Black Sun Rising (54 page)

Holding all those layers in place was his thick leather belt, which he refused to relinquish even for a moment. He hadn’t dared to check on its contents for some time after their capture—he was afraid that if the rakh observed how much he valued it they might take it away from him, as they had his sword—but as soon as the humans had been left to their own devices he had unlaced its closure, and drawn out the two precious containers. Both were still intact—thank God!—though neither was wholly undamaged. The silver flask had a dent in one side, which spoke of some severe impact; the crystal flask, still glowing with the pure golden light of the Fire, had developed a jagged flaw that followed the line of its engraved surface pattern, but was still apparently airtight enough to safeguard the few drops of moisture remaining within it. Relief was so strong in him when he saw that the Fire was safe, he could taste it in his mouth. God help them all if that most precious weapon were ever lost.

Tarrant had finished with his narration now, and there was no way to tell whether it had fallen on sympathetic ears or not. The rakhene faces were unreadable.

“You came to kill one demon,” an elder female challenged them.

It was Damien who spoke. “We came to see to it that one demon dies, in order for our friend to be freed. As for the rest of them ...” he hesitated. What was it they wanted to hear? What words would buy his party safe passage? “I think we would all rather see them dead than feeding on the living. Wouldn’t you? But whether that’s something we four can accomplish remains to be seen.”

The high-ranking rakh whispered among themselves in their native tongue, an occasional English word thrown in—usually mispronounced—to clarify a given point. Damien noted that one of the
khrast
women was nearly naked now, her few minimal garments adorning rather than concealing full, heavy breasts, dark nipples, rounded hips and thighs. She fidgeted restlessly as she listened to the proceedings, unable to concentrate on any one focus for more than a minute or two. Periodically her eyes would wander over to one of the inner circle’s males, and fix on him with candid hunger. In heat? Damien wondered. The thought was oddly disquieting.

“There is more than demons in our east,” an elder female announced at last. “There is a human also.”

Across the circle, he saw Senzei stiffen. His own heart doubled its pace excitedly as this new information hit home.

“What manner of human?” he asked her. “Where?”

It was clear that she lacked the words she needed to answer his question efficiently. “In Lema,” she offered. “Which is place most east, before water. In the place of storms.
Assst
!”

Clearly frustrated, she turned to the
khrast.
The female they knew from Morgot took over. “Our people call it the House of Storms, because when the human first came and built his citadel there were great storms that gathered there—lightning that filled the sky for months on end, thunder so loud it made speaking impossible. There are still more storms than there should be, in that region. No one knows why.”

“Who is this human?” Damien asked. “What’s he doing here?”

The
khrast
woman exchanged quick words with her elder, then explained, “They call him the
One Who Binds.
And other names, equally descriptive. He came here over a century ago and established himself in the region we call Lema. No rakh has ever seen him—but we can taste his human taint on the currents, and smell his stink along the eastern Canopy.”

“Over a century,” Ciani whispered.

“More than a single lifetime,” Tarrant agreed. And he explained to the rakh, “Avoiding death takes more than mere sorcery, among our kind. What we’re dealing with here is either an adept ... or he’s made one hell of a Sacrifice.”

“Or both,” Damien said grimly.

The rakh spoke among themselves in quick, sharp syllables; no doubt considering how much they would tell the humans, and in what manner.

At last: “Bring her,” an elder ordered, and a lesser male sped from the circle to obey.

A few minutes later he returned, a small female in tow. Unlike all the others she was dressed in unpatterned cloth, and her fur was thin and matted. Her fearful, darting gaze made her seem more animal than any of the others—indeed, when judged against her standard, they seemed doubly human by contrast.

“This one came from the east many greatmonths ago,” the
khrast
woman explained. “She’s been sheltering with one of our southern tribes, here in the plains. Our
hris
sent for her last morning.”

The woman came nervously into their circle; Damien had the impression she was ready to bolt for cover at the first sign of danger. He felt driven to comfort her, to ease her terror—but he knew that he lacked the custom, the language, and the knowledge needed to do so. If she would even let a human that close to her, which was doubtful. He forced himself to stay where he was as she approached, and to say nothing to her—but he fumed at his own enforced impotence.

She knelt near the center of the circle, facing the tribal elders. A female addressed her gently. “You are from Lema,”

The girl hesitated, then nodded. Damien guessed that her English was poor.

“Tell us,” an elder male prompted. “Tell us, in human speech, what you saw there.”

She looked around the circle, seemed to notice the humans for the first time. She almost cried out—but the sound seemed to die on her lips, and though she started as though to flee the motion was cut short, aborted before it began. Damien glanced at Tarrant, saw his pale eyes focused in a Working. A Tranquilizing? No. Probably something more malevolent, that accomplished the same end. Anything that close to a Healing would be too out of character for him.

“I see ... in Lema ...” She drew in a deep, shaky breath; there was moisture under her eyes. “I see ... my people are in fear. Many go to feed the hungry ones, disappear from family. Large years, it so. Many of those, eaters of souls. All hungry. Always hungry.” She shivered, and a gust of fear wafted over Damien; rakh emotion, tainting the earth-fae. “All rakh fear. All work in day, unnatural, live in sun to be free from fear. Is pain in day,
sisst
?—but safe. Yes? More safe than dark.
They
hunt in dark.”

“Tell us about the hungry ones.” Tarrant’s voice was low and even, filled with quiet power. Damien could almost see the link he had established with the terrified woman—perhaps because of his own link to the Hunter, quiescent though it was. He felt the adept’s mesmerism as though it were directed at him. As though the man’s knowledge of English was flowing into him, not the woman-and with it, the Hunter’s enforced calm.

“They came from the east,” she whispered. “In big ships, like the humans use. From across the Sea of Fire. Many, many years ago. There were few of them then. For a long time, there were few. They hunt like animals, in night. Some rakh die, but not many. Some rakh ...” She hesitated, shivering as some particularly painful memory passed through her. “They eat rakh thoughts. They leave the body, eat the mind. Sometimes rakh hunt them like animals, kill them. But the hungry ones hide. Hide good. Come again, later. But always, before, there were few of them. In the past.”

She looked about the circle, studying her audience. Her eyes fixed on Tarrant for a long, silent moment, and suddenly Damien knew what manner of Working had quieted her. No: what manner of mesmerism made her
seem
so calm, while the Hunter drank in the sweet savor of her terror. Damien started forward instinctively, stopped himself only with great effort.
There’s nothing you can do,
he told himself bitterly. And:
He needs it. He’s got to feed. If he doesn’t live off the fear he finds here, he’ll have to go out and inspire some of his own. And that’s even worse—isn’t it
? But his soul ached to free her from that malignant bond, and only by reminding himself,
Tarrant’s power is the only thing keeping her lucid,
did he manage to keep himself from interfering.

“Tell us about the human,” an elder prompted.

“I ...” She hesitated, struggling with her fear. Damien didn’t dare look at Tarrant, for fear of seeing the pleasure that must light his eyes. He might kill him if he did. “I think ... it was when the human came. That there were more of the eaters. Suddenly many more, and they begin to hunt in groups. Whole families of rakh disappear. I see ... I see ...” she shook her head in frustration, unable to find the proper word. “Rakh with no mind, rakh with half-mind, dead and damaged and wounded, so many....” Her voice shook; her shoulders were trembling. “Lema is half dead, many try leaving, but the hungry ones hunt the borders....”

“You escaped,” a female elder said gently.

She shook her head stiffly: yes. “Very few get out,” she whispered. “Very hard. No riding animals in Lema, like you have, must walk ... more than one day to walk that way, and in night
they
come....”

She lowered her face to her hands and shook; short gasping sounds that might have been rakhene weeping came from beneath the muffling fur.

After a brief consultation with the elders, the
khrast
-woman told the humans, “She can’t tell you any more than that, not even in our own tongue. All she has left are fragments of memory—and fear.”

“We understand.” Damien said quietly. He watched as Tarrant dissolved the bond between them—regretfully, it seemed—and waited until the male who had brought her to the circle escorted her out of it once more. Waited till she was safely out of hearing, so that their conference might cause her no further pain.

Then he challenged, “They’ve taken over a whole district.”

The
khrast
-woman’s amber eyes fixed on him. Her expression was alien, unreadable. “It would appear so,” she hissed softly.

“With the aid of a human. As protector? Servant? Probably the former, if he’s an adept.” He exhaled noisily. “No wonder you hate our kind so much.”

“This incident is the least of it,” she assured him.

Senzei spoke up, unaccustomed strength in his voice. “Look. You all want the same things we do. The death of these creatures. The fouling of their plans. If you would just let us go, let us do what we came to do—wouldn’t that help your people?” He hesitated. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“Is not easy, now,” the elder’s spokeswoman informed him. “Before, yes. Four humans, four horses, weapons, supplies, plans. You go east, and maybe die. Or maybe not. Maybe you kill the ones who eat rakh soul. But now....” She paused meaningfully. “Is not enough, just humans go. Just be free. Four humans with two horses, half of supplies, few weapons. If you go now, like that, you die sure. You
fail
.” It was clear from her voice that the latter was what disturbed her. “You understand? My words enough good? Need translate?”

“No,” he said quietly. “We understand.”

“To make you free now, no more than this, is same as to kill you. Why not just kill? More easy, yes? And we keep supplies. But if humans go free—if humans go to kill Dark Ones—then rakh must help. And to help humans....” She shivered dramatically.

It was Ciani who spoke. “You’ve already decided.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “We have decided.”

“And?” Damien pressed.

She looked at the
khrast
woman. Who told them, coolly, “You’ll need fresh mounts. We have xandu. You’ll need weapons. Ours are primitive by your standards, but they’ll spill blood readily enough. We have food and cloth to spare, and oil for your lamps.” She looked at Damien. And added, somewhat stiffly, “You’ll need a guide.”

He nodded his understanding. “A rakh.”

“A
khrast.
One who knows your people as well as ours—and the land itself, which few of our people travel. Someone to get you safely to the east, so you can do what you came to do ... and liberate our people from this horror, as well as your own. That’s the deal,” she concluded. “Serve us as you serve yourselves—or die, and fail us both.”

“Not much of a choice,” he pointed out.

She grinned, displaying sharp teeth. “It wasn’t meant to be, human. So what do you say?”

He looked at his companions, saw in their eyes exactly what he expected. He nodded, and turned back to face the
khrast
woman.

“We accept,” he said. “Thank you.”

“This is debt,” an elder male warned him. “You come back here, tell what you see. Understand?”

“We do,” he assured him. “And we’ll do whatever we can, against these demons. I promise it.”

He looked around at the various
khrast,
saw the half-clad woman rubbing against a thickly maned male. Saw amber rakh-eyes, narrow and resentful, luminous with species hatred.

“So who’s the guide?” he asked.

“Who should it be?” the
khrast
-woman countered. “One who knows you better than any. One who’s seen you in the human lands, among your own kind. One who’s recently tolerated the combined stink of your species, so that her senses are numb to the reek of a few individuals.”

“In other words, you.”

Her thin nostrils flared. “Unless you have someone else in mind.”

From somewhere he dredged up a hint of a smile. “I wouldn’t presume.”

She turned to face the others of his party. “Is this acceptable?” One by one, they assented—Senzei with vigor, Ciani with relief, Gerald Tarrant with ... hell, did he ever look agreeable? At least he nodded. But there was hatred burning just behind the surface of that carefully controlled facade, and Damien suspected he knew just how little it would take to fan it to a full-blown conflagration.

“I believe,” the rakh-woman said, “we have a bargain.”