“How do I talk with your ancestors?” she asked Xandul that evening. It was easy, she was told. Just walk in, tell them you’re there and want to talk, and wait. They would go after dinner.

“Hello. It’s me, Raelene, again. Please don’t scare me. I need to talk to you about the land and the Teacher.”

Silence. She waited. Just as she was thinking to leave there was a dry cough. Well, it wasn’t going to be any other kind, was it? Should she have brought honey-drops? She waited some more. There was another cough, then a throat-clearing rattle. Definitely honey-drops. Finally a scratchy voice asked “So what do you want to talk about, other-world child?”

Raelene had thought about her pitch. “I am called to this place by the land. It suffers, and if it has no voice, then it will act directly. I am that voice, and I must be heard if Askand is not to be ruined. I ask your advice, elders and ancestors, that my words may reach the Teacher and persuade the moot to correct things.”

A different voice, older, laden with authority, came in “You are going to pull that self-obsessed grasping despoiler into line? Excellent notion. Let me tell you about the moot.”

Raelene settled down to listen. The dead had lots of useful information and it turned out they could help in other ways. She would need every scrap of influence, and the next town moot was only six days away.

* * * *

The moot was held in a natural amphitheatre on the eastern outskirts of the town. Raelene, Xandul and Cahanshe sat on the grass together with the other craftsmen and women of the town, to the left of the stage. The front rows held Askand’s most influential citizens in their finest, while the common folk crowded behind them in loose clumps of friends, family or street. Raelene’s group was the focus of some attention. She had been out and about in the town these last days, going with Xandul or Cahanshe to greet fellow crafters. Always she told of her journey from another world, of her connection to the land and her sense of its needs. Most of the questions were about the other world – what sort of magics did they have there? Did all the people there look like Raelene? Could she go back? Could they go there? Raelene could only hope that they absorbed some of her concern for the future of Askand. She was not the most persuasive speaker, but she was earnest, and spoke what was to her plain truth. After the third day Cahanshe heard that some of the Teacher’s associates had come by after her, describing her as an outland trouble-maker, not to be taken seriously. Cahanshe said that at least this showed someone was worried.

The Teacher presided, flanked by Jammshu and five advisers. After the ritual invocations, an adviser announced the names of those of the town who had been born, died, left or come in this last quarter. Three newcomers were mentioned, but not Raelene. The Teacher read out the latest edicts of the Skull-Moot and a letter from the king on the situation of the country and events abroad. Another adviser followed with word of some minor changes to the regulations governing trade. There was an hour-long debate on paving repairs to some streets, which reached no useful conclusion. The Teacher asked in a perfunctory manner if any wished to speak. A notable in the front row announced the betrothal of his son to a lady in a nearby town. Then Xandul stood and spoke up.

“I wish to bring a matter before the moot. My guest Raelene has come from another world at the call of the Three Rivers. She has spoken with the land, and will tell us what she has heard.”

There was a stir of interest. The Teacher spoke to an adviser, then responded. “You have the right to speak at this moot, Xandul. Your guest does not.”

“Yet I ask she be heard. Raelene may speak if four citizens of the the town support her in this. I am one.”

“And I another,” spoke up Cahanshe

“That is but two,” observed the Teacher.

An elderly man, richly dressed, levered himself to his feet from his seat in the front row. “I support this request. My ancestors say this concerns all our futures.”

“Three,” gritted the Teacher.

There was a stir among the crowd at the back, and then a woman in plain clothes called out “I add my voice.” After a moment other voices joined in, spreading along the bank.

The Teacher yielded. “Very well. Railan, you may speak to the moot.” He made no move to invite her to the front, to where her voice would carry to all.

Cahanshe and Xandul gave Raelene encouraging pats as she stepped to a clear space and began. Their support and the upwelling strength of the land beneath her feet gave her courage. Her first words were lost, then Xandul reached out to touch her and her voice went clear to all listeners. She spoke of her journey to Askand, of how its land made her welcome, of her exchanges with the land around the town. She spoke of the land’s distress and rising anger. She was here, she stressed, only to give voice to the Land of the Three Rivers, not to rule. Yet her word should carry weight, for the land was on the brink of action. When she sat, she was exhausted.

There was a buzz of comment as Raelene spoke – nods and mutters of “I’ve felt something wrong too’ and ‘my skulls like her’. There were also protests from the front rows that an outlander should pretend to speak for the land. The Teacher called for calm and let Raelene finish. Cahanshe gave her a hug. “Well done. You have put words to what many are feeling.”

“True,” said Xandul. “Now the matter is open, we shall see whether the future of all weighs larger than the gain of a few.”

The Teacher conferred with the advisers for some minutes. “The land is of concern to us all, and so this, hmm, advice needs careful consideration. I ask the elected of hundreds and crafts to discuss this with their people, that we draw on their wisdom before we come to the moot.”

“The weasel is playing for time,” remarked Xandul as they walked back to her house.

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Cahanshe agreed. “Time for his friends to lean on the elected, time to plan how they will run the next moot.”

Raelene did not pay much attention to the discussion. She was not here to play politics but to be with the land. It was not as interested in human affairs as the Teacher supposed. Or, rather, it was interested in human affairs only so far as they affected its well-being. She would have a nap and then walk down to the river. She had not yet swum in its waters, so maybe she would find a secluded spot and go for a dip. Kashlei had not given her a swimsuit.

* * * *

The folk of Askand use nets weighted with heavy stones to hold down flax stems for retting. Raelene stood gripped by two strong arms as Jammshu fastened just such a net about her body. The Teacher’s henchman was silent, efficient and swift. He gave the bindings a last tug, stood back and nodded to the muscled oaf who held her. Raelene was lifted by her pinned arms and thrown from the bank into the deepest part of the Kalari. Her last thought before she hit the water was ‘At least I have my sarong on’.

When Jammshu stepped out of the trees to where Raelene stood on the bank her first thought was that the Teacher wanted to talk to her again. Then she saw the set of his jaw and the net in his hand and tried to run. Only to find one of the young spear-carriers behind her. She had been grabbed, trussed and thrown into the river without explanation or a villainous monologue. It was too fast for terror, fast enough for real fright.

The glass-green water was cool, then cold as she sank through the sun-warmed upper layers to the depths of the pool. She was still holding her breath when her feet touched the bottom. A fish swam past, not much interested in her wriggling form. Raelene’s puzzled mind grappled with the fact that, although she was not breathing, she felt no need to. Her lungs were not straining for air, nor her brain dimming for lack of oxygen. It was dark down here, but not so dark that she could not make out the bottom, sand and rock and an old tree gnawed away to a worm-riddled trunk. A tickle at her ankles made her look down, to see a mob of crayfish climbing the netting. Were they going for the eyeballs? Or other sensitive soft bits? Nope, they were going for the rope. Their claws snipped strand after strand, the stones shifted, and then fell away. Raelene had to hastily tuck a foot into the net to stop herself bobbing to the surface, there to drift downstream. It was comfortable down here, at the heart of the the waking land, and Jammshu might be watching above.

She let what she had seen and heard at the moot flow from her into the river, along with talks with townsfolk and Xandul’s ancestors. What to do? Stay here as some sort of naiad? Swim to another town? That meant leaving Xandul and Cahanshe to their fate, along with all the folk of Askand. It was the old question: should all suffer for the the misdeeds of a few? She had spoken for the land to Askand; now she spoke for Askand to the land. The land did not care for Askand; it did care for her, and was affronted that Jammshu had bound her. Yet well for Jammshu and Askand that he had, for if one drop of her blood touched the soil of Three Rivers Askand would not stand an hour after. The land wanted Raelene to go on as its voice; if some forbearance towards Askand came with that, it would forbear. She would go back, accompanied.

* * * *

Just upstream of the ford lies a shallow pool, sun-warm at the end of the day, where children play and their parents gossip as they watch from the bank. This evening the moot provided plenty to talk about, and they chatted back and forth over the cries and splashes. A change in the noise made the gossipers look, to see the other-world woman emerging from the water. Her sarong clung about her, her hair hung wetly about her shoulders and the river bore her up, so that she stepped across the surface to the shore. As she set foot on the grass the water rose up to form a cloak that wrapped her from shoulder to feet and trailed behind. A child had fallen over in the pool and was set upright at Raelene’s gesture. She smiled at the people on the bank.

“The land will not wait on the moot, so I go to tell the Teacher and his friends what will be done. There is no harm in this to you.”

She set off for the entrance to the town, folk scrambling to gather their children and follow. Up the winding main street Raelene walked, and water from fountain and pool rose to greet her. At a small square a man in the regalia of a senior of the Lague stepped out of a house to confront her, standing athwart her path in feather cloak, spear in hand.

“Foreign woman, what fresh turmoil do you bring to Askand?”

Raelene halted, let the land tell her of this man. His name was of no interest to the land, but it knew of his craft and his claims.

“I come with the land to tell you what it will have done. You hold pasture to the east. Water has been let run too fast over the soil. Trees you will plant, rocks you will place with your own hands. No cattle or sheep may graze there for five years.”

The man’s hand tightened on the spear-shaft. “You tell me what I will do with my own?”

“Not yours but the land’s. Do these things and you may keep your claim. Refuse and the pasture goes to a better keeper. You have True Sight. Use it and tell me if I lie.”

The man drew on craft, fingers twining. He stepped back and the spear fell from his hand to clatter on the paving. He raised his hands to his temples in token of deepest respect.

“Forgive me. It will be as you say.” Then, to the growing crowd behind Raelene, “The woman walks with a Power we cannot defy, speaks for a Power we are bound to obey. I am her servant.” He picked up his spear to take up the position of an honour guard, two paces behind and to her left.

Cahanshe and Xandul pushed their way through the throng as it neared the hall. With them to her right, her new guard to her left and the crowd behind they came to the square. The sandstone crumbled under her feet, withdrawing to bare the earth. Raelene’s first act was to go to the trees and deliver the River’s blessing. They grew green and healthy as the town watched. Only then did she attend to the people at the door. The Teacher stood at the head of the steps, a confused Jammshu at his shoulder, around and behind him his supporters in the town. Many were richly dressed and brightly painted, but not all. Raelene saw the elects of the weavers and the masons and some few others in plain clothes. The Teacher called out over her head.

“Folk of Askand, what do you here, when this woman’s words will come before the moot?”

Before any could respond Raelene spoke. “That was before you tried to kill me. Now I come to stand by the high seat and tell Askand what must be done to save the town and its people.”

The Teacher again called out “You hear her. The foreign woman seeks to rule us.”

Raelene turned away to deny this to the crowd behind. Her water-cloak suddenly became so heavy that her knees buckled, a spear clattered to the bricks behind her. Her self-appointed guard leapt forward, Xandul cast a spell, a man in the crowd screamed. When she turned back, one of Jammshu’s young men was standing gaping. Jammshu’s hand came down on his wrist, gripped hard to keep the sword in its sheath. The same oval of air that Maerile had conjured shimmered in the air before her.

“I was not quick enough,” said Xandul.

“Nor I. Forgive me, lady,” said her bodyguard.

“While the river is with me, I cannot be harmed,” Raelene told them. She raised her voice.

“That is twice those of the Teacher’s following have tried to kill me. What do they fear? Some of you have abused the land, but it will not act against you if you fix the problem. The river is with me, but I will not hurt anyone. When I first came the Teacher said that he decides for Askand until the land comes to the hall and speaks from the high seat. Well, it has come. Do you want to hear what it has to say?”

The few cries against from the door were lost amid the shouts of yes. Raelene went forward and so many followed that the Teacher’s group had to retreat hastily or be crushed. Raelene went to the high seat, stood beside it. When the moment came she spoke simply. She was not here to rule, but as the land’s voice. The streams must not be be overfed, the pastures must be rested, some areas replanted. Old trees must be honoured, and the land not burdened with too many animals. Her sense from the land was that the people of Askand could make what arrangements they pleased, so long as these things were done. She dared to add her own voice, that those who had benefited most must do the most to repair the hurt. To her own ear she sounded plain, but the faces before her showed awe. It was not until Xandul gave her a nudge that she looked up and saw her cloak of water had risen into a great green serpent that hovered over the room. It cut the argument short.

The Teacher, Jammshu and the two spear-carriers now stood alone. What of them, she was asked. The river let her know what it would do, and so she spoke, first to the Teacher. “Go from Three Rivers with what you can carry of your own, and nothing of the town. If the land finds you within the reach of its waters after seven days, it will take your life.”

Then to the other three “As you followed the orders the Teacher gave, so you follow him from Three Rivers. You have seven days.”

With that she walked from the hall. What she had been called to do here was done.

Coda

Askand would gladly have given Raelene a house, or even a mansion. She did not need or want a house, as her business was with the river and all the land it drew from. So they gave her a broad river-boat with a snug cabin. The Kalari would take her where it needed her. There was a small galley (not much to clean!), a saloon, an awning over a padded bench and a wide bed (company would come!). It was bright, it was comfortable and it was hers alone. She would stay in Askand until the rains, and then the marshes downstream would get some advice. She belonged to Three Rivers and all of Three Rivers was hers.

Raelene sat on her deck in the morning, watching the mist burn off the Kalari’s slow waters, and ate fresh bread with honey. It was as good as the books said.

Far upstream, where the Kalari winds though hill country, the shade under an overhang deepened. A nose emerged, and then paws. The first of a troop of rock wallabies hopped through, looked cautiously about and bent to nibble the sweet grass.