The Wisewoman (Waterspell 3) Read online

  WATERSPELL Book 3:

  The Wisewoman

  Deborah J. Lightfoot

  Critical Praise for the WATERSPELL Trilogy

  “Intriguing … original … well-crafted.”

  —KIRKUS Reviews

  “Tight writing, fast-moving narrative and intriguing characters. An excellent book.”

  —Goodreads Reviewer

  “Grabbed my attention and kept it. It’s a truly unique book.”

  —Tahlia Newland, Author (http://tahlianewland.com/)

  “An engrossing fantasy world … [a] story with intelligent dialog and description.”

  —David Davis, Author (http://www.davidrdavis.com/)

  “I don’t see how this could avoid being a hit—I couldn’t put it down. Good, complex story; well crafted, well written.”

  —Goodreads Reviewer

  WATERSPELL Book 1: The Warlock

  WATERSPELL Book 2: The Wysard

  WATERSPELL Book 3: The Wisewoman

  For links to all three books: www.waterspell.net

  Copyright © 2012 by Deborah J. Lightfoot

  All rights reserved. This book is protected under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976 and all other applicable international, federal, state, and local laws.

  Writing a multilayered, multivolume work of fiction is a big undertaking. By purchasing this book, you’re acknowledging the author’s hard work and years of dedication. Infringements of copyright deprive the author and publisher of their rightful royalties. Please pay for your copy and refrain from unauthorized copying or file-sharing. Thank you.

  Seven Rivers Publishing

  P.O. Box 682

  Crowley, Texas 76036

  www.waterspell.net

  First Electronic Edition: March 2012

  First Paperback Edition: April 2012

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Waterspell Book 3—The Wisewoman:

  A Fantasy by Deborah J. Lightfoot

  Summary: Plague and pestilence have come to Ladrehdin. With their worst fears realized, Carin and Verek set out to put right everything that has gone so badly wrong. On the final leg of their quest, they retrace Carin’s journey north from the plains—accompanied this time by the village wisewoman, Megella. Along the way, Meg dredges up—from an increasingly unreliable memory—the oldest of the “old stories,” revealing how the actions of the Ancients continue to menace every life on the Wizards’ World, and beyond.

  ISBN 978-0-9728768-7-2 (E-book)

  ISBN 978-0-9728768-8-9 (Paperback)

  This book is available in print at most online retailers.

  For Laura and Amanda, with love

  and with thanks for your patience and

  encouragement. Though you were in high school

  when I started the writing, you never

  doubted that I would finish—someday.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue: The Path Home

  1. Strange Magic

  2. The Wrong Place

  3. Settled Accounts

  4. Distant Suns

  5. Dark Recollections

  6. Earth’s Blood

  7. An Opened Gate

  8. The Ashen Curse

  9. A Breath of Contagion

  10. Carin’s Confession

  11. The Second Scourge

  12. A Concentration of the Mind

  13. Liquid Fire

  14. “Drown Me!”

  15. Strong Magic

  16. Amangêda

  17. The Last Wysards’ Stronghold

  18. Unification

  19. Revelation

  20. Restoration (Carin’s Evidence)

  Wherever one finds oneself,

  the soil is never suitable

  for every crop.

  —Theodore Zeldin

  To feel that one

  has a place in life

  solves half the problem

  of contentment.

  —George Edward Woodberry

  Prologue

  The Path Home

  Carin cast a last glance at the sun-faded house that had once been her home. It held nothing for her now, not even the ghost of a memory. Perhaps she had once belonged here, but no more. Now she wanted only to leave this place to the solitude of its endless waves. The ocean rolled ashore, steady in its beat, lapping nearly to the sagging front steps of the shuttered cottage on the beach.

  “Let’s go!” she urged for the umpteenth time as she listened to the lonely cries of terns in the distance. “There’s nothing to keep us here.”

  Her companion nodded. “You are right, fìleen. About this place, my curiosity has been satisfied. Though it is a world of wonders for me, I long for home. You are certain of taking us there?”

  “Absolutely,” Carin assured him with only the slightest flutter of doubt, which she kept from her voice. “Hold tight to my hand and we’ll go through together.”

  From the rocky point of land that jutted into the ocean not far from Carin’s childhood bedroom, the journey home to Ruain should have been a single short step. But as she and Lord Verek plunged into the void between the worlds, Carin felt a sharp tug, as though the wizard were being yanked from her.

  “No!” she cried, or tried to. Carin couldn’t get the word out, for speech was not possible within the void. She could do nothing but grip Verek’s hand and go with him into emptiness.

  Their journey dragged on, only a few heartbeats longer than Carin had anticipated, but long enough to put a knot in her belly.

  Then:

  “Umph!” Verek grunted as, together, they splashed into water.

  It was cold, with a touch of winter in it as though recently fed by snowmelt. But this water was nowhere near as frigid as the glacial depths of Carin’s intended destination: the wizards’ well in Ruain.

  And this water was properly wet. The liquid glass of the wizards’ well could not dampen hair or clothing, but this water soaked Carin to her skin.

  “Unh!” She surfaced, gasping for breath, and pushed her long, wet hair out of her eyes with the back of one hand while maintaining her grip on Verek with the other.

  “Beggar it all!” Carin sputtered when she could see enough to know where she was. The setting sun threw streaks of gold through a grove of spring-green willows, revealing that she’d fallen short of her destination by hundreds of leagues.

  She’d failed to take Theil Verek home to Ruain. She had, instead, dunked him in the same southern millpond into which a miscarriage of magic had once disgorged Carin.

  Ahead of them now lay a months-long journey to reach the North and the last wysards’ stronghold: the place they both could call home.

  Well, at least I landed us back on the right world, Carin consoled herself with a sort of mental shrug. I could have missed by the breadth of a universe.

  And as long as we’re here, she thought then when Verek gave her a hand up among the willows, where he’d found his footing and now stood quietly swearing, sweeping back his hair and flinging the water from his eyes, I may as well go ask the wisewoman how much of the truth she always knew, and which parts she thought I’d best discover for myself.

  Chapter 1

  Strange Magic

  The wisewoman paused in the lane outside the candle-maker’s shop to examine her purchases, though the light in the street was only marginally better than the dimness that prevailed inside the chandlery. Granger’s main thoroughfare, a narrow, meager affair, threaded its way through perpetual gloom. Above every shop, the merchants had their living quarters; and to gain every possible foot of space, those lodgings jutted out, far
beyond the ground floors, making such an overgrown thicket of timbers and plaster that the street below almost never saw sunlight.

  In the one exception, a slick patch of road immediately in front of the baker’s, the sun slanted in, illuminating passersby as if they were players on a stage.

  The wisewoman stood for a moment gazing up the street at that brilliantly lit patch. Then she started toward it, drawn by the limpid midmorning light of this beautiful specimen of a spring day. Light of that quality would reveal every defect in the two dozen candles she had just purchased. The sun would pick out any bubbles in the wax, any lumps or voids, any blemish where two wet tapers had been permitted to touch between dips.

  This time, I will let nothing pass, Megella thought. If Lummis thinks he’ll again succeed in selling me shoddy goods, this time he will be surprised. Wheesht! The slightest flaw, and I am marching back to his shop and demanding better.

  She had barely taken a step toward the sunlit space, however, when two figures strayed into view there. At the sight of them, Megella stopped cold. And before she could recover sufficiently to call out to them, another pair had joined the first.

  “Drisha,” Megella swore under her breath.

  Giving up all thought of inspecting her basket of candles, she slipped into the deep shadows below the merchants’ living quarters and stole unobserved toward the four people who were standing in the sun, speaking together.

  No, not together. As Meg drew near, she saw that the foursome had split up, though not into their original pairings. The two young women of the group had drawn aside from their two very different male escorts, and the girls now were locked in animated conversation—clearly happy to see each other, though both seemed surprised by what each saw, one in the other.

  “How you’ve grown up!” exclaimed the more graceful of the two, the girl with the remarkable mane of auburn hair.

  “How I’ve grown?” cried the shorter, plumper maiden. “The last time I saw you, Carin, you were a scrawny bit of a girl, not much more than two skinny arms and two scabby-kneed legs sticking out from under a great tangle of hair. And now you’re beautiful!”

  Indeed, Megella thought, watching and listening from the shadows. It is quite a transformation you have undergone, you strange, surprising child.

  She left the girls chattering brightly, and padded along an alleyway to creep nearer the men who stood speaking together. The taller and darker of that pair was glowering at the thickset, heavily muscled native of the village. The native male—Crowter by name, the wheelwright of Granger—had his bottom lip stuck out, and his face wore an expression of aggrieved indignation.

  “You will answer to a charge of theft!” Crowter was huffing as Meg worked her way, unseen, to within earshot of them.

  “I’ve stolen nothing of yours,” growled the dark stranger. “But here,” he snapped, and dug in a pouch that hung from his belt. “Will this satisfy you?”

  Megella could not see what the stranger handed over, but Crowter’s reaction spoke volumes. As the wheelwright stared at the payment he had received, his eyes widened. He tested the compensation with his teeth. Then he stepped back a pace and seemed to study the stranger anew, as if revising his earlier estimation of the man.

  Meg, too, looked the gentleman over. Except for his coloring—no man ever grew a darker head of hair, long and straight and tied at the nape of his neck—the stranger was not, at first glance, very remarkable. His dingy shirt and fraying trousers had seen hard use; his boots were scuffed and entirely inappropriate for this climate. Their high tops, with his pants legs stuffed inside, reached nearly to his knees and would have served for slogging through snowdrifts.

  But the clear daylight showed Meg the quality of the leather that had gone into making them. The sun also picked out the gilt haft of the dagger at the stranger’s belt. None but a wealthy man—or the most brazen thief—would carry such a weapon. And even an audacious thief would be unlikely to carry that dagger openly and with the haughty confidence of this fellow.

  Crowter gave a short bow then and walked away, saying no more, apparently satisfied that the man’s money was good. And more than satisfied, Megella guessed, with the sum he had received to settle any claim he could have asserted over his former serving-girl.

  That young lady was still conversing with Crowter’s daughter, the plump, round-faced girl named Brin. Crowter swept past the pair, calling for Brin to “Come, chick!” and spared no look for the auburn-haired beauty he had once regularly bruised with his ham fists.

  As soon as Brin fell in with her father and the pair of Crowters had turned for home, Megella slipped out of the shadows and rushed to intercept them. Into their surprised faces she threw double handfuls of a fine-grained powder. As the powder filled the air with the scents of basil and rosemary, Meg stepped close and chanted: “Forget, forget. What you have seen, said, heard—all, it is forgotten.”

  Both faces lost expression. Blankly the Crowters ambled on their way, heading in the direction of the wheelwright’s shop but showing no sign of caring when or whether they arrived.

  Meg turned and discovered the auburn-haired girl standing an arm’s length from her, her green eyes staring, looking as astonished as if she had seen a firedrake.

  “Megella!” the girl exclaimed.

  “Shh! Not a word. Get off the street. You’ll have the whole town talking.”

  Meg whirled and hurried down the alleyway. She did not look around until she reached the back wall and turned the corner for home. A glance reassured her then that her young friend, the former foundling named Carin, was at her heels. The girl’s face glowed with pleasure at this reunion. Her companion trailed behind, scowling darkly, obviously less eager but following nonetheless.

  Down the lane to the timber-lined creek on the outskirts, Megella led the pair, past the ranks of tall prairie-myrtles that shaded the twisty path to her door. Not until she had both her visitors under cover, the door closed behind them and the windows shuttered, did she speak again.

  “What in the world are you doing here, girl?” Megella snapped. “When I sent you off, I expected you to stay gone.” She glanced at the lean, dark man who stood just inside the threshold. His hand rested on the hilt of his dagger, and his eyes glinted in a ray of sun that shot through a crack in one shutter. “Clearly, you reached your destination,” Megella said. “Why are you back?”

  Carin laughed. “‘Hello’ to you too, Meg. I’m glad to see you.” The girl looked at her escort. “I should introduce you. This is—”

  “Theil Verek of Ruain,” Megella interrupted. “I would know him anywhere. He is the spitting image of his mother.”

  Lord Verek’s hand tightened on his weapon.

  “What would you know of that woman?” he demanded, clipping off his words. “How could you possibly know what Morann looked like? She had no truck with the south.”

  “Had no—”

  Megella paused, then smiled. “Wheesht, that is music to my ears, the past tense. And to hear you speak her name aloud … I think you would not, if the sorceress still lived.”

  She looked to Carin for confirmation. “Do I understand him correctly? Is that creature dead?”

  Carin nodded. “We watched a dragon swallow her.”

  “A dragon! Then I was right to send you to him.” Megella nodded again at Verek. “Neither of you could face that woman alone—and live through it. But together you might have a chance, I thought. How pleased I am to have been proved correct.”

  She went to the hearth of her one-room cottage and put water to heat for tea. “Well, now that you are here—where you have no business to be—allow me to offer you such refreshment as I may. I seldom have guests. The villagers never stay long when they wend their way to my door to buy a potion or have their wounds stitched up. Since you left, widgeon, I’ve hardly had a soul to talk to. So sit you down and tell me your story. What are you and my nephew doing here?”

  “Your nephew?” Carin and Verek exclaimed with o
ne voice.

  Megella straightened from the fire to see two shocked faces staring at her. As she smiled at the effect she had produced, she took down cups from a cobwebbed shelf, then waved the pair to seats at her battered kitchen table.

  Carin readily took a chair, her eyes never leaving Megella’s face as she leaned on her elbows, eager and expectant. The wysard of the North sat, too, but pushed well back from the table and still keeping his weapon-hand at the ready.

  He’s got more faith in his dagger than in his art, Megella thought as she met the man’s hard gaze. Then she answered the question that was plastered across his face.

  “My great-nephew, actually. I am your grandmother’s baby sister.”

  “My grand—” Verek started to echo, rather stupidly. His eyes lost focus for a moment. Then he stared at Megella, his look as incredulous as it was piercing. “I do not believe it. My grandmother was gone before I was born. Lord Legary never once mentioned her. He certainly said nothing to me about her having a sister.”

  “No marvel, that,” Megella said as she poured the tea. “Legary never had much use for me, nor I for him. Oh, I shouldn’t say ‘never.’ We got along well enough when he and my sister were first married. Merriam insisted I live with them, and Legary did not seem to mind. Drisha knows, that manor house of Ruain is big enough to hold any number of in-laws. I stayed to myself in that lovely blue room at the back of the house, just up from the kitchen.”

  “The blue room!” Carin cried. “That’s my room. Meg, you astonish me. I’d never have guessed you were there before me.”

  And I would never have guessed the pair of you slept in separate rooms, Megella thought, looking from Carin to Verek. Her gaze lingered longest on the wysard. Could he still be pining for his dead Alesia, too heartsick over losing her and Aidan to start again?