CHAPTER THIRTY
Scarpen Quarter Scarcleft City Artisman Russet's room, Level 36 Once again Shale put away all thought of the desert, of the sky, of feeling the wind on his cheek or Gibber pebbles beneath his feet. As it was useless to taunt himself with what he could not have, he sealed his need for freedom inside him. He still had days of confinement ahead. And anyway, there was part of himself-the part that liked looking at Terelle-that did not mind so much. Better still, she was becoming a friend. The concept was new. The closest he'd ever had to friendship was his relationship with Mica, but a brother was different. When Terelle told him her story, he realised they were both people displaced by events beyond their control trying to find a place to call their own. She knew how he felt; he understood her predicament. There was something comforting in that.
To his amazement, he found Russet was both able and willing to help him further his water skills. "You're a rainlord!" he exclaimed after the waterpainter explained an easier way to control water vapour by a trick of concentration.
"Not so," the old man said, stabbing at Shale with a gnarled finger. "I be waterpainter. Different skill. Manipulate water through time, changing future being. Superior art to movement of water from one place to another! Waterpainters be artists." His glare softened as he shrugged and added, "Watergivers understand moving water. If not, how we be Watergivers?"
For a moment, Shale thought the old man had accidentally mixed up the terms "waterpainter" and "Watergiver". But then Terelle looked up from her spot on the floor near the fireplace, where she was putting the finishing touches to a painting, and asked, "Why do you always keep on referring to yourself as a Watergiver? There's only one Watergiver. That's what the priests say. His name was Ash-something and he came as an emissary from the Sunlord to show water sensitives how to manipulate the clouds."
He laughed, giving an unpleasant cackle of mockery and derision that Shale was learning to hate. "Terelle, ye know nothing of world. More Watergivers be walking this earth than red drovers on dunes, Alabasters in Whiteout and priests in Breccia combined."
"You're saying you're a Watergiver?" Shale asked. Did the man think he was an immortal being? Shale wouldn't have been surprised if he did; there was something mad about him, mad and malevolent. "An emissary of the Sunlord?"
Russet merely shot a sly smile in Terelle's direction. It was Terelle who answered. "Of course he's not saying that."
"And what ye be thinking I mean?" Russet asked her.
"I think it's the name your people give yourselves because you worship the Watergiver."
Shale didn't say anything, but he didn't think that was what Russet had meant at all. He sighed inwardly. Russet's secrets and air of mystery drove Terelle crazy, but she usually restrained her irritation. He thought he knew why she never pressed Russet to give answers that made sense. When you were totally dependent on someone else for water, there were times when you bit your tongue. The morning after the visit to Amethyst's, Russet and Terelle spent a long time talking in the hallway. Russet was explaining a new painting technique to her. Shale stayed inside, but he heard snatches of conversation.
"Be very particular about the measurements."
"All the agates?"
"No, not that grey-this one. Flax-grey that be called, or gridelin. Has violet tinge-without it, motley not right."
"Oh. Like this?"
Eventually Russet came in, muttering under his breath. Terelle stayed outside painting until middmorning, when she stuck her head around the door and said, "I've finished, Artisman. Do you want to see?"
Shale watched from the doorway, first using his water senses to make sure there was no one else around. Terelle had painted a street scene featuring a gateway set into a brown daub wall. The wooden gate, studded with slices of red and white agate in a swirling pattern, was brightly coloured as if it had caught the rays of the morning sun, while the remainder of the street was still in shadow.
Russet asked, "Ye sure it be true?"
"I remember it exactly-the patterns, the colours, the shadows." She looked at Shale. "It's right, isn't it?"
"That's Amethyst's house? I don't remember the details. Do you? Really? All those swirls?"
She nodded.
Intrigued by her certainty, he waved a hand at the painting. "Even how many pieces of agate there were?"
She waved a hand at the painting. "That many."
"You counted them?"
"No, I just remember."
"Nobody's that good."
"I am." She indicated the floating picture. "That's how the arta's street gate looks, right down to the patterns in the individual agates."
"Blood runs true," Russet said complacently. "Now watch. Amethyst's message sent to Breccia, but how we know they send rainlord to protect Shale? We make sure! Remember I be doing this for ye, Gibberman."
"Really? Why? If Taquar finds out, you'll never sell another painting in Scarcleft. You'll be thrown out of the gates tomorrow. Or worse." More likely worse.
But whatever Russet's motives were, the old man was not going to explain them. He ignored Shale's question and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the tray. Terelle knelt next to him. Neither of them said anything, but Shale had an idea Terelle was apprehensive about what was going to happen. He wanted to warn her, but didn't know what the warning should be. For one wild moment he wanted to grab her by the hand and pull her away, take her downstairs and out into the safety of the street.
Except the street wasn't safe.
The old man took up a paint spoon and started to apply colour to the area near the doorway. He worked quickly, almost carelessly, not worrying too much about detail or clear-cut edges. He was painting two figures, both men, and the arm and shoulder of a third, who was standing off to the left. The two full figures stood in the shadow. One could only be seen in profile. He was a lean man wearing nondescript riding clothes; his face was clearly defined, and his features were vaguely familiar to Shale. The other man, taller and more muscular, was reaching out to pull the bell. His face was also sharply depicted. The third man, whose arm and shoulder only were pictured, was wearing what appeared to be a uniform. Livery.
Terelle frowned, and the frown deepened as ripples advanced across the surface of the painting and it began to change. For a moment, Shale thought that Russet had knocked the tray, but the painter was motionless.
The painted figures were changing, clarifying. The edges sharpened. Shale gasped. How had the waterpainter done that?
"Highlord Nealrith Almandine of Breccia," Russet said, pointing to the man painted in profile.
"How do you know what he looks like?" Terelle asked, troubled.
"Met him. I did paintings for Breccia Hall." Pointing at the painting, he turned to address Shale. "Now Nealrith comes in answer to Amethyst's message. Other man pulling the belclass="underline" Kaneth Carnelian, warrior rainlord. Two rainlords-ye be safe, no?"
"Taquar mentioned Kaneth to me. I don't think Taquar likes him much. But how is putting them into a painting going to ensure they come?" Shale asked, not bothering to hide his scorn. He had to believe that the man could alter a painting without touching it, because he had just seen it happen; he'd manipulated the water, obviously. It was quite another thing to think that a painting could influence the future.
Russet turned fierce eyes on him. "Ye lords be not only ones with water-powers. Watergivers of my people-once Russet Kermes be finest of them-bring more than water through space and time, by painting."
"Are you trying to tell us the rainlords Nealrith and Kaneth stand right now at Amethyst's gate?" he asked.
"If they be in Breccia, yes. But they must be riding here first, no?" He waved a hand at the picture. "I put future into paint, they obey. No choice."