“You must learn this.” For the first time since he started her lessons, his voice was stern. “You didn’t have a headache before. Try again.”
I can’t, she thought, but there was no sense in telling him that—not unless she wanted to tell him everything. Desperate, she cheated, and hated herself for cheating. She wrinkled her face, clenched her teeth, shut her eyes, all so he’d think she was trying—but she kept her mind blank. She did this over and over, until he sighed.
“Perhaps I push too hard. You’ve done well—too well, perhaps. Most apprentice mages take over a year to make the progress you have in a month.”
She stared at him. “But I thought I wasn’t—How can you tell?” Scared, she added, “Can you see in my mind?”
“No. I wouldn’t if I could. We all have secrets.” Sadness moved over his face, making her wonder what his secrets were. Then he smiled. “I’m a mage, a well-educated one. When I wish, I can see things hidden from normal vision—like a person’s magical aura. See mine?” He lifted his hands. White fire laced with shadows outlined his fingers. “The first day I was strong enough to do it, I examined your aura.” He let the brilliance fade. “Your magic was like a tangle of vines around you, going in a hundred directions. You’ve been getting that tangle under control, pulling it inside your skin, and you’re doing it faster than anyone I’ve ever known. Well, perhaps you’ve earned a night of rest. Come on—let’s go back to the others. We’ll meditate and stop there for the night.”
She started to protest the meditation, and kept her silence. I’ll just pretend, like with the calling, she told herself.
When they stepped into the clearing where the Riders were camped, Padrach was saying in his mountain burr, “Why won’t he declare war, then?”
“It’s true Carthak has the largest standing army in the world,” the Lioness replied. Sarge was rolling up a large map that had been spread out on the ground. “But to attack us they have to cross water at every turn—the Inland Sea, or come up our coast on the Emerald Ocean. We have the advantage, being firmly on land when they have to come ashore to engage us.”
“The navy’s grown since my lord came to the throne,” Thayet put in. The queen was dressed like the others in homespun breeches and tunic and a plain white shirt. Her glorious hair was severely pinned down, but nothing could dim the beauty of her face and clear, level eyes. “The emperor’s policy of coastal raiding and paying bandits to attack in the mountains and hills has made the people in those areas determined to fight. Also, since His Majesty built his university outside Corus, we’ve brought a lot of mages to Tortall—enough even to make Emperor Ozorne’s trained sorcerers think twice about taking us on.”
“And only a fool would want to attack King Jonathan without some kind of real advantage,” Numair said. “Not on Tortallan soil.”
“Why’s that, Master Numair?” asked Miri.
“Jonathan’s magic, and the magic of the crown, are tied into every grain of soil in this land,” explained the mage. “Unless an enemy has some kind of advantage that will hurt the king, or keep him from calling on his magic, it’s possible that every tree, stream, and rock would form death traps for an enemy.” Daine could see it in the trainees’ faces, the fear a warrior would live with when the land itself fought him. The thought gave her goose bumps.
“Very well, my doves, it’s that time again,” Sarge barked after giving the trainees a moment to reflect on such warfare. “Seat yourselves comfortably, but not too comfortably.”
Daine settled near the edge of trees around the clearing. Within a few moments the only sound to be heard was the breathing of the others. She watched them, envious. In the month she’d been with the Riders, she’d come to see that meditation supplied them with something they got nowhere else: a time to be calm, a time to find quiet inside themselves. It would be useful when they were living in the wilderness, hunting raiders and being hunted, she realized. Tonight especially she envied them that serenity. She wished she could find some measure of quiet in herself.
Carefully, gingerly, she closed her eyes and drew a breath. It was all right; she was safe. She released the breath, took another. Peace wrapped her like her mother’s arms. She opened her ears to the night.
In the distance, a wolf howled, and got no answer.
Poor wind-brother, she thought sadly. No one to sing with, no brothers and sisters to hunt with . . . like me. It’s so lonely, outside the pack.
As she breathed, her body fell into the habit she’d been making for it. Her mind cleared, her heartbeat slowed. Forgetting her danger, she opened herself to the music of the forest:
The swish of tails, the shifting of feet, the crunch of grass under broad teeth. A sense of peace and solidity flowed out from the humans to infect their mounts. The herd was content . . .
Once again she forced herself awake, to find she’d sweated her clothes through. What am I going to do? she asked Cloud as the mare nuzzled her. I can’t even close my eyes without it happening!
It doesn’t happen when you sleep, Cloud reminded her. It’s only when you use that fire-stuff—the thing that makes you People—or when you do the sitting thing. Leave the fire-stuff and the sitting thing alone, and you’ll be fine.
Daine shook her head. It seems like I can’t win for losing, she told Cloud silently. Sometimes I think I never should have left home.
The next day the Riders picked up the pace. There were fewer stops as they headed through the coastal hills; those that were made were shorter.
Daine faked her lessons that night, as she faked her meditation. She thought she’d handled it well too, until Numair stopped her just before she climbed into her bedroll.
“Are you all right?” he asked, feeling her forehead. “Is something wrong?”
Looking up at him, she swallowed hard. “What’s wrong, except for me being worked to death?” she asked, trying to put him off by being rude. “Honestly, can’t you stop fussing at me for one day?”
Tahoi whined from his spot near Onua’s bed, worried by Daine’s tone. Glancing over at him, Daine saw that Onua, Evin, Miri, and the Lioness had heard her as well and were staring at her as if she’d just grown horns. “I’m tired of being watched all the time too!” She struggled into her blankets and wrapped herself in them, not wanting to see how they reacted to that.
She heard Numair sigh. He patted her shoulder. “Sleep well, magelet.” He walked away as Tahoi came to lie down next to her.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she hid her face in her covers. I’m afraid, she wanted to tell her human friends. I’m afraid if I go any deeper in my magic, I’ll forget who I am.
She woke in the morning to a campsite draped in fog. Without speaking to anyone, she groomed and fed Mangle and Cloud, and hitched Mangle to the wagon. She drove in silence all day, ignoring the worry she saw on Onua’s and Numair’s faces. The fog burned off by midmorning, leaving the air crisp. By afternoon the breeze coming out of the west bore a new scent to it, tangy and strange. She sniffed it often, wondering what it was.
“That’s the sea,” Miri told her when she saw Daine lift her nose to the air. Her cheeks were flushed; her green eyes sparkled. “It’s close. That’s brine you smell, and seaweed. I can’t believe how much I missed it!”
“If she starts to talk nautical, plug your ears,” Evin advised. “She’s just showing off.” Miri stuck her tongue out at him.
Their road topped a rise, and a new world spread itself before them. Daine dropped her reins. “Goddess and glory,” she breathed.
Miri beamed with pride. “I told you.”
Nothing had prepared her for this. Endless blue-gray water stretched north to south, and waves pounded the rocky coast. Salt winds nearly plucked off her head-scarf before she retied it. In the distance a toy with a dab of sail bobbed along—a boat, she realized, but far off.
Soon they reached the coast road, crossing it to pitch camp in a sandy cove. Automatically she cared for Mangle and Cloud, barely able to ta
ke her eyes off the water that smashed against the sand. Every time she blinked, something new appeared. Even Cloud’s accusation that she looked like a cow, standing about with her jaw open, had no impact. She was entranced.
As soon as archery practice was done, Miri and Alanna took the trainees to find supper in the rock pools of the northern curve of the beach, leaving the officers and Daine to entertain themselves. Thayet removed her boots and stockings, rolling up the legs of her breeches. “Come on,” she told Daine. “We’ll go for a walk.”
She ran to join the queen, trying to shed her boots at the same time. The woman laughed and steadied her as Daine wrestled her footgear off. “It won’t go away,” she said. “Slow down. Onua says you never saw it before?”
“No, mum.” She made sure her breeches, rolled above the knee like the queen’s, were tucked in securely.
“Then look. See how steep the beach is? It means waves pound it hard. They create a force called ‘undertow’ that grabs you and drags you out if you aren’t careful. The easier a beach slopes into the water, the less undertow you’ll find. Never forget it’s there, Daine.” Thayet’s low voice was stern. “Plenty of good swimmers drown because they can’t fight that drag.”
Daine nodded soberly. This place had dangers, like any other part of the world—that made sense.
“Then, let’s go.” The queen stepped down as a wave hit the shore, and let foaming water surround her ankles.
Daine took a breath and followed. The water was icy. When it met her skin, she heard singing. Gasping, she jumped back.
Thayet stood ankle deep in the retreating waves, fighting to keep her balance as they ate the sand under her feet. “Too cold?” she asked, grinning.
She doesn’t hear it, Daine thought.
“Come on,” the queen urged. “You’ll be numb before long.” She walked forward, stopping when the water swirled around her knees. Lifting her face to the sun, she gave a loud, bloodcurdling war cry.
“Thayet, stop that,” Numair called. His breeches rolled up, he had gone to explore a lumpy and pitted block of stone at the northern edge of the beach. He held up something. “Come look at this.”
Thayet went to him. Daine walked forward, immersing her feet to the ankles as a wave overtook her. A few steps more: she was far enough in the water that a wave’s backward crawl didn’t leave her dry.
“Singing” was not right, but she had no idea of what the proper term might be. Part of it was a croon, the speech of a wolf mother to her cubs, but held past a wolf’s ability to hang on to a note. A moaning whistle followed, then a series of short, high notes. The quality of the eerie calls was something like sound carried inside a cave—almost, but not entirely.
Hello? she cried silently (all she needed was for Numair to ask why she was talking to the ocean). Who are you?
There was no answer, not even the shift of attention she felt in most animals. Were these monsters? No—there was no gold fire in her mind. She gripped a thread of her magic, as much as she dared use, and tried again. Is anyone there? It’s me—it’s Daine! Can you hear me?
The songs—there were many, all beautiful and different—faltered.
—Call?— The voice was faint and alien, unlike any animal voice she’d heard in her life.
She strained to hear without using her power to help her listen. Yes! I’m calling! Me, here by the rocks—
—No call—
I called! I did! Where are you? Who are you?
—Calf-call?—
—No call—
I’m not loud enough, she realized. If I used my magic, maybe they could hear me, but I don’t dare.
Thayet yelled, trying to get Daine’s attention. Daine turned, but before she could answer a heavy form slammed into her. Down she went, mouth filling with brine. Trying to rise, she was slammed again and thrust deeper in the water by the animal’s impact.
She opened her mouth to scream, and breathed seawater.
Miri and Evin said later she popped into the air to hang upside down from an unseen hand, pouring water as she fought. She only knew she was free to cough and vomit out the liquid that had nearly killed her. Looking down, she shrieked, clawing at the invisible grip on her ankles. Then the hands that weren’t there whisked her to the beach, where Onua waited with a blanket. Daine was put gently on her feet, but her knees gave. Onua caught her before she fell.
Numair strode down the beach toward them, his face like a thundercloud. Black fire shot with white light gathered around his outstretched hand. Sarge grabbed up a quiver of javelins, Buri her double-curved bow. Both raced to attack the brown creature lumbering up onto shore.
Daine saw them just in time. “No, don’t!” She threw herself in front of the animal. “Don’t!” she screeched when fire left Numair’s fingers, flying at them. He twisted his hand, and it vanished.
Clutching the blanket around her, she faced the one who had tried to kill her. He returned her look with huge, liquid brown eyes set in a pointed face capped by a small crest. His body was wide in the center and pointed at both ends. Covered with slick, blond brown fur that went light and shaggy around his head, he waddled toward her on fins that ended in claws. Curiously she touched his chin and lifted his head, the better to see his slitlike nostrils and small, curled-leaf ears.
Like most of the big predators she had met, he chose to speak in sounds. He chattered away in sharp, varied barks. He was confused: he’d thought she was a rival male, come to take his harem. She looked where he did: twelve furry lumps, all a fourth to a third smaller than the male, watched her from the most southern arm of the cove.
“Why did you think I was another male?” she asked, curious.
She felt like one, a king bull. He’d been terrified. He was young, and the power of her mind had convinced him she could easily take his females.
“Well, I’m no king bull,” Daine assured him, tickling his curving whiskers until he calmed down. “I’m just me—whatever that is.”
He was relieved. His harem was safe.
“May I visit after supper?” she asked.
Food? Pictures of fat, juicy fish were in his mind, and the knowledge he couldn’t leave the females to hunt.
She promised to bring something. It seemed the least she could do, after giving him such a scare. He barked his thanks and slipped into the water, anxious to return to his mates before another male sneaked up on them.
“I forgot to ask what he was,” Daine muttered to herself.
“Sea lion.” Miri had come to stand beside her. “They’re touchy in the breeding season. The way he went for you, it looked like he thought you were another male, coming to steal his wives.”
“Do they eat in the breeding season?” Daine asked, curious.
“Not the beachmasters. If they hunt, another male will take their harems. They can go two months without food—Wave-walker defend us—look!”
A huge shape, far bigger than the sea lions, shot out of the water at the mouth of the cove: a great, lumpy gray thing that cleared the water and plunged back in with a tremendous splash.
“I can’t believe they came so close to the land,” Miri whispered.
“They who?” Daine’s heart was thudding. “Is that a fish?”
Miri shook her head. “They suckle their young, like furred animals.”
“Mammals,” Daine supplied, from what Numair had taught her.
“Oh. That was a humpback whale—whales are the biggest things in the sea. They sing, you know.”
Daine grabbed her friend’s arm. “What d’you mean, sing?”
“Well, not singing, not like us. They talk in sounds—whistles, some of them, and moans—eerie noises. You should hear them from a boat in the middle of the ocean. It comes right through the wood, and fills the air.”
Supper was ready by the time Daine had washed in a freshwater creek and put on dry clothes. She ate little, pondering the whale songs and her failure to reach the singers. After chores, she gathered up extra food and h
er bedroll.
“No lessons?” Numair asked quietly.
“I promised I’d bring him something to eat. And I do need a holiday.” She looked away, rather than meet his eyes and see the disappointment in them.
“If that’s what you want. Good night, then.” But he watched her all the way as she walked down to the sea lions.
The beachmaster greeted her—and her food—with enthusiasm, and let one of his wives show the girl the first of that spring’s new pups. When she slept, it was with her cheek pillowed on a yearling’s flank, and with heavy, fishy-smelling bodies ranged all around her.
The badger came. His fur was puffed out; he was very, very angry.
“I have lost patience with you,” he snarled. “If you were my kit, I’d knock you tail over snout. When will you stop being stubborn? I didn’t guide you all this way so you could fail to learn what you must! Tell these people what happened at that town of yours. Tell them what you’re afraid of! Did you think I would send you to more hunters?”
“Predators,” she told him.
With a smack of one heavy paw he knocked her onto her behind and jumped onto her chest. “Don’t talk back, youngster. Have you no sense? Your time is running out! Soon the storm will be here. Lives depend on learning your lessons. I realize you are only a kit, but even you must see more is at stake than your fear of the hunt. Now, promise me you will tell them.” She hesitated, and the badger snarled. “Promise me!”
He bore down on her with his will, thrusting his face into hers. She wondered later if it was the force of his mind, or the overpowering reek of his supper (decayed rabbit and a few worms), that made her surrender. “I promise.”
“Tomorrow, and not one day later.” He climbed off her chest, and she could breathe. She sat up, pulling air into her squashed lungs.
“Well, you’re a good enough girl,” he grumbled. It was as much of an apology from him as she would get. “I just worry about you, and things are moving so fast.” He lifted his nose and sniffed. “Phew—these friends of yours stink of fish!”