The False Martyr (76 page)

“
What happened to your
lodge?” Cary asked, somehow knowing that she was describing the
oft-hinted disaster that had led to her elevation, that she was
somehow blaming herself even for that. “I have heard rumors, but no
one speaks of it directly.”

Noé wiped the tear and
looked away. “I should have warned her,” she said with distance
rather than emotion. “I saw all those things. I should have seen
the danger. I should have told Mother Marika, but I was too afraid.
I was not even supposed to exist, I couldn’t talk to the Mother. I
told Master Vulcher instead, but he just sent me to gather snow to
melt for water. It was the last time I ever saw him.”

“
What happened?” Cary
asked again.

“
Our lodges are filled
with smoke in the winter,” she mused, eyes so distant that Cary
wanted to wave his hand before them. “But I still smelled it. I
knew it was wrong. I . . . I should have done
something.”

“
You didn’t know.” Cary
changed tactics. He reached out and took her hand. “It wasn’t your
fault. There was no way you could have known what would happen. All
those things were just . . . coincidences.”

Noé looked at him then
pulled back her hand. “You’re right, I suppose. But I feel so
guilty sometimes. Why should I have been spared when our Mother,
the order master, so many sisters were killed? It just doesn’t seem
right.”

“
No one can hope to
understand the Order,” Cary somehow quoted scripture. “We flow with
it or are crushed by it.”

“
Juhn said the same
thing,” Noé said with another sigh. “I suppose you are both
right.”

“
So a fire killed the
previous Mother?”

“
It ran through the
women’s quarters. In the end, fewer than a hundred sisters
survived, and most of those were burned.”

“
And of those, Zhurn
picked you to be the new Mother?”

“
I still can’t believe it.
He was Father so he could pick any woman he wanted. I don’t know
why he picked me. I . . . I do not belong in that meeting with all
those Mothers. I don’t even know what they’re saying most of the
time. If Zhurn weren’t guiding me, I would do whatever they
asked.”

By the
Order
, Cary cursed in his mind.
They are planning something.
He was certain now, but what?

“
Ut Eselhelt?” a voice
outside the door interrupted. A statement followed in the Morg
language – the introduction of someone seeking an audience. Ut
Mehret was part of it.

Noé stiffened, eyes
shifting to Cary, filled with panic. She motioned him to the
passage and stood in a single motion. She said some words in her
language. Cary caught the words for order keeper as he strode
toward the passage. Then he remembered himself.

He sprinted to Noé, caught
her arm, and spoke in her ear. “I have to be gone for a few days.
I’ll see you when I return. Until then, don’t do anything.” Faces
inches apart, Noé looked to the door then at Cary unsure. “Trust
me,” he continued. “Something is happening that I don’t understand,
but I am afraid for you. It will only be a few days, but please
wait.” There were more words from the door, more urgent. Noé
watched the portal with growing panic. “I won’t leave until you
agree,” Cary finally threatened.

With a last look at the
door, Noé nodded. Cary kissed her. It was barely a brushing of lips
that left Noé too shocked for it to extend beyond that. The sound
of latch clicking open ended it. Cary broke from Noé, pulled the
hood of his robe over his head, and darted to the passage. The
woman who entered the room saw only the back of an order keeper as
he returned to his passage and a Mother, who was strangely out of
breath.

“
Ut Mehret,” Noé breathed
as the passage closed behind Cary.
Why is
the Mother of Mehret visiting Noé?
he
asked himself then nearly ran as her greeting continued. “Yaruth
Vlodr,” she greeted Juhn by his title. Cary knew then that he
should run. Juhn would know that he had not sent any of his order
keepers to visit Noé. He would know that it was Cary defying his
orders, but he said nothing, and Cary did not run. He was riveted
in place by his curiosity, which doubled when the Mother from
Mehret said the words “thuluck raln shatar.”

Chapter 43

The
37
^th
Day of Summer

“
Get up,” Garth
grunted.

Teth laid on the grass
looking up at him. From her angle, he seemed to stretch past the
walls of the inn to the scattered clouds above. His shoulders
seemed to stretch the whole length of the courtyard, blocking her
entire view with an expanse of tooled leather and homespun wool.
Staring down from the clouds, his blue eyes, one of the only
features visible through the parted veil of his long hair and
longer beard, pounded her, weathered skin around them pulled into
creases sharper than the ribs of Dasen’s fan. Teth could read
nothing in those eyes. She had managed to hold the Morg’s
impossible pose – one leg planted on the ground, the other
stretched behind her, hands out in front – for a count of twenty.
It was far longer than she’d managed thus far – not nearly as long
as she’d have done a month ago – yet the Morg just
stared.

Well, that was the thing
about Morgs. You could never tell what they were thinking. That is
what people always said. If one speaks, he’ll tell you exactly what
he thinks, but until then you have no idea if he’s going to hug you
or kill you. And Garth acted as if it were his sole duty in life to
maintain that stereotype. “Again,” he said. If Teth hadn’t heard it
herself, she would have thought those were his only words – get up,
again, stop, start.

Pushing herself up, she
planted her foot, lifted the other, stretched her hands out, out,
out. The ground rushed up to meet her. She caught herself, but not
quickly enough to keep from ending in a pile on the
grass.

“
Humph.” Garth walked
away. From the other side of the courtyard, a cluster of boys
giggled then caught themselves as Teth’s eyes flicked to them. They
were copying her exercises, thinking that she didn’t notice their
mockery. They were just children bored in their confinement, but
she scowled at them nonetheless. Turning from her, they formed a
clump, whispering and giggling, no doubt at her expense. Across
from them, two young women watched from behind their fans. They
were probably a bit younger than Teth, but a few years older than
she was supposed to be. It did not stop them from staring
shamefully, giggling, and batting their fans in a way that would
have sent a real pubescent boy into a palsy. Teth fought herself to
keep from growling at them – as much as she knew about playing the
part of the boy, being civilized was all but foreign.

“
How much longer?” Garth
grunted, tearing Teth’s eyes from the girls.

“
Until I can do it longer
than you. Until I say it’s time to stop.” Teth lifted herself back
onto trembling legs. She had been working for hours now and was
beyond exhausted. Her muscles were entirely spent, were barely
responding to her commands, yet she forced them into the pose. She
fell just as fast. The laughter of her audience was lost to her
curses.

“
You’re going to hurt
yourself,” Garth grumbled.

“
You won’t let me do
anything else until I’ve mastered this, right?”

“
Humph.”

“
Because I’ll hurt myself,
right?”

“
Humph.”

“
Well then, I’ll master
this.” Teth torqued herself back into the pose. Her free foot
barely rose before she stumbled forward and just caught herself
before she broke her teeth on the tree.

Garth turned and walked
away, grumbling in his native language. Though the words were
foreign, Teth knew exactly what he was saying, “most stubborn,
Order-cursed girl . . . .” It was exactly what Teth’s aunt had said
about her a thousand times. This was nothing different.

She had always had the
ability to push herself beyond anything normal people could
contemplate. She had learned to shoot by spending hours doing it,
firing until her fingers were raw, her shoulders ached, and her
eyes blurred. She had learned to run by using it as her only means
of transport, going for miles and miles, faster and faster until
she thought her heart would explode. Climbing, hunting, fighting,
it had all been the same. And now she had to do it all over again.
Garth had shown her the exercises that Morgs used to build and
maintain their strength. To her surprise, they had nothing to do
with swinging a sword or shooting a bow. They had to do with
strength, balance, and flexibility, and Garth would not let her
near a weapon until she had mastered them, until she showed that
she had recovered enough strength to use the weapons properly. So
she called once again on the supernatural pigheadedness that the
Morg now cursed. Weapons meant fighting, and fighting was the best,
cleanest, easiest way to die. The only way to escape was to master
the poses, to prove herself ready, to expose herself to the chaos
of battle that not even the Weaver could control. But that was only
part of what drove her.

For four days now, she had
been doing these exercises from the first rays of morning sun until
it was lost again in the west. She worked until she could barely
move, could barely pull back the sheet of her bed, could barely
force herself up in the morning, and best of all, until she was too
exhausted to think or speak or dream, too exhausted to fear or hope
or rage, too exhausted to feel at all. It was the only way she
could make it through the few moments each night that she spent
with Dasen. Though she had let him go, barely spoke to him, tried
to forget he was even there, he had not reciprocated. No matter how
late, he was waiting, was awake, was wearing the same worried
expression, was hanging on her every movement and expression like a
mouse watching a sleeping cat. And Teth could barely stand it. She
just wanted to be left alone, to break away, to make it all stop.
If not for the exercise, the exhaustion, the pain – aching muscles;
raw, blistered hands; bruises everywhere – she wouldn’t have made
it through the door.

Panting, she pulled
herself from the tree. The girls on the bench giggled. Teth hit
them with a wicked glare, bared her teeth, and growled. They
diverted their eyes, beat their fans, and twittered.

“
He’s so fierce,” one of
them said.

“
What will he be like when
he gets his manhood,” the other gasped back. They both blushed and
giggled, eyes firmly planted on a seething Teth.
If only they knew
.

At the other end of the
courtyard, the boys had given up mocking her and started some game
that seemed to involve one group chasing and tackling another. At
some point, three older men had appeared on a bench near the boys.
They seemed annoyed by the boys, fascinated by Teth, and only
marginally focused on the deals they discussed. It was another
pleasantly cool day, and the courtyard had been popular with the
inn’s many residents. Mostly Teth had found that she could ignore
them. It was only these vapid girls, for some reason, that seemed
to bring out her ire.

Giving up on Garth’s
poses, Teth turned to another exercise. She fell to the ground,
pushed herself up, jumped to standing, leapt to grab a branch of
the tree and pulled her chin over it. She fell to the ground and
repeated, repeated, repeated until her shaking arms could not lift
her from the ground. She fell back panting, and saw a pale-blue
dress slide into her vision. Her eyes rose and confirmed what she
feared. Sitting on the nearest bench was Dasen.

“
Clearly, I am worried
about him,” he said, voice straining to remain high. “He is
exhausted. How much more of this can he take? I admire what you are
doing, but he’s going to hurt himself.”

Teth’s eyes shot up. She
scowled.

Dasen showed her that
patronizing smile she knew from the forest. “My dear brother,” he
cooed. “Please. I know what you are trying to do, but you will not
help our beloved home by hurting yourself. Surely, strength must be
built over time like a tree if it is to last.” He nodded knowingly,
eyes nearly begging. “Come back with me and have some tea. We can
talk and have a game of squares. You used to love that
game.”

Teth had never played the
idiotic game of the nobility, barely even knew the rules. Dasen was
clearly trying to play his role and solidify hers. She should have
been grateful. She was already pushing well past what the most
capable, most stubborn boy could ever do. Though no one was like to
believe her a girl, they would eventually start to question, and
any questions now could be deadly. Still, Teth was not in a place
to hear it.

She jumped up. “You don’t
know anything,” she yelled. “I know what I can do. I know what I
need, and I won’t sit here and let you tell me otherwise.” She
turned and stormed from the courtyard. Though it had not been meant
that way, it was the most credible-to-her-character thing she had
done since she arrived at the inn. In a moment, she was in the
common room. Somewhere, Mrs. Tappers was calling her as she dodged
around the tables, squirmed through the crowds, and exploded out
the doors into the light of the afternoon.