Witchlanders (23 page)

She ignored him, but he could see his words stung. Awkwardly she drew together the heap of bones. They were smaller and newer than Mabis's set—deer and goat mostly, the partial jaw of a rabbit with some of the teeth still attached. She raised them over her head, then dashed them to the floor as if she wished they might break. Ryder suppressed a cry, stepping back against the wall as bones slid toward him. They rolled and skittered to the low part of the room, making a wide casting. She bent to peer at them, then gave Ryder a searching look and pointed to the floor.

“What?” he said.

She pointed again.

“Are you asking me if I can read your bones?”

She nodded as he stepped toward her.

“Can't you?”

The girl tried to look away, but Ryder grabbed her roughly by the shoulder. “Can you read them or not?” Aata's Right Hand stared up at him with fear in her eyes. “It's so convenient that you can't speak, isn't it?” he hissed. “You have so much to answer for.”

She pulled away, then grabbed a lump of charred wood from the hearth. Hurriedly, she began to draw some symbols on the curved wall.

“Don't bother,” Ryder said. The girl continued to write. “I said don't bother. I can't read—not enough to understand, anyway.”

She stopped and glared at him, then shook her head and threw the coal back into the hearth.

“I asked a yes or no question. Can you read the bones?”

After a slight hesitation, the girl shook her head.

“Could you ever read them?”

She shook her head again.

Ryder felt a cold anger sweep over him. “Why?” he demanded. “Why for Aata's sake did you ever say you could? Are you insane?” Tears were coming to her eyes now. She pointed to the writing on the wall as if the lines and circles there could somehow justify her actions.

“Speak!” Ryder shouted. “It's because of you. It's because of you that the witches ignored my mother's warnings. She
might be . . . She might . . .” He couldn't say the word “dead.” Wouldn't say it. He pushed past her. “I'm wasting my time. I'm going up to the caves to speak to Sodan and the other elders.”

Outside, Ryder stared up at the mountain's crooked peak. It couldn't be far, not compared to all the climbing he had already done, but he was so tired.

“Wait,” said a voice.

Ryder wheeled around, startled.

Aata's Right Hand pulled her shawl tighter. “Did you kill the Baen?” Her voice was hoarse and breathy.

A moment before, Ryder had scorned her for not speaking; now he felt a stab of pity. “Your vow.”

“After all I've done, why should the Goddess care if I break my vow or keep it?”

Ryder winced, hearing the cruelty in his own words. In the light of day, he saw how defeated she looked. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks looked sunken.

“The Baen was innocent,” Ryder said. “He didn't make the creatures.”

Her brow furrowed. “Who else could it have been?”

“So you don't think it was my mother anymore?”

She paused, and in that moment, Ryder saw what she must be thinking—that Mabis couldn't be responsible for the second attack because she must be dead.

“A witch did this,” he told her before she could give voice to her thoughts. “Someone who understands magic. Maybe you, for all I know.”

The girl's brown eyes widened. She gestured to the ruin around her. “How could I do this? And why? Why would any witch destroy her own coven?”

He gave a short laugh. “Why does a witch do anything? Why does a witch pretend to throw the bones when she can't—ruining lives, leaving chaos in her wake—?”

“Stop! I know what I have done. Do you think I don't? Three witches died in this attack. And one was an elder!”

She looked to the ground, and Ryder saw a tear fall into the snow. Pity washed through him again, but he tried not to show it. It was
her
fault. It was all her fault. It was only her beauty that made him feel sympathy for her, and her beauty was a trap—dangerous as a Baen song.

When she spoke again, her voice, so long unused, began to crack painfully. “A year ago, I foretold a few events—small things, really, but Sodan and the elders were very excited. They gave me the title of Aata's Right Hand. They said I had the gift.” She cleared her throat, lifting her eyes to Ryder's. “My mother had it, but she died when I was born. My father said I had it too, that the gift was in my blood.” She paused. “Ryder, I tell you now what I have never told anyone. Those prophecies—I never made them. They were thrown by someone else.”

“By the red!” Ryder swore.

“There is another witch in the coven—one who isn't allowed to throw the bones. She told me some prophecies and said I could pretend they were my own.” Her face twisted with grief. “When I say it out loud I hear how horrible it is. Even at the time, I knew it was stupid. But it all started so innocently. This woman kept telling me that I really did have the gift and that soon I'd be able to make prophecies of my own. I have wanted to be a boneshaker since I was a little girl. I performed Aata's prayer every morning; I took the vow of silence. I didn't see any harm in pretending. I thought it was only a matter of time before I became the witch everyone thought I was.”

Ryder's voice was hard. “And when you came to my cottage, why did you say my mother's prophecies were false?”

The witch pursed her lips, hesitating. “When we saw your mother's firecall, I consulted this witch. She . . . she didn't say anything about monsters! She only said I would find the bone in the fire and with it I would finally be able to read for myself.”

“So you only came down the mountain to steal my mother's bone,” he said. “And you never stopped to think she could be giving a true warning?”

She shook her head. “Ryder, she seemed so . . . I'm sorry, but it all seemed so unbelievable. I couldn't . . . And Visser
was so sure she had gone wild on maiden's woe. . . . Oh Goddess, I'm so stupid. Sodan is always saying that the magic is in the witch, not in her bones. I should have listened!”

“The witch was wrong, then. You got the anchor bone and still couldn't read?”

“I . . . I'm not sure.” She crossed her arms against the cold. “I've stared at those bones so long I think they've driven me mad. I spent my life studying the teachings of Aata and Aayse, memorizing the patterns and relationships of bones, waiting for visions of the future that never come. I left my father in the Dunes so I could study here. I left my family. And it was all for nothing!”

Ryder had forgotten that she came from Dunes coven. It must have been lonely for her here, not being able to speak to anyone. She'd always be a stranger. “There aren't any boneshakers in Dunes who can teach you?”

She shrugged and dried her eyes with the corner of her shawl. “There aren't any boneshakers anywhere. I went to all the covens. Sodan convinced me to study here because he taught your grandfather and Lilla Red Bird—but he doesn't have the gift himself.”

Ryder felt his stomach drop. No boneshakers? No boneshakers at all? He remembered he had once asked Visser why she didn't send messengers to other covens to confirm his mother's prophecies. Now he remembered the look on her face, as if she wanted to stop him talking at all
costs. But he couldn't blame Visser for wanting to keep
this
secret. The covens were blind. If there weren't any boneshakers, the Witchlands were completely unprotected.

Suddenly the girl stiffened, her gaze fixed somewhere over his left shoulder. “Goddess, help us,” she breathed. “Don't move. There's something behind you. There, in the trees!”

Ryder turned and at first saw nothing. Then, from out of the forest at the high end of the coven, a gray blur came hurtling. Bodread the Slayer. The dog stopped, lifted his great head, and howled—a chilling sound. Aata's Right Hand grabbed his arm.

“I know this dog,” said Ryder. “He's not . . .” He was about to say
dangerous
, but the word caught in his throat. Ryder searched the trees for Falpian. Had the Baen crossed the border? Could he be that foolish?

Bo lifted his head again, and it came to Ryder that he couldn't be howling at the two of them. With a sickening foreknowledge of what he would see, he turned around. A huge white figure was slouching toward them from the clearing.

“The gormy man,” Ryder said softly. The term Falpian had used seemed appropriate—a creature from a child's nightmare. It was like the mud creatures that had attacked his village—a huge, rough shape, at least a man and a half high—but it was different now.

“It's made of snow!”

Bo galloped toward them down the steps, leaping over debris and fallen torches as if he might take flight. Aata's Right Hand cried out as he hurtled by, but the dreadhound was fixed on the creature and didn't even slow his pace. Without hesitation, he hurled himself at the gormy man, raking his saber teeth over its blank face.

“The caves,” Ryder said. “Where are they?” The girl released her grip and ran inside the hut. “Where are you going?” he yelled. A moment later she came out again, and Ryder saw she was pushing his mother's bone into a pouch at her waist.

“Follow me!” she said.

They took off up steps, tripping over the wreckage of fallen huts as they went. At the top of the settlement the steps ended, but Aata's Right Hand continued running, quick as a deer, toward the trees.

“Come on!” she yelled.

Ryder had trouble keeping up with her. The incline was steep, and Aata's Right Hand was so light and graceful that she ran on top of the crusted snow, while his heavy steps broke through. He pressed on, but running uphill was like running in water, and after all the climbing he'd done with Falpian, he was on the brink of exhaustion. Behind him, cracking branches told him that the creature was following—Bo hadn't been able to slow it down for long.

Breathless, Ryder stopped, the entrance to the caves just visible through the trees. Ahead of him, Aata's Right Hand was a smear of white against the snow.

“Keep running!” she called back to him. “It's right behind us!”

Ryder knew they shouldn't lead that thing to the caves, but he was too tired to shout a warning, and the white witch tore on.
At least she'll make it,
he thought. But what protection would the caves give her if the creature followed? Ryder pulled the Baenkiller from its sheath. It seemed small and flimsy, a child's toy. Fear and exhaustion weighed on his shoulders. He couldn't win a fight now—if he ever could, against that thing.

Then the gormy man was upon him, barreling straight through the brush and snapping young trees at the base. For a moment Ryder was paralyzed by its sheer size—taller than any man. The creature threw back its white head, opening its round mouth hole. Ryder would have thought it was howling with the delight of capture, except that it didn't make a sound. Feebly he swung the sword, but the creature pulled back, easily avoiding the blow.

Bo must have been following right behind, because now he hurtled out of the trees and threw himself onto the creature's back, gripping its body with his claws and plunging his saber teeth into its neck—but the creature had no arteries to sever, no jugular vein. Ryder heard a
snap as the gormy man threw Bo to the ground. The dog gave a painful yelp—one of his saber teeth lay broken in the snow.

Ryder rushed forward with the sword, but the gormy man felled him to his knees with one swipe of its arm. If only Falpian were here with his humming stone. But then Ryder remembered: He was the one with the stone—he'd forgotten to give it back when they parted at the border.

A flash of white shot past—Aata's Right Hand. She had doubled back and was coming at the creature with a thick branch, using it as a battering ram. Incredibly, the snow creature lost its balance for a moment, dropping to one knee.

Ryder cast the Baenkiller aside and fumbled with his pack. It was probably a mistake—all his knowledge of humming stones came from Dassen's stories—but he knew he'd never kill the creature with a sword. He blew on the stone as he'd seen his sisters do with Dassen's stone, but nothing happened.

“Wake up!” he croaked. He shook it up and down frantically.

The gormy man had regained its balance and was driving Aata's Right Hand backward, though she was still swinging her branch like a wild creature. Bo had joined the fight again and was snapping and snarling at the creature's legs. Aata's Right Hand fell to the ground, but now
Ryder stepped forward, holding the stone in front of him. Knowing it was his last chance, he blew a long, even breath. This time the stone came to life with a low thrumming.
That's right,
he thought,
I've done this a thousand times
. He didn't stop to wonder when. In moments, music was rolling out of his mouth like honey.

Aata's Right Hand turned to him, and Ryder caught the look of shock on her face. Singing, he stepped toward the creature. He knew this song, knew it like an old friend, but his tongue was slow and thick; it didn't make the sounds he wanted.

The creature backed away at the sound of his voice, disappearing into the trees. The witch stared at him in amazement, then darted away, a white blur.

It was too easy. The creature was unharmed and probably hadn't gone far. Ryder knew he should stop singing and bolt for the caves, but now that he'd started, he couldn't make his tongue stop moving. Everything had become bright and blinding—the snow, the trees, the stones, the purple clouds. It was as if a skin had been peeled off his eyes and he was seeing the world for the first time in all its frightening beauty. He didn't want to see it. He hadn't asked for this. Skyla wanted magic, not him. There was too much to know. The snowflakes falling languidly around him all had names. Why couldn't he stop singing, for Aata's sake?