Daughter of Witches: A Lyra Novel (17 page)

“I do not cast spells,” Ranira said in shock.

“You may be capable of doing so, nonetheless,” Arelnath said. “You have no training, but that does not mean that magic is impossible for you.”

“No!” Ranira found herself standing without remembering how she had gotten to her feet. She glared into the darkness at the dim form that was Arelnath. “I am not a witch!”

“Magic doesn’t mean witchcraft, and witchcraft doesn’t mean what you seem to think it does,” Arelnath said. Her voice was tinged with exasperation. “You have seen enough in the past few days to realize that, haven’t you?”

“I can’t work magic,” Ranira insisted. “I’m not like you. Leave me alone!”

“As you wish. I suggest you follow Shandy’s example and get some sleep while you can.”

Arelnath turned away abruptly. After a moment, Ranira followed her advice and lay down at the base of one of the trees. She was glad that Shandy had not heard Arelnath’s accusations. Shaken and confused, it was a long time before she finally slept.

R
ANIRA AWOKE SCREAMING FROM
a nightmare of shadows and Temple priests. The black-clad figure in her dream had chased her with drawn dagger through the streets of Drinn and out into the fields while Gadrath had looked on and smiled, and a dark, cold presence had brooded menacingly over everything. She looked wildly about her, only to find the nightmare becoming reality—the trees seemed twisted and menacing. She struck out in terror at a figure bending over her.

Hands caught and held her. Ranira thrashed violently, but she could not break free. She heard voices above, but they made no sense. Pain shot through her like a knife wound, and in Ranira’s mind something writhed blackly before it burned away. Ranira found herself staring up at the worried faces of Shandy and Mist.

“I’m all right now. You can let me go,” she said, and Mist leaned back with a sigh of relief. Ranira sat up. The forest spun around her, and she had to brace herself to keep from toppling over once more. After a moment, she looked up cautiously. “What happened?”

“You were shouting and yelling in your sleep,” Shandy informed her. “I tried to wake you up and you wouldn’t, and then Mist woke up and tried and you started hitting her. I sat on you, and Mist did something, and you stopped. Why were you yelling?”

Ranira laughed shakily. “You’d yell, too, if you had dreams like that. I’m glad it’s over.”

“It was more than a dream, Ranira,” Mist said. Her face was lined with weariness, but Ranira was glad to see her also awake. “And I am afraid it may not be over, my dear. I am sorry; if I had done a thorough job when Jaren first brought you to me, I do not think you would have had to suffer this.”

“What do you mean?” Ranira asked warily.

“Before I explain, will you tell me your dream?” Mist asked. “And do you know anything about the drug the Temple gave you before you escaped?”

The questions surprised Ranira. She frowned for a moment trying to recall the nightmare from the rapidly fading wisps and shreds of memory that remained. Then she plunged into a description of the dream and the disorientation that followed.

Mist listened in silence. When Ranira finished, she nodded and said, “And the drug?”

“High Master Gadrath put something in my wine, but I don’t know what it was. I don’t really remember anything but bits and pieces after that until I was riding in the carriage.” She frowned again as a fragment of memory brushed the surface of her mind, then hovered tantalizingly just out of reach. She shook her head in frustration.

“You told me someone said it was permanent,” Shandy volunteered. “Remember, Renra?”

“No, but I’m sure I ought to,” she said in exasperation. Instinctively, she looked around for something to jog her memory, and for the first time realized consciously that it was day. As she automatically reached up to adjust her veil, she noticed that not everyone was present. “Where is Arelnath?”

“Getting wood,” Shandy said. “She left right before you started shouting.”

“Yes, what was all that noise about?” a voice said from beyond the screening brush. Ranira jumped as Arelnath slid out of the bushes. The woman snorted. “It’s a good thing there was no one else within hearing,” she said. “I was afraid you’d been attacked by Templemen.”

“Renra had a nightmare,” Shandy explained. “But Mist fixed it.”

“All that noise over a nightmare?” Arelnath said disapprovingly. “You could have given us all away.”

“It was more than a nightmare,” Mist said. “Ranira was given a drug at the Temple to make her more tractable during the parade. Some of the effects were more long-lasting than I had expected them to be. And remember the jewels you and Jaren smashed? They were all part of a spell to bind Ranira’s mind and will to the Temple of Chaldon.”

“Didn’t you stop that when you healed her leg, back in the cellar?” Arelnath asked.

“I removed the first binding,” Mist replied. “But I did not expect them to use more than one spell. Obviously, there were others I did not recognize. Someone at the Temple was trying to use them to control Ranira while she was sleeping, and without protective spells around us it was easy for them to reach her. I have broken that spell, but there may still be more such; they are very difficult to find unless they are active.”

“Would it be easier or more difficult for the Temple of Chaldon to control Ranira if she had the power to work magic?” Arelnath asked thoughtfully.

“I told you, I am no witch!” Ranira cried vehemently before Mist could reply.

“You have had no training, so you obviously cannot cast spells,” Mist said calmly. “If that is your definition of ‘witch,’ then you cannot be one now. What Arelnath refers to, I think, is the ability to learn, which is very different. Have you reason to believe she is capable?” she asked, turning to the other woman.

“She felt something last night when the Temple attacked us,” Arelnath said. “I am not sure it means anything.”

“It would certainly be much harder for the priests to bind Ranira if she were trained,” Mist said slowly. “I am not sure whether it would make any difference if she had only potential, although it may have made the priests more anxious to be sure of their control.”

“I don’t want anything to do with witchcraft!” Ranira said. “Work your magic without me. Consorting with witches is bad enough without being one.”

“She’s right,” Shandy agreed. “You leave Renra alone!”

Arelnath started to speak, but Mist motioned her to silence. “There is no reason why you should learn if you do not wish to,” she said to Ranira. “But I fear you will have to allow me to study you more carefully. I must find out if there are any more of these bindings and remove them; they are a danger to us as well as to you. It will be the last time, I think. I know now what to look for.”

Ranira hesitated. Although she hated the Temple and was horrified by the thought of the priests controlling her, she was not entirely comfortable with the idea of submitting willingly to an enchantment. It occurred to her that she had already accepted magical aid several times, but the knowledge did not seem to make any difference. She was both afraid of magic and fascinated by it; the conflicting feelings were very unpleasant. Still, she could not object to Mist’s proposal. If the Temple still had a way of controlling her, she was dangerous to all her companions. “I suppose you’re right,” she said reluctantly.

“Then try to sit quietly and relax,” Mist said. “It will not take long.” She leaned forward as she spoke, and began to murmur softly. Her hands hovered just above Ranira’s head, but the healer did not fade into the trancelike state Ranira had come to associate with magic, nor was there any of the silvery light. In fact, Ranira did not notice anything in particular happening, and she began to fidget. The drone of Mist’s voice was hypnotic, but instead of relaxing, Ranira became even more restless. Mist began to speak more softly, until her voice was barely audible. Now Ranira found it easier to sit still. Finally the chanting stopped, and Mist’s hands dropped away.

“That is all?” Ranira asked uneasily. From her previous experiences, she had expected something more spectacular. “Wasn’t there anything for you to find?”

“There were at least two more spells, but I have neutralized them,” Mist said wearily. “Fortunately, the Temple had already used its most powerful bindings; those that remained were not difficult to break.” The woman’s appearance belied her words—she looked bone-tired.

There was a brief silence. “Thank you,” Ranira said finally. She could not think of anything else to say, and she felt unreasonably guilty because she had noticed neither the spells nor their breaking.

“Do not thank me yet,” Mist said. “The magic of the Temple of Chaldon is subtle and powerful, and I may yet have missed something. If so, your own innate ability should make you able to fight back should they try to control you again. Arelnath is right. You do have power—at least as much as she does, and probably more. I felt it when I removed the bindings.”

“No!” Ranira said fiercely. Again, the idea both repelled and attracted her, but overlaying the clashing emotions were memories of fear and flames. “I am not a witch!”

“You are not a witch,” Arelnath agreed cordially, “but still, you have power.” She turned away from the dumbfounded Ranira to face Mist. “I know you are tired, Mist, but can you tend to Jaren now? He was bitten by one of the river-snakes, and he has been feverish since dawn.”

Color drained from Mist’s face. Her head dropped. “I cannot,” she whispered. “Forgive me, but I must refuse.”

Arelnath stared at Mist blankly. “Why?” she said at last. Her voice broke. Ranira could almost see the woman’s nerves fraying. “I have enough training to assist you, and I will help you all I can. You cannot be too drained to heal if you have aid.”

“Even with your help, I have not the strength for two major enchantments,” Mist said. “And I must contact the Temple of the Third Moon at once. I should have done it immediately, but I could not chance it while there was a possibility that Ranira could be controlled.”

“You can contact the Temple later!” Arelnath snapped. “It is Jaren’s life you are playing with, healer!”

Mist winced. Though her face was white, her manner was determined. “I know what he is to you, and I am sorry. But the lives of everyone on the island will be endangered if I do not reach them, and I may have no second chance. Where now do you say my duty lies?”

“If what you say is true, you… must try to reach the island,” Arelnath agreed. Anxiety and hopelessness colored her voice. “But I still do not understand why.”

Mist bowed her head. “I owe you that, at least,” she admitted quietly. “I will explain my choice, but I cannot change it.”

“You mean you are going to let Jaren
die
?” Ranira interrupted. “But you could heal him if you tried! I thought he was your friend. What kind of people are you?”

“I have spent my strength too freely these past few days, turning away the Temple seeking-spells and warding us all,” Mist replied with the same frozen calm. “I cannot heal Jaren and still reach my Temple; the distance is too great.”

“I should have known,” Ranira said bitterly. “Temple priests are all the same. You can heal and cast spells, but you don’t really care what happens to other people any more than Gadrath does. And
you
support her!” Ranira added, turning to Arelnath in disgust. “You are going to let Jaren die without even trying to make Mist heal him. You don’t care about him at all!”

Arelnath’s eyes narrowed. Her hand dropped to the hilt of her sword. “If you truly knew what you said, I would kill you,” she said in a flat voice. “Jaren and I accepted the risk when Mist’s Temple hired us in the Mountains of Morravik. He would not thank you for suggesting that I betray our trust; Jaren is my sword-mate, and you have no right to question my choice. No healer can be
forced
to heal. And furthermore—you have heard us say that you have power. If you will not offer it to help Jaren, you cannot criticize Mist, or me.”

“I have no power!” Ranira shouted.

“Mist has said it, and you must know it is true or you would not deny it so fiercely,” Arelnath said relentlessly. “Mist could tap the power that you hold and use it when her own is exhausted. With the added strength, she might be able to help Jaren as well as warn her Temple. Will you let her try?”

Vertigo struck Ranira dumb for a moment. The trees wheeled around her, and she closed her eyes. She felt the heat of a huge fire on her face and back, and though she could not see them, she knew that the flames were coming nearer. “No!” she shrieked with all the strength of her terror, and her eyes opened.

The word hung in the air before Ranira like a tangible thing, a barrier separating her from Arelnath and Mist. “I can’t,” she whispered, but she knew it was too late for explanation. Arelnath turned away. Mist’s eyes were full of sorrow and hurt. Even Shandy looked surprised.

“You were going to explain, Mist,” Arelnath said abruptly after a moment’s silence.

“Do not judge Ranira too harshly,” Mist said, ignoring Arelnath’s comment. Ranira opened her mouth, then stopped. There was nothing she could say.

Arelnath shrugged, not meeting Mist’s eyes. “The explanation?” she said stubbornly.

The healer sighed and raised her head. “Very well. When I probed the Temple of Chaldon at the riverside, I learned far more than I could have hoped, though little of it is a joy to me.

“The ‘god’ Chaldon is really a Shadow-born, held captive beneath the Temple. Those who were meant to guard the Shadow-born have become its servants, though they are not foolhardy enough to release it from the ancient binding spell that holds it. The Temple priests draw on its power through their rituals. On the Night of Two Moons, at the climax of the Midwinter Festival, they will use it to attack the Island of the Moon.”

“Why would the Temple of Chaldon want to attack the island so openly?” Arelnath asked. “I know you judged against them in that border problem with Basirth, but they certainly cannot intend such a strike simply out of spite! Are you certain it is not another of their sendings?”