Daughter of Witches: A Lyra Novel (16 page)

Arelnath ignored her. Pulling one of the sword belts from the soggy pile, she started toward Jaren’s leg, only to be stopped by Ranira’s sudden cry, “Wait!”

“Why?” Arelnath snapped, but Ranira saw that her hands had stopped moving.

“If a snake bit Jaren’s leather, it must be full of poison,” Ranira explained. “If you touch it with bare skin, it will poison you also. When it soaks all the way through, it will kill Jaren. I mean, it would if…” Her voice choked on the large lump in her throat, and she stopped in mid-sentence.

“Enough about dying!” Arelnath said sharply. She looked toward Jaren, but he was lying back with his eyes closed and gave no sign of having heard. “Those snakes can’t be so dangerous that even touching their poison kills.” Despite her words, Arelnath’s hands were already busy with the knife, slicing through the upper part of Jaren’s close-fitting leather pants, well above where any snake could have bitten.

“Get any of it in a scratch, and it’ll kill you,” Shandy said suddenly, coming to Ranira’s support. “But I bet you didn’t scrape your hands at all climbing up here, so you don’t need to worry,” he added sarcastically.

Arelnath did not reply, but Ranira saw that she was moving more carefully. The leather was slow to yield, but at last it fell away from Jaren’s leg. Arelnath speared the last piece with the point of her blade and, with a snap of her wrist, sent it flying back into the river. Ranira jumped at the splash. Then Arelnath knotted the belt from one of the pilgrims’ robes around Jaren’s leg.

Ranira watched with a feeling of helplessness. She had no confidence in Arelnath’s ability to save Jaren, yet she had seen these people do one impossible thing after another. She wanted to help, but she had neither knowledge nor skill to offer, and Arelnath’s grimly purposeful movements seemed to forbid speech.

Arelnath finished tightening the belt around Jaren’s leg. Then she picked up the knife again, hesitated for a moment, and bent to wipe it carefully on the grass. When it was clean enough to suit her, she leaned forward and inspected the leg closely, searching for the puncture marks made by the snake’s bite. The knife came up in a swift, decisive movement, and Ranira gasped in shock as blood trickled from the slash. Jaren made no sound.

Ignoring her audience, Arelnath laid her mouth against the wound. Ranira’s shock deepened; she had heard the tales of foreigners who drank blood, but she had never believed them. Arelnath straightened up and spat, then bent once more, and Ranira realized that she was trying to suck the poison out of the bite. This sudden understanding made her relax somewhat, but the sight of Arelnath’s efforts still made her feel queasy.

A thought struck Ranira, and then she turned away, glad to have an excuse to avoid watching. She had to rummage for a moment among the pile of odds and ends that Jaren had been carrying, but she soon found the small bottle she was seeking. She shook it, and there was a sloshing noise as the water shifted inside. Only half-full. Well, that was better than she had expected. She risked a look in Arelnath’s direction. The woman seemed to have finished. Ranira walked over to her.

“Here, rinse your mouth,” she said, handing the bottle to Arelnath. “If you swallow any of the poison…” She did not have to finish the sentence.

“Thanks,” Arelnath said, taking the bottle. She uncapped it and poured water into her open mouth, swirled it around, and spat. She repeated the action, then poured water over Jaren’s leg for good measure. The effort all but emptied the bottle. Arelnath grimaced as she replaced the cap. “Too bad, but it can’t be helped. We can fill it later. How is Mist?”

With a guilty start, Ranira turned to look. She had completely forgotten the unconscious woman. The healer-witch still lay unmoving where Arelnath and Ranira had left her. The pale green moonlight gave her face a corpselike appearance, and Ranira had to touch one of the motionless hands in order to convince herself that the woman still lived.

Arelnath moved to Mist’s side. She placed a hand at the woman’s temple and went rigid. Ranira hardly dared to breathe. A moment later, Arelnath relaxed with a sigh. “I cannot reach her,” she said. Her eyes moved from Mist to Jaren and back; her mouth was set in a grim line.

As if aware of Arelnath’s gaze, Jaren shifted and sat up. “How long until she wakes?” he asked.

“I do not know. I think tomorrow, at the least. And we cannot stay here until then.” Her eyes met Jaren’s, and the man nodded. “I can manage, for a while,” he said. He untied the belt Arelnath had knotted about his leg, then reached for his boots. Arelnath’s hand came up in a gesture of protest that stopped almost before it was begun, but Jaren saw the movement and looked up. “I can’t walk far or fast without boots, especially on this ground. And I can’t wear boots with that thing tied to my leg,” he said.

“I know,” Arelnath answered.

Ranira looked from one to the other, appalled. “You aren’t going to try to walk with a Temple-snake bite, are you?” she demanded. “You’ll just kill yourself faster. The poison…”

“According to you, I am a dead man anyway,” Jaren said shortly. Disregarding Arelnath’s protest, he went on, “If we stay here, we are all dead. In the daylight, anyone on the city walls could spot us at once. We have to get as far as we can before dawn, and you cannot carry me. How long will it be before the poison starts to affect me?”

Ranira blinked at the abrupt question. “I don’t know. I’ve only seen one person who was bitten before—people in Drinn are careful around the river. I heard someone say that it took four days for him to die, but he was only at the inn for the last two.” She shivered, remembering.

“Heal a Temple-snake bite?” Shandy said incredulously. “She can’t do that.”

“How do you know?” Arelnath demanded irritably as she sorted through the little pile of belongings. “Poison is difficult to heal, but not impossible, and Mist is very good at what she does. She has been using her power freely these last three days, but she will have strength enough. It is not as if warding spells were a major enchantment, and outside Drinn we may not even need them.”

Looking at Mist’s face, Ranira wondered. She did not voice her doubts. She knew nothing of the foreigners’ magic, really; the Cilhar woman might well be right. Arelnath was still picking through the remains of Jaren’s bundle. “Here, you carry this. Ranira, if you don’t want this robe throw it in the river. We can’t haul it around forever. But take the knife, or give it to Jaren; we may need it.”

A shapeless blob landed at Ranira’s feet with a squishing sound. Gingerly, she picked it up. It was the tightly rolled pilgrim’s robe and the dagger Jaren had taken from the Templeman. The sight reminded Ranira that the remnant of the Temple gown she wore was too tattered to meet the most minimal standards of decency, even in the dark. Her face went hot as she struggled with the knots that held the package together. The water had tightened them into hard, slippery balls, and she made several unsuccessful attempts before she finally worked them loose. The outer layers of the compact bundle were wet, but the interior was barely damp. As the robe unrolled between her hands, something small and crumpled fell out of it—Mist’s veil. Ranira stooped to pick it up. She put it on and started to pull the robe over her head, then paused and looked up.

Arelnath sat on the ground beside Mist with the two sword belts, the extra robe, and the brown cords from the pilgrims’ robes, knotting them together. Shandy looked on in fascination. Jaren was easing a boot onto his injured leg. No one was watching Ranira. Still, she hesitated.

Finally, she backed into the grass until she was hidden from her companions. In a few quick movements she rid herself of the last of the black-and-silver gown of the Bride of Chaldon. Shivering with cold and from fear of discovery, she hastily pulled the heavy robe over her head and adjusted the borrowed veil. She fingered the knife for a moment, then carefully made a small slit in her robes and thrust the dagger inside, where it would be hidden.

Ranira’s brief disappearance caused no comment among her companions. Arelnath insisted on throwing the scraps of Ranira’s gown into the river after weighting them carefully with a rock. But for that, Ranira could have believed that her absence had gone completely unnoticed.

They started off almost at once, following the river. Jaren and Arelnath carried Mist between them on an awkward and uncomfortable-looking contraption made of sword belts and cord. At first, Ranira tried to take Jaren’s place at one end of the litter, but though she was strong enough to lift it, she was not tall enough to carry the makeshift litter comfortably with Arelnath holding up the other end. Their progress slowed to a crawl, and Arelnath ordered Ranira to give up her place to Jaren once more.

Both moons had risen. The night was clear and cool. Ranira soon found herself shivering in her damp robes, and her own clothing was far dryer than Shandy’s or Arelnath’s. None of the others complained, so Ranira kept on in silence as well, trying to generate warmth through the sheer exertion of walking.

They had to detour frequently to avoid the ramshackle farmhouses that dotted the land near the river. This close to the city the farms were small and poor, and the cottages were close together, so that the path Ranira and tier companions traced was a twisting one. In spite of their winding trail, Arelnath seemed sure of the direction they should take. As they moved into the area owned by the Temple of Chaldon, and worked by the poor of Drinn for the benefit of the priests, the land became emptier.

As the night wore on, Ranira became more and more wrapped up in her own thoughts. The country darkness was unnerving for a girl who had spent all of her life within the narrow confines of Drinn. There was too much open space, and while the lack of cover allowed no hiding places for Temple spies, Ranira’s constant awareness of the dark mass of the city behind her prevented her from enjoying the freedom. The Temple must already know they had tried to swim the river; she was sure that soon the priests would learn of their survival as well.

Ranira’s thoughts shied away from the inevitable pursuit. Instead, she found herself remembering her years at the Inn of Nine Doors. Lykken didn’t seem so horrible, now that she did not have to deal with him any more. Even the Temple of Chaldon began to take on an aura of grim but familiar authority. She almost began to wonder if she had been wise to leave.

A touch on her arm recalled her to the present. Shandy was standing beside her, and his voice was worried. “Renra? You all right? I spoke to you twice and you didn’t hear me.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” Ranira said, shaking off the reminiscent mood. “What is it?”

“Arelnath says we’re going to hide over there in the trees,” he said, pointing to a wooded area that showed dark and shadowy the moonlit sky. “Come on.”

Shandy started off at once, and after a moment’s hesitation Ranira followed. Arelnath and Jaren were well ahead of them, but Ranira saw with a sinking feeling that they were moving far more slowly than they had been before. Jaren swayed and stumbled with practically every step.
No wonder Arelnath decided to stop,
Ranira thought as she hurried to catch up to the others. The wooded area was a perfect hiding place, and there was no guarantee they would be able to reach another before dawn made further travel too dangerous.

In fact, they were barely able to reach the edge of the woods. Arelnath forced her way easily through the bushes that screened the trees, but Jaren seemed to have difficulty following. Finally, he reached the outer ring of trees and stopped. With a slow, deliberate motion, he dropped to his knees, placed the end of the carrying hammock gently on the ground, and collapsed.

Ranira was the first to reach him. His hands were icy, but his forehead was burning hot. Ranira looked up as Arelnath joined her. “Why did you make him walk so far?” she asked angrily. “You knew this would happen!”

“I had no choice!” Arelnath blazed, and Ranira winced at the anger and pain in her voice. “At least this way we have a chance. What good would it do him for all of us to be caught? Be glad that you did not have such a decision to make, and do not reproach me for what it is too late to change.”

With an abrupt, jerky motion, Arelnath turned away. Ranira was too astonished to speak again. She had not expected such a violent outburst of emotion from the cool, practical foreigner. Tentatively, she stretched out a hand to assist Arelnath with Jaren, but the other woman brushed it away. Torn between anger and sympathy, Ranira judged it better to leave Arelnath alone with her thoughts, at least for the moment.

As she rose to her feet, she nearly tripped over Mist. With a pang of guilt, she realized that once again she had forgotten the unconscious healer. She immediately set about moving the woman to a more comfortable position. Mist’s continued immobility both puzzled and worried Ranira. The only similar instance of prolonged unconsciousness in her limited experience was that of a man clubbed heavily on the head in a brawl at the inn, and he had eventually died without awakening. Ranira frowned and looked up.

“Arelnath? Do you know what is wrong with Mist?”

“She was hurt badly when the Temple spell hit us,” Arelnath answered without looking away from Jaren. “It drove her mind into itself, for protection. She will wake tomorrow, but she may be drained. She was tired already when the spell struck.”

If Mist awakened in a weakened condition, it did not seem to Ranira that she would be likely to heal Jaren immediately. She had wit enough not to say that aloud, however, and instead she asked, “Was it a spell that I felt out in the river? It felt more like a club.”

“You noticed the spell?” Arelnath turned in surprise.

“Notice? I thought someone had dropped a rock on my head. Jaren didn’t seem to feel anything, though.”

“I thought Mist was protecting the rest of us, and so was hit hardest,” Arelnath said thoughtfully. “Shandy did not feel anything either. I felt the blow more than you, but I was not hurt very badly. But if the Temple was striking only at those who can work magic, Mist would have been hurt the worst, because she is the most powerful. Have you ever been tested? No, of course not.”