Watersmeet (7 page)

The voice faded away.

Abisina tried to clear her head, to make sense of the rock-hewn ceiling lit a dull red.

Where am I? What’s happened to me?

Gingerly she pushed herself into a sitting position, but pain shot into her right shoulder and stopped her. She managed to sit up by using her left arm. Her head swam, but then the room righted itself.

She was in some kind of cave. The red light of a fire glowed through an archway opposite her, casting deep shadows on the rough walls. She lay on the ground on a mattress made of something soft and fibrous, and an animal-pelt quilt covered her.

The right sleeve of her woolen under-shirt had been cut away and her arm bound to her body with strips of cloth. Above her elbow, she saw a lumpy bandage with a line of pink running down her arm from the wound to her wrist.
Infection
, she thought instinctively. The smell of flaxseed came from the bandage, and as she inhaled the odor, she felt inexplicably sad.

Pushing back the animal pelts, she carefully moved her bare feet to the dusty floor. Though she hardly knew if she could walk, Abisina had to get out of that bed, to look around this cave for some clue as to what was happening to her.

As she stood, the leggings she wore fell to the floor. She tried to bend over, but the movement made the floor tilt, and she fell back onto the bed with a cry. The room spun and Abisina thought she might throw up. At last, the spinning slowed, the roaring in her ears quieted, and she heard feet shuffling closer.

A lumpy figure stood silhouetted against the fire’s glow. At this image, fear gripped Abisina, but before she could search her memory to discover its origin, the figure trundled forward, rolling as it walked, and the image was gone.

“Sitting up! Don’t try too much, dearie. Got more healing to do. I’ve your soup here—” It fumbled with a sconce on the wall, and the white light of a candle flared.

Abisina bit her tongue to keep from screaming.

The creature in the candlelight couldn’t be human. It had arms, legs, and a neckless head perched on a torso. Long, dirty hair fell in a tangle of gray and yellow, hiding its face in shadow. The creature was short—almost as big around as it was tall—and it wore clothes made of small animal pelts like the ones from Abisina’s bedding: a tunic belted at its middle—you really couldn’t call it a waist—and a skirt that fell to its knees, exposing two thick legs swathed in woolen leggings and animal-pelt boots.

It clicked its tongue, unaware of Abisina’s fearful stare. “These are a bit too wide in the waist for a waif like you!” The creature reached a gnarled, brown hand toward the floor, where the leggings had fallen at Abisina’s feet. “Need a belt.” It chuckled, pulling up the leggings. Abisina trembled as a claw-like fingernail brushed her skin.

“Lay back down, dearie,” the creature cooed and tucked Abisina’s legs under the covers.

It perched on a low, three-legged stool that looked ready to splinter under its bulk and picked up an iron bowl from the dusty floor. It dipped into the soup and held a spoon up to Abisina, the creature shaking its hair off its face as it did so. Abisina shrank back.

A mouth bent in a lipless grin, exposing four broken teeth. A bulbous nose dotted with warts. Leathery skin streaked with dirt. Grimy hair hanging across a strangely bumpy skull. Curious brown eyes staring at Abisina.

Before she could move or cry out, the creature leapt forward with unexpected speed and popped a bite of soup into Abisina’s gaping mouth. She gagged as a thick broth slipped down her throat, leaving the taste of mud.

The creature chuckled at Abisina’s expression. “My Haret hates this soup, too. But the mushrooms and roots thicken the blood, make you strong. Another bite now.” And a second spoonful of the putrid soup was dished into her mouth. “That’s right!” it crowed. “You’ll be up and about in no time!”

The insistent spoon hovered again near Abisina’s lips. She turned her head away, sending the room into a spin and bringing another chuckle. “Must be feeling better if you can fight.”

What are you? Where am I?
As she opened her mouth to speak, the spoon found its target. Abisina spluttered. She tried to sit up higher in her bed, but the scene before her slipped sideways and she felt as if she were falling from a great height.

“Whoops!” the creature cried and strong hands lifted Abisina.

She struggled but stopped at the shrieking pain. “My arm!”

The creature nodded. “Broke it. In the ravine. That’s where Haret found you. You must have fallen. Had a good gash in your head. I’ve sewn up both, your head and your arm where the bone broke the skin. Will be fine once we fatten you up. So thin!”

The spoon swooped in, and Abisina gagged again. “What—who are you?” she managed between bites.

“I’m Hoysta, dearie, and Haret is around here somewhere, though he may have gone scouting again.”

“But—but—” Somehow these answers didn’t get at what Abisina wanted to know. She couldn’t remember being in a ravine. She couldn’t seem to remember anything before waking in this cave—and there was something—something
important
—she had to remember.

“Don’t worry yourself now. You’re still weak. Give yourself time—and more soup!”

“Grandmother!” A deep voice spoke from the archway. Another creature appeared—as short as the first, but more finely formed: barrel-chested, muscular, a definite neck. It, too, wore an animal-skin tunic and kilt, but its powerful legs were bare and covered by black, wiry hair, matching that on its head and chin. This one looked younger and healthier than the one on the stool, but it had the same dark eyes and dirty skin.

Crossing the room, the second figure stared coldly at Abisina. “Has she said anything of Watersmeet?”

That word.
She knew it—but how? Her head was growing fuzzier the longer she sat up.

The bearded creature leaned closer to Abisina. “Human! Your folk and mine are not friends, but I saved you. Now I want you to do something for me. Tell me about Watersmeet.”

Watersmeet—is this what I need to remember?

“Speak, human!”

“Haret, you’re frightening her! She’s not ready to talk!”

Haret glared at Abisina but did not repeat his question.

“Leave us,” Hoysta rasped. “She needs to eat and rest. Talk to her later.”

After another hard stare, Haret began to leave but then faced Abisina again to threaten: “You
will
tell me.” Abisina slumped against the wall.

Hoysta watched him go and shook her head, a crease of worry deepening her brow. “No patience. Feels the Obrium.” Turning her attention back to Abisina, she exclaimed, “All worn out!” She moved Abisina away from the wall and laid her on the spongy bed. “Sleep now,” Hoysta said and began to make that throbbing hum again, a kind of lullaby.

Abisina didn’t know how long she slept in the cave, waking up from dreams of snow and fire, with Hoysta hovering nearby holding the detestable soup bowl. Each time she woke, her head was clearer, though memory of anything before this cave still evaded her.

With Hoysta’s urging, Abisina began to stand and take a few wobbly steps, most of her weight on the creature’s broad back. Haret was present for several of these strolls, leaning against the archway, frowning, but he never tried to question her again. Abisina held the word
Watersmeet
in her mind like a talisman, without understanding its meaning.

And then one night, she woke alone. She could tell by the low glow of embers that the fire in the other room was banked—the cave was asleep. She felt restless for the first time since she had been here. Sitting up, she waited for the familiar roll of nausea, but it didn’t come. She swung her bare feet over the side of the bed and, with her good arm, pushed herself to stand. Hoysta had removed the stitches from her wounds that morning, but her right arm was still bound to her body. Weak but excited, she took a few steps. Hoysta’s enormous leggings were now securely tied around her waist with a piece of rawhide. Sliding her feet through the dust, Abisina managed a few more steps.

She crossed the room and stopped at the archway to catch her breath. Looking into the room beyond her own, she could see little in the darkness except the long swath of glowing embers from the fireplace. On either side of the fire, deeper darkness suggested tunnels or doorways leading farther into the cave. She stepped into the room. A slight breeze touched her ankles, flowing from the left and holding an edge of cold.
A way out,
she thought, breathing in the fresher air. Abisina moved toward it, but caught a familiar scent coming from the darkness to the right of the fire. Her steps turned toward it, the scent growing stronger.

She reached the doorway of another cave and entered into the darkness beyond. The odor was thick here and she inhaled deeply, hungrily, pulling the smell into her lungs. Then the words came:
elfwort, feverfew, clover, chamomile, yarrow.
. . .

Mama!

Images burst into her head: her mother silhouetted against flames, the angry mob, the black stare of the White Worm. . . .

Abisina cried out and fell to the floor, crushed by the flood of memories. “No! No!” She covered her head with her good arm, trying to ward off the painful images that rained down on her.

And then Hoysta was there, pulling Abisina to her feet with her strong, capable hands. “Dearie, dearie,” she cooed as she half dragged, half carried Abisina back to her own room and soft bed.

Tears ran down Abisina’s face as Hoysta smoothed her hair and forehead. “There, there, my pet,” she murmured. “Safe now, you’re safe.”

“I remember,” Abisina choked, “I remember.”

“Then it’s time she told her story.” Haret stood in the middle of the room carrying a torch. His stony voice checked Abisina’s tears.

“Haret, please,” Hoysta said. “Not now!”

Haret put his torch in a bracket on the wall. “You’ve coddled her too long, Grandmother. Have you forgotten that she is a human—and all that the humans have done to the dwarves?”

Dwarves!
Abisina had never seen one, but she knew the tales: Perverse half-men. Filthy mud-dwellers. Monsters. Fear blotted out her despair and strengthened her. She had to be on guard. They had killed thousands at Vrandun. And now, she was their prisoner. “What are you going to do to me?”

“We
saved
you, dearie!” Hoysta said, sounding hurt.

“
She
saved you out of goodness, human!” Haret snarled. “But let me show you why
I
saved you.” He stood over Abisina, fumbling at his throat. “This!” he cried. “This is why I brought a human to my home!”

He dangled something before her, and she knew it at once: her mother’s necklace. The ribbons of metal gathered the low light from the torch and reflected it off the stone walls. She saw again the unnatural fire in Vranille’s burial ground and stood before the blackened and windswept altar, snow stinging her cheeks, as she found the silver necklace.

“Dwarf workmanship!” Haret said. “I’ve never seen its like. It’s made of Obrium, human, and I want to know where you got it.”

“It was my—my father’s. He gave it to my mother.”

“Where does a Vranian get something like this?” Haret said viciously. He pulled his hand back, as if ready to strike her. “Don’t lie to me, human!”

Watersmeet.
The word was there with the answer she had been searching for.

“My father was from Watersmeet.”

Her words had an immediate effect on Haret. He’d been leaning over the bed, his nose inches from Abisina’s face, but now he pulled back and grabbed Hoysta’s hand. “Oh, the Earth,” he breathed. “She’s the one, Grandmother! After so many years, this girl comes—with Obrium and Watersmeet! It’s finally happened!”

“Haret, you can’t mean it,” Hoysta pleaded. “You can’t mean to try again!”

“I must know, Grandmother. I must put this legend behind me. I was beginning to think we were mad—and our fathers and mothers before us—to keep believing and hoping.”

“You’re the last one. No, I will not lose you to the same madness. And the human may know nothing about the Mines!”

At Hoysta’s words, Haret rounded on Abisina again.

“Tell me how to get to Watersmeet,” he commanded, the wistfulness gone from his voice. “It will do no good to lie.”

Abisina had been prepared to do just that—anything to get away from these dwarves. But then she recalled the moment right before she and her mother had climbed the village wall. If we get separated, Sina had said, and Abisina again felt her mother’s grip on her wrist, there is a pass between Mount Sumus and Mount Arduus . . .

The barest outline of a plan began to form in her head, and at Haret’s words, Abisina leapt at the tiny hope it offered. “You must begin at the Obrun Mines. Do you know them?”

“Don’t insult me, human,” Haret said. “They are
our
Mines!”

“Then that’s where we start.”

“We?”

Abisina willed her voice to stay firm. “I’m going with you. To Watersmeet.”

Abisina began to doubt her plan as soon as she lay down on her pallet and tried to sleep. She had claimed she knew how to get to Watersmeet, but did she? She ran over and over her mother’s instructions, and each time they seemed flimsier. Haret knew the Obrun Mines, but her mother hadn’t said how to find the pass once they were at the Mines. And what about the meeting of three rivers? What if the land beyond the mountains is crawling with rivers?