Lynn Flewelling - The Oracle's Queen

“I tell you,” Mahti replied. “You my guides.”

“Guides? To what?” asked Lutha.

Mahti shrugged, then cocked his head at Caliel and frowned. “First I heal. Friend who turn face away hurt you.”

Caliel leaned back, too weak to do more. But Mahti didn’t try to approach him. He didn’t move at all, except to raise his horn to his lips. The open end rested on the ground in front of him, pointing at Caliel. Puffing out his cheeks again, he warmed the horn.

“Stop him!” Caliel tried to struggle away, eyes fixed on the horn as if he expected it to spew fire.

Mahti ignored his protests. Fitting the horn more comfortably against his mouth, he began the spell drone. To Lutha’s horror, black lines appeared on the man’s skin as he played, crawling like centipedes across his skin to form intricate, barbaric patterns of lines and circles.

“You heard him. He doesn’t want your magic!” Barieus cried, jumping between the witch and Caliel. Lutha did the same, ready to fend off who knew what sort of attack.

Mahti glanced up at them, amusement clear in his eyes, and the horn made a rude, laughing sound. Then the tone changed to a completely different sort of sound.

It began with a drone, but immediately fell to a deeper, softer sound. The symbols completely covered his face, hands, and arms now, and the exposed skin of his chest, too. It reminded Lutha of the markings he’d seen on Khatme people, but these markings were different, more angular and crude. The designs etched into the animal teeth and fangs that decorated his neck and wrists were the same. Barbaric; there was no other word for it. The sight of that reminded him of all the gruesome tales he’d heard of the hill folk and their magic.

Yet in spite of his instinctive alarm, the sounds coming from the horn were strangely soothing. Lutha slowly succumbed to its mesmerizing effect and felt his eyelids grow heavy. On some level he realized that he was bespelled but was helpless to resist. Barieus was blinking and wavering where he stood. Caliel was still panting, but his eyes had fluttered shut.

The buzzing went on for a few minutes, and to Lutha’s surprise, he found himself sitting on the ground beside Caliel, urging him to lie down and rest his head on his thigh. Caliel stretched out on his side, grimacing as the lacerations on his back pulled and caught on his bloodstained cloak.

The horn sound had shifted again without Lutha even noticing. Now it was lighter and higher, quick little bursts of sound followed by long trills. Caliel sighed and went limp against him. Lutha couldn’t tell if he’d fallen asleep or fainted, but his breathing was easier than it had been. He looked over at Barieus; the squire was fast asleep where he sat, a peaceful smile on his lips.

Lutha fought off sleep and kept guard over the others, watching the witch with a mix of suspicion and wonder. He might look dirty and ordinary, but clearly he was a man of power. He’d gained control over the three of them with nothing more than this strange music, if you could call it that.

Stranger still was the way it seemed to draw the pain from Lutha’s back. His skin itched and burned, but the worst of the pain from the lash cuts grew muted, almost bearable.

The sound died away at last and Mahti came over and rested a hand on Caliel’s brow for a moment, then nodded. “Good. He sleep. I come back.”

The witch left his bundle on the ground but took the horn with him as he wandered off into the trees across the road. The brambles there looked as thick as the ones that had stymied Lutha, but the witch passed through easily and disappeared into the trees beyond.

Now that the spell was broken, Lutha was chagrined at how easily they’d been snared. Not wanting to wake Caliel, he threw a pebble at Barieus to wake him.

The boy started and yawned. “I was dreaming. I thought—” He looked blearily around and spied the witch’s bag. “Oh. Oh!” He leaped to his feet. “Where is he? What did he do to Cal?”

“Quiet. Let him sleep,” Lutha whispered.

Barieus started to object, then a look of utter amazement spread across his face. “My back!”

“I know. Mine, too.” He gently shifted his leg out from under Caliel’s head and tucked his own cloak under his friend’s head in its place. Standing, he lifted Barieus’ cloak and shirt to examine his back. It didn’t look much better, but there was no fresh blood. “I don’t know what he did, but Caliel is resting easier for it. Mahti said he was going to heal him. Maybe he did?”

“He could be some kind of drysian.”

“I don’t know. The stories I heard never said anything about witches doing healing. What he did, magicking the ones chasing us; that’s more like what I’d expect.”

“What do you think he meant about us guiding him somewhere?” asked Barieus, looking around nervously for the man.

“I don’t know.” It could be that Cal was right about him and it was some kind of trick, but if so, why would he help them?

“You think he saw us in a dream, like he said?”

Lutha shrugged. If the man was a witch, then anything was possible, he supposed. “Maybe he’s a madman and wandered off from his own kind. He acts a bit crazy.”

A snort of laughter made them both jump and turn.

Mahti emerged from the brambles with a handful of small plants and squatted beside Caliel. Cal didn’t wake as Mahti rolled him gently onto his stomach and lifted the filthy cloak away from his back. The lacerations had scabbed and broken open again many times in the night, and were already red and swollen.

Mahti opened his bag and pulled out a wrinkled homespun shirt. He tossed it to Lutha, along with his knife. “Make to put on,” he ordered, clearly intending for him to make bandages.

While Lutha cut up the shirt, Mahti took something else from his bag and began chewing it as he rubbed the young plants briskly between his palms. After a moment he spat a dark juice into the crushed leaves and kneaded it all together with some water from a flask, then began patting the crude poultice onto Caliel’s wounds.

“Are you a drysian?” Barieus asked.

Mahti shook his head. “Witch.”

“Well, at least he makes no bones about it,” muttered Lutha.

Mahti picked up on the tone of the words and raised an eyebrow at him as he finished bandaging Caliel’s back and ribs. “My people? We scare our babies with stories of you.” He looked down at Cal and wrinkled his nose in disgust. “No Retha’noi do this.” He finished with Caliel’s back, then touched the swollen bruises over the damaged ribs. “I mend bone now. Take out sick water.”

“What’s that mean?” Barieus asked.

“I think he means pus,” said Lutha. “And you heal with that, don’t you?” Lutha pointed at the horn lying next to them on the ground.

“Yes. Oo’lu.”

“And that’s what you used to hide us earlier?”

“Yes. Witch men Retha’noi all play oo’lu for their magic.”

“I’ve heard stories of your kind using them in battle.”

Mahti just turned back to tending Caliel. Lutha exchanged a worried look with Barieus. The squire had noticed the lack of answer, too.

“We appreciate what you’ve done for our friend. What payment do you require?” asked Lutha.

“Payment?” Mahti looked amused.

“You helped us, so we give you something in return?”

“I tell you. You guide me when your friend can joor-nay.”

“Oh, so we’re back to that?” Lutha sighed. “Where do you want to go?”

“Where you go.”

“No! I’m asking where it is you want us to guide you . Not that it matters. We are already going somewhere. I don’t have time to wander off with you.”

It was impossible to know how much of this the hill man understood, but he nodded happily. “You guide.”