"And when you reached the village?" I asked.
She stared up at the ceiling. She shed no tears now, and when she spoke again her voice was flat. "It was too late. Mama was at the river Papa, Kytha, and Baet were in the house. But they were… they were all dead. I think everyone in the village died that night. All because I went the wrong way. And all because the Y'Qatt wouldn't help me."
"Anyone could have made that mistake, Licaldi. On a night like that, with your family sick and a storm blowing, anyone could have gone north instead of south."
"They were depending on me, and I failed. And because of that, they're all dead."
"You're just a girl!" I said, feeling tears on my own face. "You're eight years old. You're too young to bear such burdens. You need to find a way to forgive yourself"
She met my gaze then, looking too sad and too wise for her years. "If it was you, could you forgive yourself?"
I had no answer, and for a long time neither of us spoke. Finally, I asked her, "What was it you said to the Y'Qatt?"
Licaldi closed her eyes again. "Do I have to tell you?"
"Of course not, child. I was just asking." I leaned forward and kissed her forehead, which still felt hot. "I think you'll be better in the morning," I said, wanting it to be true. "You should rest now."
She nodded.
I got up, crossed to my bed, and picked up this journal, intending to write down all she'd told me. But as I sat, she spoke my name. Looking at her I saw that her eyes were open again, shining with the light of candles.
"I told the Y'Qatt that I hoped the pestilence would come to their village," she said. "I told them I wanted them all to die."
Perhaps I should have scolded her. It was an evil thought, even for a child who must have been so angry and desperate and forlorn. But I merely nodded, thinking to myself that I probably would have said much the same thing.
So, now she sleeps, and I write, having learned at last all there is to know of her tragic tale. I am hopeful that as her fever fades and she grows strong again, she will be better off for having unburdened herself But it is only a hope. She is so young to have seen and lived such horrors. It is said among our people that where a healer's touch fails, time works its own magic. Some wounds, though, can never heal. Instead they fester
It remains to be seen which kind of wound fate has dealt this child.
Besh sat back and laid the daybook aside. Any doubt that had crept into his mind over the past turn was gone now. Lici was alive. He was certain of it. And more, she was wreaking vengeance across the land.
Sixty-four years to the day after she appears in the village, the old woman vanishes. And within a turn of her disappearance the pestilence strikes at three Qirsi villages, at least two of them Y'Qatt. He stood and strode out the door into the midday sun. Walking quickly to the marketplace, he found a Qirsi trader, a young woman who was selling wines from the Nid'Qir.
"Buy a skin today, good sir?" she asked, smiling at him.
"No, thank you. Tell me, though: Have you ever heard of a town called Tivston?"
"Tivston?" she repeated, frowning. She shook her head and made the warding sign against evil, as if she were Mettai instead of Qirsi. "I know Tivston. It's very bad there now."
"Yes, I've heard. Is it a Qirsi village?"
"In a sense, yes," she said.
And he knew. Even before she could say anything more, he felt the hairs on his neck and arms standing on end.
"They're Y'Qatt in Tivston; Qirsi who use no magic."
Besh nodded. "Thank you." He started to walk away.
"Of course, good sir. Perhaps now you'd like to buy some wine."
He knew he should have, out of courtesy if nothing else. She'd answered his questions, and so had told him the last thing he needed to know before speaking of this with Pyay. But the thought of taking even a sip of wine just then made his stomach turn. He merely shook his head and walked to the eldest's smithy.
Pyav was resting when Besh got there, his face ruddy as always and covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
"You're early today," the smith said, grinning as Besh approached. But then he seemed to notice the old man's expression. His smile vanished and he stood. "What is it?"
"I know where Lici is. Or at least where she's been."
Pyav's brow creased. "What do you mean?"
"I told you that her village was ravaged by the pestilence. It killed her family. It killed everyone she knew."
"Yes, I remember."
"It seems there was more to the story," Besh said. "She went for help. She was looking for Qirsi healers, but instead she found an Y'Qatt village. 1)
The eldest winced. "And they wouldn't help her." "That's right."
"But what does that-?"
"Runnelwick and Greenrill-they're near N'Kiel's Span, aren't they?"
"I believe so." Comprehension hit him like a fist. "Blood and bone," he whispered.
"I just spoke with a Qirsi peddler. Tivston is an Y'Qatt village, as well. At least it was."
"A conjuring?"
"Perhaps. Probably. Would it surprise you to learn that she could use her magic that way?"
"I suppose not." The eldest stared at the ground for a few moments, shaking his head slowly. "I wouldn't know how to do it. Would you?" "I couldn't even begin to conceive such a thing."
Pyav glanced at him, a sad smile on his lips. "And yet you figured it out. At least you think you have. Perhaps the workings of your mind are darker than you think."
Besh nodded, though he didn't smile in return. "Perhaps. They'll have to be if I'm to find a way to stop her."
Chapter 16
Pyav stared at him, as if wondering whether he had heard correctly.
"You?" the eldest said at last, sounding simple. "You're going after her?"
"Someone must."
That faint smile touched Pyav's face again and was gone. "You're a good man, Besh. I've said as much quite often over the past turn, and yet I'm not certain I knew how right I was until just now. You're honorable and clever, and you're even braver than I would have credited." He shook his head. "But you can't do this."
"Can't I?"
"How old are you, Besh?"
Besh might have been a good man, as the eldest said, but he knew as well as anyone that he wasn't without his faults, pride chief among them.
Ema had told him so more often than he could count, and so had Elica.
He felt himself bristling at the eldest's question, and he struggled to keep his temper in check.
"I'm old enough to know that Lici is our responsibility. No one else knows what she's done, and so no one else will think to stop her."
"That may be, but-"
"Will you go after her, Eldest?"
The blacksmith straightened, his expression hardening just a bit. "If need be."
"You have a family. Your children may be grown, but they need you still. You have a shop to maintain. You're eldest of our village. You're needed here."
"So are you, Besh."
"Not in the same way." The eldest opened his mouth, no doubt to argue the point, but Besh held up a hand, stopping him. "This isn't the self-pity of an old man, nor is it a last grasp at some sort of heroism. Elica has her husband and her children. Ema is gone. Aside from my garden, no one will miss me."
Pyav smiled again, the kind smile this time, the one Besh had come to know so well in recent days. "I know that's not true. I'm not certain what Mihas would do without you. Or Annze and Cam, for that matter."
Besh felt his throat tighten at the mention of Mihas and the little ones, but he knew he was right about this. "There are plenty of children in this village who get along without their grandfathers. They'll be fine."