Renegade's Magic ss-3 Page 55

  Kinrove looked at him for a long, silent time. I was still and small inside him, sick with dread. I had not foreseen this. Why had not I foreseen this? He’d asked me voluntarily to rejoin him. When I’d refused, I’d thought I’d frustrated his plan. Now I saw that he had been giving me a final chance to be a party to what would happen to us. “Don’t do this, Soldier’s Boy!” I cried to him. “Let us walk away from here and talk some more. There must be another way.”

  “There is not another way, because Nevare fears and fights to remain separate from me.” Soldier’s Boy spoke the words aloud, to Kinrove as well as to me. “I, too, dread what must be done. I do not think that of my will I can do it; it is like staring into the sun without blinking, or putting a burning brand into a wound that must be cauterized, to let this intruder, this Gernian become part of my soul. I know what must be done, but just as I could not sunder my halves, so I cannot rejoin them. Lisana has told me that you are the only living mage who can help us. So I have come to you to offer gifts and seek your help.”

  Kinrove’s upper lip curled in scorn, briefly baring his teeth. For that instant, he looked like a snarling dog. “Now you come, asking this? Now? After my dance is but a shadow of itself, after so many of our warriors died in your ill-planned raid? After you have wakened the hatred and wariness of the intruders against us? Now you ask this of me, when all of my strength, every hour of the day, is barely enough to hold the intruders back from the ancient ones? No longer can I send sadness and discouragement rolling into their den. All of my focus must be only on defending our ancestors. And even so, it is not enough! Daily they press against me, daily they make small inroads. But you ask me to divert my strength and focus it on you, to reunite what Lisana foolishly halved!”

  Soldier’s Boy had listened to Kinrove’s rant with a bowed head until he spoke disparagingly of Lisana. Now he lifted his gaze and our eyes locked with Kinrove’s. “The fault lies not with Lisana!” he thundered. “Had she not split me, how could the plague have been spread to the very heart of the soldiers’ nest? Had she not split me, would not you even now be watching your back lest the Kidona send magic against you while you are defending against the intruders? It is not her fault that her success has been incomplete. Instead, it is as you accuse me. The first time I stood before you, I should have asked you to make me into a whole again. If I had, so many things that have gone wrong would never have come to pass!” Here he spared a glance for Likari, still sleeping in Olikea’s arms. Olikea’s entire focus was on her son, however. I do not think she even heard what Soldier’s Boy was saying.

  “I cannot go back to that day, and do what was wise. None of us, no matter how much magic we hold, can do that. So. Because I have waited, will you now wait? And in a season or a year, will we look back and mourn that we did not do now what we should have done?”

  Kinrove’s scowl had only deepened. “It is so easy for you to say, ‘do this now.’ You think not at all of how much magic it must cost me, let alone the time and the preparations that must be made. Do you think I will wave my hand and it will be done?”

  Actually, Soldier’s Boy had believed just that. Or so it seemed to me from the sinking disappointment that flooded through him. He took a deep breath. “What does this require then, Greatest of the Great Ones?”

  Soldier’s Boy’s apparent humility and outright flattery seemed to placate Kinrove. He leaned back in his chair. He tapped his lips with his steepled fingers and for a few moments seemed lost in thought. Then, as if even such a sedentary activity demanded it, he gestured to a feeder to bring him food. Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And bring a seat for Soldier’s Boy, and food and drink.”

  Feeders and their assistants sprang into action, serving not only Soldier’s Boy but also hurrying to supply Olikea with a comfortable bench and offering her food and drink as well. A large chair was toted out to me, draped with soft blankets and cushions. No sooner was Soldier’s Boy seated in it than a table was placed before him. A ewer of water and one of sweet wine, two glasses, a tray of sticky little balls of sweet meat and grain, a bowl of thick soup and two freshly baked loaves were set out before me. At the sight and smell of the food, Soldier’s Boy’s ability to think fled. He felt his hands start to shake and his throat squeezed tight with hunger. Yet, for one long moment, he sat still. When he realized that he was waiting for Olikea to serve him, to fill his glass and arrange the dishes and suggest to him which he should taste first, he shook his head and then all but dived into his food.

  He had eaten at Kinrove’s table before. Even so, the exquisite tastes and textures nearly overpowered him. In each dish were ingredients designed to nourish a Great One’s magic, and as he ate, he became more aware of the intricate web of magics that emanated from Kinrove. The Great Man had not exaggerated the effort he was expending. He was the center of the dance that protected the ancient trees, but he also controlled the magic that surrounded his summer encampment with a strong boundary. He held a magical shield between himself and Soldier’s Boy, one that at a flick of his finger could become deadly. There were other, smaller magics at work, including the ones he worked to deaden the small pains of his abused body, and others that Soldier’s Boy could not quite trace. As he watched Kinrove eat, he perceived that every movement of the Great Man’s body served two purposes. His gracefulness was not something that Soldier’s Boy had imagined. Every movement he made, every gesture of his hand, how he lifted his glass or turned his head, all of them meant—something.

  Kinrove put down his glass. He didn’t smile at Soldier’s Boy, but there was a sort of acceptance in his face now. “You start to see, don’t you? It is how the magic has always spoken to me. I have said it before, but few understand. I am the dance; it is me and I am a part of it. And when I summon the dancers and they come, they join me and become a part of me. I dance, Soldier’s Boy. Not, perhaps, in as lively a fashion as I did when I first became a Great Man. But since the magic woke in me, there is not a movement that I have made that was not a part of my dance.”

  Kinrove gestured at a server to fill his glass again. As she stepped forward, the Great Man shifted his own posture slightly, in a way that echoed and yet opposed the feeder’s movement. For the moments that she poured his wine, she was his unwitting dance partner. As she stepped away, his hand moved toward the glass. For a fleeting second, Soldier’s Boy could see the invisible lines of force that Kinrove’s dance created. It all made perfect sense, for that instant. And then the comprehension faded from his mind, and though he could see how gracefully Kinrove lifted his cup and drank from it, he could no longer perceive the magic.

  “You will have to be prepared,” Kinrove announced, as if he were continuing a conversation. “There are, of course, foods that will raise your awareness. But the preparation is more than a matter of merely eating what is put before you. You will dance until you become the dance. It will be strenuous, and you have never in your life trained for such a thing. You may not be capable of what the dance demands of you in order to make the magic work.”

  Soldier’s Boy was offended. He slapped a hand to his ample chest. “This body has marched for hours at a time, ridden a horse for days over many miles of different terrain. This body has dug a hundred graves, and it—”

  “Still has never endured the rigors of a dancer. But it will have to. Do you understand that you may not survive this dance?”

  “I must survive, to be made one. I must survive so that the magic can work through me, to drive the intruders away. What, will you kill me with your magic to be rid of me, and then tell everyone that it was my own fault?”

  Kinrove was silent for a moment. His face assumed grave lines, and that, too, Soldier’s Boy fleetingly glimpsed, was a part of his endless dance. “You can either let go of your resistance now, or you can dance it away,” he observed mildly. “I suggest that, if you can, you banish your distrust and accept what I tell you. The magic is like a river when it carries you to the dance. Be you mud or be you
stone, still it will flow, and it will cut its way through whatever resistance you put before it. It will be easier for you if you clear the resistance from yourself rather than make the magic slice through it.”

  “Let me worry about controlling my resistance to your magic,” Soldier’s Boy replied stiffly. “Whatever must be done to make me ready, then let us do it.”

  “My magic?” Kinrove asked almost condescendingly. “That you name it ‘your magic’ when you speak to me rather than ‘the magic’ shows that you will resist it. Very well. There is no way I can help you with that. Perhaps by the time you are ready to let the dance have you, you will have heard my counsel.”

  Kinrove turned his attention away from Soldier’s Boy. He summoned, not one, but three of his feeders. As his hand flowed through the triple beckoning gesture, Soldier’s Boy again had a tiny image of Kinrove drawing strings of magic toward him, like an arcane puppeteer. The feeders approached him and waited.

  “We will need a quantity of the food that we make each day for the dancers. But it will need to be made of a greater strength. There must be much sweetness in it, and twice as much hallera bark. The root of the wild raspberry must be dug, and the youngest parts of it ground and added. Prepare also a large roast of meat, and water soured with the leaves of the atra bush. I will have other dishes that you will need to prepare, but that will be enough for now. One other task you must do for me. Use bear grease and the tallow of a doe, and strong mint and crimsberry leaves and willow tips. Make a rub for Soldier’s Boy, and a very hot bath. We must loosen his joints and muscles. Prepare wraps, too, for binding his feet and legs to protect them, and a wide wrap for his belly, to support it. All these things, make ready by the evening. Go now to do these things. And send a feeder to his table, to help him fill himself with whatever he desires.”

  The command for food had been welcomed, but the mentions of the bath and the wraps sounded more ominous. “Don’t do this,” I whispered to him. “Stop it now. Take Olikea and Likari and go. You can’t trust Kinrove. Neither of us have any idea of what will become of us if he tries to reunite us as one. Leave now.”

  “Lisana said this was our only path,” he said aloud. “In her wisdom, I trust. I will do as she suggested. I give myself over into your hands.” He seemed to have difficulty speaking that last sentence. He glanced over at Olikea. He cleared his throat. “I am accustomed to the ministrations of my own feeder. Might I ask that she be given help in caring for our son, so that she can assist me in preparing myself?”

  At her name, Olikea lifted her head. Her gaze went from her deeply sleeping boy to Soldier’s Boy and back again. Plainly she was torn. But when she spoke aloud, there was no indecisiveness in her voice. “You should not need to ask this, Nevare. No one has the right to separate a Great One from his preferred feeder. And no one has any right to keep feeders from ministering to their Great One.”

  She stooped and then stood up. Likari’s limp body dangled in her arms. His head lolled back and his legs, longer and thinner than I recalled them, swung as she walked toward me, carrying her boy. When she reached me, she did not set him down before me, but gave him over into my arms. Soldier’s Boy’s arms curved, lifting Likari to hold him close against his chest. “Likari was Nevare’s feeder when your dance stole him from us,” Olikea said loudly. “When he awakens, if he is himself, he will once more wish to serve him. And I will allow no one to take that honor from him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THE DANCE

  One of Kinrove’s senior feeders gave over her tent for our use. It was hard to become accustomed to the place. It smelled like someone else’s home, and I knew that Soldier’s Boy felt awkward being there. Olikea did not. She had entered and gestured to the man carrying Likari to put him down on the bed. She had covered the boy warmly against the cooling evening, and then directed the man to move the tent owner’s furnishings aside to make room for the large chair that had followed me from Kinrove’s pavilion. The tent had seemed roomy before the chair was brought in.

  Kinrove had given way to Olikea’s indignation with no argument. He had put one of his feeders in charge of us for the time being, saying that he also had to make preparations for the magic he would work. Kinrove’s feeder had made the arrangements for a tent for us, and had received Kinrove’s instructions as to what had to be done to prepare me. I had overheard enough of it to be alarmed. Soldier’s Boy did not appear to share my anxiety. He settled himself in the chair and then sat looking over at Likari. The boy slept on. His color seemed better than it had, but he still had not awakened long enough even to speak to them. I felt Soldier’s Boy concern for the boy’s mind.

  “He is so thin,” Olikea said worriedly. She had settled next to Likari on the pallet. Through his blanket, she stroked his back. “I can feel every knob of his spine. And look at his hair, how coarse and dry it is. Like a sick animal’s pelt.”

  “From now on, he will only get better,” Soldier’s Boy told her. I wondered if he believed it. Silence settled for a short time between them.

  “You spent all of Lisana’s treasure to get us here, and to get Likari back.”

  “I do not judge it a bad bargain,” Soldier’s Boy replied easily.

  “You called him ‘our son’ when you spoke of him.”

  “I did. So I wish him to be known. The son of Olikea and Soldier’s Boy.”

  A long silence followed those words. I would have given much to know what Olikea was thinking. Either Soldier’s Boy thought he knew or felt no driving need to know. Her next words were another question. “What is Kinrove going to do to you? Why do you wish him to do it?”

  He spoke as if it were a simple thing. “Two men live in this body. One is a Gernian, raised to be a soldier. One is of the People, taught by Lisana to be a mage. Sometimes one controls this flesh, sometimes the other. For when the magic spoke to Lisana and said I was to serve it, she divided me, so that I could learn the ways of both peoples. It seemed wise to her. It seems wise to me now. But the magic can only work through me if I become one once more. A single entity, made of both Gernian and the People.”

  “I understand,” she said slowly. And then, looking at me more piercingly, she repeated, “Yes. I do understand. For I have known both of you, haven’t I? How will Kinrove do this thing?”

  “He expresses his magic in dance. Perhaps he will have to dance for me, or perhaps his dancers will have to. Maybe I will have to dance.”

  “I think that is likely.” She was thoughtful and silent for a time, smoothing Likari’s hair as she sat beside him. Then she asked, “When you are one, will you still want me to be your feeder?” More hesitantly she asked, “Will you still call Likari ‘our son’?”

  “I don’t know.” He sounded reluctant to consider it.

  She fixed her eyes on the sleeping boy. “I know that you have always loved Lisana. I know that I have sometimes been only—”

  Her words were interrupted by an odd noise. Something heavy fell onto the roof. Soldier’s Boy looked up as something scrabbled wildly against the leather tent’s side, clambering awkwardly back up it until it achieved a perch at the top. A moment later, I heard the croaker bird give three satisfied caws. The god of balances and of death sat on the peak of our tent.

  “Likari—does he sleep still?” Soldier’s Boy demanded anxiously.

  Olikea heard the anxiety in his voice. She leaned down close to the boy’s face. “He does. He breathes.”

  Abruptly the door of the tent was flipped open and two servers entered carrying a laden table. There was a single large bowl on it, the size of a punch bowl, holding a chowderlike substance. The aroma that rose from it was both delicious and repellent, as if someone had prepared a succulent dish and then attempted to conceal a strong medicine in it. The two men carrying it positioned the table carefully on the uneven floor and left. Soldier’s Boy breathed a sigh of relief as the tent door fell into place, but an instant later, it was lifted again, and more feeders entered. One carried
a large ewer of water and a cup. Others brought various food dishes—breads, new greens, fish, and fowl—that they set down near the vat of chowder.

  This parade of food was followed by the feeder whom Kinrove had put in charge of us. She was a buxom, comely young woman, with long gleaming black hair and her face patterned with tiny specks like a scattering of fine seed. Her name was Wurta, and as she introduced herself she seemed very pleased to have been given such an important task. She almost ignored Soldier’s Boy, speaking directly to Olikea, feeder to feeder.

  “I have been given instructions that I must pass on to you,” she announced. At her words, Olikea rose, reluctantly leaving Likari, and came to stand beside my chair. The seed-speckled feeder spoke briskly, almost officiously, as she stepped up to the table and stirred the vat of creamy-brown chowder, releasing clouds of steam trapped beneath its thick surface. “This, all of this, he must eat. We have done our best to give it a pleasant flavor, but the roots that feed this magic have their own strong taste. It may be hard for him to stomach. Kinrove has had us flavor his water to give him some respite from it. These other foods are for you to feed him sparingly. Do not let him fill his belly with them; most of what he eats must be this soup, and Kinrove judges that he must eat it all.”

  Wurta was interrupted by a loud snuffing noise. Likari, eyes still closed, had lifted his head from the bedding and was sniffing after the steam rising from the chowder pot. His face had a blank, infantile look, or perhaps more like that of a still-blind puppy mindlessly seeking the scent of food. Olikea looked at him with a gaze full of horror.