"I don't pretend to know much about your land," Besh said. "But I can't imagine that many men there think as you do. Is that why you left?"
"No," Grinsa said. "We left for a number of reasons, and some aren't mine to tell. But I'm a Weaver, and in the Forelands my kind are feared. By law Weavers and their families are supposed to be put to death. I fought in a war on behalf of the Eandi courts and because of this, my king, rather than following the law of the land, allowed us to leave."
"Another noble man," Besh said. "I wish I'd had the chance to see the Forelands when I was younger. It sounds like an extraordinary place."
Sirj hadn't said much since Grinsa's arrival, but now he looked at the gleaner, his brow creased. "Before, when you were telling us about your bargain with the a'laq, you said that he expected you to find Lici and kill her yourself, or perhaps return her to his sept. By killing her ourselves, we've… we've made matters more difficult for you."
Grinsa shrugged again, conceding the point. "I don't get the feeling that you had much choice." He nodded toward Besh. "You were hurt, your hand especially."
"How can you know that?" Sirj asked.
"I sense a residue of the magic used to heal him. I thought I could feel only Qirsi magic, but apparently Mettai magic isn't all that different."
"Sirj healed some of my wounds," Besh said, "but the Fal'Borna healed me as well. That might be what you're sensing."
"Perhaps. But you acted out of necessity. I can hardly blame you for killing a woman we ourselves were hunting."
"And now you're hunting these merchants who have Lici's baskets." Grinsa nodded, looking grave. "Yes."
"Do you think you can find them?" Besh asked, sounding doubtful himself.
"I don't know," Grinsa said. "Probably not." It was a more honest answer then he would have given the others in his company, but already he found himself trusting these men. "But I'm not even certain how much difference it will make if we can."
"I don't understand," Sirj said, frowning deeply. "I thought finding those baskets was the most important thing left for us to do."
Grinsa rubbed a hand over his face. "It probably is, though that isn't saying much. The point is, even if we find some of the baskets, we don't know what to do with them. I suppose we can try burning them, but we can't be certain even that will be safe." He eyed both men closely. "What we really need is a way to defeat the plague."
"We don't know how to do that," Besh told him. "I'm not even certain that Lici did."
"Did you ask her?"
The Mettai nodded. "Yes, I did."
Grinsa nodded knowingly. "And she refused to help you."
"Worse," Besh said. "She said there was no way to undo her curse. 'It can't be undone,' she told me. And then she said, 'There's no spell you could make that would defeat it.' "
"She could have been lying to you," Grinsa said.
"She had no reason to lie. It was the day I killed her, and at the time she thought that she had me fully under her control." Besh shook his head. "I think she was trying to break my spirit, but I also think she was using the truth to do so."
" 'There's no spell you could make… ' " Grinsa repeated. "It seems an odd way to say it, don't you think?"
"I don't follow," Besh said.
"She said it can't be undone, and that there was no spell you could make that would stop it. So Mettai magic alone can't do it. But what if there's another way, one that uses Qirsi magic as well?"
Besh nodded. "I've thought of that, though it never occurred to me that Lici might be hinting at the possibility. But even if there is a way, I have no idea where to begin. Do you?"
Grinsa actually laughed. "Not at all. A turn or two ago I didn't even know that your people still existed. Beyond knowing that you need blood to conjure, I have no idea how your magic works."
"You make us sound like ghouls," Sirj said. "We can't conjure with just any blood. It has to be our own. And we don't need much. Just enough to mix with earth."
Grinsa held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I meant no offense."
"It's not blood magic," Sirj went on, as if he hadn't heard. "That's what others call it, Qirsi and Eandi alike. It's earth magic; that's what they should call it. 'Blood magic' makes it sound… evil."
Besh laid a hand on Sirj's arm. The younger man glanced at him and then looked away, his lips pressed thin.
"It's not easy being a Mettai in the Southlands," Besh said quietly.
"You may find this hard to believe, but that's something we have in common. Being a Qirsi in the Forelands can be trying at times as well, and being a Weaver is worst of all."
"So you told us. It must be a great relief for you to be here in the Southlands." Besh said this with a wry smile on his wizened face.
"Given the chance, would you give up being Mettai in order to be accepted by the Qirsi or the Eandi?"
"No," Besh said quickly. "I'm proud of my ancestry. Sirj is, too. As you say, this is something we have in common."
"Can you explain to me how your magic works?"
Besh shrugged. "There's not much to it, really." He held up his hand so that the back of it faced Grinsa. Even in the soft glow of the moons, Grinsa could see dozens of thin white scars, stark against the old man's brown skin.
"I cut myself here, blend my blood with a handful of dirt and…" He trailed off. "Actually it's probably easiest just to show you."
He drew his knife from its sheath and pulled the blade across the back of his hand. Grinsa noticed that he didn't wince at all, as if he felt no pain. "Does that hurt you?" he asked.
Besh smiled, though he didn't take his eyes off his hand. "A bit. I hardly notice it anymore." His looked up for just an instant, his gaze meeting Grinsa's. "I've been doing this for a long time."
Blood had welled from the wound and now Besh caught it deftly on the flat of his knife. Balancing it there, he reached down with his cut hand, picked up a handful of earth, and tipped his blade so that the blood poured into the same hand, making a small dark pool in the soil. An instant later, the blood and dirt swirled together as if stirred by some unseen force.
Besh glanced at Sirj. "What should I do?"
The younger man shrugged.
"Blood to earth," Besh said in a low voice. "Life to power, power to thought, earth to fox." As he finished the incantation, he opened his hand with a quick motion, so that the ball of dark mud flew from his fingers. Before it hit the ground it took the form of a fox, which landed nimbly in an alert crouch and stared up at Grinsa, its eyes shining with moonlight.
Grinsa stared back at it for several moments, afraid even to breathe. At last he chanced a question. "Is it r-"
The animal bolted at the sound of his voice, bounding into the grasses and vanishing from view.
"Is it real?" Besh said. "Is that what you were going to ask?"
Grinsa gazed after the creature, shaking his head. "That's the most remarkable thing I've ever seen!" He faced Besh again. "You created a living creature out of nothing!"
"No," Besh said. "That's not what I did at all. I created a living creature out of life-my blood, Elined's earth."
Grinsa eyed him briefly, then nodded. It made sense when he put it that way.
"That litany you recited; must you do that each time you conjure?"
"Yes," Besh said. "I've met some Mettai who recite the words in near silence, but they're necessary for the magic to work." He licked the blood from the back of his hand, and then licked the blade clean before returning it to its sheath. Seeing that Grinsa was watching him he said, "A Mettai never wastes blood. What we don't use, we return to our bodies."