Beneath an Opal Moon (34 page)

“Where is Chiisai?” he demanded of her.

“In another place,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Quite unharmed but also unable to interfere.”

“Interfere with what?”

The girl ignored this, reached out one hand. “Come,” she said. “Come with me.”

“I want to see Aufeya.”

“I will take you to her.”

Her eyes were soft and full of life as she stared at him, daring him to take her proffered hand.

At length, he did and she took him up the spiraling staircase.

Her long hair shone, swaying with her motion. “You shall see your Aufeya. In time. But there are other things you must view first, after which”—she shrugged—“who knows, you may not even wish to see her.”

They were at another landing now and the girl led him to a door banded with iron. It appeared firmly locked but, at a sweep of her thin arm, it opened outward silently. “Behold!”

It was a room dimly illuminated by one squat oil lamp sitting high up on a ledge like a giant insect. The cubicle was filled with gems, cut and uncut, of every description. Great glowing emeralds and fat bloody rubies, flawless diamonds of untold karats and sapphires as blue as the noonday sky. Interspersed among these were the lesser gemstones: enormous dusky topaz, smouldering amethysts, fiery opals and glowing pearls and, in one section, the deep translucent green of royal Fa'sui jade, the rarest in all the world.

“What say you to this, Moichi?” the girl said. “What care you for one woman when this wealth is here for you to use as you wish. Why, with this treasure you could buy the city of Alara'at!”

“Alara'at?” He swung on her. “What know you of Iskael?”

But the girl was gone. In her stead was a woman with the head of an ibis. Her lush body was clothed in a gown of iridescent multicolored feathers. Her head was as white as snow.

“Come,” she said, taking his hand again, leading him upward.

On the next landing was another door, behind which he saw his house in Iskael. It was the rear, just outside the kitchen. He saw Sanda and Jesah obviously arguing but he could not hear their words. Jesah struck her and Sanda whirled, running off into the night.

“What know you of my home?” Moichi asked. “How can you conjure such a thing?”

The ibis ducked its head and smiled, not an easy gesture for an avian face. “Such images come quite easily after a time. You'd be surprised.”

“I'm already quite surprised.” He eyed her. “I had a dream last night.”

“Of home.”

“Yes. Of home. Was that your doing?”

“How could it be? That is quite impossible.”

“Yet you know of my brother, my sister Sanda, my house.”

“I know these things, yes.”

“How?”

“As I said, it is not so difficult—in time.” She turned and gestured. The door swung to. “Come.”

They went up to the head of the stairs. They were close to the top of the atrium and the strange music was louder here, differently pitched.

“What—?”

He stood next to a tall woman with skin of gold leaf. Her hair was platinum flex and her eyes were great faceted rubies. Her nails were translucent sapphires and her half-covered breasts were opals. Her robe was cloth-of-platinum, a material no ordinary seamstress could work, and her low sandals were crafted from the pelts of snow-ermine. She wore a platinum helm, high and conical and horned.

“I have been to many places.” The voice had changed now, so that it had a hard, almost metallic edge.

Was this her real voice? He had no way of knowing.

They went along the narrow balcony; a low stone barrier, coming to just above his knees, protected them from the sheer drop to the floor of the main hall. Through a sculpted archway, they entered a sort of sitting room. The stone floor was strewn with ermine pelts before a large plush sofa and several high-backed chairs. Behind the sofa was a wall which jutted out three quarters of the way into the room. To the left were a series of severely narrow windows; the room was dark beyond them and he had no clear idea of what might lie there or even how far back it went.

Upon entering, she threw herself down, lounging at full-length upon the long sofa. “I would offer you something to drink or to eat,” she said with no trace of regret in her voice, “but, as you can see, there is nothing of that nature here.”

“Why don't you conjure it up?” His left hand was on the hilt of his sword.

She smiled disconcertingly, her face glittering. “An amusing notion.” She put a forefinger to her lips. It looked like a slender jewel. “You are an intriguing fellow. I would like to know you better.”

He laughed humorlessly. “I hardly think that likely.” He came across the room to her, sat on the edge of the sofa and reached out one hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Is this all real?” He indicated the room, everything about them.

“As real as is anything,” she answered gravely. But a soft smile still played on her lips.

“But you are not.”

She evinced surprise. “I? I'm as real as you are. Come, touch me if you do not believe me.”

His hand hesitated in midair.

She threw her head back, laughing. “Do you expect deceit, then?”

He glanced around. “There seems to be nothing here but illusion.”

“Ah, no,” she said, her head against the back of the couch. “Now you do me an injustice.” He took his hand, brought it to her. She pressed his fingers against one breast. He was surprised to find it warm and resilient; she was flesh and blood, after all. He felt her heart beating. “Now what do you say?” Her voice was almost a whisper. Slowly, she contrived to move his hand. Around and around. He could feel her nipple now.

He took his hand away and stood. From this position, her eyes seemed heavy-lidded as she gazed languidly up at him. “Why are you afraid to show me what you really look like?”

“Afraid?” she said. “I am not afraid of anything.”

“You're afraid of the truth, Sardonyx.”

“I like the way you say it, my name.” She rose, stood next to him. “I shall prove to you that I am not afraid of the truth. Ask me anything.”

“Where is Aufeya?”

“Here. Above us.”

“Is she alive?”

“Why, of course.”

“Have you tortured her?”

“My dear sir, what do you take me for?”

“I'd rather not answer that.”

She smiled wryly. “Yes,” she said. “I do like you, rather.”

“What was your business in Iskael?”

“Why, my ‘business,' as you put it, was the same there as it was wherever I journeyed. I bartered, traded—”

“Pirated,” he finished for her.

She nodded. “True, I am a freebooter. A time-honored profession.”

“And a sorceress.”

She laughed. “Who told you that?”

“I learned it—from a friend.”

Her face turned hard and there was a brittle edge to her voice now. “A friend from
Corruña
, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

“What lies has that bitch told you about me?”

“Tsuki only wants to be left alone,” he said evenly.

“She should have thought of that a long time ago, my friend. Too late now. Far too late.”

“There's no need for—”

“Don't be a fool,” she snapped. “It ill becomes you.” She lay back down on the couch. “Yet I am what I am,” she said seriously. Her thighs moved slightly and the slit of her gown widened, exposing her legs to the hip.

He turned away, crossed to one of the fissurelike windows and peered out, but there was nothing really to see. He turned back to her. She had not altered her position or her state. “Where are you from?” he said.

She made a sound like a snort. “What possible difference could that make?”

“I asked, therefore I'm interested.”

“I hardly think you would believe me.”

“You've given your word, Sardonyx, to tell me the truth. Even sorceresses must have ethics.”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I am not so different from you as you would believe.” She took a deep breath and he watched her heavy breasts rise against the platinum material of her gown. “I was born in the land of Aden.”

“Aden,” he said wonderingly. “South of Iskael. Our ancient enemies.”

“The two countries border,” was all she would acknowledge. “I was born in the mountains, however. Nowhere near the border. At a very early age, my parents, being poor, and my mother, crippled and unable to work, sold me into slavery.” She shrugged. “Not so very uncommon among those people.” He noted the lack of her use of “my.”

“I was sold to a man. A merchant so wealthy that he had had no need of work for the rest of his life. Others saw to that. The vast amounts of free time left him bored and filled with ennui. Thus he turned to buying women—girls, to be scrupulously accurate. I really think
women
would have intimidated him too soundly.” She stretched, her arms behind her head. This was most distracting for it pushed her already straining breasts even further toward him. “He enjoyed tying me up. Then he would beat me for a long time until—Well, I need not go into detail. Surely you can figure out for yourself what would happen next. Suffice it to say that it was most—unpleasant.” She smiled. “At first, of course, I did not resist. As I said, slavery is well-known in that land—”

“How well the Iskamen know that, Sardonyx.”

“Yes. Of course, you're quite right. That is the basis of the old enmity between the two people. The Iskamen rose up and broke their chains of bondage and went out of Aden.”

“With the aid of God.”

“The god of the Iskamen.” She gave him a peculiar penetrating look. “How I envy you that.” But he did not know whether she meant the freedom or the faith. Perhaps it was both. “After a while,” she continued, “I found I had far too much respect for myself to allow this to go on. And during the days, while he played with others of his toys, I sought out the things I needed. One night, after he had had his way and lay snoring contentedly, I drew out four lengths of stout hemp which I had scavenged and carefully bound his wrists and ankles to the brass posts of the bed. He was a sound sleeper, and I knew if I was most careful he would not awaken. When that was done to my complete satisfaction, I removed the bottom half of his silken pajamas and I—bent to my task.” She paused, eyeing him. “This isn't getting too graphic for you, is it?”

“Go on,” was all he said.

“He awoke, of course, just as the pleasure was filling him. He opened his eyes and stared down at me. ‘Go on,' he said imperiously. ‘Go on, go on. I had no idea you had such a taste for it.'” She smiled. “He didn't know how right he was. I used my teeth.” She flicked an invisible bit of dust from the golden flesh of her thigh. “I think, in the end, he drowned in his own blood.”

Moichi watched her face as if those faceted ruby eyes could tell him something that her voice did not.

“I fled into the mountains,” she said. “They had been my home and, I suppose, I felt safe there.”

“And there,” Moichi said, his tone ironic, “you came upon an old woman, living far from civilization, who taught you how to be a sorceress.”

She laughed. “You've got a sense of humor, you know that? But that's all part of a children's story. Nothing of the sort happened, of course. They came after me and eventually caught me.” She shrugged. “It was a blessing, perhaps; I was half dead of hunger and exposure when they found me. Not very much left.” She sat up, hands in her lap as if she were some demure virgin. The slit in her gown had somehow disappeared under her. “They threw me in a cell and left me there to rot.” She laughed again. “Which was not, I suppose, very far away at that point. But I couldn't complain too much. I got food and water every day and no one bothered me. It was all right until I got my strength back. Then I wanted out.”

“And you did get out.”

“Naturally,” she said. “Here I am.”

“And how did you escape?”

“I bribed my way out.” She smiled. “With my body.”

“That hardly explains all of it,” Moichi said.

“Of course not. You surely can't expect a girl to give you all her secrets. At least not right away.” Her eyes glittered. “And we've only just met.” She rose. “Now excuse me, but I must leave you for just a moment.” She touched the back of his hand. “Now, do be a good boy and don't wander away. This place can be dangerous.” She turned away from him and went around the end of the wall to the left, disappeared into the darkness.

For a time, he stayed where he was, listening to the song of Mistral. Then, as if abruptly making up his mind, he whirled and followed her.

He turned the corner.

There was no light. It was as if he had unexpectedly stepped off a shelf of rock in the shallows and plunged to the bottom of the sea. He turned around the way he had come but he could see nothing. No wall, no windows. He put his hand out, questing. Nothing.

He heard laughter from behind him and swiveled to meet it. It was Hellsturm, one hand on his outthrust hip, insouciantly glaring at him. He lifted his other hand, beckoning Moichi on.

What is this? Moichi thought. Another illusion? Or—and now he felt a premonitory chill go through him—did I do battle with and kill an illusion in the forest?

He ran at Hellsturm and the tall man fled before him, his peculiar bestial laughter echoing behind him like a stream of bubbles. Moichi drew his sword, slashed at the figure, cutting it in two. But when he looked at the corpse, it was Aufeya's and, as he stared, horrified, the thing slithered away like a serpent into the blackness.

Then he understood and, sheathing his blade, stood quietly, waiting. After a short time, he could discern the slap of her sandals and then felt her hand, firm and cool, taking his, leading him out.