Robin McKinley - Water

“The storm will not return today,” said Water Gate. “Go outdoors, and remove your seven stones. Take them out of the water-garden entirely, take them away. And then spend time setting the water-garden to rights; it will tell you how, for Western Mouth has told me you are a good pupil. I will finish the work for you later—if this world is still above water—but for now Western Mouth and I have other work.”

Tamia listened to him, expressionless and unblinking; and then she looked at her Guardian for confirmation before she did his bidding. And she looked back at him, after she had looked at her Guardian, to be sure that he understood that she did what he said only because her Guardian told her to.

Tamia gathered the seven stones from the water-garden, and while she had put them in uncertainly, she picked them up now knowing that they had done what she asked, and that there was no fault in them, only in her not knowing how and what to do. She fondled them gently, as she had used to stroke Columbine, telling them thank-you, telling them that they were her friends. She thought about Water Gate telling her to take them away; and she piled six of them together in a little heap in the heart of the old yew. The seventh, which was slightly kidney-shaped while the others were round, she slipped into her pocket.

She spent the rest of the morning doing what she could with the water-garden. She found that she could do more than she had expected, for now suddenly she began to see the ribbons of energy that ran between the stones. Like ribbons, they were different colours and different sizes, and some of them were taut and some were slack and some were tangled, and it was her work to make them all smooth, and woven equally together. When she put her fingers in the water, the shining flecks of gold swam to her till her hands gleamed like candle-flames; and yet, as she worked, the golden flashes were small and gentle, and seemed to ride briefly on the surface of the water like sweet oil before they dissolved and disappeared. Tamia almost thought they had a faint tranquil smell, like salve on a bruise, and in some wonder she understood that the ache of the bruise-feeling she had had since she placed her message-stones was the source of her new understanding, and she began to think that she would mind if she had drowned the world, even if Water Gate could save her Guardian.

She felt noon come, rather than saw it, and Water Gate came outdoors, and set a plate bearing bread and rishtha and dried fish on the edge of the stairs, and went back indoors again. Tamia ate her lunch, and went back to the water-garden.

When twilight came, Water Gate came out of the door of the house again, and called her; and she walked slowly up the stairs, for she was very tired.

The bowl of water now lay on the table in front of the hearth. Tamia’s eyes were drawn to it at once, though it looked no different than it had done that morning. But she had little more than a glance at it, because she went at once to her Guardian’s bedside, and took her hand, and asked how she was. “I am sure you have worked too hard,” said Tamia. “Have you eaten anything? Let me get you some supper.”

“Water Gate will make us both supper,” said her Guardian, “because we must talk.”

Tamia looked over her shoulder in surprise, and saw Water Gate holding a frying-pan in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other. He laid them down, opened the food-cupboard, and with a meticulous care Tamia had to acknowledge, began to look through their stores. He had a long, lean face and heavy lines down his cheeks and around his mouth, and shaggy black hair. He was not so old as her Guardian. She could see no trace of the wild anger he had almost killed her with the evening before, but what she saw instead was despair, and when he turned briefly and met her eyes, his eyes agreed that what she saw in his face was the truth, though he would have hidden it from her if he could.

“Listen to me,” said her Guardian, and Tamia turned back to her. “There is a new sea-magic. A Horse of Water has come ashore, and gallops up and down the countryside, destroying whatever her hoofs touch, and when she shakes her head, the water-drops that fly out of her mane are sharp as arrows, and kill what they strike. White North, Standing Stone, Four Doors, Southern Eye, and Water Gate have all tried to stop her, and they have all failed. We are the last . . .” Her Guardian stopped, and seemed to consider, and sighed. “Water Gate advised me not to tell you, but I cannot think that is right. It is Water Gate who finally discovered how the Water Horse had entered. It was not your seven stones, little one. It was my weakness. Your stones only marked the entryway; and, my dear, it was the best you could have done as well as the worst, or Water Gate might not have come here in time—in time for our last effort, our last chance.

“The other Guardians have tried, and failed, to curb the Water Horse, to dissolve her, or to send her back into the sea from which she came, as she trampled across each of their lands in turn. But she broke White North’s water rope, and drank up Standing Stone’s pool, and Four Doors’ mire did not stop her, nor Southern Eye’s maze, nor Water Gate’s . . . well, Water Gate did not succeed either, it does not matter how.

“We are all that is left, and I am old and ill, and you are but a five-years’ apprentice.”

Her Guardian fell silent for so long, Tamia thought she would say no more, and was about to slip away and offer to peel the grads, so she could keep an eye on Water Gate; but then her Guardian’s hand gripped hers more strongly, and she said, “Water Gate, in his effort to find out why the Horse had been released upon us, went through your village. Do you remember, on your first day here, when you did not want to tell me that your family would be glad to be rid of you? Water Gate says that your stepfather has taken to telling everyone that it was a tremendous sacrifice to lose you and he only did it because it was what was best for everyone, and that not only is his voice no longer heard raised against the Guardians’ token, but your family are the only ones in all the lowlands Water Gate visited who are not terrified by the storms and the Water Horse, because they believe that Western Mouth’s apprentice will save them.

“So perhaps they are right, and us Guardians all wrong. Listen. You will take this bowl of water, and do not spill a drop. You will have to walk slowly, for the bowl is brimful, but walk as quickly as you may, for the Water Horse is not far away. You will wait for her at the deep crack of valley where the Eagle meets the Flock of Crows. You will see her come striding towards you. Wait; and wait; and wait again; and wait still longer. Wait till she is upon you, till you see her shining blue eyes and feel her cold watery breath. When—and not till then—she would crush you with her next step, then throw the bowl of water over her.

“And—we will either have been successful, or not.”

Her Guardian closed her eyes, and again Tamia turned to creep away, but her Guardian said, “You want to be there a little after dawn. It will be a clear night, and the horizon will grow light enough for you to walk by well before dawn—if you are careful, and you know the way—tonight you must eat the supper Water Gate prepares for us, and then you must sleep.” Her Guardian’s eyes opened. “That, at least, I can still give you. I can give you a good night’s sleep.”

Tamia said, “I would rather spend the night here, watching, by your bed.” She did not say “this last night” but she did not have to; if the bowl of water did not work, they would not see each other again. Tamia was still too young and healthy for her own death to seem real to her; but she could just imagine never seeing her Guardian again, and that seemed more terrible than death.