The Waterless Sea (24 page)

Hear me, beasts, and obey!
Go about your work;
I will not interfere with you.
Be at peace in your place
And I will leave you in peace.

She sang, and the
wasunti
began to whine softly. They stopped prowling; Calwyn could see them in the fading light, seated on their haunches, tongues lolling. She remembered the fierce winged arakin of the Wildlands, and how they had returned her song, and now the
wasunti
did the same. They raised their muzzles to the sky and began to howl, with mournful dignity, showing the soft white fur of their throats. Their howling filled the night.

Then, one by one, they lowered their heads and trotted away, each in a different direction, and vanished into the gathering dark. As the last one disappeared, Calwyn' s song died away. Then she dropped to her knees, and let her head fall to the dirt, and she wept as if her heart would break.

‘Calwyn! Calwyn!' Shada threw her arms around her neck. ‘Why are you crying? It' s all right, they' ve gone away, they' ve all run away!'

Calwyn couldn' t answer; she was sobbing too hard.

‘Let her alone!' She heard Mica' s fierce whisper as she pulled Shada away. ‘Let her cry.'

The tears flowed and flowed. Calwyn didn' t try to check them. She lay there helpless while spasms of sobbing shook her. She longed to feel Darrow' s arms around her, and a wave of rage surged through her. Where was he? He should be here, by her side, helping. . .

At that moment she felt the warm weight of a hand on her shoulder, and she jerked round, almost believing that she' d see

Darrow smiling down at her. But it was Halasaa' s clouded eyes that stared into hers.

Come.

Too exhausted to question him, she wiped her eyes and followed. He led her away from the ring of mats, to where a low boulder stood shadowed in the twilight. Oron sat stiffly in the dirt beside it, his eyes wide with shock. His tattered robe was soaked black with blood; gingerly, Calwyn lifted the cloth. The boy' s leg was gashed from knee to ankle, ripped open by a
wasuntu' s
jagged teeth.

Calwyn shut her eyes to the sight; she felt almost too tired to care. She forced herself to ask, ‘What happened?'

She spoke to Halasaa, but Oron answered. ‘I – ran after.' The boy' s voice stuttered, and his hands twitched convulsively on the red dirt. ‘Threw – stone. Bit – bit me.'

Halasaa knelt beside Calwyn.
I cannot heal him.

What?
Calwyn felt a stab of fear sharper than anything she' d felt when the
wasunti
were near. Instinctively she spoke in silence, not wanting to frighten Oron further.
What do you mean?

I have tried. But I am not strong enough.

You' re tired, that' s all. We' ll bind his leg. You can try again later, when
you' ve rested.

I need more rest than you can give me.
Halasaa' s eyes were steady, boring into hers.
You must heal the boy.

‘Me?' The word burst from Calwyn before she could stop herself.
But I can' t! I don' t have that power, I don' t know what to do!

I will show you. But the magic must come from you.

I can' t, Halasaa! How can I? The Power of Becoming is a gift of the
Tree People, not the Voiced Ones.

Halasaa picked up her hands and turned them so they lay, palm upward, loosely clasped in his.
You speak as aTree Person does.
You speak with the beasts. Perhaps you can dance like a Tree Person, too.
Halasaa took her hands and laid them over the gaping wound in Oron' s leg.
Feel the flow of the river through the boy. Do you feel it?

Calwyn had no strength left to argue. Wearily she allowed her hands to rest on the gash. She felt the slow throb of Oron' s blood as it pumped from his body, leaving him weaker at every moment. There wasn' t time for this; she would show Halasaa that it was no use, then she would bandage Oron' s leg . . . But while these thoughts ran through one part of her mind, with her other sense, the sense of becoming, she could feel the light within the boy, the light that was part of what Halasaa called
the river
.

Go slowly. Breathe with him, let your blood flow in rhythm with his.

Calwyn obeyed. It was not easy at first; the light of Oron' s being was not steady. Fear and pain and mistrust made it flicker and jump, but she found that the unwavering pressure of her hands helped to calm him. She breathed; she heard Oron breathe; then they were breathing together. His heart beat, and hers beat, and they were beating together.

Let your strength flow into him.
Halasaa prompted her.
Let him
draw strength from you. Let it flow into his body.

And she felt it, with a jump of surprise, like a spark flying. At the place where her hands rested on his wounded leg, she and Oron were one, connected, as her energy, her light flowed into him. The boy moaned, and leaned back against the boulder with his eyes squeezed shut. Calwyn felt a similar sensation as in Halasaa' s dream, that she was inhabiting Oron' s body. Yet at the same time, she was outside it, holding it –
You know where the hurt is. Go to where the river is disturbed.

Yes, she could sense the injury with her inner awareness, like a rough place in a piece of weaving, like a shadow cast across a patch of lamplight, like a fallen log in the middle of a stream, the water bubbling and eddying around it.

Follow me.
Halasaa' s hands were on top of hers now, and as he lifted his fingers, she moved hers in response, tapping out the complex rhythm that was the dance of healing. His hands moved much more slowly than when he worked alone, so she could follow the movement.
Knit up the wound, Calwyn. Make it
whole.

She couldn' t tell whether the power flowed from Halasaa, through her to Oron, or whether it came from herself alone, or if she merely shaped the force that lay within the boy, but she felt it, in the tips of her fingers and behind her eyes. She felt the healing, as the flesh knitted under her hands. Slowly, slowly, the wound drew itself together, and as it did, Calwyn recognised the nature of the chantment. It was the same as the magic they used to heal and restore the great ice Wall of Antaris, making whole what was damaged, making strong what was weak. Marna' s long-ago words darted into her mind:
All the chantments are aspects of the same unknowable mystery, just as each
face of a jewel strikes light in a different direction.
Calwyn sat on the red dirt, so far away from the mountains of her homeland, and felt the familiar power flow through her.

At last the chantment was complete. The river' s flow was untroubled, the cloth smoothed out, the light undimmed, flawless and whole. Oron' s wound was healed.

It is finished.
Halasaa' s voice was calm, but Calwyn saw a desperate, exhausted relief in his eyes as he lifted his hands from hers. She took her hands from Oron' s leg. The moons had risen, and in the silver light, she could see clearly that the flesh was intact. There was not a mark to show where the teeth of the
wasuntu
had ripped it open.

Oron lay pale and silent, gasping for breath. Calwyn staggered to her feet. ‘We must keep him warm – Shada! Take him to the fire. Mica, can you see that he eats?'

She put out a sudden hand to Halasaa as her knees buckled. Now she knew why he had been growing weaker. The Power of Becoming was not an easy magic. Unlike the other chantments she had known, the strength of it came from within the chanter. Calwyn felt as though the marrow had been drained from her bones. She swayed against her friend.
Halasaa – how could you find the strength? All the children, all that healing,
bodies and hearts. I didn' t know what it was I asked of you.

It was not you that asked it.
Halasaa put his arm around her shoulders and led her to sit by the fire, next to the shivering Oron.
And I am strong. I was strong.

He lowered himself beside her and stared into the flames. It was a small fire, barely large enough to warm the three who huddled by it. Heben pushed bread into their hands, and Mica brought them cups of water. ‘Don' t you sing up no more water tonight, Calwyn. You done enough. We can last till mornin.'

Calwyn found herself too tired to speak with her mind, almost too tired to use her voice. She whispered to Halasaa, ‘I' m sorry. I didn' t realise – how hard it is –'

The task of the healer is difficult. And I have grown weary these last
days. But I am glad, Calwyn. I had thought I was the last of my kind. But
I can teach you. The power will not die with me.

Calwyn was silent. She was glad, too; she knew how heavy a burden Halasaa carried, being the last to hold the secrets of his people. And tonight had shown that the dances of becoming could be taught. But she hoped that they could find others to learn the magic. She and Halasaa were the same age; passing the gift to her was no real solution. They would have to teach children –

She closed her eyes and a smile flickered over her face as her thoughts drifted. Perhaps she and Halasaa should bear children together, to inherit the gift from both father and mother! She' d never thought of Halasaa in that way. Yet she did love him, and she felt closer to him in many ways than she did to Darrow. Her heart ached. Darrow was a strange and solitary man. She knew that he cared for her, in his own way, and she had no real doubt that he would come back to Ravamey, when he was ready. He was a good teacher. Together they could set up the college of chanters she had dreamed of last winter. . .

Her last confused thoughts were of sitting beneath the tall trees on the hill behind Halasaa' s garden. There were children at her feet, these children, other children, listening, as the novices had listened at Marna' s feet in Antaris, the past and future intertwined. The wind sang in the trees at her back, and the sunlight glittered on the bright sea . . .

She didn' t know that Halasaa had wrapped her in a cloak and laid her down beside him to sleep, while far away the
wasunti
howled to one another across the silvered sands.

The next day Calwyn was bone-weary. The chantment of healing had drawn something out of her that sleep alone could not replenish. She sang up some snow to fill the waterskins, and helped Mica summon the wind for their rafts, but she had no strength for anything else. When they paused to rest, Shada brought her pieces of flat bread and dried meat, and a mouthful of their precious milk in the bottom of a cup, and coaxed her to eat. ‘Come on, Calwyn. There' s a long way to go, you know.'

‘I know.' Calwyn smiled with cracked lips. It was true, they needed her; she must take care of herself. She forced herself to chew on the dry meat.

‘It' s wonderful what you did for Oron.' Shada settled herself cross-legged on the sand, to make sure that Calwyn finished her meal. ‘Why didn' t you do it before?'

‘I didn' t know I could. I thought only Halasaa could perform that magic. And it' s hard, Shada, much harder than singing chantments as we do.'

‘
That' s
not hard. Gada says, it' s easy as breathing...' A shadow crossed her face.

Calwyn thought back to the collapse of the Palace, when the song of ironcraft had leapt out of her, almost without her willing it. She hadn' t tried to sing any chantments of iron since then; in truth, she was afraid. And she didn' t want anyone to know that she' d done it, even once.
The Singer of all
Songs
. Marna had said that the prophecy of the Singer of all Songs could never be fulfilled, because a man could not sing the chantments of ice, and a woman could not sing the chantments of iron. But it was not so. True, Samis had failed to master the songs of ice-call. But Shada had the gift of ironcraft. . .
And I sang it, too
. . .

To her relief, before she could finish her thought, Heben called to her to hurry, and she clambered up to take her place on the raft again.

In the days that followed, they progressed slowly south, skirting the mountains that lay between them and the harsh lands of Hathara. Day by day, the ground became harder and more rocky. At last no chantments of ironcraft could hold the rafts together any longer, and the remnants of the rush-mats were abandoned. Now they trudged on, across the dirt.

One day Heben slaughtered two of the
hegesi
, despite Haid' s protests. Vin and Oron drank the blood, and drew strength from it. The children tried to make Halasaa drink it too, but he would not.

Calwyn forced down a little of the thick, dark liquid, though part of her revolted. They had so little food. All the children had grown weaker. The meat of the
hegesi
heartened them for a day or two, but they were all becoming more and more exhausted and feeble. Even tough little Mica was flagging; she could barely rouse herself to a quarrel. And Heben, who Calwyn relied on more and more, had begun to falter. He took possession of the looking-tube and raised it to the horizon a hundred times a day, searching for the end of the mountains, that the children said signalled the edge of the vast plain of Hathara.

‘I don' t understand,' he murmured. ‘We should be almost there.'

‘We' re going in circles,' Oron muttered through chapped lips. His face and hands were peeling from sunburn, and his ragged robes were red with dust. ‘We should turn west, head for the sea, and strike out again from there.'

Heben shook his head, and scratched a rough map in the dirt with the point of a stick. ‘No. If we are
here
, it' s further to the sea than it is to Hathara.'

‘But you don' t know where we are. We could be here – or here – or here!' Oron swiped his foot through the map.

‘If Tonno was here, he' d steer us by the moons,' said Mica. ‘Then we' d know we was goin right.'

‘Or Trout, with his direction-finder,' said Calwyn, with a wan smile.