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turned back and began to fight the fires that threat-ened to leave them
without a means of retreat.
The rest swarmed over the rails and the Girl s men were fighting for their
lives, cutlass ax and halberd, warclub staff and all the rest, flailing,
stabbing, slashing, a ring of men tight about the foremast holding off the
hordes that tried to roll over them. Yaril flew at Djelaan backs, stoop-ing
and slashing, her razor talons moistened with the poison she and her brother
could produce when inspired to do so, keeping the Djelaan off Brann as she
walked through them, reaching and touching, reaching and touch-ing, each touch
draining and dropping a man. A spear went into her side; she faltered a
moment, pulled it out with a gasp of pain, sweat popping out on her face, a
trickle of blood, then the wound closed over and she walked on.
At first the attackers didn t realize what was happening, then they began
struggling to avoid those pale deadly hands. They retreated before her,
throwing other attack-ers into confusion. The Girl s men shouted when they saw
this and fought with renewed hope.
A powerful gust of wind whooshed along the deck, filling the drooping sails.
Another deadly Redmask came darting out of the east where the weatherman s
proas had been and swooped at the Djelaan, clawing at eyes and hands, slashing
flesh, the poison on his talons killing quickly, painfully. Twisting and
turning with demonic agility he wove unharmed among the weapons of the pirates
with a formidable ease that drew moans of fear from them. Retreating from the
falcons, retreating from Brann who burned now with a shimmery fire, the
Djelaan broke. Dropping their weapons, scrambling down the grapnel lines,
leaping into the sea and swimming for their fire-stripped proas, the men in
the boats dragging the swim-mers over the sides, the Djelaan fled that
demon-haunted ship.
Sammang dropped his war ax and leaped to the wheel, turning the Girl so she
was cutting across the rising swells, not lying helpless between them. Hairy
Jimm roared the men capable of moving into trimming the sails and getting the
ship into order so she wouldn t be broken by the coming storm. Brann and the
children staggered along the deck, heaving Djelaan dead and wounded overboard.
When that was finished, Brann stood a moment staring at her glowing hands, the
wind whipping her white hair about, plastering her shirt against her burning
body. With a sigh she went searching for crew dead and wounded. Zaj was dead,
a small brown islander much like the men who d killed him. She and the
children carried him to the side wall of the cabin and lashed him there to
wait for what rites Sammang and the others would want for him. She hurried
back to kneel beside Dereech who had a flap of scalp hanging down over his
face, deep cuts in his legs and shoulder. He stared up at her with his one
clear eye, horror in his face as she reached for him, tried to crawl away from
her but was too weak. When she flattened her hand on him, he froze, a moan
dying in his throat.
From his place at the wheel, Sammang watched her and wondered what she
intended, wondered if he should drive her off Dereech. What she d done to the
Djelaan she d done to save her life and theirs, but the glimpses he d caught
of her work worried him. He liked and trusted the child in her, but didn t
know what to do about the witch. In the end, he did nothing.
She bent lower, smoothed her hand up along Dereech s face, pressing the flap
into place, her hands blurring in a moonglow mist. The bleeding stopped, the
flap stayed put as if the mist had soldered it down. She pressed the other
wounds shut, smoothed her hands over them, the glow shuddering about her flesh
and his. The children stood behind her, their hands welded to her body until
she sat back on her heels, finished with the healing.
Tik-rat had a spear through a lung. She burnt the spear, out of him, bone
point and broken haft, closed the wound and held her hands over it, a wound
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
that was almost always fatal. Smiling Tik-rat was the ship s bard, story
teller and singer, the pet of the crew. Now all saw her clean and close his
wound, saw the boy s chest begin to rise and fall steadily and smoothly. Our
witch, she s our witch. A whisper passing round. Our child-woman witch,
Sammang murmured to himself. The children with her, she moved on to Rudar,
then Uasuf, left them sleeping, their wounds closed, cleaned, healed.
She went briskly over to Hairy Jimm, who jumped when she touched him, looked
uneasy and dubious as she began moving her hands over his meaty body, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]