Deep Water (16 page)

Myself, I think if he hadn’t said he knew her, she mighta stayed. She don’t like being known, our Zel. She don’t like strangers
knowing her business, she don’t like family, even, knowing what she’s thinking. Much less a cobbler from a tavern. She mighta
stayed a bit, if he hadn’t said that.

Not for long, ’cause she’s a Traveler; or maybe she thinks she has to be one, because of me. There were no room in that cobbler’s
life for a brer who can’t earn his keep ’cept by juggling in the taverns.

She knows I couldn’t live in a town year round. It were hard enough the winter before, living with Mam and Da because I caught
a killing fever, and couldn’t take the road. I couldn’t survive a spring indoors. But I think she were walking so hard away
from that place ’cause some part of her wanted to stay, wanted that cobbler and that nice featherbed instead of straw in the
stable with me. I thought, maybe some day that part’ll be stronger than the part that wants to take the Road with me.

When we got to the stream near the withy hollow, there was Travelers already there. But it were near moonset, and we was tired,
so Zel just went on down and said the Travelers’ greeting, “Fire and water.”

There was three of them, a mam and two brers, twin men fully grown. They had a fire going well, and they was roasting turnips
and hedgehogs.

They nodded at Zel, and then at me. “Fire and water and a roof in the rain,” the mam said, very polite. “Share our fire.”
Which were nice of her, for, say what you will, there are Travelers on the Road I wouldn’t sleep easy near, let alone opening
the fire circle to.

Zel looked sideways at her and at me, but we sat down and spread out our food: waybread and dried apples and ewe’s cheese.
We all shared and ate merrily enough, then Zel got out her little balls and juggled a time or two, for thanks.

They were tinkers, they told us. The mam was Aldith, and the twins were Ber and Eldwin. They were like as the two wings of
the one bird, both dark-haired and dark-eyed, but the one, Eldwin, was a tad more heavyset and looked after Ber, passing him
food like Zel did for me. The mam, too, fussed over him some, though he seemed hearty enough, and laughed a lot.

We sat, staring at the fire, like you do after a long day and a hard walk. It were peaceful, for a time. Then a cold shiver
passed right through me and I looked up. It were quiet, suddenly. The mam and Eldwin was watching Ber, holding their breaths.

Ber shook his head, his eyes gone blank and wide in the firelight. I felt behind me for a heavy bit of wood, for I’ve seen
men’s eyes go like that in a baresark fury, but he didn’t move. The fire dipped down to embers, like something was eating
the light.

Eldwin said, “Oh, protect us from demons.” The mam just moaned a little and rocked to and fro. Zel was tense beside me, ready
to run or fight. Then Ber spoke.

“This fire circle,” he said, “is closed to murderers.” His voice were quiet and pleasant, like you’d say ’morning to a friend.
Like he didn’t know what he were saying. “There is a murderer here,” he said. Next to me, Zel had her hand on her boot knife,
easing it out of the sheath.

“A kin murderer,” Ber said, or maybe it wasn’t Ber, ’cause he were foaming a bit at the corners of his mouth, and the mam
were rocking hard and stuffing her shawl in her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

“Why didst thou kill thy mam?” Ber asked Zel. She’d let go the knife and were staring at him like he were the entrance to
the cold hells itself. I had no breath in my body, and my heart pounding were like a wind in my ears.

“Why didst thou kill thy mam?” the thing inside Ber asked again, its eyes fixed on Zel. She were sweating and shivering, both,
as she resisted that voice.

“Why didst thou kill thy mam?” it asked, and no living being coulda denied it an answer.

“She was going to kill Flax!” Zel shouted suddenly. “She had the pillow over his face, smothering the life out of him. It
was her or him.” She quieted. “Her or me,” she said. “Her or both of us.”

“This fire circle,” it whispered, “is closed to murderers.”

Then it left Ber, as swift as it came, and the warmth came back to the night air and the fire sprang up high again. Ber closed
his eyes and fell sideways. Eldwin leapt to catch him. They laid him down on the grass and poured water into his mouth and
patted his cheeks until he stirred.

The mam looked at Zel and me, sitting frozen in our places.

“Wind at your back,” she said. The Travelers’ farewell. So we took our packs and we walked out of the hollow and onto the
cold road without another word.

We walked along in silence.

“It were true, Flax,” she said finally. “It were her or us.”

“Because of me,” I said. “Because you wouldn’t leave me.”

“She were mad on silver, you know that. Having us both to stay all winter, it were too much for her. Eating them out of house
and home, she said we was.”

“Because I were sick,” I said. “If I’da been well we coulda taken the Road.”

“That’s so.”

There’s nothing on Earth or under it can sway Zel once she’s made a choice. She made up her mind a long, long time ago that
I were hers to look after, hers to guard. This were no different.

But I’m not the little brer I were. Already I’m taller than her.

Walking down that road, all I could think on was, sometime or other, my choice and Zel’s choice would go different ways.

And what then?

B
RAMBLE BECAME AWARE
of a light. A candle floating in a small dish of water. Darkness around it, and everything blurred. She tried to look at
the candle, but her eyes wouldn’t obey her. They looked up, instead, to the horse that was standing quietly before her. Bramble
assessed it automatically, the part of her mind that Gorham had trained noting its points: a short, stocky bay mare, a pony,
really, but with heavy bones and a thick coat, bred for endurance in a cold climate. Her hands, of their own volition, rose
to fasten the strap of the bag attached to the front of the saddle, but her eyes remained fixed on the saddle, as though she
could do this job without thinking about it. As she could, normally.

It was a strange saddle, with a high pommel that formed two horns at the front and a matching pair of horns at the back. The
stitching was large and it had a single girth plus a breastband and a breech strap which went around the rump. This saddle
was clearly designed so the rider would find it hard to fall off. It was well-made and solid and would be reassuring to the
rider. But Bramble knew there was no saddle like it anywhere in the Domains.

The saddlebag attached, her eyes dropped to her hands. A man’s hands. Abruptly she was aware of her private parts. Oh, gods,
that felt so…
wrong.

She never allowed herself to be afraid, but now she was, even while she recognized that what she was seeing and feeling was
the result of the spell. She was
inside
someone — maybe one of her ancestors? Seeing what he saw. The pony moved with a slight jingling of bridle. I’m hearing what
he heard, she thought. She could smell, too, the familiar scents of a stable with another odor underlying it. The tallow candle,
maybe, made from an unfamiliar animal.

Not only sight and smell and hearing, but everything else, too. Bramble realized that “her” heart was beating fast. The man
was excited, or anxious, or happy. She didn’t know which. Couldn’t guess. Couldn’t, thank the gods, hear his thoughts. All
she could do was observe.

She tried hard to make him drop his gaze to the floor. But no matter how much she concentrated, her will had no effect.

Like a familiar embrace grown suddenly too tight, she felt the presence of the gods. Were they warning her to make no changes,
to leave everything as it was? She stopped trying to control the man, and the pressure eased immediately.

Instead, she felt the gods’ attention turn to the doorway, which opened to let a woman enter. She was bundled up, with a baby
in a sling across her chest, and Bramble couldn’t see her face within the hood made by her shawl.

The woman came forward into the small circle of light, skirting the horse casually, with a hand on its rump. It flicked its
ears at her and whoofed a great breath out in a friendly fashion. She moved toward where the man stood.

“Gris,” she said, putting back her shawl. She was very young and beautiful in that corn golden way of Acton’s people, eyes
like a summer sky and cheeks as pale as milk. Bramble had always disliked girls like that — they were often stupid and flighty,
too obsessed with their own good looks to notice anyone else. But this girl was staring at the man with great concentration.
Oddly, it felt like she was staring into Bramble’s eyes, yet couldn’t see her.

“Asa,” he replied. Bramble felt sick to her stomach. It was a horrible thing, to feel one’s lips move and words come out without
any control. She remembered for a moment the Traveler boy in the inn in Sandalwood, who had been taken over by a demon. Had
it been like this for him? She tried to pull back from the man’s body, to reduce her awareness of him to what he saw, just
what he saw. She was a little successful. The feel of rough cloth against his back receded. The sense of his genitals faded
a little. At least he wasn’t attracted to the woman. As soon as she had come in his heart had slowed, and her beauty made
no impression on him at all. Asa, Bramble thought. That was the name of Acton’s mother. She was reliving the past.

For the first time, she wondered if perhaps she could
change
history. If Acton died now, the Domains would never be invaded. The original inhabitants would be safe. Perhaps Acton’s people
would die instead, she thought. They are both my people. At that thought, the pressure from the gods increased, as though
they were agreeing with her. She relaxed. I will make no changes, she promised them. I will merely watch, and discover what
we need to know. The pressure diminished immediately, but didn’t disappear.

Bramble concentrated on what Gris and Asa were saying.

They were speaking a language she did not know. Some of the words were almost familiar, but pronounced oddly. The pressure
of the gods increased in her mind, sending the voices fuzzy and warbling, then they steadied and she could understand what
was being said. The gods had given her the ancient language as though it were her own.

“It’s all ready,” Gris said. “There’s enough food to get you home. Do you have the things?”

From beneath her shawl, Asa produced some clothing and swaddling bands.

“Will they believe it?” she asked with intensity.

He nodded. “The cliff is an ancient sacrifice place. If they find your clothes and the baby’s swaddling there, they’ll assume
you readied yourself for sacrifice and jumped.”

“Naked?” she said doubtfully.

Gris smiled. Bramble could feel the face muscles moving, but she couldn’t tell what kind of smile it was. It didn’t feel happy.

“That is the way for sacrifices. They won’t question it once I tell them about our conversation. How you couldn’t bear to
live with Hard-hand anymore. How the baby reminded you too much of him. And how I suggested you make a sacrifice to the gods
in reparation for his murder.”

She looked doubtful. “Make sure they don’t blame you.”

His mouth set firmly. The cheek muscles clenched. “I will,” he said. Bramble could hear the determination in his voice. So
could Asa. She nodded, then looked down at the covered baby. She drew the shawl away from his face and Bramble saw that he
had inherited his mother’s gold hair. He was not very old; no more than a month, maybe younger. Gris touched the baby’s cheek
softly with the back of one finger.

“Look after Acton,” he said. “He is my heir.”

She smiled then, a sweet smile, and nodded. Bramble tried to get a better glimpse of the baby’s face, but Gris was looking
at Asa.

“I will see you some other day,” she said, and kissed his cheek. Bramble felt a flush creep up his face, but there was no
response in his loins. He boosted Asa into the saddle and held the door open for her. She and the baby rode out into a windy,
cloudless night and waters rose up around Bramble, as they had at the altar. This time she didn’t fight them, but it was still
unpleasantly gut-wrenching, the sensation of being overwhelmed, of actually dying, as strong as it had been the first time.
She could easily be afraid, she thought, though she had given herself to the gods and had to trust in them. But it was hard
to trust when the waves seemed intent on drowning her, on thrusting her down into darkness.

The sensation of goose bumps on her skin woke her. She was cold. She could tell she was thickly clothed, but she was still
cold. She badly wanted to shiver, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Vision came slowly. She was in a big hall, with a fire
in a circular fireplace in the middle of the room. There was no chimney. The smoke from the fire streamed upward to a hole
in the roof. There were shuttered windows without any chinks of light. Either they were wadded against the cold or it was
night.

Bramble noticed all this with difficulty, as though the person whose body she now observed from saw dimly. The body felt vaguely
unwell and sluggish. But at least it was a woman. She was sitting at a table on a backless bench or stool.

The fire was too small to heat more than a tiny circle around it, but the people in the hall didn’t seem to notice. There
were twenty or so men sitting at long tables and eating from bowls. They were full-bearded and long-haired; their blond hair
tied in plaits on either side of their face or loose down their back. They were dressed in leather and homespun and boots
with the fleece left on the inside. Some women were sitting with them but more were serving. They wore long dresses, to the
ground. That must make it hard to get around, Bramble thought. Although she habitually wore breeches herself, most women in
the Domains wore loose trousers under a full knee- or calf-length skirt. It was a good combination of modesty and practicality,
she’d always thought, though she didn’t bother much about modesty herself. Those long dresses were an invitation to trip.