The Windsingers (19 page)

The Windsinger raised her thin eyebrows in mock innocence. 'On the contrary, wizard, Rebeke will be indebted to me. Have I not slain the traitorous Medie, an obvious informant to the High Council, here only to trap Rebeke with her own words? In your own hands you grasp the egg that is the proof of my words. Did not Medie gather here the parts of the wizard, Dresh, that she might claim his power for herself and the Council? No, wizard, I think my act has earned me the gratitude of Rebeke, not her vengeance. Put the head at the feet of the body, girl!'

There was whiplash in the sudden command. The wizard's mind held Ki's body motionless. Ki remained crouching at the gap in the chalk circle, the head grasped close to her.

'Think you truly that Rebeke is to be fooled so easily, breezebringer? Then you do not know her. As a mortal woman, she was clear of sight, more clever than any vixen that ever led dogs away from her kits. She could tell a man's mind before he spoke it, know what a child would do before the child did it. Your own training should tell you that her Windsinging days will only have enhanced those abilities. Will you pit your pretty guiles against such a one?'

'Silence, head!' snarled the Windsinger. 'Let the teamster obey me, or let her die as she grasps your empty skull. I care not. You both go soon, anyway.'

Dresh's eyes gripped the traitor's. But Ki was unaware of her hand, unwatched by herself or Dresh and unnoticed by the Windsinger, as it moved the chalk swiftly and secretly. Even as the Windsinger finished speaking. Dresh's will jerked Ki within the completed circle. A darting glance of Dresh's eyes showed Ki a tiny rune chalked upon the floor at her feet. The silence settled slowly in the chamber like dust settling after a heavy cart on a summer trail.

Do you expect me to be impressed with this? Why not juggle three eggs, or make a handful of colored glass beads appear? I should be just as awed, little wizard. How long do you think an earthrune will hold, chalked on the floor of a Windsingers chamber?'

'Long enough.' Dresh was grim. Ki held herself still and small. She was, she reflected, a puppet, a body to jerk about when the right strings were pulled. These two would not even hear her words, should she speak. They played for stakes she could not afford; her life was less than a copper shard on their gaming table. Ki ground her teeth silently, cursing all magic, whether of earth, sky, or water. She longed with sudden pain for the feel of Sigurd's coarse mane, for the homey smells of her cuddy and camp, even for Vandien's acid wit. Dispassionately she thought of the rapier, sheathed and useless in another world. As useless as it would be here. I can but die, she thought to herself, and took an odd comfort from the thought.

The young Windsinger drew from her robes a small cube of blue chalk. Outside the circle, opposite Dresh's rune, she crouched, swirling markings upon the floor. But Dresh's eyes did not linger upon her. He drew Ki's body across to his own, took into her hand once more the blue egg.

'Shall we try to reassemble you now?' Ki ventured. Dresh seemed to have forgotten about her mind, using her body as freely as his own.

'Hopeless.' Dresh stated it factually. 'Under these stresses, the correct convergences could never be formed. I would be certain to die under the operation. Almost as certainly we shall both die now. Unless. Unless.' He turned his vision back to the doorway. Medie lay as she had fallen. A small area on the back of her blue robes was stained a darker color. The hidden contents of the tall cowl were limp on the floor. Ki shuddered. Death would never fail to awe her, no matter how often she saw it. A coldness swept up from Ki's stomach. Dresh's eyes flicked back to their enemy. She made a final flourish and looked up at him, triumph leering from her dark eyes. A cold voice cut the air of the chamber.

'Guests, Grielea? Have you chosen to entertain them without consulting me?'

Like a curtain falling, a veil of innocence cloaked the triumph in Grielea's eyes. All eyes in the room, even Ki's closed ones, turned in the direction of the voice. Rebeke had entered silently. She rose now from where she had bent over Medie's body. For a moment she contemplated the scarlet stains on the tips of her long fingers. She rubbed the tips of her fingers together, and then extended them in Grielea's direction. The gesture had the eloquence of a thousand questions. Grielea broke before that moment. She strove to answer them all at once.

'She was a traitor to thee, Windmistress. See, I did find her with the wizard's parts, and the speaking egg. I heard her as she began the summoning words that would call the Council. I... I guessed at her betrayal. In my anger that she could do so to one I loved, I slew her. I beg your forgiveness.'

Tears dribbled from Grielea's black eyes. Slowly she dropped her head, and her tall cowl bobbed to obscure her eyes. Rebeke stood silent. But Ki was shocked beyond measure at the look in her eyes. Dresh met her gaze unwaveringly. Ki eavesdropped at the language of their silence, but could not believe the message that passed between them. Never before had Ki seen sorrow in a Windsinger's eyes. Dresh began to speak, his voice low, conversational.

'One might ask her, Rebeke, why she wears the white robes of the apprentice if she knows the words that activate a speaking egg. One might even wonder where a mere child such as she got the knowledge to form such a sky rune as is drawn at her feet. Or even why she carries the blue chalk cube of the Wind Runester. One might ask those things, Rebeke.'

Rebeke sighed gently. 'Why would I waste time with questions when the answers are before me? Would you pretend, Dresh, that betrayal is a new experience for me?

'Rise, false one. Look on the Windmistress you have slain, and reflect what thy portion shall be.'

Grielea rose nonchalantly. Her narrow hands rose to smooth the forehead band of her cowl. Her small mouth smiled coldly at Rebeke. 'You dare not slay me, Rebeke. I am high in the favor of the Council.'

Rebeke laughed. It was a short laugh and she choked on it. Her eyes fell to Medie. They shone brightly when once more they rose to meet Grielea's. 'The Council's favor? Tell me instead of the sun's coolness. A favor indeed they have granted you, to send you here on a fool's errand. A knife such as you cuts two ways, Grielea. It has no handle. It is never safe, especially to the hand that holds it. Did you think they would allow you to live, after they had taught you and used you? They do not expect to have to dispose of you. They know I will do that, and, in that act, seal my own fate. But I shall not play into their hands that way. I have my own methods for dealing with such as you.'

Ki saw Grielea's eyes go wide. Her glance ricocheted from Rebeke to Dresh, and back again.

Rebeke sighed. 'Grielea. Look here.'

Rebeke's narrow fingers cut a sign in the air. For a minute the flowing blue rune seemed to hang there, visible to Ki through Dresh's eyes. Grielea stared at it. And continued to stare, even after it had faded from Ki's sight.

'That will keep her occupied while I look to you. It was clever of you, merging your aura with the teamster's. Who would ever have suspected her of having one? The puzzle of it kept me long at the pool. Long enough for Medie to die, Dresh.' A sudden huskiness muted her trained voice. 'Dresh, Dresh.' She coughed. Her proud shoulders dropped. 'Why have you put this upon me?'

'I put this upon you? You made the choice for both of us, Rebeke! Did I drape you in robes of blue, cowl you with the high cowl of the Windsingers, poison your body with their essence to scale your face? Did I make you both more and less than Human woman?'

'No!' flashed Rebeke. 'I did those things for myself!

You would have made me a wizard's wench. I could have watched from a darkened corner as you conjured the powers of the earth, and applauded your successes. You would have given me balms to keep the youth upon my face. I would still be a pretty toy for you to while away your spare moments.'

'And that would be so much worse than to wear the scales of a Singer, and be the toy of the High Council, Rebeke?'

Ki let out a silent, shuddering breath. This strange give and take between Rebeke and Dresh was fearsome enough in a blasphemous way. But there was more to fear in this room than they. With an effort of will, Ki forced her own eyes to open. She panned them over the alien scene, trying to reconcile it with what Dresh's eyes had shown her.

'The High Council is not the ideal, Dresh. That I will admit. I will even whisper to you that they have corrupted the destiny of the Windsingers. But it shall be put back onto its course, by ones such as I. And I believe that is a worthier goal than for me to primp and paint myself so as to retain your favors.'

Ki glanced down at her hands. But all she saw was the infinite void of the cube that was Dresh, supported by pale white strings. Her own hands in this dimension, Ki suspected. From the cube emanated a voice, or perhaps only a stream of thoughts.

'You give me so little credit, Rebeke. You speak as if it were only your body I loved. Your flesh could fade, could take on the forms of age, as is only seemly. And still, I would have loved... as still, perhaps, I do.'

Silence drenched them all. Ki's eyes wandered. She fixed on a pale tower, oddly familiar. Grielea, she surmised. Yes, there were the twin red sparks of her eyes. And did those sparks shift, did they dance toward Ki's own gaze? It was impossible. Rebeke had frozen her with a wind rune. But it seemed to Ki that the tower did move, that it ventured toward the circle that Dresh had drawn, taking impossibly small steps, but advancing, none the less.

'Perhaps?' The sharp note in Rebeke's voice shattered the stillness, jarred Ki so that Dresh's vision once more mapped into her mind. 'Perhaps! Do you throw that word to me as you throw a bone to a hungry dog, Dresh? Or do you just try' to make my task more difficult for me? Medie is lost to me, Dresh. I shall miss her strength sorely. Deprived of it, I have all the more need of the powers you have gathered. I have a goal. Left to myself, I would never harm you. I shall not bandy words with you, nor leave you to guess. I still have feelings for you. But should I let them interfere with my chance to realign the Windsingers with their proper goal? Shall I let such a chance slip away by letting you seduce me with conversation? No! If I must do it, I shall do it as hastily as possible. Why draw out our mutual torment...'

With a physical wrench, Ki turned Dresh's eyes in the direction of Grielea. She had moved! She stood within the circle, a smile of triumph on her face. Her hand was raised and death sparkled on her fingertips; her target was Rebeke!

The next move was Ki's, done with a swiftness that surpassed Dresh's skill to command her. With the strength that is born of terror, she hurled the blue egg at Grielea's head.

Dresh's cry of warning to Rebeke changed to one of horror as the egg met Grielea's cowled head. It passed through her face and skull like an arrow piercing overripe fruit. Bits of flesh and splinters of bone seemed to hang in the air before Ki's astounded eyes. Then the egg met the wall behind Grielea's slumping body. The wall vanished in an echoing roar of blue flame. Grielea's lifeless body tumbled out of the hole in the wall, falling away from them into the void outside the punctured room. Even as Ki watched Grielea flopping away like a spoiled doll hurled down a well, she felt herself whirled toward the void. An unmerciful windswept her up, and Dresh's torso came flailing along with her. She felt nausea sweep over her as the body seized her in a clumsy embrace. The hands were clinging to one of the body's legs. Dresh's head remained in her arms as they were swept out into darkness.

Ki retained one last image of Rebeke staring after them in wonder mixed with agony. Then the walls of the punctured room healed up behind them. Rebeke was lost to her sight. Together Ki and Dresh tumbled through the emptiness about them. She realized that she was no longer breathing, but it was only a passing disturbance in the drowsiness of her thoughts. She had had this dream before. There were the points of light again. Once more her hair stirred faintly against her face though she felt no breeze on her skin. She felt no panic, not even an interest in her situation. She drifted through an infinite void, a wizard's head clutched in her arms, a wizard's body embracing hers. The future did not worry her. She had no past to give it perspective, no present to consider it from. She was content to drift effortlessly, unbreathing, unthinking, unbeing. The head in her arms struggled with her mind, trying to impose its worries on her clean soul. Ki would have none of that. She let all her thoughts unravel as quickly as he knit them. She turned her mind to silence.

The Windsinger stood solidly in the center of the alley, a light wind stirred her pale blue robes. Her eyes were fixed on Vandien. The tight blue cowl framed her face in an oval, making her eyes seem even larger than they were. The dim morning light made her look more girlish than ever. At this distance, the light scaling of her face was invisible. Her hands were small within the voluminous sleeves. Like a child dressed up in her mother's clothes, Vandien thought to himself, smiling.

Her face was unsmiling as she stared at him. She made an annoyed flick of her hand and the wind dropped. With that one gesture, she was no girl, but a Windsinger. Vandien felt his stomach do a slow turn. Had he been comparing her to a child but a moment before? Fool, to be put off guard by a sweet face.

'It's a lovely morning, teamster. The skies are clear and one can see for miles from the hilltops.'

Her musical voice was charming, but her face did not mirror her gentle greeting.

'It is,' Vandien agreed shortly. He began to walk toward her, intending to stride past her. The less he saw of this Windsinger, the safer he felt. But just as he would have passed her, she sidestepped quickly to put herself in front of him. He had to halt or knock her down. Vandien stood still, closer to her than he felt comfortable, but unwilling to retreat.

'What do you want?' He asked the question in a soft flat voice that made no pretense of courtesy. This was a Windsinger. He had no desire to stir her anger, but neither would he crawl before her.

'I have been walking on the hilltops this morning, teamster. Did I mention that one can see for miles in this light?' The voice lilted along. 'And what do you suppose I saw in this fine clear light? A little boat upon the water. A little boat, floating above the rains of a temple consecrated for Windsingers alone. For a moment, teamster, I considered bringing up a gale. I could have whisked that little boat miles from the shore, far beyond your power or hers to row it back again. Imagine, teamster. Imagine. But I was generous. I didn't. I will wait for this evening, when the tide goes out, and then we shall be matched. I look forward to it.'

'Is that all you came to speak to me about, Windsinger?'

Mild distaste showed in those wide grey eyes, pursed her sculptured mouth. 'Festival here is an old tradition, teamster. I would advise you not to strain yourself turning over heavy stones in a seething sea. Put on a good show, by all means. We Windsingers understand the need of the populace for ritual. Let them have this outlet for the little hostilities, and we will have a happier flock the rest of the year. We do not begrudge it to them. We even send a representative every Ebb year to make a token resistance to their feeble efforts. An outlet like this is a healthy thing for them, teamster. But, just as a nervous cow does not give the sweetest milk, so a people, over stirred, do not harvest as well as they might. They become restless, and give trouble at unexpected times. This is not good for them, or for us. And especially bad for you, teamster. The songs that were sung last night, teamster - we were not pleased to hear them sung that way.'

'Are you finished?' Vandien broke in, knowing full well she was not. The trepidation he felt at being unsubtly threatened by a being of unknown powers was manifesting itself as anger. The blood pounded in his face, pulsing past his scar. He refused to be frightened. His jaws hurt at the corners where he clenched them too tightly. He wished there were more people about on the streets, to see their sweet Windsinger now. But they were all sleeping this holiday morn. He was alone.

She laughed at him. 'Finished? Why, you would silence me before I tell you the most entertaining thing of all. But since you are so impatient, I will be quick about it, and let you be off to your important business.' The smile fell away. 'We know who you are, teamster. We see the company you keep. We are not to be trifled with. We think you should decide now that you have ventured beyond your depth. You need say no words to anyone. Put on a good show tonight. Be jovial about it. Tomorrow, go on your way with a whistle on your lips and a fair wind at your back. No one need think the less of you. Some might even think better of you. Show wisdom belatedly, rather than not at all, and you may keep the storms clear of your friends.'

The Windsinger turned slowly. She had taken two steps before Vandien found his voice.

'Windsinger Killian!'

She turned to look at him coolly. 'More words, teamster? I thought you were anxious for me to be finished.'

'Be plain with me. Whom do you threaten?' Vandien's eyes were flinty. 'My companion this morning was but a child, embittered by a lifetime of ill regard from her own folk. There are no devious plots in her. Her anger is not even focused at the Windsingers, but on her own people. She does not seek your secrets to harm you, but only to redeem herself in the eyes of the fisherfolk. Do you say that if I search for that chest tomorrow, your anger will fall on Janie? That's a fool's threat. Janie will continue to search and crave for your secret, even if I left this village tonight and never ventured into your temple. She has searched for it in every past Temple Ebb of her short life. Will you pretend that this year your wrath will suddenly fall upon her if I search also? You flatter me, but you do not convince me.'

Killian smiled down upon him. Vandien did not know how she did it, when they were of a height, but she managed. 'Janie!' she snorted out the name. 'Throw dust into the wind, teamster, and it only blows into your own eyes. Of Janie, we know all. She is no more to you than a girl met yesterday. You can throw her to our wrath, but that will not appease us or deceive us. No, teamster, I speak of Srolan, who brought you here. And I speak of the Romni who meddles in things beyond her. Do not make wondering eyes at me, and pretend to innocence! I will tell you plainly that Ki has been only an inconvenience to us. No more than that, and we have let her pass unharmed. But if you continue to pry and meddle, little man...'

'Bluff and bluster, like the wind you croon to, Killian. Srolan's determination is independent of my own. Even if I fled, she would continue to pry and meddle on her own. You cannot put your persecution of her on my back. And Ki? A free spirit as well. If you had her in your power, you would not threaten - you would dangle her before me. No, all you have of Ki is her name. So whom do you threaten?' Anger made him bold. He would not let her see that her possession of Ki's name was enough to chill his blood.

'Subtlety is wasted here, I see. Sample this, Vandien, and decide whom I threaten.' Her little hand rose swiftly, to flicker in the air before his face. Vandien jerked back from the expected slap. But her fingers did not touch him. Instead, a scream of wind whipped down the alley, throwing dust from the street into his face and eyes. Killian was gone. He squinted his eyes against the blast of air. A sudden buffet of cold drove him back down the alley, arms shielding his face. He crashed against the railing, falling over his huddled team.

He coughed dirt, tried to draw a breath through his sleeve. The piercing cold burned his scar like a brand and drove feeling from his fingertips. He staggered against the wind and slammed into the side of the inn. He forced his eyes open to slits; tears streamed from their corners. The wind drove him to his knees. He grovelled before it as he had not before Killian.

The roaring in his ears deafened him. It took a handful of breaths before he realized it was no longer the wind he heard, but only the rush of his own blood. The wind had stopped. The wan autumn sunlight was trickling down upon him, apologetically trying to warm him. Battered and numb, he slowly pulled himself up by the coarse stones of the building. Leaning against it, he blinked his begrimed eyelashes to clear his vision. The sight that met him was chilling.

The street was undisturbed. No loose boards were flung about, no shingles had been ripped loose. Temple Ebb banners hung limp. It was a quiet, sleepy street, a holiday morning street. The alley wind had been a special wind, a wind for Vandien alone. Killian had given him a sample of her skill. No reason for her to disturb the fisherfolk. Discipline only the teamster, who threatened to stampede the docile herd. It was as she had suggested to him. All he had to do was change his own mind. No one else would know, or think the less of him for it.

Ki? The Windsinger had said she was meddling in their affairs. In his dazed state, Killian's words still made no sense. Ki had always steered well clear of the Windsingers. He flexed his hands. Blood and warmth were returning to his fingers. Ki. Trust her to get herself into trouble when he was immersed in his own problems. He rubbed loose dust from his face. What should he do? Abandon his task here, go seeking for Ki? But the Windsinger had said that no harm had come to her. He winced, imagining how Ki would react if he came charging to her 'rescue.' No, Ki had said she would meet him here. She would expect him to be here, would come to False Harbor if she was in any real trouble. He had best stay where she could find him.

He stumbled into the common room and glanced around at the empty benches. The same boy was clearing the hearth, the same girl was oiling the tables. He wondered where Janie was. No one spoke to him as he made his slow way up the stairs and went into his room. The water in the ewer was lukewarm from standing, but it lifted the dust from his face. He dropped onto his rumpled bed. Lying flat on his back, he gently massaged the edges of the scar on his face. The concentrated ache began to ease. He already dreaded tonight, with the cold and the damp of the sea that would pucker the scar to new pain. If Killian were on the heights blasting him with wind, how could he hope to stand in that water, let alone dig for some chest?

Misery and discouragement engulfed him. There was no sense in even trying. He'd only be making a fool of himself. But if he did not try, the Windsinger would think him cowed; and he would lose whatever chance he had of lifting the scar from his face. His cautious fingers went on kneading, coaxing the stiffness from his face. Sometimes Vandien fancied that the scar was a living thing that had eaten into his face and would chew through his skull bones eventually and gnaw his life away. He let his hands fall back and was still. Loosen, loosen, he mentally pleaded, and slowly the muscles of his face went lax. The throbbing eased.

Warmth was seeping back into the rest of his body. The cold that had been knotted around his spine was loosening. He had been chilled by this morning's boat jaunt before the winds hit him and blew away his last reserves of body heat. He felt about and pulled a corner of the blanket over himself. His mind began to empty, his body to quest after sleep.

'Vandien! Wake up!'

His mind balanced on the razor edge between sleep and wakefulness, he slid his eyelids open, to gaze dreamily at Srolan hovering over him.

'No.' He started to close his eyes.

'Yes!' she insisted, shaking him.

He heaved a sigh and sat up on the bed. She immediately perched on the foot of it. He had to marvel at her. A huge cloak hung from her shoulders, the blue hood of it pushed carelessly back. The bright kiss of wind on her cheeks showed that she had but recently come indoors. She pushed her tousled black hair back from her face, and settled her hands in her lap, hugging them between her thighs to warm them. Her eyes were bright as gems, her mouth both bitter and excited as she told him, 'It's a wasp's nest you've stirred up!'

'Me?' Vandien was incredulous. 'I came to this village, an honest teamster in search of a quick job for easy money. Instead, I find myself flung into intrigue centuries old, and involved in a three-way tussle between an innkeeper who wants the folks entertained, a young lady who'd like to see this town humbled as she's been humbled, and a crazy old woman who...'

'Wants to see justice finally done!' Srolan cut in. She laughed merrily, a young woman's flirtatious laugh. Vandien found himself looking closely at her. There was a magnetism about her, a vitality that called to every instinct within him. He was not unaccustomed to the urges that a healthy lively woman could stir in him. In his younger days he would have been preening, shaking his dark curls, pulling himself up straight, swelling his chest with a breath. But he was a man grown now, and scarred across the face, no longer prone to strut for show.

And this woman? She was old enough to be his grandmother, his great-grandmother perhaps, though she made his skin tingle and his ears ring. She filled him with desires, but none of them were physical. He wanted... Vandien fumbled within his own mind. He wanted to stand proven in her eyes, to have her respect. He wanted those black eyes of hers to shine upon him. He wanted her to single him out in a crowded room as the only man worthy to hold conversation with her. He hungered, deeply and suddenly, for her friendship, and her trust.

She read him. 'I chose you well!' Her voice was warm. 'There are those who think deeper, men of greater stature and strength than you. There are better teamsters, and more cautious ones. But, Vandien, you feel. And by your feeling, you do things. You are as generous with your loves as with your hates. Out of a thousand, you are the one.'

His blood seethed with pride. Vandien found himself smiling without making sense of her words. The nibbling doubts he had felt about Srolan's motivations since his words with Janie were stilled. She came closer and took his hands in hers.