As dusk settled over the slopes she rounded a bulge and found herself on the outskirts of a small neat village that reminded her very much of her home vale. She stopped her pony, whistled with pleasure. Even in the shadowy dimness she could see how bright the colors were, how clean and simple the lines were. The houses were smaller than the multifamily dwellings she knew as a child, they were like beads on a string, elbowing their neighbors, instead of standing solitary in a Housegarden, but they had the same high-peaked roofs with cedar shakes oiled until they were almost black, the same whitewashed walls with painted straps and beams, the same heavy shutters carved in deep relief. She couldn’t see the designs, no doubt they were quite different, the thing was, they were there in the same place as the ones she knew. She felt her souls expand, her metaphorical el-
bows come away from her sides. She understood for the first time how much she
4
Three days later she rode from a thick stand of conifers and saw a dead man sprawled facedown on the snow, three stubby arrows like black quills protruding from his back and his left leg. Blood was a splash of crimson on the snow. Crimson? It was still leaking out of the man. He had to be alive.
She slid off the pony, ran to him and knelt beside him, fingers searching under his jaw; she couldn’t feel a pulse, but bodyread told her, yes, he was alive. “Aili, come here.” She scooped up the mahsar and set her on the man’s back. “Do what you can to warm him, my Liki, while I figure how to move him off this snow.” Without realizing what she was doing, she closed her band about Frunzacoache; the talisman felt eager, as if it had suffered frustration from being unused all the years it sat in the shaman’s pouch. It was a focus of renewal, that’s what the books said anyway. The Great Talismans weren’t living creatures in any sense of that word, but Kushundallian said they sometimes showed a kind of willfulness, as if they recognized in some
She sat on her heels and rubbed at her back. It was late afternoon, the sky was boiling with clouds though the air down near the earth was barely stirring; it was several degrees above freezing, but that was not much help to the man stretched out beside her. If he wasn’t to die on her, she had to get those shafts out of him and move him under cover… she touched his long black hair, drew her fingers along his cheekbones, down his nose, trying to remember where she’d seen him before. There was something… something about him… she couldn’t catch hold of it, not yet. He was warmer; Ailiki’s cuddle was starting to work on him. He was also bleeding faster. She jumped to her feet and ran to her stores.
She tugged him into the road and onto a piece of canvas, bunched blankets about him to hold in the warmth Ailiki was feeding him, then she sat on her heels scowling at the arrows. She had to get them out without killing him. Cut them out? She shuddered at the thought. Inanimate Transfer? Might as well grab hold of them and drag them out of him. She could burn the shafts, but that would leave the points sunk in him. Inanimate Transform? Hmm. Might work. With a little help. Leg arrow first; if I blow it, I’ll do less damage there. She pulled Frunzacoache from under her shirt and pressed her left hand over it as she got ready for the act of transforming. She started to reach for the shafts, stopped her hand. Are the points iron or bone or stone or what? She grasped the shaft and read down it. Iron, yes.
“Meta mephi mephist mi,” she chanted, hand tight about the shaft, feeling it vibrate against her palm as currents of change stirred in it. “Syda ses sydoor es es. Meta mephi mephist mi. Xula xla es eitheri.”
The wood sublimated into the air; a thread of clear water oozed from the wound.
She smiled, shook herself, and eased Frunzacoache’s chain over her head. Pressing the flat crystal enclosing the deathless leaf over the puncture wound, she held it there though the heat it generated grew so intense it was painful, held it and held it until the heat dropped out of it. She lifted the talisman and inspected the place where the wound had been. The puncture was closed; there wasn’t even a scar to mark where it had been.
She rocked on her knees along his body until she could reach another of the arrows; it jerked rhythmically, a movement so tiny it was hard to see unless she looked closely at the flights. It had to be lodged tight against the man’s heart. Tricky. If it had penetrated something vital, getting it out might be as dangerous as leaving it in, he might bleed to death before… She opened her hand and gazed thoughtfully at Frunzacoache for a minute, then closed her fingers about it and chanted: Meta mephi mephist mi… and as soon as the chant was done, slapped the talisman over the wound and held it…
Contented with the results, she moved to the arrow high in the shoulder and began the chant for the third time…
When she lifted Frunzacoache, it felt swollen, tumescent, as if it drew power into itself by expending power. It was so heavy it seemed to jump from her fingers to land on the man’s back, driving a grunt out of him though he didn’t seem to be waking up.
“Sounds like you’re going to live, whoever you are.” She felt under his jaw. A strong steady throb pulsed against her fingertips and his skin was warm, but not too warm. “Yes indeed.’ She started to straighten, but stopped as Ailiki chittered anxiously and put a small black hand on her arm. “You want me to do something more? Obviously you do.” She moved closer to the man so she could kneel on the canvas; the cold from the sodden earth was striking up through her trousers and worrying at her bodyheat. Frowning, she focused on the man, scanning him in a full bodyread. “Poison, tchah! He’s rotten with it. I wonder… minhl no time for that. Back to business.” Reluctantly, because her fingers were aching and stiff with cold, she cupped her hands about Frunzacoache and called on its gift of renewal to help, her
When the work was complete, she lifted the talisman. Heavy, dark, swollen, it frightened her; though she didn’t want to, she slid the chain over her head and tucked Frunzacoache under her shirt. It was hotter than she’d expected, the heat burned into her but vanished almost as soon as she felt it. She tucked her trembling hands into her armpits and looked around. The ponies were kicking through the snow and tearing up clumps of withered grass. A deer came to the edge of the trees, gazed out at her a long minute then retreated into the shadows. Otherwise the narrow winding flat and the stony slopes were devoid of life; sunk inches below the level of the flat by generations of hooves and high-wheeled wagons, the Road was the only sign that people had passed this way. Overhead, there was a high thin film of cloud, gray and cold. A chill wet wind was gathering strength around her; it blew across her face and insinuated itself into every crevice in her clothing. She shivered and wondered what she should do next. She couldn’t just leave the man lying beside the Road. I have seen him before. I know it. Somewhere. Silili? Doesn’t feel right. Where.. where..