Witchlanders (33 page)

Skyla emerged from the hole on her hands and knees. “What's happening?” she cried, holding her hands to her ears.

Visser followed, taking in the scene with wide, staring eyes. “Lilla!” she called. “What in Aata's name are you doing?” But the witch on the ice didn't hear.

“I've got to stop her!” Ryder shouted to them. “I've got to try.” He shook off Falpian's tight grip.

“Come to see my work?” boomed a voice. Lilla's voice. The music had abruptly ended, and the witch's too-loud words echoed over the rock walls. Skyla grabbed Ryder's hand and pointed, but he already saw: Ten or twelve fully formed creatures stood around Lilla's island like a silent army.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Ryder could hear the words echoing inside his own skull—Falpian was feeling guilty for not having stopped Lilla before she started singing.

It's all right,
he tried to think back to him.
It's not your fault.
Falpian's pale face seemed to grow even paler.

“I'm a little annoyed with you, Nephew,” Lilla said. Something about the calmness of her words made a chill run down Ryder's back. She didn't move from her rocky platform, but her voice carried in the crisp air. “Didn't I tell you to put a knife in Visser's ribs? Didn't I put a knife into your hands? I wanted her dead. The tomb of Aayse is precious.” Behind her one of the creatures stirred slightly, as if shrugging off an itch.

Visser's mouth gaped open. “What have you done?” she hissed at Falpian.

“What has
he
done? Are you blind?” said Ryder.

“He's done something to her,” she said. “Lilla is a witch. Why would she want to kill me? Why would she want to harm her own people?”

“She's gone mad,” said Ryder. “You can't blame Falpian for that!”

“Lilla!” Visser called over the ice. “I don't understand any of this. I heard you make the creatures with my own ears, and yet I can't believe it. You say you want me dead for what I've done, but isn't what you have done so much worse? Your own coven, your own relatives, people in the village who honor your memory. Why? What could you have against them? They are innocent.”

“Innocent?” Lilla's sharp voice cut through the air.

Ryder stepped forward.

“Stay here!” Skyla hissed, trying to pull at his clothes,
but he wrenched himself loose, picked his way over the hump of ice formed by the waterfall, and climbed out onto the frozen lake.

“Stop, Nephew,” Lilla warned when he was about half a dozen steps from the island. “Don't come any nearer. I need only to sing a few more notes, and my children will tear you apart.”

Ryder froze. Now, in the light of day, he could see how frail the black witch was, how sickly. Her tunic was frayed almost to rags, and the wind whipped around her small, bony frame. If he had not seen it himself, he wouldn't have believed that such a fragile-looking person could have made the dark and powerful spell he had just heard. But of course, she had it too, the family trait—that stubborn, iron will. Well then, they'd just have to see who had more of it.

“I wonder,” he called. “How did the great Lilla Red Bird come to this?”

“That name is forbidden!” Lilla snapped.

“It is a proud name. Lilla Red Bird was a hero of the war.”

“Lilla Red Bird was a murderer of children. Baen children. Did you know that?”

Ryder felt his stomach drop. He glanced nervously at the still creatures behind her on the ice, huge and rough and inhuman. The knife Lilla had given him was concealed in the sash of his reds, but he was afraid to use it,
afraid that if he tried, she would sing the last notes of her spell and bring the gormy men to life. The only thing he could think of doing was to keep her talking.

“The Baen struck first, at Barbiza,” he said. It was the reasoning he'd heard all his life, though he didn't believe anymore that it justified everything his people had done in the name of revenge—stealing land, driving all the Baen into the Bitterlands, killing innocent people. How much of that had Lilla been responsible for?

Lilla pointed past the frozen waterfall to where the others were standing. “Your friend knows the truth,” she said. Her voice changed, became warmer. “Falpian! Come here.”

Falpian looked around as if hoping she was pointing at someone else, but Visser grabbed his arm and shoved him out onto the lake. He avoided Ryder's eye as he half walked, half slid across the ice.

“Tell my nephew who I am,” Lilla said when Falpian had reached Ryder's side.

The Baen shielded his eyes as he stared up at the witch perched on her rocky island. “I heard them call you Lilla, but you can't be—” His voice faltered. “You can't be the Lilla my people speak of.”

The black witch looked almost proud. “Of all the names hated by the Baen, of all the witches most reviled for their part in the war, I am the worst, aren't I?”

Dread and disbelief contorted Falpian's features. “But . . . you were killed long ago,” he said.

“Tell him what you call me!” Lilla drew herself up and glared down at Falpian with pale, mad eyes.

“I think—I think you must be Lilla the Blood-Smeared,” Falpian said, quaking. “Butcher of the war.”

At the sound of the name, the monsters began swaying, throwing back their heads in silent roars. Ryder held his breath, waiting for the creatures to attack, but the moment didn't come.

“I hated the Baen when my father died,” Lilla said. “I wanted to kill you all.” She crossed her arms against the cold, taking no notice of the creatures behind her. “But at the end of the war, something happened. My little sister and I were walking the sandbars. They had been useful during the fighting—quick escapes, bloody ambushes. We had seen the mural.” Lilla raised her eyes. Ryder didn't turn around, but he well remembered the two striking faces that adorned the rock. “We saw that it was a Baen woman and a Witchlander, but it didn't mean anything to us at the time—not until we found the entrance. We knew that the caves were forbidden, but we thought, after the war, that we were entitled somehow. Perhaps we were.

“That little opening in the rocks changed everything. We found the tomb of Aayse. Mabis lost her faith the
moment she saw it, but I . . . How could I turn my back on Aata and Aayse? They were my life.”

“You began to think about the Baen and what you had done to them,” Ryder said.

Lilla nodded. “My father would have hated the things I did to avenge his death. You see now why I begged to become the keeper of the catacombs. I wanted to murder that name, Lilla Red Bird. I wanted to murder what she had done.”

Lilla looked to Falpian now, as if pleading for forgiveness. “We were so terrified of you—even before Barbiza. Your magic was so much more powerful than our own. We won the war because our numbers were greater, our numbers and our cruelty. That is the only reason. But now the pendulum is swinging back. We will make it right, you and I.”

“Make it right!” Ryder said with disgust. “I think you just like to kill people.”

Lilla glared. “I am balancing the scales.”

“And what about Mabis? Did you think about her when you were ‘balancing the scales'? Did you consider the life of your own sister?”

“Mabis was the only one who could have stopped me,” Lilla said coldly. “Who else? You? With your wasted gift? She was my one enemy. But I made sure the greedy little Aata's Right Hand would take her bone away and leave her helpless.”

“Goddess!” Ryder said hoarsely, angry at the tears pricking at his eyes. “Why didn't you just kill yourself—it would have been better than what you've done!”

“Even if I died, others would carry on my work. My creatures are made of hate and anger, and there's always plenty of that.” Her eyes fell on Falpian. “Would you like to sing the last commands?”

Falpian threw a look at Ryder. “No, not now,” he begged. “Please.”

Lilla held her hand out to him and smiled. “Come. Sing the notes that will wipe this mountain clean. Come take your revenge.”

She seemed to trust Falpian, Ryder realized. Maybe this was their chance.
Get her to leave the echo site,
he thought.
Once she's off, I'll make sure she doesn't get back on.
He hoped Falpian had heard.

The Baen stepped forward, and Ryder watched as he climbed onto the island. Ryder tried not to smile as Lilla stepped aside to let Falpian take her place. Carefully Falpian set his feet on the mosaic footprints.
I'm sorry,
came his thoughts. His face had gone bone-white, full of grief.

Ryder felt the breath go out of him. “Falpian?” he said aloud.

“I'm so sorry.”

“What are you doing?” He stepped forward. “No! You're important! My mother's prophecy . . .”

The Baen's voice was ragged with emotion. “Don't you understand? It was never Bron. It was me.
I
am the assassin your mother warned you about.” He screwed his eyes shut in agony. “It was always me.”

The truth of Falpian's words hit Ryder like a sledgehammer.
Aata's breath, I'm such a fool,
he cursed himself.
Mabis risked everything to warn me—she ate poison. And I didn't listen.

Furiously he rushed forward, reaching the island in a few short strides. But Lilla was ready. She threw herself in front of Falpian. Ryder grabbed her around the waist and tried to pull her aside. Slipping on the ice, they both fell down hard. Ryder scrambled back up, but Lilla grabbed his leg and pulled him down again, leaping on him like an animal, scratching desperately at his face with her fingernails.

“Hurry!” she yelled to Falpian. “Sing!”

To Ryder's horror, Falpian opened his mouth and sang.

And the rocks and the cliffs sang with him, sang with voices Falpian could hardly believe were his own. He'd be famous for this among the Baen, he thought dully. His father would put garlands around his shoulders and open his arms wide. Once the image would have filled him joy; now all he felt was disgust. A bitter rage welled up inside him—rage at the stupidity of Baen and Witchlander alike,
rage at everything that had turned him into the ally of Lilla the Blood-Smeared.

The creatures behind stood like vacant husks, awaiting their commands. It would take only a moment for him to send them on their way. And yet, he hesitated. Time slowed. Falpian could hear his own heartbeats, but there were vast stretches of silence between them. Snowflakes hung suspended in the air. He closed his eyes, but he could still see the little corner of the world where he stood as if from a great height—Lilla and Ryder, Visser and Skyla, all tiny and frozen below him. There was something about this crow's-eye view that made Falpian feel safe. He knew that if he wanted, he could withdraw and withdraw, higher and higher, until the whole world was just a tiny speck in one of the many eyes of Kar.

Can't get away that easily.

Hello? Is someone there?

Somewhere, he knew, he was still standing at the echo site. Somewhere his body was still singing. It was cold and tired and full of anger. But here, here all was warm and still. The voice had come from behind him and high above, a man's voice. Someone familiar and kind.

Bron?

Open your eyes.
This time it was a woman's voice—his mother's and his sisters' and the old cook's who'd fed him sweets when he was little.

Darling, if you give them hints, they'll never learn.
Not Bron. Someone else. Someone . . .

I like this one.
The woman again.

He doesn't even believe in you.

Oh, you can't take their notions personally. He thinks you have tongues of fire and a thousand eyes.

Sometimes I do.

Kar?
Falpian asked.
Is that you? Am I dead?

A peal of laughter rang out, beautiful as music. Women's laughter. But women weren't supposed to be at the feast of Kar.
Open your eyes.

If he opened his eyes, the world would start again. He'd be back at the echo site. He was there now, really; he'd never left. All this was happening in no time at all, in the still, small space between two notes of his song. It occurred to him that maybe the witches weren't so mad to study silence after all.

Kar, can't I stay here?
Falpian asked.
I don't want to do this.

Open your eyes,
the woman said again, more firmly this time.

His shoulders shook with held sobs.
But it won't do any good. I'm a Baen and Ryder's a Witchlander. We'll always be on opposite sides.

There was a rustling behind him, and Falpian felt a shiver of warm breath on the back of his neck. The woman's
voice was a quiet murmur in his ear, like clear water bubbling over stones:

There are no sides.

Falpian opened his eyes and the world came back, blinding and cacophonous. He was on the echo site, and the sound of his own voice was painful in his ears. In front of him the faces of two women stared at him from either side of the frozen waterfall—one Witchlander, one Baen. It took him a moment to realize that they weren't real, that he was looking at a mosaic set in stone.

Falpian didn't know who they could be, but their serenity was mesmerizing. They were so beautiful in their opposition—like two sides of a coin. They were . . . balance. And they made it very clear to him that the retribution Lilla wanted wasn't balance.

His song changed, drained of anger. Falpian made his choice. He was no assassin.

The world was moving again now. Ryder and Lilla still struggled on the ice. The gormy men. Falpian thought quickly. He wasn't sure he could destroy them by himself, but he could make them destroy one another. He felt their blank faces turning toward him as he sang the command.