The False Martyr (16 page)

The space inside must have
run the entire length and breadth of the boat, with a floor of
rough planks and the deck serving as a ceiling only five feet
above. Toward the back of the space was the living area. A sleeping
pallet was rolled and tucked at the end of a cot. A single blanket
was folded beside it. A pot-bellied stove with a single pan, plate,
and fork was on the opposite wall. A chimney rose from the stove
and then exited out the back. Two knives were tucked into a block
built into the wall next to a small table. Two armless chairs were
nailed in place on either side of the table. Beyond that was a
closed carpenter’s box, a folded tarp, a bucket of charcoal, and a
single set of empty shelves. The other end of the space was
equipped for cargo. Ropes and nets were attached to the walls but
hung lifeless on this day, the space beyond them empty.

“
Perfect,” she mouthed the
word and smiled. The boat had everything they needed. Now, she just
had to get it to the grove. Emerging from the hold, Teth grabbed
the long pole and lifted it with some effort. As long as the boat,
it was thin but heavy, meant for poling along the river. She braced
it against the wall of rock and pushed. The current resisted but
the boat slid slowly along the wall, scraping as it went. She
pushed again, straining against the current until the weight of the
boat eased around the corner with a lurch.

Teth fell on her ass. The
pole landed on top of her and almost tipped into the water.
Stunned, she clasped it and rubbed another set of bruises. The boat
had almost drifted past the grove and on down the river before she
could recover her feet. She immediately planted the pole in the bed
of the river and held it there, feet firm on the deck. The boat
resisted but stopped.

“
Now what,” she asked
herself out loud. She tried pushing with the pole, but only managed
to pivot the boat around it, and almost ended back on the deck as
it swung around. Considering, she pushed again, allowed the boat to
swing until she was facing the bank. Then she walked. Leaving the
pole planted, she walked the boat toward the bank. When she reached
the stern, the bow was nearly there, so she simply pushed with all
her might and was rewarded with the sound of wood scraping against
sand and mud.

Another push drove it
firmly into place. Satisfied that the current would not immediately
rip it away, she stored the pole, walked to the front, and leapt
into the water. It came to her waist. She grabbed the frayed lead
rope and pulled. The boat barely budged. She strained with all her
might, but the boat would go no further. Still, she could not trust
that the current would not eventually dislodge it.

Minutes later, she had a
length of rope tied to the remnant and looped around the first
tree. Using the tree as a pulley, she dragged the boat up until the
bottom was resting on the bank. She tied the rope around the tree
and laid down to rest in the shade. She was panting, clothes soaked
with sweat now instead of river water, but she felt good, felt like
she had accomplished something for the first time in a
week.

Now, I just need
Dasen
, she thought as she drifted off to
sleep.

#

When Teth woke, it was
dark. The half-moon had set hours ago, but the sky was clear with
so many stars as to be an almost complete cover of glittering
diamonds. She moaned and tried to swallow. Her mouth was a desert,
tongue swollen, throat sore. It was the only part of her that was
not wet. Her entire body was soaked as if she were lying in a
downpour. Even here in the shelter of the trees, in the dead of the
night, by the cool flow of the river, the heat was
tyrannical.

Wondering how she had ever
managed to sleep so long in such heat, Teth stumbled to the river,
and bent to drink. Her head plunged into the water when her stomach
sloshed. Water ran down her back as she watched steam rise from the
river, saw the water being consumed by the tinder dry air. She
supposed it might always be like this on the plains, but she could
not imagine. She had never considered that it could be this hot
even after the sun had fallen.
Hot and
dry
, she thought. The air did not feel
like it had a drop of water in it. Each breath dried her tongue,
leaving it almost aching to be moist.

How long was I
sleeping?
she asked herself. It had been
late afternoon when she fell asleep and must be almost morning
now.
Well, I certainly needed it.
She felt as good as she had in days, head clear,
body strong, nerves steady. A last yawn claimed her, but she shook
it off. She knew what she had to do, and now was the perfect time.
She rose from the river and forced her stiff body to run back to
the compound.

It only took her an hour
or smuggle her store of supplies from the compound to the boat. She
stowed everything in the hold and returned for more food, which was
easily pilfered from the unlocked kitchen. She added two more
knives, water jugs, a gallon of cider, pans, utensils, and other
necessities – she almost relished the thought of what those missing
items would do to the Weavers’ routines when they rose. Finally,
she snuck into the compound’s small library. She had already
pilfered a few books and used their leather covers for her shoes.
Now, it was their most valuable member she needed. She quickly
found the volume she was looking for. It was an immaculate
hand-printed copy of
The Book of
Valatarian
with silver and gold inlay and
full color illustrations that were art in their own right. Teth had
never seen so fine a book, but she had no doubt that it could fetch
a high price or a great favor when it was needed most. She wrapped
the book in a canvas sack and hid it at the bottom of the boat’s
tool chest.

By the time she finished
her thievery, the sun was just starting to lighten the eastern sky.
She knew that the monks would be going to their meditations soon,
so she returned to the grove, wading for what felt like the
hundredth time through the grass that snapped and crackled beneath
her feet, and waited for the rising of the sun. She was ready now.
She just needed Dasen, and for some reason, she felt that today was
the day she would find him.

At the top of the knoll, she sat and looked
to the east. The stars there were just starting to fade, the first
glow of sun extinguishing them. But there was something else there
as well. Flashing along the horizon as far as her eye could see was
lightning. It had to be lightning, but she could not see any
clouds, could not hear even the most distant rumbles of thunder.
Lightning without a storm
, she thought. She felt the brittle
grass around her, the astonishing heat, the air so warm it could
not hold even a breath of water. She looked back to the horizon,
watched the flashing, and wondered if the red glow there was really
the rising of the sun.

Chapter 10

The 20 –
21
^st
Day of Summer

Eia was gone. Ipid reached
for her, longing to touch her, to smell her, to feel her warmth
after the nightmares he’d just endured. She wasn’t there. He sat up
and rubbed his head, trying to dispel the images of those men, the
sounds of that woman’s screams, the sense of dread that had been
playing all night in his mind. After the horror they’d witnessed,
they had returned to the house, locked the door, and retreated to
his room without lights. The bed had been easy to find, his passion
had not. Nothing Eia did could get his mind away from what they had
seen, what had happened, what they hadn’t done, away from the
troubled world that made such horrors possible. She had eventually
given up. Her frustration had been obvious, but she’d said that she
understood, that it didn’t matter, that they could try again in the
morning. And now she was gone.

Outside, the sun was
barely up but already blazing. Ipid marveled that he had slept at
all as he lifted the damp nightshirt from his body and fanned it.
The balcony doors, left open in the night, welcomed a breeze that
offered not the slightest reprieve.
This
hot, this early in the morning.
He tried
to remember ever feeling heat this intense. Certainly, it was not
unusual to have blazing hot days in these summer months, but for
the heat to hold into the night with such intensity . . . . Ipid
could not recall its like in all his time. He shook his head, felt
the water running, already, down his face and back and
chest.

Eia’s simply looking for
some relief
, he told himself.
She couldn’t sleep in this, and I can’t blame her
in the slightest.

Thinking to find her, Ipid
drained a cup of warm water from the pitcher on his desk and
changed from the sodden sleeping clothes into pants and a shirt
that would soon be just as damp. He looked at the wool jacket
hanging across the back of his chair but felt slightly ill at the
prospect of wearing it. As strange as it felt, he did not button
his shirt, put on shoes, or tie a scarf around his neck. It left
him feeling nearly naked, but in this heat, he almost wished he
were naked.

Most of the next hour was
spent looking for Eia. He did not find her. Through the sleeping
quarters, the kitchen, the studies and sitting rooms, servants’
quarters, storage areas, and grounds he saw nothing. The only sign
of her were scattered dishes, an overturned chair, an oddly placed
knife, food left out to spoil, toppled bottles. Individually, those
signs meant nothing, but they were enough for Ipid’s imagination.
It began to whirl. Had she left? Had something happened? Had those
men come? Had they attacked her? Had she run from them? Had they
dragged her away? And how could he have slept through it if that
were the case?

Picking up a long knife
from the floor of the kitchen, he walked through the house trying
to connect the clues. But they did not connect. If she’d been
surprised in the kitchen, why were the bottles toppled in the
study? If someone had entered the house, if she’d left, why were
all the doors still locked, the windows still firmly closed? And
outside, there were no signs of footprints, no signs of a struggle.
So where was she?

Walking through the garden
for a second time with fear as his companion – crouched low, knife
held out in front of him – Ipid searched, half expecting to be
ambushed around each hedge or tree. She was still not at the pond,
nowhere along the path, not in the flower gardens, or among the
fruit trees or berry vines. He climbed the fateful hill from the
previous night, looked down, and saw something that made him
temporarily forget about Eia. A streamer of smoke rose, barely
distinguishable against the blaze of the rising sun. He traced it
to its source, the same house they had watched the night before. An
entire section now laid in ruins, smoke rising from the cinders
where a fire had burned itself out.

And where were the men who
had started that fire? Had they come here, taken
Eia
? His heart hammered at the thought
until cold logic interceded.
And left me
to sleep? And left the house unlooted? Somehow locked the doors
when they departed?
No, certainly if those
men had come here, he’d have known – probably with a knife across
his throat.

But the fact remained that
those men were out there. They would not stop at one house, were
unlikely to move on as long as lavish estates remained unguarded.
Which meant it was only a matter of time before they came to
him
.
He
calculated – it was hard given the blur of time. He had two more
days before he was supposed to be in Wildern. It suddenly felt like
an eternity. With Eia, there had seemed little reason to fear. But
everything had changed last night and even more this morning. He
was alone. There were wolves lurking, and he was as helpless as a
lamb.

Turning back, he nearly
ran to the house, chased by invisible demons. Inside, he locked the
door and stood against it panting, sweat pouring from him in huge
drops.
Get yourself together,
he chastised.
She’s
probably gone to get more supplies or speak with Belab or . . . or
something. She’ll be back soon. There are dozens of houses to loot.
There’s no reason to believe they will come here.
But that did not stop him from searching the
house again from top to bottom, peaking in every closet and under
every bed as if playing a game of hide and seek.

Finally, he gave up. She
was gone. He could only hope that it was temporary, that she was
unhurt, that she would come striding through the door as
flirtatious as ever. At the very least, she had promised to get him
to Wildern in two days. He thought through all this as he ate a
quick breakfast standing at the kitchen’s tall butcher block table.
He did not taste the bread, hard sausage, and cheese. He kept his
grip on the knife even when it was not needed to cut his food.
Finally, he decided on a course. He had days of work to do, plans
to construct, letters to write, orders to send. He hoped that the
blistering heat
would deter the looters
wherever they were, but he was not willing to take any chances. He
decided to move his work to the study. It was at the back of the
house, would provide him with a way to escape should someone burst
through the door, would not leave him trapped on the upper
level.