The Warding of Witch World

33 The North Sea

Drums were beating somewhere and it was icy cold. There was death in that cold. Trusla opened her eyes. Dream—no, someone was pounding on the door of their cabin. Inquit was already astir in the dark and she felt Kankil against her, whimpering.

There was lantern light outside as the Latt shaman slid open the door. And people in the passageway. Berg—somehow that struck into Trusla’s mind—one of the bergs about which they told such legends must threaten the Wave Cleaver now.

She struggled into her clothing, an act which should have been easy after all the weeks she had practiced it. Inquit was back pulling on her own furred gear. The Latt shaman was muttering to herself what sounded to Trusla like some kind of an invocation, and she hesitated to break into that with a question.

But she was behind the shaman, Kankil having made a leap from the bunk to hold to her mistress; when they went out.

It was Captain Stymir and with him the old seamaster Joul, no longer a ship’s ruler but given all respect and welcome aboard any ship he chose to honor with his presence because of his vast lore of knowledge.

“She—she is like one mindless!” The captain broke into speech as soon as he again sighted the shaman. “If you have the healing touch, wisewoman, do you aid her. Two voyages has she made under my flag and a better wavereader no ship could wish for. Now—in the night she runs screaming across the deck and would have thrown herself overboard had Hansa not caught her. He still holds her fast, she fighting and screaming.”

Indeed Trusla could now hear the shrill cries of a woman who might be utterly demented.

“I have some healers knowledge, yes, Captain. But it is for the hurts such as my people suffer. There are wounds of the mind and spirit which require greater knowledge than mine. Have up the witch; her kind is said to be able to face demons and deal them death.”

“She has been called. Hansa has taken our Undia into the great cabin. But it took all his strength and he is a powerful man, whereas she is but a maid.”

The screams came hoarsely now, if louder, as they found their way to the great cabin. It seemed to Trusla that the chill she had felt upon awakening was also growing stronger.

They had lit a number of lanterns so that there was light enough to see the girl struggling madly in the hold of the Sulcar seaman who towered above her. His face was streaming blood from the raking of her nails, and spatters of foam flew from the corners of her mouth every time she voiced one of those screeches.

Undia had always seemed a shy and retiring person. And Trusla had learned enough since the voyage started to know that she had her own Power talent—one esteemed and carefully fostered when discovered. For some reason it was possessed mainly by females and those of certain kin lines so that each girl child was carefully watched from infanthood for any signs of such gifts. Wavereaders they were called, and it appeared that some unknown sense allowed them to gauge currents, to find guide paths through the sea. As with the witches, they kept apart except for their own kind, and Trusla had often wondered if they were not lonely; a ship at the most carried two, one being an apprentice. But only Undia had sailed with them and Trusla would have sworn that she was as levelheaded and free from any demon possession as Inquit or Frost. Yet her mad struggles now were certainly born of the Dark.

Frost stood within touching distance, though those struggling bodies did not touch her. On her breast the jewel was alive—with a shade of green light which had something forbidding about it. Trusla herself suddenly saw a frightening change in the fighting girl. The signs of fear-born rage were gone—her face smoothed, and for an instant out of time it was not Undia who now slumped slackly against Hansa, but another girl.

The stranger’s face was there clearly. Trusla could hear the gasps of those around her, a kind of whistling noise from Kankil. Then it was Undia, but limp and unconscious.

“Possessed!”

Trusla heard that fateful exclamation from some one of them, but Frost spoke suddenly and sparingly in answer.

“This is not fully a sending from the Dark but a cry for help. Lay her there. She will not struggle again.” She indicated the lone bench to one side. Then she turned to Inquit, a measuring look in her eyes.

The shaman faced her as silently, but some unheard question must have been asked and answered as both of them moved to stand over the unconscious girl. Inquit motioned to Trusla and pointed to a small brass bowl on the wide table which apparently served the captain as a desk.

Trusla luckily found it empty and stood holding it at the shamans gesture. From some hidden pocket in her fur tunic Inquit produced a small packet which she opened with great care, dropping but a pinch of its contents into the bowl.

She had given no open order to Kankil, but the small furry creature climbed up beside the unconscious girl and deliberately spread its own body face down across hers so that their hearts must have been close together. Now the shaman took the bowl and snapped her fingers at it. A small thread of mist arose and she paced slowly about the bench, the bowl outheld and the mist, seemingly inexhaustible, weaving a pattern in the air back and forth across Undia.

Having done so, she stepped aside and Frost took her place at the girl’s head. She slipped the chain of her jewel from around her neck and with it touched Undia’s sweat-beaded forehead.

“What lies within be told without,” she commanded.

Undia’s eyes did not open, nor did she seem in any way aware of the listeners. But speak she did now—in a broken series of small phrases as if the effort of bringing forth the message she had to give was almost too much for her strength.

“The ice herds—fog—demons—” Undia’s face twisted as if even to bring forth that name caused her pain now. “Dargh—feast—Rogar, Lothar, Tortain—left—me—left—only ones. Creep—get skin boat—take to sea. Cold, oh, cold that eats the bones. Death comes as friend. Lothar dies—Tortain—Rogar—better a quick death in the sea—rock the boat over—no, Sulcar dies not except at the Call. Cold—read the waves—I can read the waves again—too late—south—but only ice—always the ice floating about. Wind Ruler, hear me! Mother of the Deeps, hear me! I am Audha of the Flying Crossbeak, wavereader—let the cold take me quickly—oh, quickly.”

Frost looked across the girl’s body to the captain. “This maid is a wavereader of great talent—I have heard that from several of you. Can she be led by this other so that we can find her still alive?”

Captain Stymir looked amazed. “How know you that such can be done? It is one of the hidden talents. But then, Lady Frost, I take it that all talents are open to your reading. Ask her pattern. No—wait a moment.”

He near leaped to the table desk and brought out a white square of wood and one of the black sticks kept for short reckonings. “Now!” he commanded.

“Audha,” Frost addressed the unknown as if she stood there before them, “tell us of the patterns you see.” The jewel in her hand was now flashing white, straight at the closed eyes of Undia.

Again she spoke—this time the words made no sense as far as Trusla was concerned. But the captain’s writing fingers flew as he put down a series of symbols.

“Will we find her alive?” he asked as he handed the square of wood to his mate.

“If my sister here can keep her living,” Frost said in a low voice.

Inquit’s dark eyes gleamed through the mist cover she had woven. “There is still a living spark. The little one feeds that through this one. What can be done we shall do.”

Trusla felt her helplessness. This was no usual healing matter, though even there her skills were limited. Then she felt arms about her, strong support. Simond was always there when she needed him most. She sighed with a small feeling of relief.

“Best to go!” Inquit waved her hand, and, except for Frost, those gathered there left her to her own use of Power, hearing her strong voice raised in a chant as they left.

Trusla still stood within the circle of Simond’s arm as they stood together in the growing light of dawn. By all the signs it would be a fair day. But she was haunted by the thought of that skin boat with its sad cargo adrift somewhere ahead.

Joul took the wavereader’s position at the bow, the captain at his shoulder. Now and then he called out some direction, which was passed to those working the ship. They had taken an easterly course and could see afar the rise of cliffs like an open jar ready to engulf the sea.

Rations in the forms of bowls of mutton stew were passed and they ate as they stood to their posts, dipping the hard ship biscuit into the liquid to make it chewable.

Now the sun sent both light and warmth down upon them. Here and there it appeared to be reflected from the waves in strange flashes—or, Trusla thought, she was too eager by far to find something amiss.

“She—that Audha—spoke of ships being herded by bergs,” she commented after she had drunk the last few drops from her bowl. “How can that be? I do not know this north. What out of the Dark could so threaten?”

“We shall doubtless discover that in our own time,” Simond returned bleakly. “This is a part of the world where our kind live only on sufferance; sea, ice, and rock hold the real rule.”

There was a cry from the lookout on the masthead. And it brought them all to the side of the deck. Then a sharp spate of orders sent the trained Sulcars to launch one of the smaller ship’s boats. Men swung down on ropes to man it and it pushed away from the Wave Cleaver.

Even Trusla could see their goal, a dark, strangely shaped thing which rode low in the waves, and toward that the ship’s boat flew with a flashing of oars.

It was too far away for those on the ship to see more than vague movements, but some of those suggested that bodies were being transferred from the derelict to their own craft. And the native boat was left behind as the ship’s boat came swiftly across the waves.

Those on board were ready and dropped slinglike nets, each of which was brought up with care to be swung over the rail. The stiff, contorted bodies—surely all were dead. But then a hand moved out to catch at the netting that held it and Trusla heard a small cheer from those ready to receive the lost.

They did not even unroll the net from about that one and Hansa gathered up the slender body and carried it as he might a child back to the great cabin. Trusla saw Inquit stand at the door, waving vigorously. But when the captain and some others of the crew would have followed, she slid the door shut in their faces with a determined shove.

The three others who had been lifted aboard were indeed dead. Under the captains tight-lipped orders they were straightened to lie on wide strips of sailcloth. Their frozen hands were somehow loosened enough to be brought to lay on their breasts, and into the loose hold of those hands was fitted the shaft of a boarding axe—the warrior’s key to the Last Gate.

Trusla turned away. These were not kin who lay here—but in final things all were kin. However, she felt as if she were intruding on something not meant for her eyes and sensed that Simond agreed. Together they went to the fore of the ship, where old Joul still sat in the wavereader’s perch.

“May the Fire Fangs of the Bosken avenge them.” He nearly made a song of the words, weaving back and forth in his narrow seat. “May I live to see Dargh be wiped from the living world. Lothar Longsword, Tortain Staymir, who stood at the last ingathering with pride of victor}’ over the greatest varse any man had ever harpooned before. Rogar—now, there was a man. Many a well-spun tale he had for shipmates when we drank together. He was at the fall of Sulcarkeep—one of the few who took to the message boats by the order of Osberic himself. The maid—she I do not know—but she has carved herself a part in the next bard-singing—and she shall have it, by the Breath of the Wave Driver Himself!”

He glanced around at the two who had ventured to come up behind him.

“We remember our kin gone before,” he said fiercely. “Though we cannot give these good shipmates land burial, the sea welcomes always the Sulcars. For we have made it our own. We build towns now—but once there was only the sea and it kept us for the time given us. It is only just that it receives us at the last.”

Receive the three it did. Sewn into their shrouds, and with Joul himself summoned to chant their deeds and kin names, and the captain to empty into the waves the farewell cup for their going. Wreathed with thick lengths of chain, they went down into waves, which seemed higher, stronger, as if eager to receive them.

But Audha was not among them. It seemed that whatever power the Latt shaman and the Estcarp witch could summon kept her back from that last journey.

In spite of Audha’s broken warning of what might lie ahead, the Wave Cleaver kept on course once they had picked up those in the skin boat. During the day Trusla made a visit to her cabin searching for that jar of sand she had found in the wharfside market. She did not try to free the wooden stopper but sat with it in her hands. As she turned it around and around in her fingers, the sorrow and some of the ever-present uneasiness was drawn out of her. Closing her eyes, she sought to summon every scrap of memory from a past that for a while she had struggled hard to forget.

Life in Tor Marsh was no easier for those who followed its boggy ways than it was for these Sulcars who depended upon what seemed to her an element which could become treacherous at any moment—the sea. But it was what one was bred to which seemed the lesser evil—if one could deem it so.

Among her kin she had been the lesser—the near outcast one. Only because Blind Mafra had spoken for her was she now here. She had never felt the rich warmth of kin approval. Among her kind there were no individual mothers, and she had no idea who had fathered her at the Moon Dancing. But this—once more she turned the jar and thought of what had freed her—this was as much a part of her as her lifeblood.

Now she did loosen the cap and very slowly put a finger within. Yes, it felt the same, she could not deny that. The soft powder enclosed her finger and clung. Trusla had no understanding of why she now did as she did, but she raised that coated finger to her lips and licked her flesh clean. There was a very faint taste—like that of Tor water—and a whiff of fragrance.

“Little sister…”

She heard that—or only hoped?

“You are more than you think. And you shall learn, ah, how you shall learn!”

“Xatol?” she said wonderingly, without opening her eyes. For she was seeing not the cramped cabin in which she sat, but rather the small strip of beach flowing with sand like this, and that sand rising to dance in the moonlight, to become one she yearned to join—to be one part of.

“Go to the one who is near the Great Sleep.” Yes, she was hearing that clearly. “Give her of your strength. Two Powers hold her in this world; let the third bind her safe herein.”

Trusla put the jar into hiding once again and then went directly to the great cabin. The door was slid shut, but she put out her hand as if she had been summoned from within and opened it far enough to slide through.

Undia no longer lay on the bench but was now on a mat of blankets on the floor, Audha so close beside her that they touched at shoulder, arm, and hip. Both of them had been stripped of clothing and that mist which Inquit had summoned still hung in the air. Kankil sat by their heads, a soft furred paw on each forehead. Her eyes were closed and there was a faint sound like a hum or a purr sounding from her.

Frost had settled cross-legged by their feet and her jewel flared and dimmed, flared to dim again as she pointed it to them.

Neither woman seemed to notice Trusla, but she went confidently forward to kneel beside the stranger out of the sea—Audha. She reached forward and placed her hand on the girl’s breast, chill as death under her touch.

Then she closed her eyes. Sand—a long stretch of sand—sand which arose about her, for this time she danced there, whirled and dipped, felt the caress of the powdery stuff against her skin. Now she deliberately did what she had never dared to do before. She called—not to summon but to demand—to raise Power which none of her kind had ever had, or so she believed.

The sand about her as she danced was warm, grew warmer, nearly flame-hot, and now she took command of it with all her strength, channeled it, sent that heat of life where it must go.

This was like no struggle she had known since the time she had fought to keep life in her when Simond broke the barrier that let them both through into the outer world. Somehow she held, and fed that heat of life—fed it with all the strength in her—to fight the chill, to banish the grasping fingers of death.

At last she sagged, crumpling backward to the floor. Dimly she heard a low moan and knew that she had won. Then there were arms about her settling her against a pillow. And mistily, as if she viewed it all still through a fall of sand, she saw Frost and Inquit busy wrapping the two girls with blankets. Making signs above them—the witch with her jewel and the shaman with her hands.

Something soft and warm nestled against her, reached up short arms to clasp hands about her neck. Kankil was with her now, purring steadily, and somehow she felt strengthened by the rhythm of that sound.

“Trusla! What have they done to you?” Through that relaxing hum she heard Simond’s cry. He was on his knees beside her, holding her, his arms enfolding her along with Kankil, who still clung to her as might a child to its parent.

There was a flashing light. She tried to close her eyes against it but could not. Ice—ice come out of the sea—no, she was still warm, she had not been swallowed up by the freezing water.

Then she could see that it was Frost’s jewel burning bright, not to harm or threaten but to awaken her fully to the here and now.

Undia first came into sight beyond the brilliance of that gem. She held a blanket close about her and under the sea tan her face was greenish pale. But there was no longer any madness in her eyes and she was drinking thirstily from a cup Inquit held to her lips.

Audha? Trusla shaped the name with her lips rather than said it aloud.

“She sleeps, sister,” Frost answered gently. For the first time she used the form of address which welcomed Trusla among those with the Power. Power—sand—she had danced with sand and commanded it to be obeyed. Abruptly she straightened in Simond’s hold.

“Xactol!” Never before had she said that name aloud within the hearing of another, even Simond.

Frost’s head was a little inclined to one side, as if she were weighing the word she had heard. Then she smiled and all the stiffness Trusla instinctively associated with the witches was gone.

“We serve many different aspects, perhaps, but they are all of the same Power, whether you name the Flame, Gunnora, or—

“Arska,” Inquit broke in. She had settled Undia and now was pulling a furred covering over Audha. “This one lives—perhaps because there is a need for her yet to walk this world. We have proved that the Light has reached out to her. But she will sleep. Kankil…”

Trusla’s arms tightened for an instant, reluctant to let the little one go. But she had Simond now. The shaman’s small creature ran to where her mistress bent over Audha and then she delightedly slid her small body under that cloaking fur and disappeared. Trusla had good reason to believe that once again she was lending the comfort which she radiated to one who needed her the most.

“Trusla.” Simond’s voice was soft, like a caress—when he said her name in that fashion it was as if they were an indivisible part of one another. “You must rest.”

Before she could move or protest, he had her fully in his arms and was carrying her back to her cabin—how she wished now it was theirs. But he settled beside her as if that thought also was in his mind and he smoothed her hair and then kissed her, not with passion, but with joy that they were together.

She did sleep and she had no dreams. She did not dance with the sand, she did not cower away from the ravings of Undia, she went only into velvet darkness which opened and closed about her, holding her safe and soft.

But others dreamed. Twice Frost had to use the witch jewel to drive Audha into deeper unconsciousness and Kankil whimpered and cried out as the raging memories cut across the sleeper’s mind.

All that Undia had reported when they had been in such strange contact across the sea leagues was indeed the truth. Twice over Frost had to fight away Audha reliving all which lay just behind her.

At length she seemed to sink into such a depth of exhaustion that the healing of the jewel was no longer needed. Then Inquit and Frost faced each other across her now-quiet body and the face of each woman was grim with foreboding.

“I know not the north,” Frost said hardly above a whisper. “What evil walks there? Tell me legends, sister, even if you do not know the truth.”

“We had only the dreams to plague us,” the shaman answered. “But in the last days before we trailed south those were strong enough to kill—and they did!” Her fingers moved on her knee as if she sketched patterns there. “The Power runs in kin lines with us, sister. I am the daughter of a daughter of a daughter who was dreamer for a much greater tribe. For we are now a remnant of a people. And always, in each generation, there were evil dreams—but they were not so strong. The Power could destroy them and none died or went mad. Then…” she took a deep breath, “I know not of my own accord what happened. But from you I learned of the wild magic which struck when the gate stone was gone. And I can understand the fears your people have of the Dark arising outworld and perhaps coming to us. This poor child speaks of icebergs which herd ships to their doom. Only of the Dark could such things come.”

Frost nodded and once more slipped the chain of her jewel over her head so it lay again gray and lusterless on her breast.

“Always the Dark.” She gave a weary sigh.

But Inquit was smiling wryly. “Always the Dark, sister, but we can marshal good fighters on our side, and we shall.”