Snare (26 page)

‘Yes, I’m here. Water Woman, is that you?’

I be she who bear that name. I speak-again-now. You tell-then me the Riders. I know-then these not.

‘In the sky –’

Yes, I know-now. I know-then not. I be-then confused. We call them Deathbringers.

‘Deathbringers? Why?’

They come-then with Canton people. They bring-then death.

‘I don’t understand. Can you tell me more?’

Much more when they fly-next. Silence needs be mine now. I needs-be hide.

‘From whom?’

Others, some of our men, but not my spear servants, other men. They be near, I know-not them, but I have-now many many suspicions.

‘Who do you – wait! You’re ChaMeech, aren’t you, Water Woman?’

Ammadin heard a sharp hiss; silence followed. She wondered if she’d been too blunt, but at the same time, she felt triumph like keese in her blood. She had guessed right, she was sure of it, and in a few moments, Water Woman confirmed it.

I be true Chiri Michi. I lie-not. Hate-not me. Fear-not me. I beg you.

‘I neither hate nor fear you.’

I give-now you thanks. I mean-not you harm.

‘Then we can bargain. You don’t harm me, I won’t harm you.’

A bargain, yes. I agree.

‘Tell me – your males, they who hunt, the warband. Are they in the Rift? Are they waiting for my people?’

They be in the Rift. I know-not if they wait to attack you.
Her voice paused. Another spoke distantly in her own language, as if another ChaMeech hovered near to listen to her crystal.
They wait-maybe. We know-not.

‘You’re not alone there.’

No, I have two servants to walk with me. I be true Chiri Michi. I walk-not alone.

For a moment Ammadin could say nothing, wondering why this simple idea, that Water Woman had servants, struck her as so amazing. She had always seen the ChaMeech as animals, she supposed, somewhere deep in her mind. Even though she had known that they had a language of their own and could learn others, she had fallen into the common trap of thinking them wild, roaming like beasts at the edges of the plains. But those servants – their existence spoke of a world of laws and customs.

Ammadin,
Water Woman said.
You hear-still me?

‘I hear you. Tell me – why ask me for help? Something made you look for a spirit rider.’

Yes. The Sibyl tell-then us, go into the grass and search for a witchwoman.

‘The Sibyl?’

You know-not her? She teach-then us your talk.

‘No, I don’t know her. Is she a ChaMeech woman or a H’mai woman?’

Woman like you but not like you. She be H’mai, but a stone woman. She live-then-now-next-soon.

‘I don’t understand. Do you mean she’s old?’

Very old, yes. Live-always.

‘You mean she’s a god?’

No no, god be-not she, but stone H’mai. Sibyl say-often, if there be gods, then they be-not what we think, no big people in Silverlands. We all fear, our people, that our gods be dead.

‘What? Why?’

Troubles fall upon us. Everything change-now. We all pray-then-many-times. They help-never us. Sibyl say, if there be gods, they have-not ears to listen with.

‘And you believe Sibyl?’

I know-not if I do or not. She be wise, but she be-maybe wrong, too. I go-soon now. They be too close, the males. Maybe they hunt-only, maybe they spy. I promise you this. I try-soon to learn if they attack not attack. I tell you-next-soon I know. This be a treaty gift between you and me.

‘Thank you. I’d be grateful for a gift like that.’

I go-now.

She had not merely stopped speaking; she had taken her voice away. In the bone behind her left ear Ammadin heard only the illusory sea, tumbling waves over its gravelled shore.

For some long while she knelt, watching the sunset light fall golden upon the purple grass, listening to the familiar sounds of the camp behind her. So: the ChaMeech divided themselves into servants on the one hand and on the other, true Chiri Michi, whatever Water Woman may have meant by that. The phrase reminded Ammadin of the Kazraks and their true-oak and true-hawks and all the rest of it. What startled her the most, however, was that the ChaMeech could use crystals. And who was this Sibyl, the stone woman? She must live somewhere in the ChaMeech lands, deep in the east. Ammadin felt her previously small interest in the ChaMeech and the east both beginning to grow.

That evening Apanador called the men to a council round his fire to discuss the possibility of ChaMeech lurking in the Rift. All night they stood guard over the herd. Each time that Sentry pealed,
Ammadin woke; she’d go to the tent flap and look out to see the dark shapes of the men coming and going as the watch changed. Yet never did she hear a shout of alarm, and she decided that if the ChaMeech were going to attack, they would most likely do so down in the Rift itself. At length she slept, only to dream of a huge stone statue of a woman, rising from the purple grass to speak like thunder: ‘There are no gods’.

Sentry’s chimes woke her one last time at the morning. She dressed and went yawning to the tent flap. At the western horizon, silver dawn broke among high clouds. All around her tent the members of the comnee lay asleep, wrapped in their blankets. Ammadin fetched her saddlebags and walked out into the grass.

When she opened Long Voice, Water Woman was waiting.

Ammadin, Ammadin, I know-now. They walk-now in the Rift, they hunt-now, yes, but they most likely harm-not you.

‘Thank you! That’s very good news.’

The men walk-then up ways Rift. I send-then speech to them. I say: I am true Chiri Michi. I say: harm-not the horsefolk.

They be outlaws, but I be true Chiri Michi. They tell-then me they go uprift, go-next home. They say-then: we harm-not horsefolk.

‘You mean, there’s another way through the Rift than the Riftgate?’

Yes. We have a secret way, but it be no good for horses. You ask not more, please.

‘All right. As for the hunters, thank you for the information. If I can ask, why were you so afraid of them yesterday?’

I be afraid-then-not of them, precisely. I know-then not who they be, but I know-now, and so there be-not a reason to fear.

‘It might have been some other group of males?’

Yes. If so, trouble. These – they be outcasts and weak. Sibyl tell-once me a grand word. Despicable. They be that.

Ammadin decided that prying further would be rude if nothing else. ‘We’ll see if they attack or not.’

Yes, we see-soon-next. Now, there be need for me to ask you again. You help us not help us?

‘What do you want me to do?’

Stop Yarl Soutan, the sorcerer. He bring-then trouble already when he come poking around our lands. He bring-next-soon more trouble.

‘Soutan the sorcerer? Do you mean the man with grey hair who’s been following my comnee?’

Yes. He chase-now you and travel-now with two Karshak men. In my sky spheres I see-then that he follow you. I figure-then that you be-might the witchwoman help-maybe us –
She paused briefly.
If Soutan chase-now you, then Soutan be your enemy.

‘Wait. You call them Karshak. Do you mean the Kazraks?’

Long back-then, we call them Karshaki. When they come-first to our lands.

‘I see, yes. The sorcerer’s my enemy, all right. Stop him from doing what?’

There be a need that we meet. There be a need that we talk for a long time. We all cross-soon the Rift. I talk-next you when we leave the Rift.

Ammadin heard the hiss of that peculiar crystal sea; Water Woman had gone. Could she trust the ChaMeech and her talk of a treaty gift? Soon enough she’d know. She ran back to camp to find everyone up and busy: eating breakfast, tending the horses, packing up their gear, preparing generally for the difficult ride across the Rift. She hurried into her tent and knelt down in front of the god figures. After the proper salutations she began to pack them into their carrying bag.

‘Ammadin?’ Apanador’s voice called from outside. ‘Are you in there?’

‘I am,’ she called back. ‘Come in, will you?’

The chief ducked under the tent flap. ‘Did you spot the ChaMeech?’ he said.

‘No. That doesn’t mean they’re not there, hiding under the bridge or in one of the caves.’

‘That’s true. Well, if they want trouble, that’s what they’ll get.’

Apanador hurried off again. Once she’d packed the god figures, Ammadin went looking for Zayn.

When he woke, Zayn had got right to work, watering Ammadin’s horses. He stripped down the tent, but when he went to look for the wagon, he found Dallador and some of the other men unloading it.

‘Everything’s going down on horseback,’ Dallador said. ‘You can’t drive a wagon down the Riftgate.’

Zayn helped stow the contents of the wagon in the pack saddles, then watched as the others took apart the wagon itself. He understood, finally, why the Tribes made their wagons of flimsy
bamboid. The sides and the tailgates came off and were roped to big pack frames along with the wheels; the wagon bed would be slung between two horses. With the heavy work done, the men discussed the possible ChaMeech attack while the women examined every inch of every piece of lead rope and repaired even the tiniest flaw.

‘Zayn, remember,’ Apanador told him, ‘the horses carrying the wagon are your responsibility. Don’t go running off to join the fight if there is one. You don’t have any armour, and that’s that.’

‘No one’s going to consider you a coward,’ Dallador put in. ‘After this trading trip is over, we’ll have to get you started on making some.’

‘I could still use a bow –’ Zayn began.

‘A waste of arrows,’ Apanador said, and firmly. ‘ChaMeech hide is too thick. You don’t shoot well enough to put an arrow into an eye or throat.’

There was no arguing with the chief, but Zayn felt decidedly envious when he watched the other men putting on their long shirts of armour, made of mottled red and white grassar hide and studded with metal beads in a diamond pattern. They would turn a sabre blade, he supposed, most of the time, or stop anything but a full-force slash from a ChaMeech obsidian blade.

‘Zayn!’ Ammadin’s voice, and he turned to see Ammadin herself, standing some yards away with her saddlebags slung over one shoulder. ‘Zayn, come over here, will you?’

‘I’m on my way.’

She turned and began walking away, gesturing for him to follow. They’d gone well out of earshot of the other men before she stopped and turned to face him.

‘I have some information for you,’ Ammadin said. ‘That sorcerer’s name is Soutan. Does that mean anything to you?’

Lying, Zayn decided, was a waste of time. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but didn’t you tell me that he was middle-aged and had grey hair?’

‘That’s what he looks like, yes.’

‘The Soutan I know is young and blond.’

‘A father and son, maybe?’

Zayn shrugged and turned his hands palms upward. ‘I honestly don’t know –’ he began.

‘Oh, I believe you.’ She smiled, briefly. ‘This other Soutan, the one you know. Is he a sorcerer, too?’

‘I’ve been told he is.’

‘Ah. Two sorcerers from the Cantons, but don’t you know them both?’

‘I told you, no.’ He glanced around, searching for some way out of her questioning.

‘Look at me! I’m sick as I can be of the way you nibble the edges of the truth.’

Zayn swallowed his burst of fury and looked. She’s a spirit rider, he reminded himself. You don’t dare argue with her, not in front of the comnee. Ammadin had her arms crossed over her chest, and her silver eyes were as cold as rain clouds. ‘I don’t know who the older sorcerer is.’ Zayn forced his voice level. ‘The Soutan that I know about, the young man with blond hair, he’s a business acquaintance of Warkannan’s. I heard that they’re prospecting for blackstone.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Something that probably doesn’t exist. It’s a black substance as hard as a rock, but it’s supposed to burn, and burn really hot, at that. That’s probably why they’re out on the plains. I guess. I don’t know. All the old stories about blackstone say you find it in the mountains.’

‘I’ve certainly never heard of it. But they’re trying to kill you, not find this blackstone.’

‘Well, I don’t understand it either. I’m as frustrated as you are with all these damned riddles.’

‘Like why Warkannan’s trying to kill you?’

‘That, too.’

Ammadin’s mouth twisted as if she disbelieved him, but she turned her head and looked over his shoulder, as if something behind him had distracted her. ‘I’ve got to talk with Apanador,’ she said. ‘We can discuss this later.’

She stepped around him and walked off. He waited, letting her get well ahead of him, then went slowly back to camp. He reminded himself that he needed to act the part of a servant, that screaming in rage at a spirit rider would get him kicked out of the comnee at the very least. As soon as you’re across, he told himself, you’ll be leaving her behind.

The sun had risen well above the horizon by the time the comnee rode out. Zayn had always imagined the Rift as a deep gorge, narrow, craggy, perhaps even forbidding, but when they
reached it, the reality shocked him. He stood for a long time staring down at the ribbon of orange foliage far below, laced with the gleam of water, at the mists that hid the far wall, at the vast length of the thing, and remembered Ammadin’s remark, that here the earth was tearing apart. He could no longer argue the point.

‘Zayn?’ Ammadin walked up beside him and handed him a rag, damp and faintly sticky with plant sap. ‘Rub this on your face and neck, your hands, too, or the rebbuhs will eat you alive.’

‘Thanks.’ Zayn took the rag and began rubbing. ‘What about the horses?’

‘The rebbuhs won’t bother them. They only like the taste of H’mai.’ She paused, glancing down into the Rift. ‘It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?’

‘It’s amazing. I’m glad I’ve seen it. The descriptions I’ve read don’t do it justice.’

‘I thought your wise men would have drawn pictures of it.’

‘No, they never do that. The Prophets forbid making images of God’s creations.’