Strange Attractors (39 page)

Willem’s eye twitched.

Xane kept his face calm though behind the mask he kicked himself.
Inflammation? Where was this coming from?
‘She’s that stocked up, ain’t she?’ he added quickly, letting the syllables hang. He cringed as soon as he said it. The contrast of his words made them seem all the more contrived. He wiped his forehead.

The creatures were climbing again, desperate and ravenous, struggling to escape the high-walled fortress of his mind. Their claws slipped and scratched as they gained purchase. He shivered, his eyes closed tight against the struggle. When he opened them, Willem was gone and the grey mare had buried her face in the pack mule’s grain sack.

He pulled her back. ‘Not now, girl. You’re tethering with the others in the picket line.’ She pinned her ears and snaked her head around towards him. He held his palm out flat, clicking his tongue when she bumped her nose into it. ‘No need to get vicious, sweet pea. Your legs will feel better when the liniment takes effect and you’ll have plenty to eat. Patience.’

He gripped her crest and gave it a shake, leading her away. Once secured with the others in his charge, he slipped on her feed bag and headed for the cook tent, his stomach rumbling. The aromas drew him but before he entered, he overheard a conversation. The whispers were hushed but he heard just the same.

‘Are you certain, Willem? He said that?’

‘Aye. It was like he had a map in his head. He knew what was coming. Described it perfectly.’

‘Then there’s more than one spy among us.’

‘That’s what I was thinking too, sir. But I’ve had my sights on him all day and there’s no one he’s talked to, save the beasts.’

‘He’s a witch then, linked with the mind speech.’

‘Living as a peasant boy, like you found him?’

‘It doesn’t make sense, unless it’s a glamour.’

‘How can we find out?’

‘You could just ask me,’ Xane said. He’d walked up on them so quietly that they startled, their mouths snapping shut. Neither Willem nor the Stable Master spoke.

‘And if you did just ask me,’ Xane went on, ‘I’d tell you I’ve got no witch blood in my veins, nor do I know any witch unless you count the dried shell of a being called Rall, and she’s not taught me a thing, I promise.’

‘Then how’d you know what was ahead?’ Willem asked, his hand on his sword.

‘Easy, Willem. It’s me. Xane. I’m not a spy. I knew because I figured it out.’

‘How?’

‘We’re heading to Temple Dumarka and we took the north road. The only way there, unless we sprout wings and fly, is to cross the Goregan River at the ford of Dumar and take the north Prieta pass. It’s not witchcraft. It’s common sense.’ Xane didn’t know what had possessed him but he felt good he’d spoken out. He didn’t like being accused of spying and he didn’t want to get a knife in the back, which was what spies generally got. He thought his explanation would solve everything, but the looks on their faces told him it had not.

Finally the Stable Master waved his hand, dismissing him. ‘Get yourself some food, Xane. And see to your neck.’ He pointed at the wound.

Xane touched it and his hand came away bloody. ‘I will,’ he said and walked away, the scent of the pan-fried corn cakes losing their appeal. They didn’t believe his explanation. He could tell more by what they didn’t say than by what they did.

He couldn’t hear any more of their conversation, if indeed they carried on. He ate his ration in silence, washing his plate and tin before seeking the healers’ tent. When he found it, he went straight in, no waiting. They’d brought only two healers with the scouting party and neither had much to do, yet. That would
change when the fighting started. He creased his brow. He didn’t want the fighting to start.

‘You needed to let it close over!’ The healer slapped a swab against it, shaking his head.

‘Must have come open from the ride.’

‘You should be in the ward. Who released you?’

‘The Master Healer Grebes, sir.’

‘Grebes?’ He let out a rush of profanities Xane didn’t recognise, nor did he need to. The meaning was obvious. ‘Hemlock makes it harder to mend,’ the healer said as if he were talking to a five-year-old. ‘And this wound is nothing close to mended.’

‘It wouldn’t be,’ Xane said, straightening. ‘The alkaloids inhibit stem cell production via the myo—’ He let his voice trail off and screwed up his face. He really couldn’t keep his mouth shut. ‘Ouch!’ He winced. ‘That hurts!’ It didn’t, but he jumped in his seat anyway to break the silence.

‘What’s that you were saying?’ The healer was too preoccupied to register his strange sentence, the inexplicable answer to why his wound had not closed.

‘Tobacco weed, it makes things hard to heal. They mix it with the hemlock, just in case I guess.’

‘You know your herbs well, for a stableboy.’

Xane rubbed his head.
Better than you can imagine.

‘Still with the headaches, lad?’

He nodded.

‘Well it’s too late to send you back. You’ll have to carry on.’ He handed him a mug. ‘Drink this. It’ll help.’

Xane held the mug to his nose, inhaling deeply. He identified the contents, a benign mix of herbs designed to soothe and promote a good night’s sleep. He tossed it down and thanked the healer.

‘Stay warm, lad. And don’t get shot again. You’ll not be so lucky a second time.’

Xane nodded and left the tent. There was more to worry about than getting shot, now that the Stable Master and Willem thought he was a spy. He buttoned his coat, the wind off the mountains cold enough to rattle his teeth.

Nellion Paree felt a waft of air in the corridors. It lifted the hair that framed her face the moment she’d let go of Rosette’s hand. A spell? She glanced over at her daughter and the temple cat. They were making their way to the back of the portal and didn’t seem to notice. ‘Wait,’ she called to them both. ‘Did you feel that?’

Rosette rubbed her belly and yawned. ‘I felt the baby kick. Are you saying you did too?’

‘There was something else,’ Nell said. ‘Be mindful.’

Rosette’s hand went to her sword hilt but her belt was empty. The temple cat’s head came up.

‘Where did you leave it?’ Nell asked.

Rosette groaned. ‘No idea. An’ Lawrence will disown me.’

‘Perhaps not under the circumstances. Never mind. You have a blade at the cottage.’

‘I wish you’d warned me that late pregnancy was akin to amnesia.’

‘I did.’

Rosette winced. ‘Then I’ve forgotten that as well.’

Nell laughed to hide her shivers. In spite of her daughter’s lack of concern, she felt certain someone had just been in the corridors.
Darlings?
she asked the Three Sisters.
Anything?

They perched high on a ledge, flapping their wings before they folded them neatly into their backs.
All’s well. Only our family be here.

‘I don’t sense anyone,’ Rosette confirmed. ‘Nor does Drayco.’

‘Nor do they.’ Nell tilted her head towards the ravens before passing her hand over the plasma Entity. ‘Just us.’ The tiny zaps of electricity tickled her palm. ‘Something’s not right though.’

‘Do you think we’re being tracked?’ Rosette asked. ‘Is Makee about?’

‘I think she’s running the corridors like a scent hound.’

‘I guess my timing’s not the best.’ Rosette slid to the ground, her hands holding her belly. ‘What can I do from Dumarka?’

‘Plenty,’ Nell said, sitting beside her. ‘First and foremost, you can have this baby. That’s a complete enough task on its own.’

Rosette closed her eyes. ‘I won’t argue.’

Nell listened for her daughter’s thoughts but her mind shield was tight. That in itself was not suspicious. She’d taught her to keep it that way. Whatever she and her familiar were saying to each other was private. She respected that. There was something, though—perhaps in the complacency and speed of Rosette’s agreement to come to the cottage—that suggested trouble.

Nell shook her head, remembering how she felt, late pregnant with her own daughter and uncertain of the spell. She had taken comfort in the safety and seclusion of Dumarka. It made sense that Rosette would too.
Stop worrying about it, Nell!
she told herself.
If there is anyone lurking in the corridors, all the more reason to take the next step.

‘Are you nervous about seeing the Watcher?’ Rosette asked. She hadn’t opened her eyes but took her mother’s hand and held it in her lap.

‘I always feel some anticipation.’

‘That’s a new word for it.’

They both laughed.

‘Come.’ Nell stood, helping her daughter to her feet. ‘We’re here.’

Drayco was up and sniffing at the edge of the portal. Nell and Rosette followed, listening, feeling, sensing.

‘Right time, right place? No battles, no temple?’ Rosette asked.

‘Feels so.’ Nell led the way into the woods, her arms stretched wide in greeting. ‘Winter’s past.’

The air smelled of early spring, of sap running in the pines, daffodils and jonquils poking their yellow faces up from the loam, and white berry blossoms floating like stars on the breeze. The Three Sisters whizzed past, out of the corridor and skyward. They were high above them in seconds, circling over the treetops.
Home, Nellion! All clear and home beautiful. Come!

‘Are we good?’ Rosette asked, her face to the sun.

‘Indeed!’ Nell put her arm around her daughter. ‘Home, shall we?’

They trekked back to the cottage, picking herbs as they went—raspberry leaf, moss, lichen, angelica and tiny purple mushrooms. Nell had an armful of everything she wanted for the birthing by the time they reached the cottage. She smiled and undid the latch, the bells ringing as she pulled the gate wide. The goats came trotting up, bellies wider than Rosette’s and udders full, swinging side to side with every step.

‘You’ve got good company,’ Nell said, closing the gate before the nannies could get into the cottage gardens. ‘Off with you, girls. I’ll see to you shortly, though you haven’t had a too hard winter, I can tell.’

Rosette laughed. ‘It’s the hay chute. I rigged a self-feeder before I left. Seems to have worked. I want to check the horses, though.’

‘Settle first. We’ve a pot of herbs to brew, bread to bake and soup to put on the fire. The hearth will be long cold. Can you start there?’ She tilted her head. ‘Mozzie’s about as well. He has news.’ Nell gave her daughter’s hand a squeeze, leading the way. The stone path was carpeted with plum blossoms, the gardens bursting with new life.

‘The lilies are open!’ Nell paused by the spring beds admiring the white and orange trumpets bunched together, pointing towards the south, tracking the sun. The chamomile lawn sprouted bright green lace and had grown over the stone path, filling the cracks and climbing the fence posts.

‘And the orchard!’ Rosette said, pointing.

Surrounding the cottage were groves of fruit trees: apples, figs with thick dark trunks and delicate pale blossoms, cherry trees with their long thin branches weeping towards the ground laden with fuchsia-pink blooms. Apricot, peach and pear trees were dotted with buds.

‘I love spring,’ Rosette said.

‘Me too.’ Nell opened the door and Mozzie was there to greet them, his serpent body looped over the rafters, his dark tongue flickering in and out. ‘You’ve doubled in length!’ Nell said, stroking his diamond-shaped head.

‘Tripled,’ Rosette said, gazing at the coils.

Mistress is home! Winter was well?

Well enough. And you? I know you have news?
Nell shrugged out of her pack and hung up her cloak.

All is well on land and air, save the golden horse.

‘What golden horse?’ Nell asked aloud.

‘That would be the warhorse I brought back from Corsanon. He’s called Amarillo.’

‘Makee’s? How did he end up here?’

‘When I first found An’ Lawrence he sent him into the portal after me.’

Nell went to the hearth and checked the wood box, recalling the brief argument between Makee and Rowan. ‘Mozzie says the horse is gone.’

Rosette pulled off her boots and lined them up by the door. ‘Do you think she’s come for him?’

The witch came. I did not allow her entrance.

‘She did!’ Nell bristled before clapping her hands together. ‘Let’s warm this place up—fire, soup and bread.’

Rosette set to the chores and Nell headed for the barn. Drayco shot past, running back the way they’d come.

‘Where’s he going?’

‘Drayco? He says there’s a female deep in the woods and she’s singing to him.’

Nell frowned briefly, checking if it were true. ‘So there is. What a spring we are having!’ Drayco was being called, urgently, by a female voice. That was certain. Nell smile. ‘I wondered if that would happen. I suppose we won’t see him for a week or two.’

‘I suppose,’ Rosette answered, her voice muffled by the crackling fire.

‘I’ll check for eggs and bring fresh water up from the creek.’ Nell’s smiled widened as she walked to the barn. It was good to be home. When she opened the barn door, the chooks rushed towards her, all feathers and fuss. ‘One at a time, girls. I want to hear every word!’

They cackled their news and in between detailed information about crickets and worms, eggs and nests, they confirmed that a witch had come for her warhorse and not more than a few days ago.

‘Consensus reality?’ Nell wrinkled her brow as she watched the stream. From her vantage point on the high arched bridge she could see the carp under the rippling surface, swimming in the clouds reflected from the sky.

Yes, Nell. Consensus reality. The ‘reality’ agreed upon. Observers are not conscious of anything outside of it. Remember that.

‘But I asked about Earth, about Temple Los Loma. ASSIST was destroyed, the solar shields down, acid rain neutralised, sea devils mutating back into harmless dinoflagellates…’

It sounds like you’ve been busy.

‘I have. But still the Earth is about to blow. It’s like all our work has not been enough.’

It is enough. It is more than enough. It’s just not happening within the consensus reality.