Winds Of Fate v(mw-1 Read online

  The dispute centered about magic. Five of the Clans used it, four did not.

  Traditionally, the four who tended and bred the horse herds were the Clans which avoided the use of magery; Hawk, Wolf, Grasscat, and Deer. the five Clans which-among other things-actually manipulated the breeding of the horses, as well as other creatures, did so by means of magic. These five had fielded many mages and Healers to their overlord, Mage Urtho. Falcon, Owl, and Raven Clans were protesting that they were not going to give up their powers, as the previous four were insisting. Two more Clans, Eagle and Fox, were ambivalent, but were disturbed by the idea of sacrificing something so integral to their lives.

  Ravenwing's own Clan, Taylesederin, was foremost in demanding that magic be eliminated from their lives.

  "Our warsteeds are everything anyone could wish; there have been no changes made to them for generations. the bondbirds are not entirely all one could wish, but is it worth holding such a dangerous, double-edged power simply to improve them a little more?" That was Ravenwing's Clan Chief, Silverhorse, the foremost opponent of magic in all its shapes and colors.

  Firemare Valavyska, Elder for the Owls, widened her eyes with contempt.

  "What, you think that is all magic does? Precisely what do you intend to do about those who do not share your scruples, our enemies who would use any weapon they have against us? Who will protect you from the attacks of mages if you banish magic from our lives?"

  "Who protected us this time?" Silverhorse shouted, gesturing wildly at the desolation beyond the tent flap. "Is it worth a repetition of that simply to have a little more Power?"

  "Magic protected you this time by giving you the means to escape, little brother," rumbled Suncat Trevavyska, of Falcons. "Magic has saved you before, and it will again. Besides, how do you propose to cleanse this land if not by magic. ~ Only magic can undo what magic has done.

  It was but the opening blow of a dispute that was to continue for days ...The last member of the Five Clans vanished into the north, and Ravenwing dried her eyes on her sleeve, swallowing the last of her tears. In the end, the dispute could not be healed, not by the softest words of the most reasonable and coolest heads in the Clans nor by any appeals to brotherhood and solidarity.

  the Five Clans-now calling themselves "Taylesederas," or "Brothers of the Hawks," for their association with the corvine and raptor bondbirds they had been developing-had determined to split from the Four Clans who wished to banish magic from their lives for all time. The Four Clans had no name for themselves at the moment-and no home, no purpose. their only plan had been to do away with magery. Now that was done, and they had no idea of what to do next.

  But Ravenwing and her fellow shamans-from all of the Nine Clans had been in separate consultations after they had determined that there would be no compromise. And Ravenwing had been chosen to present their thoughts to the Elder of Hawks.

  Silverhorse stared after the departing ones long past when the last of the dust had settled. His face was blank, as if he had not truly expected that the People could be sundered. It seemed as good a time as any to approach him.

  "Well?" she asked, jarring him from his entrancement. You have succeeded in this much; there is no longer magic among the People, other than that She and He give the shamans. Now what is your plan? Where do we go? what do we do? Will we find a homeland? Do we seek a new overlord?" He turned eyes upon her that were bleak and sad. "I do not know," he confessed. "this land is torn and poisoned by magic turned awry; there is nowhere for us to go that we may claim without displacing someone else. Yet we cannot remain here-"

  "We could," she offered. He answered with a short bark of a laugh.

  "What? And eat rock? Drink our own tears? Watch our little ones warped and changed by the magic gone wild and twisted in this place?" He laughed again, but the pain in his laughter tore at her heart. "Is that all you can offer me, shaman of the Hawk?" He continued to laugh, but it was becoming wild and hysterical.

  She silenced him with a single, open-handed slap. He stared at her-for in all her life, she had never once raised her hand to anyone, Clansman or not. She had been known as one of the softest and gentlest women in all the Clans-certainly among the shamans.

  But the past days had hardened and toughened her; and the days to come would only mean more of the same. This she knew, though she was no Seer.

  "You told me when you urged that we forsake magic, that we must trust in the Powers for our protection. Are you telling me now that you no longer believe that?" She let the acid of her words drip into the raw wound of his soul without mercy. "If that is true, then perhaps I should take my beasts and ride out after my Sundered brothers!"

  "I-" his mouth worked for a moment, before he could produce any words.

  "I believe that... but... "

  "But what?" Ravenwing looked down her long nose at him, from beneath half-closed lids. "But you do not believe they would answer if we called on them? Or is it that you are not willing to pay the price they might put on our aiding?"

  "Would they answer?" he asked, hope springing into his eyes. "Have YOU done a Seeking, shaman of the Hawk?" She nodded, slowly. "I have done a Seeking and a Calling, and I have been answered. But the price of their aid will be in blood.

  He took a deep breath. "whose?"

  "the Elders of each Clan that is left," she replied with authority. "Yours, and the other three." She watched his face change as her words struck him. It was not an easy decision that he was being asked to make. He was a relatively young man; as yet unmated, with all of his life before him. And that was part-and no small part-of the sacrifice. Yet when he had taken the Oath of the Elder, he had pledged just this thing; to lay down his life for his people at need.

  But he had, no doubt, thought if it came to that, it would be in the heat of battle-not the cold loneliness of self-sacrifice.

  His eyes widened in a glazed shock, turned inward, then focused on hers again. She nodded as she saw his attention return to her.

  "It is not an easy question," she said quietly. "Your three brother and sister Elders are being posed the same question even now. We do not expect you to answer at once-but it must be soon. the People, as you pointed out, cannot remain here long." '"And if I decline this-honor?" he asked, with a touch of painful irony.

  "then I spill my blood in place of yours," she replied steadily, having faced this possibility herself, and made her own decision. "It must be one or the other of us."

  "Leaving Hawk without a shaman.

  She shrugged. "It must be one or the other of us. that is the Price the Calling named. We four chief shaman have spoken, and agreed. All of the apprentices have promise, but none is fit or trained to function on his own. If any of the chiefs must go, that Clan must live without a shaman until an apprentice is ready." She stepped away from him, and turned to go. "I will leave you to think on this. Come to me by moonrise with your decision.

  He touched her shoulder as she turned away, stopping her.

  "I do not need until moonrise," he said, in a tone that made her heart usore. "It is not all that difficult a choice to make,, after all." He smiled, a smile sweet and without fear, and she held back her tears.

  "When will you require me?" he asked.

  It had taken a full moon for the Clans to position themselves about the glassy crater that had been their homeland, one to each prime direction. It had been hardest for Cat Clan; they had to make the half-circle around the rim to position themselves in the West.

  At sunset-in whatever manner they chose-the four Elders gave themselves for their people. Silverhorse had simply stepped off the top of the ridge, vanishing into the darkness of the crater without even a sigh. Now Ravenwing stood above the place he had fallen, her arms spread to the sky, calling on the Powers with every fiber. Behind her in a rough half-circle stood the rest Of the Clan, from the infants in arms to the oldest grandsire, adding their prayers to hers.

  And with the moon, She came.

  Her face change
d, moment to moment, from Maid to Crone, from stern Warrior to nurturing Mother, and back again. She filled the sky, and yet She stood before Ravenwing and stared deeply and directly into the shaman's eyes.

  She spoke, and Her voice filled Ravenwing's ears and mind so completely that there was room for nothing but the experience.

  "I have heard your prayers," She said, gravely, "as I have heard the prayers of your Sundered brothers. There was a price to be paid for what they asked, and there is a price to be paid for what you ask."

  "In blood?" asked a quiet voice, which Ravenwing recognized as that of Azurestar, shaman of Cat Clan. A tiny bit of her was left to wonder that she could hear the voice as clearly as if Azurestar stood beside her.

  She shook Her head. "Not in blood-in your lives, all of you. I shall give you back your homeland, but the price is vigilance." She held out Her hand, and cupped within it was the crater. In the center of the crater, and scattered about it, beneath the slag and fused stone, were shapeless things that glowed an evil green.

  "Three things destroyed the homeland," She said gravely. "the destructive spell of an enemy, the self-destruction of the Gate that you fled through, and the Final Strike of your master Urtho's death by his Champion, meant to remove his enemy as he himself died. Yet despite all this, there are many weapons of Urtho's making that still remain and could be used, buried beneath the slag and rubble. There are weapons there that are too dangerous even for those with good intentions to hold. But you have forsworn magic for all time-they will be no temptation to you." Ravenwing nodded, and felt the agreement of the rest.

  "Here, then, is the price. You must guard your new land, which you shall call the Dhorisha Shin'a-the Plains of Sacrifice, and yourselves the Shin'a'in-the People of the Plains. You must keep strangers out at all cost, unless they pledge themselves into the Clans, or are allies that you, the shamans, must call on Me to judge. Those will be marked in ways that you will recognize. You will never swear to any overlord again, but will remain always sworn only to each other and to the Powers. You have forsworn magic, and you must keep that vow. Any of your children that are born with Mage-Gift, you must either send to your Sundered brothers, bring into the craft of the shaman, or permit the shaman to block the Gift for all time." It was a sacrifice indeed; of freedom, and to a small extent, of free will-and not just for them, but for all generations. They would swear to an endless service, an endless guardianship.

  But the gain was their home.

  She felt the assent of her people, and added her own to it. the Goddess smiled. "It is well," She said, and spread out Her hands, stepped down into the crater, and began to walk. where Her feet touched, a carpet of flowers, grass, and trees sprang up, and spread, flowing over the ruined earth like a green flood, as She walked westward...Kra'heera blinked, and smiled faintly. He had forgotten how powerful the memories knotted into this weaving were. Ravenwing had been a formidable, strong-minded woman, and had managed to weave in not only the memories, but the emotions she had felt at the time.

  That, of course, was the secret of the shamanic weavings; they held the memory of every shaman who worked upon them. This weaving held not only Ravenwing, but the half dozen who had followed her in those eventful days. Other weavings held the memories of more shamans than that; often in the Plains these days, there was little to record for years or even decades.

  The most significant weavings were kept here, where all the Clans could have free access to them. There were more than four Clans now, and it was part of the training of a shaman that he come here, to experience the beginning of the Shin'a'in, the People of the Plains, for himself.

  Ravenwing was responsible for making a great deal of the early training of shaman a part of the education of every Shin'a'in, so that every Shin'a'in could invoke the Powers at need. In the event of a Clan losing their shaman, it would be less of a problem to wait on the training of another than it had been in the old days.

  She had also been responsible for insisting that whenever possible, more than one shaman and apprentice be resident with each Clan. And she had been the shaman who created the first of the Kal'enedral, those warriors who served, not any one Clan, but all of the Clans together.

  Altogether a remarkable woman, indeed.

  Kra'heera turned slowly toward his own apprentice, and waited for the memories the shaman had invoked to release the younger man. Finally Tre'valen blinked, and shook his head slightly.

  "All that is left is for you to learn the unlocking of these memories, and the weaving of them yourself," Kra'heera told the apprentice. "But that was not why I brought you here now. Have you guessed why?" Tre'valen, who had already recovered from the affect of the alien memories on his own mind, nodded. "It is because of the rumors, I think," he said. "There are rumors that the Plains have been disturbed.

  You wanted me to see for myself why it is the People guard them." Kra'heera considered moving-but the memory-trance relaxed one rather than leaving one tense, and there was nowhere more secure from listeners than this place.

  "The rumors are true," he said. "There have been intruders on the Plains, intruders that only the shaman have been able to detect. The border guards cannot stop them, indeed, they have only recently caught sight of them at a distance. They are some kind of magic-made creatures from past the Tale'edras lands, and they have entered from the northern side of the Plains, where the Plains meet the territory of the Tale'edras Clan k'sheyna."

  "The Falcons?" Tre'valen said, curiously. "I do not know them.

  "I know a little, but not a great deal," Kra'heera admitted. "I know this much of the enemy: the things that have been looking about have an incredible ability to vanish and have never been seen clearly. They have been sniffing out magic, I think, and when they find it, I think they will call that which created them."

  "They could find many things," Tre'valen said grimly.

  "And worst case, they could find the remains of the stronghold of Mage Urtho." Kra'heera nodded agreement. "I do not know if it would be possible for an attack to be mounted against the center of the Plains-but I do not know that it would not be possible."

  "What of k'sheyna?" Tre'valen asked anxiously. "Are the Hawkbrothers not pledged to help us when dangers come from out of their lands?"

  "Yes, but k'sheyna, from the little I know, is a Clan with troubles of its own," Kra'heera responded, after a moment to gather his thoughts.

  "I do not think they are capable of repulsing a single Adept just now, and if these creatures are the servants of not one, but an alliance of Adepts-well, I do not think there is much hope of aid from them." Tre'valen grimaced. "So. What is it we need do?" Kra'heera mentally congratulated his apprentice; the youngster had cut to the heart of the matter, without wasting time on things that might or might not be.

  "We need to bring together the shaman of two Clans, at least. Then, we must invoke the Kal'enedral-the leshyae-Kal'enedral, as well as what physical Swordsworn we can muster."

  "The spirits?" Tre'valen said in surprise. "We can invoke the spirit Swordsworn?"

  "If needs must, yes, we can," Kra'heera told him. "It must be done through the living Swordsworn, but it is not done lightly. I think, however, we have little choice at this moment. The spirits bring with them some of Her power, Her magic, and with these, I think we can withstand these intruders. But to accomplish all this, there is one thing more we must have."

  "Time," Tre'valen responded promptly.

  "Time," Kra'heera agreed. "And to gain time, we need a distraction for these things."

  "Hmm." Tre'valen's face grew thoughtful, and Kra'heera felt a lifting of his heart. He had not been mistaken in this young man. Tre'valen did not simply wait to do what he was told-he looked for answers.

  "The young woman that Dira spoke of-" Tre'valen said, slowly.

  "Just what is she? Why would she seek us?" Kra'heera wondered for a moment why Tre'valen's mind had turned to the strangers, but the younger man was Gifted with the ability to sift through bits
of information and extract unusual solutions. So here, in this safest of all places, the elder let his own mind range for a moment, asking for a vision that would sum up what these strangers were.

  In a moment, he had that vision; the young woman and her friendwith white uniforms, and leshyae horses.

  They were Heralds of Valdemar. He had no trouble recognizing the uniform; his cousin Kerowyn had one-though she seldom wore it willingly.

  Only one Herald had ever entered the Plains-the great and good friend of Tarma shena Tale'sedrin, long before Kra'heera had ever been born. Herald Roald was something of a minor legend among Tale'sedrin, with his spirit-horse, and his undeniable charm. Other Clans' children envied Tale'sedrin, who had hosted the verkal'enedral, the "White Swordsworn," who brought them presents and took them for rides on his beautiful spirit-horse. Kra'heera's father had been one of those so honored, and for years thereafter he had told the children and grandchildren his tales, of the wind-swift horse that had the understanding of a man.