So, now she sleeps, and I write, having learned at last all there is to know of her tragic tale. I am hopeful that as her fever fades and she grows strong again, she will be better off for having unburdened herself But it is only a hope. She is so young to have seen and lived such horrors. It is said among our people that where a healer's touch fails, time works its own magic. Some wounds, though, can never heal. Instead they fester
It remains to be seen which kind of wound fate has dealt this child.
Besh sat back and laid the daybook aside. Any doubt that had crept into his mind over the past turn was gone now. Lici was alive. He was certain of it. And more, she was wreaking vengeance across the land.
Sixty-four years to the day after she appears in the village, the old woman vanishes. And within a turn of her disappearance the pestilence strikes at three Qirsi villages, at least two of them Y'Qatt. He stood and strode out the door into the midday sun. Walking quickly to the marketplace, he found a Qirsi trader, a young woman who was selling wines from the Nid'Qir.
"Buy a skin today, good sir?" she asked, smiling at him.
"No, thank you. Tell me, though: Have you ever heard of a town called Tivston?"
"Tivston?" she repeated, frowning. She shook her head and made the warding sign against evil, as if she were Mettai instead of Qirsi. "I know Tivston. It's very bad there now."
"Yes, I've heard. Is it a Qirsi village?"
"In a sense, yes," she said.
And he knew. Even before she could say anything more, he felt the hairs on his neck and arms standing on end.
"They're Y'Qatt in Tivston; Qirsi who use no magic."
Besh nodded. "Thank you." He started to walk away.
"Of course, good sir. Perhaps now you'd like to buy some wine."
He knew he should have, out of courtesy if nothing else. She'd answered his questions, and so had told him the last thing he needed to know before speaking of this with Pyay. But the thought of taking even a sip of wine just then made his stomach turn. He merely shook his head and walked to the eldest's smithy.
Pyav was resting when Besh got there, his face ruddy as always and covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
"You're early today," the smith said, grinning as Besh approached. But then he seemed to notice the old man's expression. His smile vanished and he stood. "What is it?"
"I know where Lici is. Or at least where she's been."
Pyav's brow creased. "What do you mean?"
"I told you that her village was ravaged by the pestilence. It killed her family. It killed everyone she knew."
"Yes, I remember."
"It seems there was more to the story," Besh said. "She went for help. She was looking for Qirsi healers, but instead she found an Y'Qatt village. 1)
The eldest winced. "And they wouldn't help her." "That's right."
"But what does that-?"
"Runnelwick and Greenrill-they're near N'Kiel's Span, aren't they?"
"I believe so." Comprehension hit him like a fist. "Blood and bone," he whispered.
"I just spoke with a Qirsi peddler. Tivston is an Y'Qatt village, as well. At least it was."
"A conjuring?"
"Perhaps. Probably. Would it surprise you to learn that she could use her magic that way?"
"I suppose not." The eldest stared at the ground for a few moments, shaking his head slowly. "I wouldn't know how to do it. Would you?" "I couldn't even begin to conceive such a thing."
Pyav glanced at him, a sad smile on his lips. "And yet you figured it out. At least you think you have. Perhaps the workings of your mind are darker than you think."
Besh nodded, though he didn't smile in return. "Perhaps. They'll have to be if I'm to find a way to stop her."
Chapter 16
Pyav stared at him, as if wondering whether he had heard correctly.
"You?" the eldest said at last, sounding simple. "You're going after her?"
"Someone must."
That faint smile touched Pyav's face again and was gone. "You're a good man, Besh. I've said as much quite often over the past turn, and yet I'm not certain I knew how right I was until just now. You're honorable and clever, and you're even braver than I would have credited." He shook his head. "But you can't do this."
"Can't I?"
"How old are you, Besh?"
Besh might have been a good man, as the eldest said, but he knew as well as anyone that he wasn't without his faults, pride chief among them.
Ema had told him so more often than he could count, and so had Elica.
He felt himself bristling at the eldest's question, and he struggled to keep his temper in check.
"I'm old enough to know that Lici is our responsibility. No one else knows what she's done, and so no one else will think to stop her."
"That may be, but-"
"Will you go after her, Eldest?"
The blacksmith straightened, his expression hardening just a bit. "If need be."
"You have a family. Your children may be grown, but they need you still. You have a shop to maintain. You're eldest of our village. You're needed here."
"So are you, Besh."
"Not in the same way." The eldest opened his mouth, no doubt to argue the point, but Besh held up a hand, stopping him. "This isn't the self-pity of an old man, nor is it a last grasp at some sort of heroism. Elica has her husband and her children. Ema is gone. Aside from my garden, no one will miss me."
Pyav smiled again, the kind smile this time, the one Besh had come to know so well in recent days. "I know that's not true. I'm not certain what Mihas would do without you. Or Annze and Cam, for that matter."
Besh felt his throat tighten at the mention of Mihas and the little ones, but he knew he was right about this. "There are plenty of children in this village who get along without their grandfathers. They'll be fine."
"I can't let you do this, my friend."
"With all respect, Eldest, you haven't any choice. You can't keep me here against my will, and we both know that there's no one else you can send."
Pyav opened his arms wide. "Why send anyone at all?" he demanded, his voice rising. "What is it you think you can do? I admit that what you've told me is compelling, but we don't know for certain that Lici is to blame for what's happened in Greenrill and Runnelwick and… and… wherever else-"
"Tivston."
"Yes, right," he said impatiently. "My point is, this is all just conjecture on our part."
Besh frowned. "A moment ago you believed me. Now you don't?"
Pyav rubbed his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut. "I don't know what to believe. You've been convinced all along that Lici is alive still, that she had some purpose in leaving the way she did. And I allowed you to act on your suspicions. Perhaps that was a mistake."
"It wasn't. Don't you see? I was right all along. Sylpa's daybook proves that!"
"Sylpa is dead! Her daybook is a relic! Nothing more! Now, this nonsense has to end!"
The eldest appeared to wince at what he heard in his own voice, and for several moments neither of them spoke.
"I shouldn't have said that, Besh. Forgive me."
"Of course, Eldest," Besh said, his voice tight.
"I'm out of my depth. You have to understand. You're so sure of yourself in this matter. You're so certain about Lici, and I don't know her at all. How am I to make the kind of decisions you're asking of me?"
"By trusting me," the old man said, surprising himself with his passion and surety. "You're right: I am certain about Lici. I understand the way her mind works, whether because I know her, or merely because I know what it means to grow old. She's out there killing entire villages, spreading some sort of plague among the Y'Qatt. And she has to be stopped."