Wintertide
by
Megan Sybil Baker
Copyright © 2000 Linnea Sinclair-Bernadino
Published in Canada by LTDBooks, 200 North Service Road West, Unit 1, Suite 301, Oakville, ON L6M 2Y1
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law.
Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data
Baker, Megan Sybil, 1954-
Wintertide
ISBN 1-55316-024-X
I. Title.
PS3552.A37W56 2000 813'.6 C00-931152-1
CHAPTER 1
Orange tongues of flame licked at the stout logs on the hearth. But the fire was more for light than heat. The last warm breath of summer still drifted over the Land though it was a month into the autumn season.
The stone floor of the cave echoed a coolness drawn from the dark green forest. Khamsin folded a small rug into a cushion and decided that this was the perfect spot to finish the chain of brightpinks she'd started earlier.
She intertwined the long green stems, keeping the blossoms to the outside. It was a silly thing, a brightpink chain. Tanta Bron told her it had no real magic to offer. But the village girls thought otherwise. They made them every summer, to call their lovers to them.
"A flower bright I take to thee, a flower bright brings thee to me." Khamsin recited the words softly as she carefully bent the slender stem in a half circle. "A flower bright..."
The sound of a wooden chair scraping against the floor stilled her whispered song. Quickly she thrust the half-formed chain under an edge of the rug. She turned as Tanta Bron drew back the embroidered curtain covering the archway to her bedchamber.
"Finished your chores, child?"
"Yes, Tanta."
"But not your studies." Bronya knelt in front of the young girl and placed a leather-bound book on the gray stone floor. "Now. Time grows short."
A petulant frown creased Khamsin's face. Time grows short, time grows short, for what? "But I'm so tired, Tanta Bron..."
"Tired? Chasing that cat all day in the woods again. That's play. This is different."
Khamsin opened the book with a resigned sigh. Its thin, dusty pages had a sweet, powdery odor. "It wasn't all play. Nixa hears me now. Even when I'm not touching her."
At the mention of her name, the gray cat curled in front of the large hearth blinked opened her golden eyes. A soft Nixa-tinged sensation filtered into Khamsin's mind as their awareness linked briefly. She saw her own image from the cat's viewpoint: a slender sixteen year old girl clad in boy's tan breeches and white overshirt, sitting cross-legged on the floor. But it was Khamsin's pale hair, in a long braid that reached past her waist, that caught the cat's attention. She shook her head. The ribbons binding the end fluttered. Nixa's playful interest rippled over her.
"And I can sometimes even see what she sees. Like now. She's..."
"Visions of ribbons to play with won't be able to protect you, when the time comes. Start here." Bronya tapped her finger at the start of a series of dark slashes and curlicues in the middle of the page.
Khamsin squinted at the shapes. They shifted, becoming words in her mind. Though not really words. She knew words, letters Tavis taught her. She could write her own name and his. And simple sentences like "I will buy this horse for two pigs."
But the rune signs in Healer's Book didn't pertain to such mundane things. They pertained to spells: incantations, callings and divinations. They had to be memorized, practiced over and over again until Khamsin could say them without hesitation. They had to be imbedded in her mind, inscribed on her soul.
"Now, this is...?" Bronya prompted.
"Ixari's Third Blessing for Rain." Khamsin closed her eyes, called the rune signs from memory. "T'cai l'heira, Ixari..." she said softly, remembering to touch her lips with the side of her index finger as she said the Goddess's name. The rest of the odd-sounding words flowed easily. She'd recited this incantation many times before. Weather blessings were the least difficult. She knew Tanta Bron had her repeat them only to relax her mind.
More difficult ones followed. The spell to stop the flow of water in a stream. The spell to stop the flow of blood from a wound. The spell to make lifesweet from leaves and flowers, if no food can be found. The spell to make firestones, for warmth and protection.
"And the Supplications, child?"
Khamsin opened her eyes. Saying her Supplications signaled the lesson's end. She wiggled her right foot. Her ankle was stiff from sitting cross-legged for so long.
"To Merkara, God of the Sea. And Ixari, Goddess of the Sky. For protection, I beseech you. For guidance, I entreat you. In all..." And she yawned, then grinned sheepishly at the Healer. "Sorry."
Nixa yawned too, stretching her paws towards the fire.
"Finish, Khamsin."
"In all things, mystic and mundane, in all realms and all planes. Let your powers now guide me. Your blessings, beside me. From harm you will hide me. I live in the light of your names."
Bronya pulled herself to her feet. "Good." She rummaged in the deep pockets of her long skirt. "I'll place the warding stones. No, don't turn around. Tell me first if they're right."
Khamsin closed her eyes again. A new image popped into her mind: Tanta Bron's bent figure in her long blue and green skirts and blue shawl. Her dark hair, pulled so carefully and so tightly back into a bun early this morning, now unraveled in wispy strands.
No, Nixa, Khamsin admonished gently. You can't help. That's cheating.
"Do you sense the spell lines?"
"Ummm. Yes. But the Ladri stone's in the wrong place." She felt the discordant hum of the stones' energy. "It's too close to the Khal."
"Then why didn't you say the Khal was in the wrong place? I've told you time and time again. You must look for Tarkir's stone before all others. Tarkir's stone must be your power point for all wardings.
"Yes, ma'am I know, but..."
"No buts, Khamsin. Now, tell me again."
A ripple of energy told Khamsin that Tanta Bron moved the warding stones.
"The Khal is centered in primary," she said. "Ladri and Vedri are balanced. But Nevri is..." She tightened her mental focus slightly. "Nevri is in opposition to Ladri. Nevri must be reversed."
There was a soft sound as Bronya turned the wardstone.
"Better?"
Bronya's approval washed over Khamsin even before she answered. "Better!"
"Much better. Now, come, come. Up off the floor. We'll have some moonpetal tea and then it's off to bed with you."
Khamsin snuggled under her blankets and breathed in the sweet aroma of the moonpetal tea still in the air. She heard soft snoring sounds filtering through the embroidered curtain covering Tanta Bron's alcove.
The curtain across Khamsin's own small alcove was open. She saw Nixa sitting in front of the fireplace, her small form outlined by the weak orange glow of the embers. The cat industriously washed her whiskers, pleased at having found a small piece of cheese on the table.
Behind Nixa, the folded rug was still where Khamsin left it. A tangle of brightpinks peeked out from under one corner.
At the mouth of the cave, where roughhewn timbers and large boulders laced to form her home's front wall, Khamsin saw the flicker of the wardstones in the darkness.
Ladri. Vedri. Nevri. She touched each one with her mind. The wardstones responded, flaring briefly with a small spark.
Then she touched the Khal. Tarkir's stone. The God of the Land and the Underworld. The most powerful of all the warding stones. The most powerful of all the Deities.
It pulsed a bright blue-white, startling Nixa. The cat scampered into Khamsin's alcove and leaped onto the bed, turning around three times before settling into a fold in the blankets.
Khamsin pulled the cat up against her and with a small sigh, closed her eyes.
That winter Bronya took ill for the first time that Khamsin could remember. The old woman lay on her narrow featherbed for days. Her thin body trembled as the cold north winds shook the branches of the great pines outside, flinging clumps of crusted snow to the frozen ground. Her brittle cough echoed off the rocky walls. Khamsin kept the fire stoked until she could no longer stand the dry heat and sought solace at the entrance of the cave.
She was aware of Tavis' approach even before Nixa bounded through the deep snow with the news.
She gathered her long, layered skirts about her and trudged out into the small clearing. Nixa trotted after her, sniffing the drifting snowflakes.
"Bronya said the compounds would be ready today. But a wagon repair kept me working late." Tavis nodded to the slight figure silhouetted by the stark whiteness around her. The droplets of melting snow in his dark beard and tousled, curly brown hair glistened like gems in the light of the full moons overhead.
"I've everything in a box for you. Come inside, out of the cold."
Khamsin took his cape and while he peeled off a bulky, woolen outer-tunic, poured a steaming cup of jasmine tea for the broad-shouldered young smith. She could tell he'd come straight from his forge. His wide face was still sweat-streaked in spite of the chill outside. She held the earthenware mug out to him. He accepted it gratefully and glanced at the slatted box on the table's edge.
She touched the cloth pouches stacked inside. They contained blessing and warding herbs used by generations of smiths. "Three red for your forge fires, two blue for metals for the boats. Two yellow for horseshoes and cart metals."
Tavis seemed surprised. "I thought with Bronya being ill..."
"Bronya didn't make these. I did." She didn't try to keep the pride from her voice.
"You? You're not a Healer."
"I've been learning."
Tavis fingered the pouches again and Khamsin reigned in her desire to defend her skills. Bronya's dark eyes and, at one time, dark hair bespoke of her Raheiran heritage. Khamsin's light coloring didn't and she sensed the smith's small tinge of dissatisfaction at his wares having been prepared by someone less than an 'expert.'
"How is she?" He cautiously sipped at the sweet liquid, his bushy brows drawn into a frown.
"A little better." Khamsin motioned him to the table then brought over a plate of sliced honey bread. At least Tavis had no qualms about accepting her baking. "And the more I can do of her work, the more she's able to rest."
"It's good you're able to help her, I suppose. With the simple things. Until she's well again."
"I hope to learn more than the simple things."
"That's not for the likes of you, Kammi." There was a note of alarm in Tavis's voice. "Clean and cook, as a daughter or a niece would, yes. But a Healer's workings are not for ordinary folk like us."
He patted her hand. "You look tired. Why don't you think about bringing Bronya to the village, at least until First Thaw? My sister said she'd be glad to help."
"No, really. But thank you."
"It would be easier for you. With Mowrina's help. And mine."
Khamsin waved her hand towards the rows of shelves on the far wall. "Everything she needs, everything I need is here. All her herbs, her powders, her teas." And her potions, her amulets and charms. And the warding stones. No, Khamsin knew, staying at Mowrina's house wouldn't be easier. Though the villagers were grateful for the lives Bronya had saved from the Hill Raiders, they still remembered the many who died. In the same way, they accepted Tanta Bron's moonpetal tea for sleep and her brightmint salve for infection, but were openly mistrustful of her runestones and amulets. And equally as mistrustful of Khamsin and her cat. Tavis and his sister were the only friends she had in the village.
"Perhaps if I brought Mowrina here?"
"Who'll take care of Aric and the children?" She smiled. "You're a smith, Tav. Changing diapers and feeding babies might soften those big hands of yours!"
"Aye, well, that's true. And then Aric and I would get to playing cards and nothing would get done at all."
Is that Tavis? Khamsin felt Tanta Bron awaken.
Yes, Tanta.
I wish to speak to him.
We'll come in and sit with you.
No, child. I need to speak to him, alone.
Before Khamsin could ask why, Bronya's weak voice called through the curtain. "Tavis? Young man, is that you?"
Tavis' mug stopped halfway to his lips. He put it back on the table. "Aye, Lady. Did we disturb you?"
"No. Please." Bronya coughed. It was a thin, wheezing sound. "Come here."
Tavis looked at Khamsin and she nodded. "Bring her this." She handed him a hot mug of tea. "Maybe she'll drink it if you ask her."
Khamsin waited in the large outer chamber and played disinterestedly with Nixa. The deep rumblings of Tavis' voice could be heard now and then, punctuated by the high whine of Bronya's worsening cough. She couldn't hear their words, though she knew a spell to eavesdrop on their conversation, if she wanted to. But she allowed them their privacy, trusting that if anything said was pertinent to herself, she'd learn of it shortly.
Finally Tavis emerged. He sat down on the wide, wooden bench by the fire, taking Khamsin's small hands into his callused ones. His touch was surprisingly chilled. He seemed clearly uncomfortable, almost shaken.
"Her time draws near, Kammi."
She guessed as much, but had been holding her sadness in check, knowing Tanta Bron might feel burdened by her grief. Now, at Tavis's words, sorrow flooded through her. She turned towards the hearth fire and drew a deep breath.
Tavis squeezed her fingers. "She's an old, old woman. Seen over one hundred summers, if not more. Her only thoughts have been centered on you. You're so young, yet..."
"But I'm not a child. I'll be seventeen after Summertide."
"True. That's why she asked me to take care of you, now. She said the runes show danger, in the next year especially."
Tanta's runes had long shown danger. But never before had the Healer discussed that with anyone other than Khamsin. And even those discussions had been maddeningly sparse, frustratingly cryptic. Her seventeenth year, was all that Bronya would say. If danger were to come it would be then.
"Did she say what kind of danger?"
"No. But she asked that I keep you safe." He hesitated. "She won't be around to watch after you very much longer."
Khamsin swallowed the lump in her throat. "When?" Her voice was soft. "Did she say when?"
"She says before Wintertide."
That was just two months away.
She stood suddenly, folded her hands and held them against her chest as if she could keep the hurt inside from escaping. The empty mugs and remnants of honey bread were still on the table. She cleared them away because she needed something, anything to do.
"I'm sure Tanta Bron just wanted to thank you for your friendship. To tell you how important it is to her. And to me, too. You and Mowrina have been very good friends, Tavis." She stacked the mugs in the water basin.
Tavis came to stand beside her. He took her trembling hands in his own. "She asks that I be more than that now."
"You'll always be one of my dearest friends..."
"Bronya wants me to take you as my wife."
"Wife?" She tensed, startled at the word. She knew it was common for a girl to marry around her sixteenth year; one of the village girls, still an infant when the Wintertide raid took place, wed last Summertide.
And Tavis was a bachelor who had a large, three room house and a prosperous smithing business. He was more than eligible. But she, Khamsin, a wife? The possibility never occurred to her.
Besides, marriage meant love. And she wasn't in love with Tavis.
She stared at the bearded man. "Why would Tanta Bron want us to marry?"
"So that I can take care of you."
"I can take care of myself!"
Nixa, curled on her hearth side pillow, slitted her eyes open at Khamsin's exclamation.
Tavis glanced away from her and at first Khamsin thought she had hurt him by her declaration. But his gaze, she noted, touched on Bronya's braided ribbons and cloth banners painted with cryptic runes that hung around the room. Then moved to the shelves lined with jars filled with herbs and powders. Things not found in a smithy.
"Tanta Bron has taught me much about healing work. She would want me to stay, to help the villagers. And for you to continue to tell me when the villagers needs help. Just as you've always done."
"That's not what she said to me, Kammi." He shook his head slowly. "It's Bronya's wish to see us wed. For you to be a wife. Not a Healer."
You must marry, child. Bronya's words were weak in her mind. The runes, the runes tell me this now.
The runes say I must marry Tavis?
Khamsin felt the old woman's tiredness. Then a sigh. That has not been clear. So much isn't clear anymore. But who else? There's no one else in the village who accepts what you are. That has been shown to me.
A torrent of conflicting emotions surged through Khamsin. She tamped them down quickly, lest her frail Tanta be hurt by her confusion. She had no desire to see Tanta Bron hurt. She knew all the old Healer had done for her, how she had risked her life just to raise her. She owed Tanta so much.
But to marry! And to someone not of her choosing. Even the girls in the village were permitted to choose.
But she had no choice. Even if she wanted to choose a husband, there were none in Cirrus who'd have her: Khamsin, child of the maelstrom, with Hill Raider's blood in her veins.
None but Tavis the Smith.
She didn't love Tavis. But she did like him. They'd been friends since she was little, though there was a nine-year difference in their ages.
She glanced at him, felt his concern flood over her like a moon tide. He was worried about her. She felt his devotion to Tanta Bron. And then, surprisingly, a flicker of desire for herself. That was unexpected and only added to her own confused state.
"Kammi?"
She brought her face up to meet his. The old woman's wheezing was audible even over the moaning of the winds outside. Tanta Bron was dying. If marrying Tavis would bring her peace...
Khamsin raised her voice so that she was sure Bronya could hear her answer.
"I understand your offer and thank you," she replied evenly to the man who, sixteen years before, had run to the Healer's cave with the news of her impending birth. "And I would be honored to be your wife."
Tavis smiled warmly, clasped her small hands in his large, callused ones. "You're doing the right thing. You'll see. We'll be happy together. I promise you."
The flames in the hearth fire behind him flickered as a sudden torrent of icy wind flowed down from the north. The bitter cold grazed Khamsin's cheek and she shivered.
Tavis draped his arm over her shoulder. "Wind's picking up again. Be a cold walk back. Perhaps a cup of tea before I leave?"
"Of course." Khamsin stepped away from him and headed for the cupboard. Her hands shook slightly as she reached for the cups.
"If you'll get the kettle?"
She put the cups on the wide wooden table. Steam rose in fragrant clouds as Tavis poured.
She sipped her tea immediately, trying to quell the sudden chill. But Tavis raised his cup first and touched it to hers.
"To my future wife."
A large pine not far from Bronya's cave trembled, then split in half. Cleaved as if by lightning, in winter.
CHAPTER 2
The bonding ceremony took place in the large main room of the smith's white-shingled house. Only Mowrina, Tavis' older sister, attended. The young village Captain glanced uneasily at the girl standing before him, amulets dangling from her waist, her skirt embroidered with strange curling symbols. He kept the ceremony brief. Donning his heavy cape and muffler, he nodded only the barest congratulations to the bride and groom. He scurried out into the light drifting of snowflakes that had been falling steadily since the early morning.
Rina, her dark hair as curly and unruly as her brother's, shook her head in disapproval as the Captain quickly departed. She accepted her own cloak from Tavis.
"Aric is waiting for his supper. You know how Lissa, Cavell and the baby get when I'm not there." She planted a light kiss on her brother's cheek then took Khamsin's small hands in her own.
"Don't let the village nosy-bodies disturb you. They can say what they like. But Tav chose you, so that's good enough for me."
Khamsin returned the older woman's warm smile. "I feel blessed to have you both."
"You have all of us, really. We're family now. Aric and I will have you both over for dinner as soon as First Thaw begins. Myself, I'll be glad when Wintertide's over. Too many memories creep up this time of year."
This will be another one, Khamsin knew as the heavy oak door shut behind Rina's retreating figure. First the Wintertide raid. Then, when she was six, the poisoned harvest. She was ten when the floods from the fast melting snows claimed the lives of four Covemen and two villagers. Twelve when another early thaw brought South Land Hill Raiders into the village at Wintertide. But the toll that year was been less. The villagers took to making weapons as well as fishing nets and Tavis' smithy had forged swords.
Then in the Wintertide between her sixteenth and seventeenth year, Tanta Bron died. And Khamsin, the child of the mistral winds, became the wife of Tavis the Smith.
Tavis made love to her carefully that first night. Khamsin, who thought she knew much of all there was to know about life, found she knew very little about men.
For all the water-sprites and elementals she could conjure, the forest animals she could converse with and herbals she could blend into magical potions, she knew nothing of the basic human condition. It was several weeks before she comfortably accepted the sweating nakedness of her husband surrounding her own body and invading it. She learned to view his physical intrusions with a detached curiosity. Though she was pleased that she was able to provide him with something he viewed as pleasurable.
He was a good man and a good husband, she told herself. Grudgingly, he even permitted her to grow and mix the healing herbs that Bronya had dispensed in the Village. Someone, he agreed, had to do that, until another Healer could be found.
He was less than comfortable with the few items Khamsin had brought into his house from Bronya's cave. He insisted they be kept in a special cupboard with a lock. He forged the key with his own hand and destroyed the mold afterward. For safety's sake, he said.
Khamsin waited until he was busy at the forge one morning, then lined the cupboard's shelves with scented flax soaked in magic oils. She placed Bronya's Book and the tools of her craft inside. Its small cabinets, of which there were three, held the more powerful herbs and roots. A long drawer held the warding stones and the cloth stenciled with rune signs.
Khamsin's own cradle carved with protective wardings sat by the hearth. But after a year of marriage, it remained empty.
Tavis's sister now carried her fourth. Khamsin knocked on Rina's back door, a newly quilted blanket folded over her arm. Six year old Lissa answered, her rag doll tucked under one arm.
"Tanta Kammi! Mama! Mama! Tanta Kammi's here!"
Rina rose awkwardly from the bench at the kitchen table, smoothing her apron over her swollen belly as Khamsin stepped inside. The sweet aroma of spice cakes baking wafted in the air.
"Mama's teaching me to bake," Lissa announced. "So I can help after the new baby comes."
Khamsin ruffled Lissa's reddish curls. "I'm sure you're a big help already." She handed Rina the brightly patterned quilt. "I thought you might need a new one."
"Oh, it's lovely, Kammi. And yes, we do, especially after the two boys."
Rina glanced down at her daughter. "Isn't it time for Dolly's nap?"
Lissa nodded sagely. "Oh, yes, mama! I'd almost forgotten."
As the child disappeared through curtained doorway, Rina touched Khamsin lightly on the arm. "You can tell me, can't you? Like Bronya used to?"
Of all the villagers, only Rina knew that Khamsin could do more than dispense herb teas and minor blessings. Even Tavis didn't know. But then, Khamsin had always been closer to Mowrina.
"Yes, of course. I brought the stones." She pulled the amulets from her pouch, cast them three times on the tabletop. A boy child. Another little brother for Lissa.
Rina sighed loudly, but was smiling. "Well, Aric will be pleased, but I'm not sure about Lissa."
"Not sure about what, mama?" asked a small voice from the doorway.
"Not sure if I remember where I put that basket we made for Tanta Kammi."
"Granna put it in the dining room. So Taric and Cavell couldn't get it." Lissa ducked back through the curtains.
"Aric's mother's been a wonderful help with the boys." Rina held the curtain back and motioned Khamsin into the front of the house.
Khamsin could hear the older woman's soft voice coming from one of the back bedrooms. "How long will she stay with you?"
"Until after the baby's born. But she has to be back in Dram before the snows start."
"If you need help after that, just ask."
"I'll help, too, Mama!"
"Of course." Rina smiled as Lissa reached for a basket of ripe vegetables on the table. "We've had a plentiful summer. You know how Tav likes these. Besides, you brought us those beautiful apples last time."
"I grow the fruit and you raise the vegetables. And the children," Khamsin added as Taric toddled in from the front porch and held his chubby arms up towards his mother.
"And you and Tav?"
"When the Gods say it's my time to have children, I'm sure I will."
But the Gods had told her very little since her marriage to Tavis, though she'd dutifully kept up with her supplications, even the basic divinations, while her husband worked at his forge. Without them, she had no way of knowing what blessing were needed by the harvest and crops, what weather awaited the Covemen.
Khamsin walked slowly back through the village, Rina's basket on her arm. She smiled absently at the village children who darted out of her way, then stopped and stared at her with curious eyes.
Weather and harvest blessings weren't her problem. No, it was in her personal life that the Gods gave her very little guidance at all.
She watched the children scurry off after a brightly decorated cart jostling on its way out of the village. It was the Tinker's cart; its pace just quick enough to be out of the reach of the children's hands. They lunged and jumped, laughing as they tried to grab some bright piece of cloth or string of braided belts from the merchandise piled in the back.
In the same way, Khamsin felt much of what she needed to know about her life now evaded her, in spite of all the divinations that Bronya had taught her. Answers dangled just out of her reach, with something or someone preventing her from gaining the knowledge.
But what could be so powerful as to interfere with the workings of the Deities themselves?
The sky darkened as a large, black cloud crossed in front of the sun. In spite of the intense heat of the late summer's day, Khamsin shivered, and was still shivering when the cloud cleared.
She had just passed the sail maker's shop when a figure loomed out in front of her.
"Aye, Lady. A kindly word, if I may." The old man's voice was slurred, and he smelled as strongly of fish as he did of rum.
Khamsin stepped back, clutching the basket to her chest. She knew all of the Covemen and many of the traveling merchants. This man was unfamiliar and his long, dark cloak concealed whatever profession his manner of clothing might have revealed.
"You're seeking someone, sir?" Her voice was steadier than her rapidly beating heart.
His laugh was low and cruel. "That I am, Lady. That I am."
"If you're a sailor, then Donal inside is the one to help you." She nodded to the sail maker's closed door. "The Captain's not yet returned..."
"I seek no man." A scarred hand darted out from beneath the folds of his cloak, missed her arm by inches as she twisted away. "Just a pretty girl for a good time."
"Sir !I..."
"Khamsin?"
She turned and almost stumbled into Aric's arms as he exited through the sail maker's door. A coil of rope was draped over one shoulder and he placed himself between Khamsin and the old man.
"Khamsin?" he asked again, but when he turned the old man was already scurrying away. "Did the old drunk harm you?"
Khamsin shook her head hurriedly. "No. Just startled me."
Her brother-in-law motioned to the sagging pile of stained sails and tangled nets next to the shop. "He was probably sleeping off a bottle or two. You must've startled him."
She let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, forced a smile. "He probably knew these vegetables came from Rina's garden and wanted his share."
Aric laughed good-naturedly. "Shall I walk you to your door?"
"These are my vegetables. Your wife has more waiting for you at home," she teased from over her shoulder as she walked away.
By the time she reached her front steps, she'd dismissed her fearful misgivings about the old man as nothing more than an instinctual reaction to a very bad smell. Rotting fish and sour rum!
She pulled the latch on the front door and walked to the pantry in the rear of the house. She placed Rina's offerings on the shelf. She could hear the sound of Tavis' anvil ringing with a steady rhythm. In a sudden wave of compassion, she left her meal preparations for the moment and drew a pitcher of cool, fresh water from the well.
Tavis greeted his wife's appearance in his smithy with a wide smile. He wiped a soot- blackened arm across his sweat-bathed forehead.
"Ah, you're a real love." He gulped at the water then took the pitcher and dumped the remainder of the contents over his head.
Khamsin laughed 'til her sides ached. "Oh, Tav!" She reached behind him for a clean cloth and threw it playfully in his face.
He mopped his brow. Then he twisted the long cloth between his large hands, snapped it out in her direction like a whip. It caught the edge of her skirt.
She placed her hands on her hips, her eyes sparkling. "And I felt sorry for you because you were so hot and tired!"
"But I was, little Kammi!" He held his arms out to her. "The sight of your sweet face was enough to restore me back to full strength!"
She pointed to the metal rods left glowing in the fire. "Then I'd best be leaving you to your work. Strong as you are, you'll be finished in no time. And I've beans to prepare."
The clanging of his hammer followed her as she crossed the small back yard. She finished emptying the basket, leaving it on a chair by the front door. She'd ask Tav to take it back to Rina tomorrow.
The thin curtains fluttered languidly in the front windows, wafting as high as the tabletop as an occasional offshore gust blew through the village. Khamsin noticed the overturned vase on the table, the brightpinks scattered across the table and onto the bare, wooden floor. No wonder she hadn't seen Nixa in her favorite spot on the back stoop. The gray feline had been up to her usual mischief. Khamsin knelt down to retrieve the last of the blossoms and her eyes came to rest on the locked doors of her cupboard.
They were open. The lock swung in its hinges with an unnatural, mechanical rhythm. Soundlessly.
She stared, a cry strangling in her throat.
Slowly, she crawled across the floor until she sat in front of the cupboard. It radiated...something. She held her hands out before her, palms open. The glow of the enchantment flooded painfully into her mind. She gasped out loud, feeling the intense emanations of power. And whatever it was that touched the lock was no longer even there.
With shaking hands, she eased the doors back, careful to avoid the spell-charged metal. Bronya's Book was moved forward on the shelf. It lay open.
She closed her eyes and whispered a small protective spell. In her skirt pocket she found the four amulets she needed by touch. She put them on the floor by her knees.
Then carefully she reached into the cupboard and grasped the edges of the leather-bound volume with the tips of her fingers. Slowly, she pulled it off the shelf. She lay it on the floor then moved the amulets to surround it.
She cleared her mind again, leaned forward and scanned the runes. Her breath quickened as she read the ancient words.
It was the spell of an Assignation, an unalterable command for a meeting. The incantation was usually copied onto a parchment. It was forbidden to write in the Book itself.
But someone had. Someone had inserted the symbols that Bronya taught her to be her real name. The name that he would call her by.
She was called to an Assignation. And the assignation was commanded by the Sorcerer.
When Tavis stomped his heavy boots on the steps of the back porch and didn't smell the pungent aroma of vegetable stew, he suspected something was wrong. Even Nixa, usually looking for handouts at meal time, was missing. Perhaps a fevered child in the village requiring his wife's specials teas. Though out of habit they sought out the smith first. The villagers' fear of Khamsin was still strong enough that they disliked dealing directly with her.
Nothing prepared him for the sight that met his eyes as he crossed into the wide living room in search of a pipe to help pass the time 'til Khamsin returned. The small form kneeling, trance-like, in front of the cupboard seemed barely aware of his approach.
He hesitated before touching her. Something about the open cupboard, and its contents, revolted him. Something about her unnatural stillness chilled his blood.
"K-Kammi?" he said finally, stuttering her name.
The name wafted in the moist evening breeze that filtered through the gauze curtains, lifting the tendrils of hair that clung to her damp face. She stirred but didn't turn to face him.
He glanced at the open book; gibberish to him. Then his eyes caught the movement of the lock. No natural force was causing the metal to sway evenly, rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth. Khamsin's gaze followed the movement.
Tavis snatched the empty vase from the table behind him. He threw it with all his might against the open doors of the cupboard. The ceramic piece shattered with an earsplitting crash.
The lock stopped moving.
"Kammi?"
She turned in his arms, her eyes blinking rapidly. "Tavis? Oh, Tavis!" She clung to him, trembling.
He knew the tea was not as pungent as Kammi would have made it. He was a smith. The kitchen was not his domain. But the hot liquid seemed to have the desired effect in spite of its lack of flavor. Her hands stopped shaking and some of the sparkle returned to his wife's eyes.
Nixa, too, had returned. She wove anxiously in and out of her mistress's ankles as Khamsin and Tavis sat in the high-backed chairs at the kitchen table.
He patted her hand. Things seemed to be getting back to normal. He wanted things to be normal. "It was probably nothing. A prank."
"No, it was something. Not a prank."
"You don't know that."
"I do. An Assignation is not a prank."
"An Assignation? Isn't that like a spell?"
"It's not like a spell, Tavis. It is a spell. A calling."
Her certainty disturbed him and offended him at the same time. "You do healing work, Kammi. You tend to the sick and birth babes. Healing work isn't assignations. Bronya never talked of those things, and she was a true Healer. Spells are for the priests or their witches."
"Tanta Bron did talk of those things. She warned us this might happen."
He remembered sitting in the ailing Healer's small alcove. She'd clutched his hand, whispered her fears about Kammi's seventeenth year. He thought perhaps the raiders would return, claim the girl as one of their own. He hadn't considered the threat might entail magic.
"You must be wrong. She'd not have asked me to keep you safe from spells or witch- workings. If that was the danger she saw, she'd have sent you to Noviiya, to the temple priests there."
"I'm certain that was the danger she saw. She and I talked not long before she died about what needed to be done, if an Assignation was placed on my name."
His eyes narrowed. The chill returned to his blood. "What needs to be done?"
"We talked about a sword. She said to ask you to make me a sword."
"A sword?" He laughed harshly. "Do you intend to defend the village from pranksters by yourself? You used to play make believe all the time with my old wooden one."
"More than make believe. Your father taught me quite well..."
"Aye, he did." He smiled. "I'm not saying you would trip over your feet. Father said you were strong for your size. Graceful. But a sword? Khamsin!"
"It's a different kind of sword. It must be small enough that I can wield it properly."
"I can do that. But..."
"And forged under my direction. For the metal must be able to hold incantations. The hilt must have amulets embedded in specific order. Rune signs must be inscribed, then forged into the metal."
Tavis sat back in his chair and pulled on his beard. This sounded less and less like healing and more and more like witch-working. The word sat cold and ugly in his mind.
But if it had been Bronya's idea? Bronya had saved his life, brought him back from a high fever when he was a small child.
"Bronya drew a sketch. With instructions," Khamsin persisted.
Well, if Bronya had designed it, perhaps he should consider it.
She brought him the sketch, unrolling it across the table, securing one end with her mug. He sucked on his tea and studied it. The curling symbols on the page told him nothing. But the carefully drawn diagrams of the sword did.
He shook his head wearily, knowing what the task required. And knowing he couldn't refuse her.
But there was more.
"If there's to be an Assignation then let it be at my command, not his."
Tavis almost dropped his mug. "Surely, you're not in a position to dictate to some Wizard!"
She hesitated. "The Assignation comes from the Sorcerer."
"No! You must be wrong." Tavis's fingers clutched the mug tightly.
"I know what I saw written in the Book." Her voice was soft, almost apologetic.
"You're wrong. We've no means here to stop the Sorcerer. You misread. You're not a Healer, like Bronya. Those runes are hard to read. It must've said something else." He repeated his excuses as if the very act of speaking could dissolve the spell.
She lay one hand on top of the sketch. "Doesn't this tell you what I read is true?"
The arcane runesigns seemed to glow against the parchment. For the first time since the Hill Raiders attacked his village, Tavis the Smith was afraid.
"Kammi..." There was a pleading tone in his voice. "What if we leave? In two more months you'll be eighteen. Seventeenth year, Tanta Bron said. If the contact isn't made during your seventeenth year, this Assignation would end. Isn't that true?"
"Yes, it's true," she admitted slowly. "But he's already tried to contact me. Perhaps even claim me."
"He tried to claim you? You saw him? Why didn't you say..."
"I saw an old man, earlier today. An old drunk. That may be all he truly was. Or he might've been more. But in any case, I do know that he's come here to our village, to our house. The writing in the Book is proof of that."
The thought of a being as powerful as the Sorcerer in his house made Tavis's stomach clench. "We'll move. To Dram."
"Then those people could be in danger. I may be who he seeks, but since when have the Powers worried about the innocents when they've carved their trails of destruction? The raids, the poisoned harvests. It's been said that there were one or two who displeased the Gods yet scores perished. No, I have to go back to the cave, take up my studies and pray that Ixari will send some guidance this time."
"Studies?" Tavis frowned.
"There are other things I must learn, ways to sharpen my mind and my senses, divinations to..."
"No. I forbid it." Tavis wiped his hand over his face, then turned from her. "There's nothing more to discuss. Nothing." His voice was gruff. He pushed himself abruptly to his feet and strode for the kitchen door, slamming it as he headed back to the smithy.
She left that night...