Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) Page 18

  Brynne nodded, though she still couldn’t take in quite enough air when she breathed.

  ‘Here you are. You have a nice warm drink.’ Osella pushed a mug into her hand. Brynne sipped gratefully. It was some kind of taillin, but with honey masking the bitterness of some strange and pungent herbs that had been added.

  ‘Go on,’ Osella prompted. ‘Drink up, it’ll help your breathing. I don’t know how your lungs weren’t full of water—’ For an instant she hesitated, and Brynne thought she saw a flicker of speculation in her eyes, but then she continued breezily, as if nothing had happened. ‘But your chest’s still weak because of the fever you contracted from being chilled for so long. Don’t worry. It’ll pass.’ She ran a rough, callused hand over the sweat-damp tangle of Brynne’s hair. ‘You were lucky to end up with an old fishing family. We know, none better, how to deal with near-drownings.’ She hesitated for a breath. ‘You still don’t remember what happened to you?’

  Brynne shuddered, trying to keep her thoughts away from that blank grey wall in her head, and the horror that stalked beyond. ‘I can’t recall anything, but I had a nightmare where I was on a high cliff. I saw this face, beautiful but nasty, then it turned into my own and I was falling . . .’ She put her hands over her face as if to blot out the disturbing images. ‘It was just a dream, a horrible dream. It didn’t make any sense.’

  Seeing the girl’s fear, Osella pushed away the frown that had been forming and changed it to a reassuring smile. ‘Well, dreams often make no sense. Now, do you want to go to sleep again, or would you rather get up for a while, and sit with me by the fire?’

  ‘It would be good to get up for a while.’ Brynne didn’t want to sleep again. Didn’t want to dream.

  Osella found some of her own clothes, a green shirt and black skirt, for Brynne. They were loose on her, and the skirt was far too long, but she rolled the waistband over a few times and held it all in place with a belt.

  ‘And we’d better take care to keep you warm enough.’ The kind woman tucked a thick woollen shawl around her shoulders and began to lead her down the narrow wooden staircase. ‘Come along now, sit by the fire and I’ll get you something to eat. You woke up at just the right time – I’ve got a lovely big meat pie keeping warm in the oven. My brother and the youngsters are due back at any minute—’

  Before Brynne even had time to start feeling nervous at the thought of meeting new strangers, in they came. Osella had barely finished speaking when the cottage door banged open and a deep voice, like honey poured over gravel, bellowed out: ‘Ho there! Where is everybody? Is supper ready?’

  Brynne tried to draw back but Osella put an arm round her shoulders and swept her into the kitchen. There stood a big man; tall, broad and bearded. His hair, which was a shade or two darker than his sister’s, was bound back into a rough braid, and his eyes were blue and powerful as the ocean itself. His shirt and britches were the tough, thick weave favoured by working men, a colourful red and blue bandana was knotted round his throat, and he wore a sturdy jerkin of stained black leather. On either side of him, and a little behind, stood a young man and woman; by the look of them, only a year or two older than Brynne herself. They both were tall – clearly a family trait – and the woman’s rangy body held more than a hint of whipcord strength. Her hair, cut short and businesslike, had a coppery tint among the brown, and her eyes were large and green in a bony face. The man’s hair was dark, almost black, and again clipped short, as was his beard.

  ‘Brynne, this is my brother Valior, his son Derwyn and my daughter Seema,’ Osella said. ‘They were the ones who picked you up out of the ocean.’

  When Valior smiled his weatherbeaten face lit up, and his tough, uncompromising mien was softened. ‘Prettiest fish I ever caught. I hope you’re feeling better.’

  ‘Come along, Brynne, sit here at the table,’ Osella prompted, pulling out a chair. ‘You still haven’t much strength for standing about.’

  The fisherman kept looking at her as she settled herself, his vivid blue eyes fixed steadily on her face. ‘So how did it come about that I had to fish you out of the sea, my little mermaid?’

  Brynne found her face growing hot with a blush. ‘I can’t remember. I can’t even be sure that Brynne is my name. It just came into my head when Osella asked me. When I try to think about who I am, or about my past, or what happened to me, there’s this wall in my head . . .’ A quaver came into her voice, and her fingers knotted in the woollen shawl.

  ‘All right, you don’t have to think about it right now,’ Valior said hastily. ‘If you can’t remember it’s plain that asking you a lot of questions is going to do no good at all – in fact it’s just upsetting you. So I suggest we sit down and have our supper. It’ll be welcome, let me tell you.’ He smiled again. ‘We had a busy trip, which is all to the good, but we worked all through last night so we’re cold, dead tired, and we’re hungry as bears.’

  The fisherman was right. Brynne felt much more comfortable sitting around the table and eating Osella’s delicious meat pie and vegetables from the garden, followed by baked apples. Derwyn and Seema spoke of the fishing and the boat, with a great deal of good-natured chaffing of one another. They had nothing to say directly to Brynne, but they seemed friendly enough, and she felt so shy that she didn’t mind.

  Valior also talked of the recent fishing trip at first, then his expression grew more grave as he told them of the gossip he’d heard concerning the tensions in the city. ‘We came up with the Northstar, on her way back out from dropping off a catch in Tyrineld port,’ he explained, as he mopped up the gravy from the pie with a large chunk of bread. ‘According to Captain Galgan there’s a rumour of trouble brewing in the city – if you ask me, those damn idiot Wizards have lost their minds. Because the Archwizard’s son was murdered, his soulmate has decided to go to war against the Phaerie.’

  Osella gasped, and turned pale. ‘War! But what will that mean to us?’

  ‘Well in the short term, it could be good. Prices are sky-high at the docks. They need our fish to help feed the army Sharalind is raising. But in the long term . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It’s insanity. They had better be damn sure they can win, because if they don’t, and those mucking Phaerie come swarming down here, they won’t tolerate free mortals like the fisherfolk. I tell you, if the Wizards lose, I’m loading us all into the boat and I’m going to keep right on sailing until we’re far away from here.’

  Brynne suddenly lost her appetite. All this talk meant nothing to her; she had no memory of Tyrineld and no idea who the Phaerie were. When Valior mentioned the Wizards she felt an odd nudge at the back of her mind, as if something was trying to break through the wall of forgetfulness, but the barrier remained firm and obdurate, and what might have been a recollection stayed on the other side. She shuddered, and tried to fight her rising fear. She knew from the demeanour of those around her that the situation was very grave. If Valior took his family and sailed away, what would happen to her? What would become of her anyway? These people were very kind, but they were not her family and they didn’t know her. Why should they encumber themselves with a stranger?

  She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t realise that Valior was speaking to her until she registered the expectant silence, and glanced up from her food to see everyone looking at her. Valior grinned. ‘You were a long way away, little love.’

  Brynne flushed. ‘I – I was trying to remember something. Anything. But I couldn’t.’ She sighed and put down her fork.

  He reached over and put it back in her hand. ‘You eat up your pie now. Don’t let me put you off your supper. You’ve been through a hard time, and you need to get your strength back. Your memory will return in good time, I’m sure – and even if it doesn’t, you’ll soon make some new ones.’ He patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry about a thing, little mermaid. You’ll always have a home with us, I promise. We’ll take good care of you and keep you safe, and whatever happened to you before, we’ll do our best to make
sure you only have good things to remember from now on.’

  Brynne’s feelings were such a potent mix of relief and gratitude that her voice shook as she replied. ‘Oh, thank you. I’m so grateful, I just can’t tell you – I mean, you don’t even know me, and . . .’

  ‘You daft girl.’ Osella, sitting beside her, put an arm around her shoulders. ‘You never thought we’d just throw you out to starve, did you? We’ll soon get to know one another, for you’ll have a home with us, as long as you want it. Why, you seem to fit right in.’

  That night things were a little different. Brynne had, she discovered, been sleeping in Seema’s bed, and since its owner needed it back, she was moved into Osella’s room to share with her.

  Osella took a lamp and showed her into the room. ‘Girl, you’ve got that worried look on your face again,’ she said.

  ‘But it’s such an imposition.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense. Since my lifemate Evarn drowned, I’ve slept in this big bed by myself, and who needs more than half of a bed that size? You’re more than welcome – and don’t you dare thank me again.’ She held up a hand for silence just as Brynne was opening her mouth. ‘Valior told you at supper and I’m telling you now: from tonight you’re part of this family. And don’t worry about coming aboard as a passenger. We all pull our weight around here and there’ll be plenty for you to do. You can help me round the house, and there are always nets to mend and lines to bait. You’ll fit in just fine.’

  Brynne sank down on the edge of the bed. ‘Why are you doing this for a total stranger?’

  ‘Because I have a daughter and Valior has a son.’ Osella sat down beside her. ‘And we would like to think that if some sort of mishap befell them, and they were lost and afraid, then someone would take care of them. Now, you get into your nightgown and go to sleep. I’ll try not to wake you when I come in.’

  Once all the younger members of the household had settled down, Valior and Osella sat, sipping taillin, on either side of the fire, which had now burned down to a bed of glowing embers. They were content in one another’s company, as they had been for many years, since Osella’s lifemate had drowned and Valior’s wife had died of a winter fever. Now that were alone, they finally had the opportunity to discuss the newest member of the household.

  ‘Poor mite,’ Osella said. ‘I can’t imagine how frightening it must be, not being able to remember anything.’

  Valior frowned into his cup. ‘You know she isn’t one of us, don’t you? She doesn’t exactly look like a typical Wizard, but I’m sure that’s what she is. There can be no other reason why she didn’t drown. Maybe we’d better start asking around and see if we can find her real family.’

  Osella shook her head. ‘That might not be a good idea. I’m bothered by that nightmare she had, Valior, the one I told you about. If that was some kind of memory trying to force its way out, then she didn’t fall off the cliff – somebody pushed her.’

  ‘Surely that can’t be true!’

  ‘Do you really want to take the risk? Because if it is true, and whoever tried to kill her finds out where she is, then that child could be in very real danger.’

  Valior frowned. ‘So we can’t go round asking questions about her, or telling people we’ve found her.’ He straightened up in his chair. ‘Well, that’s no problem. We’ll keep her here with us where she’s safe, poor little thing, and in the meantime I’ll keep my ear to the ground. Maybe we’ll find some answers. Surely somebody must have lost her and be looking for her.’

  ‘Somebody will be looking for her, you can be sure,’ Osella said. ‘But if someone’s asking around for her, how will we know if they’re the ones who want to save her, or the ones who want to kill her?’

  13

  ~

  THE RELUCTANT HEALER

  The Healers’ compound stood a little way apart from the main complex of Academy buildings. That way, any contagion could be isolated, and those who were injured or sick in body or spirit could have the peace and quiet they needed to recover, away from the bustle and noise of the city. It was a pleasant place, a complex of four smaller buildings rather than a single large one, all surrounded by white walls enclosing sunny, sheltered gardens rich with herbs, beautiful trees and colourful flowers – none of which Chiannala noticed as she walked through the high arched gateway with her shoulders hunched and a scowl on her face.

  This was the first morning of her placement in the Luen of Healers. Though she had tried to fight the decision with everything at her disposal: reasoning, argument, begging and even tears, her tutors had remained obdurate, and the atmosphere among the Luens at this time was so strained with the imminence of war that no one had much time to listen to the carping of a first-year student who thought she knew better than the most skilled and powerful Wizards in the city.

  Chiannala was furious at having her ambitions thwarted in this way. In her daydreams and secret plans she had always been a Spellweaver, a powerful and innovative manipulator of magic. She simply could not fathom why those idiots had imagined she’d be any use at healing, which demanded both patience and compassion, neither of which, she was honest enough to admit, were among her strong points. Had she realised that this was exactly why she had been sent to the Healers in her first year – to correct this lack and make a more balanced and rounded Wizard of her – she still would have been angry and uncomprehending. She didn’t care about being rounded or balanced; she wanted to be respected, deferred to and, above all else, powerful. To perdition with everything else.

  What made it worse was that the only other first-year who’d been chosen for Healing was the stocky, moon-faced Haslen. Haslen the Hopeless, Chiannala called him in the privacy of her own mind. It was the final straw, being stuck with this buffoon. Not only would he be expecting her to carry him, because of his weak magic, but he had a crush on her besides. As if he had a chance! She shuddered.

  Looking like Brynne might put me under a disadvantage, but I’ll never be that desperate.

  When she came to the door of what looked like the main building she almost kicked it open, but instead pushed it violently and marched inside, with Haslen hurrying to keep up with her. She found herself in a vestibule with tall, pointed, stained-glass windows that caught the sun and cast patterns of dappled colour across the polished wooden floor. On the walls to her right and to her left, two corridors led off in opposite directions. The rear wall had a broad staircase that started in the middle of the chamber and swept up grandly to the floor above. On its left was an informal seating area with groupings of little tables and padded chairs; clearly a waiting area. On the right of the stairs was a desk of dark, polished wood with a young man seated behind it, his hair a tumbled mass of vibrant red curls tied back into long tail. He was writing when they entered, working with intense concentration, but as Chiannala and Haslen approached he looked up. There was a frown on his face, and when he spoke his manner was anything but welcoming.

  ‘Oh. You’d be the new student intake, right?’

  ‘That’s us,’ Haslen said cheerfully. ‘I’m Haslen and this is Brynne.’

  Chiannala scowled, saying nothing, but the young man simply shrugged and turned slightly away from her, addressing his remarks chiefly to her more congenial companion. ‘Just a moment – I’ll call for someone to come and meet you. You’ll start with a quick tour of the place, to get your bearings and see what a variety of work we do here.’ After a brief pause when he was clearly communicating with someone in mindspeech, he was back with them.

  ‘My name is Lameron. I’m a final-year student specialising in Healing magic. We – my contemporaries and I, that is – take turns to look after the entrance hall here, keeping records, directing people to the proper areas and so on. This frees the experienced Healers to get on with more important work.’ He grimaced. ‘Everybody hates this job. We’d all rather be getting on with practical healing, the stuff we came here to do, so we keep a very strict rota. We—’

  At that moment a tall, slend
er blonde woman with stunning silver-grey eyes came through the right-hand doorway. ‘Ah, our newest students. Welcome indeed to our haven of healing,’ she said. Though her smile was bright and friendly, it was clear that she was worried and exhausted. Her eyes were hollowed and darkly shadowed in a pale, drawn face, and her shoulders had a weary droop.

  ‘Melisanda, are you still here?’ Lameron interrupted, frowning with concern. ‘I thought you were supposed to go and rest hours ago.’

  Chiannala stiffened. Melisanda? She had heard that name. This was one of that foul Iriana’s closest friends! For an instant she felt vulnerable, in danger, as if the Healer’s close association with Iriana could somehow expose her own charade. A shiver went through her – then with an effort she pulled herself together. What nonsense! Melisanda would be as oblivious as anyone else to Brynne’s change of identity. How could it be otherwise? Unless she herself were to panic and start acting like an idiot, she’d be fine. Firmly, she turned her attention back to the conversation.

  ‘Rest? I seem to remember that, from the dim and distant past,’ Melisanda said. ‘I simply can’t be spared just now.’ There was a pause while they held each other’s eyes. Clearly they were communicating in very private mindspeech, and Chiannala thought it abominably rude of them. She watched with interest as Melisanda’s worried expression became mirrored on Lameron’s face, then the woman turned to herself and Haslen. ‘I’m Melisanda, Tinagen’s second-in-command. I’m afraid he’s too busy to speak to you himself, but he sent me to show you around instead.’

  She’s a rotten liar.

  Chiannala, so accomplished in the arts of deception, shook her head. Melisanda should stick to the truth, or learn to meet people’s eyes frankly when she told them an untruth. Some people just didn’t have a clue. Idly, she wondered where Tinagen really was. He was probably just too grand and important to be bothered with a couple of lowly first-year students.