Moongather (29 page)

Heart pounding again, she crossed the room and stopped beside the empty chair. A graceful hand came under the veil; with a fluid gesture it invited her to sit and speak.

Serroi edged around the chair and sat, her toes dangling a handspan from the floor, feeling uneasy and becoming a bit angry at this treatment. The woman in the veil folded her hands in her lap and waited. Serroi bit her lip, then lifted her head to stare a challenge at the veil. “You are the Daughter?”

The hidden head inclined in a graceful assent.

Serroi waited, saying nothing.

“The Maiden's eyes are like mountain tarns, green and brown at once and filled with a wisdom beyond man's comprehension.” The veiled woman's voice was warm, almost as deep as a man's.

Serroi relaxed; she knew that voice. She pulled off her gloves, held out her hands.

“The little meie!” The Daughter's veiled head turned from hands to face. “You said you have a message?”

Relief like euphoria swept through Serroi; she could lay her burden in this woman's hands, rid herself of the awful responsibility she carried; she leaned forward, spoke eagerly. “I beg you, doman Anas. Believe what I tell you now.”

“Speak, meie. I will hear you.” The coolness in the deep voice warned Serroi she'd better be convincing. The words tumbling from her lips, she recounted the events preceding her flight from Oras, finishing, “Please, doman Anas. Believe me and get me to the Domnor so I can warn him.”

The Daughter lifted her hands, clapped twice. “Oh I do believe you, little meie.” A low rippling laugh. “I do indeed.” She stood.

Serroi heard a rattle behind her. She whipped up and around.

A Sleykyn came through the arch at the far end of the audience chamber.

She wheeled.

A second Sleykyn stood just behind the veiled figure.

“Why, Daughter?” There was anguish in Serroi's voice. “Why?”

“Don't fight, little meie.” The Daughter's voice had taken on a hard edge. “The Sleykyn will have the meat off your bones. And you don't have much to lose, do you.”

The tapestry parted again and a Norit walked through. Serroi's eyes widened as she recognized the Minarka she'd seen on the Highroad. His russet hair was pulled back from his face and tied behind his head with a narrow black ribbon whose ends he'd pulled forward to hang fluttering on his chest. His eyes were copper mirrors, cool and measuring, giving nothing away. He let his hand drop on the woman's shoulder and stood staring intently at Serroi. After a moment of this, he frowned. “Something is protecting her.”

The Daughter lifted a slim white hand and rested it on his; her casually possessive air sickened Serroi. “She, hasn't been searched. You heard what she said?”

“Of course. One wonders how many have heard her little tale.” His eyes ran over Serroi again. “Still, she makes little difference. The thing is almost done. When this business is finished, I'd like to explore her anomalies. Tuck her away in the Plaz dungeons and forget her till then.” His hand closed on her shoulder with bruising force. She leaned her veiled head back against him, breathing hard enough so that the puffs of air from her lips blew the grey veil about. “You can play with her then, my sicamar.” His words held a hint of amusement, but his face was without expression. He squeezed the woman's shoulder again, then stepped back behind the tapestries.

Serroi swallowed, swallowed again, finding what she'd just seen almost impossible to believe. The Daughter—she who should be closest to the Maiden, strongest, wisest, sanest. “Why?”

“Why not?” The Daughter's voice was filled with contempt. She would neither justify her actions nor bother to debate one who had no power to threaten her. Serroi began to shiver.
A Nor's toy. Again. Maiden bless, again
. The Daughter watched in a hot silence, her breathing fast and hard, as the Sleykyn took Serroi's arm and led her away.

Not again. Not again. Not again. No more betraying. Not another Tayyan. No more animals done to death with my help. Hold out. Say nothing. Don't betray Dinafar or Coperic. Say nothing. Not a sound. If I can. Make them kill me. Say nothing
. Over and over the words pounded through her head in time to the sound of her feet as the Sleykynin marched her through the arch and along the back way from the Temple to the Plaz, one on each side of her, holding her arms delicately in their gloved hands, hands that could rip the skin from her if they closed hard. A few ragged urchins saw them, faded away before them. She hoped Coperic would learn she'd been taken and be warned.
Be ready to leave at the slightest hint of trouble. Hear and be warned, my friend. I've sworn to say nothing, but such swearings have been betrayed before
.

They took her in through the small door in the Plaz wall that had admitted the Norid and his escort that other night. One Sleykyn opened the secret door, the other shoved her inside and followed close behind. He took her arm again, delicately again, and took her along the dark musty corridor whose blackness rapidly became complete as they left the entrance behind. Then light flared behind them. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw that the second Sleykyn followed with a small torch.

They marched past the meeting room, then began winding downward through the rat-hole in the walls, emerging finally into a vast sub-basement, torch-lit and well furnished with the tools of torment, rack and screw, whipping posts and burning irons and all the other aids to reaming what truth the torturer wanted to hear from the reluctant bodies of his victims.

THE CHILD: 11

The creature staggered around, head swaying at the end of a long skinny neck, honking unhappily. It stumbled toward her, wincing, as cracked pads came down on bits of rock. Giggling, dizzy with relief, Serroi raced down the slope and stopped in front of the beast, gazing up into its mild silly face. “Jamat,” she said. It ducked its head and nudged at her shoulder. She scratched between small round ears and slipped her fingers under the worn patched halter it was wearing. Fluttering from the tether ring under its chin, a bit of frayed rope slapped at her stomach.

She caught the rope and turned the beast. Walking along beside it she thought,
it must have been scared by something, broke away, then ran off in a panic and got itself lost
. She put her hand on its side, feeling the trembling, the labored breathing.
Poor thing, it's weak with hunger and thirst
. She glanced at the sun, then started leading the jamat forward.
No choice now, got to find water
.

Half the morning passed before she reached the spring. She had to use the animal control she'd learned in the Tower to keep the jamat moving. Again and again it tried to kneel and let itself die; again and again, she prodded it back on its feet, got it moving, though it honked mournfully and blew slime bubbles in her face. She was shaking with exhaustion when the jamat lifted its head, twitched the rope out of her hand and broke into a shambling trot.
It smells water
. She sighed and pushed the damp hair off her face, then began trudging after it—and found it blissfully sucking up water from a bubbling pool in a deep hollow. There was plenty of brush, dried grass, even some late flowers. She sat on the damp earth beside the pool, grateful for the rest and the touch of coolness. After a moment she stretched out and drank. Then she drove the jamat back so it wouldn't founder. As it browsed contentedly at the thorny brush around the pool, she killed and skinned two of the rodents that poked their noses up to see what was happening. She ate hungrily then buried the skin, entrails and bones.

The sun burned down. She moved to the spring and rolled into the water. Dripping and picking up grit on her knees, she crawled into a clump of bushes. The earth was covered with a layer of short dry grass and half-rotted leaves, a softer bed than she'd had for days.

She woke late in the afternoon and found the jamat kneeling close to her, its long neck drawn back, its head tucked behind the upthrust of its hipbone. Chuckling, she crawled out of her hollow, stood and stretched. Without disturbing the snoring beast, she raided nests for eggs and killed a fat lizard. After eating, she drank deeply, then stripped off her robe and let herself slip into the pool. With handfuls of sand she scrubbed herself clean, body and hair, until she tingled all over, then she began on her tattered robes. When she was finished, she pulled the robes around her and crawled back into the shade.

She woke again after the sun was down and toed the jamat awake. It rocked alertly to its feet and turned its head in a half-circle, a look of mild astonishment on its silly face. It stretched out its long neck and sniffed at her hair, her face. She pulled the bony head down against her chest and scratched behind round yellow ears until she was bored with that and shoved the head away. She moved along the barrel body, looking carefully at legs and ribs. Not a tremble left. Food, water, rest, these had restored it.

She chuckled, grabbed a handful of the thick curly hair that covered its body and drew herself up onto its back, kicking and wriggling about until she was up and astride. The jamat honked its disapproval and immediately went down on its knees, front end first, nearly precipitating her over its head, then dropping its hind end, jerking her backward. She blinked, resettled herself, then snorted her disgust. Using her animal control skills, she goosed it back on its feet, clutching desperately at the corkscrew fleeces to keep herself from being rocked off. She kicked her heels into its sides and hung on as it moved off at a slow jog that sent her insides rolling.

For the first hour, riding was a struggle. After that she settled into the proper rhythm and relaxed enough to consider her direction.
You're Pehiiri raised, if I'm right about where I am. Probably ran away from a mouscar
—
one not too far away, a day or two at most
. She rubbed at her nose, suddenly nervous at the thought of meeting people after so many years alone with the Noris.
Seven years. Ah well
.… She closed her eyes and
desired
humankind, then turned the jamat's head in the direction of the developing tug.

Her spirits began to bubble up; the feel of warm life under her eased her loneliness. For the moment she was happy. As the jamat rocked along, she watched the earth flowing past and reveled in the speed of its passage, giggling occasionally as she pictured her own short legs scissoring like mad to cover the same ground. She leaned forward until her cheek was turned against the jamat's shoulder. Overhead the moons danced their slow pavanne while she drowsed, warm and comfortable, the jamat humping and swaying under her, the multiple moon shadows dancing over the barren earth. A while longer and she wound her fingers in the fleeces, let herself drift off to sleep.

Shortly before dawn the jamat honked loudly and repeatedly. Serroi started awake, nearly falling off. Righting herself, she rubbed at her eyes and looked around.

She was out of the desolation into an area of scattered brush and patches of thick dry grass. The jamat's pace quickened. She bounced up and down, struggling to settle herself; after biting her tongue, she clenched her teeth together and simply hung on. The jamat topped a low rise then ran full tilt down the slope toward a cluster of long, low tents. Before she could do more than take in the scattered sights, the jamat was rubbing noses with others of his kind clustered in a rope corral. She straightened; tense and a little afraid, she tried to evaluate the situation.

Pehiiri came out of the tents and stood a little way off, staring at her. Five grim-faced pehiiri separated from the others and came toward her, one of the men yelling and shaking his fist at her. She cringed as the man grabbed at her leg and growled a command. Pehiirit wasn't one of the languages she'd studied; she shook her head, spread out her hands to show him she didn't understand what he was saying.

Those actions sent the blood into his face; roaring with fury, he started to jerk her off the jamat's back. The beast roared, twisted his skinny neck around and snapped long yellow teeth close to the man's arm. He leaped back. As Serroi watched helplessly, a second man raised a crossbow and aimed it at her; she sucked in a deep breath, looked frantically about for a place to jump as his finger tightened on the trigger.

THE WOMAN: XII

Dinafar woke with the sun in her face. It shone through broken shutters, painting odd shapes over the bed and floor. She stretched, yawned, got out of bed and dressed in her spare clothing, wrinkled but cleaner than those she'd worn on the walk to Oras. She unbarred the door and stepped into the hall.

Coperic came through the other door as if he'd stood behind it waiting for her. “Your brother's gone out already,” he said sourly. He nodded at the tray in his hands. “Want something to eat?”

“Gone!” She started for the stairs.

Two quick steps and he was in front of her, the tray catching her just below her small breasts. “Don't be a fool.” Before she could protest, he took her arm, his fingers tight enough to hurt, and pushed her back into her room. He shouldered the door shut, swung her around, shifted his hand to the middle of her back and shoved her gently onto the bed. He set the tray down on the table and stood watching as she wriggled off her face and bounced up. “Don't try it,” he said quietly.

“You can't keep me here.” She pushed her hair back from her face and glared at him.

“No?” He jerked his head at the door. “If I have to, I'll put you behind the wall and keep you there long as you keep acting stupid.”

“Stupid!”

“You heard me.”

She stared defiance at him, rubbing at her arm. “You hurt me.”

“What do you expect when you go to putting the meie in danger?”

“I wouldn't.” She swallowed, pushed her hands back over her hair. “I wouldn't.”

“You were about to chase out after her yelling your head off.”