“But that’s magic,” Hope protested. “There is no magic!” She glanced at Rafe as she spoke, then looked away again.
“It doesn’t have to be magic. I received a message from you, remember?”
“That was a skull raven, that was just…”
“Communication,” A’Meer finished for her. “We don’t have to understand something for it to be possible. Don’t ascribe anything you don’t understand to magic.”
“But what of Alishia?” Trey asked. “What can we do for her?”
“I don’t know,” A’Meer said, shaking her head. “But we have to assume that the Mages will soon know what the thing in her head saw happen here. And as we all know, they’ll want what Rafe has for themselves.”
“Well, I don’t want it,” Rafe shouted. “They can have it, for all I care!”
“What about her?” Trey asked again. They were ignoring him. Dismissing her.
“It’s precious, Rafe!” Hope said.
“Who are you people?” Trey asked. Alishia trembled, mumbled something incoherent. “How are you going to help-”
“Who are you?” Hope asked. “A fledge miner who’s obviously never been topside before, and a strange woman who may have betrayed us to the Mages.”
“She didn’t betray us! It was what was inside her.”
“Maybe she’s always had it there,” Hope said. “She’s obviously not the person you thought she was.”
“She helped me!”
Hope looked down at Alishia where she lay prone on the cave floor. “Let her die.”
“You bitch!” Trey felt the drug still lifting him, trying to tear him away from this scene and carry him up and away, into freedom. But he fought that yearning, looked at Alishia, denying the shred of doubt that Hope’s words had planted in his mind.
“We don’t know who she is,” Hope said. “We don’t know who sent her, why, when, and what she’s going to do next. For that matter, we don’t know him, either!” She jabbed her finger at Trey and advanced toward him. He stepped back, frightened of the tattoos seemingly squirming on the witch’s face, bringing her skin alive.
“We have to leave, and soon,” A’Meer said tiredly. “We can talk about this when we’re away, but I’m in no state to take on another Monk.”
“And who are you?” Hope said, turning on the injured woman. “A Shantasi! And they’re about as trustworthy as my own turds! Who’s to say you aren’t here to steal what Rafe has for your slave-kin?”
“She fought a Red Monk so you could get away!” Kosar shouted.
“And beat it?” Hope threw her hands up. “Nobody beats a Red Monk! They let her win to deceive us. They’re probably closing in even now, ready to snuff out the only bit of hope this land has seen for centuries!” She stood at Rafe’s side with her back to him, arms spread, as if to ward off any attack from the others in the cave.
“No, Hope,” Rafe said. His voice was quiet, but it carried the authority of someone far older than he. “No fighting. No arguing. We don’t know one another, but we’re here for a reason.” He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and sighed, a long, heartrending exhalation. “You’re all here for me. And though I never wished it, there’s a part of me that asks that you protect me, as well as you can.”
RAFE HAD BEENlistening to the arguments: Hope’s paranoia, Trey’s concern for the fallen girl, Kosar the thief siding with the Shantasi warrior who had given them time to escape and almost died in the process.
I cured her, he thought. I touched her and drew out the poison from her blood, but through no physical process. The infected blood went nowhere. The poison simply stopped existing. I did that.
The rain pummeled down outside, and each impact was a whisper in his ears, more knowledge imparted and facts hacked down and burned; new, terrifying truths rising from the ashes. This simple cave, this depression in the land, was turning into a wonderful place in Rafe’s understanding. It was as if every crack in the wall, every raindrop, every blade of grass bending under a weight of water knew more than he had ever known. There was a power around him, buzzing to break out. It was terrifying but humbling; the power gave itself tentatively, holding back at every step, pleading with him, Be careful, be careful. He was terrified of its potential and awed by its intensity.
Now those people in the cave were looking at him, blinking in surprise at what he had said, each thinking themselves right in some small way. And in one way they were all right-magic was breathing again, and it was Rafe who gave it breath. But there was so much more they did not know.
“I’m weak,” Rafe said. “I’m eighteen next moon. And I’m a farm boy; I’ve no fighting experience. I’ve never had a fight other than with boys in the village. I’d have no idea how to defend myself against a Red Monk, intent on killing me for what’s started inside me.”
“And just what is that?” Kosar asked.
“Magic,” Rafe said. “Strong and powerful, but vulnerable as well. It’s inside me, gestating, and it relies on me to carry it. It’s readying it- and myself for what it will become.”
The cave was silent, its inhabitants awed. Even Alishia had stopped mumbling, as if she sensed the import of the moment.
“You cured me,” A’Meer said.
“I touched you and the magic bled into me. I just steered it. I think it was… an expression of good faith.”
“A bribe?” Hope asked.
“A gift,” Rafe replied. “It asks a lot, and in turn I ask a lot of you. Requests like that can’t exist without some reward.”
“So what do we all get?” Hope said. “What does the fledger get? What does the thief receive in payment for his allegiance?”
Rafe shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“It hasn’t told you yet?” Hope asked.
Rafe shrugged once again, saying nothing.
“What do I get?” Hope asked. “I’ve been waiting all my life, so what do I get?”
There was turmoil in Rafe’s mind, brief but violent, and the tang of the rain carried the warm scent of blood for less than a heartbeat. He closed his eyes but saw no less. “Hurt,” he said. “If you go against me, you get hurt.”
He could never have spoken those words… and yet he had. Those in the cave should have laughed at what he said, yet they did not.
He had convinced them. And the voices in his head sighed with contentment, and started to tell him more.
AS THEY LEFTthe cave Kosar knew that much had already changed. The rain pelted down and washed old dirt from his body, refreshing him, preparing him for the future. He opened his hands and held them palms-up, and although the wounds on his fingertips still stung, the pain was less than before. The torrent cleansed the dust and grit from his raw flesh, washing his past back into the ground. He hated foolish pride, but for the first time in years he had a purpose.
A’Meer sat on a horse, no longer tied into her saddle. She slumped in pain from her wounds, exhausted from the effects of the poison. But her eyes were bright now when she looked across at him, twinkling with excitement, and Kosar was thrilled that he and A’Meer were together. Somehow, any other situation would have seemed unthinkable. Perhaps this had always been their future.
Maybe they had been steered this way.
Kosar thrust that thought from his mind, stared it at the ground and let his horse trample it into the mud. He had no wish to imagine such a controlling influence over his life.
But A’Meer’s eyes said otherwise. Even though it was still dark he could see the way she looked at him, the sense of meaning suddenly exuding from her like a strong smell. He had never considered A’Meer aimless-she was too strong, too intelligent for that-but compared to this moment, she had always been adrift, he realized. Injured as she was, weak and vulnerable, the strength of her new conviction was evident. She had found her true course.
It was a frightening sensation, this sense of belonging. It scared Kosar to the core. And yet he could not deny that it felt good.
As they packed, they had talked about which way they should head. North, eventually, lay the Cantrass Plains, The Spine, Long Marrakash. It was rumored across the land that the Duke was there now, not exactly in hiding but living beneath a cloud of apathy and neglect. His people did not want or need him anymore-Noreela was becoming too fractured, too feudal-but his reign was still recognized by some of those in the north. Kosar suggested that they should make contact with the Duke and beg the protection of his army. Better a thousand fighting men than a witch, a thief, a fledge miner, a dying woman and an injured Shantasi. Hope had agreed, though grudgingly. Rafe had remained silent. He watched them talk about his safety. It was as if he had placed himself in their hands, and now it was their duty to do their best by him.