A Bait of Dreams (21 page)

“What about Merd?”

“I'll miss the big idiot, but I'd miss my head a lot more. If the Stareyn goes, he'll be on duty till he drops. What I see, there's going to be trouble. When powerful families fight, the little people get stomped. Like you said, you can feel the tension, even here in the Strangers' Quarter. Any day now the mess starts. One of the reasons Merd's captain is so edgy.” She giggled. “One of the reasons I got this eye.” She looked up. Clouds were beginning to thicken over the suns. “Damn. It's going to be a wet night. On top of everything else that means the Horn is going to be wall-to-wall boatmen, Hankir Kan's Hands like lice on a beggar's hide.” She hitched her cloak back around her, fastened the chain and pin. “Think about what I said, Gleia. The Juggler's got himself in a real sticky spot. That little viper the Lossal would poison half the city to protect his daughter. He'll never admit even to himself that she sleeps around worse than any whore. Six days now.” She shook her head. “I don't think you'll see him again.” Sighing, she stood and pulled up the hood of her cloak. “I've got to go. Merd's coming back later this afternoon and he expects me to be home. Think about it. If you want to leave, come with me.”

Gleia watched her swing off then looked down at the skim of cha left in the mug. With a sharp cry of pain and frustration, she tightened her fingers about the mug, then flung it against the wall where it crashed into crumbly shards that pattered softly on the stone pavement. She dropped her head into her hands, her dilemma intensified by Deel's offer. “Shounach, Shounach,” she whispered. “What should I do? If I knew what was happening to you … if I knew … why me … why do you try so hard with me … if I knew … if I knew what I … Madar curse all Ranga Eyes.” She lifted her head and stared down at her hands.
Ranga Eyes. Worse than any drug. Those that make laws
…
every place I know, they say it's death to be found with one, death if you're caught trying to sell one. But men do. And men buy them. Ranga Eyes. Ranga dreams. They bait us with dreams. Until we can't look away. Until we die of hunger and thirst … and longing.
She cupped a hand and saw in it the colorless egg-shaped crystal she'd stumbled over in that street in Carhenas. Her Ranga Eye. She remembered holding it, letting it warm in her hands until it folded her in veils of bright color, until it showed her a world unlike her drab, gray surroundings, a world where tree-sized flowers bloomed under a butter-yellow sun, a world where men flew on great bright butterfly wings, dancing their delight in soaring swoops. They called to her, called her to come, whispered to her that she had only to let go, let the Eye take her and she would be with them soaring on transparent wings under a single yellow sun. Gleia shivered and let her hands drop.
How many times do I have to say no?
She rubbed her hands on the cafta, trying to rub away the feel of the crystal egg.
Death to be found with them, but still the traders carry them. And fools buy them. Ranga Eyes. I wish Zuwayl hadn't told you where he got the Eyes, Shounach. If it wasn't for those damn Eyes you wouldn't have gone off with her … and left me … I think you wouldn't have left … Madar bless, I don't know … I don't know … I don't know.…
She jumped to her feet, jerked up the hood, walked quickly away.

Late that evening when she came back to her room, tired from wandering aimlessly about the market quarters, she shut the door and turned to find rain drifting in through the open shutters. With an exclamation of annoyance, she ran to the window and reached out to unhook the braces, the rain misting into her face.

Four large men came trotting down the street, rain painting highlights on their oiled bodies and running down the sides of the gilded litter they carried. Gleia recognized the blue curtains, stiffened, wondering whether she was glad or not to see it.

Shounach slid out, shook his bright head as the misting rain settled on his hair, pressed a lingering kiss onto the small, plump hand thrust through the curtains after him. Ignoring the rain slanting down harder now, he watched the litter move off, then looked up. When he saw Gleia, he grinned, waved, ran into the building.

Gleia swung the shutters to and dropped the bar-latch into its hooks. She moved to the bed and sat down, shoulders bent, feeling strange. All the pain, anger and uncertainty was back.

He rapped on the door. “Gleia, open up.”

She slid off the bed, kicked off her sandals, padded to the door. After a moment's hesitation, she turned the key in the lock and retreated to the windowseat. Her body tucked into the corner where the walls met, she sat with legs pulled up, hands resting on her knees.

Shounach stepped inside, shut the door, looked around. The only light in the room came from the torches in the hall, trickling in through the cracks around the door. He was a nervous shadow in the darkness. She could hear him moving about, could feel his annoyance in the jerky movements. He dropped his bag beside the bed. “Gleia?”

She closed her eyes. Accusation, bitter complaints, questions boiled inside her, all of them futile, it seemed to her. Without speaking she watched him light the lamp. Her hands were shaking again. She folded her arms across her breasts, hugging the cafta tight against herself, waiting for him to speak.

“Sitting in the dark?”

She examined his face, still saying nothing. He looked tired and irritated, but the grinding frustration that had been wearing him down was gone; he'd found out what he wanted to know. She swallowed and let her eyes drop.

“Sulking?” He dropped onto the bed and began pulling off his boots. “Come here.” With a grin he patted the bed beside him. “Got some good news.”

She pulled her legs up farther, pushed back into the” corner. “No.”

He slipped out of the loose jacket and threw it on the floor by the boots. “What's eating at you?”

Sucking in a long breath, she fought with the urge to spill her anger over him. She swallowed repeatedly, finally burst out, “Five damn days and not a word.”

“You know where I was.” He started undoing the fastenings of his trousers. “And why I went there.”

She heard the anger in his voice as he snapped the words at her; it sparked her own anger. “So?” She wriggled out of the corner and swung her legs off the windowseat. “It couldn't have been that hard to get a word, one word, out to me. Let me know you're still alive. How do you think I feel when I hear how jealous the Lossal is of his daughter, that he'd poison half the city for her?” She leaned forward, her hands closed tight around the edge of the seat. “I saw her; she's beautiful. I never knew why you took up with me; you could decide to pack it in any time.” She lifted her head, stared at him, the anger draining from her. He looked tired and unhappy. His shoulders slumped. He wiped a hand across his face, dropped the hand on his knee. Gleia closed her eyes a moment, opened them again, said, “You did forget me, didn't you.”

“You finished?”

“No. But what's the point of saying more?” She shrugged. “I planned on leaving tomorrow, when I thought you weren't coming back.”

“And now that I have?”

“I don't know.”

Gleia was leaning back against the shutters, her face lost in shadow. The loose cafta fell about her body, concealing it, but her hands were restless, fingers twitching, palms brushing over her thighs, shifting across the wood of the windowseat. Shounach suppressed a burst of anger, felt instead a frisson of fear as this repeated an old pain. He was afraid of his anger, afraid of what it made him do. She'd wriggled in under his skin without knowing what she'd done, had stirred up emotions he'd thought dead—happily dead. He rubbed his hand across his face again. He was tired, sick with a self-loathing born of his pandering to Toreykyn's fancies, sick too from the ancient anger that drove him after the Ranga Eyes. He watched her hands a minute, then asked, “What do you want to do?” For the first time in far too many years he found himself caring about what another person decided; he could feel parts of himself unfolding painfully. Trying to shut those vulnerabilities away as he waited for her answer, he crossed his arms over his chest and stood watching her.

For several minutes she said nothing. Her hand lifted, her fingers moved slowly over her scars—her talismans. “I don't know.”

“You said that before.” He smiled briefly, let the smile fade when she continued to stare past him.

“I said it to myself a lot the last few days. Until I was sick of hearing it.” She sat up, bringing her face into the light. “I don't know if I can run double; that's the truth. Not when there's pressure on like now.”

“I see.” He looked down at his boots, at the jacket falling over them. He looked at her again, turned away. After stepping out of his trousers, he carried bag, boots, and clothing to the wall pegs where Gleia's bag already hung, its canvas sides bulging. He touched it, looked over his shoulder. “You're ready to go. All packed.”

She thrust her fingers impatiently through her hair. “I told you.”

“So you did.” He dropped the bag and boots, hung jacket and trousers on the pegs, then came slowly to the bed, stretching and yawning as he walked. She watched without moving. He stripped the quilt back until it pooled at the foot of the bed, then lay on his back, pulled a pillow under his head, folded it, wriggled about until he was comfortable. “Come here, Gleia. I'm tired of yelling across a room at you.”

Smiling reluctantly, she shook her head. “I don't trust you, Fox. You could talk a tars into skinning himself for you.”

“That windowseat looks uncomfortable and it gets cold before dawn.” He rolled onto his side, propped himself on an elbow and held out his hand. “Don't be silly, love. Come here and listen to the story of my life.”

“Damn you, Fox.” She slid off the windowseat. “Five days in that bitch's bed. I should kick you out that window.” She jerked her head back at the shutters, then began pulling off the cafta. Her words muffled, she went on, “You don't know how tempted I am.” After draping the cafta over the unfinished shawl on the bedside table, she blew out the lamp, then stretched out beside Shounach, lying on her stomach, her head resting on crossed arms. “The story of your life?”

“A part of it.” He smoothed his hand slowly down the curve of her back, her flesh cool and taut under his fingers. “I had a brother once.” Catching hold of one of her curls, he drew the silky length between thumb and forefinger. “A long time ago. A half-brother really, although we grew up almost like twins.”

She pushed his hand away, turned slightly on her side. “I'm making no promises. Tell me what you want, but remember, it won't mean I have to stay. I'll make up my own mind; I won't be pushed.” She settled back. What he could see of her face was set in stubborn lines.

He turned on his back, stared into the shadows thick on the ceiling. “Remember how we met?”

“On that ship the Thissik took over. Why?”

“You told me you couldn't remember your parents. I.…” He lay silent a moment. The noise from the tap room filtered up the stairs and hovered over them. Shounach could feel Gleia resisting him. She was moving away, stiffening. He stared into the darkness, scratched at an arm. “When the Thissik brought you in and dumped you on that bunk, I thought I'd been fooling around too much with the Eyes. I saw my brother.… you could have been his twin.”

“Your brother?” She pushed up from the bed, swung around until she was sitting cross legged, looking down at him. “Your brother? All this time you've been making love to your brother?” There was anger and revulsion in her voice. She started to slide off the bed.

He caught her ankle. “Don't be stupid.”

“Let go.” She kicked her foot, trying to shake him off.

He hesitated then released her. “Go if you want.” He rolled over, turning his back to her, waiting tensely to see if his gamble worked. There was silence for several minutes then he heard the sheets rustling as she stretched out on her stomach again.

“Well?” The word was sharp, almost spat at him.

“Well what?” He grinned into the darkness, relief and happiness stirring his blood, but he kept amusement out of his voice.

“What has your brother got to do with anything?”

“Ummph.” He turned on his back again, punched the pillow up, angled his head so he could see her. Her face was lost in shadow, her curls tumbling forward until all he could see was the curve of her jawline. “Half-brother,” he said. “Same father, different mothers; my mother was a red-haired witch with a curse on her. She.…” He stopped abruptly, finding after all he couldn't talk about the mother who'd abandoned him. “Never mind. My brother had a temper like yours, Gleia. Lava-hot one minute, gone the next. I was different. I held grudges a long, long time. Far beyond any reasonable point. My father tried to teach me better, but as the story goes on you'll see how little luck he had with that. My … my mother sent me a present one day, a Ranga Eye. I was watching the river flow past when a man came along the road behind me, told me he had something for me, a present, like I said, from my mother. He juggled it a moment then threw it in the water. I fished it out. If you're interested, that's the river that comes to sea a little south of Carhenas.”

Gleia made a soft startled sound. He shifted onto his side, smoothed the hair back off her face, touched the scars on her cheek. “Strange to think we might be related,” he said.

“I thought you were off-worlder. You let me think that.”

He smoothed his hand over her back. “I don't talk about this much. I killed my brother.”

“Shounach.” She wriggled around, caught his hand—she drew back, peered through the darkness at his face, her skepticism returning.

He closed his hand about hers, taking strength from her. The next part was painful, no matter how he struggled to distance himself from the memory, he could still see his brother's emptied face. “I was about six-standard that spring. And angry with my brother. We'd played some trick, I can't even remember what it was, and he'd told on us, got us both punished. Why I was sulking down by the river. After that stranger disappeared, I fished the Eye out of the water and sat turning it over and over, fascinated, as it began playing its dreams for me. You know. Before it could get too strong a hold on me, the bell rang for the evening Madarchants. I hid the Eye in the roots of a tree and went inside. And things got worse. After supper I quarreled then fought with my brother and I was punished and he was cossetted. That night I set the Eye beside him, then went to bed, pleased with myself, figuring he'd play with it all night so he'd be spanked for oversleeping. He must have been especially sensitive. In the morning he was already lost. Eaten hollow.” He pulled his hand free, moved away from her, lay staring up into the shifting shadows. The ancient anger was growing; he struggled to control it as he finished the story. “I ran away because I was afraid of what they'd say and do to me. I couldn't face that, couldn't face myself. I ran into the mountains, came near dying half a dozen times. Met an Offworld thief, went with him until he died. Wandered about, never coming back to Jaydugar, running away from myself as much as anything. Taught myself not to feel deeply about anything. But something happened not long ago—that's another story, I'll tell you sometime—that sent me back here.”