Water (21 page)

Guardian’s mattress; and he brought her a cup of her own broth, and wrapped her hands round it,

and held them so while she drank. And then he said to her: “I beg your pardon most humbly, and

I am ashamed, as Western Mouth has told me clearly I should be. It is true that I should have

known that what Western Mouth’s apprentice has done was through desperate need.

“But you see, apprentice of Western Mouth, you have torn a hole in the close-woven fabric that

divides the earth of our world from the water of the next; and through that rent the water is

pouring through. And you, apprentice of Western Mouth, are the only person who can stitch it up

again—if it can be stitched.”

Her Guardian, looking grey and weak, said, “I am sorry, my dear, but what he says is true. He

would tell me that I chose an apprentice too late; I would say to him that you were born too late,

and what has happened has happened.”

She paused, but Tamia was still too shaken by Water Gate’s greeting to stir or speak. Rest, rest,

she wanted to say to her Guardian, I know it cannot be good for you to talk so much. But she

looked at her Guardian, and saw Water Gate move to sit next to her, one arm round her

shoulders, holding her good hand in his other hand, and realised that he was giving her his

strength somehow; and a little, feeble hope stirred in her, and she thought, I will not care that I

have drowned the world, if he will help my Guardian.

“Listen, my dear,” whispered her Guardian. “It is almost dawn. There will be a lull soon—Water

Gate has arranged that. And when there is, you will take the bowl on the top shelf, the one at the

back behind all the other bowls, and fill it with water from the “well; and you will bring it to me

here. Fill it as full as you can carry it; and then do not spill it. Not a drop.” And then Water Gate

let her lie down, but still he sat beside her, where Tamia had sat for over a fortnight, and looked

into her face, and held her hand. Tamia told herself that he was doing for her what she could not

do, but still a lonely and hurt little voice inside her said, He is a Guardian, a real Guardian, not a

five-years’ apprentice, why cannot he do it, and leave me with my Guardian? It is not he who

should sit there. But her Guardian had given the order, and so she did not say it aloud.

She heard the storm die away, and she opened one shutter cautiously and saw dawn struggling to

penetrate the clouds. She took down the bowl—she had never seen this bowl before, though she

thought she knew every bowl on the shelf, for the Guardians often used bowls in their work—

this one tingled against her skin like the stones in the water-garden. She went outdoors to the

well. The ground of their meadow was an ocean of mud; tufts of broken grass crowned the crests

of the waves. She tried to pick her way carefully, but there was nowhere to put her feet that was

any better than any other. She was muddy to mid-shin by the time she returned to the house, and

she was so anxious not to spill a drop that she did not dare kick off her shoes before she went

indoors.

“The storm will not return today,” said Water Gate. “Go outdoors, and remove your seven

stones. Take them out of the water-garden entirely, take them away. And then spend time setting

the water-garden to rights; it will tell you how, for Western Mouth has told me you are a good

pupil. I will finish the work for you later—if this world is still above water—but for now

Western Mouth and I have other work.”

Tamia listened to him, expressionless and unblinking; and then she looked at her Guardian for

confirmation before she did his bidding. And she looked back at him, after she had looked at her

Guardian, to be sure that he understood that she did what he said only because her Guardian told

her to.

Tamia gathered the seven stones from the water-garden, and while she had put them in

uncertainly, she picked them up now knowing that they had done what she asked, and that there

was no fault in them, only in her not knowing how and what to do. She fondled them gently, as

she had used to stroke Columbine, telling them thank-you, telling them that they were her

friends. She thought about Water Gate telling her to take them away; and she piled six of them

together in a little heap in the heart of the old yew. The seventh, which was slightly kidneyshaped “while the others were round, she slipped into her pocket.

She spent the rest of the morning doing what she could with the water-garden. She found that she

could do more than she had expected, for now suddenly she began to see the ribbons of energy

that ran between the stones. Like ribbons, they were different colours and different sizes, and

some of them were taut and some were slack and some were tangled, and it was her work to

make them all smooth, and woven equally together. When she put her fingers in the water, the

shining flecks of gold swam to her till her hands gleamed like candle-flames; and yet, as she

worked, the golden flashes were small and gentle, and seemed to ride briefly on the surface of

the water like sweet oil before they dissolved and disappeared. Tamia almost thought they had a

faint tranquil smell, like salve on a bruise, and in some wonder she understood that the ache of

the bruise-feeling she had had since she placed her message-stones was the source of her new

understanding, and she began to think that she would mind if she had drowned the world, even if

Water Gate could save her Guardian.

She felt noon come, rather than saw it, and Water Gate came outdoors, and set a plate bearing

bread and rishtha and dried fish on the edge of the stairs, and went back indoors again. Tamia ate

her lunch, and went back to the water-garden.

When twilight came, Water Gate came out of the door of the house again, and called her; and she

walked slowly up the stairs, for she was very tired.

The bowl of water now lay on the table in front of the hearth. Tamia’s eyes were drawn to it at

once, though it looked no different than it had done that morning. But she had little more than a

glance at it, because she went at once to her Guardian’s bedside, and took her hand, and asked

how she was. “I am sure you have worked too hard,” said Tamia. “Have you eaten anything? Let

me get you some supper.”

“Water Gate will make us both supper,” said her Guardian, “because we must talk.”

Tamia looked over her shoulder in surprise, and saw Water

Gate holding a frying-pan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. He laid them down,

opened the food-cupboard, and with a meticulous care Tamia had to acknowledge, began to look

through their stores. He had a long, lean face and heavy lines down his cheeks and around his

mouth, and shaggy black hair. He was not so old as her Guardian. She could see no trace of the

wild anger he had almost killed her with the evening before, but what she saw instead was

despair, and when he turned briefly and met her eyes, his eyes agreed that what she saw in his

face was the truth, though he would have hidden it from her if he could.

“Listen to me,” said her Guardian, and Tamia turned back to her. “There is a new sea-magic. A

Horse of Water has come ashore, and gallops up and down the countryside, destroying whatever

her hoofs touch, and when she shakes her head, the water-drops that fly out of her mane are

sharp as arrows, and kill what they strike. White North, Standing Stone, Four Doors, Southern

Eye, and Water Gate have all tried to stop her, and they have all failed. We are the last ...” Her

Guardian stopped, and seemed to consider, and sighed. “Water Gate advised me not to tell you,

but I cannot think that is right. It is Water Gate who finally discovered how the Water Horse had

entered. It was not your seven stones, little one. It was my weakness. Your stones only marked

the entryway; and, my dear, it was the best you could have done as well as the worst, or Water

Gate might not have come here in time—in time for our last effort, our last chance.

“The other Guardians have tried, and failed, to curb the Water Horse, to dissolve her, or to send

her back into the sea from which she came, as she trampled across each of their lands in turn. But

she broke White North’s water rope, and drank up Standing Stone’s pool, and Four Doors’ mire

did not stop her, nor Southern Eye’s maze, nor Water Gate’s ... well, Water Gate did not succeed

either, it does not matter how.

“We are all that is left, and I am old and ill, and you are but a five-years’ apprentice.”

Her Guardian fell silent for so long, Tamia thought she would say no more, and was about to slip

away and offer to peel the grads, so she could keep an eye on Water Gate; but then her

Guardian’s hand gripped hers more strongly, and she said, “Water Gate, in his effort to find out

why the Horse had been released upon us, went through your village. Do you remember, on your

first day here, when you did not want to tell me that your family would be glad to be rid of you?

Water Gate says that your stepfather has taken to telling everyone that it was a tremendous

sacrifice to lose you and he only did it because it was what was best for everyone, and that not

only is his voice no longer heard raised against the Guardians’ token, but your family are the

only ones in all the lowlands Water Gate visited who are not terrified by the storms and the

Water Horse, because they believe that Western Mouth’s apprentice will save them.

“So perhaps they are right, and us Guardians all wrong. Listen. You will take this bowl of water,

and
do not spill a drop.
You will have to walk slowly, for the bowl is brimful, but walk as

quickly as you may, for the Water Horse is not far away. You will wait for her at the deep crack

of valley where the Eagle meets the Flock of Crows. You will see her come striding towards you.

Wait; and wait; and wait again; and wait still longer. Wait till she is upon you, till you see her

shining blue eyes and feel her cold watery breath. When—and not till then—she would crush

you with her next step, then throw the bowl of water over her.

“And—we will either have been successful, or not.”

Her Guardian closed her eyes, and again Tamia turned to creep away, but her Guardian said,

“You want to be there a little after dawn. It will be a clear night, and the horizon will grow light

enough for you to walk by well before dawn—if you are careful, and you know the way—

tonight you must eat the supper Water Gate prepares for us, and then you must sleep.” Her

Guardian’s eyes opened. “That, at least, I can still give you. I can give you a good night’s sleep.”

Tamia said, “I would rather spend the night here, watching, by your bed.” She did not say “this

last night” but she did not have to; if the bowl of water did not work, they would not see each

other again. Tamia was still too young and healthy for her own death to seem real to her; but she

could just imagine never seeing her Guardian again, and that seemed more terrible than death.

“No,” said her Guardian, simultaneously with Water Gate, stepping silently up behind them,

carrying plates in one hand and a bowl of steaming food in the other, saying also, “No.” Tamia

turned and glared at him, and his mouth turned in the faintest, ironic smile, as he accepted that

his “No” was nothing to her.

But she obeyed her Guardian. Dutifully she ate Water Gate’s excellent stew, and dutifully she

lay down; and her Guardian was as good as her word—as she had always been—and sent her

apprentice to sleep.

Tamia did not know what woke her, but she woke suddenly and completely. She raised herself

on one elbow, and looked through the crack in the shutters; she could just see the outline of the

trees and the Eagle against the sky. “It is time to go,” said her Guardian, calmly, from the

darkness.

Tamia dressed quickly, and found a chunk of bread by feel for her breakfast. By then the light

had increased enough, and her eyes had adjusted enough, that she had no difficulty seeing the

stone bowl on the table, and the gleam of the water it contained. She stooped over her Guardian,

and kissed her, and said, only a little breathlessly, “I will be back in time for tea,” and then she

opened the door and turned back to pick up the bowl.

She had forgotten about Water Gate. He was standing at the top of the house-steps, looking out

on the churned mud of the meadow. He turned to look at her. There was a tiny silence, and he

said, “Good morning.”

She ducked her head in acknowledgement, and then slipped past him and down the steps. As she

set her foot on the first stepping-stone to cross the water-garden, she heard him say softly,

“Courage and good fortune to you.”

The need to walk so carefully that the water in the bowl never quivered, that no drop was ever at

risk of sliding over the edge and being lost, was a useful focus for Tamia’s thoughts. She could

not afford to think about how frightened she was, because it might make her feet clumsy or her

hands shake; and so she did not think about it. She had her mouth a little open, so she could catch

her breath more quickly, for the way was steep, but she was careful even so not to breathe too

hard, for her own breath might disturb the surface of the water she carried.

It was still some minutes before dawn when she arrived at the deep narrow ravine between the

Eagle and the Flock of Crows. She looked down the stony chasm and thought of a great Water