The Waters Rising (35 page)

“You watch that storytelling,” said Brother Derris in a serious tone. “You’ll make a bunch of us want to go off and become news-travelers, and the abbot’ll have a fit!”

So, laughing, they returned to the wagon, where Xulai said she could find her own way to her rooms and Brother Derris departed. She accepted a cup of tea, petted Blue and told him what a fine horse he was, then went to her rooms, where she was surprised to find Bear with the women, all of them turning to stare at her.

Precious Wind said, “Bear had us quite concerned about your being late, so he spoke to your guide, Brother Derris. He said you’d gone out to see the house.”

From somewhere in her belly, Xulai felt a strengthening fountain rise, warm, calming, flowing into her head, out her arms into her fingertips. “Oh, yes,” she cried gaily. “We did start to. But then we decided to see the swimming place that Bear told us about, so we started to go there. Before we got there, we met a dog, one of the sheepdogs, and Abasio sat down to pet the dog, so I sat down, too, and the other dog came over and lay down beside me, then Abasio started telling a story about a dog he’d met in his travels, and the next thing we knew, it was almost dark. So we ran all the way out to the house, because I’d promised he could see it, then we ran all the way back. Brother Derris met us. He said he worried about us—no, he said
people
worried about us; was that you, Bear? Just because it was getting dark?”

Bear’s face, which had been stony, perhaps a little fearful, relaxed a little. “Well, it was late.”

“But surely you knew we were all right,” Xulai said pointedly. “You were the one who told us it was perfectly safe, Bear! We’re going to be living right there, and it was nice to get a feel for the place.”

Precious Wind shook her head. “You did say it was perfectly safe, Bear. She’s right. There’s no point in being upset about it. If we’re going to live here for a time, we have to get accustomed to the place.”

“Right,” said Bear with an unconvincing smile. “I’m sorry to have upset you all, but I am not accustomed yet to thinking of Xulai as a . . . grown woman.”

“Who perhaps should not be gallivanting around with a grown man we don’t know very well,” said Oldwife pointedly.

Xulai went to hug her. “Then you must get to know him better, Oldwife, because I like him very much.”

T
hat night, Xulai dreamed. The dream began as the other dream had begun, herself a tiny tree in a tiny, constricting pot. The roots sought a crack; the pot broke; the roots reached for fertile ground and the tree grew. She felt herself growing. From the bottom of her trunk, four great branches reached out and up, each with twigs innumerable sprouting in all directions, leaves flourishing. Then, deep in the taproot, she felt something. It was newness without a name. It had no scent, flavor, or feel, no dimension or shape; it made no sound. It was like a demand that moved upward through the tree, the root first, then split and ran first along the fronts of two branches, then across the back. It paused, then ran across the tops of the other two branches, then returned along their bottoms before going upward into that part of the trunk that grew above the branches to the very top, permeating the tree until it was part of the tree, existing in every way the tree existed, inseparable, indefinable as any particular thing and yet new: an arrival.

In her dream, she wondered at it, wondered where she might find it, like locating taste on her tongue or smell in her nose. Perhaps she could feel it the way she could feel movement in her own body. If she moved a finger she knew it . . . and yet, if the movement was effortless, how did she know the finger had moved? She would not know. If the movement was unconscious and without effort, as when she turned over in her sleep, she would not know she had moved. She would know that her body moved only if and when she did it intentionally or it was done to her while she was conscious enough to be aware of it.

So this new thing, this permeation, might do things without her knowing it? Or it might do things that she would recognize only if she had intended them to happen?

“It’s yours,” a voice whispered. Perhaps it was Fisher’s voice. Perhaps it was someone else’s. “No one else can use it. No one else will do anything with it. Only you, when you need to.”

T
here were several tavern-like places at the abbey where the men and women of various kinds and professions could get together to drink beer or ale or mead or cider and tell stories and hear what news was to be heard. Abasio had found out where all of them were and which people were likely to go to which ones. That night he went to the Warrior’s Helm, where the troops quartered nearby were said to congregate along with other people of the heartier and more physical professions. Horsemen went there. Stone layers went there. Abasio bought himself a pitcher of beer and sat at a corner table, where he soon attracted three or four other thirsty people willing to talk about what they were up to or planning. He heard about the new irrigation system for the vegetable gardens that lay just outside the south walls of the abbey and the several dams and holding ponds that would have to be built or had already been built. He heard about the disaster at the old iron mine, where three men had been trapped and rescued only after some hours of frantic labor.

“Oh, where’s that?” asked Abasio.

He heard about the improved armor that the smiths had devised for the troops who had ridden off to Netherfields, or ended up there, for some evidently had thought they were headed to Woldsgard, but Prince Orez was already at Woldsgard, so that hadn’t been necessary.

“Oh, is that so?” said Abasio.

“Bird-loft keeper says so,” said his informant. “He hears about the messages that come through, hangs around a little, you know, while people are reading ’em. Don’t think he’s supposed to, but he always has, and he keeps us up on the news.”

“That’s the way of it most places,” said Abasio.

“That’s him over there,” said the talkative one. “The old fellow with one arm. Used to be one of us.”

“And ‘us’ would be . . . ?”

“The boys and me, we’re armor. The old fellow there was a fine soldier, they tell me. Of course, he was younger then.”

When the talkative one left, Abasio worked his way over to the corner where the bird-loft man was sitting. He introduced himself, offered to buy a drink, and told the man he’d heard about him.

“Abasio’s my name. I’m a traveler. Justinian, Duke of Wold, mentioned you, but I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name . . .”

The old man laughed. “They call me Winger. Acshurly it’s Whinger, Solomon Whinger, but Winger stuck, ’cause of the birds, you know. They called me Solo Winger ’cause I only had one wing left.”

Abasio laughed enthusiastically. “Well, the duke spoke highly of you. He showed me his bird lofts when I was there. Wonderful man, beautiful lofts, too. I asked him how many birds he had; he said he supposed he had a thousand or so.”

“Woun’t doubt it,” said the bird man appreciatively as Abasio filled their two mugs. “He gets word from all the Orez sons ’n’ the prince ’n’ the places south, ’n’ the abbey here,’n’ mor’er less everwhere.”

“It’s a long list.” Abasio nodded. “I saw all the signs on the wall that tell where the birds come from. That’s a lot of different places.” He had not only seen the list but copied most of it while the duke was busy taking messages from this one and sending messages by that one. “They fly great distances, don’t they? I don’t suppose it would make sense to have them fly anywhere nearby.”

“No sense atall,” said the birdman, wiping foam from his upper lip. “ ’Fa man c’n ride it in an hour or so, no point sendin’ a bird. ’Less it’s just backup, makin’ sure the word gets where’ts goin’.”

“Your troops use them, though, I suppose. Justinian said he used his whenever his troops were away from the gard.”

“Oh, if they’re some distance, yep. If they’re close, they’re gonna be in and out fer meals any old how, no point sendin’ birds.”

“Is that so? I assumed they’d have field kitchens, you know: ‘Like it or not, that’s what we’ve got, all’s in the pot and at least it’s hot.’ That was what we said about it.”

“Nah, no field cookin’ ’less they’re more’n a hour’s ride away. ’Fthey’re close they’re in ’ere fer breakfas’, grab a pack lunch t’eat when they can, back fer dinner in shifs, then out t’ do whatever needs doin’ if anythin’ needs doin’ at night. No armor’s bin movin’ round at night since those pillagers stole stuff when we were buildin’ the watchtower on the south end.”

“Only the one watchtower?”

“No more needed. Forest east’s got wulfs and lions more’n trees. An’ they say it’s full o’ were-critters and witch-wings. There’s trip wires ’n’ threads movin’ mirrors t’flash sunlight ’f they get stepped on. No vis’tors or pillagers comin’ that way. Y’go up belfry you’ll see the road north far down t’ward Benjobz, ’n’ there’s ’n old watchtower in t’forest that’d see any army moving.

“On the west, there’s a strippa forest, but where’t slopes there’s milesa wicked country, break-leg rocks and scrub, no good nowhere. They used to be mines, ’n’ the place is fulla holes and shafs, half of ’em hid by downfalls ’n’ brush. No army gets through there ’thout losin’ half itself and makin’ a racket, and that’s ’fit’s dry. ’Fit’s wet, stay out! South, though, sighta the road’s cut off the way the mount’ns lie, all stacked like a decka cards, so they built a watchtower out there, oh, lessee, it’d be fifteen years ago. From there y’c’n see a full day’s travel south. Anybody comin’, half a dozen birds go out t’ armor ’n’ they head whatever way the message says.”

“How about behind these walls?”

“Armor here, ahind the walls? They’d hol’ the wall likely f’rever. Nope, any army come to fight t’ abbey, it could’n sneak up on us, and by the time they got set to come at us, there’d be our men behin’em doin’ their own sneakin’.”

“So you don’t worry about people sneaking up on you through the trees! I’m glad to hear that. On the way here, I heard some strange sounds in those trees.” Smiling confidently, Abasio did not mention a forest that was a barrier to an army might be excellent cover for a small band of abductors. Instead, he changed the conversation to a history of strange sounds and what they’d turned out to be, then to a history of strange smells, likewise mentioned a few bird keepers he’d known back over the mountains, told a few jokes, gathered in another small audience, and left Solomon Winger awash late in the evening with confidence the old man wouldn’t remember anything much about their conversation. Only later did he chide himself for confidence unwarranted.

That night he thought he knew that
if
there were troops out there behind the abbey wall to the east, that fact was not generally known, and only
if
they were there would they be taking their meals in shifts in the abbey itself, not in the dining room where Xulai and her people were served, but in one set aside for armor.

Now all he needed to do was find out where that was.

X
ulai had made it clear to her minders that she intended to go out in the evenings by herself, perhaps to one of the gathering places, perhaps to visit Abasio, perhaps to climb the stairs to the walk on top of the walls, as many residents did to enjoy the sunset. Though Nettie Lean was full of cautions, both Oldwife and Precious Wind seemed to have decided it was either for the best or unavoidable.

So, that evening when Abasio explained what he needed to know about where the abbey’s troops were fed, Xulai leaned toward him and spoke in a low voice. “I already know about that. They told us the first day we were here. For travelers who are just passing through they have what they call a
guest arm,
guesthouses and a dining room, on the north end, just inside the northernmost gate, between the first two shield walls. Then there’s what they call an
anytime arm
at the far south end, between the second and third shield walls, and that one provides food service for troops and other workers on local duty. It’s a kind of come-and-eat-anytime place for people who don’t have the kind of jobs they can just stop doing and leave on the stroke of the clock. You know, like medical people, animal doctors, people watching brick or charcoal kilns, people like that.”

“And there’s access from inside the abbey?”

“So I was told. If we’re looking for troops from outside, however, I imagine it might be easiest to see who uses the outside gate. It’s fairly easy to tell who’s military. They wear half-armor almost all the time. When they come out, maybe you could follow them. Can you follow people? I mean, without their knowing?”

“I’ve been known to,” said Abasio, reminded of a certain talking coyote who had been an excellent tracker. He mused for a moment or so, then said, “I haven’t had Blue under a saddle in a long time, but if we leave, it’ll have to be on horseback. The wagon is too recognizable to take very far, though I’ll have to leave in it.”

“Blue’s pretty recognizable himself. That strange gray-white-black combination really does look like blue . . .”

“It won’t after he’s dyed black,” he said. “Any more than that pretty yellow horse of yours will look yellow when he’s been dyed brown and had his tail cropped short. Can you braid your hair really tightly and get it on top of your head under a cap? We need to find you some boy clothes, too, so we can travel as older and younger brothers. Meantime, I can saddle Blue and we can do some exercises out on the meadow at the south end of the abbey while I watch who goes and who comes.”