Deep Water (15 page)

On the way into town, Leof had practiced a dozen different ways of beginning this conversation, but he discarded them all.
It was clear to him that Vi knew why he was here.

“Well, now, my chickling,” she said in her deep, comforting voice. “Here’s a pretty pickle.”

“He wants the town,” he said simply. “And he’ll take it, however he needs to. If you resist, he’ll kill every one of you.
Not one warlord will object. He’ll make it sound so
inevitable
that they won’t be able to.”

Vi nodded. “So?” she prompted.

“So you should surrender. Save the lives of your people.”

Vi’s eyes were hooded as she looked down at her mug of cha, nodding. Then she looked up challengingly. “Might be that the
Lake will have something to say about that.”

Leof paused, not sure how to reply. Truth, perhaps, was all the weaponry he had.

“He doesn’t believe in the Lake. He… he
can’t
believe in it, I think.”

She nodded. “Doesn’t mean the Lake will ignore
him.
”

“He says it was an enchanter who called the waters up.”

Vi sniffed with contempt, reminding Leof vividly of his aunty Gret. He paused, then said delicately, “The question is,
when
would the Lake act, and what would she do? She can’t just inundate the town — that would cause more deaths than Thegan. What
can she do to protect you?”

“You don’t know?” Vi seemed surprised. “Hmm. Well, best not to tell you, then, I think.” She thought it over. “I’ll go talk
to her. This is a decision best left to her.”

“You only have until noon. After that, he attacks.”

Vi drank her cha slowly, deliberately. “Better if he doesn’t,” she said just as deliberately. “Best if you stop him, lad.
Or the Lake might do more harm than she has already.”

The cha was good, and brought him a clearer head than he’d had since the Lake had risen.

“You’re Acton’s people,” he said. “Are you sure she’ll protect you?”

Vi laughed. “Oh, lad, we stopped being Acton’s people a long time ago. We’re Baluch’s children. Baluch’s and the Lake’s. She’ll
look after us, don’t you worry.” She reached across the table with some effort, and patted his arm. “Looks to me like you
might have stopped being one of Acton’s people yourself.”

He pushed back from the table and stood up, appalled. “I am my lord Thegan’s man,” he said furiously. “My loyalty is to him
and to my comrades. I came to warn you, to convince you to surrender so that lives would not be lost needlessly. Do not impugn
my honor!”

“Oh, lad,” Vi said sympathetically. “You’ve got more honor in your little finger than Thegan has in his whole body.”

“Until noon. You have until noon by the grace of your lord Thegan.”

She shook her head. “He’s no lord of mine, lad, nor ever will be. But I’ll talk to the Lake and see what she says. Won’t be
back by noon, though. I’ll have to go out to the deep water and that takes time. Sunset, say. I’ll be back by sunset. Do what
you can to stay his hand until then.”

Leof turned on his heel and walked out without replying. Stay his hand? Might as well try to stop a storm. Baluchston was
doomed.

R
IDING SOUTH OUT
of Oakmere felt wrong to Ash. For one thing, he wasn’t comfortable on a horse, and the chafing from his last ride was already
making itself felt. For another, it felt disloyal to send Martine off with the others, even though he couldn’t take her where
he was going.

He had woken and gone through the process of leaving Oakmere with a fragile shell of normality carefully built around him.
He pretended that nothing was wrong, but he knew that Martine wasn’t fooled. Maybe not Bramble, either. But what could he
do about it? He couldn’t change who he was, no matter how many people he disappointed. Now, as he rode, it felt like there
was an empty place on his belt, where the stones should have hung.

They had reached the beginning of the ascent to the Quiet Pass by the time he came back to himself.

“Um, south?” Flax asked hesitantly. “Just ‘south’?”

Flax had apparently been waiting for his attention to return. The lad, it was clear, was good at reading moods.

“I couldn’t tell her more. We’re going to the place that is not talked about,” Ash said, reluctant to say even that much.
He shot Flax a glance and then looked more closely as he realized the words meant nothing to him.

“Where’d that be, then?” Flax asked.

“Your father must have taken you there?” Ash was astonished. Unless he had misunderstood, Flax had been on the Road all his
life, and so had his parents until recently. But Flax shook his head.

Ash didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t his job to tell Flax about the Deep. It was his father’s. In fact, it was forbidden
to speak of it.

“Your father was a Traveler?” He had to make sure, before he said anything.

Flax nodded. “Aye, he were.”

Flax was certainly talking like a Traveler, although back at Oakmere, he had chattered to Bramble as though he’d been born
a blond. Ash shrugged that away. He spoke mostly like one of Acton’s people himself, after intensive training by Doronit.
Lots of Travelers spoke with two voices. But he had to make sure Flax had the right to go to the Deep.

“And your grandfather? Your father’s father?”

“He died when Da were a baby. Da were brought up by his mam, Radagund the Horse Speller.”

Even Ash had heard of Radagund. Flax was very proud of his famous grandmother. But it explained why he didn’t know about the
Deep. His grandfather had never taken his father there. But surely other Traveling men could have?

Delicately, he asked, “Was your grandam friendly with other Travelers?”

Flax shrugged. “I suppose. She worked mostly for Acton’s people, though. Travelers don’t have horses, much.”

So, here he had a young Traveling lad who hadn’t heard of the Deep. Well, there was no doubt he had a right to know, even
if Ash wasn’t the perfect person to tell him. But there was the prohibition against speaking of the Deep outside. He had to
respect that.

“Before I tell you where we’re going, you have to promise not to repeat anything I say. To anyone. Especially women. But not
even to other male Travelers. If you do… you will die.”

“What, you’d kill me?”

Ash looked down at the ground, then straight into Flax’s eyes, mouth firm. “If I had to.”

Flax’s eyes widened, and then he grinned, as though it was an adventure.

“I promise.”

Ash wasn’t sure he trusted any promise from Flax, but he
was
sure that after the demons at the Deep had him, he would keep the secret.

“We are going to a place… a place where men go. Men of the old blood. Only men.”

Strongly interested, Flax leaned forward in his saddle to stare more directly at Ash. Cam increased her pace in response,
but Flax pulled her back to a walk.

“What for?”

Ash hesitated. “That depends. It’s a craft thing. What they do depends on who they are… how they make a living. What
do you do?”

“Me? Oh, I sing,” Flax said.

Ash felt like he’d been thumped simultaneously in the stomach and the head. Why hadn’t anyone
said
? Because Martine didn’t know and the others didn’t know it mattered.

“A singer?” he forced himself to ask, thinking, Please, gods, make him bad at it.

“Mmm,” Flax said. He launched into a cheery song about a summer’s day.

Up jumps the sun in the early, early morning

The early, early morning

The early dawn of day

Up wings the lark in the early light of dawning

The early light of dawning

When gold replaces gray.

Ash remembered his mother singing that song. He remembered learning it. Flax’s voice rose as clear and full as a nightingale’s.
His tenor could have been designed to match with Ash’s mother’s soprano. Ash could hear his mother singing the words in his
head, and they blended so perfectly with the beauty of Flax’s voice that it brought tears to his eyes.

Ash knew, sickeningly, what would happen at the Deep. His father, finally finding the son who would complete their music,
who would enable them to perform all those songs that needed two strong, perfect voices as well as the flute and drum. All
the descants, all the harmonies, all the counterpoints. They could even sing the sentimental duets that the inn crowds so
loved, because Flax wasn’t their real son, so there was nothing unnatural about him and Swallow singing love songs together.

No doubt he would teach Flax
all
the songs.

“Come on, sing along,” Flax said cheerfully, and started the second chorus.

For a long moment, Ash battled red rage: the desire to smash Flax’s face, to leap upon him, drag him off the horse and slam
his head against the road until there was no voice left to torment him. He shook with the desire, and the only thing that
stopped him was the memory of promising Zel that he would look after Flax. Mud stopped in the middle of the road and shivered,
too. Ash’s hands clenched on the reins. It wasn’t Flax’s fault, he told himself. But he had to find someone to be angry with.
The shagging gods! he thought finally, seizing on the idea with relief. They don’t care who they hurt, what they do.
They’re
the ones who brought us here. It’s
their
fault.

With an effort, Ash took a breath and let it out, hearing Doronit’s voice in his head saying, “Control. A safeguarder must
have control.” He took a second breath, a third, a fourth, and then felt calm enough to say, “I don’t sing.”

“Everybody sings!” Flax said, but his voice was uncertain as he looked at Ash’s face.

Ash shook his head. “Not me.”

Flax looked oddly at him, hesitating about whether to ask more questions. Ash felt both irritated and protective of him. The
boy was his responsibility. He had promised Zel. Although she couldn’t have known what it would require of him, he would keep
his word.

“It’s good that you’re a singer,” Ash said, with an enormous effort. “My father will be able to teach you what you need to
know.”

Flax nodded and stayed, blessedly, silent. As they continued up the long slope that led to the mountain ridge, passing the
occasional cart or rider, Ash wondered over the fact that most people would think that fighting Sully and his friend when
they were trying to capture Bramble was hard. That was easy, so easy, compared to
not
hitting Flax. Compared to handing Flax over, safe, to his father, and saying, “I have found a singer for you.”

Which he must do. Because he had promised Zel. Then he wondered if Zel would thank him for that, if Flax found a way to Travel
without her.

T
HAT NIGHT TWO
years back it all changed, we were down the road apiece before I spoke up. “Sure you don’t want to go on back?” I asked her.

Zel shook her head. “Never no more,” she said, so quiet-like I could hardly hear. “Never no more in that place.”

Well, we’d been Traveling together long enough for me to know when to keep my mouth tight closed, so I just hoisted the pack
higher on my back and fell in step beside her.

It were a fine night, at least, and no suffering to be walking the roads under the new moon. I wished I could sing, but there
were still three months to go then till my year was up. They say if a boy sings within a year of his voice breaking, it’s
gone for good. I wouldn’t risk it, not for nothing. It’s hard enough being without a voice for a whole twelvemonth — I couldn’t
keep me in my right mind if I lost my music for good and all. So we just walked.

After a few leagues, Zel stirred herself. “There’s a good stopping place near the stream in the withy hollow,” she said. “We’ll
lie there.”

It were always Zel who decided where we stopped, where we went. When I were littler, I used to stravage her about it, but
I know better now. ’Tisn’t a thing in the world can push Zel from the path she’s chosen. Earthquake wouldn’t do it, nor death,
neither, I reckon. Truth to tell, it were just being the little brer what made me tickle her about it anyway. I didn’t know
enough to make any choices. Now, I know more than she did then, and that’s enough to know she chooses better’n me, most times.

Maybe not this time, though.

Maybe this time she were turning her back on a good thing, and maybe it were for me.

See, there were this man in the last town, in Gardea, and he were head over ears taken with Zel. Hanging around the tavern
every night, digging in his purse for silver, clapping hard after we finished juggling and tumbling. Oh, he were smitten,
hovering like a honey wasp over fallen fruit. Aegir, his name was. A cobbler.

Well, she’s never one to turn a good-looking man away, not our Zel. So she went off with him one night, two, then three, but
always came back before morning, grinning like a cat.

On the fourth night she came raging in, kicked the straw into a heap and threw herself down onto it loud enough that I knew
she wanted to talk. We didn’t have a lantern — not many tavern keepers let us have a lantern in the stable, for fear of fire — but
my eyes were dark-ready, and I could see she was fuming.

“He wants to
marry
me!” she said, fierce and low, like it were an insult, like our own parents wasn’t good and married before they had us.

“I said to him, ‘You don’t know me,’ and he
laughs.
He laughs and says, ‘Sure I know you, lass, inside and out.’ Thinks he’s so clever!”

“So what’d you say?”

“I didn’t say. I just got on up and walked right out of there.”

She settled down to sleep as though she’d finished even thinking about it, but I couldn’t. I could see that cobbler, not understanding,
lying bewildered in the dark somewhere.

Next night he were there, waiting for her after the act. But she pushed on past him like he were thin air, and we grabbed
our packs and took the road, with him following like a duckling after its mam, shaking his head and trying to get her to speak
with him. Zel kept her mouth tied up and her eyes down until he dropped back, still bewildered.