Starflower (11 page)

And found himself eye to eye with ChuMana.

The serpent looked mostly like a woman just then, but she smiled like a snake. “And where do you think you are going?”

“Oh, dragon's—”

Her bite was swift, sinking with deadly accuracy into his shoulder. The prince had just enough time to give a startled yell. The next moment, a bullfrog sat once more in the water. It gave a mournful
“GRAAAAP!”
and hopped away with a splash, disappearing among the reeds. Its bellowing voice joined those of its countless brothers while the rain continued to fall.

“I like him better that way,” Eanrin said, looking down his nose at the frogs. “Some men are more natural for a little slime.”

ChuMana, hissing still, turned to the poet. “So, Eanrin of Rudiobus,” said she, “my debt is now paid.”

“Aye, that it is,” agreed Eanrin with something that was probably meant to be a smile but was much too soggy by now to count. “Always a great feeling, isn't it, paying off one's—”

“Away from my demesne!”

Eanrin needed no convincing. The laws of Faerie satisfied, nothing but quick feet would save him now. Without a thought, he slung the
mortal girl over his shoulder and fled the swamp, avoiding the serpent's parting kiss by no more than a hair's breadth.

Thunder growled. Rain, free at last, beat down. ChuMana, the equilibrium of her realm restored, slithered into the darker reaches of her swamp, frogs scattering before her.

F
IRST
TO
RETURN
were sounds, though from such a great distance, she could not be certain she even heard them. At least they were gentle sounds: the rustling of leaves, the sighing of wind. More faintly still, she thought she heard soft breathing, but that was most likely her imagination.

Next came a sensation of light that slowly pushed the darkness back into a hazy tunnel. Sparks burst on the edges like exploding fireflies. But soon things began to take more solid shape and color. She saw leaves, brilliant green on dark branches against a vibrant blue sky. She lay in a forest, she realized, though she couldn't remember how she had come there.

Oh, beasts and devils! Was that
her
head hurting so badly?

With a groan, she struggled to repossess her own limbs. How had she— No! She wouldn't think about that, not with her head throbbing so. But what was this place—no, no! No thinking!

Grinding her teeth and drawing deep breaths, she sat up. Almost immediately she curled forward, her elbows digging into the dirt, her
palms pressing into her eyes, and wished to die. People should not be obliged to live with heads in such a state. But after another lungful or two, she felt better and was able to look about again.

She sat in a small clearing of pure green grass. Sunlight broke through the otherwise intensely heavy foliage to fall just here, making the green brighter still (and not helping her head). Beyond this circle of light lay the Wood, as black and ominous as any wood has ever dared be. The trees whispered to each other, gossiping with the wind. Otherwise, she was alone.

“So, you are awake at last.”

Not quite alone.

The girl peered into the shadows of the trees just beyond the clearing. A form sat in the darkness, but she could discern no details. The voice was a man's. Not a warrior's voice, she thought. It wasn't deep but smooth with a golden timbre. Coming from the shadows, however, it was ominous. Her heart began to race, and she stood and took a step back. This wasn't her world. She felt the strangeness in the ground beneath her feet, in the air she breathed. And this stranger, whether man or monster, could not be her friend, not in this place.

The form slinked from shadow to shadow with barely a flicker she could follow. But her eyes were quick and her ears quicker still. She turned as it moved, making certain she faced it.

“You have been wasting my Time, mortal woman,” the stranger said. “With every breath you take, my rival draws nearer to stealing from me what I desire most. Do you see your crime, creature of dust?”

She stepped back slowly, setting her feet so gently that they scarcely made a sound. How odd was the speech of the stranger! She thought, somehow, that she should not be able to understand, should not know his language. But the words he spoke shifted in her mind even as he spoke them, and she understood as clearly as though he spoke the tongue of her people. His voice was not unfriendly, but the meaning contained a possible threat. Her eyes darting even as her head remained still, she cast about for a stout stick. But in this otherworldly forest all the trees grew straight and never dropped a dead branch.

The figure in the darkness moved again, sidling around as though
to get closer to her. “It's my own fault,” he said, “for allowing myself to become involved. I am more than ready to take responsibility for my foolishness!”

She stepped sideways, one foot crossing delicately behind the other as she moved. The grass was soft beneath her feet, but she did not like it. It was deceptively comforting. How could one trust a forest such as this?

“But for my pains, I think I deserve an explanation or two,” the stranger continued, slipping behind a tree so that she lost sight of him altogether. Her knees bent and her hands spread to lend her balance should she need to run suddenly.

“Tell me, girl, what
were
you thinking, drinking from the River?”

The voice was directly behind her. She whirled about. How could he have moved so fast? Her eyes searched the dark deeps, struggling to see through the glare of light around her. She spun in place, her gaze darting. Where was he? Where was—

“Speak up, if you please.”

She looked down. An orange cat sat at her feet, tail lashing. He grinned a feline grin at her. “What's wrong?” he asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

She ran.

Sparks exploded in her peripheral vision as her body screamed for her to stop. She did not care. She'd had enough of this place. Enough of animals who spoke with the tongues of men and men who were worse than animals. She sped through the trees, pushing branches from her face. Why did they reach like snatching hands to stop her? Her head pounded, her stomach roiled, her damaged feet pleaded for ease.

How long had she been running now? Ever since the moon vanished behind the clouds on that night so far past, which also seemed but a few hours ago. She could never have passed through the mountains in so short a time. She should have died from exhaustion! Perhaps she had. Perhaps this was the world after death. This hell where she must keep running, running, and never know a moment's peace.

She fled the clearing, fled the nightmare, fled that cat. But in her mind, it was the wolf she heard howling at her heels.

The trees shifted from her way so that she ran in a straight line. But their shadows became longer and darker, like thick curtains falling. The
only light she saw came from the flowers on the vines twining everywhere in this wood, gleaming little stars. She thought she heard them speaking to her in voices not human, pleading with her to go back, to turn around.

But there was no going back now. They would kill her if she returned. They would bind her to the stone and leave her to be devoured. No, she had fled, and she must never return!

Oh, Fairbird!
Her mind cried out in desperate silence.
How could I have left you?

There had been no choice then; there was no choice now. She must run, she must lose herself in this forest so deeply that she would never be found.

The Wood put out its grasping arms, ready to swallow her whole. Its shadows fed into her fear, and without knowing what she did, her feet fell upon a dark Path that made promises she understood without knowing she heard them. Promises of safety, of hiding, of dark holes where no one could pursue.

How cold the air had become! Her breath frosted, her fingertips were blue, and her lungs begged for relief. The harsh cords on her wrists cut more sharply, the dangling ends lashing at her bare legs. But she could not stop.

A pit opened before her.

Her arms swung wide, grasping at empty air, for the trees had pulled back to give her no handhold. A gaping hole from which rose a fetid stink ate away the ground at her feet. She scrambled on the edge, struggling in vain to throw herself back. She saw the face of the devil in the dark, saw its hands reaching for her throat.

“This one isn't for you, Guta!”

The golden voice of the stranger rang in her ears, as horrible to her as the face of the devil. But she felt strong hands grasp beneath her arms and haul her away from the pit. She staggered and fell, scraping her legs against hard soil, but two arms wrapped about her and held tight. She closed her eyes, bracing herself . . .

. . . and opened them in a flood of warm sunshine.

The pit was gone. She lay on a soft patch of earth once more in a bright part of the Wood. Did this mean she was safe? Moaning, she closed
her eyes and shook her head, desperate to clear her thoughts. Then she looked at the man kneeling beside her.

“I must say, you mortals are a flighty lot.”

His features were human enough, but there was something feline about the rest of him. Not his appearance but the essence of him. He clucked and shook his head at her disapprovingly. His voice was that of the cat.

“I really should have left you in the first place,” he said. “Or the second place! But after all that nonsense—giving up my favor from ChuMana, Lumé love me—I feel I'm owed an explanation. Curiosity always was my chief fault, and now look where it's gotten me! Ah, well. What's a man to do?”

She should be afraid. But just then she was too spent to be frightened anymore. She took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out slowly. Otherwise, she could not move.

“That part of the Wood is dangerous, you know,” the cat-man continued. “It'll draw you into darker places with folks you don't want to meet. Guta is a foul-tempered demon, to say the least. A beater. He would beat you to death upon sight, believe me! He's done it to many stronger than you. It's a good thing I caught up when I did. I don't know if I'd have been able to pull you back out once you'd fallen into Guta's pit!”

Though her limbs did not want to move, she made herself sit up. Every muscle screamed ill-use, but she could not lie there forever. She held her head between her hands until the dizziness cleared, then blinked at the cat-man.

One moment she saw him in one form, the next moment in the other. This creature was simultaneously all cat and all man, and despite the shining youth of his face, he was ancient.

She knew one other like this one, may the spirits of the mountains protect her! Though they wouldn't, actually. They had never protected her or any of her people. When the man who was an animal entered the Land untold years ago, had the mountains moved to intervene? No. They remained stone and slept as they had since the dawn of time. And he who was as ancient as they came among her people and worked his will unchecked. Man and animal. Monster and master.

Yet that one had never smiled.

“There, now,” said the cat-man, seeing how her face slowly relaxed. “There, you'll be all right, my girl. Can you stand?” He helped her to her feet. She staggered a little, but he caught her and patted her shoulder gently while she clung to his scarlet doublet. “Light of Hymlumé,” he swore softly. “Since when did I transform into the caring sort? Dangerous business, I tell you. Perhaps you are a sorceress?”

She looked up and saw that he still smiled, though he asked the question sincerely. She shook her head and stepped back, releasing her grip on his shirt. They stood in the same clearing where she had first awakened, she thought. Or one exactly like it, with a patch of bright green grass bathed in sunlight.

“I'm glad to see you on your feet,” said the cat-man. “First an enchanted sleep, then a fainting spell, now this little mess . . . It's been one thing after another, hasn't it?”

An enchanted sleep? The girl frowned and put a hand to her head. She did not remember that. She remembered nightmares unending but couldn't be certain which were dreams and which reality. Her only clear memory was of a bullfrog and a kiss . . . but that, she desperately hoped, was another dream!

“No harm done in the end,” the cat-man was saying. “I tried to kiss you awake myself, but that didn't do much good. Not that your kiss wasn't sweet enough, I'll grant you—”

Her eyes flew wide and her jaw dropped. Raising both hands, she formed silent words in the air. “You
kissed
me?”

He did not know the language of hands. Men never formed the Women's Words. He went on talking. “As everyone knows, only princes' kisses work on enchanted sleeps, and dear ChuMana did owe me a favor.”

It would make no difference, but she signed even so: “You had no right to kiss me.”

“I was strolling the Karayan Plains one day, minding my own business. Then suddenly, what did I see but the great shadow of a Roc blotting out the sky! I looked up and saw that old serpent caught in the Roc's talons, twisting and thrashing and screaming for all she was worth. What a sight that was! I knew a favor from ChuMana could prove useful someday, so I picked up a rock, and— My name is Eanrin, by the way. Chief Poet
of Iubdan Rudiobus, Bard of the Golden Staff, etcetera. You've possibly heard of me?”

She shook her head.

“What? No?” The cat-man's smile faltered and his eyebrows went up. “Isn't that just the oddest! Are you sure?”

She nodded.

“Well, what a primitive lot your people must be, never to have heard the celebrated verses of Bard Eanrin! But then, you probably sing nothing but war chants and suchlike. I, however, write all my poetry out of the inspiration of my deepest heart.” He tilted his head and gazed meaningfully into the leaf-twined sky as though from thence fell that deep inspiration of his. “It is my way of expressing the longing I feel for my great love, and so on and so on. Her name is Gleamdren. Lady Gleamdrené Gormlaith, fairest maiden to walk the merry halls of Rudiobus Mountain. I intend to spend my life regaling her ears with verses to her honor and splendor.”

The girl blinked at him. Then she raised her hands and signed, “Poor lady.”

“I shall make her name famous across all the worlds . . . almost as famous as my own.” The soulful eyes blinked, then turned to the girl with a frown. “Are you
certain
you've never heard of me? Eanrin? Bard of Rudiobus? Golden voice and all that?”

“No,” she signed.

“Why do you keep flailing your hands about like that? Some native dance of your people, perhaps? Such unusual cultures you mortals have. But come, have done with it. Tell me your name, girl.”

She chewed her lips, narrowing her eyes at him. Then she signed, “I cannot speak.” This involved a slicing motion across the neck.

“No need to make violent gestures,” said the poet-cat, who looked more like a cat when affronted. “Just give us your name, if you please. Then we'll say, ‘Splendid meeting you!' and go our separate ways.”

She shook her head and signed again, “I cannot speak.”

“I must say, I do think you're a bit rude.”

Exasperated, she tapped at her throat and grunted. It wasn't much of a sound, no louder than the groans she had made in sleep. It was a painful noise both to hear and to make.