He toyed with his spoon as he considered her words. "Would you . . ." he began hesitantly. "Would you tell me what you dreamed, 'Tsan?"
"I don't really remember," she hedged. She didn't see how she could explain an airport to him, and she wasn't sure she wanted to try. His expression was faintly disapproving. It made her suddenly uncomfortable. "Why do you care, anyway?" she demanded. "Why should it matter what I dream?"
He set his bowl down abruptly and fixed her with a level gaze. "You need not tell me if you do not wish to. I asked because among my people dreams are rare. Spirit-gifts are often heralded by dreaming. I thought your dreams might give us some hint about why you were sent to us by the wise gods."
"Sent . . .?" she echoed, shocked. "Look, I wasn't sent here by gods or anyone else!"
"No?" His cool word made Zan flinch. "Then how did you come here? And why?"
Zan was silent as gut-wrenching fear slid up her spine. She stared at Karivet for a moment, then looked away, crossing her arms tightly. "None of this is real. It's all a dream—or madness brought on by grief." As she spoke, she realized that she no longer believed this. She didn't understand what had happened, or how, but somehow, deep inside her, she knew it was real. She fought the knowledge, shivering.
Karivet sighed heavily. "Iobeh said you had gotten beyond your denial. I see she was mistaken."
"Why should what I think matter?" Zan asked woodenly. "If this is real, it's real, even if I don't believe it."
Karivet thumped one fist into the other palm, irritation clear on his face. "'Tsan, don't you see? Until we are sure that you believe this is real—now, here—how can we trust you not to do yourself some harm through carelessness? You cannot go out among others until you understand that your actions have consequences—for you and for us."
"But how do you know it's not a dream? " she asked, though as she spoke, she realized she could no longer retreat into disbelief; the present had grown too immediate.
For a moment she wasn't sure he would answer. He picked up his bowl again, focused his attention on the porridge, and said, "Oh, 'Tsan, I wish I could make you understand! True dreams are vivid, but they are not real." He took the spoon out of his bowl and waved it. "You do not taste things in a dream. Why do you resist us so?"
Zan set her bowl on the floor and crossed her arms again. "Because I'm frightened," she retorted. "Things like this don't happen—so I'm either dreaming or mad."
"Or the world is wider than you imagined," he whispered.
A shadow of pain brushed his eyes, which made him seem very much older than his twelve years. Even as his words made her shiver, Zan felt a pang of sympathetic kinship; he did not seem to have been allowed to enjoy childhood either.
"Come on," Karivet said, abruptly breaking the mood. "Help me with the dishes."
They did the dishes without speaking. Zan felt acutely as though she had failed a vital test and would have no other chance to explain her changed attitude, and Karivet seemed to be lost in some dark thoughts of his own. Both of them were startled when the door of the cottage was flung open and Iobeh came in. She and Karivet had a signed conversation, too rapid for Zan to follow, then Iobeh came over, took the cloth out of Zan's hands, and signed slowly: Come. Don't you wish to see the —?
"Market," Karivet supplied. "Well? Don't you?"
Zan looked from him to his sister and back. "But I thought . . ." she ventured.
He waved his hand. "I yield to Iobeh's judgment. If you wish to go, you shall."
Happy excitement swelled into a smile. "Come on, then!" In moments the three of them were heading for the open ground on the far side of the village where the market was held. It was a much busier place than Zan had imagined from the twins' offhand attitude. She would never have guessed the town could hold as many people as milled about. When she said as much to Karivet, he shrugged. "They do not all live here. The market draws people who live in the forest—the ones who follow the old ways. You can recognize them often because they wear no woven clothes."
Zan looked at the crowds, trying to tell which of the many people there were villagers and which were not. She was struck suddenly by the remarkable similarity of their physical features. The Orathi were small, fine-boned, and dark; their hair was curly, dark brown or black, and their eyes were brown. Zan, who was tall and had her father's red hair, stuck out like a Percheron in a field of Shetland ponies. It made her feel very conspicuous. The feeling did not fade once they were among the crowds. Wherever they walked, people fell silent and stepped out of their way. Most of them stared at Zan, though a few pretended no interest, just watched her furtively. She remembered Eikoheh's warning that the villagers were unused to strangers, and tried to convince herself that they felt as uncomfortable as she did. She forced herself to stand up straight and to ignore their reactions. Iobeh took her hand and squeezed it. You will get used to them, she signed.
Suddenly Karivet stiffened beside her. "Here comes Fafimed," he murmured, looking as though he wanted to say more, but his advice was forestalled by the proximity of its subject.
Fafimed was an old man, spry despite his white hair, but his face was seamed with the tracks of frowns. He studied Zan sourly, sparing only a brief glance for the twins. A corner of Zan's mind noted that he wore a sleeveless tunic of soft deerskin instead of a woven one. "Who are you?" he demanded of her. "You are not a Khedatheh—are you of the Vemathi?"
"I do not know those peoples," Zan replied civilly, trying to keep a tremor out of her voice. Fafimed's glare threatened to unnerve her. "I am a stranger, from a land that knows neither your folk nor your tongue. I speak the Senathii, and that not well, only because of the careful tutoring of Eikoheh and Karivet."
"Oh. Well, if you are under the Dreamweaver's wing, I will not trouble you," the man told her. He turned away, and around her talk began again in nervous whispers.
"Very good," Karivet said. Iobeh squeezed her hand again. "It is fortunate you did not try to claim kinship with the Vemathi."
"Why? Who are they?"
"They are the people of the Vem."
"The what?" Zan cut in.
"Vem. It is like the village, only hundreds of times larger." City, Zan's mind supplied as he went on briskly. "You do not look like them at all. Fafimed was testing you; he is a wary one." He turned to his sister. "Where is Eikoheh?"
Iobeh pointed, then led them through the crowd to a place where several stalls of woven goods had been set up. Eikoheh' s stall was easy to find; nothing else came even close to her work in quality. Eikoheh looked up from her bargaining and signaled them to wait. As Karivet sat down, Zan caught his eye, noticing for the first time how tired and drawn he looked.
"Karivet, is something wrong?" she asked him.
"Yes—no. I don't know. The market is full of rumors and an ugly temper."
Iobeh gestured, too quickly for Zan to follow, though she caught some words.
"Iobeh says that people are afraid—were afraid even before we came."
Zan nodded but refused to be sidetracked. "I meant is something wrong with you? You look worn."
He hunched one shoulder but did not reply. Moved by a sudden impulse, Zan leaned forward, touched his hand, and caught his eyes.
"Karivet, what do you fear?"
His gaze grew distant, and his voice was flat, without inflection. "I taste ashes on the wind and hear the sound of axes. The Vemathi will fell the forest while the Khedathi wait like falcons for their prey. I fear war, and change, and bloodshed. I fear to speak; I fear to remain silent."
Zan stared at him in amazement; then her lips trembled. He had used Senathii words she knew she had never heard—war, falcons, bloodshed—but she had understood him. She dropped her eyes to their touching hands. Karivet caught her wrist hard and shook it.
"'Tsan. 'Tsan, what is it?"
She wouldn't look up. "Bloodshed," she whispered. "I've never heard that word before, but I know what it means. I understood you."
He shook harder, for
cing her to look up. "What are you talking about? What has bloodshed to do with anything?"
"You said it," Zan said desperately. "Didn't you hear him, Iobeh?"
She nodded, her eyes wide.
"What did I say?" he demanded.
Zan repeated it. For a moment he stared blankly; then he covered his face with his hands. "Dear gods."
"I don't understand," Zan said. "What is it? How—"
Eikoheh cut her off, startling her. "We call it ylhaffend—to see the wind. It is the rarest of the spirit-gifts, and the hardest to bear. You never told me, Karivet, you could prophesy."
He looked up, anguished. "I never knew. I have never done it before!"
Eikoheh's eyes widened. "Ah. It takes a question, then—and Iobeh is mute; she cannot ask it."
I can! Iobeh signed indignantly.
Eikoheh touched her cheek. "I think perhaps the question must be spoken aloud, Iobeh. Try again, 'Tsan: ask him another question."
"Will I ever get home?" she asked.
Karivet's eyes clouded with quick concern and he spread his hands. "Only the pattern on the Weaver's Loom will tell us that, 'Tsan. We will try to make you happy here."
"It didn't work," Zan said to Eikoheh.
"Think. What was different?"
Iobeh tapped Zan's shoulder to get her attention. You were touching hands before, she signed.
Zan nodded, then took Karivet's hand and met his eyes. "Will I ever get home, Karivet?"
His gaze went distant. "Home is a place in the heart," he said in that flat, quiet voice.
"Is that yes or no?" she insisted.
"It is both, and neither."
As she released him, his eyes returned to normal. Karivet looked at them all and shivered. "I don't like this," he said. "It cannot be me answering. I do not know these things."
"It is your Gift," Eikoheh told him. "Never doubt it."
"It is not one I want!"
"No one asks for spirit-gifts, Karivet," the old weaver told him quietly. "But you cannot reject that which the gods bestow."
He was silent for a moment. Then he leapt to his feet and raced off through the crowd.
"Wait!" Zan cried, but Iobeh stayed her.
He needs to be alone. He will return, she signed slowly. Zan's shoulders slumped. "I didn't mean to upset him."
"Nay, you have done him a service," Eikoheh retorted. "Spirit-gifts are hard to bear, but it is much worse to have them unbeknownst; spirit-gifts unacknowledged or denied can fester in one's mind and cause all manner of pain. I have seen it in him." She looked over at Iobeh. "Remember the screaming dreams? Karivet has some talent as a Dreamer, but of late his dreams have caused him more pain than enlightenment. Perhaps this will ease them, now. I have long thought dreaming was not his sole Gift; his presence is too strong. Ylhaffend. It fits; it will make him whole. Right now it is hard for him, but believe me, it would be worse later."
"I suppose," Zan agreed doubtfully. "But Eikoheh, what does it all mean? The Vemathi, the City-dwellers—are they really a force to fear? And why?"
"It is dark to me, too, 'Tsan. I—" She broke off and held up one hand. "Listen."
They all heard it, even over the bustle of the marketplace: the shivery call of horns. Slowly the market noises ceased as people fell silent. In the waiting quiet they heard the sound of hoofbeats.
There were four riders, three men and a woman. They were all dressed alike, in gray leather with an intricate pattern worked in gold and red on the breast of the tunics. Two of the men, the ones with the hunting horns, were fairskinned, with straight black hair. The other two riders had wild blond hair that stood out from their heads like a halo; the hair was nearly white, but their skin was golden and their eyes startlingly dark. They halted their high-strung mounts in the center of the marketplace while the Orathi gathered silently around. Then one of the trumpeters bowed with a flourish, swept the assembled people with cool gray eyes, and began to speak.
"The Lord of the City sends his greetings to the Orathi. He asks that I tell you of our plight so that you may be moved to pity. Of late the City has grown too small for its people, while the Orathi grow too few to people their lands. Our great Lord proposes to take the land east of the Tianneh River"—he gestured toward the river that ran to the west of the little village—"and clear it for the use of the Vemathi. You are advised of this so that you may make ready for this change, if it be your will to have pity upon us. If your hearts are hardened and this plan does not find favor with you, the Lord asks only that you send a delegation to the City in order to negotiate with him."
A wave of murmurs swept the people. Eikoheh stepped forward. "Of old it was well known, even in the City, that only the spirit-gifted among us leave the forest. Tell your Lord that if he would treat with us, he must come hither."
The messenger bowed slightly from the saddle. "Nay, Lady, that will not answer, for the Lord of the City wishes your people to see our plight before you turn your backs upon us. If you refuse to send a delegation, we can only assume that it is a matter of little moment to you, and as the matter presses us sorely, we will begin to clear the land. We will wait a month for your delegation to arrive before we begin our labors."
The answering murmurs grew angrier. "We must have more than a month," Eikoheh said firmly. "Our people are spread widely through our lands."
The messenger shook his head. "A month and one month only, woman of the forest. I can give you no other word."
Eikoheh raised both hands to still the protests from her people. "I know you are only a messenger," she said, her old voice steady, "and have no power on your own to say yes or no, but we must speak to your Lord through you. Tell him this for us, for the Orathi: we will come. It may take us longer than a month to arrive, but we will come. If you bring your laborers to clear the land, there will be trouble, for we will not leave our land. We are a peaceful people; we do not bear arms against other people, but we will force you to kill us before we relinquish to you that which is our care and charge. The forest was given to us by the gods, and even the deepest need of your people or your Lord is not sufficient to take it away."
"Ah, but Lady," he protested, "we will not take all the forest from you—only this little piece, for although it is true that the gods gave you the forest, surely you must admit the Vemathi grow while the Orathi decline. In our travels, you are the first people we have seen. Surely you no longer need all this land, having failed to prosper. We, having prospered with the gods' aid, require it of you now. It is clearly the gods' will that you acquiesce in this."
"Come now," Eikoheh remarked, her voice nettling with sarcasm. "I am willing to believe that the Lord of the City put his words in your mouth—but the gods?"
There was a low ripple of laughter. The messenger flushed. "Have a care, woman! I have Khedathi guards to teach you manners."
Eikoheh nodded. "The Vemathi have always been quick to cower behind the weapons of the Khedathi."
The man made an angry gesture and one of the blond riders moved forward, sword upraised.
Without considering consequences, Zan sprang to Eikoheh' s defense, interposing herself between the old woman and the rider. She flung her hair out of her face, put her hands on her hips, and drew herself up. "How dare you!" she cried at the startled young Khedatheh. "She is an old woman, thrice your age and half your height. She bears no weapon. If you want to hurt someone, get off your horse and come at me. I also bear no weapon, but at least I am nearer your size."
There was a shocked silence. The Khedatheh rider backed her mount a pace. "I would have used only the flat," she told Zan.
"That you would consider striking her at all horrifies me," Zan retorted. She turned to the messenger. "Whether or not your Lord heeds you, tell him that the Orathi will come, even if it takes longer than a month. We are not asking you to promise the impossible—just tell him. If he has any honor, he will wait."
The messenger's voice was perfectly controlled again. "I will do as you ask,
but I doubt it will make any difference to my Lord. You have heard his terms; it would be unlike him to change them." He bowed to them all. "I bid you farewell." Then he signaled to the others and they turned their mounts and cantered away. The Orathi watched until they were out of sight, then, silently, they moved away from Zan, Eikoheh, and Iobeh. One or two of them looked back, but no one spoke.
Eikoheh waited until they were out of earshot before she turned to Zan. "I wish you had not done that."
"I was supposed to stand there and watch that woman hurt you?"
"I am not that fragile, 'Tsan," she said testily. "She would have used only the flat, as she told you. The Khedathi have honor."
"I didn't know that, but even so, Eikoheh, it would have hurt you. Now they are gone, and you are unhurt. How have I done wrong?"
"You have championed the Orathi," the old woman said. "The others will expect you to do so again."
"I don't understand, Zan said. "This is wrong?
Eikoheh sighed. "You are a stranger. You do not understand what is at stake."
Zan spread her hands in exasperation. "Then teach me. I am not unwilling to learn."
Iobeh tapped her arm. You will have to learn now, 'Tsan. That is why Eikoheh sighs. She shivered. Let's go home.
"Yes," Eikoheh agreed. "Help me pack my things."
Just then Fafimed came over and drew Eikoheh apart. They spoke briefly while Zan and Iobeh finished packing. After he left, Eikoheh came back to them, but she seemed preoccupied. No one spoke on the way home.
FOUR
When Eikoheh, Zan, and Iobeh returned to the cottage, Karivet was there, calmly stirring a pot of kemess. His calm disappeared when he saw their faces.
"What is it? What has happened?"
Eikoheh shooed them onto the cushions. "We had messengers from the City. They were polite, but nonetheless it was clear that the Vemathi intend to take all the land east of the Tianneh."
"They can't," he said, sounding very young.
The old woman shrugged. "I told them we would not give them the forest willingly. They offered us the chance to parley with them, if we send people to the City. We have a month before they begin cutting trees."
Colors in the Dreamweaver's Loom Page 3