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Authors: Drake David
Tags: Speculative Fiction
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of the Moon, in Donelle—and accompanies me as advisor until the marriage."
"I'm Lady Tilphosa's guardian," Metra said in a distinctly cool tone as she appraised Cashel. "Who are you, sir?"
"I'm Cashel," Cashel responded, setting his feet a little wider. His voice was growing hoarse again, but his bath in sea water was no longer the cause. "I'm from Barca's Hamlet. Do you have an older brother, lady? The sort of guy who thinks if he can't buy what he wants, he'll buy toughs to take it for him?"
"What?" said Metra in surprise. "I have three sisters, two still-born and one died as an infant. What are you talking about?"
She held a knife-shaped thing covered with symbols in the Old Script. It was a wizard's tool, an athame. Well, Cashel already knew Metra was a wizard, even if she claimed to be a priestess besides.
"I met a man in Valles," Cashel said, still harsh but now embarrassed again; this time by the women's identical expressions of puzzlement. "He looked like you. And he was dressed like you, too."
Metra lifted her chin in a gesture of denial. "I know nothing of Valles," she said curtly. "As for my robe, it's what the Children of the Mistress wear. Perhaps another of us has journeyed to Valles, but he wasn't a relative of mine."
Her eyes locked with Cashel's again. "Now, sir," she said. "Tell us what you're doing here."
"I'm not sure," Cashel said, wishing that he didn't feel so defensive. Other survivors were moving in groups. Light winked; not wizardry this time but an honest bonfire kindled with handfuls of dry grass and fed with pandanus stems. "I went to help a friend who'd fallen into a pond, and then I was here."
"Where is 'here'?" Metra demanded. "Are we on Laut?"
One of the men around the fire stood up. In a loud voice he called into the darkness, "Did the priestess get to shore? Get her over here if she did! I want to talk to her."
One of his companions called in an equally loud voice, "I don't want to talk to her. If there's any justice, she's feeding that demon snake that wrecked us. You know it was because of her!"
Metra turned toward the fire, her lips forming a hard line. Her expression reminded Cashel again of the fellow who'd tried to take the statue from him in Valles. She didn't speak.
The sky had continued to clear. Cashel could recognize most of the constellations, but they didn't look quite right. The space between the Calves was too wide, and the feet of the Huntsman were above the Drinking Cup instead of below the way they should've been.
Metra's eyes focused again on Cashel. "Well?" she said. "Are we on Laut?"
"He says he's a stranger too," Tilphosa said, frustrated and a little angry because of her advisor's attitude. "Metra, he saved my life. He pulled me from the sea!"
Cashel cleared his throat. "I was in Valles," he said. "Something... brought me here. I don't know what."
"You're a wizard?" Metra said. She took a half step back and made an obscure movement with the athame. A splutter of blue wizardlight picked out the symbol the point had drawn in the air. "You are a wizard!"
"Cashel?" said Tilphosa in surprise, raising her eyes to look at him.
"I'm not," Cashel said. He'd growled and he didn't mean to. He planted his staff firmly in front of him and twisted it as if he was trying to screw the ferrule into the gritty soil. "I'm not a wizard, but I've been told.... Well, sometimes stuff happens when I'm around, that's all."
Cashel didn't want to think about what he was. He'd done fine being a shepherd and a man folks in the borough called on for heavy lifting. That's all he wanted to be: normal.
He sighed. The world had never much cared what Cashel wanted. This business was just another example of that.
"Mistress Metra!" bawled the leader of the men around the bonfire. "If you're alive, get over here or may the Sister take me if you don't wind up back in the sea!"
The fire was drawing the survivors together. Sailors from farther down the beach straggled by, eyeing the
"I'm Lady Tilphosa's guardian," Metra said in a distinctly cool tone as she appraised Cashel. "Who are you, sir?"
"I'm Cashel," Cashel responded, setting his feet a little wider. His voice was growing hoarse again, but his bath in sea water was no longer the cause. "I'm from Barca's Hamlet. Do you have an older brother, lady? The sort of guy who thinks if he can't buy what he wants, he'll buy toughs to take it for him?"
"What?" said Metra in surprise. "I have three sisters, two still-born and one died as an infant. What are you talking about?"
She held a knife-shaped thing covered with symbols in the Old Script. It was a wizard's tool, an athame. Well, Cashel already knew Metra was a wizard, even if she claimed to be a priestess besides.
"I met a man in Valles," Cashel said, still harsh but now embarrassed again; this time by the women's identical expressions of puzzlement. "He looked like you. And he was dressed like you, too."
Metra lifted her chin in a gesture of denial. "I know nothing of Valles," she said curtly. "As for my robe, it's what the Children of the Mistress wear. Perhaps another of us has journeyed to Valles, but he wasn't a relative of mine."
Her eyes locked with Cashel's again. "Now, sir," she said. "Tell us what you're doing here."
"I'm not sure," Cashel said, wishing that he didn't feel so defensive. Other survivors were moving in groups. Light winked; not wizardry this time but an honest bonfire kindled with handfuls of dry grass and fed with pandanus stems. "I went to help a friend who'd fallen into a pond, and then I was here."
"Where is 'here'?" Metra demanded. "Are we on Laut?"
One of the men around the fire stood up. In a loud voice he called into the darkness, "Did the priestess get to shore? Get her over here if she did! I want to talk to her."
One of his companions called in an equally loud voice, "I don't want to talk to her. If there's any justice, she's feeding that demon snake that wrecked us. You know it was because of her!"
Metra turned toward the fire, her lips forming a hard line. Her expression reminded Cashel again of the fellow who'd tried to take the statue from him in Valles. She didn't speak.
The sky had continued to clear. Cashel could recognize most of the constellations, but they didn't look quite right. The space between the Calves was too wide, and the feet of the Huntsman were above the Drinking Cup instead of below the way they should've been.
Metra's eyes focused again on Cashel. "Well?" she said. "Are we on Laut?"
"He says he's a stranger too," Tilphosa said, frustrated and a little angry because of her advisor's attitude. "Metra, he saved my life. He pulled me from the sea!"
Cashel cleared his throat. "I was in Valles," he said. "Something... brought me here. I don't know what."
"You're a wizard?" Metra said. She took a half step back and made an obscure movement with the athame. A splutter of blue wizardlight picked out the symbol the point had drawn in the air. "You are a wizard!"
"Cashel?" said Tilphosa in surprise, raising her eyes to look at him.
"I'm not," Cashel said. He'd growled and he didn't mean to. He planted his staff firmly in front of him and twisted it as if he was trying to screw the ferrule into the gritty soil. "I'm not a wizard, but I've been told.... Well, sometimes stuff happens when I'm around, that's all."
Cashel didn't want to think about what he was. He'd done fine being a shepherd and a man folks in the borough called on for heavy lifting. That's all he wanted to be: normal.
He sighed. The world had never much cared what Cashel wanted. This business was just another example of that.
"Mistress Metra!" bawled the leader of the men around the bonfire. "If you're alive, get over here or may the Sister take me if you don't wind up back in the sea!"
The fire was drawing the survivors together. Sailors from farther down the beach straggled by, eyeing the
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