Sorcerer’s Moon: Part Three of the Boreal Moon Tale. Julian May
She hoped that he had only been stunned.
But should he remain partially conscious for much longer, the sigil’s pain-debt would overwhelm him. He would be helpless for three days or even longer…
If anything was to be done, she’d have to do it. It seemed obvious that they’d have to get off the gravel bar. It was too small and barren to be a satisfactory camping place. The predatory animals of the Green Morass would smell Deveron’s blood and not hesitate to swim out and attack. Her magic and his weapons might fend the beasts off during the daytime, but what would happen when she fell asleep? The small willow trees wouldn’t last long as firewood, even if she managed to ignite them.
No, there was no helping it. She would have to drag the skiff into the river and paddle to a safer place.
She pulled her wet skirts forward through her legs and tucked the cloth into the front of her belt, making it possible for her to move about more easily, then set about trying to tug and push the long narrow craft toward the water’s edge. But it was much too heavy, besides being securely wedged in place by several large rocks. With a sinking heart, she realized that it would have to be unloaded.
The rain was falling harder than ever and the rushing river made a great noise. She felt confused and on the verge of panic. Her bruises and facial cuts ached and an insidious chill stiffened her hands. She considered pulling Deveron out of the boat, but he was not a small man and she feared she’d be unable to get him back in again. She’d do better to remove the packs, but they were large and heavy, covered with oilskin and firmly lashed down. Poor Deveron was lying in a pool of blood-tinged water that would have to be bailed out. But what to do first?…
Despondency suddenly overwhelmed her like a crushing wave. Furious words burst from her lips as she screamed up at the sky. ‘It’s your fault, Source! You told him to use the damned Gateway sigil. It was supposed to transport him to a safe place – I heard him command it. Is this what you call safe?’
The anger invigorated her and restored her right-thinking. She set about rigging an improvised tent over the entire boat, using a large oilskin along with rawhide cord that had tied down the packs. The three paddles served as poles and heavy stones substituted for tentpegs.
Her fingers were going numb and she was shivering badly by the time she finished. She would have to find more suitable clothing quickly or risk collapsing from exposure. Deveron had packed plenty of extra things, and the third pack she opened contained what she required. She stripped to the skin and put on woolen trews that she rolled to fit her short legs, two pairs of stockings, waxed-leather buskins that were only a trifle too large, a heavy tunic, and a fleece vest. One of the smaller oilskins served as a raincape. She found knitted fingerless mitts and a long scarf to wrap around her neck, and pulled a fur cap over her ears. After covering Deveron with a blanket and wrapping his wounded head in a shirt, she rested for a while beneath the meager shelter before beginning the hard work of shifting the packs.
Even though most of her clothing was already damp, she felt much warmer. A delicious languor spread through her body. She heard the crashing river and raindrops rattling on oilskin. Through slowly closing eyes, she saw a black wall of spruce trees on the shore, undergrowth tossing in the wind, and a sudden gleam of – what?
Was there something out there?
Fear jolted her awake. She struggled to her feet, used her talent to search the dark forest, but relaxed again when she scried no living thing. She and Deveron were alone in the wilderness. Alone on a tiny river island that was empty save for a patch of stunted willows –
She stiffened as her gaze swept over the little trees. Brown water now covered the base of every thin trunk. The river was rising. Without her noticing, the gravel bar had shrunk to half of its previous length.
Source! her terrified mind shrieked on the uncanny wind. What am I to do?
There was no reply.
Working frantically, she dismantled the shelter and returned the paddles and all of the unloaded equipment to the skiff. Then she surveyed the tilted craft. What would happen when the water rose under it? Would it capsize?
Not if you get in and weight it on the high side.
She gave a great start and almost lost her footing in the slippery mud. Then she gave a shrill laugh. ‘Thank you for the reassurance, Source! Just make certain we don’t flip in the rapids or go over a waterfall after we float free. I really don’t know how to paddle this thing.’
He does. It’s time to revive him, Induna. Do it now while there’s still time, before the Pain-Eaters begin to feed.
‘Source, do you mean –’
But she knew what was meant.
Cautiously, she levered herself into the skiff so they were lying face to face, then fastened their belts loosely together. Whatever happened would happen to both of them. She tucked translucent oilskin over their bodies to fend off the worst of the rain, enclosing them in golden gloom. It was almost cosy, she thought.
With the utmost caution she unfastened the chain of the sigil called Subtle Gateway and eased the moonstone into his wallet, which she reattached to his belt. Then she opened the front of both their shirts.
A tremendous clap of thunder exploded overhead, shaking the very earth and causing the grounded skiff to lurch.
‘So you Lights disapprove, do you? Then rage and howl and shake the stars from their courses if you can! But know that I’ll free him from you again, just as I did before. Your feast is over before it begins.’
She chanted the invocation with one hand resting between her breasts. The damp skin softened and became as yielding as bread dough. She reached through soft flesh and bone into her own beating heart and drew forth a tiny thing no larger than a finger-joint, a pearl-colored female image that was alive and moving. Her entire body shuddered and seemed on the verge of dissolution, then regained its mortal solidity. But she was diminished, deprived of a significant portion of vital energy, and she knew that this time the sacrifice would take a toll much greater than it had before.
Will I recover? she wondered. But it didn’t matter. He would.
Her eyesight was beginning to fade as she pressed the shining little homuncule into his breast. It vanished and so did his agony. He was free. She heard him crying her name on the wind.
Induna!
In her dream she was content, smiling as the dragon pulled her down and down and down, into the black abyss.
The darkness brightened. Rainbow reflections shimmered on a quicksilver mirror. She saw again the awful gaping jaws and gemlike eyes of the Morass Worm, and watched that ghastly visage melt and metamorphose into a familiar human face. His.
She woke.
He sat beside her, holding one of her hands. She lay in a warm, comfortable bed in a small room where wan sunlight shone through a leaded window of pebble-glass. Two women stood on either side of Deveron, smiling down at her. One was tall and fairhaired, dressed like a common serving wench, but with a bold and commanding bearing for all that she was still in the first blush of maidenhood. The girl’s left wrist was bound in a splinted dressing. The second woman was much older but very comely. She was a tiny person who stood less than five feet tall. Enormous green eyes dominated a sweet unlined face. Her hair, of mingled silver and gold, was done up in two long plaits.
‘The worm,’ Induna whispered. ‘The devouring worm!’
‘Nay,’ Deveron said, wiping her brow with a cool cloth. ‘It rescued us, love. Unaccountable as it may seem, the dragon somehow brought the skiff with us inside to the very destination we originally sought: Castle Morass. You are resting in a village nearby.’
‘We had been expecting you, my dear,’ the very small woman said. ‘The Source told us you would be coming.’ Her smile was mischievous. ‘I admit your manner of deliverance was unexpected. You were brought by Vaelrath, one of the few of her ferocious ilk