The Claw Of The Conciliator (34 page)

After climbing several stairs and a ladder lashed together from the unpeeled saplings of some fragrant tree, I was ushered into the presence of an old woman who sat in the only chair I had yet seen there, staring through a glass tabletop at what appeared to be an artificial landscape inhabited by hairless, crippled animals. I gave her my letter and was led away; but for a moment she had glanced at me, and her face, like the face of the young-old woman who had brought me to her, has of course remained graven in my mind.

I mention all this now because it seemed to me, as I laid Jolenta on the tiles beside the fire, that the women who crouched over it were the same. It was impossible; the old woman to whom I had handed my letter was almost certainly dead, and the young one (if she were still living) would be changed beyond recognition, as I was myself. Yet the faces that turned toward me were the faces I recalled. Perhaps there are but two witches in the world, who are born into it again and again.

“What is the matter with her?” the younger woman asked, and Dorcas and I explained as well as we could.

Long before we finished, the older one had Jolenta’s head in her lap and was forcing wine from a clay bottle into her throat. “It would harm her if it were strong to harm,” she said. “But this is three parts pure water. Since you do not wish to see her die, you are fortunate, possibly, to have come across us so. Whether she is also fortunate, I cannot say.”

I thanked her, and inquired where the third person who had been at their fire had gone.

The old woman sighed, and stared at me for a moment before returning her attention to Jolenta.

“There were only the two of us,” the younger woman said. “You saw three?”

“Very clearly, in the firelight. Your grandmother—if that is who she is—looked up and spoke to me. You and whoever was with you lifted your heads, then bowed them again.”

“She is the Cumaean.”

I had heard the word before, but for a moment I could not remember where, and the younger woman’s face, immobile as an oread’s in a picture, gave me no clue.

“The seeress,” Dorcas supplied. “And who are you?”

“Her acolyte, My name is Merryn. It is significant, possibly, that you, who are three, saw three of us at the fire, while we who are two at first saw but two of you.” She looked to the Cumaean as if for confirmation, and then, as if she had received it, back to us, though I saw no glance pass between them.

“I’m quite sure I saw a third person who was larger than either of you,” I said.

“This is a strange evening, and there are those who ride the night air who sometimes choose to borrow a human seeming. The question is why such a power would wish to show itself to you.”

The effect of her dark eyes and serene face was so great that I think I might have believed her if it had not been for Dorcas, who suggested with an almost imperceptible movement of her head that the third member of the group about the fire might have escaped our observation by crossing the roof and hiding on the farther side of the ridge.

“She may live,” the Cumaean said without lifting her gaze from Jolenta’s face. “Though she does not wish it.”

“It’s a good thing for her that the two of you had so much wine,” I said.

The old woman did not rise to the bait, saying only, “Yes, it is. For you and possibly even for her.”

Merryn picked up a stick and stirred the fire. “There is no death.”

I laughed a little, mostly, I think, because I was no longer quite so worried about Jolenta. “Those of my trade think otherwise.”

“Those of your trade are mistaken.”

Jolenta murmured, “Doctor?” It was the first time she had spoken since morning.

“You do not need a physician now,” Merryn said. “Someone better is here.”

The Cumaean muttered, “She seeks her lover.”

“Who is not this man in fuligin then, Mother? I thought he seemed too common for her.”

“He is but a torturer. She seeks a worse man.”

Merryn nodded to herself, then said to us, “You will not wish to move her farther tonight, but we must ask that you do. You will find a hundred better camping places on the other side of the ruins, and it would be dangerous for you to stay here.”

“A danger of death?” I asked. “But you tell me there is none—so if I believe you, why should I fear? And if I cannot believe you, why should I believe you now?” Nevertheless, I rose to go.

The Cumaean looked up. “She’s right,” she croaked. “Though she does not know it, and only speaks by rote like a starling in a cage. Death is nothing, and for that reason you must fear it. What is more to be feared?”

I laughed again. “I can’t argue with someone as wise as you. And because you gave us what help you could, we will go now because you wish it.”

The Cumaean permitted me to take Jolenta from her, but said, “I do not wish it. My acolyte still believes the universe hers to command, a board where she can move counters to form whatever patterns suit her. The Magi see fit to number me among themselves when they write their short roll, and I should lose my place on it if I did not know that people like ourselves are only little fish, who must swim with unseen tides if we are not to exhaust ourselves without finding sustenance. Now you must wrap this poor creature in your cloak and lay her by my fire. When this place passes out of the shadow of Urth, I will look to her wound again.”

I remained standing, holding Jolenta, uncertain whether we should go or stay. The Cumaean’s intentions seemed friendly enough, but her metaphor had carried an unpleasant reminder of the undine; and as I studied her face I had come to doubt that she was an old woman at all, and to recall only too clearly the hideous faces of the cacogens who had removed their masks when Baldanders had rushed among them.

“You shame me, Mother,” Merryn said. “Shall I call to him?”

“He has heard us. He will come without your call.”

She was right. I already detected the scrape of boots on the tiles of the other side of the roof.

“You are alarmed. Would it not be better to put down the woman as I instructed you, so you might take up your sword to defend your paramour? But there will be no need.”

By the time she had finished speaking, I could see a tall hat and a big head and broad shoulders silhouetted against the night sky. I laid Jolenta near Dorcas and drew Terminus Est.

“No need of that,” a deep voice said. “No need at all, young fellow. I’d have come out sooner to renew our acquaintance, but I didn’t know the Chatelaine here wanted it. My master—and yours—sends his greetings.” It was Hildegrin.

“You may tell your master I delivered his message,” I said.

Hildegrin smiled. “And have you a message to return, armiger? Remember, I’m from the quercine penetralia.”

“No,” I said. “None.”

Dorcas looked up. “I do. A person I met in the gardens of the House Absolute told me I would encounter someone who identified himself thus, and that I was to say to him, ‘When the leaves are grown, the wood is to march north.’”

Hildegrin laid a finger beside his nose. “All the wood? Is that what he said?”

“He gave me the words I have already recited to you, and nothing more.”

“Dorcas,” I asked, “why didn’t you tell me this?”

“I’ve hardly had an opportunity to talk to you alone since we met at the crossing of the paths. And besides, I could see it was a dangerous thing to know. I couldn’t see any reason to put that danger on you. It was the man who gave Dr. Talos all that money who told me. But he didn’t give Dr. Talos the message—I know because I listened when they talked. He only said that he was your friend, and told me.”

“And told you to tell me.”

Dorcas shook her head.

Hildegrin’s thick-throated, chuckle might almost have come from underground. “Well, it don’t hardly matter now, does it? It’s been delivered, and for myself I don’t mind tellin’ you I wouldn’t have minded if it had waited a little longer. But we’re all friends here, except maybe for the sick girl, and I don’t think she can hear what’s said, or understand what we’re talkin’ about if she could. What did you say her name was? I couldn’t hear you too clear when I was over there on the other side.”

“That was because I didn’t say it at all,” I told him. “But her name is Jolenta.” As I pronounced Jolenta, I looked at her and seeing her in the firelight realized she was Jolenta no longer—nothing of the beautiful woman Jonas had loved remained in that haggard face.

“And a bat bite did it? They’ve grown uncommon strong lately then. I’ve been bit a couple of times myself.” I looked at Hildegrin sharply, and he added, “Oh yes, I’ve seen her before, young sieur, as well as yourself and little Dorcas. You didn’t think I let you and that other gal leave, the Botanic Gardens alone, did you? Not with you talkin’ of goin’ north and fightin’ a officer of the Septentrions. I saw you fight and saw you take that fellow’s head off—I helped to catch him, by the bye, because I thought he might be from the House Absolute for true—and I was in the back of the people that watched you on the stage that night. I didn’t lose you till the affair at the gate the next day. I seen you and I seen her, though there’s not much left of her now except the hair, and I think even that’s changed.”

Merryn asked the Cumaean, “Shall I tell them, Mother?”

The old woman nodded. “If you can, child.”

“She has been imbued with a glamour that rendered her beautiful. It is fading fast now because of the blood she lost and because she has had a great deal of exercise. By morning only traces will remain.”

Dorcas drew back, “Magic, you mean?”

“There is no magic. There is only knowledge, more or less hidden.”

Hildegrin was staring at Jolenta with a thoughtful expression.

“I didn’t know looks could be changed so much. That might be useful, that might. Can your mistress do it?”

“She could do much more than this, if she willed it.”

Dorcas whispered, “But how was this done?”

“There have been substances drawn from the glands of beasts added to her blood, to change the pattern in which her flesh was deposited. Those gave her a slender waist, breasts like melons, and so on. They may have been used to add calf to her legs as well. Cleaning and the application of healthening broths to the skin freshened her face. Her teeth were cleaned too, and some were ground down and given false crowns—one has fallen away now, if you’ll look. Her hair was dyed, and thickened by sewing threads of colored silk into her scalp. No doubt much body hair was killed as well, and that at least will remain so. Most important, she was promised beauty while entranced. Such promises are believed with faith greater than any child’s, and her belief compelled yours.”

“Can nothing be done for her?” Dorcas asked.

“Not by me, and it is not a task of the kind the Cumaean undertakes, save in great need.”

“But she will live?”

“As the Mother told you—though she will not wish it.”

Hildegrin cleared his throat and spat over the side of the roof. “That’s settled then. We’ve done what we can for her, and it’s all we can do. So what I say is let’s get on with what we come for. Like you said, Cumaean, it’s good these others showed up. I got the message I was supposed to, and they’re friends of the Liege of Leaves, just like me. The armiger here can help me fetch up this Apu-Punchau, and what with my two fellows bein’ killed on the road, I’ll be glad to have him. So what’s to keep us from goin’ ahead?”

“Nothing,” the Cumaean murmured. “The star is in the ascendant.”

Dorcas said, “If we’re going to assist you with something, shouldn’t we know what it is?”

“Bringin’ back the past,” Hildegrin told her grandly. “Divin’ back into the time of old Urth’s greatness. There was somebody who used to live in this here place we’re sittin’ on that knew things that could make a difference. I intend to have him up. It’ll be the high point, if I may say it, of a career that’s already considered pretty spectacular in knowin’ circles.”

I asked, “You’re going to open the tomb? Surely, even with alzabo—”

The Cumaean reached out to smooth Jolenta’s forehead. “We may call it a tomb, but it was not his. His house, rather.”

“You see what with me workin’ so near,” Hildegrin explained, “I’ve been in the way to do this Chatelaine a favor now and again. More than one, if I may say it, and more than two. Finally I figured the time had come for me to collect. I mentioned my little plan to the Master of the Wood, you may be sure. And here we are.”

I said, “I had been given to understand that the Cumaean served Father Inire.”

“She pays her debts,” Hildegrin announced smugly. “Quality always does. And you don’t have to be a wise woman to know it might be wise to have a few friends on the other side, just in case that’s the side that wins.”

Dorcas asked the Cumaean, “Who was this Apu-Punchau and why is his palace still standing when the rest of the town is only tumbled stones?”

When the old woman did not reply, Merryn said, “Less than a legend, for not even scholars now remember his story. The Mother has told us that his name means the Head of Day. In the earliest eons he appeared among the people here and taught them many wonderful secrets. Often he vanished, but always he returned. At last he did not return, and invaders laid waste to his cities. Now he shall return for the last time.”

“Indeed. Without magic?”

The Cumaean looked up at Dorcas with eyes that seemed as bright as the stars. “Words are symbols. Merryn chooses to delimit magic as that which does not exist … and so it does not exist. If you choose to call what we are about to do here magic then magic lives while we do it. In ancient days, in a land far off, there stood two empires, divided by mountains. One dressed its soldiers in yellow, the other in green. For a hundred generations they struggled. I see that the man with you knows the tale.”

“And after a hundred generations,” I said, “an eremite came among them and counseled the emperor of the yellow army to dress his men in green, and the master of the green army that he should clothe it in yellow. But the battle continued as before. In my sabretache, I have a book called
The Wonders of Urth and Sky
, and the story is told there.”