So much for wind and wood. Gar set his jaw and reached down into the ground, far below, feeling out the shape and form of the bedrock, finding the water deep below it and a fissure in the rock above. He widened the fissure just a little, molecules compacting against one another …
With a roar, the earth jolted just as the rifles blasted. Shots went wide; Farlands and Belinkuns fell, rifles flying from their hands. One or two scrambled to their knees and loosed a shot at the enemy, but the earth bucked again and their shots went wide. The clansfolk kept hold of their firearms, but fingers squeezed triggers by accident as they fell and stocks slammed into earth or wood, jarring the hammers into falling. The forest resounded with a fusillade of shots. Three people cried out with pain, one Belinkun and two Farlands wounded by stray shots, but none others.
For a moment, the forest lay quiet.
Then, howling, both clans shot to their feet and charged one another, not daring to take the time to reload lest their enemies catch them unarmed. Instead they swung their rifles like clubs, each long barrel suddenly serving as an iron quarterstaff.
Coming through the northwestern woods, the Belinkuns may have made noise enough, but now that they knew the Farlands were on their way, they went to ground so thoroughly that Alea knew she would never have seen them with her eyes. They waited crouched behind bushes and stumps and trunks with legs hardened against cramping by a lifetime’s training, caressing their rifles, checking the priming now and again to make sure it was still dry and ready. The Farlands were searching for just such an ambush with eyes long trained to forest shadows, but what would happen if they failed to find the Belinkuns?
Come to that, what would happen if they did?
More to both points, how could Alea give away their positions without bloodshed?
The gunpowder, of course. None of them would kill any of the others if the powder refused to fire.
There was moisture in the air under the leaves—moisture from the evening that had condensed into dew and evaporated again with the sun, but was still held in the green gloom. She could gather that moisture into miniscule droplets, make it condense out into the fine gunpowder in the priming pans—all of the priming pans, Farland and Belinkun alike, condense into moisture more and more, until the powder became thick as paste—and she had to do it quickly, before any one of the clansfolk found any of the others. Moisture gathered on her forehead, too—fine drops of sweat raised by her efforts.
Somewhere off among the leaves, a trigger clicked and flint clashed into a pan. Someone howled at the discovery of treachery and an answering click sounded, an answering clash. Then the woods erupted with banshee howls as Farland saw Belinkun, howls that drowned out the clacking of flint in pan, useless clacking, shedding sparks into powder that was far too wet to fire. Alea breathed a long, trembling sigh of relief.
Too soon, for people who carry flintlocks know well what to do if the enemy falls upon them before they can reload. Roaring with anger, Belinkuns leaped upon Farlands swinging their rifles by the barrels, stocks smashing down at skulls. Shrilling rage, the Farlands met the swings with flintlocks held by stock and barrel, and in minutes the two forces were smashing furiously at one another in quarterstaff play with long rifles instead of staves.
Hiding behind her bush, Alea shuddered and consoled herself with the thought that quarterstaves, even ones shod with iron, were far less lethal than rifles.
Then she heard Gar’s voice inside her head. I made their shots go wide, but they’re charging out to club one another to death.
Alea almost went limp with relief—she wasn’t alone. Mine, too. How can we stop them?
We need a vantage point first. Find a tall tree and persuade a bird to do your looking for you. To illustrate, Gar showed her the world from a bird’s-eye view. The bird in question was perched on a lower limb of a pine, to judge from the needles that framed the scene, and had an excellent view of the ragged lines of flailing fighters.
It was a good technique. Alea had never tried it before, but it only took a few seconds to find a crow with the right viewpoint and tap into its bird brain. It huddled against the trunk, frightened by the loud noises, but stayed frozen in place, afraid to attract attention, watching the fighters for any sign that they might decide to come its way.
Then, before either of them could do anything to stop the fighting, a wave of dizziness rocked her.
5
It passed, and her lips thinned in anger, but she had to admit it worked beautifully. The clansfolk were swinging wildly and connecting with nothing. The dizziness didn’t seem to have passed for them; woodsfolk who had been silent minutes before went crashing through the underbrush calling for their enemies to stand still, which of course they didn’t; they too plunged about, flailing with their rifles and shouting in anger.
Alea wanted to ask Gar something, but she was too confused to remember what. She reached out for his mind but found only disorientation there, too. In a panic, she could only think to go to him—why, she couldn’t say, she only knew that it was important. She stood up and staggered away, following the feel of his thoughts, swirling though they might be. She blundered into thorns and even splashed through a brook before she saw it was there, but somehow recognized a bog in time to go around it. Tree trunks reeled past her; she knew what they were, but didn’t understand why they kept trying to get into her way. All the while, she felt Gar’s thoughts coming nearer, though, and that was all that mattered.
The dizzy spell began to recede as he came in sight. Relief made her want to clutch at him, but made her indignant, too, so by the time she came to him, she only said, “Why didn’t you warn me you were going to do that?”
Gar only blinked at her, bemused. “You mean it wasn’t your doing. ”
Alea felt a chill spread through her vitals. “I wouldn’t know how.”
Gar gazed off into space, frowning in thought. “I suppose I could figure out a way, but I didn’t.” He turned back to her, brow furrowed. “But if we didn’t—who did?”
Alea stared up at him, nonplussed. Then she reached out for the thoughts of the clansfolk. Gar realized what she was doing and searched, too.
“Whatever did it, it seems to have worked wonderfully. The Belinkuns and the Farlands are all going home, and no one died.”
“A few casualties, though,” Gar said. “We’ll have to make sure Joram doesn’t lose that leg.”
“Sukey’s arm should heal, though.” Alea frowned. “I’ll have to make sure it’s bound.” She turned toward the Farlands’ thoughts. “We’d better join them—we have work to do.”
“Yes, and we’ll have to find some way to reach the Belinkuns.” Gar fell in beside her.
“Still,” Alea said, “I wonder what could have caused that disorientation.”
“It might have been the earthquake,” Gar conjectured. Alea stared at him, then swung around to confront him. “What earthquake?”
“A small localized one,” Gar hedged. “It only hit where Martha’s band was fighting. Made all the shots go wide, though.”
“How convenient,” Alea said drily. “Tell me—how do you cause an earthquake?”
They wended homeward, discussing ways and means of neutralizing clan fights, forgetting about their sudden confusion for the time being.
Deep in the forest, Evanescent’s cat-smile widened.