The Black Raven - Katharine Kerr [24]
“I do. I did see that woman of the councilman’s with my own eyes, and I talked a long time with Gwira and Korla about her faint. Truly, naught else could have caused her trouble but spirit possession. And then I did walk about the councilman’s house and compound, and there be spirits there, sure enough. I did feel them like a tingling in the air round the walls. With the witchvision the gods give me, I did see an evil thing: a creature much like a stork, but it had the arms and face of a man.”
Lael swore under his breath. Niffa clasped her hands together so hard they ached.
“Huh!” Werda said. “You’ve gone pale, lass, and I blame you not, quite frankly. I did come to ask if these spirits, they’ve been a—troubling you.”
“They’ve not.”
“Good.” Werda rose, gathering her cloak around her. “If you do feel the slightest alarum, then come to me straightaway. I care not if it be in the middle of the night, young Niffa. You find yourself a lantern, Lael, and bring your daughter to my house. Do you understand me?”
“I do,” Lael said.
“But I don’t understand,” Niffa said. “Why would they come plaguing me?”
Werda merely looked at her with a twist to her mouth, as if she were wondering how Niffa could be so stupid. Lael sat like stone, but Niffa knew he was watching her. Her mouth went so dry she couldn’t force out one word.
“Ah well,” Werda said at last. “The time will come when you’ll not be able to deny the truth. When it does, you come to me, and we shall talk.” She turned to Lael. “Master Lael, I wish to paint a warding on the outside of your door. I do trust you’ll not object.”
“Of course not.” Lael got up and bowed to her. “If there be aught I can do—”
“Nah nah nah. Today we’ll do naught but prepare the door.” Werda nodded at Athra and the bucket. “On the morrow we’ll be back to work the charm, once the whitewash does dry.”
“Well and good, then. Will you be painting such on the entire town?”
“We won’t.” Werda paused for a significant look Niffa’s way. “Only on the public places, the Council House and suchlike, and then on those few homes that I do deem vulnerable.”
They went out, and Lael closed the door and latched it against the wind while Niffa mended up the fire again. They could hear Werda through the door, instructing Athra, and the soft whisk of the brush. Until the holy woman and her apprentice had finished, no one said a word. At the sound of their leaving, Dera sat up in bed and ran her hands through her hair to push it back from her face.
“You did well, lass,” Lael said to Niffa.
Dera nodded her agreement. Niffa managed a brief smile and stood up.
“I be weary again,” Niffa said. “I’d best go lie down.”
“Ai, my poor lass!” Dera said. “It does seem that all you do is sleep.”
“Mayhap. But this news—whose heart wouldn’t it weary?”
In the long weeks since Demet’s death, Niffa had indeed been hiding from her grief in the refuge of her dreams. Since childhood she had spent her nights in many-colored kingdoms of sleep, had longed for sleep and dreams and treasured those she remembered upon waking. Now, however, the dreams had become more urgent than the doings of the day. While her parents talked in the great room, she crawled into her blankets across the room from Kiel, who was snoring worse than the wind in the chimney. In their wooden pen the ferrets chirped to her, but she lacked the strength to say a word to them.
As soon as she lay down, she felt as if she’d stepped into a boat and glided effortlessly out into a strange lake, huge and rippled with waves. She dreamt, as she often had, of Demet. Today she saw him standing on the far shore of the pale turquoise water. Her boat sailed steadily forward, but the shore just as steadily receded. At last she saw him turn and walk away into the white mists, and her dream faded.
In the middle of the night she suddenly woke. Kiel’s bed lay empty. She could guess that the noise he’d made leaving to go on watch had wakened her. She got up, went to the tiny window, and pulled back the thick hide that kept the wind out. By craning