The World Weavers (22 page)

Aggie nodded. “One guide us all,” she said. “We're going to need every blessing she has when the acolytes of the deities realize what we're doing. What group do you want me in today?”

Tori directed her and was about to follow when Elida stopped her.

“Pause a moment. I have had word from the desert,” the Counselor said.

“From Sulis? Or Kadar?” Tori asked.

“Neither—­from Alannah and the warriors of the One. Vrishni are with them, so we are able to communicate.”

“What do they say?” Tori asked.

“Another Descendant of the Prophet, Amon, is directing their efforts now. They have a task for us, a test of our shielding skills.”

“Go on?” Tori wasn't certain she wanted to know what cousin Amon was up to.

“The warriors of the One will be manipulating the weather in the desert,” Elida said. “They are trying to blow up a small sandstorm to confuse the deities and separate them from their army. The Tigus will augment it with illusion, making the storm seem worse than it is and they will attack the army under the cover of illusion.”

“Disrupting weather patterns is dangerous,” Tori said. “It seldom goes as planned.”

“Which is why they want us on guard. They want us to see if we can shield the North against a disruption of their weather if the casting becomes dangerous.”

Tori thought for a moment. “We can't completely shield natural forces like weather currents,” she said. “But we could put up a series of partial shields—­kind of like breakwaters set out in the ocean to calm the water by coastal towns. Severe weather would hit the breakwaters, and some would spill over until it hit the next breakwater, with the water gradually becoming calmer as it comes across. How soon do they say this will happen?”

“In the next ten-­day. They have spies in the army who will tell them when. The sandstorm and illusion will create confusion and terror with the fighters. The warriors of the One and the Tigus will cloak themselves and ride at the back of the storm.”

“We'll start setting the breakers now. It will be a good test of our range and our ability to set partial shields,” Tori said. “I hope the warriors of the One know what they are doing. If their sending gets out of control, they could kill the ­people they want to save.”

Elida shook her head. “So much is riding on so few ­people.”

A
bram stared at the golden horse with suspicion. It glared at him, ears back.

“Kadar wanted you to care for Asfar. If he does not return, she is yours,” Kadar's companion, Onyeka, said, handing Abram Asfar's lead rope. The horse snapped at Abram, and Onyeka smacked her muzzle and cursed at her in Tigu. “She will be fine. You must be firm.”

Turo slapped Abram on the back, causing Asfar to shy away, as Onyeka turned and threw her leg over her humpback. “Ha! She killed the man who owned her before Kadar. You will have your hands full.”

“Delightful,” Abram muttered. Turo and Abram were serving as runners for the warriors of the One and the Tigu elders, so Abram had become familiar with the Tigu man's odd sense of humor.

Onyeka's humpback heaved to its feet. A howl startled Abram, and he stepped back as Kadar's cat flung herself at the humpback. Amber caught the saddle halfway up with her claws and climbed the rest of the way onto Onyeka's lap.

“Blasted cat!” she exclaimed, trying to unhook the purring cat's claws from her robes. “Father, take this beast.”

Turo backed away. “I caged her in the dormitory,” he said. “If the suncat managed to escape, she was meant to be with you.”

She glared at the cat, then shrugged. She pressed the back of her hand to her head in farewell, before riding off without a backward glance. Kadar had done the same thing, two days before when he rode to the waymarker with Master Sandiv to have his memories blocked. But Onyeka was traveling south to a camp in the mountains a day east of the Obsidian Temple. Master Sandiv would implant a suggestion in Kadar's mind along with the blocks, directing him to the camp after he'd separated the Voices from the rest of the army.

“My daughter is a fine woman, is she not?” Turo asked. “But, sadly for you, in love with another.”

“Onyeka is far too intense for my taste,” Abram said as they walked together toward the stables, Asfar following as far back as her rope would allow.

“Just like her mother. Now that woman was all fire! But like you, I prefer a warm bed rather than searing flame,” Turo said as he opened the stall door.

It took both of them to convince Asfar the stall was not a cave full of snakes.

“We begin our march through the Sands in two days,” Abram said as he bolted the door. “She'll have to stay here. I don't have the time to tame her.”

Abram was catching his breath and wiping off his brow when Casia called to him.

“I've been looking for you. With the Tigus here, the masters want to practice coordinating their sandstorm illusion with our weather working,” she said. “I'll be with the energy users, raising wind energy.”

Turo shook his head. “It is madness, playing with the weather,” he said. “Nothing good can come of interfering with the One's natural forces.”

Casia glared at him. “We have been experimenting for months. Master Ursa trained and directed us. It is only a small storm. The Tigus will make it seem larger than it is. There is little danger.”

She walked away and they trailed after her.

“But Master Ursa is no longer with us,” Turo said softly, for Abram's ears only. “And I fear that most of all.”

K
adar woke disoriented. His head throbbed like someone had used it as a hammer. He was in a tent, on a bedroll. It was bright and hot in the tent and he was alone. His thoughts were hazy and he tried to get his bearings. He was supposed to remember something, what was it? Something about the warriors of the One, about the deities. Kadar struggled with his thoughts, wondering if he'd hit his head. Then memory surfaced, cleared. He was at the first oasis on the trade route toward Shpeth. His sister was dead. Remembering was like a punch in the gut.

He crawled out of the tent, half-­blinded by the full sun. It didn't matter; tears blurred his vision anyway as he knelt by the oasis waymarker that should have responded to his commands, but no longer did. The wards on the waymarker had been changed by Sulis's blood and had been set into her bones. He clutched at the scrap of silk he'd found, a pattern that had been part of her favorite robe. She must have worn it to her death.

Kadar had known when the warriors of the One had sacrificed Sulis. He'd sat straight up when it had happened, waking Onyeka, who slept beside him. She'd held him as he searched for his sister, searched for the bond that was missing.

His mind went to that twin bond and once again, it was gone. She was gone. Kadar wiped his tears away, remembering that he had screamed at the Tigu elders when he'd realized that Sulis was dead. They'd told him that it was Sulis's choice and that Grandmother had sacrificed herself at the next waymarker. His family, gone in an instant. Stupid, heedless sister of his, jumping into death with both feet, as she had always jumped into life. She'd never said goodbye—­probably worried he'd talk her out of this stupid sacrifice.

Kadar had grabbed the hardiest humpback and set off to find his sister's body and mourn her death, leaving Onyeka and Amber behind. But he realized it was useless when he arrived. They'd used her blood to change the wards and her bones to anchor the waystone; no body remained to burn. The Tigu elders had been ashamed of him. They thought Grandmother and Sulis's sacrifice was courageous and fitting. Kadar shook his head. He knew the truth: Sulis and Grandmother died to protect Datura, who would be in the path of the deities. They died to give Datura a chance to live.

Fury coursed through Kadar. Sulis and his grandmother were Chosen, so they should have been protected. Instead, the Descendant of the Prophet had convinced the warriors of the One that the Chosen were no longer needed, that he knew all the spells to defeat the deities at the Obsidian Temple. And the warriors of the One had agreed. They were probably the ones who convinced Sulis to take her own life in this terrible way, to bleed out in the desert. They wanted to protect their precious families by sacrificing his.

Kadar didn't know how long he knelt in the sand. He raised his head when the army approached but still was unable to rise from his kneeling position, so exhausted and drained by grief. The dust rose around him, the braying of mules and horses. A smaller party broke off the larger army and approached the oasis. As the party approached, Kadar spied a familiar scholar, perched uncomfortably on his horse. Sulis's old friend, Jonas, looked perplexed as he approached Kadar and the waymarker. Kadar also recognized the Herald, riding beside Jonas, and the Templar. He assumed the dark-­haired woman with them was the new Crone.

Kadar rose to his feet as the Voices and their guards dismounted and approached him. The guards seized him, checking him for weapons before forcing him to kneel before the Voices.

“What has happened here?” the Herald asked. “Great power has been used. But for what purpose, I cannot guess.”

“Kadar?” Jonas asked, uncertainly. “It is Kadar, isn't it? Sulis's brother? What are you doing here?”

Kadar gestured to the waymarker. “I was Sulis's brother,” he said hollowly. “Before they sacrificed her to change the wards.”

“Yes,” the Herald said. She coughed into her hand, looking ill. “There has been a life sacrificed. That's why I feel such power.”

“Free him,” Jonas ordered, and the guards let Kadar rise to his feet, staying close enough to restrain him again if ordered.

“They sacrificed Sulis?” Jonas's voice was incredulous. “Why?”

“They knew you had captured Southern guides and
geased
them,” Kadar said, gesturing to the men still mounted on their horses. “The warriors of the One wanted to save their families in Shpeth and Tsangia. The wards on all the oases have been changed from here to Shpeth. They took my sister and my grandmother . . .” Kadar broke off, his voice choked, and turned away.

A hand touched his arm and he looked into Jonas's sympathetic eyes. “I am sorry, Kadar. I thought Sulis would be valued here in the desert.”

“It was that Descendant of the Prophet,” Kadar spat. “He convinced the warriors of the One that the Chosen of the prophecy weren't necessary anymore. The prophecy was declared a sham. And then the most powerful Chosen were sacrificed to change the wards.”

The Voices exchanged glances, and Kadar narrowed his eyes, wondering what they knew about the Descendants.

“The warriors of the One probably put a
geas
on Sulis,” the new Crone said, her eyes filled with sympathy. “Your sister would not have realized what she was doing until it was too late.”

“We don't use
geases
here in the desert,” Kadar protested.

The Templar snorted. “All mages use
geases
,” he said. “If your warriors decided a death would protect thousands of ­people—­do you truly believe they would hesitate to convince someone to give her life?”

“But why Sulis?” Jonas asked again. “Aren't there more powerful ­people in the desert?”

“We are ancestors of the Southerner who originally sacrificed her blood and body to create the wards on this oasis,” Kadar said softly, remembering what the Tigu elders had told him. “Transferring the wards to someone of the same blood took less power.”

“Blood calls to blood,” the Herald murmured in agreement.

“Those bastards sacrificed my sister!” Kadar said. “They changed the wards and refused to give me the new ones, exiling me from the rest of my family. I don't even have a body to burn to send my sister to the One.”

“We can help you get revenge,” the Crone said softly. “If you help us, we can thwart the plans of the warriors of the One to save the lives of other innocent women like your sister.”

Kadar felt the coercion in her voice. The spell of her voice settled in his brain. It was less of a
geas
and more of a simple spell of love and understanding. He resisted, and then a voice rose in his subconscious.

Let them believe you've given in,
the voice said to him.
You can avenge both Sulis and your uncle Tarik by serving the deities right now. You will know when to resist.

Kadar shook his head, feeling confused and trying to clear his mind.

The Crone stepped forward and put a hand on his arm, and he looked into her warm brown eyes.

“You won't be alone, Kadar,” she said. “I know the desert folk trust in the One, but sometimes the One's plan for us is too obscure to understand our place in it. That's why our deities exist. Ivanha understands how much your family means to you. She can help you return to those you love and bring to justice those who harmed such a strong, loving family. Come with us, guide us, and we will see justice done for your sister and grandmother.”

Kadar could feel the Voice's
geas
sink into his mind as he gazed at her face. But some block, probably one his Grandmother set as a child, prevented it from rooting deeply. If he chose, he could brush it aside, like cobwebs in his mind, but he didn't choose to. The
geas
distanced him from the pain of Sulis's death. He and the Voices wanted the same thing right now—­to confront the warriors of the One and return Kadar to his remaining family. If he could find a way to exact revenge on the Templar for killing his uncle—­all the better.

Kadar reached out and took the Crone's hand. He brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of it.

“You honor me, my lady,” he said. “I am touched by your concern and accept your help with gratitude.”

She blushed prettily, and took his hand, drawing him over to the other Voices.