Read Spear Mother: A Tale of the Fourth World Page 11
* * *
The sky managed to lighten when the daylight hours came, if not differ from its reddish hue. Sandrena didn't know how, but the plains of Canterell changed again, in places shifting from the endless grasses to the same baked, black porous stone that comprised the cliffs. The stone sprouted up spontaneously and randomly, yet never when Sandrena was looking; it was as if the stone waited until her back was turned to make its appearance. She found it no wonder they called them the Madding Shores, if this was how they were.
It appeared in strange shapes: spiraling spires, spanning bridges, jagged teeth, incongruously smooth orbs, and other shapes she couldn't put a name to. Korilia seemed personally affronted at the change to her lands, as if she couldn't believe that an implacable force like the Madding Shores and the god that drove it would dare do such a thing to her. Sandrena could even hear her grinding her teeth and muttering to herself, muscles in her bicep bunching as she spun her knife in her hand.
Sandrena was glad. Anger was much more useful than despair. Seeing Korilia strengthened her. It was a strength she was beginning to need.
Desperately.
She watched the Lady, who had been silent after breakfast, when she had described what little she knew of the chain-creatures that had attacked them in the night—mere tools, not creatures at all, like marionettes with their strings cut and a purpose to give them motion. The Lady had been all business then, meeting Sandrena's eyes no more than the others', but now she was withdrawn into a private world. One in which she was doubtless coming to grips with her imminent fate.
None of the other women spoke, either. It was as if they had returned to the state in which Sandrena had found them: frightened, alone, frightened of being alone, uncertain of how to bridge the gap between them to end that loneliness.
Sandrena wanted to say something to shatter this silence, but she couldn't. She was paralyzed by the same feelings as the rest of them. I failed last night. She caught a glance at the Lady, a few paces ahead, watching the ground where she stepped, not looking forward. And I will fail again.
She could say no words. She couldn't even bring herself to hum. The very thought that she would have to watch the Lady die was enough to seize her throat.
But how could the Lady have foreseen her death? And how could she even die? She had such power... power that Sandrena could scarcely fathom. Using magic unlike any binding Sandrena had ever seen, the Lady had sealed the stump of Semorie's arm, leaving it rounded in flesh with nary a scar.
The Lady's mount, however, which had been picketed a short walk away, had been beyond her help after the attack.
And so had Caella.
There are limits to what she can do, Sandrena finally admitted to herself. Perhaps surviving this encounter will be one of them. But why did she have hope in Sandrena? Why entrust her with Motherspear, she who had failed before?
Sandrena looked down at the bleached bamboo haft, the white speartip. Such power.
But nothing like what she experienced in her vision. The god they hunted put such strength to shame.
Perhaps she, too, should recognize her impending death.
The cliffs that had sprung up next to the campsite now loomed all around them as they trekked through the canyon between them. Aside from their sudden appearance and the blood-red sky, very little seemed different. Sandrena wondered at this. From all accounts of those who had survived contact with the Madding Shores, more strange things should be happening to them the closer they came. Perhaps the Lady was mistaken. Perhaps what they were experiencing was a result of—
Sandrena didn't finish the thought. As she took the next step, her foot seemed to pass through the earth, as if the ground was an illusion. Her stomach lurched as she lost her balance. She fell forward, the ground rushing up—