Deep Water (25 page)

The man smiled again, bitterly. He had to force the words out. “Ice King takes everything.” That was all. His face paled and
his eyes closed. Acton eased his head back onto the floor and turned away to talk to his mother. The stocky boy lingered a
little longer, staring at the dying man.

“Don’t waste your pity on him, Sebbi,” Ragni said, venom in her voice. “Dati’s boy is dead, and it might have been you.”

Sebbi looked at her with shock but the waters came in a wave, a breaking wave, and threw Bramble backward into the dark, so
she didn’t hear his response.

The water trickled away and kept trickling, an intrusive and yet pleasant noise, a small stream over rocks. She was dabbling
her fingers in it, sitting on grass beside the water and looking up. For a moment, that was all she knew: the sound and the
feel; then her sight cleared and she found herself looking up at Acton. Not her, of course. Baluch. This time she recognized
him immediately, the feel of his mind, with a faint pipe music interplaying with the sound of the water under his thoughts,
the feel even of his body, was familiar.

Acton was standing by a small cliff where a spring issued from the rock and trickled down past Baluch. The contrast to the
last time they were on the mountainside was striking. Now it was summer, warm and fragrant, the sky blue, the sun mid-morning
high. The grass Baluch sat on was springy and bright green. Almost too green. Bramble smelled flowers — lilies of the valley,
she thought, but she couldn’t see them because Baluch was staring at Acton.

“Can you tell us
now
?” he said, his voice half-amused and half-exasperated. He glanced to his left where the stocky boy — Sebbi, Bramble remembered — was
sitting. They exchanged looks of exasperation.

Acton grinned at them. He had grown a bit, was maybe a year older, fourteen or fifteen, as big as most men already, but she
could see he hadn’t come into his full growth.

“All right. We are going —” he paused for effect, but he looked a little hesitant as well “— to the Ice King.”

“
What?
Are you insane?” Baluch jumped to his feet. Sebbi followed.

Acton grinned more widely, then sobered. “You remember that man who died? He said the Ice King had sent them.”

“Of course I remember, but —” Sebbi said.

“We don’t know enough! We don’t know if they come willingly, what he wants, why he attacks us — we just don’t know enough.”
Baluch regarded Acton. Bramble could tell that he was measuring him, weighing his words.

“So this doesn’t have anything to do with Harald refusing to take you on the trading expedition?”

Acton scowled, for once looking like a typical boy. “I’m bigger than most of the men already!” he complained.

“Yes, yes, we all know that,” Sebbi said, his tone mocking. “You’re bigger and stronger and a better fighter, too.”

“Well, aren’t I?” Acton challenged him.

Sebbi paused and Baluch held his breath. Bramble realized that there seemed to be some tension between Acton and Sebbi which
made Baluch uneasy. But neither of the others was tense, just concentrated. “In the practice yard, yes,” Sebbi said. “You’re
good. But there is more to battle than skill. You’ve never killed.”

“I have. I threw my spears. They fell.”

Shrugging, Sebbi replied, “The horses fell. The men — some were killed by the fall, the hooves. Some by the second flight
of spears. But who killed whom . . .” His tone was challenging.

Acton smiled, rejecting the challenge. “Only the gods know.”

Sebbi laughed bitterly. “You’re not the only one who missed out. They wouldn’t let
me
go because it wouldn’t have been fair to
you.
Even though I’m a year older. Even though
my
spear took one of them down cleanly.”

“That’s true. It was a fine cast,” Baluch said quietly.

Acton nodded and the strain went out of Sebbi’s face. Baluch sat again and plucked at the grass, avoiding Acton’s eyes. Acton
sat down beside him, hands hanging between his raised knees.

“We’re ready, Bal. You know it.”

“You’re Harald’s only heir. He doesn’t want to risk you when things are so uncertain.”

“I want to go to sea!” Acton said, yearning naked in his voice. “I’ve always wanted to.”

“There may not be battle. It’s just a trading journey.”

Acton laughed. “Oh, yes, just trading. How many times have they come back from trading without having fought? Once, maybe,
in our lifetimes? There are brigands on the dragon’s road as well as on land. Besides, it’s the sea itself I want, not just
the fighting.”

“The dragon’s road itself is as dangerous as any battle,” Sebbi remarked.

“Exactly!” Acton said, eyes shining.

“So if Harald won’t let you risk your life there, you’ll do it here?” Baluch’s tone was dry.

Acton looked sideways at him, smiling, mischief in his eyes. “We do really need to know more, Bal. I’m not planning for us
to fight. Just to scout. To see what we can see of this Ice King’s country and his people. We’ve traded with them for generations
and now suddenly they have nothing to trade and begin to attack us. This Ice King is driving them, but we don’t know why.
If we knew more, we might be able to make a truce. But right now, we’re snowblind.”

“Why now, when the men are away? Why not stay and help protect the steading?”

“This is more important.” Acton had a stubborn look, but there was something underneath it. “The chieftains will meet at the
autumn Moot.”

“That’s what you’re planning! You’re going to stand up in front of everyone and boast —” Sebbi accused.

“Not boast!” Acton protested. “Report back. To everyone, not just Harald. All of us.” He avoided Baluch’s eyes. “Decisions
must be made by all the chieftains, not just my grandfather.”

“What does your mother think of this?”

“Well, she said she’d leave our packs behind this rock . . .” Acton said, getting up and ferreting out three packs as he spoke.
He dangled them from his hands, his eyes alight with mischief and excitement. “So I suppose she thinks it’s a good idea!”

“Hmm,” Baluch said, taking his own pack.

“Sebbi’s mother helped. And if
your
mother objects,” Acton added to Baluch, “she would have told the gods and they would tell you. But they haven’t, have they?”
There was a note of real anxiety in his voice.

Baluch shook his head.

“No. They haven’t told me anything,” he said reluctantly. Bramble could feel the gods listening, watching, but they exerted
no pressure on either her or Baluch. For a moment, she seemed to catch one of Baluch’s thoughts, a memory of his mother, dead
in childbirth with him. The memory was sharp with long regret. She pulled away from it, not wanting to share his mind anymore
deeply than she did already.

Acton whooped exuberantly, sounding much younger than he actually was. “So let’s go!”

Despite themselves, the other boys smiled with excitement. “We’re not in this for adventure,” Baluch cautioned. “If we get
caught . . .”

“No,” Acton agreed immediately. “We mustn’t be caught.” His face became determined, and much older. “The chieftains need to
know.”

“So which way do we go?” Sebbi asked, settling his pack.

Acton shot Baluch a mischief-look. “I was hoping the gods might guide us.”

“So that’s why you brought me!”

Acton clouted him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t have gone without you, you know that!” They smiled at each other. “But it would
be helpful if the gods —”

Baluch shook his head. Bramble could feel no pressure from the gods in either his mind or hers. “We’ll have to make our own
way.” Almost in apology, he added, “They don’t talk often, you know.”

“Mmm. Well, I did bring a map, just in case you weren’t feeling holy.”

Baluch threw a pebble at him and they laughed. The trickle of the water became a flood and moved Bramble, tumbling, through
the darkness.

She was singing, a kind of singing, a kind of calling out, calling something. Her throat tightened and relaxed rhythmically
and the notes came out, not words but sounds, clear like bells, and underneath it a clicking sound, rhythmic too but uncoordinated
with her calling. It was both musical and very irritating at the same time. Her sight cleared as the waters subsided, and
she saw what she was calling. Goats. Goats with small blocks of wood tied around their neck, which clicked together as they
moved. In Wooding, which seemed further than a thousand years away to Bramble, they had bells for their goats, at least for
the lead wether and a couple of others. She wouldn’t have thought the wooden blocks would make enough noise to keep track
of the flock if they got lost in the forest.

Then she saw that they were on a steep hillside, with no trees, just low bushes and grasses covered with low-growing flowers.
The girl stopped her singing–calling as the goats crowded around her, nuzzling at her hands and sides, one of them trying
to eat her apron. She laughed and pushed the animal away. Bramble felt herself relaxing. This was known territory, at last.
Animals, womanhood, the smell of goats and wild thyme, the bright blue of crane’s-bill peeping from the rocks, all of it was
familiar. Her mother used crane’s-bill to make a blue dye. Bramble relaxed a little, but wondered why the gods had brought
her here.

The girl clucked to the goats and sat down on the grass as they wandered nearby to graze. She pulled an apple and some cheese
from her apron pocket and began to eat, her fingers teasing the blue crane’s-bill flowers. From her hand and bare arm, she
was quite young, and red-headed with freckles. Bramble was reminded of Safred jamming her old hat on her head. This girl apparently
accepted her freckles.

The black nanny goat which had tried to eat her apron came over to see if she could cadge come of the girl’s lunch, but the
girl laughed and pushed the goat’s inquisitive head away.

“Not enough for me, let alone you, too, Snowdrop,” she said. “At least you can eat grass.”

Bramble wondered at that. The season was high summer; there should have been enough crops ripe by now.

The girl plucked a flower and threaded it into her hair by her ear.

“You know, Snowdrop, they say if you sleep naked, wearing crane’s-bill in your hair, on Mid-Summer’s Eve, the Wise One will
send you a dream of your future husband. Do you think it’s worth a try?” Laughing, the girl lay back on the grass and closed
her eyes. Taking advantage of her inattention, the goat came closer and stretched its neck to reach the cheese inside its
cloth. The girl sat up, still laughing.

“I can’t trust you for a second, wretched thing!” She pushed Snowdrop away firmly, the flesh warm and comforting under her
hands.

The language the girl was speaking sounded different to Baluch’s. Bramble could understand it, but the difference made her
wonder just where she was. Over Snowdrop’s back she saw three figures come into view around a curve of the mountain. Three
young men. Acton and two others. One of them was Sebbi.

Bramble had seen Sebbi through Baluch’s eyes; now she could see Baluch through the girl’s. He was even fairer than Acton — a
tow-headed, pale-eyed youth who next to Acton looked slight but who had a rangy strength of his own.

She watched his face as he looked at the girl and saw his hesitation, and then the pleasure and desire in his eyes. But the
girl was looking mainly at Acton. Sebbi noticed that, too, and his mouth tightened. The girl didn’t notice. She was smiling
at Acton.

Oh no, Bramble thought. Not that. She could feel heat flowing through her, the quick heat of the young who want things immediately,
right
now.
This girl was smitten with Acton at the first glance. He was worth looking at, Bramble admitted grudgingly, if you liked
that tall blond muscly type. The girl obviously did. Bramble thought wryly that the gods were having a joke with her. The
only person she’d felt comfortable being since this began was an empty-headed girl who wanted the man she hated most.

The boys hesitated as they saw her, but she had clearly seen them and there was nowhere to go on the bare hillside. Bramble
could see Acton make the decision; let’s pretend we’re just harmless travelers, boys out for a lark. He’d noticed that she
was pretty, just as Baluch had, but without Baluch’s hesitation and reserve.

Acton smiled. Bramble wanted to think that it was a smile calculated to charm, like the way Thegan smiled, but even she had
to admit that it wasn’t. It was simply pleasure: a sunny day, a pretty girl, a chance to stop hiking and chat. And get information.
Oh, yes, that was in his eyes, too: determination.

“Greetings,” he said easily, in the girl’s language. Bramble suspected that Acton had learned some of the foreigners’ tongue
from Elric.

The girl dimpled and played with one long red plait. “Greetings,” she said. She flicked a glance at Baluch and Sebbi but returned
immediately to Acton’s face. “You’re not from around here . . .” It was both question and invitation. Acton moved closer and
sat down on a nearby rock.

“From a couple of valleys over,” he said easily. Was that a lie or a simple understatement? Bramble glimpsed Baluch’s face
and realized he was undecided about the morality of lying to this far too trusting young woman. The girl wasn’t interested
in interpreting Baluch’s expression, just Acton’s, which was one of pure admiration.

“We thought we’d take a trip and, maybe… catch a glimpse of the Ice King.”

His statement was daring, Bramble thought, said so straightforwardly, but perhaps it was safer than making up excuses.

The girl pouted. The movement was unfamiliar to Bramble, and she instantly hated the sensation. I am not like her! she thought
defiantly to the gods. I just like goats. Her own emotions almost distracted her from what the girl was saying.

“Well, that’s not hard. He’s only one more ridge over. It’s not like you can miss him.”

Acton frowned, puzzled as Bramble was by the girl’s tone, which was both resentful and dismissive, as though Acton had spoiled
the afternoon by mentioning the king.