Renegade's Magic ss-3 Read online

  “Kinrove?” She said the name with loathing, but a queer hope gleamed from her eyes. “Why?”

  “I intend to strike a bargain with him.”

  “To get Likari back?”

  “That will be part of the bargain I hope to make.”

  She had returned to her crouch over the cooking fire. Now she looked up at me, ladle in hand. I do not know how to describe the progression of emotions across her face. She looked down again, blinking very rapidly. She did not try to blot the tears. When she looked up at me again, they were running freely down her cheeks. Her voice was hoarse as she said matter-of-factly, “You need food. And rest. Look at you, hiking about in your night robe and slippers. This is what befalls a Great One with no feeder! They have no sense at all. Make yourself a seat and I will bring you food.”

  Here, under the night sky, it was easy to speak to the magic. At Soldier’s Boy’s request, moss and earth rose into comfortable hummocks for him and for his feeders. The others came to him swiftly, relieved to have their lives put back into a routine. It had escaped him that he’d traipsed off still clad in his night garments. Not even I had noticed the discrepancy. A woman came, bearing oil, and rubbed his abused feet and calves. Someone else brought him warmed washwater, and then combed his hair back from his face and plaited it so it would be out of his way while he ate. Almost as soon as that was done, Olikea placed a large bowl of food in front of him. It was a thick soup of beach-peas and dried fish, and two dark, hard rolls of the travel bread they had been baking all week. It was simple and hearty, and I wished there had been a hogshead full of it rather than just the generous bowl. Soldier’s Boy ate without speaking, feeling the food revive him, and Olikea didn’t disturb him with questions.

  Afterward, the magic fashioned a couch for them to share. The other feeders had kept a distance, either out of respect or because they sensed that peace would be most quickly restored if the Great One and his chief feeder had time for quiet conversation. Olikea and Soldier’s Boy lay down together, under a blanket of fox furs. Olikea prudently put the sack of treasure at her feet where no one could disturb it without waking her.

  Up the trail, at the various kin-clan camps alongside it, the sounds of merrymaking went on unabated. This first night of the migration was always a time for gatherings and renewal of friendships. It seemed strange to me that they were so undaunted by what probably awaited them on the other side of the mountains. The best that they could hope for was a summer of remaining hidden in the forests there, hunting and fishing, but seldom venturing forth to trade or have any congress with Gettys. Then it came to me that such a season might be far closer to their old traditions than one of trading and visits. If only the two groups could agree to remain mutually isolated, there might have evolved a sort of peace. But I feared that very soon the actual cutting of the ancestral trees would resume, and then the Specks would feel they had no choice except to retaliate. I wondered what form that retaliation would take while I listened to their songs and music in the spring night. It was hard to reconcile the drumbeats and lifted voices in the night with my memories of flames and the screams of dying men. How could humanity range so effortlessly from the sublime to the savage and back again?

  Olikea pressed herself against him, not in a seductive way but as one who seeks both warmth and comfort. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. Her hair smelled of the wood smoke. He rested his chin on the top of her head and felt a twinge of desire, but the ache in his back and legs overpowered it. That made him feel like an old man. She spoke into his chest. I crept closer, eavesdropping once more on his emotions and thoughts.

  “When we reach our summer grounds and you go to visit Kinrove, what then?” she asked him.

  “No,” he said quietly.

  “No?” she asked him, confused.

  “I will not wait until we reach the summer grounds. Tomorrow, when we rise, we will eat well. And then you and I will depart, to quick-walk to Kinrove. I will not wait any longer. You saw the beginning of all this. You should see the end.”

  “But—”

  “Shh. We should sleep while we can. And I cannot bear to think any longer on what I must do.” He closed his eyes then, and wearied by more than his long day’s walk, he sank swiftly into sleep. I remained aware behind his closed eyelids. I felt Olikea’s deep and heartfelt sigh, and how she relaxed into his arms. She, too, slept, but I remained aware for hours longer, listening to the sounds of the People in the night.

  I think the following spring morning was the sweetest of my life. Dappling sunlight through the trees, birdcalls, the smells of the forest as the sun gently warmed it, the deliciousness of being warm while the rest of the world was still chill; nothing in my memory can compete with it. For one long, luscious moment, I simply existed, unaware of the strife and troubles that still waited to be resolved. I was like an animal awakening to the glory of spring.

  Then I tried to stretch and could not, and recalled all too abruptly that I was still a prisoner in my own body. Soldier’s Boy awakened and then Olikea stirred in his arms. She slipped quickly from beneath the blankets and busied herself around the campsite while he stole a few more precious moments of dozing with his body warm and his face touched by the fresh day. At the smell of cooking food, he stirred quickly enough, his stomach’s roaring more demanding than the reveille bugles at the academy had ever been. Olikea had made a porridge and liberally sprinkled it with dried berries. She brought him a bowlful, with a spiral of honey drizzled over the top. He ate it with a carved wooden spoon and washed it down with a mug of hot tea. While he was eating, his feeders laid out proper clothing for him, for the Specks would go clothed until they emerged on the other side of the mountains into the warmer days of spring there.

  Olikea knelt before him to lace his feet and legs into soft knee boots after he had donned the supple doeskin trousers and simple woolen tunic she brought him. As soon as his boots were tied, he rose and lifted the sack of treasure to his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he told her.

  “First, I must clean and repack our cooking vessels and the fox-skin robe we slept under last night. It will not take long.”

  “Leave them.”

  “What?”

  “I said, leave them. I do not think we will have need of them again. I intend to quick-walk the entire day, to overtake Kinrove and to speak with him this night.”

  “But—” She glanced about at their campsite, at the other feeders, the dirty pots and the rumpled bedding.

  He gave way before her confusion. “Take only what you think you must have. The other feeders will bring the rest.”

  I sensed that he didn’t care what she brought or didn’t bring. There was finality to this decision, one that bespoke a swift end to all things. He did not expect to need anything she had brought with her, and he himself carried only Lisana’s treasure. Did he intend to kill himself? That was the first thing that came to my mind, but I could not imagine why or how he would make such a decision. How would that benefit Likari? Or, once he had obtained the boy’s release with the treasure, did he foresee that as the only possible end for us? I toyed with the idea, and found it vaguely attractive, and then all the more frightening because it was no longer as unthinkable as it once would have been.

  Olikea packed swiftly and sensibly, taking a blanket, food, and bare necessities. I sensed her eagerness to be on her way to her son. The other feeders accepted the Great One’s decision. Their equanimity in the face of his changeable actions reflected the status a mage had in the society of the People. The magic powered his decisions, and they were never to be questioned. They simply portioned out the goods that Olikea had been carrying among themselves and bade us farewell.

  With little more ado, Soldier’s Boy took her hand and they began their quick-walk. He not only poured his magic generously into the quick-walk but also physically stepped along as swiftly as he was able. I was disconcerted at the level of effort he put into this; by midmorning, I was very aware of the ph
ysical strain on him, as well as the depletion of his magic. Olikea spoke of her concern at such a pace, her words fading and then recovering as they moved swiftly past the other kin-clans on their migration. “You will exhaust yourself. Should not you save some of your magic for confronting Kinrove?”

  “I will have enough. Treasure and magic are not the only way to sway Kinrove.” He paused. Then, “I have something else he wants,” he added enigmatically.

  By afternoon’s end, we had traversed the cavernous pass and emerged on the other side. It was pleasant to come out into a warmer place, one where the evening light lingered on the land. Spring seemed stronger here. The tiny leaves on the deciduous trees glistened in various shades of green. The challenges and replies of the birds seemed to fill the air around us.

  When Soldier’s Boy paused, I thought surely he would say that was enough journeying for the day. Instead, he caught his breath for a few moments and then asked, “Where does Kinrove’s kin-clan spend the summer? Where is his dance located?”

  “He will be about a day’s journey from here, to the southwest. He has summered there every summer for many years, at a place that offers space, water, and food for his dancers.”

  “Can you describe the path there for me?”

  “Yes,” she began, and then suddenly shook her head. “But no. Not well enough for you to quick-walk there. No!” she repeated more emphatically at his look. “All know the dangers of a quick-walk when the path is not well known to the Great One. There are tales of two Great Ones who have simply vanished forever attempting such a feat. Unless you have your mentor’s memories to guide us, it is hopeless. We will need to walk the rest of the way there. It will be all right, Nevare. It is only one more night.”

  I heard in her voice that even one more night seemed too many to her, but also her determination that Soldier’s Boy would not risk himself pushing on in ignorance. His own determination was as strong. “Very well. But we will continue walking in that direction, then. Southwest, you said?”

  “Yes. But first we will go downhill for a ways. Then we will see a trail that goes in that direction. It will not be hard to find. His dancers have traveled with him and they will have trampled the path fresh quite recently. Come. Walk. But at a sensible pace. Remember, I am still your feeder and still have the care of you.”

  Although they no longer quick-walked, she kept hold of his hand. When he would have hastened the pace, she held him back to a steady walk. As she had predicted, it was very easy to see where Kinrove’s dancers had gone. When they diverged on a trail to the south, Olikea and Soldier’s Boy followed them. She dropped his hand once, to leave the path and harvest several large clumps of mushrooms by the wayside. When she returned, she walked even more slowly. Even so, by the time the light was fading, his back ached abominably and his feet were very sore. He realized he was limping, and when they came to a small stream that crossed the path, he did not object when Olikea announced, “We will spend the night here.”

  A hummock of earth shaped itself into a receptive chair for him. Olikea set to work immediately making a cook fire. He sat down and almost immediately realized he was far more tired than he had thought. Only the smell of the cooking food kept him awake. She glanced up at him once, to ask with a wry smile, “Are you glad now that I did not come away with nothing at all? We would be eating raw mushrooms tonight and little else.”

  “You were wise,” he conceded, and for the first time in weeks I saw a genuine smile light her face.

  The meal she made was simple, but it was hot and good. They ate together from the cooking pot, and had only fresh cold water to drink. The meal did not fill him, but then, no meal really ever had. It was enough to subdue the pangs of hunger. By the time they had finished eating, all light had fled the sky and the dark of night surrounded them. She fed the fire enough fuel to leave the flames dancing companionably, and then came to the couch he summoned from the forest floor. As she slipped under the blanket beside him, he felt a stir of arousal at her nearness. Before he could so much as touch her, she pressed herself against him.

  She made love to him that night with the same uninhibited passion she had shown when first she had seduced me. They were alone, and with a common purpose, and perhaps that was all that was needed to make it seem, for that night, as if they loved each other. By the time she was finished with him, his weariness and aching joints had been replaced with a clean tiredness. She lay with her head on his chest and he stroked her long damp hair. Neither of them spoke; perhaps they were finally wise enough to know when words could only spoil something.

  The dawn light through the young leaves overhead woke them. Olikea stirred the fire from the ashes and used the last of the food she had brought to make a hearty breakfast. She had saved the mushrooms she’d picked the day before and fed them to him now, and Soldier’s Boy felt their rejuvenating effect gratefully. They did not completely drive the ache from his back or the weariness from his legs, but he was able to rise without groaning. Olikea quenched their small fire with water from the stream and they journeyed on, the treasure bag slung over his shoulder.

  By noon, they could hear the drumming and sometimes the occasional whoop or drawn-out, plaintive calls from Kinrove’s dancers. The magic, one of weariness and sorrow directed toward the Gernians, was like a cooking smell carried on the summer wind. “We draw near,” Soldier’s Boy said with relief, but Olikea shook her head. “Sound carries here, as does magic. I have heard that Kinrove chose the location for his dance carefully, so that the forest and the vales would amplify both the dance and the magic. We still have some way to travel, but we shall be there before evening.”

  As the long afternoon progressed, the sounds and the presence of the magic grew stronger. If Soldier’s Boy allowed himself, he could taste the fear and the discouragement that wafted out from the dance. The sound became a constant that buffeted his senses. Although the magic was not directed at them, approaching it was still like wading up a strongly flowing stream. It drew strength from Soldier’s Boy. Olikea set her face into an expression of grim determination and marched on. The music created something that was the opposite of a quick-walk; it seemed to take forever to toil up the slight rise in the trail to where a couple of Kinrove’s men stood a lackadaisical watch beside the trail. Half a dozen people stood idly by, perhaps awaiting their turn to pass.

  Their sentry duty seemed ridiculous to me at first. Why guard the most obvious trail into Kinrove’s summer encampment? It would have been child’s play to circle wide of the two idle guards and simply approach his stronghold through the forest. But as we drew closer, Soldier’s Boy’s leg muscles became more and more reluctant to work. By the time we actually reached the guards, he felt as if he had waded there through tar. It came to me that the whole of his encampment was encircled by this magical palisade, just as it had been at the Trading Place; the guards were not guarding so much as serving as the keys to entry. Only at that location could anyone approach one of Kinrove’s guards and request to be allowed in.

  As we drew slowly closer, I could see that those who sat or stood awaiting admittance had evidently been there for some time. They crouched or stood, their eyes on the guards, reminding me of dogs begging at table. Off to one side of the trail, a banked campfire smoldered. Around it were blanket rolls and a scatter of possessions. I divined that it was a pathetic siege of sorts. I wondered how long they had been waiting.

  As we toiled up the path, one guard caught sight of us and immediately jabbed at the other. Both stood abruptly, lifting bows and training arrows onto us as we came. One stood taller, craning to see us, and then said something to the other guard. The first one puffed out his lips, the Speck equivalent of shaking his head. They stared at us as we advanced, their faces stony. “Will they let us pass?” Olikea asked in a whisper.

  “They will. But this time, it is my turn to ask you to be silent while I strike the bargain.”

  She gave him a doubtful look but acceded.

  Th
ey stopped a dozen steps short of the guards, not because the men had made any threat toward them, but simply because they encountered a barrier. Abruptly, weariness and aches flooded Soldier’s Boy’s body and he found himself questioning his reasons for coming here. What would he accomplish? Had he no faith in Kinrove, the greatest of the great? He looked at Olikea. Her face wore a similar bewilderment. She gave him a questioning glance. I deduced it before either of them did. I spoke loudly in Soldier’s Boy’s mind. “Step back. Two steps back will probably put you out of the barrier’s range.”

  I do not know if he heard me or if he started to leave. But once he had retreated two steps from the guards, he suddenly shook his head and wheeled round again. He caught Olikea by the shoulder and kept her from going any farther. He focused his attention on the guards. “I want to see Kinrove,” he declared. “Send him word that Soldier’s Boy, Nevare, is here and wishes to speak with him. Tell him it is of the greatest importance.”

  They did not even look at one another. “You are not to be admitted. This Kinrove has made clear to us.” The guard who had spoken added, “Know this, Great One. Kinrove’s magic will slow you or anything you might launch at us. But it has no effect on our arrows. They will fly as swift and true as ever.”

  “I bring him gifts,” Soldier’s Boy said, as if no warning or threat had ever been made. Without any ceremony, he lowered his treasure sling to the ground. He untied the knots, and unfolded the blanket, baring the contents to their view. They tried to step forward to see it but were constrained, I think, by the same barrier that kept us out. They craned their necks, and their eyes grew wide as he began to sort through the jumbled treasures. Other supplicants ventured closer, their mouths hanging ajar at the wealth so casually transported in the old blanket. When he came to the bagged figurine, he hesitated, and then offered it to Olikea instead. “You, perhaps, will know best what to do with this,” he said.