The Waters Rising (6 page)

“Any person?” he said in a choked voice.

“Any person I choose—if I have their code. That’s what the books call it, the code.”

“What code?”

“The code of themselves! The code that makes each of them unique. It’s in their fingernails, in their skin. It’s in their spit on the rim of a wineglass. That’s where I got the code of the princess, while she was at the court of King Gahls. I made my cloud and I carried it here to Woldsgard, near the castle. And once my cloud had settled upon her, she was doomed. The very cells of her body have been slowly, inexorably destroyed by my cloud.” She laughed again. “Clouds, I should say. In her case, I have to keep releasing them. It is almost like magic, isn’t it?”

Xulai, staring, saw a malevolent vapor spread from the woman’s mouth, smelled something vile. She held her breath so she would not inhale, for she knew she would choke if she breathed that laughter. Abasio’s arms tightened around her as they watched the woman laughing and swaying on her feet as though dancing. “Like your pigeons, Jenger. Like your homing pigeons at the tower. My curses will find their roost in one person only, one in the whole world.”

Above her, a branch, red-lit from the glowing altar below, moved, as though thrust by a puff of wind. It danced above the woman’s head, moved down toward her hair as though to caress her. She, laughing, reached up to thrust it away. “But the machines I have are useful only for killing one person at a time, or finding someone who wishes not to be found or watching people who are far away. The ones the Sea King has found, the ones in vaults . . . ah. Worlds can be moved with those, and once we have them, Jenger, no power in the world will stand against us.”

She took his hand and tugged him almost gently away, around the altar, their footfalls retreating over the bridge, their voices fading. Beneath Xulai’s hand, the chipmunk grasped her little finger with all four paws and clung to it as she rose, its beady eyes fixed on something behind her. She followed its gaze to the many pairs of eyes in the forest around her, close to the ground, red disks in the darkness, reflecting the bloody light still emanating from the altar. They were chipmunk hunters, no doubt. Xulai lowered the little creature into her pocket, feeling it settle into a corner, taking up residence.

“You have found a friend,” Abasio whispered. “Such little creatures are good friends. They can hide and hear and remember. You also should remember what the woman said. There was a spy who looked down from a great height, and her name was Ammalyn.”

Xulai whispered her reply. “She’s a scullery maid. From down in the scullery, she could spy only dirty pots, but from her bedroom, high up under the roof, the windows look down upon the orchard, the wall, and beyond the wall to the forest. If she has seen me go past the wall, she will also see me returning. That is, if I use the path, and the Woman Upstairs told me not to leave the path.”

“Well and well, your Woman Upstairs hadn’t expected trespassers to be abroad in the night. We’ll find a solution to that. Let us wait until that red light fades. I do not trust it.”

“Is it evil?”

“It is said by those who made a study of such things that those upon whom the red light falls will die within the year.” He shook his head slowly. “In this case, one might hope, but it’s only a saying.”

They waited. The red light faded slowly, dying reluctantly, exactly like the coals of a fire. When it was dark, they moved up toward the altar, and as Xulai went up the step she saw something moving in the air before her eyes, a cobweb, a tendril. “Can you reach that?” she asked him, pointing.

“A lock of hair? No, not so much as a lock, only a few hairs pulled out by their roots. Long ones, from the woman.” He lifted them from the branch where they were caught and passed them to her. Xulai stood, staring at them for a long moment, trying to remember everything the woman had said. Ah, yes. She took a handkerchief from her pocket, wound the hairs around her fingers, and folded the linen square around them, replacing it in her pocket. Tomorrow she would tell the Woman Upstairs about having the hair . . .

With Abasio’s hand on her shoulder, she passed the third pillar and the second, both silent. From the first pillar they could see the castle wall and the orchard gate, closed.

“Someone is watching from a window,” she whispered. “So if I go back the way I came, she’ll see me. But if I go some other way, I may run into those people. They may even be waiting for me . . .” Her voice trailed into silence.

“So,” said the chipmunk. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She almost wept, finding in that moment no wonder left over to spend on a talking chipmunk.

“Stop that!” the chipmunk ordered. “It’s always easier to whine than to do something, but something must be done! Now, figure it out. Think!
Velipe vun vuxa
. . .”

“
Duxa vevo duxa,
” Xulai said, finishing the saying. “ ‘Wisdom comes from putting little things together.’ That’s what the Woman Upstairs says, but how did you know, chipmunk?”

“An interesting saying indeed,” said Abasio, strangely moved. He wanted to sweep this little one up and carry her away into safety and did not trust the feeling! As though some monitor upon his shoulder cautioned him. He said, instead—as he would have said to a much older woman—“Do you think she talked merely to exercise her tongue? Words are useful tools only when one does something with them!”

Xulai felt suddenly angry. “I don’t have any little things to put together!”

“Don’t be stupid,” said the chipmunk. “The world is full of little things. You seem to be a little thing; so am I.”

This, she found, was a surprising new thought. Of course she herself
was
a little thing—or was considered to be so by too many people—but the surprising thought was that the Woman Upstairs might actually have meant these particular words to be useful! Putting little things together. Actually, the Tingawan words meant “Wisdom comes from piling nothing much on nothing much.” Well, starting with herself, she could put herself on a path, which might be little enough. Then she’d need a way to discover whether the people were still around, then. . .

“Path,” said chipmunk, reading her intention. “To the right.”

She examined it. Yes. Very narrow and dark and tree covered, so that no one could see her from above. She moved toward it. Caught in a twig, at eye level, was a bit of cloth.

“A little thing,” she murmured. “The woman went this way.”

“And?” demanded the chipmunk.

“She went,” Xulai said. “The threads are trailing away from me, so she was moving away.”

“So, if you move slowly?”

“I won’t catch up to her. Or him.”

“You might get lost,” the chipmunk jeered.

“No,” she replied. “The path is just at the edge of the trees. I can see the castle wall.”

Suddenly the tall white stone beside her asked, “Abasio, is Xulai taking the chipmunk home with her?”

“Would she be wise to do so?” asked Abasio.

“I’m afraid my cats . . . ,” murmured Xulai. “They’ll . . .”

“Nothing of the kind,” said the stone. “The creature will be quite all right in your pocket. Take it. Keep it safe. Nice to hear of you again, Abasio. It’s been too many years since the great battle at the Place of Power. Some of my fellow watchers were there.”

Xulai’s pocket squirmed briefly, as though in agreement. Xulai, though she realized the stone and her companion were not strangers to one another, was too weary even to wonder at it. What Ushiloma did was goddess business, and Xulai was not required to understand it. Instead, she merely moved onto the new path, so concentrated upon listening that she scarcely noticed the tripping roots and snatching briars. She was no longer fearful, only desperately weary. All that was important was getting back to the Woman Upstairs.

Soon the path swerved around the tower, and Xulai stopped, staring at the level, bare ground between the trees and the tower. It was kept that way by the groundsmen so as to give no cover to possible attackers. Not that there were attackers, nor had there been for almost a hundred years, but Justinian, Duke of Wold, Lord Holder of Woldsgard Castle, stayed in readiness, when he could spare time from his grief. From here, she could see nothing of the upper part of the castle except the tower itself. The watcher could not possibly see her.

She raced to lean against the wall, looking upward. “If I can’t see the roof, the roof can’t see me,” she muttered to Abasio, who replied by patting her shoulder. Staying close to the stones, she circled the wall tower, checked again to be sure the roof was out of sight, then stayed close to the wall until she reached the tiny gate and inserted the key. Here she and her companion were sheltered from above by the tangled branches, the fruit-bearing tendrils now bare but still contending with one another in the breeze. The key clicked; she went through, Abasio stooping behind her, and the gate locked itself. Xulai murmured thanks to each tree as it sheltered them from the spy above, all the way to the kitchen garden. Even from here she could not see the high windows.

“Why are the poppleberries in a separate orchard?” the man murmured.

“They pick on other trees,” whispered Xulai. “They beat all the leaves and fruit off. If you want to pick the fruit for jelly or pies, they will pop you unless you have a woodsman standing by, threatening them with an axe! No one knows who first found them or created them. They’ve just always been here . . .” Her voice faded as they approached the kitchen door, which was waiting unlatched, as she had left it. Inside, she turned wearily toward the stairs, saying, “Please, will you come with me?”

“If you like,” he replied in a subdued voice. “If you don’t think the lady will mind.”

She led the way, too tired to comment at Abasio’s muttered curses as he struggled with the uneven stairs. “What in the name of artistry was this leg trap built for?”

“A way for the workmen to get things into parts of the castle that are hard to reach,” she murmured. “So my cousin says.”

“Your cousin?”

“The duke.” She took a deep breath. Perhaps it was time for explanations. “He says I am to call him cousin. I am of his wife’s family. Everyone speaks of ‘the Woman Upstairs,’ but she is really Princess Xu-i-lok, wife to His Grace the Duke of Wold, seventh daughter of Prince Lok-i-xan, Tingawan ambassador to the court of King Gahls and head of Clan Do-Lok. Though she merits both great respect and watchful people to serve her day and night, just you watch! The footman will be asleep outside her door, slumped in his chair and snoring like an overfed dog. It is a good thing Wold is at peace. Once His Grace the duke goes up to the bird towers at night, even the watchmen on the outer walls sleep more than they watch.”

Abasio smiled to himself. She sounded like a fully mature and offended mistress of the castle, but she was proven right, for the footman still slept. They crept past him into the lady’s room. Xulai dropped to her knees in the somber shade of the hangings, near one of the braziers, its charcoal glowing red beneath the smoke hood, its suspended chimney leading up into the darkness where it found a vent to let the smoke out. The heat was welcome against Xulai’s face. She leaned against the high mattress and searched the still face before her. No change. Never any change. Not anymore.

Abasio soundlessly closed the door behind them and came to join her where she knelt beside the great bed. She whispered, “It has been a long time since the princess has been able to speak aloud, but I remember everything she ever said to me, no matter how long ago it was.” She took the woman’s hand in her own and leaned forward to put her lips close to the woman’s ear. “Princess. I have it. I will hide it and keep it safe as you have asked.”

She waited for a moment. There was no motion in the face or behind the closed lids of the eyes, but the hand she held moved to squeeze her own, so slightly the movement would have been invisible to anyone watching.

Suddenly, his eyes wide, Abasio stirred. He heard . . .

“Xulai,”
the woman spoke in her mind.
“There is no time left to hide it. Open it now.”

Wonderingly, Xulai stared at his face. “You heard her!”

He nodded, putting a finger before his lips. She pulled the box from her pocket and set it on the bed, prying up the close-fitting lid. Inside, cushioned in lamb’s wool, was an orb the size of a large grape, delicately patterned in blues and greens. It might have been made of glass, perhaps? Or perhaps it actually was a kind of fruit? And yet . . . it seemed large. In her sight it expanded, becoming huge, as though she looked at the world from a great distance. Surely those blue areas were seas, and the green ones were forests. Surely those white things were clouds . . .

The chipmunk came from her pocket, sat on her shoulder, and peered. Xulai reached for the orb, then drew back as the voice of the Woman Upstairs spoke in her mind:
“Take it. Put it in your mouth, child. Don’t be afraid! Quickly!”

Xulai froze in place. She had heard the words, actually heard them, as though they had been called loudly but from an infinite distance. Abasio put his hand on her shoulder and shook her, very slightly. She stared at the orb, measuring it with her eyes. The chipmunk crept toward the orb, sniffing at it.

“It’s too big,” she whispered, to the walls, to herself, perhaps to the chipmunk.