Authors: Sharon Lee
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Contemporary, #Dark Fantasy
Carousel Seas (21 page)
I paused, feeling a nagging something in the hindbrain. Something to do with the light . . .
“What’s certain?” Felsic asked, derailing my train of thought.
“Oh. We’re definitely going to be taken out of the loop, just as soon as my
next
transgression comes up on the Wise’s roster, which—best guess—will be just about Labor Day.”
“What did you do?”
“How much do you know about the carousel?”
“I know there’s been something wrong about the carousel for a long time,” Felsic said, matter-of-factly. “And it wasn’t making the Lady happy at all.”
“That’ll do. As to what
I
did—I made the Lady happy. At least, I made Mr. Ignat’ happy; Gran’s still in-tree. My assumption is that they’re in it—whatever it is—together, though.”
“That’d be the safe bet.” Felsic looked around. “Anything else to do tonight?”
“No . . .
hell
no. You better go on and see that Peggy’s all right. Thanks for getting my back.”
“No worries,” Felsic said. “Mind walking up with me?”
“Not at all. Let me get the light.”
I snapped off the light and followed Felsic to the door, feylight illuminating our path. It wasn’t until I’d pulled it shut that I realized I didn’t have the lock.
“Must’ve dropped it when our visitor blew in,” I said, extending a request to the land for its assistance. “Can’t have gone far.”
“In fact, my liege,” a man’s voice came out of the dark service alley, “it fell not so far. I have it here, safe.”
The waters delivered her to the shore, and she rose to her full height. Heeding the lesson learned from the Borgan, her robes were modest, and her hair was loose.
She was not here to overawe, but to call upon a woman of power, as she was herself a woman of power. The goblins had revered Nerazi the Seal Woman as an elder; she would therefore respect an elder, and not assume that role for herself.
The Rock she descried at once, shining silver under the gaze of the moon. She crossed the sand to it as a simple woman might, and came around the leeward side of the Rock.
There, seated on a sealskin, was a queen of a woman, full-bodied and voluptuous. Her face was like the moon, round and a-glow with power. Her eyes were bottomless black pools, rubies glinting in their depths.
“Mother.” Quite without meaning to, she bowed, her respect unfeigned. Small wonder the goblins had feared and revered this person. There was power here, and wisdom; knowledge and mercy. She might well have been a goddess—perhaps, by the rules of this strange land, she
was
a goddess.
It was well, then, to be prudent.
“Daughter,” Seal Woman said. “It were better done, had you sought me sooner.”
“I see this is truth,” she admitted. “I can offer nothing in defense of my foolishness, save that I was offered asylum elsewhere, and knew no better than to accept it.”
“The customs of a strange land are often confusing, I am told. One may make mistakes of naivety, and be forgiven. Other mistakes, I fear, Daughter, are not so easily forgiven.”
Such was the power of this elder that she felt a chill. Had she made so grievous an error as that?
“Sit,” Seal Woman said.
Obediently, she sank to her knees in the sand, and sat, straight-backed, over her heels.
“That is well. Now, tell me what you have done with the
ronstibles
, who named themselves Olida and Daphne.”
“Mother, I have taken them,” she said baldly. “They sought to use me against the Borgan, and I would not have it.”
“You interest me. Why not simply refuse them? You were granted twenty days of the water’s full grace.”
She must be careful here, and resist the elder’s power—not fight it, not that. But, truth must seem to flow naturally from her, parting around her necessities as softly as possible, as water moving around a rock. It was a risk—almost, she laughed, for had she not already accepted risk, by seeking this power out?
“Twenty days of the water’s grace,” she repeated, softly. “Yes, Mother; I was granted that, most generously. But the rest of the Borgan’s geas was that I must, at the end of that time, return to the Land whence I came.”
“And that, you did not wish to do? If you remain here, Daughter, you will change. You will perhaps change in ways that will not please you, and which may become dangerous to these waters.”
“I am not,” she said, with perhaps more bravado than truth, “afraid of change.”
“Now, that is courage, indeed. But, tell me,
why not
simply refuse the
ronstibles
? Borgan would have protected you, had it been necessary.”
“But I do not want his protection, Mother.” She drew herself a little straighter, as might any maiden about to declare anything so bold.
“I want his love.”
Nerazi the Seal Woman seemed amused, though she was gracious enough not to smile.
“I see that you have, indeed, been informed by the waters. Once your strength is more fully returned, you will recall that love is between equals.”
“Mother, I know that,” she said firmly. “It is precisely why I took the goblins—the
ronstibles
. I have less than twenty days to recover myself fully, to learn all of this sea that I may, and show him that I am worthy.”
Nerazi said nothing.
“I see clearly,” she said, insisting upon her point. “Recall that the goblins hated him.”
Seal Woman’s face grew thoughtful.
“So they did. Well, perhaps you have chosen a good tonic; I cannot say for certain because it has not, to my knowledge, been done before. However that may be, I fear that this step—this taking of the
ronstibles
—will not further your suit. Indeed, we must suppose it a severe setback for your ambition.”
She frowned. “By my measure, I have given him a wedding gift fitting to a god. I have rid him of those who wished him only ill, who posed a constant danger to him and to the performance of his duty; who would never be won over, nor brought into alliance with him. Surely, my position is stronger, for having done this thing that honor would not allow him to do for himself.”
“What a strange world must Cheobaug be,” Seal Woman mused, then paused, and inclined her head courteously. “Your pardon, Daughter; I perhaps make an unworthy assumption.
Are
you of Cheobaug?”
“The Land of Wave and Water bore me, yes. But I do not understand you, Mother. Surely the art of alliance is not so different, between this Land which I hope to make my own, and that Land which repudiates me.”
“Perhaps you are correct. But I believe you have acted without first obtaining full knowledge of your . . . potential ally. I, who have known him intimately for many years, believe that Borgan will consider that he is diminished by this loss you have given him. He did not love the
ronstibles
, but the sea loved them, and for that reason alone, he would have preserved them.”
That chilled her, indeed, and for a moment—a moment only!—she allowed herself to wonder if she had made an error, and a grievous one.
The moment passed. Done was done, and the goblins beyond recall. She would continue as she had begun. He would see her as worthy, and accept all that she offered.
He would.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MONDAY, JULY 10
“And just who the hell are you?” I asked, but the land was already reporting the twice-familiar weight upon it, while helpfully augmenting my night-sight.
The man who was down on one knee before me, holding the storm gate’s padlock out in a slim hand . . . was
not
trenvay
—no
trenvay
you’ll ever meet will admit to having any such thing as a
liege
—nor was he an Ozali. He possessed a dollop of
jikinap
—I could see it glowing at the base of his spine—enough for basic work and defense, but nothing near the level of a serious power-monger.
His head was bent, so I couldn’t see his face. His hair was cut so close to his head it looked like he was wearing a brown velvet cap; the bowed neck was brown, and not particularly familiar, but then I don’t have a great memory for the backs of necks.
“Name?” I suggested again, making no move to take the lock.
“I am Cael, called the Wolf,” he said, promptly. His voice was in the midrange, but with a peculiar growly texture to it.
Well, that was letter of the law. I couldn’t fault the man for not volunteering beyond what he was asked, but I
really
wasn’t in the mood for Twenty Questions.
“Your affiliation?”
He took a breath deep enough to lift his shoulders, but answered steadily enough.
“House Aeronymous.”
I had, I thought, been afraid he was going to say that.
“How came you here, Cael of Aeronymous?”
“I was carried here, my lady, and bound against my will and that of my lord. The arrival and the binding, those things I recall, but nothing else until I was freed into the midst of a storm.” He hesitated. “I ran away.”
“Good call. Now what you want to do is go back to the Land of the Flowers.”
He raised his head, lowering the hand holding the lock. His eyes were golden brown, his nose short and broad, his mouth slightly protuberant.
“I went to Sempeki, and to the House of Aeronymous, whose man I had been all my life,” he said, his voice significantly more growly. “The House was empty, and the gate hung broken on its hinges. I searched the grounds, and found Aleun tending the gardens, and Tioli, on the walls. All of the House were dead, they told me, taken by the Ozali Ramendysis.” The golden brown eyes sparkled, as if with tears.
“
All
of the House, taken,” he repeated, his whisper raw with agony, “save Prince Nathan’s child, who was now Aeronymous. It was for her that they kept garden and wall, and a vigilant watch against the return of the Ozali Ramendysis.”
Aleun the gardener, I recalled, a stick of a woman with very nearly a dryad’s understanding of growing things. Tioli . . . was a less certain memory. My grandfather had seen his walls patrolled by solid professionals, in addition to the layers of spellcraft meant to hold the House secure. I might have passed Tioli a hundred times and never known her name.
I looked down into tired eyes and shook my head, slowly.
“When I was sent from Sempeki to this land, I took up new duties, with a pledge of my life. I did this knowing, as you know, that the House was broken, all were taken, and there was no hope of recover.”
He made a small sound in the back of his throat. I paused, but he didn’t make the sound into words.
“The duty I now hold will not marry well with the duties of Aeronymous. I have lain that down, and I will not return.”
“You will desert us?” I think he’d meant it to sound harsh, but he only managed exhausted.
“Cael the Wolf, you have yourself seen. What would you have me do?”
He swallowed, and drew a breath; let it out in a long sigh.
“At this moment, in all truth, I would have you take my oath, and allow me to serve you in this new duty. My liege.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I wanted neither oaths nor subjects, but something in the eyes gave me pause, or maybe an old, all-but-buried memory of my grandfather talking to me about loyalty, and how the loyalty of those Lower kept the House and the High secure. He had even touched, briefly, on the means available to the High, in order to ensure loyalty, before breaking off and promising me that I would be taught those things thoroughly, when I came of an age.
I blinked into Side-Sight, and looked at Cael, called the Wolf, seeing at once the unmistakable shine of
jikinap
, twisted in compact triquetra, and anchored near his—no.
My stomach damn’ near flipped over; I swallowed,
hard
.
There was
no geas upon him
, as I might lay an order to avoid me upon an importunate drunk.
Cael the Wolf . . . the geas was woven into the structure and function of his heart, a vital part of a vital organ. As I watched, the knots of
jikinap
flickered, and paled. I heard the man before me, very softly, groan.
I looked more closely, into the warp and the weft of the working. The geas was dependent upon a living oath to Aeronymous. My grandfather was dead; thus the oath required renewal. In a kinder and gentler Sempeki, where Ramendysis hadn’t swallowed us whole, Cael and all of our household would have renewed their oaths with my father, upon grandfather’s passing. If the oath was not renewed, the knot would unravel; Cael’s heart would stop—or burst.
It served no purpose to ask Cael if he knew this. I was betting he did. And that left the outcome of this squarely in my hands, as the last survivor of our House, Aeronymous by default.
I blinked out of Side-Sight. Cael still knelt before me, so deeply dignified that the eye slid past the tremors in his limbs. Possibly he’d be able to stand, if I ordered him up.
Probably not.
I spared a hard thought for my grandfather.
Then, I met Cael’s eyes, and extended my hand.
Cael raised his, the lock still held in his fingers.
“Felsic,” I said, without turning my head, “would you please take the lock from this gentleman and finish with the door?”
“Sure thing, Kate.”
Felsic slipped past on my left side, received the lock with a nod, and moved immediately to the door.
“Thank you,” I said. “Cael—your hand, if you will.”
He clasped my hand, and I
felt
him trembling, though his eyes were steady and his gaze firm.
“Understand, that I don’t know what will happen, if I take your oath. This is a strange land, and I’m bound to it. The act may kill you. It will surely change you.”
“My lady, I have already been much altered,” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes never leaving mine. “If this act should kill me, it only hastens the inevitable. I hold you blameless, whatever goes forth. You are my liege, and I am bound to love you.”
That was . . . probably the literal truth, considering the device he carried in his chest. I breathed in, and gripped his hand.
“Whenever you wish,” I said, and opened myself to the land, as I do when I prepare for a healing.
The man kneeling before me closed his eyes, his grip on my hand not
quite
painful.
“I, Cael, do swear upon my soul that I will keep faith with Aeronymous and never cause her harm. I will defend her and reverence her and in all things obey her, and stand her man forevermore.”
That was quite an oath. It struck the land with a boom, reverberating, and I felt power rise and flow through me, to him, as if it were a healing, indeed. He gasped, his grip painful now. His eyes rolled back in his head and for a moment I feared that I had killed him outright—then he blinked and smiled, and the land executed a joyous ripple of what sounded like piccolo notes inside of my head.
I drew a cautiously optimistic breath.
“Rise Cael, called the Wolf, oath-bound to Aeronymous,” I said, and he did, to his full height, which was higher than me, but not nearly as high as Borgan.
He wasn’t exactly dressed for the beach in a long-sleeved red shirt banded with gold, a gold sash, and skin-tight red trousers. The bare feet—strong and brown—were the only thing topical about him.
“Who had you been, in the House of Aeronymous?” I asked.
“My lady, I was the master of hounds.”
The
master of hounds
was taken, under protest, from Aeronymous House and bound into the high-security carousel prison? That just didn’t make sense. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him
For what crime?
when I realized that it was late, I was beyond exhausted and the only thing holding me up was the land. Time to ask questions later.
“All right, then,” I said. “You’ll find things a little different here. For one thing, I don’t keep dogs, though I do have a cat.”
“Might be that he’ll find service with the land,” Felsic murmured from my side. She held her hand out to Cael. “I’m Felsic. I’ll be pleased to show you my service, and to help you with any questions about how we do things here.”
More power to him, he didn’t even hesitate, but put his hand in hers.
“Thank you. I will want guidance, I think.”
“Sure thing. Kate, you’re taking him where tonight?”
“Figured my house. He can have the couch, if the cat will share.”
“Right then, we’d better get going. It got a lot later than I was expecting. Peggy’ll be worried, and Vornflee past distracted.”
I laughed. “Let’s go then,” I said, leading the way down the service alley to the gap in the fence that gave onto the beach. “Cael, this might remind you of home.”
Her conversation with Seal Woman had very nearly convinced her that the course of wisdom was to return to the goblins’ lair, and meekly await the end of her dwindling time here in these sweet, subtle waters.
Almost
convinced her—but in the end, it did not matter what she may have or may have not decided.
Because the Borgan found her.
Scarcely had she entered the waters, after having taken courteous leave from Nerazi, than she felt the call upon her. Her first impulse was to resist—which was not ill-done, she assured herself, even as the compulsion grew. Anyone would at first resist; it was important, however, to be careful
how much
she resisted.
Not only would too much resistance be unseemly, it would allow him to measure her strength. It would be very foolish to permit him to know precisely how strong, or how weak, she was.
She therefore allowed herself to be overcome, in perhaps the time it might take a shocked girl to realize who it was that called her.
He was angry; she felt it in the waters she passed through. Chilly waters, that had previously been warm. Gentle currents that had cradled her kindly now snatched, and chivvied her along.
By the time the compulsion released her, she had no need to feign concern.
He had brought her to calm waters, a pool of quiet isolated from the sea’s busy currents. The water here was potent, sleek with power, and icy cold. As was the one waiting for her—
He fair glowed in white leathers, a waterfowl for which she had no name attending him, its red eyes bright. If she had thought him beautiful before, now, seeing him in his full power among the biting waters, with his eyes glittering, black and pitiless, and his face carved from stone—oh,
now
, she loved him indeed, and trembled before his displeasure like a child.
“What justification, for murdering the sea’s firstborn?”
The question crashed over her, and she fell to her knees, there amid the waters, and stretched her arms out to him.
“I am just now come from Nerazi the Seal Woman, from whom I learned my error,” she cried. “Forgive me; I meant it for a gift, to repay your mercy to a stranger in your waters.”
“A gift,” he repeated flatly.
“I am a fool, Nerazi has shown it to me. But, yes—in my ignorance, in my vanity. They hated you so much, the goblins—
ronstibles
. They were a danger to you; an impediment to all your plans. I thought . . . he will not remove them, because honor does not allow. But
I
—I, whom they attempted to suborn; I could surely kill them, and the act would liberate him.”
“And nourish you,” he added, his aspect no warmer.
“Yes, certainly, but that was not first in my mind. They hated so deeply—they hated
so well
—I feared the nourishment might rather be poison. Would that it had been! I would willingly be unmade, rather than displease you.”