Death's Mistress

CHAPTER 76

By the time Nicci returned to the steep uplift at the edge of the plateau, the unnatural jungle had already begun to retreat, a mere shadow of itself—a proper level of vegetation that did not strain the very foundations of life itself.

She felt no joy over her victory, Thistle’s victory. Nicci had done what was required. Her duty was discharged. She had paid the cost in blood and unexpected love.

She was done.

As the once-burgeoning trees sloughed into rotting vegetation, she saw a dart of movement ahead of her, a tawny shape. Mrra came to join her. Gliding out of the falling trees and collapsing ferns, the sand panther paced alongside, not close enough for Nicci to touch her fur, but she was there, and that was what mattered. Nicci drew strength from their spell bond, and the big cat seemed to need reassurance as well.

When the two reached the sheer mesa wall, Nicci saw that the steep slope had broken and eroded away. The gnarled brown strands of dead vines still clung to the rocks, but Nicci found a way up to the alcoves and the tunnels high above. At the base of the cliff, Mrra let out a low growl, a temporary farewell, and loped off into the foothills. She would be back.

Nicci climbed back up the steep wall, using magic when necessary to move aside crumbling blocks that the aggressive vegetation had broken away from the cliff.

Nathan and Bannon met her as soon as she reentered the tunnels. Crowds from inside Cliffwall also came, excited and amazed. While watching from the alcove windows, they had seen the festering jungle die away.

“We must have a celebration!” someone called.

Nicci didn’t see who spoke, didn’t even bother to turn in the direction of the voice. “Celebrate among yourselves,” she said gruffly. “Do not make me a hero.”

Life’s Mistress was dead, the enemy vanquished, the blight of twisted life now disappearing. Yes, there was good reason to cheer, but Nicci did not feel like rejoicing. Rather, she found a hard core inside her and held on to that.

She would never be Death’s Mistress again. She had left that dark part of her life in the past, and she had promised Richard. She had learned from the terrible things she’d done for Emperor Jagang. Though Thistle’s blood had provided the necessary poison to destroy Life’s Mistress, Nicci herself did not want to be that vulnerable.

Never again. She had saved the world, and that was enough. Even if Thistle could never see it, the girl would have her beautiful valley back.

The Cliffwall scholars were unsettled by Nicci’s response, and Nathan looked at her with a concerned expression. He gave her a slow nod, then lowered his voice. “You don’t need to dance and sing, Sorceress, but you did defeat Victoria and stop that terrible threat. You can feel satisfied.”

She looked at him for a long moment and then said, “I would rather not allow myself to feel anything at all.”

* * *

At Nicci’s suggestion, although it was obvious to anyone who considered it, they buried the girl out on the edge of the valley where the fresh vegetation, the healthy shrubs and plants, had begun to grow again.

It was a somber procession as they wrapped Thistle’s small body in the soft sheepskin rug she had loved so much when she slept on the floor in Nicci’s quarters. Nicci carried the body herself, and although her heart was heavy as a stone, the girl seemed to weigh almost nothing.

Franklin, Gloria, and many of the other remaining memmers and scholars left Cliffwall, emerging along the steep side of the plateau. They walked until they reached a spot just on the foothills overlooking the valley, which Thistle had so longed to see fertile again.

Nicci halted. “This is the place. This the view Thistle would want. From here, she would have been able to see the restoration of life that she made possible.”

As hot tears stung her eyes, Nicci caught a glimpse of Bannon and Nathan, their faces also flooded with grief. Bannon’s hazel eyes welled with unshed tears, and even Nathan, who had seen so much sadness and lost so many people during his centuries of life, was deeply affected by the loss of this one spunky and determined little girl.

“Her spirit can tell the Creator how she would like the valley to be,” Nathan said. “I’m sure she will make herself heard.”

Bannon nodded. “Thistle could be very convincing.” His voice cracked.

Nicci could only nod. She felt so full of words, emotions, and ideas that she wanted to express, but they only simmered within her. Thistle would know. That was all Nicci cared about.

With a gesture from her hand, she released a flow of magic that moved the dirt and rocks on the chosen patch of ground. As she had done at the village of Renda Bay, Nicci created a grave, carving out a perfect, comfortable last bed to embrace Thistle’s remains.

As the scholars watched solemnly, Nicci laid the girl wrapped in the sheepskin into the open grave. “This is as far as you can go with us,” Nicci said. “I know you wanted to travel to see all the new lands we intend to explore, but from here you can watch the valley. I hope it becomes all you ever wanted to see.”

Her arms and shoulders felt stiff, and it was because she had forced such tight control on her muscles to keep herself from trembling. Nicci drew a deep breath. She, Bannon, and Nathan looked down at the wrapped form in the grave. With a gesture, Nicci brought the soft loamy dirt back into place, filling it perfectly, leaving an open patch of naked brown earth on top.

“Should we mark the grave somehow?” Gloria asked. “Is there a stone or a wooden post you’d like us to use?”

Nicci thought of what Thistle had said, how she had laughed at the frivolous but wondrous thought. The girl had grown up without seeing anything of natural beauty, watching her aunt and uncle eke out a living in Verdun Springs, trying to grow stunted plants for food.

“Flowers,” Nicci said. “Plant beautiful flowers. That’s what Thistle would want to mark her grave.”

* * *

Before she and her companions departed again, Nicci called a gathering inside Cliffwall, speaking to the workers, farmers, and canyon dwellers as well as the memmers and scholars. In a stern voice, she said, “We have only been here for a few weeks, but already we have saved the world—twice! Both times the disasters were caused by your own clumsy ignorance. And, oh, the consequences … the price that had to be paid.”

She swept her blue-eyed gaze over the gifted researchers, and they trembled with guilt and shame.

She continued, “You are untrained. Thousands of years ago, your people were entrusted to guard this storehouse of knowledge. Dangerous knowledge. Do not consider it a library, but an armory—all the books and scrolls here are weapons, and you have seen how easily they can be misused.”

“With disastrous results,” Nathan said. “For all my objections to the Sisters and their iron collars, at least they devoted themselves to training new wizards back at the Palace of the Prophets. With the lore stored here, you cannot just willy-nilly dabble with spells as if they were toys.”

Franklin hung his head. “Perhaps we should devote ourselves only to the work of cataloging, exactly as Simon wanted us to do. That is enough to keep us busy for decades.”

Gloria wiped a small tear from the side of her eye. “The memmers can help to match what we know with the volumes we find on the shelves.” She drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “But who will teach us?” She looked hopefully at Nicci and Nathan. “Will you stay?”

Nicci shook her head. “We will depart soon. I have my own mission for Lord Rahl, and the wizard has an important destination.” She spoke in a tone of command, the same tone she had used to send tens of thousands of Emperor Jagang’s soldiers off to certain death. “But after we go, you must do one thing for me. An important task.”

Franklin spread his hands, then gave a respectful bow. “Of course, Sorceress. Cliffwall is in your debt.”

“Send emissaries north to D’Hara and tell Lord Rahl about this archive, and about what we have done here. That is knowledge he needs. Once he learns what is here, he will send his own wizards, scholars, experts. They will help you.”

“I’m sure Verna would delight in the challenge,” Nathan said. “Dear spirits, imagine what the Prelate would do with so much unexplored lore! She needs something to do, now that prophecy is gone. She could bring many Sisters with her.” He nodded slowly. “Yes, indeed, you would be in good hands.” He narrowed his eyes and added in a scolding tone, “But in the meantime, no more dabbling with spells.”

Gloria agreed. “We will put in checks and balances to insure that no disaster like Roland or Victoria ever happens again.”

One of the scholars fidgeted, looking at the rest of the uneasy audience. “But how will we find D’Hara?” He was a thin and rabbity young man named Oliver who had a habit of squinting, as if his eyesight had already waned from too much reading by dim candlelight. “I will volunteer to go, to accept the quest … so long as I know where I’m going.”

Nicci had little patience for the details. “Follow the old imperial roads. Head north. Make your way beyond the Phantom Coast to the main port cities of the Old World. Ask about the Lord Rahl.”

“That will be an arduous expedition, Oliver.” Franklin sounded uncertain.

“Yes, it will be,” Nicci said. “And we require it of you. Sometimes you must do things even though they are hard.”

“I will go with Oliver,” said a thin young memmer woman, Peretta, with tight ringlets of dark hair. “Not only is it an important mission, but every person here in Cliffwall, whether memmer or traditional scholar, has a mission to gather knowledge. And what could be a better way to seek knowledge than to explore the rest of the world?” She blinked her large brown eyes.

Oliver smiled and nodded at her. “I will be happy to have you.”

“You’ll both learn much. You’ll be great explorers.” Nathan patted the leather pouch at his side, which still carried his life book. “I will also want Cliffwall scholars to copy the maps I’ve drawn along the way, and take a summary of our expedition so far. The people of D’Hara need to know everything they can of the Old World.”

Franklin looked at the memmers, then at the rest of the scholars, and he gave a confident nod. “Do you think you can do this, Oliver and Peretta? Will you be ambitious enough to undertake this quest?”

Like a slowly exhaled breath, the audience began nodding and talking. Peretta sniffed. “Of course we will.”

Ready to go, Nathan had dressed in fine travel clothes again, his ornate scabbard belted at his waist, his brown cape from Renda Bay, a dark vest and ruffled shirt taken from Cliffwall stores. “After years of reading dusty old legends, some of you must want to become adventurers yourselves.” He laughed. “When you return from D’Hara, you will have earned your own place in history.”

* * *

Before her unexpected death, Mia had found for Nathan an old chart that clearly showed a place marked Kol Adair on the far eastern side of the great valley, over several lines of stark mountains.

Looking at the ancient map, Nathan was concerned at the prospect of crossing over such sheer and jagged crags. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. The cartographer could have exaggerated the extremity of the terrain.”

“We will know when we get there,” Nicci said.

“And we know where we need to go,” Bannon added.

The two men bade farewell to the people of Cliffwall, but Nicci said no good-byes; she simply set off, descending the path to the valley floor. They headed eastward into the now-recovering terrain at a brisk pace. Nicci sensed Mrra following them from a distance, and she acknowledged the sand panther’s presence through their tenuous bond.

They headed into the unknown.