She didn't say anything. Besh found himself looking around, as if expecting to find himself surrounded by wraiths. He'd heard of people meeting their dead, although usually this happened on nights when neither moon rose. Had her mind failed her completely, then?
"When did you lie to her?" he asked, keeping his voice even, gentle. She shook her head slowly, her gaze drifting to the side.
"Is this Sentaya, Lici?"
The woman looked at him again, her eyes narrowing. "I know you," she said. "Who are you?"
He licked his lips. "I'm Besh. You know me from Kirayde."
"You're not one of them," she said after several moments, raising her voice once more. "You're one of us. Did you see him? The other one? The one who took the baskets?" She rushed forward suddenly and grabbed Besh's shirt with her blade hand, nearly cutting his face with her knife as she did, though it seemed to the old man that she wasn't even aware of the weapon in her hand. "You have to stop him! He's taking them to the Fal'Borna! They'll all die!"
"Wh-what baskets?" he asked, trying as best he could to keep from breaking free and running from her.
She smiled, a sly look creeping over her face. "I found a way," she whispered, her foul breath hot on his face. "They wanted me dead. They wanted us all dead, but I found a way."
"What way? What do you mean?"
She leaned closer to him, so that her mouth was just at his ear, as if they were lovers. "Baskets," she whispered. She pulled back to look at him, and nodded.
Besh shook his head. "I don't understand. What baskets? Who are you talking about?"
She opened her hand, revealing a dark clump of clotted dirt. For a moment she stared at it. Then she looked at Besh again, smiling. "Magic," she whispered. "Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought-"
Without thinking, he grabbed her wrist and gave her hand a violent shake, so that the dirt fell to the ground.
She glared at him and yanked her hand away.
"I know you!" she said again. "You're that dark-eyed boy who used to stare at me." She spun away and started running from him. "You don't know that they'll all die!" she shouted as she ran. "You don't know it! Maybe he'll just take them back to Tordjanne! Maybe they won't ever see them at all, and then it'll be all right!"
Besh ran after her, his mind racing. I found a way. Baskets. Magic. Was that how she had killed so many Y'Qatt? Had she placed a spell on the baskets she wove? Was she, in effect, poisoning them?
He was so intent on the questions swirling in his mind that he barely noticed when Lici dropped to the ground in front of him and began to claw at the earth with her hands. An instant later, though, he saw her knife flash across the back of her hand and he halted. He still clutched the bloodied earth in one hand and his knife in the other, and he began to whisper a spell, readying himself, unsure of what she intended to do. She glared back at him, and he realized that she was speaking, too.
"Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought, earth to blades!" With these last shouted words, she threw her handful of mud at him. And before his eyes, the clod of dirt flew apart, becoming a swarm of tiny steel knives.
Besh had spoken most of his spell, and now, with hardly a thought, he did the only thing he could. "Power to thought, earth to stone!" He made a sharp motion with his hand, releasing the dirt as he did, so that it spread before him in a dark wheel.
Lici's tiny blades struck, but by then Besh's wheel had turned to stone. With a sound like the chiming of a hundred small bells, the knives bounced away harmlessly. Most of them, at least. Three got through his shield; two buried themselves in Besh's shoulder, the third hit him just below the chest.
The old woman spat a curse and grabbed for more dirt. Besh stooped and did the same, ignoring the agony in his shoulder. Instead of cutting his hand again, he pulled one of the small knives from his flesh and wiped the blood on the soil in his hand.
"Blood to earth, life to power, power to thought," they said together, eyeing one another.
Both of them hesitated. He wanted to stop her, to keep her right where she was so that he could question her further. She wanted him dead. He couldn't attempt any spell without leaving himself open to her attack. She seemed to sense this, because a moment later she was grinning like some ghoul in the gathering gloom.
"Earth to fire!" she shouted suddenly, hurling the dirt at him.
Bright, angry flames burst from her hand, as if she were the goddess Eilidh herself. Besh froze, held fast by his terror, knowing he had no answer for this magic. At the last moment, he threw himself down and to the side. Much of Lici's fire passed over him, but not all. Seeing that his sleeve and trouser leg were ablaze, he batted at the flames, desperately trying to extinguish them, knowing that she might well be readying herself to cast yet another spell.
When at last the flames were out, he climbed warily to his feet. Lici was watching him still, her eyes bright and wide. Her fist was clenched again and fresh blood flowed from the back of her hand.
Realizing that he still held his own dirt, and that he was still in mid- spell, Besh wasted no time.
"Earth to swarm!" he cried out, throwing the dirt.
Immediately, Lici was beset by a host of yellow and black hornets. Just as he had hoped, she swatted at them, the dirt and her knife falling to the ground. She screamed and grabbed her blade again before scrambling to her feet and fleeing. Besh started after her, ducking past the hornets as he did.
As she ran, Lici tried to bend and scoop up some dirt, but she stumbled, righted herself, and ran on without managing to get any.
Besh didn't bother with more magic and so closed the distance between them. At last, he caught up with her and grabbed her arm.
She spun toward him, the knife flashing by his face, just narrowly missing his eye. Suddenly his cheek was burning with pain and he could feel blood flowing down over his jaw and neck.
Seeing what she had done, Lici stopped struggling to break free of his grip. She just gaped at him, her eyes wide again.
"You were speaking of the Y'Qatt, weren't you?" Besh demanded, breathing hard. "Before. When you spoke of the baskets, of finding a way. That's who you meant. The Y'Qatt."
She nodded.
He didn't attempt to stanch the flow of blood. Lici seemed transfixed by what she had done, and Besh wanted her to remain so.
"You put a spell on your baskets, one that would make them sick. Is that right?"
"I can't talk about this," she said, her eyes still riveted on the wound she had dealt him.
"Yes, you can. I know what they did to you. I've been… Sylpa told me."
Again she shifted her gaze, meeting his. "You've spoken to Sylpa?"
"She told me what happened. How the Y'Qatt wouldn't help you. How they even threatened to kill you if you wouldn't leave their village. That's why you did it, isn't it?"
Her expression hardened. "She said she wouldn't tell anyone! She promised!"
"She was concerned for you. She sent me to find you."
"She had no-" Lici looked past him, her eyes narrowing again, her grip on the knife tightening. "Who's that?"
Besh glanced back and saw Sirj a short distance off, watching them, his blade drawn as well.
"He's a friend." He faced her again. "Just as I am. Believe it or not, Lici, I am your friend. I want to help you. But you have to stop killing them."
Abruptly, she was crying, tears streaming down her face, her wails echoing through the wood.
"I didn't want this!" she screamed. "He said he was going to the Y'Qatt, but he lied to me! He lied! He lied! He lied! He lied! He lied! He lied!"
"Who lied to you, Lici?"
"He's taking them to the Fal'Borna!"
And suddenly, finally, Besh understood. He grabbed both of her shoulders. She didn't fight him this time. Not at all.
"Do you mean to tell me that there's a peddler out there who's taking your baskets into Qirsi land?"
The word came out as soft as a dying breath. "Yes."