The Voice

by Anne Bishop

  So we made it to the tree where we used to play and where, in many ways, this journey had begun seven years before on the day we had seen The Voice’s scars. Kobrah and Tahnee remained there with the bags while I went on to the Elders’ Hall, now carrying nothing more than the old pan, a water skin, and the small bag of feed. If caught, I could truthfully say I had felt sorry for the horse and had snuck out to give it some food and water.

  But there were no lights shining in the hall except for a lamp in the caretaker’s room, and that provided me with just enough light to make my way to where the horse watched me.

  “Easy, boy,” I whispered when he began making noises. He was hungry and thirsty, and I was holding what he wanted. He would be making a lot of noise soon if he didn’t get some.

  Staying just out of reach and keeping one eye on the lighted window, just in case the caretaker looked out to see why the horse was fussing, I poured water into the pan, then held it out for the horse. He drank it down and looked for more, but I scooped out a double handful of feed and gave that to him next. Another pan of water and another handful of feed. Not much for a big horse, but all I could do for now. I put the water skin and bag of feed in the back of the cart, but I held on to the pan, afraid it would rattle and draw attention.

  “Come on, boy,” I whispered as I untied the horse from the hitching rail. “Come on. You’re going to help all of us get to freedom.”

  He came with me without noise or fuss, and when we were far enough away from the hall that the clip-clop of hooves and rattle of the cart wheels wouldn’t draw anyone’s attention, I began taking full breaths again.

  We paused at the tree just long enough to haul the traveling bags and supplies into the cart and have Kobrah and Tahnee hide in the back. One person leading a horse and cart might go unremarked. All three of us out at this time of night with this particular horse and cart . . . Our luck held. We got to the back of The Voice’s house and got the cart positioned so the blank stone marker could be used as a step. Now the rest of the plan was up to me, and if I failed one of us, I failed all of us.

  It didn’t occur to me until much later that Kobrah and Tahnee never once suggested abandoning this part of the plan. I suppose that, more than anything, proved none of us belonged in the village where we had been born.

  The plan was simple. I would go in on the pretense of consoling Chayne on the loss of the dowry and the embarrassment of Kobrah’s behavior. I would slip a third of the drug I had bought into a drink, avoid any amorous advances Chayne might think to make before he drank down the drug, and then get The Voice out of the house and into the cart so we could be far down the road before anyone realized we were gone.

  I just didn’t know how to do any of that. So I prayed hard and with all my heart, because five lives were at stake now. The horse had become a conspirator with us, and even though he was a poor, dumb beast, I was sure the Elder would blame him for following the girl who had offered him food.

  Tahnee held the horse, petting him to keep him quiet. Kobrah remained in the cart. I went around to the front and rang the visitors’ bell, still wondering what to say to get myself inside at this hour.

  That wasn’t a worry. Chayne answered the door looking sleepy, rumpled, and surly, and I suspected he had been drinking, even though he wasn’t supposed to when he was on duty. Then another expression slithered into his eyes as he looked at me, and I felt a thread of pure fear roll down my spine when I realized I wasn’t the only one who had a drug that had been purchased in some shadow place. Chayne had his bottle with him, because he used it on The Voice as well as on Kobrah.

  And he intended to use it on me. I looked into his eyes and knew it.

  “I heard what happened this afternoon,” I said, sounding a little breathless. “I thought . . . maybe . . . you would want to talk to someone.”

  “Talk?” he laughed softly, and I heard the sound of a heart turning evil. He stepped aside to let me enter. “Sure, we can talk. Come back to the kitchen. I was having a bite to eat.”

  There was bread and cheese on the table, as well as half a bottle of wine. Looking at Chayne’s flushed face, I had a feeling that wasn’t the first bottle he’d opened tonight. Which explained why he hadn’t paid attention to the sound of a horse and cart.

  “Let me get you some wine,” he said, picking up the bottle and taking it with him to the cupboard that held the glasses.

  Watching him to make sure he wasn’t paying close attention to me, I slipped a hand in my skirt pocket and took out the vial of potion. I worked the cork with my thumb, loosening it while I glanced at Chayne’s glass of wine and then back at him. He would see me if I reached across the table, and if he saw my hand over his glass . . . Then he turned toward the kitchen window, and I thought my heart would stop. Had he heard a noise? I was almost certain he wouldn’t see the horse and cart unless he went right up to the window and looked out, but I couldn’t take that chance. And I couldn’t waste the opportunity he provided by turning his back on me. So I pulled the cork off the vial and dumped some of the drug into Chayne’s glass, heedless of how much I was using.

  “Is there anyone else here tonight?” I asked, tucking my shaking hands in my lap while I worked the cork back into the top of the vial.

  He stopped moving toward the window, but he still kept his back to me.

  He hadn’t heard a noise. He wasn’t interested in looking out the window. That was just the excuse he had used for turning away from me while he slipped his drug into my glass of wine.

  He came back to the table, set the wineglass in front of me, and smiled the kind of smile women instinctively fear. “No, there’s no one else here tonight. Except The Voice. She’s the perfect chaperone.”

  I would have been a fool to come here alone. I hadn’t been a friend to Kobrah when I had kept silent after overhearing Chayne tell Dariden about the drug. Now all our fates came down to whether I could avoid drinking from my glass without arousing Chayne’s suspicion.

  “Drink up,” Chayne said, raising his glass in a salute as he watched me.

  He knew I knew about the drug—and he didn’t care. He was between me and the door. We were alone. He wasn’t so drunk that I could get away from him.

  Then a door slammed, making us both jump. A moment later, Kobrah stood in the kitchen doorway, breathing like a bellows, looking as if she’d run here all the way from her house.

  “Are you going to poison Nalah too?” Kobrah asked. “Isn’t it enough that you ruined me?”

  “Go home,” Chayne said coldly, turning his back on her to look straight at me. “Go back home while you still have one. And if you say anything else that causes trouble, I’ll be looking for a new wife, and you’ll be grateful for any place that will take you in. You know what they say about an orphan’s life.”

  He didn’t see the rage on her face, but he smirked when I, trembling, whispered, “An orphan’s life is one of sorrow.”

  Looking pleased, Chayne said, “That’s right,” and drank all the wine in his glass.

  The Apothecary assured me the drug would work fast. Even so, agonizing hours filled the space between each heartbeat before Chayne staggered, grabbed at the table to keep his balance, then collapsed on the floor.

  I caught Chayne’s wineglass before it rolled off the table, righted the bottle before the rest of the wine spilled out, then got around the table in time to stand between Chayne and Kobrah.

  “I was going to kick his face until it was all smashed and broken,” Kobrah said in that dreamy, insane voice. “He deserves to have his face smashed. You don’t know all the things he’s done.”

  I held up a hand to stop her, then crouched beside Chayne. His eyes were open, but his mind was swimming in some dream world and his limbs wouldn’t work for a few hours.

  “You,” he said, drawing out the word.

  Inspired, I stared at him. “Us,” I said, raising a hand to draw his attention to Kobrah, who was standing behind me. “We are the goddesses of
justice and vengeance. Tonight we wore the faces of women you know in order to test you, human. And you failed.”

  Kobrah laughed, a chilling sound.

  “When the sun rises tomorrow, you will stand in front of the Elders’ Hall and tell everyone about the drug you gave your wife. You will confess every harm you have ever done to any living thing. If you do not, we will come back every night for the rest of your life. We will come back in a dream, night after night, and peel the skin off your face so that everyone will see who you really are.”

  I stood up and walked out of the kitchen. Kobrah followed me.

  “If he doesn’t confess all the things he’s done, will he really have that dream?” she asked.

  “Yes.” When I bought the drug, I had emphasized the need to hide the memory of my presence and had been assured that, in the first minute or two after the drug was taken, the person would believe anything he was told.

  Kobrah smiled. “That’s better than kicking him in the face, because he’ll never tell the Elders everything he’s done. He would end up among the Un-Named.”

  We opened doors, searched rooms. Most people never went beyond the visitors’ room, never saw this part of the house. Judging by what could be seen by moonlight, the rooms set aside for the caretakers were better furnished and had more luxuries than any of them knew in their own homes. But there were two rooms that had the basic furniture of bed, chair, and dresser. No rug on the floor. No sketches on the walls. Not one pretty bauble to delight the heart.

  There was no need for such things when a person had been silenced and could not voice her pain, when she had been kept uneducated so she could not give shape to her thoughts. When she was caged within her own flesh so that she couldn’t escape other kinds of cages.

  The first of those sparse rooms was empty, and Kobrah stared at it for a long time, shuddering, as we both realized that room had been readied for a new occupant.

  In the second sparsely furnished room, we found The Voice.

  “It’s me,” I said, hurrying to the side of the bed. “It’s Nalah.”

  The wheezing, labored breathing eased a little, and the reason squeezed my heart until it hurt.

  Hearing someone at the door, she had expected Chayne to come in and do things to her after he’d given her the drug.

  But seeing her in the bed, I realized how big she was—and I also realized the flaw in my plan.

  I didn’t know if she was capable of walking far enough to reach the cart. And if she wasn’t able to climb in by herself, even the three of us weren’t strong enough to lift her.

  “We’re running away,” I said. “You can come with us. I know a place that can help you. You’ll be safe there.” I swallowed hard to say what had to be said. “We have a cart behind the house. You can ride in the back of it. But if you want to get away from here, you have to walk to the cart, you have to climb in the back. If you can’t do that . . .”

  She struggled, flailed. I grabbed a wrist and pulled to help her sit up. When that wasn’t quite enough, Kobrah wrapped her arms around my waist and leaned back, adding her strength to the effort.

  We got The Voice on her feet. Got her walking. By the time we left the bedroom, she was wheezing. By the time we got to the back door, her lungs sounded like damaged bellows, and I wondered if she would collapse before she reached the cart. She couldn’t open her mouth, so she sucked in air through her teeth.

  How much time had passed? How much did we have left before someone noticed the horse was gone? Since we hadn’t come home by now, and knowing Chayne would be working tonight, Tahnee’s mother and mine would assume we had stayed with Kobrah and wouldn’t be expecting to see us until after breakfast. The second stage of the potion I bought was supposed to produce lethargy, so hopefully Chayne would fall asleep and not wake up until the daytime caretakers arrived.

  Desperate, determined, The Voice took one step after another. I stayed beside her, having no idea what I would do if she fell, while Tahnee held the horse and Kobrah ran back into the house. She returned with a bundle, which she tossed into the back of the cart.

  “Clothes,” she said.

  Up to the blank marker stone that provided The Voice with the step needed to get into the cart. She grasped the sides of the cart and pulled. Kobrah and I pushed. Tahnee held the horse steady.

  Then The Voice was in the cart, on hands and knees, panting from the effort.

  “Lie down,” I told her, while Kobrah ran back into the house a last time to fetch a blanket to cover The Voice until we were out of the village.

  I took my place at the horse’s head and sent up one more prayer to whoever would listen to me. Please, let the cart be strong enough to hold her. Let the horse be strong enough to pull the load. Please.

  The horse leaned into the harness, straining to take that first step. But he did take that first step. And the next one. The cart moved. The axles didn’t break.

  “Good boy,” I whispered. “You’re a brave, strong boy. Step along. That’s it. Good boy.”

  Clip-clop. Clip-clop. That was the only sound besides the rattle of the cart’s wheels. No other sounds disturbed our village’s silence.

  Two days’ journey to Vision in a coach with a team of horses that could maintain a trot for miles at a time. How many days with a half-starved horse who could do no better than a steady walk?

  We had gotten out of the village, had left the last house behind us, and I was just starting to breathe easy when we heard clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop coming toward us.

  I kept walking, kept up my whispered encouragement to the horse. Kobrah darted to the far side of the cart and hunched over to avoid being seen, while Tahnee remained near the back of the cart.

  The man rode toward us, leading another horse. He seemed vaguely familiar, but it wasn’t until Tahnee let out a stifled cry of joy that I recognized him as the young man at the bazaar whom Tahnee had haggled with and flirted with.

  And fallen in love with?

  I doubt he knew who I was—or cared. He dismounted, shoved reins into my open hand, and leaped at Tahnee, snatching her off her feet as he held her tight.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. You must have thought I failed you, that I wasn’t coming. The world . . . There were delays. I . . .”

  Kobrah came around the side of the cart, her eyes on the horses.

  “Do you need both horses?” she asked, and there was something in her voice, something in the way she moved that made us all tense.

  “I . . .” He looked back at his horses, then looked at Kobrah—and then tried to shift Tahnee behind him without being too obvious about what he was doing . . . or why.

  We’ve lost her, I thought. If we don’t let her go, she’ll destroy us.

  I think Tahnee realized that too, because she looked at her lover and asked, “Could we ride double?”

  We didn’t know what we were asking of him, didn’t know what the loss of a horse would mean to him or his family. But he knew, and he still went back to his horses, untied the second one, and walked it over to where Kobrah waited. Handing her the reins, he said, “Take the horse.”

  After she mounted, she looked down at him and said, “May the gods and goddesses of fate and fortune shower your life with golden days.”

  Then she rode back to the village. I didn’t know what she intended to do, but I knew the rest of us needed to get as far away as we could.

  “You two go on ahead,” I said. “Tahnee’s travel bag is too big to carry on horseback. If I bring it to your family’s booth at the bazaar, will it get to her?”

  “It will.” He looked in the direction of the village. “But that will leave you—”

  “We got this far by working together,” I said, cutting him off. “Now we have to separate.” Thinking about the sign before the bridge leading to Vision, I looked at Tahnee. “Now we have to let our hearts choose our destination.”

  Tahnee hugged me. Her lover studied my face, as if memorizing it, then sa
id, “Travel lightly.”

  He mounted his horse and pulled Tahnee up behind him, and the two of them cantered down the road, heading for Vision . . . and freedom.

  I stood there, feeling so alone. More so because I wasn’t alone. But I couldn’t look at her just then, couldn’t offer any promises or comfort. I would save us—or I would fail.

  “Come on, boy,” I said softly. “Come on. We’ve got a ways to go.”

  The horse leaned into the harness, straining to take that first step.

  One step. Another. And step by plodding step, we got a little closer to a dream.

  6.

  I have since heard that Ephemera takes the measure of a human heart and helps or hinders what that heart desires. I don’t know if that is true or not. I do know the horse shouldn’t have made it up the hills I remembered as being so steep. But he did make it. Sometimes I thought he’d break under the strain if he had to take another step up an incline, but somehow the hill always leveled out before that last step, and the descents were gentler than I recalled. I’m sure someone would tell me my mind had exaggerated some things on that first journey in order to make it a grander adventure.

  I don’t think I exaggerated anything. The world changed itself just enough to give us a chance. Just as I believe the world changed itself that first afternoon when I spotted riders in the distance and knew they were men from the village, looking for us. We kept walking, and my prayer became a chant: Please don’t let them find us.

  They should have found us, should have caught us. They never did.

  Several days after leaving the village, in the hushed hour before the real dawn, I stopped the exhausted horse in front of the Temple of Sorrow. Standing on tiptoes, I peeked over the side of the cart, not wanting to stand at the back. The Voice looked at me, a question in her eyes.

  “We made it,” I said. “I’ll get help.”

  She couldn’t get out of the cart. For anything. I realized we had a problem the first time I smelled excrement. But when I went around to the back of the cart, dithering about what to do, the plea in her eyes was more eloquent than words. Every minute I spent caring for her was the minute that might make the difference between getting to Vision or getting caught. So I made my heart as hard and cold as I could make it, and I kept us moving until I saw the bridge and felt numbed by the knowledge that we had reached the city.