Watersmeet Read Online Free Page B

cannot put it off,” Sina said. “They might notice if we’re not at the Ritual. But tomorrow night, when it’s over, we will leave for Watersmeet.”

CHAPTER III
     
    Abisina was sure she would lie awake all night, running through her mother’s story again and again, always returning to that final, mysterious word: Watersmeet . In the end, she must have slept, because she opened her eyes in the early light of dawn and found her mother’s bed empty.
    On countless nights, a hurried knock awakened Sina, calling her to tend the sick. Abisina had long ago learned to sleep through these knocks, waking alone as the sun rose. This morning her mother’s absence unsettled her.
    It’s nothing , she thought, kicking off her warm bedskins and pulling on her leggings stiff with cold. You’re just nervous.
    Once dressed, Abisina could barely contain her worry. She cast about for anything to keep her hands busy. But the law for the Day of Penance permitted no work; she could not even build a fire or eat a bite of food.
    Why bother? she wondered, enjoying the feeling of rebellion. Why observe the fast today, when by nightfall we will have left Vranille?
    Reaching for the cold soup left on the table, she remembered the coltsfoot that had lain there the night before. The gift for the Ritual! She had burned it!
    With sudden inspiration, Abisina grabbed her old work tunic hanging by the door. She tore a bit of leather from the frayed bottom and fished a piece of charred wood out of the fire. She hastily scrawled something on the leather and then sat back on her heels to study her work with satisfaction.
    Abisina arrived at the center of the village just before the Ritual was to begin. The Elders’ large huts ringed the common area, glowering down on the gathered people. The sheep and goats, which had been pastured in the common during the most recent round of centaur raids, bleated in a makeshift pen at the far end. Most of the villagers had already taken their places, forming ever increasing half circles around the huge stone altar: first men, then boys, then women, girls, widows—and finally, outcasts.
    From behind her loose hair, Abisina checked the crowd for any sign of Charach. The Elders huddled together to the right of the altar. Surely, he would be with them? But the faces were all familiar. She could feel the anticipation in the air, but as she watched Theckis break from the other Elders to squint down the lane toward the village entrance, she knew Charach had not come.
    She frowned. If he doesn’t come, will we still leave? How strange to want him to come—this man she had feared since the first rumor of him was discussed in the streets. Would her mother agree to go if Charach did not arrive?
    “Where is your wife?” A loud voice startled Abisina.
    “She is laboring, Elder, bringing forth a boy!” a man near her answered. The men of the village always spoke of their unborn babies as sons. Abisina glanced at the expectant father—Hain, Bryla’s husband. He already had four girls. “The healer’s with her.”
    Abisina’s frown deepened. Bryla was a long laborer. This baby better come before nightfall!
    “You there! Outcast!” The Elder scrutinized Abisina. “Make your gift!”
    Abisina hurried to the altar. The offerings from the meager harvest looked pitiful on the stone slab: bug-ridden turnips, slices of coarse brown bread, wormy onions, stunted squash, a few sheaves of grain, a dusty cask of beer left from last year’s brew, skeins of wool, bits of thatch, a cheese rind, a few bows and arrows. Even the Elders will not eat well this winter. The only plentiful item on the altar was a pile of coarse hair—black, brown, white, gray. Centaur tails, cut from the bodies of the slain creatures. Later, they would be hung on the village walls. The centaurs, too, collected prizes from their victims—toes and feet—after mangling every other part of the bodies. And Filian thought we should befriend