He went on staring, almost directly at me, and I heard the soft inhale of Ronan’s breath, felt his alarm. But we stayed stock-still, not daring to move. Fearing he’d see. The other four in our group mirrored our alert, total stillness, and the combined alarm in the tent made me want to scream. I had to do something
Bewildered by my own daring, I reached out again, trying to move past the cold wall that separated me from the Sheolite. Over the last day and a half, I’d become accustomed to easily reading my companions, as well as the guards of Nem Post and Tonna herself. Why was this one so different? He was as difficult as Niero, and the murderous rage I felt within our leader tonight had been the first I’d been able to read him. Maybe I was breaking through some barrier. I narrowed my eyes and concentrated. There. There …
It startled me, the utter void within the tracker. I concentrated harder. Was he too distant? Did I have to be close enough to touch him? Or did he truly feel no emotion at the moment? Even those utterly at peace felt peaceful to me.
The man stiffened, and looked left, then right, then to our tent again. Someone called him from inside, but still he paused.
A hand clamped down on my arm and pulled me roughly away. I narrowly kept myself from crying out. But it was Niero, facing me, frowning down at me with his back to the tent entrance. “What are you doing?” he whispered harshly. Despite his anger, I also felt a wave of protection from him, as if he were shielding me.
“Me? I, umm … Nothing,” I said, deciding on anger as defense.
“That,” Niero said, lifting a thumb over his shoulder, in the direction of the other tent, “is an enemy. Do not experiment with your gifting on them,” he said. “You endanger us all.”
I felt the heat rise up my neck to my face. Endanger the rest? That hadn’t been my plan. Only to —
“Andriana,” he said, shaking me a little. “There’s no excuse.”
“I-I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I didn’t mean … I only wanted to … Oh, whatever!” I shook my head in agitation. Truthfully, I didn’t know at all what was going on. Other than a massive headache crawling inward from my temples.
Ronan grimaced at the two of us — clearly dismayed by all our movement and whispers — then slowly returned to watching our enemy, his movements like liquid, as our trainer had taught us to move, in order to avoid detection. A second later he whispered over his shoulder, “He’s inside.”
Just as he was turning away, our own tent flap opened. I gasped, and Niero turned to block me. Ronan fell into a stance I knew well — it was designed to protect me from the new arrival. Bellona did the same with Vidar.
But it was merely the Nem scout we’d first encountered in the desert, the one atop the mudhorse. He stared in surprise at Ronan, then the others. “Time to go,” he whispered loudly, his grin ghoulish in the near-dark. “Tonna says these new arrivals are looking for you. Bluffed her way through and set them up right across the way.”
“Who is he?” Vidar asked, stepping past Bellona.
“Didn’t say. But I haven’t seen a tracker cape like that, other than over near the borderlands. Castle Vega. Usually they just send their scouts.” He perused us all with renewed interest. “What’d you Valley-folk do to garner such interest?”
“It’s none of your business,” Raniero said, turning to strap his bedroll to his pack. Was he avoiding me on purpose? Blocking me? The rage was gone. In its place was … nothing. It still surprised me that someone could do that, when most everyone else I met seemed to be an open emotion-book. What didn’t he want me to know?
The scout hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his breeches. “Exactly what I was thinkin’. It bein’ none of my business and all. But I tend to remember things if I don’t have a gold coin to distract me”
Niero whirled and strode over to the man. The guard’s face went white. With only inches between their faces, Niero fished out a coin from his pocket and handed it to the man. “You will forget we were here.”
The man, looking chastened, hurriedly nodded and nervously grabbed the coin.
“Tonna couldn’t have found another tent?” Vidar said, tying up his bedroll.
The man tried to smile, feigning ease, but I could feel his fear as clearly as if I could hear his racing heartbeat. “Only two guest tents at Nem Post.”
“Pack up,” Niero whispered toward me, seeing I wasn’t moving. “Quickly.”
“Shouldn’t we wait? Until they’re asleep?” Bellona asked.
“No, he’s right,” Vidar said, and I felt the nauseating foreboding that ran through him. It made me regret searching his emotions as I swallowed bile. “The safest thing is to be away. Fast.”
We did as he asked, and were on our way out before sixty seconds had passed, stepping as lightly as possible. Raniero stood between us and the tent flap of our enemies, arms wide, gesturing us past, and again I felt an overwhelming sense of protection. When I looked back at Ronan to make sure he was behind me, my pack brushed against our canvas tent, making a loud, scraping sound. At least it sounded loud in the relative quiet. I cringed, paused, wondering if we were betrayed, but Ronan grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. We gathered at the stables a hundred paces away, where five mudhorses awaited us. Two finer horses, with a red blanket across their backs, were tied in the corner. “Tonna expects these mudhorse mares back, with more promised goods,” the man said, looking up at Niero as he placed his hands on the horse’s reins.
“She’ll get them.”
We rode out, eyeing the horses tied outside the corral. They were far taller than any mudhorse we’d seen, and I noticed their red blankets were edged with black tassels at their flanks. I wished we were on Ronan’s dirtbike, which could easily outrun any horse. But the Community had only had two, and there was no guarantee about fuel along the way. At least we weren’t on foot. Unlike those near home, the trails to and from the Nem Post were worn deep from countless mudhorses before us, and thus harder for enemies to track.
We rode through the dark watches of the night and only began to breathe a little easier as the sun rose to our east and there still was no sign of pursuit. The sun steadily made its climb through the mist and up into the clouds. On occasion, it broke through in lovely rays. That was what distinguished Harvest from Hoarfrost: broken sunshine. Come Hoartime, all we saw was gray from morning until night, and trees encased in white. As the clouds parted and rays of light once again streamed across the green desert before me, I smiled, taking my first deep breath in what seemed like hours, and lifted my face to enjoy the slightest warmth upon my skin. All the while the mudhorse walked on, my body swaying from one side to the other in its rhythm.
“Hold,” Niero said, lifting his left hand in a fist. He slipped off his horse before it came to a complete stop and pulled out his looking glass. As he slid out the long tube and stared back in the direction of Nem Post, we pulled our horses to a stop and slid off too, stretching. My thighs and butt hurt from the hours astride her back.
“Anything?” Bellona asked him after several long moments.
“No,” Niero said, frowning, staring backward even after he’d taken the glass from his eye.
“You look upset they’re not after us,” Vidar said with a laugh.
“Not upset. Confused.” Niero put his hands on his hips and looked to the rays of the sun over his shoulder, then over to us. “Either the Maker has granted us protection or that Sheolite tracker has lost his edge.”
“I’d take both,” Vidar said, smiling.
“Don’t assume either,” Niero said. He turned to the land ahead of us and peered through his looking glass again.
“You said you knew that Sheolite,” I ventured. “That he was an old enemy. From where?”
“It’s a long story,” he said, in a manner that made it clear he didn’t want to tell it.
I bit my lip, refusing to give in to the curiosity that burned within me. When the time was right, he’d probably tell us. I studied his broad shoulders and narrow waist
, trying to put all the broken pieces of knowledge I had about Niero together in my head.
“Do you see Zanzibar?” Ronan asked, breaking the silence.
“Yes,” he said. He slid the tube’s cascading pieces back together, compacting it, and glanced up at Bellona and me. “Bellona, pull your braid up, under your hat. Wear the brim low. Andriana, how far forward can you pull the hood of your coat?”
I pulled up the hood on my oilskin coat, reluctantly drawing my head inward from the sun and confining my face to shadow.
“Good,” Niero grunted. “Keep it that way. The guards in Zanzibar’s towers will likely have far more powerful looking glasses than this one. And the last thing we need them to know is that we travel with women. They’ll likely discover it once we’re there — let’s not give them time to formulate a plan.”
We mounted and moved out again, figuring we’d reach the desert city by nightfall. If we didn’t, they’d lock the gates and we’d have to camp until morning. My breathing became tight at the thought. Did I prefer to risk the bands of marauding Drifters or the men of Zanzibar who traded in women?
Niero pulled back and rode beside me and Ronan, as if he sensed my unease. As much as I begged my parents to tell me of the city, after our neighbors went missing, they’d refused to share any more detail. There is time enough for you to learn of the evil about us, Andriana.
I plunged through my hesitation. “Niero, why is it that Zanzibar has so few women? Why must they trade to get more?”
He didn’t look my way. “They knew they were in trouble after a few generations. But still, even after these long years, they choose not to resolve it.” He spoke as if I already knew their past. “Such is the obstinacy of men.”
“Is it because they are cruel to the women? Do they beat them until they run away?”
He turned his keen eyes on me, and his lips parted in soft understanding. “You were never told?”
I shook my head. “They did not wish to … did not wish me to …”
“Your parents were protecting you in another way,” he said softly, reverently.
I nodded.
He sighed and took a deep breath. “The time of protection is over. As an Ailith, you are a woman grown before your time, already past your second decade as the Maker sees it.” He looked up ahead to the horizon, where I could barely see the walls of a city, tiny in the distance. Like a solitary, rectangular mountain.
“Zanzibar was established toward the end of the War, her people thinking that in fleeing other, larger cities for her smaller confines, all would be spared. To a certain extent, they were right. When the bombs came, she was ignored. But given that she was a walled city with limited space, and given the relative health of her people, her leaders instituted a strict birth policy. One child per family.”
“But the Cancer reached them, as it did everyone, right?” Ronan said, from my other side.
Niero nodded. “And as with everywhere else, in that first wave more men died than women. Male children became more prized than females, and the girls were routinely drowned or left to the elements.” He said this with no trace of emotion in his tone, but his face looked pained.
“In three generations, they ran two males to each female, but they chose to continue their policy, only allowing their population to grow to sustainable levels by trade. And part of the trade became women.”
Ronan snorted in disgust. “Because they still favored the male babies?”
“Yes,” Niero said. “The Cancer continues to plague Zanzibar. And now, in this city, it takes more women than men, making women more valuable than ever.”
“How many?” Ronan said. “How many of her men have passed their second decade and are still without mates?”
Niero paused for a telling breath. “That is unclear. But some estimate it at many as three-quarters. And they have ceased to care whether a girl has yet passed her second decade. Many are far younger. They fight like rabid dogs over them all.”
I felt sick inside at his words, and we were all silent for a long while. But it was good to know. Good to be prepared. There was a reason Tonna thought it best for us to stay at Nem Post. A reason Mom hadn’t wanted to tell me everything …
“How is it that our healer remains hidden, unclaimed?” Vidar asked. “A healer and a … woman?”
“Perhaps she is not,” Niero said. “She might be the bride of the Lord of Zanzibar himself. All we know is that we are to free her of this cursed city and have her join us, so we shall do just that.”
I glanced at him in alarm. He couldn’t be serious. If she were the lord’s lady, we were to … what? Walk right up to the palace and ask if there were any healers about? It was madness. Even the Maker wouldn’t ask such a thing of us. He wouldn’t want us to die before we started.
Right?
We reached the gates just as they were about to close. We pressed into the rush of perhaps three hundred people who gathered, many herding goats or cows. Niero led us as deeply into the center of the throng as possible. By the time we reached the entry, the warning bells were gonging, so loudly it reverberated in my chest, and the massive gates — thirty feet high and three feet thick — began to swing shut. Guards hurriedly glanced at papers, barked names, took in faces. But the one who waved me past was more interested in my horse than me, running an admiring hand over her well-muscled flank as I paused beside him.
“Looks like Tonna’s marking,” he said, checking the mare’s brand and looking over at me. I ducked my head deeper beneath my hood.
“They are,” Ronan intervened. “We spent the night at Nem Post and she lent them to us.”
The guard laughed and lifted a brow in alarm. “Then you’d best be about her errand.” He signed our papers and immediately moved to the family behind us, swiftly entering with a flash of Zanzibar’s mark upon their shoulders — the tattooed outline of the three-tiered fortress, which graced every citizen of the city. The man was perhaps four decades, his wife, two; there was a baby in her arms. Beyond them were ten people, the last who’d find entry this night. And in the distance, I still did not see the Sheolite tracker. Had Tonna sent him in a different direction? A draft of fear washed through me. What if she had sent him toward the Valley? Or if her wretched guards had betrayed us …
Niero stopped by a blind beggar and slipped a coin into his upturned hand. “Where might we find a safe inn and stables for travelers, friend?”
“Safe is a matter of perspective, friend,” he returned, biting the coin. Clearly pleased, he said, “Try the Bricklayers Arms. Head left, and after two blocks turn right. You’ll find it thereabouts. Tell Percy I sent you and he’ll give me a bowl of gruel come morning.”
“We shall,” Niero said.
We readily found it. Niero took two rooms at the small inn, and we traipsed up winding, narrow stairs to the fourth floor. The smoke and spoiled scent of the long-unbathed filled our nostrils, making me slightly sick, even in the face of my own stench after two days’ hard journey. I prayed that there’d be a window we might open for the night.
At home in the Valley, we’d bathed a couple of times a week, steaming in a sauna cave until we sweat, rubbing pine needles across our skin, then jumping into the river that flowed beside the village in order to lather our hair with poke weed or Sweet William. For a couple of months we’d had lye soap, but it left our skin dry and itchy, and we’d returned to the Sweet William and its sweet, spicy, clove-like scent. Where was I to find a bath now? I’d have even welcomed a basin of clean water and a bar of lye at that point.
I looked over my shoulder and saw Vidar peering anxiously down the stairs, Bellona waiting beside him, face troubled. “Vidar?” I said, my longing for a bath quickly forgotten.
“This place,” he said, shaking himself and looking up to our leader. “There are enemies here, Niero,” he whispered.
“There are enemies everywhere,” Niero said calmly, stepping toward him. “The trick is for you to discern when our enemies are alert to u
s.” He clapped Vidar once on the shoulder. “I wager they’re not yet, right? At least I hope …”
After a moment, Vidar nodded slowly, his face still grimly intent, as if listening.
“Good,” Niero said, casting a long look down the empty hallway behind him. “You and Bellona will be in here,” he said, opening the first door and tossing Bellona the key to the tiny room. “Ronan, Andriana, and I’ll be in here,” he said, moving to the next.
We followed his instruction without comment. I dared not look at either him or Ronan, certain they’d see my cheeks flame in the wall sconce’s light. It made sense that my knight would be with me at all times. That Bellona would be with Vidar. It made sense for any Ailith who was true to her vows; at least for any girl not falling for her knight, or knight for his charge.
Only Niero’s presence gave me room to breathe. Had he sensed the undercurrent of risk? Otherwise, why had he not chosen to bed down in Vidar and Bellona’s room?
Niero dropped his small pack to the floor and untied his bedroll, unfurling it between the two musty straw ticks on the floor. I did the same and put mine at the foot of one of the ticks, rather than atop it. I knew such things were the breeding grounds for Cancer. Or at least fleas. I looked up to a high window and stifled a groan. It looked long shut, impossible to open. A wave of nausea passed through me. Again, I hungered for the clean, thinner, lighter air of the Valley, far from me now. Terribly far away … Down here the air felt thick, and in it I felt sluggish, stifled, almost as if I were slowly suffocating.
“I’ll see if I can find something for us to eat,” Niero said.
“You don’t want company?” Ronan said, wearily kneeling on his bedroll.
Remnants: Season of Wonder (A Remnants Novel) Page 5