Chapter 30

Unable to sleep, Siena rose when the night was still black. She drew back the curtain that enclosed the alcove she slept in and stepped out. The stone floor was cold under her feet. Pulling her nightdress close around her, she went to her desk and lit a candle. The Book of Xochitl lay on the table open. For a moment she paused over it, her eyes running over the words that had brought her solace so many times.

But they were only ink on paper now, guttering candles ready to puff out before the storm. Suddenly angry, she slammed the book. The action took something out of her and she leaned against the desk, trying to keep her panting from turning to sobs.

“What comes for us, Xochitl?” she whispered. “Where are you when we need you?”

As always, there was no answer. Taking the candle, Siena left her quarters and went out into the common room. It was a huge room, with a high, domed ceiling. A large sycamore tree grew up in the center of the room, flowers and other plants crowding around its base. Leaded glass skylights were set into the domed ceiling, providing light for Tenders and plants alike. No one knew how to make that glass anymore—no one within reach of Rane Haven anyway—and two had broken over the years, their panes replaced with crude plaster.

Rane Haven had been built by Roxin Delanteran during the height of Tender power, in the last century of the Empire. A powerful and influential Tender, Roxin had been exiled from the imperial court, sent out here to the middle of nowhere. But she had not lost everything and she had used her still-considerable wealth to see that she and those women who were exiled with her did not live in squalor. Years of inadequate maintenance had stolen much of its grandeur, but it was still an impressive building and Siena liked to walk around the rooms in the early morning darkness, gazing at statuettes set into alcoves in the walls, or admiring an old mosaic set into a ceiling. The candlelight was friendlier than the harsh daylight, softening broken edges, hiding cracks and glossing dulled colors.

As Siena stood before the sycamore tree she noticed something she had not seen before, what looked like a black stain low on the trunk. She held up the candle and went closer. The stain seemed to be oozing some sort of dark fluid with almost a purplish hue to it. Siena reached out to touch it but a sudden sense of wrongness assailed her and she pulled her hand back and rubbed it on her nightdress. She peered closer at the dark wetness. It stank of decay and it almost seemed—

A sudden pounding at the front door made her jump.

Alarmed, Siena hurried down the hallway. “Who is it?” she called, not unbarring the door.

“Let me in! It’s me, Netra!”

Hurriedly, Siena unbarred the door and opened it. Netra fell into her arms, sobbing. Her robe was torn, her hair in wild disarray. There was a long scratch down the side of her face. Siena looked over her shoulder into the faint light of early morning. Netra was alone.

“Netra.” Siena gave her a little shake to get her attention. “Netra, where is Gerath?”

“She’s…dead,” Netra choked. “It…killed her.”

Dread filled Siena’s heart. So the nightmare was beginning in earnest. She helped the young woman back along the hallway to the common room, wondering how she would ever find words to comfort her when she had none to comfort herself. She sat down with her on the hearth and then just held her, not speaking, waiting until Netra was ready to speak on her own. In truth, she did not know if she was ready to hear what Netra had to say. Gerath was dead, and she, Siena, had sent her to her death. What have I done? Curious faces began to poke into the room, but Siena warned them back with a shake of her head. Netra had been through enough already. She didn’t need everyone standing around staring at her. The faces left grudgingly, until only Brelisha remained, her arms folded over her chest. But she came no closer.

At last Netra’s shaking subsided and she pulled away from Siena. Her eyes tried to find Siena’s and failed. Siena took Netra’s hands and held them, forcing herself to appear calmer than she felt. There was no place now for her own fears. Netra needed her. Everything else must wait.

“It was…some kind of monster.” Her voice was raw. “It…jumped on Gerath…she…didn’t have a chance.” She shuddered and squeezed Siena’s hands so tightly it hurt.

“It’s okay, Netra. You’re safe now.” Even to Siena the words sounded hollow.

Netra’s eyes were shadows. Fatigue and horror etched her face. The scratch was livid in the dim light. “No, I’m not. None of us are. Nowhere’s safe from…from that thing.”

Siena felt the weight on her heart grow heavier and she had to fight to keep her voice even. “Tell me what happened from the beginning.”

“We…we were almost there, when Gerath got mad at me and told me to stay behind. But I went ahead anyway. It wasn’t fair of her.” Some of Netra’s natural defiance seemed to assert itself and she sat up straighter, but she still didn’t meet Siena’s eyes.

“It’s not important now,” Siena murmured.

“I hid. I was watching when she got to the village.” Now she did look at Siena. “They laughed at her when she told them she was there for Testing. They just…laughed.” For a moment she forgot her horror, reliving this.

Then she winced, as if something struck her. “Then it came. It…it was looking for her. Looking for us! It didn’t even go after anyone else, it just wanted to kill us because we’re Tenders.” She pulled her hands away from Siena and wrapped her arms around herself. “Why would it do that? Why does it hate us so much?” She turned her haunted gaze back on Siena. “Why did Xochitl send us there? Why did she want Gerath to die?”

It wasn’t Xochitl who sent you there, Netra. It was me, was what Siena wanted to say. “What was it, Netra? What did it look like?”

“Like…it was made of red granite. There was a deep gash across its face. It was huge.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a bear or some other wild animal?” Siena asked this without hope. She already knew it wasn’t. Her own sense of foreboding was like bile in her throat. She clutched at straws, knowing they would break under her.

“I would know a bear or any other animal,” Netra said angrily. “You know me better than that. And you didn’t…you didn’t see what I did. It had no akirma. No flow of Song was connected to it.”

 “You saw it? You were beyond? But you can’t go beyond yet. I just asked Brelisha about it…”

Netra looked away. “I’ve been doing it for a while now. I was going to tell you.”

Siena looked at her skeptically. Going beyond took a great deal of concentration. She couldn’t imagine how Netra could have done it while some monster was attacking her.

As if knowing what she was thinking, Netra drew out her sonkrill and clasped it tightly. “I didn’t do it on my own. My sonkrill helped me.”

“Your sonkrill helped you go beyond?” That was even harder to believe.

“I touched it and I was there. And then it helped me hide from the creature. Without its help I’d be dead like…” She trailed off with a sob.

Siena gaped at her. “It helped you hide from the monster? How can that be?” Something suspiciously like hope wanted to flare up inside her.

“I know how it sounds, but it did. I really believe it,” Netra said, somewhat defiantly. “I’m not making it up.”

“No,” Siena said weakly, “I mean, I believe you. It’s just…a lot to take in at once.” Did she believe? It seemed impossible. Netra had been through a terrible ordeal; she might have imagined almost anything under the strain. But she wanted to believe. If Netra’s sonkrill helped her then it might mean that Xochitl was finally listening to them once again. Now, when they needed hope most of all. “You need to rest now,” she said, standing and taking Netra’s hand. “We can talk about it more later.”

Netra allowed herself to be helped to her feet. “What are we going to do?” she whispered. “It hates Tenders. What if it comes here? What if it followed me?” She shot a frightened look at the windows, as if expecting them to burst inward at that moment.

“Don’t worry about that now, Netra.” She led Netra to her room. Netra burrowed under her blankets and turned away as soon as she lay down on her bed. Siena looked down on her for a moment, wishing there was something more she could do, some solace she could offer. But the truth was that she was just as frightened as this girl and she had no idea what they could do, what they should do. She motioned to Cara, who was sitting wide-eyed on her bed, and together they left the room. Siena shut the door softly behind them.

“What happened, Haven Mother?” Cara’s hair was still tangled with sleep and her face was pale. “Where’s Gerath?”

“I’ll tell you when I tell the rest. Go and gather them now, if there are any who are still sleeping.”

Most were already coming out of their rooms, those that were in this wing anyway. Cara ran off to the other wing of the Haven to get the rest. In a few minutes they were all gathered in the common room. They were eight in all.

Siena waited for them to get themselves settled before she spoke. “Gerath was killed,” she said. A stricken silence settled over the room and eyes went to the sagging chair that Gerath always sat in.

Jolene put a bandaged hand over her mouth and choked out, “I’m sorry. So sorry.” Her eyes filled with tears. “It’s my fault. I should never have—”

“Stop it,” Siena said sternly. “It was my decision. I sent them there, not you.” Mother forgive me. I sent Gerath to die.

“What happened?” Bronwyn asked quietly.

“They were…they were attacked.” Her legs felt weak suddenly and she sat down.

“By what?”

“Some kind of monster apparently,” Brelisha interrupted. “Really. A monster. That girl has too much imagination. I told you she should not be allowed to go. I told you the whole thing was a bad idea.” The bony woman’s chin quivered as if the very idea of a monster outraged her and she fixed Siena with an accusing glare.

“Brelisha. Please.” This was already hard enough. Siena didn’t need Brelisha making it harder. “This is not some flight of fancy. Whatever her other faults, Netra has a clear head. And she’s not a girl anymore, she’s a young woman.”

“Then it must have been some kind of wild animal. A bear perhaps,” Bronwyn said.

“Netra’s probably seen more bears than all of us put together. I don’t believe that and neither do you. If she says some kind of monster attacked them, then I believe a monster attacked them, hard as it may be to believe.” She thought of the Book of Sorrows then. Around him came legions of dark, twisted creatures...

“But a monster?” Donae said. She was a thin, nervous woman. “All unnatural creatures were banished by the Mother during the Banishment, when Melekath and his spawn were sealed away. It says so in the Book.” She looked to the other women for support. A couple nodded with her.

“And what if the prison has cracked?” Siena felt the quiver of fear inside her as she voiced every Tender’s nightmare aloud for the first time.

The Tenders reacted as if she’d stuck them full of cactus needles. All traces of sleepiness were gone now. Immediately the room was filled with the babble of voices. Cara turned white. Brelisha just glared at her.

“Stop,” Siena said. When the babble continued she rapped her knuckles hard on the table. “Be quiet!” she yelled. Gradually the others subsided.

“I’m only bringing this up as a possibility.” She looked at the women around her, wondering how many of them had also noticed the dissonance in LifeSong. Jolene caught her eye and Siena was reminded of their conversation in the garden a few nights ago. What if it’s not Melekath? What if it’s poison leaking through from the abyss? Which is worse?

“Just because Netra thought she saw a monster is no reason to jump to the conclusion that Melekath is breaking free of his prison,” Brelisha said. “There are many other, less drastic explanations.”

“Name one.”

Brelisha looked surprised. “Well I…I don’t know right off hand. But I’m sure that careful questioning of Netra will give us some place to start. Some of us will need to go talk to the villagers as well, find out what they saw.”

“Would you just stop denying it!” Siena shouted suddenly, all the worry and the fear of the past few days boiling over at once. “Stop lying to yourself! You’ve heard the dissonance too. You’ve read the Book of Sorrows. What else can it be?”

The others stared at her, shocked by her outburst. Even Brelisha looked a little surprised. But then she drew her haughtiness around her like a blanket. “I don’t know what else it could be. But I won’t run off like a scalded cat without more information. We need to know more. We should try a remembering.” A remembering could be used to look into a person’s memories, play them back and experience them again. It was difficult and these days required two Tenders to manage it. Unfortunately, it was also often painful for the one undergoing it, especially since she had to relive the experience as if it was happening for the first time. “Then we could see and judge for ourselves what she says she saw.”

Siena sagged back in her chair. “That is a lot to ask of her after what she’s been through.”

“Then what else do you think we should do?”

“What if we join in a circle and look into the River? If the prison has weakened, we may be able to see it there.” All events in the world of living creatures and plants, their causes and resulting effects, were reflected in the currents and ripples of the River. No one Tender had the strength or the stability to go that deep but, by joining together, they just might be able to boost one deep enough to do it.

“No one has gone that deep since the days of Empire,” Brelisha said. “It’s too dangerous. If our joint control isn’t perfect, if we push too hard, we could lose hold of whoever we sent there. She would be torn apart. Even if we did manage it, which of us has the knowledge to read the currents there?”

“I still don’t—” Siena began, but a voice from the doorway cut her off.

“It’s okay, Siena. I’ll do it.”

“Netra!” Siena said, coming out of her chair. “You need to be in bed, sleeping.”

“I can’t sleep,” Netra said, coming in to stand before them. There were hurts in the angles of her face that no young woman should carry. Her eyes rested on Brelisha. “Gerath only screamed once,” she said.

Brelisha paled, her hand coming to her throat.

“We can do it tomorrow,” Siena said. “You need time to—”

“No. Let’s do it now. Let’s get it over with.”

          

The Tenders filed out to the chapel quietly, not speaking or looking at each other. The same chill gripped them all. Siena was last, having gone back to her rooms to get her sonkrill. Brelisha looked at her oddly as she entered the chapel with it hanging around her neck, but said nothing. Siena went to the front of the room and stood for a moment looking up at the statue of Xochitl. The Mother looked back at her, a serene expression on her face, her arms reaching out, palms up. As a young girl she had always felt as if the Mother was reaching out to embrace her every time she entered this place.

That was so long ago, she thought. Everything was so different then. Back then the statue had had both its arms. Now one of them was broken off at the elbow. Siena remembered clearly how that had happened. It was nearly thirty years ago, during a time of terrible drought. Just when the drought was at its worst, a plague of anthraxis descended on the area. Like grasshoppers, but equipped with a stinger and jaws strong enough to tear flesh, the anthraxis devoured everything edible and then turned on the people.

When the swarm moved on, a crowd of irrational, frightened farmers and townspeople showed up at Rane Haven. The toll of drought and pestilence had been too much for them and they’d come in a mob to burn out the only ones they could blame.

Ivorie was still the Haven Mother then, a beautiful woman in her prime, with a strong, calm voice. She met them at the door of the Haven. Siena remembered that day clearly, how strong the Mother was in Ivorie. With only the power of her voice, the Haven Mother calmed the mob and sent them home, but not before several attacked the chapel and tipped over the statue of Xochitl.

She turned around and saw the others kneeling in a circle, with Netra and Brelisha in the middle. She remembered kneeling here in this very room, beside Netra’s mother, whispering as they waited for morning vows to start. Like Netra, Shakre always took the vows to heart too. And when she was around, it was easy to believe, so strong was her faith. Looking back, she saw that it was the loss of Shakre that was the beginning of the end of her faith.

Netra lay on her back, staring up at nothing. Siena knelt on the other side from Brelisha and took Netra’s hand. “Are you sure?” she whispered. Netra didn’t respond, but just closed her eyes. Siena thought how much she looked like her mother at this moment and her heart hurt.

“Then let us begin,” Brelisha said. Siena heard a difference in her voice and she looked up. The woman was staring down at Netra, her perpetual frown lessened. Gently she laid a hand on Netra’s forehead, and Siena felt something ease inside. Regardless of how she might act, Brelisha was not heartless or unfeeling. She was, after all, one of the Mother’s chosen, and she had helped raise Netra nearly as much as Siena had. In her own way she cared for her as much as Siena did.

Siena lowered her head and took her sonkrill in both hands, wondering as she did so why she had it with her. It had been a long time since she really believed it helped focus her will or made her any stronger beyond. But she could not stop thinking about Netra’s assertion that her sonkrill had come to her aid when she most needed it. She turned the lifeless bone in her hands, staring at the familiar smooth surface, and prayed that it might help her some in what was to come.

She was surprised to look up and see Brelisha take her sonkrill from a pocket in her robe. Brelisha caught Siena looking at her and gave her a defiant look before turning her eyes away. She’d heard what Netra said too. She longed to believe as much as Siena did. Brelisha’s sonkrill was the lower jawbone of a badger, the tough, strong little animals who could sometimes be found down here in the desert. And unlike some of the other Tenders, Brelisha had not simply gone out and wandered around until she found some bones that she could bring back and claim had been shown to her by a spirit guide. She had Quested four times before she had been visited by a spirit guide and led to her sonkrill. If there was one thing a person could say about Brelisha, it was that she was persistent. Siena sometimes thought she would still be Questing to this day if she’d hadn’t found her spirit guide.

Siena began a soft chant to calm her mind, and heard Brelisha join in. She let the words of the chant quiet and center her thoughts. Calmness descended over her as the fears and worries of the world were put away where they could not touch her. For her, going beyond was like opening a door. She visualized it in every detail until it was clear in her mind. Then she opened it and entered. Her body slipped away and the mists washed over her. She continued deeper into beyond and the mists parted, revealing the glowing outlines of Brelisha’s akirma nearby.

Even had Brelisha stood in a crowd Siena would have had no trouble identifying her. She had seen Brelisha’s akirma many times and recognized it easily. Akirmas were not just a uniform white glow. There were traces of other colors mixed in, along with patterns distinct to each individual. Most noticeable in Brelisha’s akirma were the streaks of dull red, the anger that Brelisha carried with her always. She clung to her anger fiercely, and Siena suspected that the other woman needed her anger to face the daily battle that was her life, much as a soldier needed his sword.

The next part was harder. Siena concentrated. Dimly she was aware of her sonkrill, clutched tight in her hands. She would take any help she could get from it now.

Siena and Brelisha were still chanting. Now, as if on cue, each altered her chant, infusing it with Selfsong, brought forth from within. What sprang forth from them was a song of joining. It was one of the simpler songs of power, one of the few remaining to the Tenders.

In response to the song, a tiny thread of light emerged from Siena’s heart, while another came from Brelisha. The two threads met and Siena felt the small charge as contact was made. They were joined now, the two of them able to pool their abilities and strengths, though only one could be the focal point of their efforts. Brelisha’s Selfsong was stronger, but Siena had better control, making her the logical one to lead here. As she’d expected, Siena had to wrest control from Brelisha. Letting go just didn’t come naturally to Brelisha.

Together they turned to Netra. The glow of Selfsong within her akirma was brighter than theirs—what was only a small blaze within the two older women was a furnace inside Netra.

At first the white glow of Netra’s akirma was undisturbed, with only faint colors and hints of patterns moving across its surface. Then a shifting blotch of fiery orange and cobalt blue surfaced. That was what they were looking for. The orange was pain, the deep blue, sorrow.

Siena acted quickly, before the blotch submerged again. From the thread of light that stretched between the two older women a new thread sprouted. It reached out and settled on the blotch.

Siena paused. So far, so good. Now came the painful part, for them as well as for Netra. Already she could feel Netra’s pain and she recoiled from it. She gathered herself, squeezed her sonkrill tighter, and then she pushed, going deeper into the memory. At the same time, she released some of her Selfsong into the connection.

This was where being joined with Brelisha was essential, for Siena did not have the strength to do this on her own, nor would Brelisha have had the fine control necessary to do this without harming Netra. Pushing too hard, or releasing too much Selfsong into another person’s akirma, could seriously damage them, on any or all levels: physically, mentally or emotionally. What she needed to do was to revive the memory—like blowing on the embers of a dying fire—without adding so much Song that it flared up and burned out of control, becoming a forest fire that raged through Netra’s akirma and perhaps even flashing back through the connection and harming the two older Tenders as well.

Even from the depths of beyond, Siena heard Netra cry out.

Then the memory came back to life and from inside Netra they relived the experience all over again.

They saw the monster come out of the forest. They heard what it said to Gerath. Gerath ran, and the monster chased her. But when the monster leaped on Gerath, Netra convulsed and a burst of energy exploded outward from her, flaring back down the thread of light connecting her to the two older women.

Siena and Brelisha were thrown backwards and the link was broken.

          

Siena opened her eyes to see Karyn bent over her, her brow lined with worry. “I’m okay,” Siena said, struggling to sit up. “How is Netra?”

Netra lay on the floor, not moving. She appeared to be unconscious. Brelisha knelt over her, her face pale, tears in the corners of her eyes. Siena had to take several deep breaths, trying to push away the image of the creature stomping on Gerath until she was only pulp, then she crawled over to Netra. Brelisha moved aside and Siena gathered Netra’s head into her lap. For a time, no one spoke while Siena rocked back and forth, soothing Netra as she had soothed her when she was a little girl.

Brelisha was the first to stand. Being second in the connection she had not experienced the memory quite as strongly as Siena, but she had gotten enough. She left the circle and touched the remaining hand of the Mother’s statue as if to gather strength, then turned to her sisters. They stared up at her, except for Siena, who was still lost in Netra.

“That thing is a minion of Melekath. Of that I am sure.” Some of her resolve returned as she spoke and her face hardened. Brelisha was stubborn and opinionated, but she was not blind. Once she was proven wrong, she would change her stance. Once she got moving, she was an implacable force. Now she agreed with Siena, and no one would argue with her. She lowered her head and charged on.

“Furthermore, I believe that thing was one of the Guardians.”

A collective gasp went through the little group.

“You all know how much I have studied the history of our order, especially the time of the Banishment.” Not only had Brelisha read and reread the books in the Haven’s small library, in her younger days she had journeyed to several of the closer Havens to study the books they held. It was no accident that her quarters adjoined the library, or that she was responsible for teaching new Tenders. “What I saw in Netra’s memories—” Here her eyes flickered to the young woman lying on the floor, and she winced slightly. “I believe matches the description of Tharn.”

Fearful exclamations arose from the Tenders. They looked nervously around them, fearing what might already be coming for them. “What do we do?” Donae whimpered.

“We need to tell the FirstMother in Qarath. Maybe she has received some sign,” Bronwyn said.

“Qarath is days and days away. Which one of us will go that far and will it be too late when we return? If we return?” Karyn tried to appear calm and emotionless, but her voice caught as she finished and she shot a glance over her shoulder.

“Maybe we should go to Nelton and tell the king,” Owina said. Nelton was the closest city, only two days away.

“The king is nothing,” Karyn snorted. “His power barely extends beyond his own city walls and he thinks of nothing besides his dream potions.”

“For now I need help getting Netra to bed. Then we can meet in the common room and discuss this,” Siena said calmly, far more calmly than she felt. “It’s not as dire as it seems, sisters. I think it’s highly unlikely that Tharn is coming here any time soon. Remember, Netra escaped from him, and he did not pursue her here.”

She caught Brelisha’s eye and they exchanged looks, each knowing what the other was thinking. Both had seen how the Guardian went only for Gerath, ignoring the villagers. The truth was that things were direr than they seemed. The prison truly was cracked. The only real question left was when. When would Melekath be free? When would the Guardian come for them? The others—with the exception perhaps of Jolene, kneeling curled in on herself, her black hair hanging down, hiding her face—didn’t know this yet and they didn’t need to know. There was no need to send them into a panic.

As she helped Netra from the room, Siena wondered how she was going to keep herself from panicking.

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