Faces (12 page)

Mara glanced back up at the landslide-choked pass.
I did that,
she thought again, as she had thought many times during the day, as though to convince herself to believe something clearly impossible through force of repetition.
I really did that
.

Someone cleared his throat off to her right, and she jerked her head around.

Keltan stood silhouetted against the setting sun. He wore mail and the blue-and-white tunic of the Lady's forces. “We are not bandits,” she had said. “We are an army, and we will look like one.”

Mara was suddenly struck by how much taller and . . . solid . . . Keltan looked than when she had first seen him in the basement in Tamita, just before her fifteenth birthday and just after his, more than half a year ago.

He's grown
, she thought.
Well, so have I. In more ways than one.

“Hello,” she said, keenly aware of his parting words when they had met in the village, the last time she had spoken to him.
“I love you. I thought the feeling was mutual.”

It is
, she wanted to tell him, but a proclamation of love seemed an awkward way to begin a conversation, and in any event, she wasn't certain he still felt the same way.

“Hi,” Keltan said. “May I join you?”

She moved over on the rock. “If you like.”

Keltan came and sat beside her. The wind brought her his scent, dusty and sweaty but strangely pleasant. “I saw you in the camp before we left,” he said. “Saying good-bye to Prella and Kirika and Alita. That was nice of you.”

Mara sighed. “Alita wouldn't talk to me. And Prella and Kirika were . . . cool.” She glanced at him. “When did that happen, by the way? Prella and Kirika?”

“While we were away from the Secret City,” Keltan said. “When I got back there, they were together.”

“I'm glad,” Mara said. “Prella needs love, and Kirika needs to give it. I'm glad they found each other.”

“So am I,” Keltan said. “As Alita found Hyram. As I . . .” His voice trailed off. He bent down and picked up a twig from the forest clutter surrounding the base of the boulder, turning it over and over in his fingers. “Mara, I'm sorry,” he said, without looking up. “When I spoke to you outside the village . . . I wasn't trying to drive a wedge between you and the Lady. I wasn't acting on Catilla's behalf. I wanted you to know I was concerned . . . about you, and about what I'd seen in the village. I didn't think how it would seem to you.”

“I was too harsh in my response,” Mara said in a low voice, while her heart leaped in relief that his feelings toward her hadn't changed. “But, Keltan, you have to understand what working with the Lady has meant to me.” She gestured behind them. “What I did . . . up there . . . I was in
control
of it. I did it without pain. I . . . I feel like maybe, just maybe, this Gift of mine really is a Gift, and not a curse, for the first time in . . .” Her throat closed. “For the first time since my father died, I think.”

“I understand that,” Keltan said. “Really, I do. But, Mara . . .” He turned fully toward her for the first time since he'd sat down beside her. “Please, don't be angry. But . . . you drew magic from the wolves, not from the villagers. Not from humans. The Lady . . . yes, she's using the wolves as a source of magic, but she uses the villagers, too, all the time. And I know you don't want to hear it, but it
is
changing them. Just like the Masks are changing people in Tamita. I'm not telling you not to trust her. All I'm asking is . . . be careful.”

Mara, who had been somewhat distracted by the way the orange glow of the setting sun was backlighting Keltan's hair, stiffened as he spoke. “You're sorry for what you said before, but you're going to say it
again
?” she said. All her warm feelings evaporated like sweat in a cooling breeze. She felt herself growing angry. She seemed powerless to stop it, or the words she threw at him like stones. “Who sent you? Edrik? Hyram? Or did Catilla give you more instructions before we left?”

“What? No! Mara—”

“Save it.” She turned away. “And leave me alone.” She walked away.
What are you doing? Stay with him! Talk to him!
a part of her begged her, but the stronger part, the colder part, the angry part the Lady had been teaching her to draw on for power, kept her feet moving away from him, and kept her from looking back.

She didn't wipe the tears from her cheeks until she was out of Keltan's sight.

···

Over the next four days they moved cautiously through the Wild. For the first two days, they saw no humans.

On the third, they came across a small stone building on a low, barren hill. “Magic collection hut,” Mara told the Lady as they looked up at it from half a mile away. “We're getting closer to the mine.”

The Lady nodded. She closed her eyes for a moment, and Mara knew she was looking through the eyes of one of the wolves. Which one became immediately obvious, as a big gray male trotted away from his fellows, slipping in and out of the trees, and in and out of sight. He finally disappeared completely for several minutes, only to emerge right by the hut. He trotted around it, sniffing, then looked back at them.

The Lady opened her eyes. “No one there,” she said. She turned to her left, where Hamil stood quietly with the rest of the Lady's Cadre. She understood why they were nicknamed the “human wolfpack.” The twelve men spoke little more than the wolves, and sometimes seemed to move at the will of the Lady without her speaking to them.

As if she has
altered
them to serve her
, she thought, and shoved the thought away angrily, cursing Keltan for putting it there.
So they're loyal. Why wouldn't they be? Their village was barely surviving until she used her magic to carve something approaching civilization out of that frozen valley. Without her help, they couldn't grow crops or keep livestock alive. Of
course
they're loyal.

“Hamil,” the Lady said. “Take Mara to the hut.” She glanced at Mara. “See if there is magic there we could use.”

Mara nodded at her, then at Hamil. He led her into the woods, while behind them the entire column, which had been resting while the hut was investigated, swung into motion, curving off to the right on a path that would take them around the base of the hill Mara would have to climb.

The hut, when she and Hamil reached it, proved to be all but identical to the one, months before, where she had killed her would-be rapist, Grute, and discovered just how deadly her Gift could be. But it held no magic. “Recently harvested,” she told the Lady when they reunited. “That could mean there's a Watcher not far ahead.”

“There is,” the Lady said. “Graymane picked up his scent at the hut and has been tracking him since.” She closed her eyes and stopped walking. “He is almost on him . . .” She stood frozen for a minute . . . two . . . then opened her eyes. “He is down,” she said simply. “Graymane is holding him for us.” She pointed ahead and to the left. “That way.” She turned to Hamil again. “We will interrogate this man. Tell Edrik and Chell to make camp.” She glanced at the sky. “The camp needs to be under canvas in short order.”

Hamil nodded and slipped away. The Lady set out into the woods without waiting for him to return. Mara, caught by surprise, had to run a few steps to catch up. She glanced uneasily at the sky, which had been clouding over all day. The Lady obviously expected rain, and soon. It was already late in the afternoon, and between that and the clouds, the forest had a dark and unfriendly look. “Shouldn't we have brought a few men with us?” she said tentatively.

The Lady glanced her. “Really, child? What do
we
have to fear in the woods?”

Mara opened her mouth to answer, and then closed it again. “I . . . suppose you're right.” The wolves surrounded them, and with their magic, she had brought down a mountain. Whatever the wolves themselves did not frighten away—or could not bring down—she and the Lady certainly could.

I'm powerful
, she thought. For some reason it hadn't really struck home until that moment, despite all that had happened. She had never thought of herself as powerful before; dangerous, unstable, a threat to herself and others, yes, but not
powerful
—able to
choose
to use her Gift, to control it, to bend it to her will.

Now all she had to do was choose to use it wisely.

Well, no pressure there
.

They reached the Watcher after about twenty minutes' walk. He lay in a clearing in the woods, flat on his back, Graymane standing over him, growling whenever he moved. The Watcher's right leg, twisted beneath him at an unnatural angle, was clearly broken. The Lady bent over him. “You are in pain,” she said. “I can help.”

“Who . . . ?” the Watcher gasped out. “You wear no Mask.” His eyes, behind the eyeholes of the black Mask, flicked to Mara. “Either of you.”

“My name is Arilla,” the Lady said. “But you would know me better as the Lady of Pain and Fire.”

The eyes widened, jerked back to her. “The Lady . . . ?”

“I can ease your pain,” the Lady said again. “But you must help me. I need to know how many Watchers there are at the new mine . . . and how many workers, both Masked and unMasked.”

The Watcher stared at her. “You're planning to attack!”

“How many?” the Lady said.

“I will not tell you,” the Watcher said.

The Lady sighed. “You will,” she said. “But I would prefer not to expend magic on you.” Mara shot her a startled glance. The Lady didn't appear to notice. “Well?”

“I will not tell you,” the Watcher said. “No matter what you do.”

“I do not think,” the Lady said, “that you have the slightest understanding of what I can do.” With her right hand she touched Graymane, who whined a little but never took his gaze from the Watcher, and with her left reached out and touched the Watcher's chest. Mara glimpsed a flash of magic—and with a sharp crack, the Watcher's Mask split down the middle and fell from his face, collapsing into shards of clay as it hit the ground.

The revealed face was young, only a few years older than Mara, and frightened. But even as she watched, the fear melted away, replaced by a look of peace—incongruous, considering his circumstance. “How many Watchers at the new mine?” the Lady asked again, in a light conversational tone, as though commenting on the weather at a dinner party.

“Depends,” the young man said without a trace of reticence. “Full garrison is sixty, but of course there are always some out harvesting from the magic huts, and some on patrol, keeping an eye out for bandits. Generally more like forty of us actually on hand.”

“And how many unMasked?”

“Must be close to a hundred up there already,” the Watcher said. “Most of 'em are still at the old mine, but not for much longer. The ones at the new mine are busy building new longhouses and other buildings and some are already working underground, starting the new shafts and levels. There were
more
than a hundred,” he went on, “but the roof fell in on a couple of dozen last week. Mostly strong ones, too—almost all men, only a couple of women and maybe three young 'uns. Nasty waste. Kind of putting a crimp in the work until we can get more sent up from the old mine. Not to mention making a hell of a mess.”

Mara stared at the young man in horror, memories of her own mercifully brief time in the mine flashing back with almost as much force as the magic-driven nightmares she thankfully seldom had now, thanks to Whiteblaze. She touched his head and his tail wagged briefly, although he kept his eyes fixed on the supine Watcher.

“More Watchers at the new mine than the old right now, then?” the Lady said.

The young man pursed his lips. “No, still more at the old mine, I'd say. Maybe seventy or eighty. Probably five hundred unMasked. Should be more Watchers than that, of course—but a bunch of Watchers were sent out west. Heard that was in case you showed up, ma'am,” he said respectfully to the Lady, “but I didn't really credit it. No offense, but I thought you were a myth.”

“None taken,” the Lady said. “Now tell me about the new mine. What does it look like inside?”

“Well, it all started with this huge natural cavern, right?” the Watcher said.

The Lady looked at Mara. “The one you found, presumably.”

She nodded, remembering how beautiful it had been, the walls glistening with more magic than she had ever seen in one place before or since.

“Big underground lake in the cavern, water pouring out into the ravine,” the Watcher went on. “But when they went in farther, they found that the water pouring into the lake comes down a long passage from high up the mountain. An underground cascade. They've harnessed that, of course.”

“A waterwheel?” Mara said.

The Watcher nodded and flashed her a grin. “Got it in one, miss! They've just started sinking shafts—been busy mining out the big cavern—but eventually they'll put in a man-engine like they got in the other mine. Right now they're just using it to run a rock-crusher—helps them extract the magic.”

The Lady looked at him thoughtfully. “Is this underground cascade natural?”

“Funny you should ask, ma'am,” the Watcher said. “It ain't. That chute it comes down is smoothed the whole way. And there are stairs and passageways climbing up the mountain alongside it. Someone carved them all out. Must be centuries ago now. Probably the same folks who carved that Secret City we cleared the rebels out of.”

“Fascinating,” the Lady said. “And where do those stairs and passageways lead?”

“Right up to where the water pours underground. It starts way up near the peaks, see, in a glacier-fed lake. You look close from down in the valley, you can see it cascading down the side of the mountain. Where it goes underground there's a second entrance to the cave system—and more magic, too: there's a small crew of unMasked up there already, opening things up for mining.”