyn hadn’t been expecting her, she would not have recognised the girl who appeared at the top of the ladder soon after sunrise. She was older, her face was gaunt, and dark shadows ringed her eyes. The Gilly she had known was always giggling behind her hand; this Gilly looked as if she hadn’t smiled for a year. But she embraced Calwyn with the same generous warmth. ‘It’s good to see you!We were so worried about what might have happened to you in the Outlands!’

‘Surely you had enough to worry about here, without thinking about me,’ said Calwyn, and Gilly’s face grew sober.

‘It’s been a terrible time.’ She moved to Marna’s side and began to change the bedding. She wore gloves of white cotton and touched Marna gingerly. ‘Stay back, Calwyn. You don’t have gloves.’

Trout supported the sleeping woman with one arm. ‘It’s all right, I’ll help.’

‘Thank you.’ Gilly smiled at Trout, and Calwyn saw a flash of the merry, flirtatious girl she used to be. Gilly bent over the lantern, and replaced the burnt-out candle. ‘I’ve brought you porridge, and a little meat. There isn’t much food for anyone, I couldn’t take more than this.’

‘Don’t you worry,’ said Mica stoutly. ‘We ain’t big eaters.’ She grinned at Gilly, and after a moment Gilly smiled back.

‘If Marna is in pain there’s bitterthorn brew here,’ she said. ‘Not too much – a sip or two is enough.’

‘She woke in the night,’ said Calwyn. ‘She didn’t know me at first.’

‘Her wits are wandering,’ said Gilly sadly. ‘And the bitterthorn makes it worse.’

Calwyn’s heart sank. She had not told Mica and Trout about her conversation in the night. The Tenth Power, the Wheel, whatever that was – perhaps it was only delirium after all.

She asked, ‘Gilly, how is Lia? Last night, in the kitchens, there was a fire – ’ ‘Everyone’s talking of your firestorm. Durtha was furious, but I haven’t seen Lia today.’ Gilly rubbed her arm across her eyes in a weary gesture. ‘I can’t stay. I’m supposed to be fetching hay for the goats.’

The day passed slowly. Calwyn longed to ask Marna more about the secret lore, but the High Priestess slept without stirring.

Not long after sunset, they heard voices in the shell of the ruined barn below, and a lantern flickered, sending shadows swooping across the snow. At once Mica pinched out the candle-lamp and held the Clarion close. ‘Lucky we pulled up the ladder,’ breathed Trout, and Calwyn frowned at him to keep quiet. At last the voices and the lantern-light went away.

Calwyn stood up. ‘I’m going to find Lia. I want to make sure she’s all right.’

‘I’ll come,’ offered Mica instantly. ‘I ain’t stayin cooped up here one breath longer!’

‘No, Mica. It’s safer if I go by myself.’

‘Calwyn’s right,’ saidTrout. ‘Remember what Gilly said.You don’t want to end up in theWall, do you – or worse?’

Mica opened her mouth, then closed it again. Something in her face told Calwyn what she’d been about to say: that if she went with Calwyn, she could protect her with chantment.

‘I don’t need you,’ said Calwyn, more brutally than she’d intended. ‘I know the Dwellings, I know places to hide. You’d only be in the way.’

This was true, but Calwyn had another reason for wanting to see Lia alone: as one of the senior priestesses, she might know something about Marna’s mysteriousWheel.

A hurt look crossed Mica’s face, but all she said was, ‘Be careful, Cal. And take Trout’s cloak. It’s bitter cold out there.’

CALWYN
CREPT THROUGH
the Dwellings, clutching Trout’s cloak around her. The moons were hidden behind cloud, and Antaris was shrouded in shadow. All was quiet; the Daughters of Taris slept.