Stonewiser (10 page)

Eight

 

“H
OW DO YOU
know where we are?” Sariah's voice echoed in a hollow landscape erased by a fog that clogged the lungs, stung the eyes and obscured any semblance of a view. The fog swirled around her almost as thick as the dead water. It felt as if it were permeating her bones and rusting her tired joints.

“I don't know where we are.” Kael stopped pulling. “Not exactly, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” Kael's precise sense of direction was his roamer's gift, keen, unequivocal and reliable no matter where they went, and even more acute in the Domain. “We aren't lost, are we?”

“Lost? No.” He peered into the dense whiteness. “We're where we are supposed to be and yet we are not. Something's wrong. Very wrong.”

The chill in Sariah's belly matched the fog's icy cold. A thin crust of ice cracked under her feet. “I didn't think the dead water could freeze. I thought the rot's brew is too warm for that.”

“It is.” Kael punched through the ice crust and dipped his gloved fingers in the lukewarm water. “Look. The ice is forming over the water's quickly cooling emissions, a layer of ice above a layer of air and vapor. I've never seen this before.”

“At least my feet are warm, even though the rest of me is freezing.”

“Let me warm you.” He took her into his embrace, rubbing her numb arms, forcing her frozen blood to flow. His breath was a comfortable blast of warmth seeping through his face wrap.

“Strange,” he said. “The chill has turned months ahead of its time. It's too cold for this time of the year. I doubt the mob would venture to travel in this weather.”

“You said we would arrive at the Enduring Woods today.”

Kael gave her a last hearty body rub and released her. “I don't understand. By my reckoning, we should be there now. And the time, look at the light. It should be close to midday and yet it's more like twilight.”

“So we're lost.”

“We're not lost. We're where we should be. It's more like the Barren Flats and the weather are wrong.”

Blame the weather for the mess. Couldn't he just admit he was wrong? They pulled a decrepit old deck, a moldy, rotting piece of junk with no shelter, abandoned because of its uselessness. Despite their efforts to re-knot the twines and repair the breaks, it threatened to come apart anytime. They had very few supplies, only what Sariah had managed to save from their burning deck, what Kael had carried in his shoulder bag, and what Delis had in her pouch, all of which included two skins of ale, a few old bannocks and some cheese, not enough food to last the three of them for another day.

Delis had been no help. She lay on her back, pressing her wound against the wood in some kind of masochist feat, mumbling angry, unintelligible words to herself. Sariah and Kael had pulled for three days and nights straight. They needed to find a sturdier deck and food, and they needed to rest.

“There's no shame in admitting we're lost,” she said.

The black eye dominated his glare. “I'm telling you, I've guided us true. Something feels funny.”

“
Feels
funny?” Feelings were something she drew from Kael occasionally, with much difficulty and only with the help of her craft. “Perhaps we should retrace our steps back to the loop and start anew.”

“We don't have a few days to waste. Do we? And if it gets any colder, we don't want to be stranded on the open flats. We go this way.” He started to pull again.

“But—”

“We go this way.”

The cold wind sliced through Sariah's wet weave as if she were naked, setting her teeth to chatter. Better to talk than to dwell on the misery of pulling.

“Why do they hate her thus?”

“Delis?” Kael shrugged. “It's not just her, although her reputation is among the worst. On account of her deeds. If you kill enough sheep, you'll be called a wolf even if you're something else. But I don't think she's something else. She's the original wolf.”

“That bad, eh?” Sariah stole a look at the woman lying on the deck. “She doesn't look that fierce to me.”

“She's the best murderess the executioners have put out this generation,” Kael said. “She has never missed an assigned kill, or so say the wagging tongues. They say she collects noses and ears— her victims’, mind you.”

Sariah repressed a shiver. “She's so strong.”

“So you like her?” Kael winked.

“No, nay, no. I wish I was as strong as her, that's all. And fearless, too. I wish I didn't mind doing whatever it was I needed to do.”

Kael's chuckles carried a definite ring of amusement. “You may lack the bitch's muscles, wiser, but you're no coward.”

“She doesn't seem to mind that nobody likes her, that everybody hates her.”

“Ah. That might be because she's an executioner.”

“You treated the executioners with respect.”

“That doesn't mean I like them.”

“You said they were within their rights.”

“They were. They are a queer people. They have a right to kill by the nets and to thrive by killing. Domainers know someone has to do it, but I won't lie to you, I'm wary of killers in all forms.”

“Are executioners born into their tribes?”

“I suppose some are, but the bulk of the executioners are outcasts from the different tribes, men and women who have been run out of their settlements and are not welcomed elsewhere.”

Sariah pondered the idea. “I guess it's better than being banished or alone.”

“Are you thinking of joining?”

“You never know.”

“There.” Kael spied something between fast-moving patches of fog. “Do you see them?”

Sariah narrowed her eyes and saw a row of ghastly shadows. Slowly, as if in a dream, enormous shapes began to emerge looming over them like Meliahs’ stone giants.

“What are these?”

“We're at the edge of the Enduring Woods.”

Against the fog's background, the amorphous shape of a massive set of vaulted roots protruded from the dead water. The roots twisted and blended to form a tuberous swelling the size of a small house. Atop the roots, a single trunk grew to amazing girth and height. Gnarled branches weaved in and out of the fog, twisting like knotted fingers.

Kael made for the colossal tree. “We can rest here.”

Sariah was sorely relieved. She was cold and exhausted, and she didn't trust the deck they pulled to last much longer. Kael had said the forester was an old friend. The need to replace their crumbling deck had necessitated the detour. Sariah was hoping Kael's contacts would help them find a decent, affordable deck, something light to pull but sturdy, with a shelter maybe, so they didn't have to suffer the weather's inclemency. She wasn't one to complain, but she was looking forward to a tiny break in their fortunes.

The enormous buttress roots clawed at the Barren Flats like crooked tentacles. A measure of coarse wet mud lay between the roots, creating a few protected coves. Kael chose the most expansive of the lot, only a few paces wide but enough to beach their decrepit deck. After so many days trekking through water, the feel of solid ground under her feet tricked Sariah's senses. Her legs struggled to adjust to the absence of the water's gravity.

“
From the rot we rose and to the stone we shall return by way of hallowed land.
” This little bit of mud under her feet made her appreciate the Domainers’ oath even more. She willed her weary bones not to collapse just yet. While Kael scooped some of the flat's flammable mud and made a fire, Sariah examined Delis's back.

“Much better.” She spread a new layer of salve on the cleansed wound. “You're healing beautifully.”

Delis grunted something incomprehensible under her breath. The woman's foul mood seemed to be the worst of her ills. She was as friendly as a cross-eyed mule. She had trapped her unkempt dark hair in a bushy tail at the base of her skull, a rumpled style which accentuated the contrast between her long nose and her small mouth. She didn't want to speak to Sariah, yet her blue and violet eyes stalked her viciously. Perhaps because of that, Kael insisted on keeping Delis's hatchet on his belt and her hands tied. Sariah was too tired to argue and too cold to think.

The fire thawed Sariah's hands. The bannocks, stale and tasteless as they were, felt like a banquet to her empty stomach. The deck was hard on her back, but she didn't care. She lay down next to Kael. He kept his weapons belt strapped to his waist, a most uncomfortable way to sleep, daring Delis to harm them with a sullen glower which promised to end her troubles and theirs at the first sign of danger. Delis turned around, dismissing him with a loud tsk. Despite her attitude, Sariah covered Delis with her executioner's red mantle. No one was going to freeze today.

Sariah slept fretfully. She dreamed she was wising icebergs. A thin layer of dew turned to ice and frosted the mantle covering them, waking her up with a loud crunch every time she moved. She opened her eyes to find her head tucked in the curve of Delis's breast, a generous pillow for her sleep-numbed cheek. The scent of Delis filled her senses, sweet, unlike the woman, a hint of molasses and wild cloves.

Kael's possessive clutch anchored Sariah to him. His leg was thrown over her thighs. His hand was heavy on her breast. Both Kael and Delis were awake and trading hard stares.

“Kael?” His body was strung like a bow.

“Sleep, love, no sense in all of us being awake.” He gathered her close to him.

Sariah turned and cuddled against his chest, lodging her face against the crook of his neck. She murmured something about him needing to rest too. Safe in his arms, she drifted back to sleep. Nothing could keep her awake this night.

“I have to kill you, you know,” Delis said.

Apparently, these cheerful words were Delis's best attempt at casual talk. Well, the woman was not very skilled at conversation then—that was freshly proven.

Sariah stopped stitching the rent in her weave and leveled an even stare on Delis. “I still have the bruises from your beating the other day. If those are any indication, you killing me would be rather painful. Is there anything I could say to dissuade you from your purpose?”

Blue and violet eyes narrowed, but the corner of Delis's mouth twitched, a tiny curve up. “You speak your mind,” she said. “I like that.”

“That's progress, I suppose. Why would you kill someone you like, I wonder?”

“’Cause I swore to.”

“Makes sense.” Sariah resumed her stitching. “Oaths I understand.”

“You do?” The woman seemed perplexed.

“Of course I do. I'm a stonewiser. Do cheer up, Delis. At least you're alive. It's something to celebrate, isn't it?”

The woman dismissed her with a muted
tsk
.

“Here's something I don't understand. If you were sent to kill me, why did you give me that stone to use against the mob the other day?”

“’Cause I'
m
supposed to kill you,” Delis said.

She was an odd one, earnest in an impalpable way, yet grim. Sariah was glad Kael had checked the knots on Delis's ties before he left to find the forester's post. She calculated the time. It was early afternoon. He had left at first light, if one could call the green grayness of this day such. Sariah worried, especially because he had left without a deck, claiming he was well weaved and could take refuge on the woods’ buttress roots if necessary. The Domain was an unforgiving place even when you wandered it with a deck. If something happened to him…

He would be fine. He had promised. He should be there by now, hopefully safe and talking to his friend, warming himself against a real wood fire, with a cup of hot spiced wine between his hands and a generous bowl steaming in front of him. She found herself salivating at the thought. Delis interrupted her pleasant musings.

“There's a way,” she said.

“A way to do what?”

“A way for me not to kill you.”

Sariah was curious. “And what would that be?”

“An oath over an oath.”

“Would that be like a nail taking out another nail?”

She wouldn't call it quite a smile, but the twitch on Delis's lips was the next best thing.

“I'm of the Inkes. You know the Inkes?”

Not really, but Sariah nodded politely.

“We live by the three oaths. First oath, kin. Second, more important, craft. I'm an executioner. If I had to kill my father I would, because second oath trumps first oath.”

“Very interesting.”

“Third oath is over second oath. Third oath is to…” she struggled to find the right word.

“To a lease maybe?” Sariah tried to help.

“No, not to a lease. You would have to be
Inkes-donatis
in the old language. Donnis.”

“Donnis?” Sariah consulted her memory for any mention of the strange word in the stone tales. “I don't know donnis. Sorry. Is it like an oath of friendship maybe?”

“Friendship?” The woman smiled, the first true smile she had offered since they met. “Sort of like friends, but not quite, although sometimes it is so.”

Delis and her Inkes were surely the strangest people Sariah had encountered. “I don't suppose it would be an easy matter to become donnis and end your quest to kill me?”

“Easy, yes. If Delis wants, Delis does. And Delis wants.”