"But she's the only one with power enough," said Paulo. "You've said no Zhid could run the avantir."
"Somehow she's feeding them the power they need. That's what I think. The timing of their rising . . . everything points to it." I concentrated on the puzzle. On cold reason. "The avantir is a receptacle: it enables the propagation of enchantment, but it needs an immense infusion of power to make it work. But if D'Sanya isn't manipulating the avantir directly, then one of her devices must be channeling her power to it in some way—the oculus at the hospice or the second one she used to hold me in Zhev'Na or some other device I haven't seen yet. In that case some powerful Zhid—one of the gensei most likely—could use the avantir himself."
"So destroy the vile things," said Paulo. "Then we'll see what's what."
"Someone else will have to do that." I dropped my cup and spoon into the blackened pot and wrapped my arms around my knees so I wouldn't feel as if I were going to fly apart at any moment. "Ven'Dar . . . Je'Reint . . . the Preceptors . . . someone who can touch a cursed oculus without losing his mind or worse. And they'll need to persuade D'Sanya to see what she's doing, but it can't be me. I told you what she did to me and how easily—"
"Her jewelry!"
Paulo and I jumped at this outburst and stared at the woman.
"What's that?" said Paulo.
She looked from me to Paulo and back again, her chin poised in that particularly stubborn set that I was coming to know. "Have you ever seen the Lady without her jewelry? I've only seen it once in all these months—on the day you were attacked in Avonar. The first thing the Zhid did on that day, before she could possibly recover from the surprise, was take every piece of her gold and silver. They weren't thieves. Why would they bother if they were taking her with them anyway? Did you notice? Didn't you wonder why she worked not one spell to defend herself or you? And what do you think was the first thing she did when the prince's men rescued her—even before she went to see to you? She pulled rings and bracelets from a saddle pack and put them on."
I remembered the bag of jewelry Je'Reint's man had shown me, and of course it was true she wore such things all the time . . . adored them . . . wouldn't allow me to buy them for her. And of course I, too, had wondered why she hadn't put up more of a fight that night.
"She's a Metalwright whose mentor taught her to link her devices together." The woman leaned closer to the fire, the firelight licking at her small face and fierce eyes. "Perhaps all her adornments focus power as an oculus does, working together like the avantir and the Zhid earrings to create some more intricate enchantment, something larger than a single device. Perhaps her power is not so strong as she claims if she must always enhance it with her metal toys. I think she puffs herself up too much. She's lied to you all along. Destroy her devices and you'll have her."
Anger rippled through me. "You're wrong. She is not doing these things on purpose. And I've already said I can't—"
"I know what you said." She attacked instead of retreating. "And you think you know everything about evil and corruption and doom, not to mention being the world's first and only man who ever fell in love to see his heart betrayed and to discover that his holy beloved wasn't so holy. So you're feeling sorry for yourself and sorry for the world, and I'm very glad to hear that you care about all of us, but you can't just retreat into whatever strange little hole you've found to hide in for the last five years. For once you just need to listen to someone who knows a few things that you don't."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"That's exactly the truth," she snapped. "And so I intend to teach you a few things about Dar'Nethi power."
"You teach me? I know enough about power to choke you!"
But like a stinging fly on a hot day, the damnable woman would not stop. "Of course, you're angry. You have every right. And yes, an oculus does terrible things to you. But this power that's grown in you is nothing of the Lords'. Don't you see? I heard you describe what you did when you lay on that stone table, how you followed your father's teaching—your father, proven the most powerful Dar'Nethi sorcerer since D'Arnath himself. For what did he do when he died on a pyre before you were born? He reached across the universe and opened the Gates to the Bridge that had been closed for centuries! You have to understand … what you did in that tomb . . . what you described to Paulo this morning . . . was exactly what my father taught me was the greatest mystery of our world—how we Dar'Nethi transform life in all its aspects, its wonders, its horrors, into power.
"Here—" She thrust the last clump of thornbush into my hand. "Put this in the fire and slow its burning so it will last the night. A simple spell for a Lord of Zhev'Na, isn't it? It takes hardly a thought to strip the essence of life from a bird or a tree or a slave, infuse that power and your will into a bundle of dead brush, and make a fire burn as you please, whether it consumes anything or not. Well it's a simple spell for a Dar'Nethi, too, but one that takes thought if you've not been trained to it. A spell that transforms matter into light and warmth at a rate that you decide. So, step one: Consider the dry thing, the life it once held, the place where it grew, the cycle of its life and death and seed and germination."
The thorny wad pricked at my hand, but not as the woman's words pricked at my spirit. What did she know about anything?
"Step two: Consider the need." She wouldn't stop. "Tonight will be cold in the desert. Your body needs warmth to recover its strength and warm food to heal and nourish it. And your friend Paulo and this ugly stubborn woman you can't quite trust need to sleep warm so they can care for you and lead you out of this cursed desert. But brush will burn too fast if you leave it to flame at its will."
I had seen thornbushes burning in Zhev'Na. From dry lightning. From intent. They burned hot and fast, snapping and spitting gold sparks.
"Step three: In your mind, use your need to transform the essence of the thornbush, and then take one tiny portion of that monstrous power you fear and let it flow into your creation. Do it, and then feel what you have done and tell me whether it is good or evil."
As she counted off her steps, I found myself obeying her commands, resisting the old habits I had developed in Zhev'Na in favor of this new way of thinking. And when I tossed the dry bundle onto the fire and carefully let power flow into the spell I had made, I did not create a holocaust, only a small hot fire that would burn bright through a long night. I felt whole, and the world did not end.
"Didn't I tell you?" She leaned back on her rock and nodded. Without smirking. But her chin was ready to challenge my least hesitation.
"The water," I said. "I could make it more palatable … get the grit out of it. . ." Was it possible?
"Settle the sand to the bottom, perhaps," she said, tossing me a muddy flask. She looked at me sidewise, out from under half-lowered eyelids. "A little more difficult than a slow-burning fire."
Consider the water. . . .
I went through the steps again. Felt an anxious hitch in my breath as I released a dribble of power. But the working felt right. I opened the flask, drank, and passed it to Sefaro's daughter.
She took a sip, cocked her head to one side, considering, and passed the flask to Paulo. "What do you think? How did he do?"
Paulo, who had been crouched between the woman and me as if ready to leap into the breach when flaming arrows started flying between us, took a sip, stared at the flask, and then proceeded to drain it. "Cripes! I've not tasted anything cold in a year . . . I'm sure of it. And no sand in my teeth!"
"Well, we can't afford to do that any more," said the woman, snatching the flask back again and tossing it onto the sand beside the sinkhole. "He doesn't have time to learn how to pump more water from the earth into Nim's puddles. And he has more important matters to deal with."