Angus Wells - The God Wars 01 (4 page)

           
“You will travel far and see things
no southern man has seen, perhaps no man at all. There is…no! I cannot see
it…it hides behind itself. It is forbidden…I cannot…”

           
The voice grew harsh, choking. Reba
began to cough, and the strange spell was broken. The smoke wavered and died;
Reba's teeth snapped closed with an audible
crack!
and she shook her
head, hair swirling wild about her face. Her head hung down, features veiled by
the curtain of her long tresses. Her shoulders trembled and she braced herself
against the table as though pressed down by the burden of her augury.

 
          
"There
is wine." A motion of her lowered head indicated the door.
"Please."

 
          
Alarmed,
Calandryll sprang to his feet, a knee banging painfully against the table. He
ignored the sudden ache, limping from the chamber into the darkness of the
passage. Dim light showed to his left and he stumbled toward it, finding a
door, opening that to find himself in.a kitchen, an open window revealing a
small garden, a well, sunlight and bird song. A flagon of wine stood on a
table, earthenware cups beside. He took the flagon and two cups, carrying them
back to Reba's audience chamber.

 
          
She
had regained her composure, though her face was pale, the pockmarks stark
against the pallor. He filled both cups and set her hands about one. She drank
the wine in a single swallow and held out the cup that he might pour her more.
He drank his own in three drafts, filled her cup again and
waited.                                           
.

 
          
"Perhaps
you had best heed your father. Her voice regained its natural tone as she
spoke. There is one branch that holds great danger."

 
          
"Tell
me," he urged, as intrigued as he was wary. You spoke in riddles before."

 
          
Reba
shook her head; smoothed her hair. "I spoke as clear as I saw. The
branchings are complex—and something clouds them. You will meet a man who will
become your friend, your ally. You may not at first see that, but you will leam
to trust him. You will journey with him; far."

 
          
"Across
water?" he prompted. "Even though water is dangerous? To Eyl? Or
Kandahar
?"

 
          
"Farther.
This journey goes farther than any man has gone."

 
          
"Why
is water dangerous?" he asked.

 
          
"It
is the domain of Burash."

 
          
"The
Sea God?" Calandryll gaped. "What offense have I offered Burash? Why
should he harm me?"

 
          
"I
cannot see that." Reba shrugged. "A power clouds my vision. I see
only that danger awaits you."

 
          
"Eyl
I might reach overland," he murmured. "Even
Kandahar
, though the Shann lies in the path."

 
          
Reba
nodded. "Yes, but you will cross water. If you follow this path."

 
          
"I
have a choice?" he demanded.

 
          
"There
is always choice," she returned. "Though in your case it is limited
by desire."

 
          
"I
can obey my father?" he muttered.

 
          
"One
choice."

 
          
He
ducked his head, curtly. "What is the thing I travel for?"

 
          
"I
could not see that. It is thought to be lost, though what it is, I cannot tell
you. You will be told."

 
          
"By
this friend I am to find?"

 
          
"Perhaps."
She shook her head helplessly. "So much is vague; unclear. There is a
great destiny ahead, should you choose this path."

 
          
"But
not a scholar's life?"

 
          
Reba
smiled, a wan expression. "You may leam things unknown. More than Secca's
greatest scholars. More than the philosophers of Aldarin."

 
          
That
possibility at least appealed and he smiled at the prospect. Had she not spoken
of this unknown friend teaching him? "I can make sacrifice to
Burash," he murmured. "Propitiate the god."

 
          
Reba
nodded slowly. Calandryll frowned as one disturbing doubt intruded. "What
of Nadama?" he asked.

 
          
"She
may be gained, or lost," the spaewife said. "I perceive that you are
not sure of her decision. Tobias, too, seeks her hand, and I cannot predict
which of you she will choose, not from you alone."

 
          
It
was as though she could see the disappointment in his eyes, for she added,
"What I see of her future is clouded by your desire for her. Were you to
bring her here ..."

 
          
"She
would not come," he said quickly.

 
          
"Then
I cannot say," Reba murmured.

 
          
He
accepted that. "Should I take this path," he wondered, "do I
take it in duty to my father, as ambassador of the Domm? Or as my own
man?"

 
          
"As
a seeker," she returned, without hesitation. "Outlawed from
Secca."

 
          
"Banished?"

 
          
Such
thought had crossed his mind; it was inevitable should he reject his father's
wishes. That or a life imprisoned behind the walls of Dera's temple, denied the
books he loved, his life given over to religious observance, the rites of
worship, a celibate prisoner in a luxurious cage. But to hear it said out loud,
so firm, without hint of doubt or hesitation, that made it real. Real and
frightening.

 
          
"Yes,"
Reba said.

 
          
"But
with true friends."

 
          
"Yes,"
she said again. "Truer friends than any you have known. They will set you on
the path, if you choose it."

 
          
"The
alternatives remain unpalatable," he said, endeavoring to affect a
nonchalance he did not feel.

 
          
"But
perhaps more ... comfortable. Certainly less dangerous."

 
          
He
snorted his dismissal.

 
          
"As
a priest? I have considered that and I reject it. Perhaps I should take that
path you suggested first, and flee. Even though it makes my life forfeit."

 
          
But
that would be without Nadama. She would never leave Secca: he knew he spoke
from anger, or resentment; he was not sure which.

 
          
"Does
it not depend on Nadama?" asked the spaewife.

 
          
Calandryll
sighed agreement. "Yes, it does."

 
          
"Should
she accept your proposal, her family would protect you. Your father would risk
civil war did he seek to annul the marriage."

 
          
"I
would not plunge Secca into war," he said forlornly.

 
          
"It
seems your choices narrow," Reba said, "If all depends on
Nadama."

 
          
"I
love her," he returned, as if that answered the question he heard in her
voice. "And if she'd have me, I'd gladly renounce all family claims.
Perhaps my father would accept that."

           
"Then approach her," Reba
advised. "I can do no more than tell you what I see. Should she accept
you, then a new path opens."

 
          
Calandryll
grunted thoughtful agreement. Now the shock of her prediction had passed he
thought more clearly, that part of him that needed to analyze, to probe and
find answers, reasons, prompted him to question her further.

 
          
"You
spoke of branching paths—and I agree the future must be thus—but it seems you
saw only one for me. Does that mean I am predestined to take it?"

 
          
"No."
Reba shook her head. "It is only the most probable. What you told me, what
I learned of you, of what you want—all those things combine to illuminate the
most likely. The ultimate choice remains yours."

 
          
"This
friend who will—
may
,"he corrected himself, "set me on this
path, does he not figure? Will he not influence what I do?"

 
          
"He—or
she—perhaps," Reba allowed. "But you may reject him. Or her."

 
          
"A
woman?" Calandryll grew intrigued, almost despite himself. "Do you
say I shall forget Nadama? Meet another woman?"

 
          
Now
Reba sighed. "Perhaps. I saw two friends in that future that revealed
itself. One was a man,- of that there is no doubt. The other was not clear—man
or woman, I cannot say."    .

 
          
"Friends,
a dangerous quest for some unknown prize," he murmured, "travel to
distant lands, banishment. These are romantic notions, but I had hoped for a
clearer scrying."

 
          
"Were
you a more common man you might have had that," she replied, "but you
are not. You are the son of the Domm, and that shapes your future. I can offer
you no better, Calandryll."

 
          
"Can
you offer me no more?" he demanded. "I have varre enough."

 
          
Reba
made a dismissive gesture and his embarrassment returned.

 
          
"I
am sorry. I intended no offense."

 
          
"It
does not matter." She smiled afresh. "And your coins would make no
difference. I saw what I saw and I cannot see more. The paths branch before
you, and which one you take only you can decide. I can offer only that
illumination revealed to me."

 
          
"So
be it," he agreed. "But these friends—how shall I recognize
them?"

 
          
"You
will know them when you meet them," she said confidently.

 
          
"And
Burash?" he asked. "Should I sacrifice to the Sea God?"

 
          
"It
cannot hurt," she said. "Nor prayers to Dera. Now, forgive me, but I
am wearied. I can tell you no more, and you had best regain the palace before
you are missed."

 
          
"Yes."
He accepted the dismissal. "Thank you, Reba."

 
          
She
nodded in a way that suggested she was not sure such gratitude was warranted.

 
          
"May
all the gods favor you," she called as he left. "I will pray to Dera
that your choice is the right one."

 
          
He
moved back along the corridor, eyes narrowing as he stepped into the street and
bright sunlight struck him. Glancing up, he saw the sun advanced across the
sky, estimating that he had spent perhaps one hour with the spaewife. That left
him time: his father was in conference with the ambassador of Aldarin,
concerning the activities of the Kand pirates, which the coastal cities
anticipated would increase with the cessation of the winter storms, and those
debates would last throughout the day, probably longer. Tobias would be in
attendance, and it was unlikely his absence would be noticed by anyone in a
position to reprimand him. He had, he knew, a reputation for
vagueness—unreliability, according to his father; dreamy as a love-struck girl,
according to his brother—and it was not unusual for him to disappear on some
erudite mission, forgetful of appointments, ignorant of time's passage until
hunger recalled him to the everyday world. He would be expected to attend the
banquet that night, but until then he was free to spend the day as he chose.