Rift (62 page)

The orthong looked toward the others, who had now disappeared into the outfold. She bent down and picked up the braid, closing her eyes as she fingered it. This continued for a long time, and Nerys waited with a newfound patience. The creature kneaded the braid with the fingers of her right hand, her eyes unfocused. At last, the braid slipped through her fingers and fell to the ground.

The weaver locked a newly interested gaze on Nerys.

Nerys’ heart sank as she realized that here was another question she couldn’t answer. She hoped that was enough.

Whatever
outfolding
meant.

the orthong concluded.

the old orthong said.

Nerys swallowed her annoyance.

To Nerys’ dismay, the female turned to go. As she began walking off, she raised one arm and pointed halfheartedly in the direction of the deeper outfold. That was Nerys’ answer.

It was all the answer she needed. She began threading her way into the forest.

The exchange left her feeling sour. Why was she always discontent? The other women managed to find their happiness, such as it was. But Nerys would always push and push, sometimes not satisfied until something broke: a rule, or a relationship. Sometimes things were no better because of it, and sometimes they were worse; as now, with Salidifor in disgrace and she roaming the outfold, pregnant and ignored.

And her daughter … No, she wouldn’t think of her now. But indeed, she would. Anar died, the thought came, because … because her mother wasn’t satisfied with their clave, and decided that life would be better among the orthong.

And her mother was wrong.

Stopping on the path, she stared into the trees. Anar, Anar. A sob rose up into her throat.
You died, Anar, not because of Reeve Calder, but because your mother didn’t know how to be content
.

She plunged on through a glen of lavender stalks, velvet to the touch, hating the brush of them against her body, the fruity smells, the cloying colors. It would have been so restful to look upon green trees and
proper leaves and grasses. In truth, she missed them so badly she felt ill. But everything she looked at was despicably orthong, reminding her that this awful place was her chosen clave, and yet she was more outcast here than she’d ever been before.

When at last she found Salidifor, a light snow had begun to fall, and she no longer cared why he had abandoned her.

Fifteen paces from where she stood was a lean-to, under which the ground had been dug away to a depth of several feet. Salidifor was inside, stacking rocks in the back of the den. He turned when he caught wind of her. He stood there with his hands at his side, inexpressive, waiting.

She wanted to hurt him, so she said: “One of your females told me you were here. It cost me my hair, but she told me.”

He turned away from her, but this orthong tactic wasn’t going to work. He could hear her, she well knew. And
would
hear her.

“So how long are you going to sulk in the woods?”

He made no move to speak.

Nerys walked closer, noting that his berm had almost nothing in it, just a neat stack of rocks and a rough blanket. She thought for a moment that he had fallen very low, and felt a pang of regret amidst her anger. “I’ve been sick for days and I’ve spent all day looking for you. You could answer me.” The snow was melting in her hair and on her shoulders, making her shiver.

He bent down and took up his blanket. Then he stepped out of the berm and approached her, putting the blanket around her shoulders. She bit back tears.

“Salidifor,” she said, not knowing what to say. Then, surprising herself, she burst out: “I’m sorry.”

He looked down on her with eyes gone opaque, reflecting snow.

“Ordering and commanding aren’t the same as
teaching. Humans are hard to confine the way you like to.”

Nerys winced inwardly. “Like a pet dog! Run, jump, lie down!” But the orthong did not understand the concept of pets. It was useless to try to talk to someone who had no common references. They had tried over many weeks to communicate, and they had failed badly.

“Salidifor, I didn’t touch Vikal. I never touched the pup. After that day with Pila.”

“Is that forbidden too?”

He made a gesture of exasperation. Turning, he led her into the berm and out of the falling snow. They sat together on the floor, which was covered with soft outer husks from a lavender thicket.

In this cold and barren place, she didn’t have the heart to be angry. “Let’s not fight,” she said.

He looked at her sharply.

She smiled. “I meant, let’s not speak harshly.”

He reached in his pocket and retrieved a length of honey-colored rope she had first eaten when Bitamalar guided her and Galen to the outfold. He urged a morsel on her and she took it, savoring its nutlike taste.

He pulled some of the leaves around her feet and calves in an effort to keep her warm.

Then, as he gazed out on the haze of snow outside the hut, he said: He made an orthong shrug. good
warriors …>

She smiled, indulging him.

service. I have lost Tulonerat’s service now. Maybe it is for the best. Now I will go kill humans on the plains, which I am very good at.>

“And all because I spoke to a pup?”

He looked over at her.

Nerys was abashed. It was not just a simple rule she had broken—she had revealed important information to her enemy. “How bad is it, then?”

He looked back out.

“How can Tulonerat elevate that creature Hamirinan?”

It was bitter indeed to think that Hamirinan might be right. And bitter as well to think that Salidifor liked Hamirinan. She considered telling him what Hamirinan had done to her that day in the compound. But he had enough troubles without hearing hers.

“Are you really leaving, Salidifor?”

He brought his chin up,
Yes
.

“I will miss you.”

He turned to look at her, with an expression she couldn’t decipher. She waited for what he might say, but his stillness went on and on.

“I will miss you,” she repeated. Then she reached out and touched his arm, a thing she had never done before.

His skin flinched slightly under her fingers, then became exceptionally warm. His hand came around
her wrist, and she could feel a slightly extruded claw dent her skin. If she thought he might allow the intimacy of a touch, she could see how wrong she was. He looked at her with a new expression, and she suddenly feared him. He lifted her hand off his arm, in a slow, measured movement.

“Salidifor …”

He rose to his feet. He paced away, then turned in a swift movement to face her. He signed in a clipped, rapid fashion—very angrily.

She shook her head.

establish
a bond. Do you wish to bond with me, Nerys?> Sarcasm, there.

Perhaps she did—would that be so bad? She was so unutterably sick of the orthong and all their rules and not knowing the rules. Not
liking
the rules. “I am lonely. I do have feelings; I thought perhaps you had some for me.”

It was a question he did not expect her to answer, but it filled her with confusion. Was her affection for Salidifor a thing of ruin?

She couldn’t prevent an angry, flip response: “Can’t you just say no?”

He moved toward her in one gigantic step, grabbing her by the upper arm, pulling her toward him, and lifting her onto her toes. The thin strand of gray that pierced the side of his face seemed to flare, and his skin exuded a spicy smell. Her pulse raced as he fixed her with a brackish-green stare. Finally he glanced away, looking down at his hand clutching her arm. He was hurting her. Gradually, he released the hold. His
claws were all extruded, but he had managed to grab her without puncturing her skin.

She remembered to breathe again as Salidifor paced away to the far corner.

he said. He turned from her and leapt out of the berm. She followed him. A white sunlight had dispelled the snowstorm, sending tendrils of pain into her eyes from the glare.

He watched her for a long moment.

Though she was sick at heart for his scorn, she found room to be curious. “A ship? A spaceship?”

He ignored the question.

He looked at her with what she thought was great sadness.

The words were like a full set of claws hitting her skin. She wished he had cut her physically rather than this way. She waited for a long while. Though he had turned away from her, she could have spoken to him, could have said,
It’s all my fault. Forgive me
. But she wanted him to turn to face her, to give her permission to speak.

He didn’t turn around. The snow melted around his great feet, and still he didn’t move.

According him a last measure of respect, she kept her silence, turning back into the outfold, biting her tongue so hard she tasted her own blood. But keeping silent.

16
 
1

Day seventy-two
. Reeve and his escort emerged from the onyx forest, stepping onto a ledge of rock overlooking a broad valley. Reeve squinted as a sheet of sunlight peeled away the gloom that had shrouded them for days. For a moment the utterly clear air, its pale blue buffed to a high sheen and throbbing with light, distracted him from another wonder below: the orthong forest. They had arrived.