Deep Water (63 page)

On the horse, looking out across rooftops, it struck Martine forcefully that there was nothing in the town taller than an
adult human. She felt like a giant, and was reminded of stepping back across Obsidian Lake with Bramble in tow, when she had
felt immense, like one of the old gods.

The road curved through the circles of houses until it came to a half-circle set back from the wharfs, which were the only
things that looked like their equivalent in the south. There were no large boats tied up, although there were quite a few
small skiffs with blue sails out in the harbor. Martine noticed a few nets spread to dry. The largest building in the semi-circle
was a big hall with an entrance held up by pillars of carved wood — precious in this landscape of sparse and stunted trees.

A few men and two older women ambled across to meet them at the doors. They dismounted and Holly took the reins, being careful
to avoid Trine’s teeth. One of the men beckoned her to bring them around the back of the hall. Arvid looked at Safred and
then at Martine. He seemed to be debating whether or not to take the lead.

“Skua, Fox, greetings,” he said to the older women. It was hard to tell them apart, they were both so wrinkled and bent and
white-haired, although Fox had a more determined mouth and Skua’s eyes were so creased with good humor that they almost disappeared
when she smiled.

They nodded at him and then at the rest of the party, examining Martine with interest. She smiled at them, and Skua came forward
and patted her cheek and said something, something she could almost understand. It was as though the language of her childhood
had been taken and twisted back onto itself. The rhythm was right, some of the syllables were right, but the meaning eluded
her.

“Skua says, you look like one of them,” Arvid said, surprised as he took in the resemblance.

Fox said something seriously.

“Fox says the old blood will never be gone from the land while you are alive.”

Martine shivered a little. That seemed too much like a prophecy for her taste.

“Let’s hope I live forever, then,” she said lightly. From their reaction it was clear they understood her, because both women
firmed their mouths in a wry half-smile, and Skua patted her on the shoulder, as though she read her thoughts as well.

“Come to hall,” Skua said, pronouncing the words with difficulty and some pride. She pushed Martine in the back to get her
moving.

That simple touch, full of authority, made Martine feel young and vulnerable.
I am a grandmother
, she reminded herself, but with the two old women next to her, taking an arm each and shepherding her along the path, she
felt like a child again, being taken by her aunties to see the village Voice because of some naughtiness. It had happened,
once, when she had Seen the villages being attacked and raised a false alarm. She had been belted well and truly by Alder
that day. He had a hard hand and her parents hadn’t spoken to him or his family ever again. She had tried to forget the whole
thing. Now, as she was being chivvied along, she realized it had not been a false alarm. She
had
Seen the attack which eventually destroyed the villages. She had just Seen it too early. Although, in her vision, the attackers
had been warlord’s men, not the Ice King. That memory pulled at her for the first time since the beating, and she wondered
what her Sight had truly meant. When she had some time and solitude, she would try to remember it more clearly.

O
N THE SECOND
night, when the men went into the caves to become their true selves, Rowan stayed behind with Ash. He didn’t say anything
until Skink came back and took Flax away, naked and scared but eager, too.

Rowan nodded toward the cave entrance after they were gone. “He’s a fine singer, that one,” he said.

Ah, Ash thought. That’s why he’s stayed with me. To have the “Flax will join us” conversation. He was a little light-headed
with hunger and he found it vaguely funny.

“Yes,” he said. “Mam’ll be pleased as a bear cub with a honeyfall. You’ll be able to perform all the duets, now.” He waved
expansively. “All the difficult stuff that needs more than one voice.” He found he was avoiding the word “song” as he would
avoid using a sore finger. That made him both sad and angry. “All the
songs
you couldn’t do while I was with you.”

Rowan looked down at his hands, fiddling with the flute he carried everywhere. “I won’t say that hadn’t occurred to me,” he
said. “But it’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He paused, as though waiting for Ash to prompt him with a question. Ash kept silent. Rowan sighed. “We’ve missed you,” he
said.

“I’ve been gone two years,” Ash said. “You know where Turvite is. You could have visited.”

“We did,” Rowan said. “We went back this winter past, but you were gone, and Doronit wouldn’t answer any of our questions.
If it wasn’t for a man named Aelred, we wouldn’t have known if you were dead or alive. He told us you’d left with a woman
named Martine.”

It was a question.

“Yes,” Ash said. What could he say? Tell the whole story — Doronit’s use of him, the attack on Martine’s life, his decision
to reject everything Doronit stood for? That was past, and no sense going over it. “She’s Elva’s mother. Little Ash’s grandmother.
That’s how I met Elva and Mabry.”

At the word “grandmother,” Rowan had relaxed, no doubt imagining some white-haired old dodderer instead of the brazen seducer
he had feared. Ash smiled, thinking of Martine’s calm beauty and the times he had forced himself not to desire her.

“When you leave here,” Rowan said quietly, “to sing the songs… do you want me to come with you?”

Astonishment kept Ash silent. This was one thing that had never occurred to him. He had imagined, when he first felt the power
in his casting stones, joining his parents back on the Road. But he had never imagined his father joining
him.
He didn’t know what to say.

“Will I need you, to sing them?” he asked finally.

Rowan went very still, and then shook his head. “I doubt it.”

“Well, then,” Ash went on, suddenly sure. “I’ll be going into the middle of this fight. Better for you and Mam to be a long
way off. Where I don’t have to worry about you.”

Rowan looked rueful. “Where you don’t have to safeguard us?” he asked. “No, don’t answer. You’re right. You have more to concern
you than us, now, and that’s as it should be.”

Ash wasn’t sure if he’d offended his father or not. He never did anything right, it seemed.

“Your mother wanted you to go to Doronit. She said it would be the making of you. I wasn’t so sure, but she was right.” As
usual, Ash thought. You always think she’s right. “From what you’re not saying, it may have been unpleasant,” Rowan added,
“but it’s made you grow up.”

That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Ash wanted to shout at him. Why look so sad?

Rowan stood up and clapped him on the shoulder, then started to undress, getting ready to join the others in the caves. He
hesitated, his eyes unreadable in the firelight. “Did you find anyone to love, since you’ve been gone?” he asked.

Ash thought of Doronit, Martine, Elva, Bramble… “No,” he said. “Other things have concerned me.”

He hadn’t intended it as a rebuke, but his father stiffened.

“It’s a hard road, when the gods hold the reins,” Rowan said. “Take care of yourself.” Then he walked into the cave, disappearing
behind the entrance fire like a spirit.

Ash sat for a while, staring into the narrow sky above the clearing, and wondering why he felt both loved and lonely at the
same time.

G
RADUALLY THEY APPROACHED
the mountains and their path grew more difficult, over ridges and through steep valleys, down into chasms and up the other
side, climbing with fingertips and toes. Halfway up a cliff face, barely hanging on over a sheer drop, they looked at each
other and laughed, united in joy.

Then the hunter led her to an oak tree and said, “Take a step forward.”

When she did so, it was winter. The air bit at her cheeks and hands.

“You are in your moment, now,” the hunter said. “Your place is over there.”

It pointed west of south. Bramble’s mouth went dry. She had stopped thinking days ago; had relaxed into the rhythm of walking
and climbing and hunting. Acton had retreated in her mind; now her need to make a decision surged forward. Her breathing quickened,
and that was a mistake, because the hunter’s hand went to its knife in anticipation.

“Are you afraid?” it said.

“Look,” Bramble said, finally exasperated, “I’m not going to be afraid of you, all right? Just accept it.”

It smiled, painfully. “Until I kill you, I am in your world,” it said. “Bound to share your time. Your death will free me.
Return me to what I was.”

“Fine. Later. I’ll try to be afraid of you later, after all this is over, and then you can kill me.” It nodded, seriously,
as though satisfied, and she thought wryly that she might regret that promise. “Can you take me further back?” she asked.
“Can you take me back another five years?” If she warned them, then, of what was going to happen, surely she could divert
history’s path?

But the hunter shook its head. “The Forest told me to bring you here. Nowhere else. No other time.” It looked at her suspiciously.
“Why do you want more of the Forest’s time?”

“So I can change things,” she said. “Make them better.”

The hunter took a step back in shock. “No, no, no. Do you not understand? These are places of
remembrance.
They are not to be changed. Never. Memory is sacred.”

“But —”

It drew its knife. “I would kill you uncleansed first,” it said, “and die.”

“Why?”

It searched for words, its face troubled, like a child who had been asked too hard a question. “Time is knotted together with
memory. With the places of remembrance. Make a change, and the knots come undone altogether. Not only the future unties. The
past, too.”

Its voice was earnest, and she knew it told the truth. Her shoulders sagged. She might have known it wouldn’t be possible.
Over and over the gods had put her in a place where
if only
she had changed things, the future would have been better, and over and over they had prevented her from acting. She supposed
it was time to accept it. Her role was to watch, and to retrieve. To witness, and to remember. Just like the hunter.

It was watching her with concern, an expression she had never seen before on its face.

“You don’t want to kill me,” she said, wonderingly.

It flinched and looked away, then lifted its chin and stared her in the eyes. “You are too like one of us,” it said. “Fearless
and joyful. But you are still my prey, and one day you will fear, and I will be there and claim my kill, and then I will be
a true hunter once again. One who has not let the prey escape.”

She nodded. “That will be a good death,” she said. “I forgive you for it, and release you from reparation.”

The hunter paled. “What is it that you have done?”

Bramble smiled and touched its shoulder, just once, lightly. “It is how we cleanse each other of killing.”

That troubled it again. It stared at her, golden eyes unblinking, like a hawk’s. “I do not know if that is a good thing or
a curse,” it said.

She didn’t know either, so she shrugged and grinned. “That’s a risk you’ll have to take, then,” she said, and it caught her
gaiety and chuckled, suddenly full of energy.

“Come,” it said. “This way.”

She followed it, expecting another long trek, but within a few minutes they were standing at the edge of the woodland, looking
down on Wili’s steading. It was very cold and her breath — but only hers — steamed in the air. The view she had of the steading
was very much like the view Red had had. Startled by the thought, she looked around quickly and saw him, concealed from the
steading by a large tree but clearly visible from their vantage.

She took a step forward into the shelter of a juniper tree so that he would not be able to see her. The hunter was already
concealed there. She watched Red closely. He
was
a big man, shambling, looking uneasy and excited. He looked subtly different from seeing him with Baluch’s eyes, although
she wasn’t exactly sure how. She saw him more clearly, saw the details of his clothes, the shape of his head. Perhaps it was
just the difference between a woman’s gaze and a man’s, or perhaps Baluch’s attention was so often on the music inside his
head that he noticed little.

She had watched Red, wondering, for too long. With a shock she heard the puffing breath of a horse trudging through snow behind
her. She wheeled around, and there he was.

Through her own eyes Acton seemed bigger than ever, particularly on the small horse. Tall, so broad across the shoulders that
he reminded her of a blacksmith. His hair was uncovered and the new beard lit his chin with gold sparks in the winter sunshine.
It was different, profoundly different, from seeing him through Baluch. Emotions roiled through her and she couldn’t separate
them. She had hated him for so long, and then learned not to hate him, and then to hate him again. He had killed so many people… But
here she was, standing in the past, and seeing him in the flesh made it real to her that he came from this time, as she did
from hers, and he carried its strengths and weaknesses as his own. He was a killer because he had been trained to be, encouraged
to be by everyone he respected. What excuse did she have? At least he tempered his killing with generosity and kindness and
a great, encompassing enjoyment of life.

Her heart thumped wildly. He was so
big.
She had seen him, most often, through the eyes of a man as tall as he was, almost as strong. In her own body she was sharply
aware of how much larger he was, how male.

As he came abreast of her, some instinct made him glance over. She couldn’t move. The gods would have to witness for her that
she was frozen in shock. She was so used to being an unseen observer that it just hadn’t occurred to her that he could see
her now. Surely this was tampering with memory; with history? Would all the past and future come unraveling around them because
she had made a stupid
mistake
?