Sigquaya

  The girl’s face fell.

  “I know all of it. I was there. I’ve been there for some time now. Watching you . . .”

  At that, her daughter’s face went from stricken to outraged, her eyes narrowing and her mouth opening to protest.

  “Admiring you,” Rhiana went on with a faint smile.

  Arteura held her outburst as the puzzled look returned. “How?”

  “I followed you one day, months ago now. I was returning from the fields, and I saw you and your brother sneaking off outside the gates and past the Sadrean.” She shrugged. “I followed.”

  “Bu-bu—” Arteura stammered.

  “Imagine my surprise when I saw how good you two were.” Rhiana’s smile broadened. “With each other. With your weapons. The tenderness and the fury.” She chuckled. “You with your swords. And both of you are so good with bows that I should send you out hunting. The gods know we could use the meat!”

  Despite her racing heart, Arteura’s face flushed, and she gave her mother a small, prideful smile.

  Rhiana placed a hand on Arteura’s shoulder and squeezed. “And now, with Sigquaya.”

  Arteura rocked back on her heels, her eyes wide in horror, as if her deepest secret had just been laid bare.

  “It’s okay,” Rhiana reassured her.

  “But I don’t . . . I-I don’t even know what it is. I didn’t know what I was doing. It was the water. The water seemed to—”

  “Know what to do, all on its own,” Rhiana finished for her.

  Arteura could only nod.

  “That, my daughter, is Sigquaya.” Rhiana moved closer. “But here is the thing. After you and Marcus left, I went to the pool myself. I placed my hand in. Right where you were.” She shook her head in wonder. “Arteura, it's like a power I’ve never felt before.”

  “I-I didn’t know,” was all the girl could stutter.

  Rhiana stroked her hair. “How could you?” she said, her words soothing. “Neither did I. It was amazing. Exhilarating.”

  Arteura again blushed, trying and failing to look her mother in the eye. She didn’t know whether she felt pride, shame, relief, or panic. Maybe it was a boiling cocktail of all of it.

  Rhiana heaved a long sigh. “Oh, I have so much I wish to teach you.”

  At that, Arteura raised her eyes in hopeful anticipation. Rhiana placed a finger on her daughter's lips in caution. “Both in the ways of Sigquaya, and in the secrecy inherent in its use.” She looked back the way they had come. “No one can know. Ever.”

  “No one knows of your gifts?”

  “Not even your father, as you know,” she answered. “Or Marcus, for that matter.”

  “But you’ve healed Marcus.”

  “Slowly, yes.” Rhiana smiled. “At one time. Not so much lately. He’s . . . changed.”

  “He’s growing up, Mother.”

  Rhiana laughed, but it came out more as a melancholy sigh. “He’s growing away. At least from me.”

  “He’s a boy,” Arteura remarked, almost scornfully. “He’s just, I don’t know, exerting his independence.”

  Rhiana shrugged, but she was unconvinced. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  Arteura nodded. Marcus had seemed fine to her. Maybe a little distant. He still joked around at times. They still talked about the trials and struggles of school, though honestly his were getting less and less frequent with his training and growing strength. But he could also flash to anger at the slightest provocation. He wasn’t as talkative lately either. He’d been spending less and less time at home and, as she thought about it, less time with her as well.

  Maybe her mother had a point.

  All of it was raising questions she didn’t want to answer, taking her down a path she didn’t want to follow. Arteura loved her brother very much, but she also didn’t want him to change, though she knew he would. He had to. She didn’t know what else to say. Instead, she changed the subject. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”

  “Ah, that,” Rhiana drawled, looking down the darkness of the passage toward the Gildrom, happy to put her mind to something else. She sighed and bit her lip. “There is so much life at the Mihtcarr, I just—”

  Arteura grasped her arm, sucking in breath. Her words came in a rush. “You think the Gildrom has it, too?”

  “Maybe.” Rhiana nodded. “Maybe more.”

  Arteura followed her mother’s gaze, a conspiring look settling on her face. “Okay then,” she said. “Let’s find out.”

  As they walked, Arteura asked, “Will you teach me now?” With a little weaving motion of her fingers, she added, “Now that I know that you know that I know.” She drew out the last know, looking at her mother and smiling expectantly.

  “Yes, of course.” Rhiana returned the smile. “I said I would. But I have to say, Arteura, you know so much already. Taking the clove berries and flowers and combining them with the water—that was wonderful!”

  “It just seemed like it would work.” Arteura shrugged as she walked. “Cloves are medicinal. They’re pungent.”

  “They are,” Rhiana agreed. “And they did. I examined Marcus that night. You would never be able to tell his nose was even broken.”

  “Not even a scar?”

  Rhiana shook her head, chuckling. “Not even.”

  “Too bad.” Arteura cocked her half-grin. “I think he kind of wanted one.”

  “Oh, he has plenty more,” Rhiana said. “Trust me. That was a nice shot, by the way.”

  Arteura smiled self-consciously and kicked a loose pebble. “Thanks.”

  They walked down a long, gently sloping stretch, with the Gildrom entrance in the distance. Just before the cavern, Rhiana held up, looking at Arteura. “You have never been here before, have you?”

  “No,” she answered. Still, her body shuddered at the thought of where they were. “You?”

  Rhiana’s jaw tightened. “Only one time.”

  This puzzled Arteura. “But not with Tristan.”

  “No, I just—I just couldn’t.”

  “Who then?”

  Rhiana let out a deep breath and dropped her gaze. “My sister.”

  “You had a sister?!” The question echoed off the walls.

  “Ssshh, yes,” Rhiana hissed. “Her name was Skye. She was . . .” Her eyes misted, and she looked away again. “She was a little more than two when she was called.”

  “Two?!” Arteura exclaimed. “Gods!”

  “Arteura, please,” Rhiana scolded, then added in a strained whisper. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Yes, a little over two,” Rhiana continued. “That’s why I couldn’t be here when Tristan . . .” Her lip trembled and tears spilled, and she growled in frustration, swiping at the wet streaks trailing down her cheeks. With a strained effort, she straightened herself. “But, here we are.”

  Arteura threw an arm around her and pulled her close. “To make some good come from this godsforsaken place, hopefully,” she said.

  “Yes,” Rhiana answered, shaking off her regret. “That sounds about right.”

  At that they stepped into the wide cavern.

  With only one torch, the Gildrom looked ominous and haunted and, in a way, it was. Like her brother, Arteura had heard the Legends and read the stories. But nothing could have prepared her for the feelings overwhelming her as she stepped into the Gildrom, where it all had happened—Tristan, Skye, and so many others. She could only imagine the torment they must have gone through, but even so, what she felt was almost physical, like the feel of rough fabric against her skin. She shivered. Shadows leapt around the walls, and the pool looked like a gaping, ravenous mouth. Rhiana stepped forward, holding the torch high as she approached the edge of the Gildrom. Arteura joined her. Tiny pebbles were kicked loose by their feet and dribbled into the pool’s mouth.

  And fell silently into the distant void.

  The two looked over the edge. There was nothing. Only a deep, dry shaft disappear
ing into an inky black hole.

  There was no water.

  “What the . . .” Arteura’s mouth gaped as she looked to her mother.

  “I-I don’t understand,” Rhiana said, puzzled. She looked around the cavern, throwing torchlight this way and that.

  Shadows bounced. Pyrite glittered. This was the place, she was sure of it.

  “There should—” Her breath caught. “There should be water here.”

  She lit the pool’s mouth once again. “This should be full. It was full. This is where Tristan—where he, where Skye . . .” She could only shake her head.

  A spent torch sat in one of the sconces on the wall, barely more than a charred nub, but Rhiana pointed to it with her lit one. “Grab that.”

  Arteura eased it out and brought it to her mother, who held the lit torch under it until the tip sparked to life.

  “What are you doing?” Arteura asked. “This won’t last.”

  “It doesn’t need to.” She tipped her head toward the pool’s mouth. “Drop it over.”

  Nodding in understanding, Arteura stepped up, looked over the edge, and dropped the old torch down the hole. Rhiana held hers over the side as they looked on. It fell and fell, becoming barely more than a pin prick before winking out with a faint hiss and splash.

  “The water’s there,” Arteura said.

  “But it should be here,” Rhiana answered. “At our feet.”

  “What do you think has happened?”

  “I don’t know,” Rhiana said, determination slowly crossing her face. “But the next ceremony is only in a few days.” She looked at her daughter. “I think we should be here.”

  Arteura looked horrified. “Why??”

  “I get it, Arteura. I don’t relish the thought any more than you do.” Rhiana looked around the dimly lit cavern, as if listening for something. “But still yourself for a moment.”

  The girl looked at her mother curiously, but did as she asked.

  After a moment, Rhiana spoke. “Tell me what you feel?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t understand.”

  “I believe you will,” Rhiana said. “I didn’t pay attention at first either. It took me a moment.”

  “Wait!” Arteura exclaimed. The sensation returned, the one she’d felt as she first entered the cavern, like rough fabric against her skin. “Is it . . . like a tingling?”

  “Yes. But where? Where do you feel it?”

  The girl paused. It was there. All over. She’d shrugged it off the first time. And yet . . .

  She slowly raised her hands, looking at her palms, at her fingertips, then back to her mother. Rhiana nodded. “Yes. So do I.”

  “What is it?”

  Patiently, Rhiana said, “Think.”

  Arteura’s brow wrinkled, but then her eyes widened.

  Rhiana nodded. “Yes. There is magic here.”

  “But,” Arteura said, curious again, “there is no water. Nothing to touch. How is it—how are we—”

  Rhiana looked around at the walls, the ceiling, the pool’s gaping maw. “I don’t know. But that is why we should be here for the next ceremony.”

  “Someone is using Sigquaya?” the girl asked in disbelief. “For this? Is that even possible?”

  “Yes, sadly,” Rhiana answered through gritted teeth. “The water would be subservient. Reluctant, but it would obey.”

  “I thought Sigquaya was used to heal, to nurture. For life, like you said.”

  Rhiana couldn’t believe it either, but she also couldn’t come up with any other explanation.

  “It is,” she answered. But then she shook her head; she was as confused as her daughter. Rhiana’s mother had taught her of Sigquaya’s healing aspects. But, like any rebellious teen, Rhiana had experimented with pushing the limits of the magic’s potential. The water complied, but the familiar tingling of her hands turned to an almost burning sting the more she pushed. Only when she accidentally drowned an unfortunate tree squirrel did she realize that her gifts truly had a darker side.

  She shuddered. What if someone had continued down that monstrous path?

  She came here looking for answers. Now, the Gildrom had given her an entirely new puzzle, one even more disturbing and tragic.

  “We can find out more in a few days, Arteura,” Rhiana said. “There’s nothing we can do until then. For now, you asked why I was here.” She turned from the Gildrom and headed back up the passageway toward Brynslæd. “Come with me. I’ve got something else I need to show you.”

  12

  The Blackberry Path and

  the Hole in the Wall

  I knew it was an unfinished conversation. It was just a matter of time.

  The sun was behind us, sinking well into the mountain now. Both of our stomachs were rumbling, so it had to be close to dinnertime. Thanks to Marshaan—well, thanks to us, really—we would probably miss that, too.

  We were well into trudging down the blackberry path, still an hour or more from Cierra, when Rahn finally asked, “When do you plan to leave?”

  I thought for a moment. “I know the next Hæðn ceremony is due soon, probably within the next week. I was planning to go then.”

  “Do you even know how long you’ll be gone? What will we tell Daina?”

  “We?”

  “Yes, we. I told you, I’m coming with you.”

  “We’ve been over this.”

  “Not really, no, we haven’t. What if something were to happen to you? And answer the damn question, what are we going to tell Daina?”

  “We aren’t going to tell her anything. I’m planning to leave before first light. Then return at dusk, if all goes well. She’ll probably just think I’ve been in the gardens, or on the threshing floor. She probably won’t even ask. We’re almost adults here, after all.”

  Rhan tsked his tongue against his teeth and rolled his eyes. “Sneaking away like that, hoping she won’t notice, certainly isn’t an adult thing to do, Caden, and you know it.”

  “Shut up,” I said, backhanding him across the arm. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

  “No,” he answered. “I can’t. Like I said, I’m coming with you.”

  “Drop it, okay?”

  “No.”

  “Why are you so stubborn?”

  “Why are you?” he countered.

  “Because it just feels like something I have to do. Like . . . I don’t know, like an itch that just bugs the heck out of you until you have to scratch it.”

  “You care about this.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s important to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” Rahn shrugged. “Mine are the same reasons. I care about you. You’re important to me. To both of us, Daina and me.”

  “But what if we’re caught? I don’t want you to get in trouble just because of me.”

  Rahn chuckled at that. “Daina only has so much anger she’s capable of,” he said, giggling. “If it’s both of us, we’ll only get in half as much trouble each. See? It's just simple math.”

  “But what about Marshaan? Or Telluras?”

  “Let’s just not get caught, okay?”

  “Probably for the best,” I said. “Yeah.”

  We hadn’t taken but another dozen steps. “So, when do we leave?” Rahn asked.

  I growled, exasperated. I don’t even know why we went through this, but it’s almost like a ritual, and it usually ends the same way. Rahn out-logics me, or at least out-argues—wears me down, more like—and I end up giving in to whatever it was he wanted anyway. It had been this way ever since we’d met. In this case, both of us knew at the outset that he would likely be coming.

  “Fine,” I answered. “Three days.”

  He nodded. “Three days it is, then.”

  Finally, we made it back to Cierra. On the way up the hillside, Marshaan stuck his head out of an inn, appropriately called The Hole in the Wall, and whistled.

  “You two,” he gruffed. “Get in here.”
r />   Curiously we looked at one another, then about-faced and walked back.

  The Hole served as Cierra’s tavern, guesthouse, and resident gossip center. As we walked in, Marshaan and Telluras were there, sitting at a table off to the side, along with another man, Peata. A few other Cierrans were here and there throughout the tavern, greeting us with raised chins and smiles. The whole place had a low hum of conversation and camaraderie. We caught the eye of Delia, the bartender, and ordered a couple mugs of lager.

  As we sat, no one spoke. Marshaan and Telluras just kept eyeing us like prosecutors waiting for a confession. Peata had his typically contented look, as if nothing had ever gotten to him, and nothing ever could. He seemed just as pleased to quietly sip his beer in peace as to engage in whatever conversation was to come between the remaining four of us.

  Peata appeared to be about my father’s age. He was a little shorter than me, with a stocky build, a smooth, unlined face, peaceful eyes, and a receding hairline. He was the type of man you instantly liked and felt a kindred spirit with, as if you could tell him your innermost secrets and he would not only listen, but he would completely understand and likely give you sound, sage advice no matter the subject. He always wore a loose-fitting, cream-colored tunic and woolen, deep brown pants that I swore would have driven me nuts as itchy as they looked.

  He was also a Curate. Well, the Curate. There were a few elder Cierrans who kept our community’s archives. They were the storytellers. The sages. The ones we looked to for advice and guidance in matters of community and culture. They kept the Scrolls of our history, which were like a running storyline of Cierra’s past, and maybe a guide to its future. Peata, as Curate, was the overseer of the Scrollreaders. I suppose if we were in Brynslæd, he would be like the Elder. But, unlike the Elder, he was actually a decent human being. You didn’t sense any airs of secrecy or supremacy around him. He was a genuinely nice guy. Plus, he had never tried to kill me, so there was that. I’d never even heard him raise his voice in anger.

  Until now.

  Peata was the first to speak to us, almost matter-of-factly. “What in the name of Ahredai are you two thinking?”

  Rahn and I looked at each other, then at Marshaan and Telluras, and back to Peata.