Snare

‘Well, that was alarming,’ Soutan said, shuddering. ‘That spirit rider – I told you she had to be a woman of great power, didn’t I? Well, she’s seen us, and for a moment I thought she’d managed to kill one of my crystals.’

‘Sounds serious. What should we do about it?’

‘There’s nothing you can do. I need to be much more careful, is all. Especially once the comnee starts riding again.’

‘I hope to God they get on the road soon! How far are we from the Rift?’

‘A hundred miles or so.’

‘This damned comnee we’re following, by the Prophet’s name! They’re the slowest of the slow. They can’t be travelling more than ten lousy miles a day.’

‘Maybe we can use the time to our advantage. It would be better to kill our spy before we reach Jezro.’

‘If we can.’

Warkannan waited for him to go on. Soutan inserted an unsanitary-looking fingernail under his gold headband and began scratching his forehead.

‘That headband must be rubbing you raw,’ Warkannan said. ‘You’re always scratching.’

‘Oh damn you!’ Soutan stalked away without another word.

All that afternoon Soutan kept to himself. Even after he returned for the evening meal, Warkannan at times caught him peering up at the sky, as if he were expecting to see eyes there, looking back. Every now and then, he would start to scratch under the headband, then jerk his hand away as if by force of will.

Before the evening meal Ammadin and Apanador walked together along the riverbank. In the cool twilight frogs called back and forth, lizards buzzed and rasped. Clouds of greenbuhs rose over the magenta fern trees and swarmed so thickly that they looked like thunderheads.

‘There’s trouble on its way,’ Ammadin said.

‘Zayn’s enemies?’

‘Yes. I finally got a good look at them. Two Kazraks –’

‘Is that all?’

‘– and a sorcerer from the Cantons.’

Apanador swore and turned to spit into the river. ‘This sorcerer – why haven’t we heard of him before? How did he manage to get all the way to Kazrajistan?’ The chief sounded personally affronted. ‘Magic or not, he should have ended his trip in a ChaMeech stomach.’

‘You’d think so. He must be pretty powerful, with a lot of spirits to protect him. I’ll keep an eye on him from now on.’

‘Speaking of Zayn,’ Apanador glanced away with studied casualness. ‘The men are riding out to hunt tomorrow. They might well find a good-sized bull grassar. The horns this time of year –’

‘I am not going to marry Zayn. By all the gods at once! Have you been talking to Maradin?’

‘Oh, just a few words, here and there.’ Apanador was trying to suppress a smile. ‘And to my wife, of course.’

Ammadin turned on her heel and strode off.

When she reached her tent, Zayn was kneeling in front of it and cleaning a pair of fish with his long knife. She sat down and watched. He’d chop off the head with its two shiny pairs of eyes, then slice off the six long fins, slit open the belly, and pull out the thick white strip of cartilage and nerve tissue that connected the tail to the brain node lying above the heart.

‘Roasted in the coals?’ he said. ‘Or seared on a hot stone?’

‘Roasted would be fine. You’re getting to be a really good cook.’

Zayn looked up with a quick grin that was almost shy. Ammadin had to admit that she found it pleasant to sit with him, sharing a companionable silence in front of their tent, instead of being a guest at someone else’s fire.

‘How long will we stay in camp?’ Zayn said.

‘Not very. We’ll be heading east soon.’

Zayn smiled, a sudden flash of anticipation.

‘Are you as curious about the Cantons as all that?’ Ammadin said.

‘Oh well.’ He was concentrating on wrapping the gutted fish in leaves fresh from the riverbank. ‘You hear such strange tales about them back home.’

‘I suppose you would, yes. Do you know their language?’

‘Only a few words. In school we didn’t study the Cantons much, so most of what I know is just hearsay – tales of evil sorcerers, that kind of nonsense. I do know that they’re people of the book.’

‘What? Does that mean they use writing?’

‘That too.’ Zayn gave her an easy grin. ‘But it really means that they believe in only one god, like we do. It must be the same god, no matter what they call him. If there’s only one, then there’s only one, right?’

‘If there’s only one.’

‘Well, true.’ Zayn ducked his head as if apologizing. ‘But anyway, they have a holy book about God. Mohammed, blessed be his name, read it back in ancient times and said that it was worthy of respect.’

‘So you Kazraks still respect it? After all these years?’

‘Well, of course. The teaching doesn’t change. It’s eternal.’

‘But wasn’t your First Prophet a H’mai?’

‘Of course he was, but the Qur’an comes from God. Mohammed heard His words from an angel.’

‘Wait a minute. When you say heard, you mean the angel came to him in a vision?’

‘No, the angel Jubal came to him and dictated the verses, and the Prophet spoke them to his companions, who wrote them down. But he heard the voice of God, too, not just the angel’s.’

‘He actually heard the voice of his god?’

‘Yes. I suppose this all must sound pretty strange to you.’

‘Strange? No.’ Ammadin looked away, her mouth slack. ‘I envy him. I can’t tell you how much I envy him.’

For a moment she felt close to tears. Zayn tactfully looked away; he picked up a long spine from a poker tree and began using it to dig trenches in the coals of the fire. Ammadin waited till he’d laid the wrapped fish into them.

‘So, in this holy book the Cantonneurs have,’ Ammadin said, ‘did God speak to their prophets, too?’

‘So I’ve been told. I’ve never read it. Which reminds me. Do you know the language of the Cantons?’

‘Daccor.’ She paused to smile at him. ‘That means yes, you see. I know enough to trade and ask polite questions. It’s called Vranz.’

‘If you wouldn’t mind teaching me what you know, I’ll pick the rest of it up fast enough.’

‘The reading part, too? If I bought a book there, would you read it to me?’

‘Daccor.’ It was Zayn’s turn for the smile, but his face suddenly darkened. ‘Well, uh, if I can. If someone can help me learn how to read Vranz, I mean.’

He meant a great deal more than that. Ammadin smelled lying, a sudden acrid burst that made her nose wrinkle.

‘I forgot to get salt from the wagons.’ He stood up fast. ‘I’ll be right back.’

‘Don’t!’ She scrambled up after him. ‘Zayn, come back here.’

He stopped, stood hesitating in the broad space between the back of Maradin’s tent and the front of hers. In the glow of the cooking fire she could see him shaking.

‘Zayn?’ She softened her voice. ‘Come back and tell me what’s wrong.’

He turned around and walked back as slowly as he could manage and still be moving. He was smiling, perfectly composed from the look of him, but she smelled fear so strongly that she half-expected his shirt to be stained with it like sweat.

‘I seem to keep saying things that upset you,’ Ammadin said. ‘If something’s wrong, tell me.’

‘I can’t.’ He was looking her straight in the face. ‘Please! Don’t –’ His voice trailed away.

‘Don’t pry?’

He tossed his head, looked away, then nodded yes.

‘My first responsibility is always to the comnee,’ Ammadin said. ‘This secret of yours? Will it harm them?’

‘No.’ He looked at her again. ‘You know, I think I’d rather die than bring harm to any of you.’

‘You really mean that, don’t you? I can hear it in your voice.’

‘I do, yes.’

‘All right,’ Ammadin said. ‘Then your secret’s no business of mine. You have my word on that.’

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, then came back and knelt by the fire.

‘I lied about that salt,’ he said. ‘We’ve got plenty.’

‘Somehow I figured that.’

They shared a smile, but Ammadin felt that something dangerous had just taken place. She merely wasn’t sure what it might be.

On the morrow the comnee packed up its tents and set out east, travelling steadily but slowly. The weather had turned so hot and dry that the whine of insects in the grass made Zayn think of fat sizzling on a griddle. Every morning, after the horses finished grazing, they would saddle up and ride until mid-afternoon, when they would make camp. Zayn fell into the long rhythms of driving stock, as soothing as drinking, and felt his life shrink to the motion of his horse and the rising and setting of the sun. He found himself thinking a traitor’s thoughts: I could spend my life this way, I could stay here forever. Whenever they rose, he shoved them away.

Inadvertently Ammadin reminded him that the Great Khan’s will still ruled him. They were sitting together in front of the tent when she mentioned that she’d been scanning.

‘Your enemies are tracking us,’ she said. ‘Two Kazraks, one older with a beard, one young with a truly magnificent nose, and then a sorcerer from the Cantons.’

‘A sorcerer?’

‘Just that. A middle-aged man with long grey hair.’

Soutan? Zayn thought. Out here in the plains? But Soutan was young and blond. ‘I don’t know anyone like that,’ he said.

‘Well, then, he must have some reason of his own for joining the Kazraks. Maybe they hired him to help hunt you down.’

‘Maybe.’ Zayn turned his palms up and shrugged. ‘I really don’t understand. I thought the people who live in the Cantons didn’t leave them.’

‘Not often, no.’ Ammadin thought for a moment. ‘I’ve never heard of a sorcerer travelling west, never.’

Zayn’s superiors had never heard of it, either; they’d sent him to gather information about Soutan for just that reason. Now here was a second sorcerer travelling around and following him to boot, along with the two Kazraks who had already tried to kill him.

‘No more ideas?’ Ammadin was watching him, waiting for him to speak.

‘I’m baffled,’ Zayn said, and quite honestly. ‘I don’t know who these men are, or why they’re following me.’

‘Here’s something that’s even stranger. Three female ChaMeech are following them.’

‘Good God!’

‘Unless they’re following you, too.’ Ammadin suddenly smiled. ‘If they are, I don’t think it’s adultery that’s on their minds.’

Zayn laughed. ‘I hope not,’ he said. ‘But ChaMeech are supposed to be fascinated with magic, aren’t they?’

‘That’s true.’

‘Maybe they know this sorcerer has some, then.’

‘Maybe. I –’ Ammadin suddenly paused. ‘Sorry,’ she said at length. ‘I just had a thought about something else. Anyway, I’m not sure what we can do about the sorcerer.’

‘I guess there’s nothing to do, except wait. I’m grateful you’ll keep a lookout for me.’

‘Why wouldn’t I? Every single person in this comnee is my responsibility.’

‘All right. But thank you anyway.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Ammadin stood up. ‘I’ve got work to do. I’ll be down by the stream if anyone needs me.’

‘Will you be safe?’

For an answer she smiled.

‘Sorry,’ Zayn said. ‘Stupid of me.’

With a little wave of her hand she walked off. He watched the fire and considered a new sensation: he cared enough about a woman to worry about her.

The Herd had just risen above the horizon, and in its silver light, Ammadin picked her way through the various roots, rocks, and thorn bushes that would have tripped an ordinary person. She sat down beside a stream and watched the water, glinting in the sky’s glow. Zayn had given her an idea, preposterous at first thought, but just possible upon a second. What if Water Woman were a ChaMeech who had managed to tame a spirit crystal?

By keeping careful track of how much of a spirit’s power she was draining, Ammadin had learned how to use the crystals in darkness. They disliked going hungry all night, but once she’d finished, an oil lamp or fire would feed them enough to tide them over till sunrise. She brought out both Sentry and Long Voice. She’d done some hard thinking about Long Voice’s possible abilities and commands, culled from the lore her teacher had told her as well as from her experiences with Spirit Eyes. She was guessing that the Riders were due to appear, and sure enough, in just a few minutes Sentry began to hum.

‘Long Voice!’ Ammadin said. ‘Open listen for.’

The spirit sang out. In the bone behind her left ear Ammadin heard a strange whispery sound, like sea waves hissing over gravel. She waited, listening to the distant waves rise and fall while the Herd eased itself higher into the sky and the Riders galloped far above her. She was just thinking that they would be setting soon when she heard the voice.

Witchwoman! Witchwoman!

‘Long Voice!’ Ammadin said. ‘Open lock on.’

The spirit sang three bright notes.

‘Long Voice! Lock on!’

Another note, and she smiled. ‘Water Woman,’ she said, ‘can you hear me?’

I hear-now you, Witchwoman, I hear, but faintly.

‘You’re too far away. My name is Ammadin.’

Ammadin. I hear you, Ammadin. Please, talk-soon-next. Water Woman’s voice was growing fainter, fading.

‘Yes, I will. Look to the Riders in the sky.’

Riders – Her voice vanished, swallowed in the long hiss of the strange sea, far off in the land of spirits.

‘Water Woman! Can you hear me?’

No answer, just waves, turning distant gravel. Ammadin closed down her crystals.

Back at camp, out in front of her tent, Zayn had already started a fire. When he saw her coming, he ducked inside and returned with cushions.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘The spirits will need feeding.’

‘I thought so,’ Zayn said. ‘That’s why I made the fire.’

‘Thank you.’ Ammadin smiled at him.

He was beginning to see her needs, a good thing in a servant. And yet, she was so pleased to see him smile in return that she began to wonder if she truly did see him as only a servant. He knelt down and arranged the cushions, then sat back on his heels and looked up. From his scent she knew that lovemaking was very much on his mind. Reluctantly she realized that it was on hers as well. He was watching her with half-closed eyes, smiling a little, as if perhaps he knew that she was weakening.

‘You can go drink with the other men,’ Ammadin said. ‘I won’t need anything more here.’

‘As the Holy One wishes.’ His smile gone, Zayn stood up. He nodded once in her direction, then hurried off into the camp. As she watched him go, she realized that she was as disappointed as he was. You don’t need entanglements, she reminded herself. Especially not when you’re planning a spirit quest. With a long sigh she sat down by the fire and began to unwrap her hungry crystals.

Warkannan woke just at dawn and found Soutan gone from the camp. Beside the dead fire Arkazo still slept, rolled up in a blanket, so sound asleep that Warkannan decided against waking him; they could say their morning prayers a bit late and not offend God. Warkannan pulled on his trousers and his boots, then stood for a moment winding his pocket watch, a morning ritual that dated from his first days on the border. It was comforting, somehow, to know the time, to measure the time, even out here where space seemed so endless that time became irrelevant.

This early in the day the air was cool; he could hear the nearby stream chortling over rocks; a breeze trembled the long purple grass that stretched to the horizon. The silver dawn caught a few streaks of clouds and turned them as crimson as the distant trees. Frogs croaked; tree lizards, as bright as jewels, sang to each other; the hum of constant insects sounded in the brightening light.

‘God, I hate it out here!’ Warkannan muttered. ‘Give me the city any day!’

He seated his watch in his pocket, clipped the chain to his belt, and went to look for Soutan.

Warkannan found him just a few hundred yards away, muttering over his crystals. At Warkannan’s approach, he looked up.

‘What would you say to an old-fashioned ambush?’ Soutan said.

‘Of Zayn, you mean? What did you have in mind?’

‘The comnee seems to be heading due east, and I suspect they’re on their way to the Cantons. They’ll have to pass through the downs to get to the Rift. Comnees always stop in the downs to hunt before they cross over. When we get there, you’ll see what I mean about the terrain – plenty of places to hide and wait for a hunting party with Zayn in it to come along.’

‘All right. I take it you couldn’t come up with some mighty magical spell.’

‘Sneer all you want, but the crystals will give us all the magic we need. When we see him ride out, we can set our trap.’

And that, Warkannan had to admit, was true enough.

As they continued east, Zayn took to riding at the rear of the herd, where he could turn in the saddle now and again to keep watch for his enemies. The land began to rise and fall in long low downs, as if the ground were buckling under the push of a giant hand. In the shallow valleys streams ran through tangles of orange ferns and gold pipeplants.

During the day the high-pitched chitters and whip-lash calls of the bush lizards would fall silent as the comnee approached, only to pick up and swell into a chorus of warning once they passed. Night brought a cacophony of frogs. Zayn learned to separate out the chirps of tiny six-legged hoppers and the booming of the big squat watertoads with their red double tongues. Whenever he heard a crane calling, he would turn in its direction and try to answer. At those moments the Chosen and the khanate both seemed things he had dreamt once, a long time ago.

This slow travelling eventually brought the comnee to a long, broad valley and a chain of small lakes, pale blue against the deep violet of spring grass. Here they set up a full camp to prepare for the journey across the Rift. Zayn was assuming that the danger from ChaMeech would be on everyone’s mind, but much to his surprise no one took it very seriously.

‘They’re a nuisance, sure,’ Dallador told him. ‘Sometimes they try to raid our herds, but they save their bloodlust for the Kazraks. I don’t know why, but they hate your guts.’

‘Yes, we’ve noticed.’

Dallador flashed him a smile. ‘The real problem with going east is taking our own hay for the horses.’

‘Isn’t there grass in the Cantons?’

‘Of course. But there’s a Bane. The horses can eat Canton grass while we’re there, but on the journey out they can only eat hay from the plains.’

‘Why?’

‘We can’t carry any seeds out of the Cantons and into the plains. If the horses ate Canton plants just before we got back and then shat, there could be seeds in it.’

‘That’s damned strange, Dallo. Why –’

‘I don’t know why. It’s just Bane.’

To keep down the amount of hay they had to carry, only part of the comnee would travel east; they would take only their own mounts and the horses to be sold. The women got together to decide who would travel and who would stay. Those leaving appointed trusted friends to tend their children while they were gone; in exchange, they would take along the horses that those staying wanted sold. Some of the men would ride with them as guards, and the spirit rider would bring the gods to keep her people safe from foreign magic in a dangerously different land.

‘At times I still think like a Kazrak,’ Zayn said to Dallador. ‘It’s strange to see the women doing the buying and selling.’

‘Why would men want to? Haggling is women’s work.’

‘But doesn’t it trouble you to have nothing to leave your son?’

‘A man always knows who his mother is. But his father? Who knows what women will do in the dark? So they’re the only ones who know who the blood-kin are, and it’s your blood-kin who should have your horses.’

Preparations for the trip took days. While the women cut grass and spread it to dry into pale blue hay, the men hunted. The big grassars avoided this rough shrubby terrain, but a smaller species, the orange-and-grey striped browzars, flourished in the valleys. Every time someone made a kill, the men stripped the carcass down to bone and smoked the meat into jerky. Zayn spent several days learning how to cut the raw flesh – a job that he found irritating beyond belief. It was tricky work, using the long knife to slice leather-thin strips of meat. Sweat ran down his forehead and got into his eyes. Shiny magenta flies and the ever-present yellabuhs swarmed around, stinging and stealing.

His turn to hunt came as a welcome relief. In the downs, the browzars sought shelter in the valley thickets; once they got into the underbrush, the men would have to take their spears and follow on foot – a dangerous kind of hunting, thanks to venomous snakes and other such creatures in the dense thorn thickets. The best tactic, or so Dallador told him, was to look for a herd that was grazing part-way up the slope of a hill, then get below and chase them towards the crest and open land.

They left camp just at noon. Riding single-file the six hunters worked their way upstream along the riverbank. In a shallow valley, they spotted at last a small herd. The men looped their reins around their saddle horns, then took their bows from their backs. With their quivers on one hip, they walked the horses, guiding with their knees, until they were close enough for the noise to alarm the dominant bull.

It threw up its orange head and bellowed, slapping the ground with its tail. The hunters kicked their horses to a gallop and charged, shrieking a warcry. The browzars lashed out with striped tails, then bounded away, turning uphill. The men loosed their first volley and grabbed for second arrows while the well-trained horses sped after the fleeing prey.

Zayn loosed an arrow, missed badly, and rode hard for the main herd. Arrows arched overhead as the other men shot again. Bleeding and howling, a young female browzar fell. Zayn aimed for another, missed again, and pulled another arrow as they raced up the side of the hill. He swore under his breath – his reflexes were simply all wrong for this sort of bow. Almost directly in front of him a young bull, smarter than most, broke from the herd and headed downhill. With a curse Zayn loosed, missed, and shifted his weight in the saddle to turn his horse after it.

Down through the treacherous tall grass they raced. Zayn was hoping that the thorny brush along the stream would stop the bull and force it to stay in range. He was determined to hit at least one target for the day, and the determination got the better of his common sense. When they reached the flat, Zayn’s horse gained ground, but even from this close a distance Zayn’s arrow sailed wide. The bull gave one last leap and charged into the tangled cover. Cursing, Zayn let his horse come to a halt and swung himself off.

Shrubs rose waist-high among the nodding frond-trees in an infuriating orange and red tangle. Zayn could see the bull pushing its way through ahead of him as it struggled to reach the stream. He would have gone after it with his last two arrows, but from behind him he heard someone yell.

‘Stay right there!’ Dallador shouted. ‘Don’t go in!’

Zayn obeyed. He mounted his horse, but he let it rest while the others rode down. They surrounded him, and he could see the concern on all their faces.

‘What’s wrong?’ Zayn said.

‘Firesnakes, that’s what,’ Dallador said. ‘Don’t you remember what I told you? We’ve already made a kill. You don’t need to risk getting bitten and poisoned to make another one.’

‘Sorry. It just makes me so damn mad that I can’t hit anything with this bow.’

‘You’ll get it eventually. Come on, let’s get the kill back to camp.’

When the men left for the hunt, Ammadin had taken her crystals and walked out into the grass. Over the past few days, she’d been trying at every pass of the Riders to contact Water Woman, but so far she’d failed. On this occasion as well she heard nothing but the mysterious ocean waves that seemed to emanate from somewhere inside Long Voice. Finally she gave up, took Spirit Eyes, and scanned, sweeping outward from the camp in a spiral. Off to the east, at the very limit of the spirit’s power, she saw three figures who looked like ChaMeech, but the image was too indistinct to reveal their gender.