“I don’t think that you do,” Rain told them. “When we left last year, the place was in turmoil. There is no peace in that land, and I think that there never shall be again. The warlords of Internook have been harsh masters, harsher than you know. When my father fled the land, he left a prosperous barony. But months later we heard that all of the people in the barony—women, children, babes—were gone. One morning the warlord’s soldiers came and marched them all into the forests, and none came back. But that evening, wagons began to arrive filled with settlers who had shipped in from Internook, and the houses in the cities were filled, and farmers came to reap crops that they had not sown.
“The warlord Grunswallen had sold our lands months before his soldiers began the extermination. My father had sensed that it was near. He said that he’d felt it coming for days and weeks. He’d seen it in the superior smirks that the Internookers gave us, in the way that they heaped abuse on our people. My family fled just two days before the cleansing occurred. . . . I thank the Powers that we were able to exact a small token of vengeance against that pig Grunswallen. The Internookers wear hides made of pigskin because they are pigs in human form.”
Myrrima peered up at Rain; she worried that the young woman would turn Sage away from the course.
Perhaps that would be best, Myrrima thought. I don’t want to take Sage into such unstable lands. I don’t want to make life-and-death decisions for my child.
“There are other dangers, too,” Rain said. “The mountains and woods are full of strengi-saats, monsters that hunt for young women so that they can lay their eggs in the women’s wombs. You cannot go out by night. The soldiers do a fair job of keeping them away from the towns and the open fields, but each year the strengi-saats’ numbers grow, the monsters range closer into the heartland, and the nights grow more dangerous.”
Sage looked to Rain. “You don’t think I should go?”
Rain stammered, “No—Perhaps there is no right choice. But I think that if you go to Mystarria, you should know what you’re up against.
“And since the change in the world—who knows what things will be like in Mystarria now?” Rain hesitated and then explained to Myrrima: “I heard your husband talking last night about creatures called wyrmlings. . . .”
Myrrima’s heart skipped. If the girl had heard about the wyrmlings, then she’d heard much that Myrrima would wish to keep secret. “What else did you hear?”
“I know that your son Fallion is responsible for this . . . change.” Rain hesitated, her keen green eyes studying Myrrima for a sign of reaction. “But I don’t understand it all. Draken told me that his brothers and sisters had all gone back to Mystarria; I’d already known that Fallion was a flameweaver, but I’ve never heard of a flameweaver who had powers like this.” She shrugged and swept her arms wide, pointing to a ledge nearby where an outcrop of rock was still covered in coral.
“Who else have you told?” Myrrima asked.
Rain had been keeping her voice soft, and she glanced over the deep grass to where the folks in her own camp were beginning to stir. “No one. Nor shall I tell. I think it is best if no one here ever learns who is responsible for this . . . debacle.”
Myrrima found a knot of fear coiling in her stomach. She was worried for Fallion and Talon, for all of her children. What would people think if they knew? Half of Landesfallen had sunk into the sea, millions of people were dead. Certainly, one of their kin would seek vengeance against Fallion, if they knew what he had done.
Yet Myrrima’s worries for her children went far beyond that. Fallion had planned to go deep into the Underworld, to the Seals of Creation, to cast his spell.
With all that had happened, Myrrima could not help but fear for Fallion’s safety. She worried that the tunnels he’d entered had collapsed. Even if the structures had survived, they had been dug by reavers, and it was well known that every time a volcano blew or a large earthquake struck, the reavers grew angry and were likely to attack during the aftermath, much like hornets whose nests have been stirred up.
Fallion had gone to heal the world; Myrrima felt almost certain that he had paid for his trouble with his life. No good deed ever goes unpunished.
Sage had listened to Myrrima’s words, to Rain’s warnings. Now she peered up at her mother with blue eyes blazing. She had deep red hair and a face full of freckles. “I want to go with you. There’s nothing holding me here. Everyone that I knew is gone. I want to find Talon and Fallion, make sure that they are all right. . . .”
Myrrima looked to Rain. “And you? Will you come with us?”
Rain hesitated. “I don’t think so. I don’t see why you have to go looking for trouble. If the wyrmlings come, we can fight them on our own ground.”
Myrrima knew that Rain would try to convince Draken to stay here with her. Myrrima didn’t know how to feel about that—whether to be angry or to hope that she succeeded.
So Myrrima hummed to herself until the shallow pool filled to a depth of a few inches. The Walkin children came by and all stood peering into the water eagerly, until Myrrima began to draw runes of healing and refreshment upon the water.
She bathed then, laving the clean water up over her own head, letting it wash over and through her. She peered up, and wished that she knew what the best course to follow might be. Dare she really take the children back to Mystarria, expose them to such dangers? Or could she possibly stay here? It would be easy to enchant some weapons, cast spells upon them that would vanquish unclean spirits. She could send them with Borenson.
When she finished her mind felt cleared of all doubt. She had to go with Borenson. She would need to enchant weapons not for one man, or even a hundred, but perhaps for thousands.
More importantly, she felt renewed, filled with energy. The bath seemed to wash away the curse that had sapped her strength.
So she bathed Sage now. As she laved the water over the girl, she asked her master for a small blessing upon Sage: “May the stream strengthen you. May the moisture renew you. May Water make you its own.”
As the last handful of water streamed down Sage’s face, she gasped as if in relief, and then broke into tears of gratitude for what her mother had done.
She reached up and began to wipe the tears away, but Myrrima pulled her hand back. “Such tears should be given back to the stream,” she said.
So Sage stood there in the stream, and let her tears fall into its still waters.
Afterward, Myrrima invited Rain into the pool, and offered to repeat the cleansing ceremony with each of the Walkin women and children.
For two long hours Myrrima stood in her blue traveling robes, her long dark hair dangling over one shoulder. Between each ceremony she would have to stoop and trace runes of cleansing and healing on the surface of the pool while water-skippers danced around her fingers.
One by one she washed everyone in the group.
Those children who had been cleansed instantly began darting around camp, their lethargy much diminished, while the womenfolk seemed at last to come alive.
Noon had just passed and Myrrima was thinking about lunch when a call went up from the Walkin children.
“There’s a ship! There’s a ship in the channel!”
The sighting aroused a bit of excitement, and the Walkin children raced to the lip of the cliff and peered down into the polluted water below.
Myrrima had been trying to keep the children away from the old river channel all day, afraid of what they might see floating past. But now the whole Walkin clan stood on the shore and waved.
“We’re rescued, Mother!” Sage was calling.
Myrrima walked to the bank and stood peering down.
It wasn’t one boat—it was nine, or one boat and eight rafts. They were paddling over the water, following the course seaward.
Three dozen men manned the vessels. “Halloo!” they called, waving bandanas and hats.