The Sleeping God Part 42

"Or in Death," Yaro Hawkwing replied.

What to do, what to do? If he destroyed the Healer now, would they suspect, or would they think it merely her time?

A Mender was coming. If he destroyed any of the Marked now, even the old woman, perhaps the Mender would not come. If he struck, he might lose the chance to destroy the Mender as well. He looked up into the sky and watched the bird float on an updraft, seeming to hang in the air that these folk thought of as nothing, not knowing the true nothing. The NOT NOT. If he struck, they would know he was here, now, when they had almost forgotten to suspect, and they would hunt for him. But without the Lens, what could they do?

He could wait. He had overheard the two younger ones talking in the night, when they thought all asleep. They believed they had the Lens, and this belief weakened them. They no longer searched for it, and he could destroy them before they ever realized they should continue to look. He was strong enough, now that he was whole again. He could turn all back to that moment, when he first had form. If he waited, if he managed to find the Lens before them. This time he could succeed. This time he could turn this world into the NOT NOT.

Or could there be another way? The bird swept down, and he pushed himself away from the edge of the wall. What if he did not destroy? What if he occupied? Was he strong enough for that? His breath came short, and he tried to steady the pounding of his heart. Was one form any worse than another? He had never looked from the eyes of a Mark-but they would never suspect. Once accomplished, it would be the safest place for him to wait.

Dhulyn glanced up from the washbasin to where the Healer, Sortera, sat in the shaft of sunlight that entered through the doorway of the public washhouse in Trevel. It was the old woman's presence here which had brought them to Trevel, and today she was taking advantage of a warm day and a good breeze to launder her winter garments. After a few minutes of watching the Healer trying to wring out soaking cloth with her crook-fingered hands Dhulyn had asked her to sit down, and had taken over the task of the wash herself, with Mar to help her. Sortera had smiled in such a way, her teeth remarkably good in her wrinkled face, that Dhulyn was certain she'd been outfoxed. But she hid her own smile and kept her thoughts to herself.

Not that laundry was Dhulyn's purpose here this morning. Cullen was as clear-eyed and apparently Shadow free as he had been all the way from Gotterang, but Dhulyn felt only somewhat rea.s.sured by what Yaro had told her the night before. After talking it over with Parno, they'd decided that, as far as the Shadow was concerned, very few precautions could be called "unnecessary." She and Mar were watching Sortera; Gundaron they'd left with Parno, going through what scrolls and books the Clouds had in their library. A young Mender boy was coming from Pompano, and until he and his Racha bird escort arrived, no Mark was being left unguarded.

"We Marks didn't live settled into a city in those days, see you," Sortera continued telling them as Dhulyn scooped up another handful of the soft soap in the nearby bucket. "We were all of us on the road, taking our Mark, whatever it might be, to everyone." She leaned forward, resting her hands, with their heavy veins, on the k.n.o.b of her cane. "Back in those times, people would save only their most important things for a Mender, and they didn't waste a Finder's time on lost scissors or lapdogs, see you. No, it was more like: 'where did granddad put the harvest money for safety before he fell off his horse and died?' or 'can you Find us the spot for our new well?' That was our work in those times, see you. Marked of the G.o.ds, we were. When us Marked started living in cities," she shook her head, "that was when the trouble started, as far as I'm concerned. Then we were like any tradesman, and people started treating us that way."

Dhulyn carefully squeezed the soapy water out of a thick inglera wool shawl and pa.s.sed it to Mar for rinsing. Mar pulled the wooden sluice gate from the water channel between the double row of stone sinks and let fresh rainwater flow into her basin from the cistern on the roof. They were the only people in the washhouse this morning, and could use as much water as they liked.

"Eight days on horseback, and all we get are stories of her youth?" Dhulyn said to Mar under her breath.

"I can hear you, young woman," Sortera said, her thin lips pulled back in glee. "I may be old, but I am am a Healer. My hands may trouble me, but my hearing's just fine." a Healer. My hands may trouble me, but my hearing's just fine."

"Your pardon, Grandmother," Dhulyn said. "How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, I don't mind, but you won't like the answer, see you. The truth of the matter is I don't know for certain. I remember when there was a Tarkin named Jenshannon-a woman she was-but people tell me that can't be so, that I must be thinking of Jen-aNej Tarkina." The old Healer wrinkled her nose and shook her head in disgust.

Dhulyn rested her forearms on the edge of the basin and thought, mentally ticking off a list of names and dates. It was two hundred years, perhaps more, since n.o.ble names began to change to their present mirror-image form. Surely they were right, the people who told Sortera her memory was at fault.

On the other hand, the woman was was a Healer. a Healer.

"You may be right, Grandmother," she said. "In any case, don't listen to those who tell you your memory is at fault."

Sortera's laugh was toneless and without heft in the cool mountain air. "I believe you, Granddaughter, I believe you."

"Tell me something else. In all that you have heard of the Mark, do you know of anything called a Lens?"

"All right, then." Gun pushed himself back from the table and rubbed his eyes with stiff fingers. "We know it's not me. I've no trouble Finding ordinary things." He looked up. "But I still can't Find the Shadow."

"You're sure you're doing what you did before?"

Gun just looked at him, lips pressed together. Parno raised his hands, palms out. "Forgive me, but you have have Found it twice before, and somehow I don't think it's just disappeared off the face of the earth." Found it twice before, and somehow I don't think it's just disappeared off the face of the earth."

"I said, said, it's not me." Gun sighed and rolled his left shoulder, grimacing as if at a particularly stiff muscle knot. "I'm not even getting that other Library where I found the Tarkin." The boy looked sideways at him. "I think it's the bowl." it's not me." Gun sighed and rolled his left shoulder, grimacing as if at a particularly stiff muscle knot. "I'm not even getting that other Library where I found the Tarkin." The boy looked sideways at him. "I think it's the bowl."

Parno tried not to let his disappointment show. They'd been waiting until they arrived in Trevel to try using the bowl; on the trail there had been no way to hide what they were doing from the others.

"But you have no better luck finding the Shadow without the bowl."

"That's just it, I was getting better results in Gotterang-"

"Caids help us if we have to be in Gotterang for the thing to work." Parno said. He pulled out a chair and sat down, rubbing the edge of the bowl with the tip of his right index finger. "Has the Healer tried it?"

"She has," Gun said. "And reports no results."

"Are we sure . . . she's so very old." Parno hated to say it aloud, but what if the woman was simply too old to Heal?

But Gun was already shaking his head. "I asked. Last week a hunting party came back carrying one of their members with a bad leg break. The bones had pierced the skin. She Healed it.

"And she wants me to go with her this afternoon," he continued. "To help a small girl child who seems to have lost her wits. Together, Sortera says, we'll be able to Find them, and Heal her." Even he could hear the notes of awe and pleasure in his voice as he thought about the old woman's plan.

As Parno Lionsmane blew his breath out with force, making the woven back of the chair creak as he leaned back, Gun forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Then this is not the Lens," Lionsmane said. "It works for you because it is is a scrying bowl. But it would work for everyone, if it were the Lens." a scrying bowl. But it would work for everyone, if it were the Lens."

"What about Dhulyn Wolfshead. Can we get her to try?"

The Lionsmane twisted his lips and looked toward the window.

"You've tried already, haven't you?"

The man nodded. "Good news is, the vera tiles seem to work, though that may be because she's closer to her woman's time."

Gun pursed his lips in a silent whistle. "That's it then. We're back where we started. We haven't got the Lens."

Dhulyn Wolfshead's quiet voice was filled with a.s.surance, and Gun wished that it could do the same for him. He looked up at her impa.s.sive face and told himself there was no mistrust, no suspicion in her stone-gray eyes. He wasn't sure he believed it.

"I don't know what it looks like," he said, sounding, even to himself, like a child trying to escape the blame of eating the family's cakes.

"You didn't know what Tek-aKet's soul looked like either," Parno Lionsmane said. "But you managed to Find that. This is bound to be simpler. It'll be some artifact of the Jaldeans or even of you Scholars that no one thinks is of any importance."

"Try again," Wolfshead said. "Try the way you found Tek-aKet." She sat down on the stool to Gun's right, set her left ankle on her right knee, and folded her hands into her lap. The Lionsmane patted Gun on the shoulder before stepping back from the table himself. Behind him, Sortera sat against the whitewashed wall under the shuttered window, in the room's only padded chair, nodding over the knitting in her lap. Mar had fallen asleep on the pallet next to the old woman, her thick lashes making circled shadows on her cheeks.

Would he ever feel completely forgiven, Gun thought, as Mar so obviously did? Unable to stay awake, sent to bed with a kiss on the forehead like a favored daughter, while he sat here with the scrying bowl in front of him. Gun took a deep breath and set his hands lightly around the edge of the bowl. He was still alive, so he supposed he knew that Wolfshead and Lionsmane both did actually forgive him. He couldn't expect the affection they showed to Mar. Her offense had been against them personally, while his . . . He cleared his throat.

"Move the candle a little closer, please," he said, and out of the corner of his eye saw the Lionsmane's hand reach into the candle's circle of light and move it. The light's reflections on the surface of the water within the bowl flickered and moved, as if someone had taken a page of parchment and shaken it out like a sheet. The water-

Mar sits in a carrel, asleep with her head down on her folded arms. Of course. He's thinking about her, sleeping so near him in the room, warm and soft. Her Her affection was in no doubt; bright and s.h.i.+ning, he Finds it. He has to stop thinking about her, and think only of the Lens. He sees the line again at his feet and follows it, somehow knowing that this time he is going deeper into the library than he has been before, where he does not see even the shadowy outline of others. The line is fine and dark and leads him to. . . . affection was in no doubt; bright and s.h.i.+ning, he Finds it. He has to stop thinking about her, and think only of the Lens. He sees the line again at his feet and follows it, somehow knowing that this time he is going deeper into the library than he has been before, where he does not see even the shadowy outline of others. The line is fine and dark and leads him to. . . .

Mar again. This time she's snoring.

Dhulyn got up and stretched, pus.h.i.+ng her hips first to one side, then the other. "She's right, my Scholar. It's late and all you can Find is your bed. We'll try again in the morning."

As Dhulyn watched, Gun took off his boots, shrugged out of his tunic, and in his s.h.i.+rt and breeches squeezed himself onto the pallet beside Mar. He put an arm around her, but Dhulyn couldn't tell if it was from real affection, or from lack of s.p.a.ce. She hoped it was the former.

Parno tapped her on the shoulder and motioned with his head to the door, picking up his crossbow and hanging his sword on his belt as he went. The door's closely fitted planks gave immediately onto the steep stone staircase that ran between Sortera's narrow house and the building that was its neighbor.

Parno stepped down until he was standing a stair below her, and cupped her cheek in his calloused hand. "My Brother, my soul." He spoke softly, mindful of the Clouds that lay sleeping all around them. "You look tired. Get some rest."

"I know what that means," she said, forcing a smile to her lips. "When a man tells you that you look tired, he's telling you that you look old."

"If this is what you'll look like when you're old, I sincerely hope we both live to see the day."

She felt her muscles loosen as she rested her forehead against his, felt his arms come up around her, drew in a breath full of his scent and nearness. "You'll be late for your watch," she murmured. She felt him nod, felt the touch of his lips on hers.

"I'll go for now," he said. "But I'll be back. I'll always be back."

"In Battle," she said.

"And in Death," he answered. in Death," he answered.

She watched him until he'd gone all the way down the narrow stone steps and turned the corner into the street-just as narrow but not so steep-below.

Dhulyn stood there in her vest and linen trousers until the cold mountain air had time to make her s.h.i.+ver. Then she lifted the wooden latch and stepped back inside Sortera's house.

Gun and Mar were both asleep, nested together like two arrows in a quiver. At first, Dhulyn thought Sortera had fallen asleep in her chair, but something about the length of the old woman's regular breaths, the deliberate movements of her fingers along the needles of her knitting, told Dhulyn Sortera was probably in a Healer's trance.

Wonder if she's Healing herself, Dhulyn thought. One way at least to explain how so old a woman could still be alive. Dhulyn thought. One way at least to explain how so old a woman could still be alive.

There was another pallet in the interior room, but Dhulyn's turn at watch along the upper slope would come soon enough to make sleep more of a bother than a help. Instead, she took Dal's small box from the shelf beside the hearth, pulled the chair Gun had been using closer to the table, and sat down in the light thrown by the lamp they'd lit to eat their suppers by. She opened the box and began taking out vera tiles.

HIS LIPS FORMING THE WORDS.

DHULYN MOVES CLOSER, UNTIL SHE CAN SEE THE WRITING ON THE PAGE IN FRONT OF HIM, BUT SHE CAN'T READ IT. SHE LOOKS AGAIN AT HIS LIPS.

ADELGARREMBIL, HIS LIPS SAY. HIS LIPS SAY. ACUCHEEYAROB. FETENTABIL. DEBEREEYAROB. ESFUMARRENBIL. ACUCHEEYAROB. FETENTABIL. DEBEREEYAROB. ESFUMARRENBIL.

THE MAGE REPEATS THE WORDS SEVERAL TIMES AND CLOSES THE BOOK.

WHEN HE STANDS, DHULYN SEES HIS SWORD HANGING BY ITS SCABBARD FROM THE BACK OF HIS CHAIR.

"Go back to sleep, my Dove."

"I thought I heard you call me."

"You're dreaming, Dove. Go back to sleep."

Mar shut her eyes and Dhulyn began replacing the tiles back into their box.

Dhulyn had heard the soft sounds of booted feet behind her for some time, and so wasn't startled by Karlyn-Tan's voice when he finally spoke. She stopped at the end of the narrow lane and waited for him to join her before walking beside him across the small square.

"It's late for you to be out."

"I followed Cullen," Karlyn said. "But it seemed he was just giving his bird some hunting, and when I saw him safely back into his quarters, I suddenly felt the need of company."

"A few minutes earlier, and you would have caught Parno still awake."

"I did," he said, looking away from her as if to examine the face of the moon. "I saw him return from his watch and waited for you."

Dhulyn glanced at him, but he was still looking at the night sky. They reached the spot where she was to stand her watch, where a young Cloudwoman yawned, waiting for Dhulyn to relieve her. They exchanged hand signals and the Cloud left them, silently moving through the empty streets to her bed.

The northwestern end of the valley in which the village of Trevel lay was marked with a small orchard of apple trees. There was no wall as such, only a few large boulders placed to give those who took the herds beneath the trees a place to rest their legs. On the far side of the orchard was a stream, and the shallow pa.s.s that marked the village's vulnerable point from this direction. It was that pa.s.s that accounted for Dhulyn's presence here, as every weapons-wise adult in Trevel-even guests if they were trusted-was expected to take a turn at guard duty.

Telling Karlyn to wait for her by the rocks, Dhulyn scouted through the orchard, ears primed to catch every sound and nose p.r.i.c.kling at the sharp, clean scent of trees newly and thickly leaved. She heard the foraging of small animals under the trees halt as she neared and continue as she moved farther away. When she was satisfied that there was nothing in the orchard more dangerous than herself, she rejoined Karlyn at the rocks.

"I have heard," Karlyn said after they had been silent for many minutes. "That Partnered Brothers often have lovers."

It took Dhulyn a moment to realize that her mouth was hanging open, and to shut it. She set her crossbow on the ground, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, chin propped on her hands. She'd had lovers, of course, as had Parno, but she was always surprised by the offer. She let her eyes drop to Karlyn's hands, with their strong fingers, resting on his knees.

"The bond," she said, "is not how you imagine it." They sat so close, she could reach out and touch him with no effort at all. As if he read her thought he lifted his hand and reached toward the side of her face. The moon, s.h.i.+ning through the screen of apple leaves, was bright and full enough to give a green cast to the light.

"Look up, my Wolfshead. Let me see your eyes."

Dhulyn straightened until her hands rested on her knees. Without pause, she lifted her head, smiling, and felt the little fold at her upper lip that created her wolf's smile. As her head rose, she took a deep, steadying breath, raised her hands, and-just before their eyes could meet-she struck.