The Waterless Sea (22 page)

Halasaa had hung back, making no contribution to the debate. Now he shrugged.
We need you, Calwyn. We will need your
chantments. If you stay, I will stay with you. If you go, I will follow.

Stubbornly Calwyn said, ‘Darrow would say that we should stay and help.'

‘Darrow ain' t here,' said Mica.

Shada piped up shrilly. ‘You promised we' d rescue Gada, and the others! You
promised
!'

Calwyn made herself stand straight-backed, though she felt sick and helpless. The others stood, watching her, and she realised with a shock that if she insisted, they would obey her. Halasaa' s words sounded quietly in her mind.
You blame
yourself for the child' s death. But remaining here will not bring him back.
What of the other children? You have made a vow. You should not break it.

Calwyn let out a deep breath. ‘Yes. We' ll go, as soon as we can.'

Heben nodded, and laid a hand briefly on her shoulder before he turned away to begin packing up their camp. Wearily Calwyn trudged to the little fire and the waiting rounds of flat bread. She longed for a day' s rest, and a deep and dreamless sleep, but she would have to make do with a few moments snatched in the shade while she chewed on the warm bread.

‘Ain' t you glad now me and Shada went to the kitchens and got flour?' Mica said challengingly.

‘Yes, I' m glad,' said Calwyn dully. She didn' t have the energy to argue. She watched with a pang as Mica ran off with Shada to untie the
hegesi
, joking and laughing, as if the two girls had been friends for years.

Calwyn.
Halasaa was looking down at her.

‘We' re not leaving already?'

Not yet.
He gestured to her to remain where she was.
There is
time to rest a while.
He sat down beside her, sombre-faced.

‘You look tired, too, Halasaa.'

It was difficult to heal the children, in body and in spirit. There was so
little time. The last boy, Oron, may be still broken within.

‘There' ll be time to finish the healing later.' Calwyn put her hand on his arm.

Perhaps. But I fear this next journey will not be easy.

‘None of our journeys are easy, Halasaa,' she said, but he didn' t smile. Her friend had lived all his life in the impenetrable forests of the Wildlands. He and his people dwelt on platforms that sailed high in the trees, but much of their time was spent in the dim shadows of the forest floor. Calwyn ventured, ‘The desert must seem very strange to you, after Spiridrell.'

Strange!

Calwyn almost jumped backward at the vehement force of his unvoiced words.

This place. It is a place of death. Do you not feel it? Not in this gully,
where the water flows, and the plants still grow, but all around us, on the
plain. Their spirits are here, spirits of the dead.

Calwyn stared at him in dismay. ‘Who died, Halasaa? Whose spirits are here?Was there a battle?'

Halasaa looked at her, his eyes filled with sadness.
The spirits
of the trees. I hear them moaning. I sense the ghosts of the trees, the murdered
forest.

‘A forest, in the middle of the desert? But there' s no rain to nourish even a single tree, let alone a whole forest.'

He shook his head.
There were trees here, Calwyn. Long, long ago,
as far back as the first coming of the Voiced Ones to this place. I hear them
crying out to me, in their pain and their sorrow.

Calwyn shivered, and she thought she could hear it too: a heart-broken, tormented moaning. But then the sound faded into the murmuring of the stream and the bleating of the
hegesi
, and she heard it no more.

Calwyn.
Halasaa touched her arm, and his eyes were bright again.
I have an idea.

They spent the rest of that morning gathering rushes that grew by the stream. With chantments of iron, it was simple to weave three large, sturdy mats; the three tents would act as sails, each held up by one child' s chantment, while Calwyn and Mica could summon a spellwind to propel them across the sands. And Mica thought of fastening ropes to the corners of the tents so that they could steer.

They worked swiftly, despite their fatigue, aware that their safety depended on escaping the vicinity of the Palace, as far and as fast as they could. Calwyn laboured steadily, sorting rushes for the children to weave, not speaking to anyone. From time to time she glanced up at the white shape of the ruined Palace on its red ridge. They were too far away to distinguish any people. Her conscience burned, both for Ched, and the inhabitants of the Court. Could she have done more to warn them? Had she been right to rescue the children, even if it cost the lives of the courtiers?What would Darrow have done?

Heben' s voice broke in on her thoughts. ‘Calwyn? We' re ready to try them.'

They dragged the ungainly rafts to the top of the gully; there was no sign of a patrol. The plain looked as flat as Merithuran bread. Haid droned a chantment to lift up the first tent-sail, and Vin wound the steering ropes in his fists. ‘Ready!' he called.

Calwyn tipped back her head and sang up a light breeze, but the tent-sail flapped uselessly. As Mica added her voice, the wind strengthened, the sail billowed out and the raft began to scud along the sand. Shada yelped with delight and leapt onto the next raft with Heben and Mica, while Calwyn, Halasaa and Oron climbed onto the last. Mica and Calwyn set the wind to take them south-west, around the mountains that lay between the Palace of Cobwebs and Hathara. That way, they could take advantage of the flat plains where the rafts could sail swiftly.

It was not comfortable travelling, though much faster than they could have moved by foot or on
hegesi
. The ride was rough, for though the rush-mats were strong, they were not well-padded, and the ground was often stony. The passengers soon discovered that it was better to crouch on their haunches than sit on their behinds. There were two
hegesi
on each raft; they did not enjoy the sensation of flying across the sands, and bleated with distress. It took all the strength of one person to hold the wriggling beasts.

From necessity, the two windworkers had to sing up one wide wind to blow into the sails of all three rafts at once, and they suffered for it. Even if the three rafts sailed in single file, the edges of the wind threw up enough sand to keep them wiping grit from their eyes, and soon they all tied cloths across their faces. One good thing was that the tent-sails offered some shade from the burning sun. After days sheltered inside the cool cloisters of the Palace of Cobwebs, Calwyn had forgotten how cruel that sun could be.

They stopped just before nightfall. They didn' t scout out a campsite; the desert was the same wherever they stopped. Mica and Shada went in search of fuel for a fire, but came back with a pitiful bundle. ‘Not enough to keep us warm,' said Heben. ‘But with the
hegesi
dung, we' ll have enough to make bread.' He crouched over the flames, and skilfully smoothed out the mixture of flour and water over a hot stone, one round after another. The children squatted nearby, tearing hungrily into the bread as soon as it was ready.

Calwyn sat apart, and quietly sang up some soft snow to replenish the waterskins. The air was very dry, and it was not easy work. Halasaa dropped down beside her and rested his forehead on his knees. His hair had come unbound, and hung around his face like a tattered curtain.

‘Halasaa? Are you all right?'

He raised his head and tried to smile.
I am weary. And I do
not like this place.

‘I know. I wonder how long it will take to reach Hathara.'

Too long.

Calwyn gazed anxiously at her friend. ‘Eat something,' she urged him. ‘And rest. No wonder you feel tired, after the last day or two.'

Oron came up to them, holding out his arm. ‘I cut myself on some dry-grass.'

‘Let Halasaa rest,' said Calwyn sharply. ‘The cut isn' t deep.' ‘Dry-grass cuts go nasty,' complained Oron. ‘Unless I wash it out with water, and there' s not much of that.'

‘I can sing you as much water as you like,' said Calwyn, but Halasaa struggled to his feet.

I will heal the cut.
He laid his hands on Oron' s arm, but his fingers moved sluggishly; usually they danced too quickly to see.

Calwyn' s face felt scorched by the sun, but she didn' t ask Halasaa to heal it. ‘I' ll be more careful tomorrow,' she thought.

Soon after nightfall, they crept into the tents to sleep, the children tangled together like puppies for warmth. Calwyn lay awake next to Halasaa, listening to the uneven rhythm of his breath in the dark. Tentatively, she called to him with her mind.

Halasaa. Are you asleep?

I cannot sleep
, came the prompt reply.

Why not?We' re safe here, and Heben is keeping watch.

I fear my dreams.

Even in the midst of her concern, Calwyn felt a thrill that she could speak with her friend in his own way.
Tell me.

Halasaa' s voice came to her reluctantly.
I will show you.

As Calwyn lay staring into the dark, he put pictures into her mind. She saw through Halasaa' s eyes, and felt herself walking in his lithe long-limbed body.

She was in the desert, at night, and she was utterly alone. The three moons were behind cloud, and it was difficult to see. The barren plain stretched on all sides, specked with dry-grass and loose stones. The cold air was still, the dry-grass motionless as if it were made of stone.

There was a very quiet whispering, and then she was aware of movement behind her. She whirled around, in Halasaa' s body, with all Halasaa' s senses, and she knew, as he knew, what made the sound. He had spoken of the murdered forests. And now she could hear the anguished moans of trees, voice upon voice in never-ending torment. And she understood that, just as a river was made up of countless drops of water, so the land was made up of the trees, the animals, the web of all living things, and when the life of the land was killed, the land itself died, in slow agony. . .

‘No!' Calwyn sat bolt upright in the dark tent, unaware that she' d cried out. By her feet, Mica murmured, and turned over in her sleep.

Halasaa' s dark eyes gleamed out of the shadows.
I should not
have showed you.

No – no. You were right.
Calwyn lay down again.
But it' s only a
dream. It can' t hurt you.

Yes, it can.
Halasaa got up, wrapping himself in the long desert robes.
I will take watch outside.

Calwyn lay awake for a long time, but he did not return.

On the fourth day, not long after noon, Halasaa touched Calwyn on the arm as she guided the raft. She didn' t interrupt her chantment, but glanced at him swiftly.
What is it?

There are people nearby.

Calwyn could not stop her song to concentrate on the sense that showed her the presence of life.
Are they soldiers?

Halasaa smiled faintly.
I cannot tell.

Calwyn signalled to Mica to let the wind drop. One by one, the rafts slewed to a stop; children and
hegesi
tumbled off the mats.

‘What' s wrong?' Heben called.

‘There are people nearby.' Calwyn closed her eyes and sent out the tendrils of her awareness. At first, tense and hurried, she could sense nothing. She opened her eyes and saw Halasaa watching her; he made a gentle gesture with his thin hands.
Slowly.
She understood, and closed her eyes again, this time quietly ready to listen, rather than anxiously searching. She sent out her mind lightly, as if she floated over the desert, like a hawk riding the winds.

After a moment, her eyes flew open. ‘A large party, perhaps fifty people. Men and women, and children, all together. And –' She gave a small smile. ‘And
hegesi
. Lots of
hegesi
.'

‘Herders,' said Heben. ‘We' re in the lands of the I' beth.'

Vin looked up. ‘I am a son of the I' beth.'

Heben looked at him sternly. ‘Are you still? Did your people cast you out?'

Vin threw back his head proudly. ‘No. I was stolen from them. My father and his brother quarrelled. It was my uncle who betrayed me to the soldiers and the sorcerers.'

Calwyn sighed. Was there no end to the feuds and squabbles that festered in every corner of Tremaris? Nation against nation, like Baltimar and Rengan; Clan against Clan; desert-dwellers against townsfolk; sorcerers and rebels and soldiers and courtiers all struggling against each other. Even within one family, brother schemed against brother.

She said, ‘This band is to the south of us, not far away. Should we hide, or go to them?'

‘We need food, the flour is almost gone,' said Heben. ‘The I' beth are superstitious folk, they believe in the powers of magic. You might be able to bargain with them.'

‘I can see em!' cried Mica, shading her eyes. ‘I can
smell
em!'

‘That' s the
hegesi
,' said Haid, who had adopted a protective attitude to the six
hegesi
of the party. Calwyn could smell a pungent aroma that reminded her of the reek of the goat-pens in Antaris. Then she heard the tinkle of the herd' s bells as they approached.

When the two parties were close enough to see each other clearly, the herders halted. For several moments everyone waited, staring. All the children unwound their head cloths, to show their faces, and the foreigners hastily did the same. Then Vin walked forward, with Heben. They held out their hands to show they had no weapons, and the head man of the nomads came to meet them. They conferred briefly, and presently Heben came back.

‘I' ve told them we have ironcrafters, windworkers, a healer and a chanter who can sing water from the air. The head man says if we can fill their waterskins, and mend their tents, they will give us a sack of bread-flour. And –' Heben looked hesitantly at Halasaa. ‘They have a sick woman among them. Is there anything you can do for her?'