Waterdance (12 page)

“I myself, when I had a shop and stock at my disposal, prepared a potion for this ailment,” the old woman continued after she had stuffed the rag back in her sleeve and relayed Peri’s signals. “One of the ingredients was sea salt.”

She turned to the young man.

“Sea salt can be purchased in Darnalek from alchemists,” she said. “Not cheaply, but I trust you’ll manage.” Abruptly she turned back to Peri. “Walk with me, warrior.”

I know what you are, her hands signed.

Peri went very still.

“Walk with me,” the old woman repeated.

Peri rose slowly, and when Atheris would have followed, not understanding, she held up her hand to stop him. The old woman ducked out of the tent and Peri followed.

Can I kill her? Peri thought sickly. I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I’ve never had to. Could I kill a sick old woman, even a Sarkond, to protect my secret?

A few pilgrims were rousing as the sky slowly lightened. The old woman did not stray far from the tent; she stopped and coughed again, and this time Peri saw the rag before the old woman tucked it away. It was spotted with blood, old stains and new.

The woman followed Peri’s gaze to the rag, then chuckled.

“Yes,” she said dryly. “It is my death. Feel here.” She took Peri’s hand and pressed it against her side. Peri felt the hard nodules under her skin, the heat of the disease consuming the frail old body.

You think you will find healing at the temple? Peri signed, cringing inside as she felt the presence of human death clearly and unmistakably for the first time in her life. There were powerful healers, she knew, capable of halting such diseases, but she doubted even they could offer much hope at such an advanced stage.

The old woman chuckled again, hoarsely.

“No,” she said. “I journeyed to the temple for Eregis’s touch, as is my duty, but I foresaw that I would never reach it alive. A bottle of Black Sleep waits to end my pain. Now that I have met you, I need wait no longer.”

Once again Peri froze with shock. Reflexively she almost spoke her denial, almost betrayed herself. A dry old hand on her arm silenced her.

“I sought the vision path,” the old woman whispered. “I knew my own death; there was little enough to lose. I saw with my spirit the face you seek to hide from my eyes.”

You are the enemy who comes as a friend, she signed. You are the one blessed with the warrior’s skill of death, and cursed with the healer’s gift of life. You seek to flee us and we force you deeper into our heart. You bring death and destruction to our only hope, and in destroying it, you will save us despite yourself. The blessing of Black Sleep will spare me from witnessing these things come to pass.

She paused to cough into the rag again.

“The price of vision is obscurement,” she said. “I know only that obstacles in your path only guide you more surely to your goal. Therefore I will hinder you in the only manner in which I can—by giving you aid and nurturing the gift that curses you.”

She thrust a leather bundle into Peri’s hand.

“Take it and be damned,” she whispered. “I thank Eregis that death will spare me from the gifts you bring. Do not look upon me again.” She muttered another word that Peri assumed to be a curse, turned away, and picked her way slowly, stiffly through the camps, leaving a stunned Peri standing where she was.

Atheris appeared at her side as if by magic. Peri felt a surge of relief for the simple fact that his presence kept her from going after the old woman. Any Bregond would respect her right to death. Any Agrond would at least try to talk the old woman out of it. Peri was Bregond enough to let her go, Agrond enough to feel guilty about it.

“What was that all about?” he asked, scowling.

Peri shook her head.

“Near as I can tell,” she said, glancing around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear her, “she hates me, so she decided to help me. She started muttering about prophecies, shoved this bag in my hand, and walked off.”

“Prophecy?” Atheris said slowly. “What prophecy?”

Peri shrugged.

“She was just a sick, crazy old woman talking nonsense,” she said.

“But what was it she said as she walked away?” Atheris pressed.

“I don’t know,” Peri said impatiently. “I didn’t understand it. Sounded like nichuatai or niachuatai or something like that.”

Atheris shivered.

“Well, which was it, nichuatai or niachuatai?”  he insisted.

“I don’t know,” Peri said, forcing herself to patience. “I never heard either word before. I wasn’t even really listening. What do they mean?”

“Nichuatai means ‘misborn,’ like some of these unfortunates,” Atheris murmured, gesturing unobtrusively. “Niachuatai means ‘harbinger.’ “

“Well, given the conversation, it could’ve been either one,” Peri said irritably. “Look, it’s over, she’s gone, people are waking up. We’d better go strike our camp before somebody hears our conversation, hadn’t we?”

Atheris took a deep breath; to Peri’s surprise, he was shaking with tension, and for a moment she thought he’d insist on continuing their discussion despite the danger.

“Very well,” he said at last, with apparent reluctance. He followed Peri back to their camp; Peri was relieved (and a little surprised) to see that their belongings appeared untouched—Sarkonds were all thieves, weren’t they, and how could they resist such easy loot?—but Atheris took it in stride. He silently helped Peri bundle their supplies into two packs; when she would have absently shoved the leather bundle into her pack, however, he laid a hand on her arm.

“What did she give you?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Peri examined the leather. It was a rolled bundle tied with thongs, the beaded leather cracked with age but surprisingly well preserved otherwise. She untied the thongs and carefully unrolled the bundle; from the old woman’s remarks, she half expected some venomous beast to leap out at her. What she found, however, surprised her even more—an obviously old but carefully maintained healer’s kit, needles and lancets not of the usual carved bone, but of painstakingly polished silver, small horn vials and little pouches holding what investigation showed to be a fair assortment of herbs and powders, some of which Peri recognized, some she did not.

“It’s a healer’s bag,” she said, rolling the bundle back up and tying it securely. “A good one, too. My clan’s healer had one that was newer but no better.”

“You had none?” Atheris asked, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“I think I told you before,” Peri said from between her teeth, “I don’t have enough of a gift to be of any real use as a healer. I never had any gift at all until a few sevendays ago. For the last time, I have no training, I have no magic worth the name, I have no skill—”

“I disagree,” Atheris murmured, shouldering his pack. “I have seen you without the use of spells, without training as you say, diagnose two illnesses with a facility any healer might envy. You used no magic in their treatment, but their condition did not require it.” He touched his side. “You tended my own injury with amazing skill; I still can hardly believe it did not fester under the circumstances. There is no denying you have a true gift.”

—cursed with the healer’s gift of life. Peri grimaced. It was a curse, all right. Enough of the healer’s gift to twist the path of her life all awry; enough to leave her constantly frustrated among all these sick and malformed people, but not enough to help most of them. She sighed. Ironically, she actually might have done some good in Danber’s clan. They had a competent healer already, but a halfway decent herbalist and healer’s assistant was always more than welcome in the nomadic clans to ease the healer’s burden, tend minor cases, and do field treatments in the hunting parties and patrols. Her ability to sense water would be equally valuable.

But only to Danber’s clan, Peri thought bitterly. By Mother’s logic my gifts will serve all of Bregond as Aunt Kairi’s Heir. Even if I never actually used the gifts themselves—and I wouldn’t, either. Bregond’s High Hall has about as much use for a pitiful healer and water mage—or a swords-woman, even a damned good one—as a grasshawk has for horseshoes.

She shouldered her pack and turned around, surprised to see Atheris watching her intently, a troubled expression on his face. Peri tightened her lips; as far as she was concerned, the subject was closed, and anyway, the other pilgrims were awake and bundling up their own goods, preparing for their day’s journey.

“Heal—good sir!” Peri jumped and whirled, her hand on her sword hilt, and Atheris turned just as quickly, only to find the man Minyat behind them.

“Forgive me,” Minyat said, his eyes wide. “I only wished to thank you, good sir, for your aid, and ask if there was any compensation I might make you for sparing my wife and me the journey to Rocarran.” He hesitated. “I spent most of our coin buying the wagon and supplies so that Irra might make the pilgrimage, so I can offer you no money, but if there is
anything we own that you desire—”

Peri shrugged negligently, but Atheris’s eyes widened.

“You will journey to Darnalek, then?” he asked.

“Most immediately,” Minyat said, nodding. “We will procure a good supply of the sea salt before returning home. There is surely little enough of it to be found in Sarkond at all, and none in our small village.”

“We, too, would profit from a visit to Darnalek,” Atheris said quickly. “Could you make room in your wagon for us?”

Minyat raised his eyebrows.

“Of course,” he said. “But it is only a short road to Darnalek, probably only a day’s steady ride in our wagon. That is scant compensation for such service as your friend has so kindly rendered my wife and me.” He gave Peri a look of such gratitude that she scowled under her disguise. She’d only spared them an inconvenient trip to a temple for healing; it wasn’t as if she’d saved Irra’s life, after all.

“For us it is compensation enough,” Atheris said gravely. “Come, if this arrangement is satisfactory to you, my friend can assist your wife, and I will help you load your wagon.” He gave Peri a significant look.

Peri frowned, confused, and found herself following Minyat and Atheris uneasily. What was Atheris up to now? Not long before, he’d agreed it was vital to avoid the city; now he was abandoning the safety of the pilgrimage, which he’d maintained so staunchly, to go to Darnalek. She could hardly refuse or argue now, either. A day or two ago she’d have rejoiced at an alternative to moving deeper into Sarkond; now the abrupt change in Atheris’s plans only made her uneasy and suspicious.

Peri had no chance to question him, however, for as soon as they returned to Minyat’s tent, Atheris busied himself with Minyat loading the wagon, and she had little choice but to help Irra pack up the couple’s belongings. The woman was friendly but, thank the Bright Ones, not talkative, perhaps awkward in Peri’s presence. Peri began to understand Atheris’s strategy, however, when she glanced over and saw him surreptitiously dripping blood from a cut thumb onto the wagon frame.

When the wagon was loaded, Peri and Atheris tucked their packs in and climbed on the back. Minyat did not attempt to guide the wagon through the crowd of pilgrims, but waited for them to gather up their belongings and move ahead, clearing the way, before he turned the mule north toward Darnalek.

There was no way for Peri to talk to Atheris, not with Minyat and Irra sitting right in front of them, so she could only settle herself as carefully as she could on her lumpy and rather precarious seat and fume in silence as the wagon jolted up the road.

Although from what Minyat had said, they had to be near the city, they passed no one on the road except small groups on foot that Peri suspected were bound for Rocarran, and the countryside remained every bit as bleak and dry and empty as she’d seen so far. From time to time she saw what appeared to be houses, but these were empty and obviously abandoned, many fallen to ruin. There were no farms, no inns, no small settlements, no shrines—not even the bands of raiders that she had always thought must populate the whole of Sarkond. Peri wanted to ask Atheris about it and ground her teeth in frustration that she could not.

Minyat and Irra seemed more cheerful now, probably relieved at the prospect of returning home, and they chatted amiably with Atheris, occasionally addressing a remark to Peri rather abashedly, as if they had forgotten she was there (and, she thought sourly, despite their gratitude, they probably had).

From their conversation she gathered that the couple lived rather northeast of Darnalek in a small town. Minyat traded in copper pots and utensils, information which, to Peri’s mystification, seemed to impress Atheris greatly; Irra, childless herself, practiced as a midwife, which explained to Peri the woman’s ease with healers.

“At least Irra’s trade thrives,” Minyat said, shaking his head. “Not so with mine. Everyone flocks to Rocarran now to hear the Whore. I’m glad enough to stay away. These are strange times, friend, dangerous times—too strange for a simple copper trader. Not that I question the prophecies,” he added hastily, glancing back at Atheris and Peri as if to make sure he hadn’t overstepped himself. “We pray every day for the awakening, make our offerings regularly. When the healers said there was no cure for Irra, I vowed to seek Eregis’s touch at her side. But Eregis be praised, wise one, you—”

He broke off again, then said, with obvious relief, “Look! The walls of Darnalek.”

Peri looked, then grimaced. She hadn’t expected a city the size of Tarkesh, the capital of Agrond, or even Olhavar, Bregond’s capital city, but Atheris had implied that Darnalek was of a fairly respectable size. From what Peri could see, it was no bigger than a good-sized town, and certainly no richer. The “wall” was a stockade of thick upright posts in rather poor repair, lashed together with vines, and the thick wooden gate hung apathetically ajar. One lethargic guard drowsed at his station atop the wall beside the gate, and the cart passed without acknowledgment.

The city itself impressed Peri no more than the wall. The wooden buildings were neglected, some of them badly deteriorated, and clustered so thickly that the narrow lanes seemed to close in around the little cart. Although the street was so hard-packed and dry that she knew there must have been a recent extended drought, and although the streets were amazingly clear of dung, a rotten smell rose up from the gutters in a fetid miasma. Peri grimaced, for once glad of the rags over her nose and mouth.