Daughter of Witches

  Gradually, the current carried the little group past the wide section of the river, to where it turned and narrowed once more. Ranira grew impatient. Even with Jaren’s cautious kicks and one-handed strokes to aid the current, they were moving far more slowly than a walking man. Then she remembered the guards. A group of people clambering up the banks of the river would be easy to see at this distance, and it would be hard to avoid making noise that might attract a Watchman’s attention.

  The river narrowed again at last and the current quickened. The banks grew higher, hiding the swimmers from the city walls. Jaren began to swim more strongly, angling toward the south bank of the river where a little grove of trees near the water’s edge could give the fugitives some shelter. The water grew shallower. Ranira’s feet touched bottom. Thankfully she stood up, and, with Jaren steadying her, began moving slowly toward the shore.

  The trees were still nearly twenty paces downstream, and the bank was nearly as far. The river was shallower only because some quirk of flow had deposited layer upon layer of pebbles and sand along a wide band from the riverbank to the place where Ranira and Jaren stood, creating a low shoal. She could hear small watery noises behind her—Mist and Arelnath were still swimming. She turned her head, but the distance was too great for her to find them in the darkness.

  Suddenly something like a heavy club hit Ranira between the eyes. She stumbled, pulling on Jaren’s supporting arm. Her head rang. It was a moment before she realized that there had been no physical blow; Jaren had noticed nothing until she pulled at him. A second blow fell, but this time Ranira was almost ready for it, and she did not fall. Blood pounded painfully in her ears. Simultaneously, she heard a gasp and a low moan from the direction of the deeper water. Between the darkness and her own discomfort, she could not identify the speakers. Then, as unexpectedly, as it had come, the pressure vanished.

  Ranira shook her head to clear it. Beside her, Jaren stood chest-deep in water, still holding her arm, his head twisted to look backward. Ranira turned with him, eyes and ears straining over the dark water, until Arelnath’s whisper came floating back from just beyond the shallows. “Jaren! Mist is unconscious. Help me with her!”

  Jaren dropped Ranira’s arm and lunged back out into the river. Water surged up in waves on either side of him. Ranira stood frozen for a moment, listening to the indeterminate sounds coming from the middle of the river. The high banks that hid them from the city walls also blocked out the moonlight, so she could not see any of her companions.

  Suddenly a group of dark, dripping figures materialized in front of her. Jaren was carrying Mist while Arelnath stumbled along beside him, one hand braced on his shoulders, the other supporting a whimpering Shandy. “Ranira, take Shandy and get out of the river,” Jaren said shortly.

  Ranira reached for Shandy. The boy was too big for her to carry, but too small to stand alone in the water. She settled for an awkward grip and half-carried, half dragged him away from Arelnath. The water was deeper for her than it was for Jaren, and she felt uneasy with the floating sensation it imparted to the simple act of walking.

  “Hurry,” Jaren said. Obediently, Ranira tried to increase her speed, but almost at once she slipped. She started to panic as her head went under. One foot hit bottom and held long enough for her to lift her head out of the water, then it slid and she went down again. Twice more she regained her balance just long enough to take a brief gulp of air, only to lose it again. Finally she floundered into water shallow enough for her to find sure footing once more.

  Water sheeted off her head as she pulled herself upright at last, coughing and choking. Shandy was in no better shape, though at least here he could stand unaided. She had dragged him along in her stumbling progress, and the boy had spent at least as much time under water as she had. He spluttered and splashed forward. Ranira kept one hand firmly locked on his shoulder, as much for her own sake as for Shandy’s.

  Jaren and Arelnath went past on her right without stopping. Arelnath no longer leaned on Jaren’s shoulders, though she looked far from steady on her feet. Jaren, too, seemed unbalanced. He was holding Mist high above the water, so that not even the hem of her robe dipped into the river. Suddenly Ranira realized why he wanted her to hurry and why he was carrying Mist in such an awkward position: With Mist unconscious, there was nothing to keep the Temple snakes away from them!

  In a panicky rush, Ranira splashed toward the riverbank, coughing and dragging Shandy with her. Her flight was halted by a dark figure that blocked her path. “Quiet!” Arelnath said sternly. “Do you want to attract every snake in the river?”

  Ranira swallowed hard and began wading more slowly. Arelnath turned and accompanied her. In a matter of moments they reached the bank of the river. A weedy, tangled growth of plants bent toward the water from an almost vertical slope that rose from the ankle-deep river to just above Ranira’s head. There were no trees above them. In their hurry to leave the river, she and her companions had moved straight to the riverbank instead of at the angle that would have brought them to cover.

  Without stopping to think, she reached up, groping for a good grip among the weeds. They were too shallow-rooted to support her weight, and she slid back into the water at once. Almost frantic from her fear of the snakes, she dug her hands into the mud behind the plants. Roots and water made it too slippery to find a firm hold. Arelnath was having a similar problem. Jaren stood unmoving behind her, holding Mist carefully. Shandy was the only one who had found a spot to climb; he was already halfway up the slope.

  Frustrated and afraid, Ranira moved toward where Shandy had been standing. She immediately found the reason for his success: A small bush grew halfway up the bank, twisted but still anchored strongly enough to give a good starting point to a climber. Ranira grasped the base of the bush in one hand while her other clawed at the damp weeds and finally found purchase. Slowly, she dragged herself upward.

  Chapter 11

  MOONLIGHT WASHED OVER RANIRA as she reached the top of the bank and slid over a slight rise into the grassy weeds. Shandy squatted just in front of her. Below, she heard Arelnath hiss something at Jaren, but she was unable to make out the words. Soon there were rustling noises as Arelnath struggled upward. Ranira rolled out of the way, then to help Arelnath over the top of the bank.

  As soon as she reached the top of the riverbank, Arelnath turned and squatted at the edge of the slope she had just climbed. “Brace me!” she hissed over her shoulder. Confused, Ranira hesitated. Arelnath leaned forward precariously, stretching into the darkness below. Ranira slid up to her just in time to see Jaren lifting Mist upward.

  Without thinking, Ranira too leaned forward to support the unconscious woman. She heard a pained grunt from below, then Arelnath whispered, “Ready? Pull!”

  Ranira pulled, and at the same moment Jaren gave the unconscious woman a shove upward. The unexpected extra force overbalanced Arelnath and Ranira, and they went sprawling backward with Mist’s body on top of them. As they struggled to untangle themselves, Ranira heard a smothered yelp from the river. Rustling noises followed. By the time the two women regained their feet, Jaren had reached the top of the bank and was untying the bundle he still wore strapped to his waist.

  “Never mind that,” Arelnath said. “Come help me wake Mist. We must get as far from here as we can before daylight, and it will be easier traveling if she can walk instead of being carried.”

  “I doubt that Mist will be in any condition to heal, even if you are able to wake her,” Jaren replied, kneeling and starting to unwrap the bundle. “Therefore I would rather continue with this.”

  Arelnath’s right hand dropped to her waist, as if she were unconsciously feeling for a weapon. Even in the shadowy moonlight, Ranira could see the set expression on the woman’s face, and the tension in her voice was obvious. “Jaren, not the snakes?”

  “I am afraid so, mihaya,” Jaren replied. “The leather stopped the first couple of bites, but the last one got my ankle.” He looked ruefully
at the misshapen pile in front of him, then picked up one of the soft leather boots he had included at the last minute. “If I’d been wearing these, it wouldn’t have happened.”

  “You couldn’t swim in boots,” Arelnath said. Her voice was shaking slightly, but her hand was steady as she reached down for one of the knives Jaren had taken from the Templemen. “Let me do it. You never have been good at things like this.”

  “All right.” Jaren sounded almost relieved as he leaned back and stretched out his left leg toward her.

  “What are you doing?” Ranira asked. She was still stunned by the news that Jaren had been bitten. She also had the distinct feeling that she had only heard half of the conversation; she could sense undercurrents she did not understand.

  Arelnath ignored her. Pulling one of the sword belts from the soggy pile, she started toward Jaren’s leg, only to be stopped by Ranira’s sudden cry, “Wait!”

  “Why?” Arelnath snapped, but Ranira saw that her hands had stopped moving.

  “If a snake bit Jaren’s leather, it must be full of poison,” Ranira explained. “If you touch it with bare skin, it will poison you also. When it soaks all the way through, it will kill Jaren. I mean, it would if…” Her voice choked on the large lump in her throat, and she stopped in mid-sentence.

  “Enough about dying!” Arelnath said sharply. She looked toward Jaren, but he was lying back with his eyes closed and gave no sign of having heard. “Those snakes can’t be so dangerous that even touching their poison kills.” Despite her words, Arelnath’s hands were already busy with the knife, slicing through the upper part of Jaren’s close-fitting leather pants, well above where any snake could have bitten.

  “Get any of it in a scratch, and it’ll kill you,” Shandy said suddenly, coming to Ranira’s support. “But I bet you didn’t scrape your hands at all climbing up here, so you don’t need to worry,” he added sarcastically.

  Arelnath did not reply, but Ranira saw that she was moving more carefully. The leather was slow to yield, but at last it fell away from Jaren’s leg. Arelnath speared the last piece with the point of her blade and, with a snap of her wrist, sent it flying back into the river. Ranira jumped at the splash. Then Arelnath knotted the belt from one of the pilgrims’ robes around Jaren’s leg.

  Ranira watched with a feeling of helplessness. She had no confidence in Arelnath’s ability to save Jaren, yet she had seen these people do one impossible thing after another. She wanted to help, but she had neither knowledge nor skill to offer, and Arelnath’s grimly purposeful movements seemed to forbid speech.

  Arelnath finished tightening the belt around Jaren’s leg. Then she picked up the knife again, hesitated for a moment, and bent to wipe it carefully on the grass. When it was clean enough to suit her, she leaned forward and inspected the leg closely, searching for the puncture marks made by the snake’s bite. The knife came up in a swift, decisive movement, and Ranira gasped in shock as blood trickled from the slash. Jaren made no sound.

  Ignoring her audience, Arelnath laid her mouth against the wound. Ranira’s shock deepened; she had heard the tales of foreigners who drank blood, but she had never believed them. Arelnath straightened up and spat, then bent once more, and Ranira realized that she was trying to suck the poison out of the bite. This sudden understanding made her relax somewhat, but the sight of Arelnath’s efforts still made her feel queasy.

  A thought struck Ranira, and then she turned away, glad to have an excuse to avoid watching. She had to rummage for a moment among the pile of odds and ends that Jaren had been carrying, but she soon found the small bottle she was seeking. She shook it, and there was a sloshing noise as the water shifted inside. Only half-full. Well, that was better than she had expected. She risked a look in Arelnath’s direction. The woman seemed to have finished. Ranira walked over to her.

  “Here, rinse your mouth,” she said, handing the bottle to Arelnath. “If you swallow any of the poison…” She did not have to finish the sentence.

  “Thanks,” Arelnath said, taking the bottle. She uncapped it and poured water into her open mouth, swirled it around, and spat. She repeated the action, then poured water over Jaren’s leg for good measure. The effort all but emptied the bottle. Arelnath grimaced as she replaced the cap. “Too bad, but it can’t be helped. We can fill it later. How is Mist?”

  With a guilty start, Ranira turned to look. She had completely forgotten the unconscious woman. The healer-witch still lay unmoving where Arelnath and Ranira had left her. The pale green moonlight gave her face a corpselike appearance, and Ranira had to touch one of the motionless hands in order to convince herself that the woman still lived.

  Arelnath moved to Mist’s side. She placed a hand at the woman’s temple and went rigid. Ranira hardly dared to breathe. A moment later, Arelnath relaxed with a sigh. “I cannot reach her,” she said. Her eyes moved from Mist to Jaren and back; her mouth was set in a grim line.

  As if aware of Arelnath’s gaze, Jaren shifted and sat up. “How long until she wakes?” he asked.

  “I do not know. I think tomorrow, at the least. And we cannot stay here until then.” Her eyes met Jaren’s, and the man nodded. “I can manage, for a while,” he said. He untied the belt Arelnath had knotted about his leg, then reached for his boots. Arelnath’s hand came up in a gesture of protest that stopped almost before it was begun, but Jaren saw the movement and looked up. “I can’t walk far or fast without boots, especially on this ground. And I can’t wear boots with that thing tied to my leg,” he said.

  “I know,” Arelnath answered.

  Ranira looked from one to the other, appalled. “You aren’t going to try to walk with a Temple-snake bite, are you?” she demanded. “You’ll just kill yourself faster. The poison…”

  “According to you, I am a dead man anyway,” Jaren said shortly. Disregarding Arelnath’s protest, he went on, “If we stay here, we are all dead. In the daylight, anyone on the city walls could spot us at once. We have to get as far as we can before dawn, and you cannot carry me. How long will it be before the poison starts to affect me?”

  Ranira blinked at the abrupt question. “I don’t know. I’ve only seen one person who was bitten before—people in Drinn are careful around the river. I heard someone say that it took four days for him to die, but he was only at the inn for the last two.” She shivered, remembering.

  “Heal a Temple-snake bite?” Shandy said incredulously. “She can’t do that.”

  “How do you know?” Arelnath demanded irritably as she sorted through the little pile of belongings. “Poison is difficult to heal, but not impossible, and Mist is very good at what she does. She has been using her power freely these last three days, but she will have strength enough. It is not as if warding spells were a major enchantment, and outside Drinn we may not even need them.”

  Looking at Mist’s face, Ranira wondered. She did not voice her doubts. She knew nothing of the foreigners’ magic, really; the Cilhar woman might well be right. Arelnath was still picking through the remains of Jaren’s bundle. “Here, you carry this. Ranira, if you don’t want this robe throw it in the river. We can’t haul it around forever. But take the knife, or give it to Jaren; we may need it.”

  A shapeless blob landed at Ranira’s feet with a squishing sound. Gingerly, she picked it up. It was the tightly rolled pilgrim’s robe and the dagger Jaren had taken from the Templeman. The sight reminded Ranira that the remnant of the Temple gown she wore was too tattered to meet the most minimal standards of decency, even in the dark. Her face went hot as she struggled with the knots that held the package together. The water had tightened them into hard, slippery balls, and she made several unsuccessful attempts before she finally worked them loose. The outer layers of the compact bundle were wet, but the interior was barely damp. As the robe unrolled between her hands, something small and crumpled fell out of it—Mist’s veil. Ranira stooped to pick it up. She put it on and started to pull the robe over her head, then paused and looked up.

  Ar
elnath sat on the ground beside Mist with the two sword belts, the extra robe, and the brown cords from the pilgrims’ robes, knotting them together. Shandy looked on in fascination. Jaren was easing a boot onto his injured leg. No one was watching Ranira. Still, she hesitated.

  Finally, she backed into the grass until she was hidden from her companions. In a few quick movements she rid herself of the last of the black-and-silver gown of the Bride of Chaldon. Shivering with cold and from fear of discovery, she hastily pulled the heavy robe over her head and adjusted the borrowed veil. She fingered the knife for a moment, then carefully made a small slit in her robes and thrust the dagger inside, where it would be hidden.

  Ranira’s brief disappearance caused no comment among her companions. Arelnath insisted on throwing the scraps of Ranira’s gown into the river after weighting them carefully with a rock. But for that, Ranira could have believed that her absence had gone completely unnoticed.

  They started off almost at once, following the river. Jaren and Arelnath carried Mist between them on an awkward and uncomfortable-looking contraption made of sword belts and cord. At first, Ranira tried to take Jaren’s place at one end of the litter, but though she was strong enough to lift it, she was not tall enough to carry the makeshift litter comfortably with Arelnath holding up the other end. Their progress slowed to a crawl, and Arelnath ordered Ranira to give up her place to Jaren once more.

  Both moons had risen. The night was clear and cool. Ranira soon found herself shivering in her damp robes, and her own clothing was far dryer than Shandy’s or Arelnath’s. None of the others complained, so Ranira kept on in silence as well, trying to generate warmth through the sheer exertion of walking.