Carol Berg - THE SOUL WEAVER

Taking Paulo’s hint, I quickly piled leaves in the darkest corner of the gatehouse, took off my cloak, and threw it over the pile. Then I slipped out of the doorway into the tangle of shrubs and brush and followed my mother into the gardens.

I almost came back and crawled under my cloak when I took my first look at the main house. Another vision. Two images, one on top of the other. One was the silent, dead shell that stood before me, and the other was a great house ablaze with light, the music of flutes and strings and laughter floating through the gardens. I would have sworn I was dancing, though I didn’t even know how. My skin flashed cold and hot; my nose claimed that this weedy thicket smelled like roses and perfume and candle smoke. Anger, joy, excitement, and curiosity wholly unrelated to my own state of mind set up such a confusion in my head, I came near banging it on a tree to stop it. After a few moments, the vision dissipated, leaving me in a cold sweat.

From my hiding place in an overgrown arbor, I heard the queen describe the very creatures of my dream world, come to life in Leire: the dwarf again, and the beast-like man, and the one I thought of as the runner, the dark-skinned one, so very tall and thin, who sped up and down the black roads and the mountain paths in my dreams. These were not creatures of the Lords. I felt nothing of Notole’s teaching in their magics, nothing of Parven’s strategies in their mischief, nothing of Ziddari’s wiles in their interaction with me. They were something else entirely. I just didn’t know what.

After the queen rode off toward Montevial, my mother sat on the bridge parapet thinking. I did the same in my hiding place, trying to decide whether to tell her of my dreams about the one-eyed dwarf and his friends. My hesitation saved my life.

“… He remains as he was in Zhev’Na. But tonight he stands within range of my sword, and I must and will destroy him before he can compound his evil.”

So the Prince of Avonar wanted to kill me. Everything he’d claimed about trusting me and wanting to help me was a lie. He’d almost had me fooled. For the first time since Zhev’Na, I wished for a sword. Well, even without a weapon, I wouldn’t go down easily. I knew some things. As the Dar’Nethi watchdog kept reminding me, I had learned from the masters.

But as my father raged, I saw he was convincing my mother, too, so I started listening more closely to his accusations. “The Lords never dirty their own hands… some they inhabit… insinuate themselves into a man and displace his soul… take on his life as their own… ”

It was true he’d told me of the secrets hidden at the deserted bathhouse, and it was true what he said about the Lords taking on the bodies of others to do their will. I had done it when I was one of them, and pleasure was far too simple a word for it. But I’d not taken myself into any Dar’Nethi, nor had I used even one jot of magic since I’d left Zhev’Na. It was too risky and too painful, and I hadn’t power enough, because the passive ways of Dar’Nethi power-gathering nauseated me.

What was happening?

Fighting the Prince would not provide an answer. I had to get away until I could sort out the truth. My mother couldn’t save me from the Prince, and I couldn’t save her from anyone if I was dead.

So, using everything I’d learned of stealth in my training in Zhev’Na, I slipped out of the arbor and away from the bridge and the grassy ravine, deeper into the trees. I had to move slowly, watching for sticks and branches and piles of leaves. The weak moonlight didn’t penetrate the trees. The previous night’s rain had left the dead leaves damp, which helped me move quietly, even though the dew coating the shrubs and vines left my shirtsleeves wet and flapping. I headed away from the gatehouse, thinking that with everything so overgrown I would surely be able to get up a tree, over the wall, and out into the forest. I could probably hide longer than they could look for me.

I skirted a weedy thicket and crept toward a grove of alders. As I neared the circle of trees, I stumbled over something thick and soft in the dark, and landed facedown in the damp undergrowth. Whatever had tripped me didn’t smell too fine, so I assumed it was dead, until it hissed and pulled away. I resisted the temptation to leap up and run. Instead I slithered silently forward on my belly. A faint greenish light glimmered through the leaves. I scarcely dared breathe. Then, all at the same time, the branches in front of me parted, and a hand yanked at my hair, lifting my face up so the green light glared directly in my eyes.

“Who is it? Another spying one? A servant of the sword-carrier?” A gravelly voice spoke in my ear.

Hands grabbed each of my arms. I twisted my arms to loosen their grip and drew up my knees to kick their feet out from under them. But I couldn’t get loose, and my captors dragged me out of the bushes and slammed me onto my knees, pinning my arms behind me.

Night’s mother! Standing right in front of me, as if he had just stepped out of my dream, was the one-eyed dwarf. On one side of me, holding my arm in a grip worthy of a Zhid wrestler, was the wide brown man, and on the other was the wiry black runner, every bit as strong as his leathery friend.

“Who are you?” I whispered, amazement taking all the fight out of me for the moment.

“It is he!” said the dwarfish man quietly, putting his finger to his lips and grinning through his beard. “Joyful! Oh, tell us that we have not damaged you, great Master!”

The two big ones didn’t let go of me, but they eased up enough that I wasn’t afraid they’d break my limbs any more.

“I’m all right. Where the devil have you come from? What do you want with me? The dreams… ”

“It is not yet time for your questioning, great Master. You must come to the Bounded… if you are the one we seek. Best follow. And soon! We are here to help you find your way!” He bowed deeply, bursting into giddy laughter. The other two followed suit, the brown man laughing in dry, hacking bleats, and his tall companion in rolling rumbles as deep as the midnight of his coloring.

“Karon, no!” My mother called out from beyond the trees, distracting me from the mystery of the three. “Gerick, run!”

Satisfaction rippled through me at that moment. The Prince hadn’t changed her mind; she still believed in me. I would not let her down.

I shook off the brown and black hands and jumped to my feet. The three of them were still chuckling merrily. I didn’t believe they meant me any harm. “I need to get away from here,” I said. “Someone’s trying to hurt me.”

“Away?” said the dwarf, scarcely able to swallow his laughter. “We could take you away. A short away. Not all the away. Our way is not your away. You must find your own. But come - ”

He was interrupted by the snapping of branches behind me. “Who are you? What are you doing here? Sword of Annadis! Tell me this is a dream.” My mother.

The three burst out laughing again and crammed themselves behind a thick-boled oak tree, while I turned to tell her what I planned. She stood in the shadowed tangle of lilacs, hard to see. Moonlight glinted on the knife in her hand. Perhaps I had been mistaken about her, too.

Yet even as I hesitated, she threw down her weapon and extended her arms. “Gerick! Your father - Gerick, tell me who you are.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but things quickly became very confusing. I needed to get to her. The sounds coming from the shadows… I knew them well: the soft thud, the rip of muscle and crack of bone, the brief expulsion of air, followed by the quick intake as the pain shot upward. Such sounds always accompanied the hard curve and smooth feel of a knife hilt, and the satisfying release as rubbery flesh and tough cartilage yielded to the honed edge of the blade.