Diadem from the Stars (27 page)

“He was driven.… “Abruptly Aleytys began to cry. Held in Khateyat's comforting arms, she sobbed until her throat was raw and her stomach muscles aching with the shudders that jerked through her body.

N'frat came up to them, carrying a steaming mug of daz. She looked gravely at Aleytys, puzzlement evident on her small face. She stroked Aleytys's hair as the paroxysm of guilt and grief began to abate. “Drink this, friend. You'll feel better.”

Aleytys gulped and took the mug, then took a swallow of the hot spicy liquid.

“He was a bad man, Ayeh. I don't understand why …”

Leaning back against Khateyat's shoulder, Aleytys gave her a watery smile. “He's the first living thing I've … no, the first person I've ki-killed with my own hands. And … and, in a way, it wasn't his fault he was the way he was.”

N'frat looked at her and shook her head. “He was a bad man and it is a good thing he is dead.” She rested her hands on her thighs and continued to stare gravely at Aleytys. “If you have an enemy and he attacks you, kill him. It's the way.” She lifted her hand and tipped it palm up, moving it in a wide circle. “See the ways of the wild things.”

Aleytys sighed. “We were taught differently in the mountains. However, I suppose I'll have to leave that learning behind me. I still have to get to the other side of the Green.” She stood and stretched. “Will you take me?”

Khateyat sighed. “We will ask the R'nenawatalawa. Do you understand that that's the only way you can come with us? If they take you under their protection. Otherwise you will be filled if you leave this ground.” She spread out her hands. “It is the law of my people. And it is a necessary law. The life on the Wazael Wer is hard.”

“I accept that.” She walked to the river bank and stood looking down at the water. “I have to. How do you ask them? And when?”

Khateyat glanced at the suns. “At moonrise.” She chuckled. “You'll see how then.” She nodded at N'frat. “N'fri, you and R'prat get camp set up, will you?”

“Yes, Khateyat.” She hesitated, visibly distressed. “Raqat is still gone. Shani went after her. I don't think.…”

“Don't worry about them, child.” With an unhappy sigh, Khateyat touched her on the cheek. “Just go and do what I told you.”

Aleytys watched her run off. “Why …”

Khateyat turned away. “You do realize, Aleytys, that you can't take the horse with you.”

“What!” Catching hold of Khateyat's arm, she demanded, “Why?”

“The sesmatwe take only half as much water. The horse is a luxury we can't afford.” Khateyat smiled at her. “I think you have an affection for him. You would not enjoy seeing him in a stew-pot.”

Aleytys shuddered. “Aschla's bloody claws!”

“If you leave the stallion here, the caravaners who come to the tijarat will find him and take him. They treat their horses well, especially such a fine animal as he is. There's no need to be concerned about his welfare.”

Aleytys kicked gloomily at the grass. “I'll miss him,” she muttered. “Madar, everything I have …”

“Come sit down and tell me what brings you here.” Khateyat nodded toward the tree where Aleytys had been sitting when they first saw her. “I imagine it's a very interesting story.”

2

Aleytys crawled out of her chon, stood up, and stretched, working the night stiffness out of her muscles, enjoying the slip of the supple leather over her newly filled-out flesh. She sat down in front of the low tent and pulled the thongs off her braids, running her fingers through the fiery red strands. As she shook the crimps out and worked the bone comb through the knots, nostalgia woke in her. An image of Twanit smiling at her and chiding her for vanity flickered momentarily through her mind.

She smiled, then took in with quiet pleasure the noises, sights, and smells of the awakening camp: the groans of the sesmatwe as the camp boys ran the shell teeth of the currycombs through their coarse yellow-tan hair … the soft hissing of the yd'r-pat fires with their thick herb-scented smoke the strengthening scent of frying meat and hot daz as fire after fire flared up … the hoarse shouts of unseen men as they brought in strays … the joking calls between sept fire and sept fire as the women fixed breakfast and tended their infants and younger children. Those separate threads wove themselves into a vivid tapestry.

Aleytys tied thick braids with leather thongs and shook them over her shoulders so they hung down her back, a style cooler by far than when it hung in a free-flowing mass. She sighed and looked over at the chon erected next to hers. Khateyat was bending over the fire, stirring the pot of daz that hung from the forked p'yed. When she lifted her head and saw Aleytys watching her, she waved her over.

Aleytys tilted onto her knees and jumped to her feet. “Good morning, has' hemet.”

“Nathe hrey, young Aleytys.” Khateyat put the spoon down and turned the frying meat over in the pan. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved.” Aleytys wrinkled her nose. “After that ride over the mountains I just can't get enough to eat.” She flipped a hand at the ragged line of blue marking the eastern horizon.

With a chuckle, khateyat nodded and thrust the tines of a long-handled fork into a piece of meat and lifted it into a shallow bowl. “Here, Leyta. The daz is ready too; dip yourself a cupful.” She piled the rest of the meat on another plate after serving herself.

Aleytys took the dish and looked curiously around. “Where are the others?”

“Lifting wards from the herd. The other clans are still too close. Raids. We leave the river tomorrow and can relax a little, thanks be.” She spread a cloth over the extra meat and picked up her own dish.

Aleytys chewed the juicy mouthful, swallowed, and said earnestly, “I've been wondering about something. Why does Raqat hate me so? I haven't done anything to her.”

Khateyat compressed her lips. She poked at the meat in her plate. “I think this animal must have fought every inch of the way across the Wazael Wer.”

Aleytys felt her distaste for the intrusion, saw her shut-in face. She sipped at the daz and let it trickle down her throat as her eyes wandered around the camp. “Tell me about him,” she said abruptly, waving her cup at the tall, thin man walking past them, chains clanking musically as he moved.

“The slave?”

“Um. I thought you killed all strangers.”

With visible reluctance, Khateyat balanced her plate on her knee and turned to face Aleytys. “If I said forget it, hes Aleytys?”

Aleytys's right eyebrow flicked up and she grinned. “Well.”

Khateyat sighed. “For a grown woman carrying a child …”

Aleytys chuckled and cut another bite of meat. “Where'd you find him?”

“He's Raqat's, Leyta. Forget him.”

“But, Khateyat my friend, I've the worst itch in my curiosity.”

The older woman sighed. “Very well, but let it drop after. Please. He came with the fireball. It landed in a lake toward the western side of the Wer. We caught him as he came out of the water.”

Aleytys looked shrewdly at her. “That's not all.”

“He brought the diadem to this world.” Khateyat spoke softly, eyes flicking restlessly around. “He stole it. He's a thief and a stranger, not to be trusted at all. For some reason the R'nenawatalawa forbade killing him. He's not to be trusted.” She faced Aleytys and repeated emphatically, “Not to be trusted at all.”

“I think …”

“What, Leyta?”

A flashing smile lit up Aleytys's face. “I think I like the wild ones best; I've had too much trouble from the righteous.”

“There's wild and wild. Keep your head clear, young Leyta.”

“Don't worry about my head. It's the other end that's restless.” She chuckled, wriggling her behind on the leather.

Stavver walked past the fire once again, slanting a pale gaze down at her. She watched him as he turned around the edge of the herret and disappeared toward the river.

“Aleytys!” Khateyat's voice was stern. “It will take over five months to cross the Wer. I know the dark ones laid on us the burden of carrying you with us to the mountains, but … Will you think? If you indulge yourself, the bargain could be dissolved in blood.”

Aleytys sobered. “Yes, has' hemet. I understand. I was only teasing.” Bending toward the older woman, she touched her arm. “If I act like a thoughtless child now, it's only because this is the first chance I've had to play a little.” She straightened and patted her middle. “Give me another couple of months and the little one will put all that out of the question, anyway.” She drained the mug and sliced off another bite of yd'r meat.

Khateyat jabbed unhappily at the chunks of meat on her dish. “Leyta, I'm sorry. I wish …” She sliced off a sliver of meat, chewed briefly, and washed the mouthful down with a swallow of daz. “Wish it or not, you're going to be a wedge driving us apart.” She took another bite and chewed on the tough fragment for a while. Then she saw five small figures riding back toward the camp. Swallowing hastily, she stood up. “Leyta,” she said softly, then hesitated, glancing first at the girl, then at the approaching riders. “Will you … will you mind going somewhere else for a little while?” With a sigh, she held out her hands. “It's better to go lightly if you can. When you can.”

Standing up quietly, Aleytys touched Khateyat's hand. “I know.” She set the mug in the middle of the dish and handed both of them to the older woman. Then she turned her back on the worried face and strolled away.

On the far side of the herret, she looked toward the line of trees marking the location of the river. “Khatya's kind,” she muttered, “but I'm an outsider. She'll always put her own first.” She kicked up a clod of dirt that flew into the side of a tent, then rattled to the ground followed by the cry of a baby. Hastily she strode toward the river. “Get over the trouble lightly, Leyta. All things end, Leyta. Walk low and don't stir the grass, Leyta. Khas!”

She glanced back over her shoulder and saw the ragged white head of the slave hovering at a little distance. Whistling breathily between her teeth, she sauntered toward the trees with the white head drifting circuitously behind her. When she reached the bank, she scooped up a handful of gravel and sat down on a clump of grass. As she waited for the man to work his way inconspicuously to her she chucked the stones into the water one by one.

“That seems a profitless occupation.”

She looked around, moved her eyes deliberately up and down his wiry body. “The slave.”

He grimaced. “Call me Stavver.” He lowered himself beside her and glanced swiftly over his shoulder.

“They can't see you from the camp. Besides, it's time for breakfast. Have you eaten?”

“Enough.” He ran his eyes over her, avid curiosity strong in his face.

“You're from offworld?”

He raised his eyebrows, corrugating the reddened skin on his high forehead. “Right,” he said. He glanced up at the suns and shifted into the thickest shade next to the rough-skinned bydarrakh. “How do you know that?”

“Khateyat.” She swung around and sat facing him, her legs crossed, her hands resting lightly on her knees.

His skin, what there was visible around the patched leather coverings and shaggy beard, was red and peeling. Small translucent flakes floated from around his mouth and off his nose when he talked.
Long and skinny
…
no, not really skinny but … ai-Aschla … he'd fit through a knothole. My head would barely reach his ribs. He must have been very fair before Hesh went to work on, him, like my mother.
Excitement sparked in her. She leaned forward and stared at his eyes.
Khas,
she thought, disappointed,
like watery milk
…
the Vrya have green eyes.
She stifled a giggle. His moon-white hair stuck out in wisps and merged with a short scraggly beard.

“Satisfied, young mystery?” His long teeth flashed briefly under the straggling moustache.

“Why call me that?”

“Mystery?” He shrugged. “Aren't you? You're not one of the medwey. With that hair? And you're no slave. You pop up in the middle of nowhere sponsored by that bunch of witches. You're crossing this hostile territory for some secret reason of your own that no one in the camp understands. And for some reason you're under the protection of the local gods. So you tell me. Mystery?”

“Come to that, what about you?” She tapped her fingertips on her knee, jittering a little in response to her nervousness. “Why'd you come here? Why would any starman come to Jaydugar?”

He grimaced. “No choice. It was that or wait for some spiders who don't like me at all.”

“Spiders?”

“RMoahl hounds sniffing on my trail. I had something they wanted.” He narrowed his eyes and smiled at her.

“Khateyat says you're a thief. And that I shouldn't trust you at all.” She looked disparagingly at the unkempt figure in front of her.

“Come here where I can talk to you.” He spread out his arms and smiled lazily at her. She unfolded her legs and wiggled over the grass until she was sitting beside him, his arm around her shoulders. “Isn't that friendlier?”

“Not very wise, though.”

He chuckled. “Raqat catches you, you'll get that fantastic skin clawed up some.”

“So you're such a prize.”

“A rarity,” he said dryly, leaning back against the knobby trunk of the bydarrakh. “It's her brainstorm, not mine.”

“What's it like, the world you came from?” She could feel her throat tightening as she came closer to the questions she was waiting to ask, but she tried to keep her voice casual.

“That was a long time ago, lovely, a long, long time ago. It'd take a year to tell you about the worlds I've seen.”

“I have to get offworld,” she said slowly. “You know about starships?”