Watersmeet (17 page)

“I—I don’t know. But they’re something. Do you see the path?”

Abisina turned her body toward the strange outcropping, letting the necklace catch the light. “Look!” she cried. The light from the necklace reflected on the largest of the spires, making a perfect, luminescent archway at its base, as if the rock were glowing from the inside.

“What do you see?” Haret asked urgently.

“There’s an arch! Can you see it?”

Haret got to his feet. “No, but let’s go. The necklace hasn’t led us wrong yet.”

With Abisina in the lead, they walked toward the arch, the light intensifying. When they were within five paces of it, Abisina had to close her eyes against the brightness.

Groping blindly, she expected rough rock on her fingertips, but instead, her fingers were seized by—something that felt like a cold, hard hand. “Haret!” she called as a powerful wind arose, ripping the words from her lips. Abisina was being pulled apart—the wind forcing her backward while the crushing grip pulled her forward. Haret’s arms closed around her waist as the gale blasted them toward the cliff’s edge. With her last energy, she clutched the cold hand with both of her own, pulling Haret, step by laborious step. The force of the wind lessened, the brightness on her eyelids dimmed—and in one more step, the wind disappeared altogether. Silence pressed on her eardrums. The hand crumbled to sand in her grip. Trembling with fatigue, Abisina opened her eyes.

They stood in a round room carved out of rock, lit by a soft, reddish light, though Abisina could not see its source. The ceiling hung with stalactites. Ten or twelve passageways opened onto the room, but there was no sign of the enormous archway in any of the walls. It seemed as if the mysterious hand had pulled Abisina and Haret through solid rock.

“What now?” Abisina whispered.

“Try the necklace,” Haret said, his voice low also. His hair was blown back from his face, his beard in tangles, as he looked from tunnel to tunnel.

Abisina held the pendant up to the soft light but no corresponding glow appeared. “Nothing.”

Haret picked up a handful of dirt and sniffed. “It smells—empty. And no tracks. I don’t think anyone’s been here for a while.” He stepped down the nearest tunnel, then picked up a fleck of dirt and put it on his tongue. “Not this way,” he murmured, moving on. “Or this,” he said after another taste. At the fourth tunnel, Haret nodded as the dirt hit his tongue. “This way,” he said firmly.

“How do you know?” Abisina asked, trying to remember where they had started.

“I’m a—”

“—dwarf,” she finished. “I know. But what’s down there?”

“Food, for one thing. And water. And—it’s the right one. Come on.”

Abisina cast a wary glance around the room again, but with no other plan, she agreed.

In a few steps, the glow from the first room faded, but around a bend in the tunnel, more light beckoned. They turned the corner and another pool of light appeared. They had gone only thirty or forty paces when the light’s quality changed—from dull red to the yellow hues of daylight. Another archway stood before them opening onto grass dotted with trees, brilliant blue sky overhead.

Their steps slowed as they both peered out, cool air on their faces. Gone was the arid landscape of the mountain peak. Dew spangled the grass. The leaves of the trees shone in the sunlight, pieces of fruit peeking out, and the delicate odor of ripeness filled the air. Running water tinkled nearby.

“What do you think?” Haret asked.

“Food and water,” Abisina said, nodding toward the fruit trees.

“There’s a wall, too.” Haret pointed through the trees where a high stone wall was visible. “Looks safe.”

Still, Haret drew his hatchet and Abisina readied an arrow before they stepped out of the tunnel. The odor of fruit grew as they neared the trees. Abisina plucked a soft yellow fruit, planning only to inspect it, but the perfume that washed over her made her take a bite, her mouth flooding with sweetness. The flesh melted on her tongue, juice ran down her chin, erasing any doubt she had about entering the garden.

“Orf, the Earf!” Haret sighed around a large mouthful of yellow fruit.

Abisina gobbled two more before she wandered on. And then she regretted eating so much—if you can regret eating the finest piece of food you have ever tasted—because the next tree was laden with smaller, red fruit, spicier in flavor, but still sweet and juicy. And the next offered thin green ones, dry and crunchy. Then she was finished, her stomach not straining and sore, just extremely satisfied.

Now wanting a drink, she followed the sound of water to a stream that bubbled out of the orchard wall into a deep basin. Although it had no visible drain, the basin stayed filled to the brim without overflowing. Haret emerged from the trees, juice soaking his beard. She wiped her own chin self-consciously.

Cupping their hands, they leaned over the basin and lifted mouthful after mouthful of the icy water to their lips until Abisina plunged her whole head in and came up spluttering, her ears aching with the cold. Haret took one look at her and burst out laughing, the deep boom echoing off the walls. She grinned—and the next time he bent to get a handful of water, she dunked his head, too. Now it was her turn to laugh at the surprise on Haret’s dripping face.

“Quite a place, eh?” he said, after joining Abisina on the grass. “The fruit! I’ve never tasted its equal.”

“No, I imagine you haven’t,” she said dryly, thinking of Hoysta’s gritty soup.

“Oh—and you have? I’ve seen enough of humans to know what you’re used to eating. Coarse bread and mealy potatoes, breakfast, dinner, and supper!”

Abisina smiled. There was no edge to their banter now.

They sat watching the sunlight on the leaves until Haret spoke: “I think I’ll investigate those tunnels. After crawling like an insect up the side of that mountain, I need the strength of walls around me.”

“Mmm,” Abisina murmured, vaguely aware of Haret getting to his feet and wandering away. She lay back on the grass and peace settled over her—a peace she had known only on nights in the hut with her mother, sitting before the fire, learning her letters, while a storm raged. On those nights, when no one from the village would come out to disturb them, she could almost believe that Vranille was an illusion, that she was not outcast, that somehow she would wake up in the morning to a world where she was accepted.

She may have dozed. Her stomach prompted her to rise when the sun shone directly overhead, and she wandered again through the orchard, sampling different fruits, humming.

She lost track of her path but didn’t care. Nothing would happen to her here, she was sure. She came to a break in the trees, and the peace that saturated the orchard became almost palpable in the clearing before her. A single rowan tree grew in the middle; she recognized its long, thin leaves and the clusters of white blossoms. Her mother had always hung a rowan branch over their doorway, warding off evil. Did the peace she felt around her emanate from this tree? Near the trunk, a spring bubbled up, providing the soothing sound of water. Beneath the tree, white stones outlined what Abisina immediately knew was a grave. Could this somehow explain the wonder of this orchard?

She sank down on the grass, letting the whisper of the leaves and the song of the water fill her. The murmurs surrounded her and—without fear—she felt that something or someone had entered the clearing. She closed her eyes.

A voice spoke inside Abisina’s head.
This is my garden, my grave. I brought you here.

The voice felt female and old. Very old. And as it spoke, the necklace radiated a warmth on Abisina’s chest.

You wear my necklace. Have you felt me?

Abisina thought of the lighted archway on the wall of stone, the ribbon of light up the cliff and through the boulder field, the light glittering against the black stone of the altar.
Yes. You’ve been with me since Vranille. Who are you?

I am Vigar. I brought the folk to Watersmeet, made it their home. And now, I am bringing you to Watersmeet. And to Rueshlan.

Abisina fought to keep her eyes shut.
Who is he? Is he my . . .

The voice said nothing, but she knew the answer.

When the voice came again, Abisina felt a new urgency.
You must warn him as I warned him myself. Tell him my ancient enemy has returned. Tell him you have seen Charach. It is the beginning.

The air rippled around Abisina, the rowan leaves rustling. Abisina hated to hear that name uttered here.
You know—Charach?

He is everyone’s enemy.

Again, the rowan’s branches stirred.

How do I get to Watersmeet?

Northwest. To the River Deliverance, then follow the river due north. You will find Watersmeet where the Fennish, the Middle, and the Lesser Rivers meet. And Abisina?

Yes?

We are all with you—those who wore the necklace. When the time comes, you will know what to do.

What time? What will I have to do? Wait!

Abisina’s eyes flew open as she felt Vigar’s presence leave the clearing.

What could it mean? Vigar had said that she founded Watersmeet, but she was buried here, in the Obruns. And Hoysta and Haret spoke as if the founding of Watersmeet happened long ago, but Vigar said she had warned Rueshlan—
my father
—as if she had spoken to him.
Was he here once—in this very garden? Did Vigar speak to him as she just spoke to me?
Abisina looked around her, studying the place anew. Had her father sat beneath this rowan? Listened to this spring?

But Vigar said to
warn
him. Abisina went cold. Her mother had said the same as the village burned around them.
And Mama wore the necklace. Did my father, Rueshlan—
the name felt strange—
wear it? Are they with me, too?

Haret was skeptical when Abisina told him what happened. “You spoke to a
ghost
? And she gave you directions to Watersmeet?” But he couldn’t deny the magic pervading the orchard.

Abisina had not meant to say anything about Charach. She had decided that the world of the Vranians and Charach no longer concerned her. But Vigar’s warning slipped out as she told Haret the story.

“Charach is seen as an enemy here also? On the northern side?” Haret’s eyebrows pulled together. “There’s no way across the Obruns that we know of except the way we just came. Surely Charach doesn’t know about the pass.”

Abisina said nothing. Every time the name was mentioned, the peace around her was disturbed. To her relief, Haret dropped the subject.

They slept in two nooks chiseled in the tunnels Haret had explored that morning. The nooks had mattresses already stuffed with something soft, springy, and smelling of fresh herbs. Warm blankets lay at the ends.

“I guess your ghost was expecting us,” said Haret.

Abisina woke, feeling as if she had slept for days. Her muscles were so relaxed, the bed was so soft, and her body fit it so well. Even the ache of her missing toe had lessened. She was sure Haret must have gotten up without her, unable to rouse her from such a wonderful slumber. And the thought didn’t bother her; she was too contented. Light fell across her bed from a window carved in the wall. Lifting onto one elbow, Abisina peeked outside. The yellow sun of morning bathed the orchard, and fruit-perfumed air blew in. Her belly responded with a rumble to say that it was time for breakfast. She swung her legs off the mattress.

Across the passageway, Haret stirred in his bed, opened a sleepy eye, and said, “’S’it morning?”

“Yes.”

“How long’ve we slept?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I thought you were up.”

Haret didn’t seem concerned about this either. “Should we find some breakfast?”

But as Abisina stood, she felt a tremor in the garden’s tranquility––the same feeling she had when Vigar spoke to her of Charach. “Bring your axe,” she said to Haret as she put her bow and quiver over her shoulder.

Haret raised an eyebrow at her but tucked his weapon into his belt.

They gathered fruit and took it to a weathered bench built around the base of a tree. Abisina began to relax. The orchard was calm.

Between bites, Haret said, “Did your ghost tell you how many days it is to Watersmeet?”

“She didn’t mention,” Abisina responded with similar sarcasm.

Suddenly a terrifying bellow reverberated around the orchard.

They were both on their feet in an instant. “Centaurs?” Abisina hissed.

Haret shook his head. “I’ve never heard that sound before.”

It came again, and the ground shook. “Is it
in
here?” Abisina asked.

The bellow sounded a third time and was followed by a crash as if the rock wall had been blown apart.

“It is now,” Haret said grimly, loosening his axe.

Abisina nocked an arrow and gave Haret a quick nod.

They headed toward the noise, which had changed from deafening bellows to guttural snorts and grunts, punctuated by sharp cracks. Abisina gripped her arrow tighter.
What is it?