Renegade's Magic ss-3 Read online

  “But it did not go as well as you had planned,” Jodoli replied, thinking the words were intended for him. “This we have learned from the other warriors. They said that as they looked back, the town and the fort were still burning, but not in a way that would take it all to ash. So what will you do? Will you still wait for a time, and then surprise them again?”

  Soldier’s Boy shook his head, a Gernian gesture. He suddenly realized that and stopped. “We will not surprise them again. We had but one opportunity to slip in among them and take them unawares. I’ve spent that, and not bought much with it. If we tried it again, we would find marksmen on the walls and a lookout in the tower. We would be slaughtered before we could even get close to them.”

  “So,” Jodoli asked him after a long moment had passed. “What is our next move, then?”

  Soldier’s Boy noticed the “our” and almost smiled. He could not decide whether to be offended or pleased. “Our” plan? Jodoli had not taken himself into any danger and had contributed little to the planning. But if he was willing to be seen as part of Soldier’s Boy’s plans, he should probably accept him as an ally. He bent his head over his bowl of soup and silently ate for a time instead of answering. I could feel the food enter his system, feel it replenishing his magic. Slowly he forced his thoughts back to their task. “What is our next move to destroy the intruders?” he asked at last.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know. The magic does not make it clear to me.” The others looked shocked that he would admit it. I felt only a satisfaction, cold and hard. I hadn’t known either what this magic was supposed to make me do. That Soldier’s Boy had finally and bluntly admitted his ignorance as well meant that, just perhaps, it was all some great mistake. All the Specks had been pinning such high hopes on him for so long, and perhaps they were all wrong. Perhaps the magic itself was wrong. Jodoli said the same old horrible words.

  “But I have seen it, in my dreams. You are the one the magic has chosen. There was something you were to do that would drive the intruders away and save the People.”

  Soldier’s Boy set the empty soup dish on the icy ground beside him. He was suddenly very tired. Tired and sick of this life that he had been thrust into. He spoke simply, plainly. “There were small tasks the magic gave me. I’ve done every one of them. I allowed the magic to look through my eyes. I gave a signal to the Dust Dancers who were sent to the city. I wrote copiously in a book, and when I left the intruders, I abandoned that book. I carried a stone, and when the time felt right, I passed the stone on. All simple, even stupid tasks. None of them made any difference. And twice now, I’ve done things not as the magic directed me but as I best thought would serve the People. Once, when I burned every bit of magic that I had to help the forest devour the King’s Road. And again, when I led every warrior I could muster against Gettys. Yet all I have done at the magic’s bidding and all I have done at my own bidding have come to naught. I have no more ideas. I think the task that all believe is mine is beyond me. So, instead, I will choose one that I think I can do and devote myself to that.”

  I am not sure that Olikea was even listening to him. There was something dead about her, as empty as Dasie’s eyes. She’d given up on life and was going through the motions. She reached to take his empty bowl and refill it. Instead, he caught her hand. He held it, not as a man holds the hand of a woman he loves but as an elder brother might hold his little sister’s hand to assure her that he meant his words. “I’m going to bring Likari home to Olikea.” He glanced up at her face and changed his words. “I’m going to bring Likari home to us. If that is the only thing I can accomplish with my life and my magic, then I will do it. This is not a task the magic has given to me, but one I choose.”

  Both of the women maintained a weighted silence, but I saw tears rise in Firada’s eyes. She leaned over to take her sister’s other hand. Jodoli seemed completely unaware of the importance of his offer to them. “And how will you do that?” he demanded harshly. “Kinrove has summoned him as a dancer and he has gone. We have told you. You cannot simply bring him back to us. He would not stay. He might not even know us.” He looked disgusted as he leaned back from the fire and the food. “Nevare, you speak too often of what you will do with your power, always thinking you know more than the magic. You and Dasie, so sure you could destroy Gettys, even if it was something the magic had not bade you do! And now, you will steal Likari back for us somehow. It is a cruel hope that you dangle before these women. The magic took Likari. How can you use the magic against itself, to take him back? Can a knife cut itself, a fire burn itself? NO! Will you ever learn that when you set yourself above or against the magic, you are wrong? That you are doomed to fail?” He shook his head and said in a lower voice, “Kinrove and I were fools, to allow ourselves to be coerced into helping you. We should have fought you with every means we had. Neither of us will make that mistake again. Whatever foolish idea you are harboring, do not seek to include me or my feeder.”

  The rebuke was the harshest I had ever heard Jodoli speak. Soldier’s Boy smarted under the sharp words. He seethed with anger and indignation, but could not think of a reply. “I will not need your help,” he finally responded, but his words sounded childish, even to himself. His pride was pricked. What I felt most strongly was his determination to do something, anything, that would prove his worth to his followers. I wondered if he would try to pit himself against Kinrove. If he had Dasie’s backing, he might break the dance once more. It would be a stupid thing to do, was my opinion. They’d stirred up Gettys like a boy poking a stick into a hornets’ nest. Kinrove’s dance would be the only thing holding the Gernians back from tracking the Specks into the forest and annihilating them. Stopping Kinrove’s dance now would be a suicidal gesture for all the Specks.

  As he and Jodoli glared at one another, a sudden howl rose from the group gathered around Dasie and her fire. It crested in shrieks of disbelief and pain. The sound paralyzed all of them for a moment, and then both Firada and Olikea leapt to their feet and ran to the other fire. Soldier’s Boy rose more slowly, looking toward the ululating feeders.

  “What is it?” Soldier’s Boy demanded with dread.

  “She’s dead,” Jodoli said flatly. “Dead in winter, worse luck for her. We will have to act swiftly.”

  “I don’t understand.” Those were the words he spoke, but echoing within him were other words. Jodoli was right. It’s all my fault. I failed her, too. Independent of his weariness, a separate blackness rose at the edges of his vision; he feared he would faint. The harder he tried to improve things, the worse they became. Dasie had been a heroine to her kin-clan, and beyond. She had freed the dancers from Kinrove and then gone forth to fight for her people. For her to die now, before she could even return to them with the small triumph of the raid, would devastate her folk. Unbidden, a cowardly thought crept coldly through him. It could turn all the Specks against him. Then where could he go? To whom would he turn for shelter and sustenance?

  Jodoli was not answering that, but another concern. “Winter is the worst time for a Great One to die. Her body will have to be borne back to the Valley of the Ancestor Trees. The trees are mostly dormant at this time of year; it will be hard for her chosen tree to take her in. It will be much more difficult to join her to her tree. Some of her may be lost.”

  “Lost?” he echoed unwillingly.

  “We will have to move quickly. The sooner she reaches her tree, the better. If there is still warmth in her body, that is best of all. I pray that when my time comes, I will die when my tree already embraces me and my kin-clan stands around me singing. Dasie must go to her tree almost alone, in winter with only a few to sing to her. Oh, this is not a good omen.”

  Jodoli did not even go to the other fire to see if his assumptions were correct. Instead he did something that Soldier’s Boy had never seen him do before: attempt to dress himself, fastening his own cloak and hood that was still chilled and damp from his day’s journey. Before Soldier’s Boy c
ould reach for his own garb, several of Dasie’s feeders converged on them. Soldier’s Boy felt he was almost wrestled into his clothing and boots. Olikea came to help them. All of the feeders were weeping as they worked; it did not make them gentler. Never had I seen Specks move so quickly and in such a concerted way. By the time Soldier’s Boy was ready, Dasie’s bundled body had already been reloaded onto the travois. When Soldier’s Boy sought to speak to Jodoli about what would happen next, the Great One sternly shushed him. “Do not distract her with words. Say nothing to draw her attention to us. Whatever anger you feel for me, set it aside. This is not our time. It is hers. Keep silent, and learn how a Great One goes to her tree.”

  And so, in the cold and the dark of night, they left the scant shelter of the stony roofed pass and headed once more down to the forest of the ancestor trees. Jodoli led the way. The horse pulled the travois with Dasie’s body. Her two weary feeders who had stayed with her accompanied her again, along with those of her guards and feeders who had been in the cavernous pass. And Soldier’s Boy came last of all.

  Jodoli set the pace for the quick-walk and Soldier’s Boy held it. Together they conveyed the funeral party through the night. It was not an easy task for Soldier’s Boy. This was his fifth quick-walk of this route in but a handful of days. I could sense that it was more difficult because they had to move Dasie’s dead body with them, but could not understand why it was harder to do that any more than I could grasp why it was possible to lead a horse on a quick-walk but far more difficult to ride one. Soldier’s Boy was tired, discouraged, and full of sorrow. He was grateful that Jodoli minded the magic of the quick-walk and that all he had to do was help maintain it. His legs seemed made of lead and his back hurt horribly. He kept feeling tiny sharp twinges to either side of his spine. Callously, I pictured for him a suspension bridge with the cables snapping due to overload.

  “Leave me alone,” he retorted miserably.

  After that, I rode silently.

  The short winter day had lightened when we finally reached the valley of the ancestor trees. The day was cold, but not nearly as cold as it had been the night of our attack on the fort. There was a high breeze stirring the tops of the trees. Loosened snow fell in cascades and clumps, but for the most part the air was still under the interlaced canopy of branches, both needled and bare. Once we reached the edge of the valley, Jodoli stopped the quick-walk. Dasie’s feeders took over leading the way and we all trudged in a long chilled procession behind them. No one spoke. There were occasional birdcalls and the crunch of our footsteps on the icy snow and the sounds of Clove dragging the travois. Other than that, the others kept silent and Soldier’s Boy copied them. That battering of his inner thoughts was so loud that he could scarcely have paid any attention to conversation even if he had found the will to say something. Dasie’s feeders moved purposefully through the forest, and he followed.

  They came at last to a section of the forest where the canopy was thinner. Several of the older trees were scarred by fire. Between two huge burned-out stumps, a smaller kaembra tree stood. Long ago, lightning had killed and burned two of the great kaembra trees, leaving a hole in the canopy overhead that had permitted enough sunlight to encourage this young tree to sprout between the trunks. A couple of other young trees grew closer to the edge of the clearing. The bark of Dasie’s tree was smooth and gray-green, its trunk only the diameter of a hogshead. A young tree, by Speck standards. Snow had settled deeply around it. Jodoli stood by Dasie’s body as her feeders and guards went to work moving snow. They used their hands and feet, scooping and kicking away the loose white stuff until the frosted layer of fallen leaves and moss that was the forest floor was exposed. Only when a ten-foot-diameter circle had been cleared at the tree’s base did they return to the travois for Dasie’s body.

  Jodoli stepped aside and again Soldier’s Boy copied him. Dasie’s feeders worked with efficiency that was still respectful. With a sharp knife, one man cut her clothing from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. Several of her guards stepped forward to help drag her limp weight from the travois to the selected tree. Just before they set her with her back to the tree, one of her feeders ran his knife from the back of her head down her spine to the divide of her buttocks. The slash exposed meat but no blood flowed. With chill efficiency, the man opened the slash wider. Then, as they placed her against the tree, he worked to snug the open wound as firmly as he could against the tree’s bark. Jodoli spoke very softly. “Sometimes, in winter, when the trees sleep deeply, the touch of blood against the bark will waken them. So we hope for Dasie.”

  They were binding her against the tree now, strapping her firmly in place with long strips of leather. Her legs were outstretched before her, and her arms tucked close to her body. One feeder secured her legs at the knees and ankles to keep them from spraddling while another finished tying her at throat and brow. When they were finished, they stepped back and waited in silence.

  And waited.

  There was a subtle tension building in that stillness. I was not sure what they were waiting for, but sensed the gravity of the moment. After an appreciable time had passed, one of her guard stepped forward. He met the eyes of her chief feeder and then offered his bared forearm and, in his other hand, a knife. “Perhaps fresh warm blood would awake—” he began, but in that moment, her other feeder gave a low and welcoming cry.

  “There!” he exclaimed in relief. We all stared at Dasie’s body and I saw nothing at all. But a moment later, the corner of Dasie’s mouth twitched. I was not certain I had really seen it, but then her head subtly shifted.

  Beside me, Jodoli breathed a sigh of relief. “The tree has welcomed her,” he proclaimed, and there was a flutter of movement among her feeders as they exchanged looks. Tears began to flow again, but they were like the tears shed when a difficult birth still yields a viable child. Anguish gives way to joy, and then to peace. Her feeders went quickly to work again. They shrouded her from head to toe in a woven blanket. This they doused with water from the waterskins and then shaped it to her body. “It will freeze that way,” Jodoli explained, “and seal her against the tree, so that scavengers do not carry off what rightfully belongs to the tree. This has gone better than I expected. I would have liked to see a livelier joining to the tree, but this is enough. Dasie has her tree.”

  Her feeders and guards were busy again, now using the snow they had scraped away from around the tree to bury the wrapped body. Jodoli withdrew some little distance and Soldier’s Boy did likewise, but did not follow the Great Man. Instead, he walked to the clearing’s edge. He stared out into the pillared dimness of the forest canopied by the intersecting branches of the kaembra trees overhead. The day seemed darker when he turned his back to the little clearing, and the forest more mysterious. Almost he fancied he heard a soft voice calling him.

  “Nevare. Neva-are.” A man’s voice. Soldier’s Boy turned his head rapidly from side to side, scanning the forest. He saw no one.

  And then more clearly, “Never, you old sonovabitch, aren’t you going to say hello?”

  Buel Hitch. His mocking tone was unmistakable.

  Soldier’s Boy turned his head slowly to regard the tree next to him. It was a young kaembra, approximately the same age as the one that Dasie had just joined. Heart thumping, he took one step closer to it. He trod on something under the snow and stepped back hastily. It had not been a branch. Bone. A leg bone.

  “It was a big honor they done me. Not a Great One nor a Speck. But her kin-clan knew I had served the magic as well as I could, and so they brought me here and gave me a tree. I never got to thank you, Nevare. So I’ll do it now. Thanks for keeping your word, even after you found out how I betrayed you. Thanks for letting the Specks take my body out of that wooden box and bring me here.”

  “Buel.” Soldier’s Boy spoke the name aloud with me. I do not know which half of me was more shocked, the Speck or the Gernian, that my friend and my betrayer lived on here. Soldier’s Boy pulled the heavy
mitten from his hand, and set the bare flesh of his palm to the tree’s bark.

  “Careful!” Buel warned me, standing as clearly before me as if his bones still wore flesh. “It’s a young tree and I’ve only been here a few months. The tree’s pretty deep asleep, but if it starts to wake hungry, it’ll go for you, just like a snake after a rat. So. Well, look at you. Now who’s gone native, old son? Specks and all.”

  Soldier’s Boy spoke to him. “I’m not who you think I am.”

  Buel grinned. He didn’t look quite as I remembered him. He was taller, more muscled, and his hair was combed. I suddenly realized that I was seeing his own idealized version of himself. That was a breathtaking insight into Lisana. I might have startled Soldier’s Boy by sharing that thought, except that what Buel said next shocked me even more. He shook his head and the ghost’s grin grew wider.

  “Oh, no, old son. Now you’re exactly who I think you are. Maybe even more so.” He cocked his head and then craned it down to look into my eyes, smiling all the while. And I suddenly knew that he saw me, as I was now, but that all that time, he’d been seeing Soldier’s Boy as well. He shook his head in sympathy. “Well, you’re still in a fix and no mistake, my friend. Maybe a worse fix than when last I saw you, though that’s hard to believe. You forgave me, didn’t you? Don’t you?” His smile had faded to an earnest look.

  I was at a loss. Had I forgiven him? How could I? He’d killed a woman and made it look as if I had done it. He’d spread the whispers that had turned public feeling against me to the point where a mob had tried to murder me. He’d done it under the duress of the magic. Yet even knowing that—

  Soldier’s Boy answered for both of us. “I understand you. Sometimes, when you understand a man that deeply, forgiveness becomes a moot point. You did what you were supposed to do, Buel Hitch. You did the magic’s bidding.”