Now she was dying of consumption, and though she fought the illness as best she could, she had to admit to herself that she was ready to die. She wished that there was a Weaver in her village who might take her place as a'laq, but there was nothing to be done about that. All in all, she'd had a good life, despite losing F'Jai too soon. And she had fully expected these last turns of her life to be peaceful.
The gods, it seemed, had something else in mind for her. First, they brought Jynna, a young Y'Qatt girl who came to Lowna with a wild story of a Mettai witch and cursed baskets and a white-hair plague. The tale turned out to be true, and in the end Jynna was joined by several more Y'Qatt children, orphans all, who now lived among them, almost as if they had been born Fal'Borna. Not content with this, the gods then sent to Lowna a merchant named R'Shev, who told a remarkable story of his own. An Eandi army had been seen along the Silverwater making ready for an attack on the Fal'Borna. And amazingly, they marched with Mettai sorcerers.
There would he no peace for her in the last days of her life. Instead, U'Selle had been the one to warn the rest of the clan that war was coming to the plain. Less than a turn before, she had used her magic to enter the dreams of other a'laqs and tell them of the approaching Eandi warriors and their Mettai allies. This once, they had treated her with courtesy and gratitude. It almost seemed that they finally recognized what U'Selle had known all along: Regardless of how her people made their gold, or how she had come to lead her village, she was Fal'Borna. Nothing else mattered. If there was to be a war, her people would fight in it. They would spill their blood in defense of the clan lands; they would kill or be killed, just like every other Fal'Borna on the plain.
Ever since giving this warning to her fellow a'laqs, U'Selle had waited for some word as to what would happen next. By now, she was certain, the Eandi had crossed into Fal'Borna land and were attacking septs. But she heard nothing. No Weavers walked in her dreams to tell her how the war was going or what other Axis on the plain expected her and her people to do. Had they forgotten Lowna? Had they been defeated? Impossible! Had they already destroyed the invaders? She thought this unlikely as well.
Night after night, U'Selle slept fitfully, waiting for dreams that never came, waking in the morning to frustration and a vague fear that she tried to ignore.
On this night, though, the ninth of the waxing, all that finally changed. Or so she thought.
Her dream began as had others in which Weavers walked. There was a clarity to such dreams that U'Selle had learned to recognize long ago, when F'Jai first courted her without the knowledge of her parents. He had visited her in her dreams, where they could share kisses and speak of their future life together in private. Always these visions had seemed more real, more solid, than any other dreams she'd ever had. And even now, with F'Jai long dead and Weavers disturbing her sleep for far less pleasant reasons, that solid feeling remained.
So as soon as the dream began she knew to look for a Weaver. Whoever had come had conjured for her a bland stretch of plain that she didn't recognize, a cloudless blue sky, and a gentle, cool wind. She turned, searching for the a'laq.
Her first thought upon seeing the man was that her senses had betrayed her and this wasn't real, after all. This Weaver didn't look at all Fal'Borna. He didn't look like any Qirsi she'd ever seen. He was as broad in the chest and shoulders as one of her own people, but he was nearly a full head taller than any Fal'Borna she knew, and his skin was ghostly pale.
He must have sensed her doubts, because he said immediately, "It's all right, N'Qlae. I'm a friend. I intend you no harm."
She looked around again. It felt the way Weaver dreams always did. The setting, his voice-it had to be real. And yet…
"What clan are you from?" she asked. "Who are you?"
"My name is Grinsa jal Arriet. I'm from the Forelands, though right now I'm living among the Fal'Borna. I'm in the sept of E'Menua, son of E'Sedt."
U'Selle nodded. She had no trouble believing that this strange, handsome man came from the Northlands. And she'd heard of E'Menua. "Why have you come to me this way?"
"You've heard of the plague that's been spreading across the plain?" he asked. "The one conjured by the Mettai?"
U'Selle smiled thinly. "Yes, I've heard of it. Are there any among our-" She frowned. "Among my people who haven't?"
A small smile touched his lips and he inclined his head, seeming to concede the point. "Probably not, N'Qlae."
"I'm properly addressed as A'Laq."
The man frowned at this, clearly puzzled. "I've never… I thought…"
"It's rare for a woman to become a'laq, but it does happen. My husband was a'laq. When he died, there were no other Weavers in the village, so I took the title."
"Forgive me, A'Laq."
"Tell me, Forelander, how did this plague become your concern?"
"I told you, A'Laq: I'm living now among the Fal'Borna. It's the concern of every Qirsi on the plain. But more than that, I've had the plague, and I very nearly died of it."
"What?" she said. Then she shook her head. "I don't believe you. I haven't heard of anyone surviving this illness."
"I had help. I was saved by two Mettai men. Their names are Besh and Sirj, and they come from the village-"
U'Selle shook her head and held up a finger, stopping him. "You're telling me that you were healed by Mettai? The same people who conjured this plague in the first place, who now march against us with the dark-eyes; you want me to believe that they healed you?"
"It's the truth," he said simply. "This plague wasn't spread by all Mettai people. It was created by one twisted old woman from the same village these men come from. They tracked her, killed her, and sought to keep the plague from spreading. Eventually another Fal'Borna and I wound up journeying with them, and when we fell ill, these men created a new spell that cured us."
"That's a most remarkable tale, Forelander," the a'laq said in a voice intended to make clear that she still didn't believe him.
"It gets more remarkable, A'Laq."
She raised an eyebrow.
"The spell these men created did more than heal. It protects us from ever getting the plague again. Like the plague, it's spread by magic. So by walking in your dreams, I've passed their spell to you and made you immune to the plague."
"You're sure of this?" she asked, not yet daring to hope that it was true.
"I am, A'Laq. As I say, I had the plague. I offer as proof the fact that I'm alive. But there's still more. You can pass this spell on to the others in your sept, simply by touching them with your magic. Any magic will do. This is a gift to your people from E'Menua. All he asks is that if you encounter this plague, you let him know immediately that the spell worked and saved your people."
She regarded the man through narrowed eyes. "This is all very strange," she said. "I haven't met E'Menua, but from all I've heard about him, he doesn't seem like the kind of a'laq who would send gifts freely to other septs."
The Forelander appeared amused by this.
"And why would he have you tell me this? He has other Weavers-Fal'Borna Weavers-who could do this for him."
For a long time the man just looked back at her, a faint smile on his face. Finally he shook his head and laughed.
"I've been doing this for several nights," he said. "And you're the first a'laq to challenge me on any of it. You're also the first woman I've spoken to. My wife would tell me there's a lesson to be learned from that."
U'Selle didn't respond.
"Everything I've told you is true," the Forelander said. "Except for the part about this being a gift from E'Menua. Ile doesn't know that I've been doing this." He faltered, but only briefly. "And he wouldn't be happy if he did."
"As an a'laq, I'm obligated to tell him."
"I understand," he said evenly.