The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [206]
Grace fought for words. “But you said you believe in fate. What if I don’t have a choice?”
“Bah!” The old woman waved a hand in disgust. “Fate is only what you make of it, girl. Every day we make a thousand choices. Do I turn left or do I turn right? Do I drink water or do I drink wine? Fate is where, in the end, all these choices lead us. It is nothing less, nothing more. Just because you cannot escape fate does not mean you cannot shape it.”
Grace started to shake her head again, then hesitated. Maybe the old woman’s words weren’t so mad after all. After all, it sounded less like magic than it did chaos theory.
But chaotic systems are hopelessly complex, Grace, you know that. Countless factors work together in unpredictable ways to determine the outcome. You can’t control it, so it might as well be fate.
Still, despite the dread in her throat, the old woman’s words filled her with a fraction of hope.
Vani knelt beside the old woman’s bench. “What did you see for him, al-Mama?”
“Who do you mean, girl?”
“You know very well who I mean, al-Mama. Travis Wilder.”
The old woman shrugged shoulders as sharp as knives. “What do you think I saw, child? He is the one, you know it as well as I do. But he is not what I expected. His hands are without mark. Even a newborn has lines upon its hands, Vani, but not him!” She clucked her tongue. “He is a man with no past and no future.”
Vani shrank back, as if the old woman had struck her a blow. “He has no fate, then?”
“So, you think he is A’narai?” The old woman folded her arms, bracelets gleaming around her skeletal wrists. “Perhaps, girl. I had not thought of that. Or had not dared to. These bones are too old to bear such wonders. But perhaps you are right, perhaps he is one of the Fateless after all. It was said, long ago, they were the only ones who might enter the chamber where Orú dreamed without their minds being stolen by madness. And if he is indeed the one …”
Vani and the old woman locked eyes.
Grace worked her parched tongue. “What are you talking about?”
“Come,” Vani said, standing. “We must leave my al-Mama to her rest.”
Grace started to protest, but Vani was already steering her toward the door of the wagon.
“Take great care with her, Vani,” the old woman called. “Never will he reach the City of Secrets without her. That fate is clear above all others.”
The curtain parted. Grace stumbled down the steps, then found herself among swaying ithaya trees. The sun had set, and the sky had turned from sapphire to jade. Over the sea, a great, round moon was rising, a dozen times larger than any moon ever glimpsed on Earth.
Sareth was waiting for them.
“Tell me everything she said.”
Vani nodded, took Sareth’s arm, and together the two moved across the grove, heads bent together in talk.
A sigh sounded beside Grace. She turned to see Lirith standing behind her.
“Where are the others?” Grace said.
Lirith’s brown eyes gazed into the deepening gloom. “He loves her, doesn’t he?”
“Loves her? I’m sure of it.”
Lirith gave a stiff nod. “Well, then. Good for him. I hope … I hope they are happy when they are married.”
“Married? What are you talking about, Lirith?”
The slender witch blinked. “Vani and Sareth. If they love one another, are they not to be wed?”
Finally Grace understood. How could she have been such an idiot? But then, while she could listen to the heart of another with a stethoscope, there was no instrument that would let her glimpse what lay within it.
She laid her hand on Lirith’s arm. “Vani and Sareth love each other because they’re brother and sister.”
“Brother and sister?” Lirith’s jaw worked as she fought for words. “Then you mean …?”
The slender witch turned away, arms folded over her chest. A tremor passed through her. Grace couldn’t be certain, but it seemed to her it was a sob. She hesitated, then reached a hand toward Lirith.
“Grace, there you are!”
She turned around,