Free The Storm Witch by Violette Malan Page B

pointed out, “we wouldn’t raise it ourselves.”
    Again, Dhulyn nodded. Most Mercenaries took steps not to produce children. Still, the Common Rule gave guidance even for things that rarely happened. Mercenaries who had children with other Mercenaries, not always Partners, never raised the children themselves. There was always one Schooler—at the present time it was Nerysa Warhammer, Parno’s own Schooler—who kept a nursery for such children, and sometimes ordinary families were found. The life of a Mercenary Brother did not allow for the rearing of children. Tough and skilled as they were, few Mercenaries lived long enough to be certain of bringing up a child. The time was sure to come when, as Dhulyn always said, the arrow would have your name on it.
    “Almost a month to cross the Long Ocean,” he said.
    “Usually time enough, if a man and a woman are determined.”
    “My soul—” Parno broke off, then reconsidered. There was one way to check, and Dhulyn would have thought of it long before he did. Her woman’s time had passed, but only just . Her Sight would be at its clearest. “Would you See for me? Would you use the tiles?”
    Parno watched her face closely, nodding to himself when the usual reluctance, the flaring of the nostrils and the twist of the lips that always followed this suggestion didn’t come. She still wasn’t ready to tell him why she was looking secretly at the tiles. Goes on much longer, I’ll have to ask, he thought.
    Dhulyn pushed herself upright and rounded the table, laying her hand on Parno’s shoulder as she passed him. Her small pack was on the lower bunk where she’d pushed it after stowing away the weapons she had cleaned. The ancient, silk-lined olive wood box that held her personal set of vera tiles was in a pocket she’d made along one side. She rounded the table again and sat down opposite Parno, setting the box on the table between them. She searched through the tiles until she’d found Parno’s own tile, the Mercenary of Spears, and gave it to him.
    “Close your hand around it,” she said. “Think of the question you’d like answered.”
    “How does that help?” he asked. “I don’t bear a Mark.”
    “It does no harm,” she said, as she sorted out the Marked tiles, the ones that did not form a part of the ordinary gambler’s vera set. The straight line, representing the Finder; the Healer’s rectangle, the Seer’s circle with a dot in the center, the Mender’s triangle, long and narrow like an Imrioni spearhead. The only unique tile, the Lens, was in its own tiny silk bag, drawstrings made from thin braids of Dhulyn’s own hair. She set aside one each of the Marked tiles, then made sure all the other sets, the coins, cups, swords, and spears, along with the remaining Marks, were facedown. Placing her hands palms down on the tiles she shuffled them, all the time concentrating on Parno’s question.

    DHULYN IS STANDING On THE UPPER AFT DECK, In FRONT OF THE WHEEL. THERE IS VERY LITTLE WIND, AND IT SEEMS AS THOUGH THE SHIP DOES NOT MOVE. BUT THE CURRENT CARRIES IT, AS IT CARRIES THE CRAYX. A MOVEMENT, AND A TAIL LIFTS LAZILY OUT OF THE WATER, ONE FLUKE OF WHICH IS HOOKED THROUGH THE CHILD’S HARNESS. In A MOMENT, DHULYN IS CLOSER TO THE RAIL, AND SHE SEES, BELOW THE CHILD, BELOW THE CRAYX, DEEPER THAN SHE SHOULD BE ABLE TO SEE WERE SHE NOT SEEING, SCHOOLS OF FISH, PLANTS FLOATING JUST AT THE EDGE OF WHERE THE LIGHT PENETRATES THE WATER. COMPARED TO THESE OBJECTS, THE SHIP MOVES SWIFTLY, INDEED.
    THE CRAYX’S TAIL LIFTS THE CHILD HIGHER, OVER THE RAIL OF THE MAIN DECK, AND DEPOSITS HER, LAUGHING, On HER STUBBY LEGS. THE CHILD CANNOT MAINTAIN HER BALANCE, AND LANDS WITH A THUD On HER BACKSIDE. SHE DOES NOT CRY, HOWEVER, BUT TURNS OVER On HER KNEES AND PREPARES TO STAND UP AGAIN. HER HAIR, STILL SHORT, IS THICK, COARSE, AND A DARK GOLDEN BROWN. HER EYES, WHEN SHE TURNS TO SMILE AT DARLARA WHERE SHE STANDS BY THE RAIL, ARE A WARM AMBER.
    DHULYN NODS. SO.