by Kate Elliott
And that was that.
Except, of course, it wasn’t. Across a hundred meters’ distance, a man turned to stare at Marco. Every alarm Marco had honed by instinct to its finest degree went off. Danger.
“Come,” said Josef. A crowd had long since gathered to watch. An audience, of course. Somehow, Marco was no longer surprised at any twist this journey might take. He followed Josef meekly but cautiously.
The man waited for them as a prince waits. He was of middling height, but height never matters in the kind of man he was. On a whim, Marco bowed to him, with the flourish granted to the nobility in Jeds.
“You are the emissary from the Prince of Jeds,” said the man in faultless Rhuian. His accent was slight but melodious. “I am Ilyakoria Bakhtiian. I have two letters and a holy relic for you to deliver to the prince.” He gestured with a hand, and Raevsky extracted a leather pouch from the saddlebags of Bakhtiian’s horse. “By the way.” Bakhtiian said it offhandedly. “If I ever find out that you did not deliver the messages and the relic to the prince, I will hunt you down and kill you.” He gave Marco the pouch.
Marco took it. For the first time in his life, he felt entirely out of his depth.
“Please,” said Bakhtiian politely. “Examine each item so that you know what you’re carrying.”
Marco nodded, still not trusting himself to speak. He opened the pouch and pulled out the cylinder. Stared at it, knowing instantly that it was of Chapalii manufacture. And read Tess’s letter. Tess.
“But I must come with you,” he said, looking up. “I must get to Tess.”
“Do I need to repeat myself? She said that this is important to her brother, that he needs it, not next season or the one after but now. Therefore, you will deliver it.”
His men flanked him, a scatter of brilliant color, all armed, most mounted. Josef Raevsky stood to one side. But it was clear to Marco that Bakhtiian was the most dangerous of these men. That he was a man who would, who could, who had killed, a man who would not hesitate to do so again if his will were crossed.
“I understand,” said Marco finally.
“Good,” said Bakhtiian.
“But is Tess safe? Where is she?”
Bakhtiian looked so angry in that instant that Marco took an involuntary step back. “She is with my people,” he said fiercely. He turned on his heel and began to walk away.
“Wait. Surely I can send a message to her. A gift.”
Bakhtiian spun back. He looked furious. “What?” he snapped. “Write something, then.”
Marco always wore the emergency kit at his belt. He had an emergency transmitter he could send to her but he had nothing to write on here, had no parchment except back at the inn. Bakhtiian said a few words in a foreign tongue, and Raevsky rummaged again in the saddlebags and brought out a book—a book!—and a quill pen and ink.
“Here.” Bakhtiian carefully tore a page out of the front of the book and handed it to Marco.
Marco stared. Newton’s Principia, the title page. He felt disoriented; he felt like laughing. Newton in the hands of this barbarian. He glanced up to see Bakhtiian’s unnerving stare focused on him. Crouching hastily, he set the page on his knee and wrote in Anglais.
My darling Tess, your dear old Uncle Marco wonders what the hell you’re up to on Rhui, but most of all he hopes you are safe. I am sending an emergency transmitter by way of your escort. For God’s sake, child, let us know where you are and that you’re well. I am not going to endanger my life at this time by trying to follow your escort back to you. And I’m sure you understand that the Mushai’s cylinder must get to Charles as soon as possible. As you must. I do not understand what your circumstances are. If you are being held against your will, though it does not seem so from your letter, you can merely activate the primary codes and we will come and pick you up in a shuttle and damn the Interdiction. If not against your will, then I will only say this: You have a duty to your brother. You also have a duty to yourself. Make of that what you will. I send my love. Marco Burckhardt
Marco fished the emergency transmitter from his pouch. It looked like a little dagger, snuggled into a leather sheath. He folded the letter carefully and slid it inside the sheath, and handed the dagger to Bakhtiian. Bakhtiian took it without a word and turned and walked back to his horse.
Should he follow them? Could he, without being killed; that was the real question. He judged it unlikely. He must hope that Tess would get the transmitter; it would keep track of her whereabouts, whatever she chose to do with it. He opened her letter to Charles and read it again. Unwound the cylinder from its fabric blanket and stared. The Mushai. Goddess help them all. He’d damned well better get this back to Charles. If Tess was not safe for now in the hands of Ilyakoria Bakhtiian, then she wasn’t safe anywhere.
Bakhtiian mounted and turned to stare at Marco as if memorizing his features in case they met again and Bakhtiian discovered that Marco had indeed not fulfilled his duty. And Marco had a sudden flash of insight: if this barbarian prince ever decided that he wanted to conquer the civilized lands, then Goddess protect those lands that lay in his path.
They rode away, these jaran, much to the relief of the townspeople of Abala Port. But then again, it would give them something to talk about for the entire winter. Marco tied the leather pouch to his belt and went to talk to the ship’s master of the Queen Aireon about getting passage with them back to Jeds.
Chapter Twenty-seven
“An eddy, of all manner of forms, is separated off from the whole.”
—DEMOCRITUS OF ABDERA
A FORMAL DELEGATION ARRIVED the next morning. Niko had thrown the tent flap back, and Tess saw four women approach Niko where he sat outside: an older woman she vaguely recognized, Vera, Arina, and—she craned her neck to get a better look but she had not been mistaken: it was Yeliana, dressed in a knee-length green tunic with a pair of belled trousers bagging out below, tucked into her soft boots.
To Tess’s surprise, it was Arina who stepped forward. “Nikolai Sibirin, we women have decided that it is improper that your patient be so isolated. If you choose the hospitality of this tribe, then we ask her to reside in my tent. As her healer, you will, of course, be given free access.”
Niko had already stood. Now he simply bowed his head. “As you wish, Mother Veselov.”
Tess tried to move enough to see Arina’s mother but the older woman was nowhere in sight. Niko crawled into the tent.
“What did you mean, ‘Mother Veselov’?” Tess whispered.
“Arina is etsana now. Didn’t I tell you? Her mother died nine days ago and was taken out to the grass these six days past. Ah, but you were—I heard it from Vladimir, who rode messages between us and the tribe until you could be brought here.”
“Arina is etsana! I’d have thought Vera would have demanded that honor—”
“Hush, child. They’re outside. And you must not underestimate Arina, or her brother.”
“Well, I’m sick of this tent.”
“Yes, you will be among women. Varia Telyegin is the healer here, and a very fine one, too.”
“But you’ll still stay with me, Niko.”
“Of course, my child. Don’t forget to thank Arina, for she must be treated with respect now.”
But upon being eased outside, Tess found her whole position, lying flat on her back and staring up at pretty, petite little Arina, who was younger than herself, to be utterly absurd. “I can’t call you ‘Mother,’” she blurted.
Arina laughed. “I should hope not, Tess. I’m not even married.” Then she blushed suddenly and quickly knelt beside Tess. “Come. You’ll be much happier with us. Here, Yeliana, can you take this corner?” Yeliana obeyed, looking too shy to speak.
“I am so glad you are getting better, Tess,” said Vera, taking another corner.
Tess smiled vaguely, not trusting her, but Vera looked and sounded sincere enough. Perhaps the shock of almost losing her husband would make her appreciate him more. Varia Telyegin was th
e fourth, and with Niko trailing meekly behind, they carried her on the blanket through a suddenly empty camp and installed her in what seemed glorious comfort in the outer room of Arina’s great tent. The three older women left, leaving Yeliana to tuck pillows behind Tess and arrange her suitably while Niko watched.
“How did you get here?” Tess demanded.
Yeliana glanced up at Niko, then back at Tess. “I ran away. If you could ride with the men, then why shouldn’t I do what Vladimir did and go to Bakhalo’s jahar-ledest and train? And gain a place for myself in a jahar?”
“How did you come here then?”
“I found the—I found Sibirin, and I rode back here with Vladi. And—” She paled, looking almost scared. “She who was Mother Veselov had just died, and—well, Arina Veselov has only the one brother, and he is married into the Charnov kin, so she hadn’t anybody to—” She faltered. When she spoke again her voice had dropped to the barest whisper. “She gifted me her tent, Tess. The one she had when her mother was alive. She says I am to be her sister.” Yeliana put a hand to her cheek and wiped away tears. “She trusts me, that I will not break this bond. Even after I broke service with the gods and ran away from the shrine.”
“And will you break the bond? To go and train?”
“Never!” She rose and turned to survey Niko, a slight, passionate girl arrayed with an adolescent’s fierce loyalty. He smiled at her. “Sibirin. I cannot ask so much of my sister yet, but if in a year, when she is married and perhaps things are more settled, might I ask her about Vladimir? If he is my brother, then wouldn’t he be welcome in my tent?”
“Yeliana, I cannot answer that question. I am not an Elder in this tribe, and in any case, Vladimir has a duty to his dyan. And, perhaps, an interest in a girl in the Orzhekov tribe.”
“But what woman would want an orphan for a husband?” Yeliana asked.
“If he has made a place for himself, and hers is secure enough, then any woman, I think, who cares for such a man might allow him to mark her. Vladi cannot just mark whom he wishes, after all. Her brothers might well kill him for his trouble.”
“Oh,” said Yeliana, looking quite as young as she was.
“Yeliana,” said Tess. “Could you leave us for a moment?” Yeliana nodded and hurried out. “Niko, why would Arina take her in?”
“Tess, Arina’s position is not exactly strong. You must understand that. She is young and unmarried, and she also must contend with a cousin who is, may I say, the kind of relation with whom one’s best dealings are done from a position of strength. As etsana, Arina has every right to gift Yeliana into the tribe, as Irena Orzhekov did with you, though many will consider such a gifting rash. As well it might be. But Vera is not well liked, and her only other relation is her father. And her husband, of course. I do not count Vasil because he is no longer welcome here. So Arina has gotten herself another pair of hands, one, incidentally, that will be utterly and personally loyal to her. Don’t think Yeliana’s life will be easy, though I don’t think it will be harsh either.”
“When is Arina going to marry?” Tess could not keep a certain roughness from her voice. “Soon, I suppose.”
“That, my girl, is none of our business. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Niko,” she said meekly. “When can I walk?”
“You can walk when I say you can and not sooner. But I think you will find your confinement less irksome here. By the way, Tess, I would not let anyone know about the Avenue. Yeliana has been spoken to, as have Konstans and Kirill and Vladi. Arina knows because she must. Otherwise, we won’t speak of it until Ilya returns.”
“What about Tasha?”
“Tasha does not need warning.”
“Why must it be a secret? Are you ashamed?”
Niko laughed. “Ah, I’m beginning to hear that refreshingly brutal tone in your voice again. You must be getting better. We will wait for Ilya’s return.”
It was all he would say.
The days began to have a certain pattern to them. She was allowed to sit for longer periods of time each day, and while she was awake, there was always someone to sit with her: Yeliana most of all, Arina when she could, other young women; even, surprisingly often, Vera. Tess was forced to admit that Vera could be good company when she chose to be, and for whatever reason, Vera chose to entertain Tess. Occasionally Vladi was allowed into the tent in Yeliana’s company, but he rarely had anything to say. Anton Veselov had ridden with Bakhtiian to the coast. Niko was the only other man she saw, until at last, seven days later, the damp weather ceased and she was moved out under the awning, where she was permitted to receive visitors.
Tasha came by, and Petya, and Vladi, and Konstans, and two young riders she did not know very well, who had been with them in the battle. Finally Kirill came by. Arina, seeing who it was, excused herself and reminded Yeliana that there was work to be done elsewhere.
Kirill sat down beside her. He glanced at her sidewise and blushed. “You are looking much better, Tess.”
“How is your arm, Kirill?”
He shrugged, but the gesture was awkward and unbalanced. “I have a little movement in my shoulder again but I can feel nothing at all in my right arm. If I could not see it there with my eyes, I would think I had lost it. Niko says perhaps in time it will heal.”
“You must exercise it. Keep moving it.”
He glanced at her again, the briefest touch, and looked away. “Over fifty young men have ridden in to camp here over the last eighteen days. Already they speak of Bakhtiian’s great ride beginning next spring. Twelve rode in this morning from Bakhalo’s jahar-ledest, and they say that Bakhalo himself may bring the rest here. It’s good land with enough water and forage and close to khaja lands. So,” he paused, looking down at his hands, the picture of modesty, “all these young riders need someone to teach them. And I can’t fight.”
“Oh, Kirill, I’m sorry.”
He lifted his gaze to look directly at her for an impetuous moment, and then wrenched his gaze away. Silence stretched out between them. At last, in a whisper, he spoke. “All I ever wanted was to be a rider. It would have been better if I’d died.”
She felt herself pale with fear. She grabbed his good hand. “Never say that, Kirill. Never!”
“We are in camp, Tess. Everyone can see us. I have my reputation to think of. Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to be forgiven,” she said, but her voice shook and she let go of his hand. “So you will train them.” They spoke on in this fashion until the subject was exhausted, and even then Kirill lingered, and they discussed whether Yeliana might teach her to spin so that she might have something to do with her hands. Niko arrived finally and chased Kirill off.
“You must be circumspect in your dealings with unmarried men,” he said mildly, watching Kirill walk away.
“I think I’ll ask Arina if she has any mending I can do,” said Tess, ignoring his rebuke. “When do I get to walk?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!”
“Yes. I think twenty days is time enough. If you are not healed inside now, then—well, let me say that differently. I think resting has achieved as much as it can. Now we must work you again.”
“Oh, Niko, how kind you are.”
“One can only be as kind as one is willing to be ruthless.”
“Oh, God.” She pressed her hands over her eyes and wiped hard along her cheeks. “That’s exactly the kind of thing Yuri always said. I miss him so much.”
He knelt beside her and rested a hand on her hair. “As do we all, my child. Juli and I had six children, and three of them died very young. But I carry all of them in my heart, and I always will.”
Tess sighed and rested her head against his chest. They sat that way for some time.
But the next morning she felt ridiculously excited, so much so that Arina laughed at her. “You can’t run today, you know. Ah, here is Niko.”
“Now, Tess,” said Niko, “if it hurts badly, you must tell me
. Some discomfort I expect.”
“Oh, thank you.” She grinned. Niko took her on one side, Yeliana, being the taller of the two women, on the other, and they helped her stand up. She felt dizzy. When they let her go, she wondered for a moment if her legs would work, and then she took one step, and a second, and a third and all the way past Arina and pushed through the tent flap to go outside.
“Tess!” Niko said from behind her, but she ignored him. But the bright light hit her like a wash of pain and she staggered. And fell right into Kirill.
He clasped her tight with his good arm, hesitated, and then lowered her to the rug and let her go, stepping back all the way to the edge of the awning. Arina and Niko and Yeliana hurried out of the tent.
“Tess! I told you—”
“Oh, Niko, your face. No, I feel fine. I just lost my balance—” Then she saw that Kirill was looking anywhere but at her, and that Arina was staring at the rug. “I’m sorry, Niko,” she finished, suddenly contrite.
“You will walk when and as much as I allow, young woman.”
“Yes, Niko.”
“Well, then. I’ll allow you to walk back into the tent, and I’ll see to your wounds. Then we will see.” But in the end he let her walk twice more that day, once all the way around the great tent.
“Well, girl,” he said that night, sounding satisfied as he examined the knife wound, “you’ll keep this scar but I think you’ll live.”
In five days he allowed her to walk as far as the camp growing up downstream from the Veselov camp, a huddle of small tents belonging to young riders, come to join Bakhtiian. She went there every morning with Yeliana to watch Kirill training the young men. He had learned to compensate a little for his dead arm, but even so, he was clearly never going to fight or ride in a jahar again. He looked to her not so much older as more sober, as if his youth had finally bled away into the grass with the blood he had lost that terrible day. Every morning she walked, and watched, and then walked back to Arina’s tent at midday. In the afternoon, she would sit beneath the awning and visitors would come. It embarrassed her, but she learned graciousness. It reminded her of Charles, of the way he received embassies and guests in Jeds, of the way conferences and media and smaller, quieter planning sessions came to him on Odys and Earth. Tasha brought her a pair of fine boots he had made for her. Aleksia Charnov gave her her dead brother’s finely wrought dagger. Vera taught her how to lace beads together into headpieces. While Tess practiced this intricate work, Kirill and Arina would sit with her, and the three of them would carry on excruciatingly pleasant and polite conversations until Niko arrived to take her for her late afternoon walk.