Daughter of Witches: A Lyra Novel (26 page)

“The forest reminds you of the Island of the Moon?” Ranira said, surprised.

“Mother of Mountains, no!” Arelnath said. “I am no priestess or adept; I have not the patience for it. I am a Cilhar, from the Mountains of Morravik. The Karadreme reminds me of the forests there.”

“How do you know so much about Mist, then?” Ranira asked, bewildered. “I thought surely you were one of her people. You know magic, and you knew about Saranith…”

“I studied magic for a few months when I was a child, but it did not suit me,” Arelnath replied. “Most Cilhar are mercenaries—the Island of the Moon hires quite a number of us. You might say that our peoples are old friends, and so are we. I have known Mist for a long time, and so has Jaren.” Arelnath’s eyes flicked to the dark shape lying motionless near the fire, and she fell silent.

Ranira wanted to ask more, but she hesitated to disturb Arelnath in this mood. Instead, she returned to the fireside. She retrieved the flask of wine and the packet of journey-loaf, and moved back to Arelnath’s side. In silence, they split the journey-loaf into five parts. Three of these Ranira rewrapped carefully and set aside for Mist, Shandy, and Jaren. The remaining pieces she divided with Arelnath. Though Ranira was very hungry, she forced herself to set aside half of her own share as well. She knew she would be glad of it in the morning, but it was hard not to gobble it all up as fast as she could. Her restraint was rewarded with one of Arelnath’s rare looks of approval.

When she finished her scanty meal, Ranira rose and went to Erenal’s body. Reluctantly, she grabbed the man’s arms and dragged him into the trees. It was not as bad as she had feared, but she was glad when she could drop the body and return to the fire. Arelnath looked at her sharply. “Didn’t he have a sword?”

“I didn’t look,” Ranira said as she seated herself and leaned back. “And I am not going to. Getting the cape was bad enough. If you want it, you can go for it yourself.”

A low chuckle was Arelnath’s only reply. Ranira sat watching the fire, waiting. Not until Kaldarin was well above the horizon without bringing any sign of another attack from the Temple did she relax enough to sleep.

T
HE NIGHT WAS AN
uneasy one for everyone. Twice Ranira woke from vaguely menacing dreams to find Jaren in convulsions. She had to wake Shandy to help her deal with them. For Arelnath, it was harder yet; she could only watch, unable to help, while Ranira and Shandy struggled with Jaren. Only Mist sat silent and unmoving, totally unaware of what was happening around her.

Dawn came at last, reluctantly. It brought Ranira little relief. She felt nearly as tired as she had when she had sat down beside the fire the night before, and the gray light that filtered through the clouds did more to depress than to cheer her. A thin mist was rising in the forest, which only added to her discomfort.

Realizing that she could not sleep any more, Ranira sat up wearily, shook tendrils of dirty hair back from her face, and retied her veil. The fire was almost out, and as soon as she realized it she got up. She pulled the last few sticks from the depleted pile she and Shandy had collected. Carefully, she placed the wood on the remains of the fire and blew on the embers until the fire blazed up once more. It caught suddenly. Ranira toppled backward in her haste to get away, before her hair or veil began to burn as well.

“Take care!” a voice said behind her. “We are not so in need of warmth that you must risk yourself to provide it.”

Ranira’s head turned. Mist was watching her, smiling. The healer looked bedraggled but rested; the signs of strain had vanished. Ranira sat up, shivering. “You may not need a fire, but I do,” she said. She looked over her shoulder and shivered again.

“What is it?” Mist asked. She looked around and Ranira’s eyes followed. Shandy and Arelnath were still sleeping, Jaren, too, lay motionless. “What do you see?”

“It is nothing,” Ranira replied. She spoiled the assertion by shifting restlessly, but she could not bring herself to explain her dreams and even vaguer fear. “The forest makes me uncomfortable,” she said at last.

Mist frowned. “The forest? But…” She stopped in mid-sentence, her head cocked as if she were listening to something. Her frown deepened. “No, I think you are right,” she said finally. “There is something very wrong with the Karadreme.”

“What can go wrong with a forest?” Arelnath’s voice broke in. “And I am glad to see you so well, Mist.”

“Thank you,” Mist replied absently. She was still listening. “I do not know,” she said. She shook her head and looked at Arelnath. “There are a number of things that can be wrong with a forest, but after what the Temple of Chaldon has tried to do to us for the past few days, I am not inclined to probe deeply enough to find out which of them it is. It is enough to know that Ranira is right to be uneasy.”

“If you cannot even decide what is wrong, there is certainly nothing we can do about it,” Arelnath said. She started to stretch but winced as her shoulders changed position. “Ranira, where did you put the journey-loaf and wine?”

“Journey-loaf?” Mist said, her expression lightening. “How did you come by that?”

Ranira handed Mist one of the portions she had saved and started to explain. She was interrupted by a moan from Jaren. Ranira turned and saw the sick man beginning to twitch. She dropped the rest of the journey-loaf in Mist’s lap and ran to Shandy. “Wake up! Wake up!” she said, shaking him. “It’s Jaren again.”

Shandy sat up groggily. Ranira ran back to Jaren. She threw herself down beside him and grabbed his shoulders, trying to keep them from thrashing. At first it was not too difficult, but the spasms grew quickly worse. Even after two full days of illness, he was strong.

A hand touched Ranira’s shoulder, and she heard a low singsong chanting above her. Jaren’s convulsions ceased. The hand vanished, but the chanting continued. Ranira sat up, breathing hard. Mist stood above her, one hand extended over Jaren’s head. Ranira smiled and sat back.

Arelnath appeared beside Ranira. “The leg!” she hissed in Ranira’s ear. “Mist cannot heal it if she can’t see it. Hurry!”

Ranira scrambled down to snatch at the cords that bound the bandage on Jaren’s leg. As she pulled the brown pilgrim’s robe away, she coughed and fell back from the sudden stench. Remembering what the leg had looked like before, she could not bring herself to look down at it now. She kept her eyes fixed on Mist’s face instead.

Slowly, the healer bent forward. It seemed to take a long time for her outstretched hand to reach a position just above Jaren’s wound. Her chant never faltered, and the remote expression on her face never changed. Suddenly the planes and angles of Mist’s face stood out sharply. Ranira drew back, startled. Then she realized that the effect was caused by a blue glow coming from just in front of her, below her line of sight. She swallowed and looked down.

Jaren’s leg was bathed in a globe of light that washed any color from it. It was like looking at a stone model. Ranira could see how the swelling had spread, and there were a few darkened areas that might have been the dark streaks she remembered, but it did not disturb her. As she watched, the dark areas vanished and the swelling subsided. The chanting stopped. The glow vanished.

Mist straightened with a sigh. Ranira stared. Jaren’s leg and ankle looked completely normal. His eyes opened. “Thank you,” he said weakly. He smiled. ‘It took long enough. How long has it been, by the way?”

“Two days,” said Arelnath shakily. “Mist…”

“I could only stop the poison,” Mist said wearily. “I could not renew his strength; I have none of my own to spare. Time and rest will have to finish the work, but there is no need to fear for his life now. And there is another task I must do. Let me see your shoulders, Arelnath.”

“If you are too tired to finish your work with Jaren, you are too tired to try to heal me,” Arelnath said firmly. “Time and rest will take care of me as well.”

“Don’t be so stubborn, mihaya,” Jaren said.

Grumbling a little, Arelnath capitulated. This time the healing did not take as long, nor did Ranira see any glow beneath Mist’s hands. Even so, Mist’s face was white when she finished and she swayed on her feet. Arelnath turned quickly to catch her.

“You see?” Arelnath said. “You are not as strong as you seem to think. One night’s rest cannot make up for the way you have been spending your power since we came to Drinn, and you did not even get to rest really. It took you all night to rechannel your healing, didn’t it?”

“It is not that,” Mist said, but she allowed Arelnath to help her back to sit against a tree.

“Then, what is it?” Arelnath demanded.

“Chaldon,” Mist said. Her face was white. “But they could not be so foolish. They could not!”

“Who could not be so foolish?” Arelnath asked, exasperated.

“The Temple of Chaldon,” Mist said, looking up. “The priests. No one could be so foolish as to deliberately release a Shadow-born!”

‘‘The Temple has done that?” Arelnath said. Her body went suddenly tense.

“Not yet,” Mist said. “I can feel the strain on the binding, even from this distance, but Chaldon is not yet free. He is growing closer to it, though; his power is spreading into the land itself. I do not think the Temple of Chaldon intended this to happen. I cannot believe it, even of them.”

“And Chaldon is interfering with your healing?” Ranira asked.

Mist nodded. “I had difficulty with Jaren’s first wound when I tried to heal it in the dungeons of the House of Correction. I might have guessed about Chaldon then. Shadow-born resist healing. Where their power is strong, it is not possible to remedy sickness or injury, at least not by magic.”

“Can the Temple find us through Chaldon?” Arelnath asked.

“No,” said Mist after a moment’s thought. “Even if they control the Shadow-born completely, they would need a far more specific spell than this to find us.”

Arelnath relaxed a little. “In that case, I am going to eat. There is nothing we can do about Chaldon now.” She walked to the place where Mist had been sitting and retrieved two portions of journey-loaf spread across the ground. Ranira and Shandy followed her example. Ranira also picked up Mist’s portion and returned it to her. Arelnath had already given Jaren his share.

As soon as they had eaten, Arelnath insisted on starting off once more. “We are close enough to the place where we are to meet Venran and his people. We may as well get there and not risk missing him,” she said. ‘‘If he knows there are Templemen looking for us, he may not want to wait long.”

Although they no longer had to carry Jaren, their pace was at least as slow as it had been the day before. They were moving more cautiously now, watching for signs of the other Templemen who might be searching Karadreme Forest for them.

Jaren’s leg troubled him in spite of the healing, and he limped noticeably. Ranira saw Arelnath frown in his direction several times, but no one said anything. Mist appeared not to notice. She, too, was obviously tired, and Arelnath was not as strong as she pretended to be. Shandy and Ranira were also nearing exhaustion from the constant travel and lack of food. It took nearly the entire day to reach the clearing where the foreigners had agreed to meet the Trader caravan.

The clearing looked exactly like several others Ranira had seen during the course of their journey. She saw no sign of Traders. She said as much, but Arelnath did not seem disturbed.

“Venran agreed to meet us here no later than tomorrow,” she said. “He is probably cutting it close because he found some place to turn coppers into gold and couldn’t resist. He will be here, though, never doubt it.”

“I do not doubt that Venran will arrive,” Mist said, looking up. “It is his promptness that worries me.”

“Venran knows that we will want to leave at once,” Arelnath said. She sat on the ground and leaned against a tree. “He will not delay.”

“I hope not,” Mist said. She stared into the distance. “If he does not come, I will have to try to contact the island before the Temple of Chaldon strikes tomorrow night. But I would rather wait until Venran comes.”

“Why would Venran make a difference?” Ranira asked. “I thought he was a Trader, not a witch.”

Mist smiled. “Most caravans travel with a magician if they can. Traders will do anything to protect their profits, even use magic in the Empire of Chaldreth.”

“You cannot depend on that,” Arelnath said. She sounded irritated. “He knew he would be picking us up. He’s just as likely to save himself the cost of hiring someone to travel from Rathane to Drinn, and count on you to provide whatever magic is needed between here and the Melyranne Sea.”

“That does not really matter.” Mist said. “He is coming from Rathane, where they make arranna. The stuff is a profitable drug; he is sure to have some. With it, I should be able to increase the strength of my spells enough to reach the island.”

“Arranna!” Arelnath frowned.

“This is my choice, Arelnath. It is my home that is threatened. Arranna is not dangerous if it is used with care.”

“You will not be careful this time!” Arelnath said angrily. “If a small dose will not let you reach the island, you will use a larger one. Can you deny it?”

“Would you have me let the entire Island of the Moon die because I value my mind above their lives?
You
would not do such a thing, yet you urge me to!”

“I have not told you to abandon your home,” Arelnath retorted. “But you are too worried for your judgment to be good.”

Mist looked angrier than ever, but before she could reply, Jaren broke in. “Before you continue your disagreement, I would like to remind you both that there are Templemen in these woods looking for us. I am sure they would be delighted to find us easily, but I would prefer to make it at least a little difficult for them. Did you not say something earlier about warding us while we wait for Venran?”

With a visible effort, Mist controlled herself. “I am sorry,” she said in a quiet, strained voice. “I should have done that at once.” She pulled herself to her feet and began circling the clearing, one hand touching the moonstone.