Gods of Green Mountain (44 page)

She looked her father over, strong and tall, not much different than he had been when she was a small child, and could only think of Dray-Gon living alone, without comforts, his life threatened every day, not only by the outlaws but by the ruthless forces of nature, and the hopeless despairs that come from living without others to care and love. So she continued to storm, to rage, to plead, to cry. "Father, there is no life and no happiness for me without him. So turn him out, and make him sterile as you did Sintar and the other outlaws, so they cannot produce children to live as wild beasts, and then I will close my doors to you, and I will never speak another word to you, nor will you see me. And if you try to force me, then I will destroy myself!"

"That is a sin unforgivable!" shouted the king, now thoroughly enraged and caught in frustration. "You have a duty and obligation to me, and to our people, and you will fulfill it, regardless of your cruel threats! It will take time, but I vow I will bring Dray-Gon back unharmed. The fear of castration has deterred more crimes than any other form of punishment, even exilement!"

Pivoting about, Sharita turned her back to him and clamped her lips tight together. She strode away, to her most private chamber, where she bathed and performed intimate, private things--where even a king and a father could not follow in decency. And if he should dare, he did not doubt that she would do just as she said and take her life. "Sharita," he pleaded outside of the closed and locked door, "don't do this to me. You are making it so much more difficult."

The chamber behind the closed door gave back to him only silence. And the next day, it was the same, and the next, and the next.

Disconsolate and miserably unhappy, the king returned to his own private chambers, and when he entered, his wife got up to leave. "La Bara," he called out, "what is this nonsense? Every time I enter the room, you take yourself from it."

La Bara turned her large amethyst eyes on him, as hard and cold as her daughter's. "Your majesty, I am in agreement with my daughter. The punishment inflicted upon Dray-Gon is too severe, when all he did was protect the person of the girl he loved--who just happens to be our daughter. The daughter of a lesser family than Sharita can be beaten and raped, and the offender would go free after ten weak lashes in a public square. It is time for a change in our laws so that a woman has the right to defend herself, even if it means she has to use a weapon."

Wearily the king dropped into a chair and propped up his feet. "I am doing all that I can, but the wheels of change grind slowly."

The queen looked at him with a small smile. "I have spoken with a few other women, Ras-Far, and we have discovered a way to make the wheels of change speed exceedingly fast."

"So? Tell me what women can do to make stubborn men move, when I cannot."

"You will find out, Ras-Far," the queen replied enigmatically before she retired from the room, leaving the king alone, when he would have her stay and talk to him.

Several nights later, Dray-Gon was awakened, and led by two palace guards up out of the dungeons, and out onto the palace grounds. Furtively he was guided to a remote, hidden gate, where the king waited. He looked at Dray-Gon with pain and regret and deep compassion before he dismissed the two guards, and he and the prisoner were left alone. "There are some who are clamoring that you begin your sentence, Dray-Gon, and since you have been judged guilty, I must comply. However, I have chosen the dead of night for you to leave, for even outlaws don't roam now in fear of the warfars. And I have broken a few of our laws to favor you, such as giving you a horshet, so that you may ride fast and far. And your mount is fully packed with supplies--pufar seeds you can plant and always have a supply of food, and a paralyzing weapon to use for your protection. As you know, a common criminal is turned out with only the clothes on his back."

"Thank you, your majesty," replied Dray-Gon stiffly, deeply disappointed that Sharita wasn't here to bid him farewell, and kiss him good-bye. "Has not the princess sent me any sort of message?"

Ras-Far snorted. "Hah! The princess refuses to speak to me, as does her mother. Sharita eats alone in her rooms, refuses to see anyone, and when I enter her apartment, she hides herself behind a locked door. But I will tell you truthfully, before she resorted to this silent way of punishing me, she wept many bitter tears for your sacrifice, and pleaded with me to be allowed to marry you in a secret ceremony or let her go with you unmarried. But as much as I love her, and would do what I could to give her--and you--a few days of happiness, Sharita has duties and obligations here. She must marry within this year, though she vows she will wed no one but you. I have been considering your friend Arth-Rin as the right man to be her husband."

The tiny triple moons cast pale moonlight to reveal Dray-Gon's shocked expression, with color departed from his face. He swallowed over the raw lump that rose and choked his throat. "You have chosen well. Arth-Rin is a good man."

The king observed his reaction and then nodded. "It is, perhaps, a cruel thing that I tell you this now, on the night of your departure, but you may hear rumors of her betrothal even out there, and I want you to understand she is pushing me into making this decision. It has been reported to me that she is refusing to eat, and I will not have her starve herself to death. A husband can go where I cannot, and force food down her throat. Arth-Rin swears that he loves her, Sharita will forget you, and I hope you will forget her and find another."

Bitterly Dray-Gon smiled. "Yes, I can steal a woman from the outlaws I suppose, or sneak into a small city, and kidnap a girl like the other criminals do!"

The king laid his hand on Dray-Gon's shoulder. "Do not speak so bitterly. All is not hopeless for you. I am working night and day to find a way to bring you back into our society, and when I succeed, and succeed I will, I will have the royal flag flown from the high tower where Es-Trall lives. It will be my secret signal to you that it is safe to return. And if Sharita will begin to eat again, I will stall in announcing her engagement to Arth-Rin."

Hope, like a kindled spark rising, flared in Dray-Gon. "Will it take long before you fly that flag?"

The king couldn't answer that, though a strange look came to his eyes when he thought of the women of Far-Awndra, and their ways of making the wheels of change begin to roll very fast. "I will do my very best," he promised, and then embraced Dray-Gon like a son. Then he turned over Sharita's letter to Dray-Gon, along with the illuminator light from his pocket. He stepped back into the shadows to give Dray-Gon privacy while he read the letter. Sharita had written:

To my barbarian, my savage, my captain, my love:

So you have saved me, and lost yourself. So you will go, and I will stay. So what have you solved? We are apart, and my father will have me wed Arth-Rin. But his way is not my way. I am not my mother, or my grandmother, and I will not be forced to go against my heart.

So, heed me closely, and speak not to my father of what I write next. I have been to Es-Trall, and he has told me of a safe place for you to live. Follow the directions I write down, and if you love me and want to give me any peace of mind, go to that place and wait. Be of good cheer, for there is a way for us to be together...

Dray-Gon finished reading Sharita's letter, then neatly folded it and stuffed it into his pocket. His eyes were glowing as he smiled at the king, and thanked him again for all he had done. Then swinging onto the saddle of his mount, he rode off into the black of night while the king watched until he was out of sight.

Ras-Far sighed heavily, wishing it could have been different. Now he would have to go back to the palace and tap on that locked door in Sharita's apartment and tell her that the man she loved was exiled, perhaps never to return. Once they had only warfars to fear on the wildlands; now they had wildmen, turned into animals a thousand times more vicious than any beast.

Now that he had a goal, given to him in Sharita's letter, a heavy load lifted from Dray-Gon's heart. He urged his mount on to a fast gallop, heading toward that distant place of safety her letter had named. All about him were the terrifying, haunting cries of the hunting warfars as they caught his scent and set out to follow. In one hand he kept the paralyzing weapon gripped, and grateful he was the king had thought to include it. Twice he had to fire the weapon, bringing down a dark slinky form that was immediately torn apart and eaten by its own kind.

By dawn, he reached the high cave where many, many years ago, Far-Awn had camped with his twenty puhlets and slept for four nights while that most historic storm from Bay Gar raged and killed two-thirds of the population on El Sod-a-Por. Deep into the dark depths of the cave, Dray-Gon led his mount, following the complex directions given to Sharita by that wisest and oldest of all men, Es-Trall.

Much to his surprise, he came out of the black tunnels into the bright sunlight, and below him spread a small valley, lush with green grass, and with a variety of pufars already growing. Pufars of all colors. The valley was an enclosed bowl, surrounded by towering mountain peaks. A perfect place, a sanctuary in the heart of the wilderness. Ah, that princess, always she could find a way.

A new way of living developed for Dray-Gon. A life of lonely, long days during which he planted the pufar seeds from the packet the king had given him. Though there was really no need, it was something to do. He bathed and swam in a small rock basin that caught water from an underground river before the water once more cascaded down into the earth. He made primitive musical instruments out of hollow pufar gourds, stretched strings across them, and entertained himself by singing and playing in the way of Arth-Rin. Then he saddened and grew bitter thinking of Sharita, and the possibility she might be forced into marriage to his best friend. In the evenings, when it was too dark to do much else, he sat before a small fire and whittled miniature animal forms from wood. He found himself talking aloud to the only companion he had, the horshet he called Moonbeam.

Days passed, a week, a month. Every day he climbed to the highest peak and peered through a telescope the king had provided, toward the distant palace, and the tower that would wave a royal flag and send him a signal that it was safe to return. And every day he descended from the mountain peak, despondent, despairing, disappointed. The long lonely days became an intolerable burden. He was not only lonely but bored, full of frustrations, and within him an impatient anger grew. He looked around the small, safe, comfortable valley full of discontent. Knowing himself well, he knew soon he would leave here and seek companionship, his own kind, even if they welcomed him with knives, arrows, and hurled stones.

Yet, when he read again Sharita's letter, now dirty and ragged from so much handling, he stayed on, waiting. Hoping.

The second sun flared into brilliance before it sank quickly behind the mountainous walls that enclosed the valley, and Dray-Gon sat slouched before his small fire, bearded, and uncaring about his appearance. The tediousness of each boring day had even dulled his appetite, and his wits too, so he thought. Still, when he heard his horshet sound a bray of alarm, quick like a savage, he had his weapon in hand, and he hid himself behind a shelf of rocks, but the little fire was still burning.

Above him, a figure leading a horshet came out of the same dark tunnel he had used, and behind them trailed two puhlets. The cloaked human form was too small to be an adult man and too large to be a child. Dray-Gon felt his heart flutter in anticipation as he watched the figure come cautiously down the zigzagging footpath into the valley.