The Book of Forbidden Wisdom (16 page)

 

W
hen we reached the inn on our way to the gate, Jesse went in to get Niamh and Silky. They were heavily veiled. Meanwhile Jesse, Trey and I managed to get Renn upright in the saddle. No guard would have let us go unquestioned through the gate with a man slung across the pony like a sack of grain.

“Move on,” said the bigger of the guards as we approached the gate. He pointed at Renn. “We don't want that one dying here. It'd block the traffic for hours.”

And so we left Parlay unchallenged.

It seemed to me almost a little too easy.

Once out of sight of the gate, Renn slumped forward, his cheek against the horse's neck, his arms hanging down.

“He doesn't look good,” said Jesse.

“He'll be fine,” I said. I gave Jasmine to Silky and added the herbs the man at the market had given me to a skin of water. I knew the strong stimulant would tax Renn's system, but he had to drink it if he was going to be able to ride. Trey and I pushed Renn up into the saddle again so that he could drink.

We moved on.

“We're camped in a deep niche of the oasis,” said Trey. “We need to run the gauntlet to get back to the horses.”

“What do you mean ‘run the gauntlet'?” I asked.

“You'll see,” said Trey.

We moved beyond the edge of the oasis that Parlay was built on, and I soon understood what Trey had meant. The gully near the oasis was a kind of haven for the disenfranchised—­those who had been denied entry to Parlay and had nowhere else to go. The diseased and the criminal, the mad and the starving subsisted on what they could by the side of a fetid brackish rivulet.

A man made a move toward us, and I saw with horror that his face had been partially eaten away, but Jesse—­strong, young and healthy—­glared at him until he returned to his tiny camp. A woman there, her face marked as his was, pushed at him and began to weep.

We passed a dancing madman who whirled and swooped and spooked the horses, all but the staid pony conveying Renn.

A little farther on, close to the path, three women who were cooking something over a small fire stared as we passed. One of them stood and started to walk toward us. She wore no veil, and neither did those back at her small camp. One of the other women caught hold of her arm, seemingly to stop her, but she came right up to us.

“I be no beggar,” she said, using some of the old-­style speech. “We need food. We be desperate.” She suddenly caught at Jesse's arm. “It be too late for us. You understand? We have no money for food. We trade.”

Jesse shook her off, but not unkindly. To my surprise, he reached into one of the saddlebags and gave her some dried fruit.

“If you sell yourself,” he said, “you just start the long spiral down into darkness.”

“The choices are gone, Lord,” said the woman.

“There are always choices,” said Jesse to the woman.

“You're young,” she said. She paused, as if afraid of going too far. “And you be a man.”

She tucked away the food and looked sad—­and a little bitter.

“Go to The Village of Broken Women,” said Jesse.

The Village of Broken Women. Our passage back into Arcadia, to the Spiral City—­a place of the northern territories.

“They have Arcadian ways there,” said the woman. “We be ‘Lidan women.”

Jesse leaned very close to her, and she drew in her breath, as if afraid. But he did not touch her.

“You've lived like ‘Lidan women,” he said. “But you don't have to die like them. If you won't go to The Village of Broken Women, wait some weeks' time and go to Niamh at Negreb. She'll take you somewhere safe.” He didn't look directly at Niamh, but she nodded.

“I thank you,” said the woman.

She turned and went back to her little camp. I could see the other two women exclaiming over the food. They made gestures of reverence toward Jesse.

“What just happened?” I asked. “I don't think I understand.”

“I
know
I don't,” said Silky.

Jesse, Trey and Renn were silent. It was Niamh who spoke.

“They've been violated,” she said. “Probably by the guards at the gate, who will no longer let them in because now they're harlots. No veils anymore. She offered Jesse sex for food. He tried to send her to safety. That's it.”

“But why—­“

“There are no whys,” said Niamh. “Women can't travel alone in Shibbeth in safety—­not in small numbers, and certainly not women of low caste.”

“There were three of them.”

“And no men.”

Soon we passed a group of four roasting a giant ox heart over a fire. Their eyes were intent on it as juice dripped into the fire, and I wondered how they had gotten it—­until the smell reached me. The meat was bad. They had probably scavenged the heart from a pile of butcher's offal, and now they were going to risk poisoning themselves in order to live a little longer.

Renn became more and more alert as the herbs coursed through his blood. Trey was on the other side of the pony, leading it, and the others followed, so only I noticed that Renn was also becoming freer in speech—­a side effect of the stimulant.

“Lady Angel?”

“Renn, are you really going to call me Lady Angel again?”

“No.
And
I like that you're calling me Renn.” Alert as he seemed, he almost fell off the pony.

“Is he all right?” asked Trey from the other side.

“Yes,” I said. I helped Renn sit up.

“I like your hair in a braid,” he said softly.

“Thank you, Renn.”

We had left the path as we made our way to the niche Trey and Renn had found in the gully, and I saw no more ­people. We had left behind those pitiful castoffs of Parlay.

Except that we were castoffs, too.

Abruptly, a figure like a scarecrow stepped out of the darkness; he held Crop Ear by a frayed rope loosely hung around the horse's neck. The scarecrow figure glanced at Renn and then addressed himself to Trey.

“I done what you asked, Lord,” he said.

“Squab and Bran?” asked Trey.

“All's well, Lord.”

“Take this for your trouble.” Trey reached into a pocket, and I saw the glint of silver. “As well as our food gift.”

“No point, Lord,” said the man. “There be nothing here to buy. Nothing but food's worth anything.”

“You've kept our bargain; you'll feast tonight.”

“Yes, Lord.” And the man vanished into the shadows, taking Crop Ear with him.

“Crop Ear?” groaned Renn.

“I'm sorry,” said Trey.

“That horse—­carried me far.”

“That horse will keep at least one family alive. For a while.”

“Trey,” said Silky, “you
didn't
.”

He gave her a little smile. “Dinner on the hoof.”

“Trey,” I said, “that's too much information for Silky.”

Moments later we found ourselves reunited with Squab and Bran, and Silky spent a long time stroking Squab.

Silky was sentimental about horses, but less so about small edible game. We were all hungry, but we were low on food until Silky went to the nearest outcropping to see what she could find. Guarded by Jesse, she killed an enormous rock hyrax.

We built a fire, and we ate stewed rock hyrax, and I have to say—­it was pretty good.

Jesse made his bed at the perimeter and then came and sat by Silky's side. I saw surprise on his face when he realized how close to the fire Trey's bedding was, but Jesse made no requests to move farther into camp. Perhaps he thought I would refuse him. Perhaps I would have. Renn lay on a blanket near Niamh, who was making a poultice for him. Trey and I were side by side. He smiled at me, and his hand hovered over mine for a moment, but he didn't touch me.

“We can't stay here much longer,” said Trey after a little while. “Those ­people out there are drawing closer and closer to the camp. It's only a matter of time before enough of them gather and attempt to overrun us.”

“Should we go
now
?” Silky was alarmed, but I knew that travel would badly overtax Renn.

“The earliest we can leave is tomorrow,” said Trey. “We'd never get out of this gully at night—­but if we keep the fire up and keep good watch, we have a chance to make it until morning.”

“A
chance
?” said Silky.

“A good chance, Lady Silky,” said Jesse.

I closed my eyes the way I sometimes did when my mother's face would come to me, or when, sometimes, the future seemed near, so very near, and I thought that, yes, we would survive the night. I'm not sure it was foresight, but it was a feeling that had never failed me. I opened my eyes.

“We'll be all right,” I said to Silky.

“But where do we go then?” Trey was looking at me.

“North. To the Spiral City. To
The Book of Forbidden Wisdom
.”

Trey laughed. “Either there, or eventually we'll just fall off the top of the world.”

“What's
The Book of Forbidden Wisdom
?” asked Jesse.

We all stared at him.

“It's a key,” I said.

“The key to more Arcadian land than you can possibly imagine,” said Trey.

“I don't know,” said Jesse. “I can imagine a lot.”

“Me too,” said Silky, and they smiled at each other like idiots.

So we prepared to stay the night. My words. My plan. My choice. If we had left at that moment, it's possible that everything would have turned out differently. It might have. But I saw the six of us live through the night, and I chose to stay. I didn't yet know much about near misses and last chances or actions that could never be mended. But even if I had known, it might not have made any difference.

 

W
e were attacked just before dawn.

A ragged crew of ten or so men swarmed into our camp, overrunning the perimeter before we could react. One of them grabbed the rock hyrax stewpot from over the fire. He howled in triumph until another man tried to wrest it from his arms, and the entire contents flowed onto the ground.

Both men raised their heads, seemingly in unison, and the setting moon revealed them to us.

They had no faces. Slits for eyes and a hole for a mouth and everything else a red broth of disease.

For an instant, none of us could move, then Silky ran for the horses. I cried out “No,” but I was too late. One of the men grabbed her by the hair and started to drag her behind the rock that marked the outer limit of our camp. I don't remember raising my crossbow or fitting a bolt to it, but I do remember my hands shaking as I took aim. Niamh was at my elbow.

“You can do it,” she said.

I aimed for the man's chest, but the shot was far wide. I knew I was going to be too late, but in desperation I loaded another bolt and swung up the crossbow. Before I could take the shot, the man staggered and fell; a bolt protruded from what had been a face.

Jesse had saved my sister.

Silky ran to me through the crowd of men. She didn't weep or cower. She just took my crossbow and fit a bolt to it.

“Get back, Niamh, Angel,” she said. The no-­faces were among the horses now, and Silky had no easy target. I could tell that these men had no experience with the animals, though, and that was to our advantage. Jasmine snorted and whinnied, and then all of the horses were blowing and snorting and stamping their hooves. The moonlight was tricky, and the attacking men were weaving among the animals, but then I saw, all too vividly, one of them reach up with a curved knife and slice into the neck of Niamh's little coarse pony. Next to me, Silky aimed carefully. A moment later, the man with the knife fell backward. The wounded pony reared and shook his head, and blood scattered everywhere, further pushing the horses into frenzy. Another man grabbed Jasmine by her lead rope; Silky didn't hurry. As the man tried to control Jasmine, she carefully fit a new bolt to the crossbow and then dropped him.

Renn was on his feet fighting side by side with Trey. I had lost sight of Jesse. A man outside the circle of firelight raised a crossbow and took careful aim at Trey.

I nudged Silky and pointed. A second later, her bolt hit his crossbow and drove it into his body.

“Give me a bolt,” Silky cried. “Give me a bolt!” She fumbled in her bag and had one in her hand, when I pushed the crossbow down.

“Wait,” I said. “They're leaving.”

The faceless ones screamed with frustration as they backed away. The one who was nearest Trey spat in his face. Then they were gone.

The horses were still restless; the little coarse pony was on the ground, and its eye was cloudy. Blood pooled around its neck and head. Silky went among the horses and calmed them.

She turned her back as we began to butcher the pony. We were in such a hurry that I almost made a mess of it by puncturing the ropy intestine. Luckily Jesse pulled back my hand before the meat was polluted and useless. We wrapped huge chunks of flesh in oilskin and put them in the saddlebags. We had to leave a lot behind. The faceless ones would have their feast anyway.

I looked at Silky. She had killed three men in the attack; I had seen the battle frenzy on her at the end. My little sister, who was charming and loyal and intelligent and beautiful, was also marred by bloodguilt—­which she had incurred in order to save all of us. My precious, feckless sister was friends with death.

We made camp that next night miles from the gully and Parlay. There was nothing left of the rock hyrax, so we ate some dried fruit and as much of the dead pony as we could. The meat wouldn't keep for long. Even Silky ate her share.

It was there that Niamh told us she was going back to her work in Shibbeth.

“You
can't
go,” said Silky. “Alone?
Bad things
will happen.”

“I've traveled here before. There's a village an hour this side of Parlay,” she said. “Jesse can get me there. Then I'll reach home with a convoy of women.”

“Jesse will go with you?” asked Silky.

“In fact, “ she said, “I'm hoping you'll give us half a day—­so he can return. I'm hoping you'll take Jesse with you. Shibbeth shouldn't be his home forever. And eventually I'll make my way to Arcadia too.”

“Of course, Niamh,” I said. “We owe you a great debt.”

“We'll miss you,” said Silky, but she was looking at Jesse. I thought, perhaps gracelessly, that our debt to Niamh only went so far. I didn't owe her my sister.

“We'll meet again,” said Niamh, and she gave me a small smile as if, perhaps, she could read my mind and found what was there amusing.

I
slept fitfully the night before Niamh's departure. I woke up, wide awake, in the late night or early morning. The fire was only coals. I could hear the breathing of the sleepers. Trey was lying by the fire, and he seemed to be rubbing at his face. For one shocked moment I thought he might be crying, but then he gave a low sigh and began breathing deeply.

Renn, ever since we had left Parlay, had been sleeping by the fire as well. Only Jesse steadfastly remained modestly at the perimeter. Now I saw that Renn was sitting outside the circle of light. He was holding his lyre and silently testing the tautness of the strings.

“Renn?” I spoke softly.

“Angel.” He didn't look up.

“Are you still in pain?”

“Mostly wakeful.”

“Me too.”

“I know. I heard you stirring. Come over, Lady Angel.”

I considered. I thought that perhaps I should wake Silky to chaperone, but she needed her sleep.

It was important she get her sleep.

“All right,” I said. “I'll join you.”

I pulled on my overcoat, walked to the other side of the fire and sat next to Renn. Even as I sat, I realized that I had misjudged the distance between us. I was close, very close. But I didn't want to hurt his feelings by moving away—­now, though, I wished I had woken Silky.

“You know,” he said, “you're far different from that almost-­bride I saw in Arcadia. I misjudged you.”

“I misjudged you too.”

“Maybe.” He put down his lute. “You look cold.”

“I am cold.”

He moved his arm and put a blanket around me, and, in so doing, his arm brushed my shoulders. It couldn't have been for more than a part of a second, but I was very aware of his touch.

“Renn,” I said. “I wish you were my brother.” But I was saying something that wasn't true.

“You have enough men who are brothers to you,” he said.

I
n the bright dawn, Niamh left us with Jesse by her side.

When he returned, he looked tired and sad, and I wondered what it must be like to say good-­bye to a mother.

“He needs someone to talk to,” said Silky. “I'm going to
comfort
him.”

“No,” I said. “You're not.”

We packed up camp and mounted. Silky and I rode bareback together on Jasmine. The wind was brisk, and I tied back my hair with some string.

“I still don't understand,” said Jesse, “what we're going to do with this
Book of Forbidden Wisdom
.”

“Anything we want,” I said. “Anything at all.”

As we rode, Trey kept rubbing at his cheeks and forehead, the way he had when I awoke in the night. At one moment, as we were in an extended trot, he dropped the reins and pulled at his face. Bran halted immediately, as a well-­bred horse would, and Trey almost went over his horse's shoulder.

“What is it?” I asked. “Did something sting you?”

“I don't know,” he said.

“Is there a swelling?”

“No.”

I looked at him sharply. We were all halted, and Silky, who had been lagging behind and chattering with Jesse, came up on us abruptly.

“
Trey,
” she exclaimed. “Your face is so
red
.”

It looked as if he had a touch of sunburn. Or was overheated.

“Have some water,” I said. “Sprinkle it on your face.”

At midday we came to an enormous well-­known Shibbeth market, where we had planned to buy more supplies. There was a livery at the entrance of the market where, for a few coins, we could keep our horses while we looked around and made our purchases. A small, wiry man with a cast eye and long, dirty hair came to take them. I remembered the stories I had heard about those who carried the cast eye—­it could see beyond; it could mean evil; it could be luck. But this man just looked the horses over appraisingly and raised his eyebrows as he examined Jasmine. When he saw Bran, he exhaled slowly, in deep appreciation.

“How much for the bay?” he asked.

“He's not for sale,” said Trey.

“Everything here is for sale,” said the man.

“Not my horse,” said Trey. “But we might be in the market for one.”

“What kind?” asked the man, “well-­bred or grade?”

“Grade,” said Trey.

“Riding horse or pack?”

“Ready for either and able on long distances.”

“I have what you need,” said the man. He led the horses away.

“Can we trust him?” asked Silky. “Look at his
hair
.”

“We'll pay him after,” I said. “And give him a good price for the new horse. Besides,” I added, “
your
hair could do with a wash too.”

We walked into the market, and I was suddenly in an ocean of smells and sounds. I was assailed by the stink of rotting cabbage, which was replaced by the pale fragrance of violets as a cart went by. We walked by huge overflowing bags of a rainbow of spices—­yellow, red, orange, green. We saw mounds of vegetables and, where the butchers worked, carcasses of cows and goats. No sheep. The ‘Lidans kept their sheep for their famous blue wool. In the fish stall, live eels slithered over tilapia and bass; there were, too, small fried fingerlings to be eaten by the handful.

“We need cured meat,” said Renn. “Dried fruit as well. And some fresh vegetables for the next few days. We can get part of a goat for tonight.”

We were in a hurry, so we split up. Trey and Jesse went to the fruit and vegetable stalls, Renn, Silky and I to the butchers.

We were dickering over the haunch of a goat when I sensed restlessness in the market. A big woman in a red apron with a trout under her arm careened right into me and then was gone. The butcher stopped negotiations. He put the goat haunch in a hamper and began taking down carcasses and dragging them to the back.

“Come back later,” he said. “After.”

“After
what
?” Silky asked. Renn grabbed the butcher by the wrist.

“What's going on?”

The butcher pulled his hand away. “Raid, of course,” he said. “Where are you from? It'll pass, if this is just a tithing. Come back.” He lifted his eyes, looked startled and turned, disappearing into the darkness of his shop.

Silky and Renn and I looked behind us to see what had spooked the butcher.

I had feared I would see troops pulling down stalls or burning and killing, but instead I saw just three soldiers, one leading a packhorse, striding down the main path of the market. The men stopped now and again to take goods on display. They took their time at the spice stall, wrapping up handfuls of yellow saffron and red turmeric. One tucked a live chicken under his arm. Another grabbed a brace of ducks. Eventually they came to the end of the stalls, and although they upturned some of them, they did no lasting damage.

The market now looked deserted, and I wondered where so many ­people could go so quickly.

The soldiers scanned the area and then started toward the butcher's stall. The one in front who was leading the packhorse narrowed his eyes when he looked at Renn. He came closer. Then his eyes flicked from Renn to me and then to Silky.

That mass of golden hair. Distinctive, even though streaked and dirty.

“Get Silky out of here,” I said softly to Renn, and he turned so that she was shielded from view.

“Hey!” I yelled. I overturned the butcher's stall, sending a stream of calves' heads, tongues and livers—­the delicacies—­onto the ground. Renn was alarmed, but I didn't have time to say anything—­he had Silky; I had to distract the soldier. I jumped behind the fallen stall and ran back into the store, hoping there was an exit.

There was. The butcher had backed into a corner, a knife dangling halfheartedly from his hand. In Shibbeth, after all, using a weapon could mean death.

I relieved him of the knife.

Behind me the soldier came crashing through the shop, the other two trailing him.

“Stop her,” he shouted. “She's an assassin.”

“What?” The butcher sounded bewildered. I realized they were Garth's soldiers searching for their Lord's killer, not Kalo's men.

I was already out of the shop and into one of the smaller ways through the market, running for any kind of shelter. I turned my head just enough to see the lead guard pull bags from the packhorse and then mount.

He was going to hunt me down on horseback. The animal didn't look fast, but I was on foot.

I ran. Suddenly I was among the vegetable carts. I overturned a barrel of sand potatoes into the street, hoping to slow the horse. I looked for help, or a place to hide. I knew what was waiting for me in Shibbeth for killing Garth.

The horseman had made his way through the sand potatoes and was bearing down on me.

I couldn't outrun the horse. As horse and soldier came even with me, the man leapt from the animal and pushed me to the ground, where we became a confused tangle of limbs and bodies—­and a knife.