“You're very unusual, you know,” the voice said quietly. It sounded rather more sympathetic now. “Very unusual. And interesting.”
The chill deepened. Idisio shivered and rubbed at his arms.
“I'm sorry, young one,” the voice said. “I'm inconsiderate. You're cold.”
The air warmed, and the darkness faded; a few feet away, a small table and a wide chair such as Bright Bay nobles liked to lounge on appeared. Thick dark carpet crushed softly under Idisio's bare feet.
“Please sit,” the voice said. Idisio found himself in the chair, a thick blanket drawn up around him, warm and comfortable.
“Where are you?” Idisio asked, looking around. Other than a small circle of table and chair, the darkness still surrounded the lit area like a featureless, endless sea.
“I am here,” the voice said in his ear, and he jumped.
A woman sat on the wide arm of his chair, smiling down at him. Idisio forgot everything and just stared at her.
She looked barely older than Idisio, with long, dark hair that rolled over smooth, bare shoulders and generous curves barely covered by thin blue fabric. Equally dark eyes in a northern-pale and rounded face studied him intently. He saw an age and a calculation in that stare that abruptly recalled him to the fact that this had to be a veneer, not the real creature.
Without moving, he tried to harden his own gaze, to hide his initial startled interest in the form it had chosen.
She laughed and stood, walking a few paces away to another chair that must have appeared when she did.
“So you're not easily impressed,” she said, sinking into the chair in a way that made him glad he was sitting down. “That's the ha'rethe blood in you, young one. Any full human would have given in without another thought.”
He said nothing—he'd been impressed all right. He tried to breathe normally, not wanting her to see his struggle. Riss's face came to mind, and her laughter. He found himself breathing more easily and even smiling at the woman.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“To say hello,” she said. Her full lips curved into a smile. “To find out how my northern brethren are doing.”
“Hello,” Idisio said. “I haven't the faintest idea. Sorry. Never met them.”
“I see that now,” the woman said, the smile fading. “And I'm disappointed in them. No ha'rethe should ever allow one of our children to wander alone in the world.”
“I'm not one of your children.” He wasn't sure why, but he didn't want to claim any kinship to this creature, or let her lay any obligation on him.
The woman studied him thoughtfully. She seemed almost to be frowning now, but her features weren't as distinct as they had been a moment ago. “You have a great deal to learn. I should take you in myself for teaching.”
“I stay with my lord,” Idisio said. “I won't stay with you!” He put all the determination he possessed into his voice: to his surprise, she flinched.
Her form seemed to blur for a moment, then steadied. “I can't force you. And I see you're still too young to listen to wisdom. But you have obligations, young one, that should be explained to you. Whether you want to accept it or not, you carry the essence of two races in your body. You are ha'ra'ha, and that means you serve no man. Not even this desert lord of yours. He's merely useful as a teacher until you grow to your full strength. He knows this. He should have seen what you are sooner—but he's human. I've never had much respect for their intelligence.”
Idisio opened his mouth but found no words to use in protest against that faintly disdainful tone.
“Obligations,” the woman said, and stood. “Tell your desert lord to start with those. It's important.” She stood before Idisio's chair, looking down at him, her features sharp and clear again. Idisio shut his eyes, swallowed hard, and tried to think about Riss.
The woman snorted softly, and a moment later the cold returned. Idisio shivered and reached for the blanket. It had vanished. Opening his eyes, he found himself in deep darkness again.
“Send me the desert lord,” the woman's voice whispered. “Now.”
Cold crashed around him, then dissolved into a searing heat across his back and shoulders. He fell forward onto his hands and knees. Sunlight dazzled his eyes. He covered his face with one hand and whimpered. Startled movement fluttered nearby; then Scratha scooped him up as if he were a sick child.
He clutched, nauseous and dizzy, at his lord's support. After a moment, when his head cleared, he managed to gasp, “She . . . it . . . wants you now.”
“Not surprising,” Scratha muttered, his face grim.
Idisio drew a deep breath, tried to speak, and passed out.
It had turned to full dark when he woke, and the air held a sharp chill. Someone had draped a real blanket over him. He hunched himself under its scratchy warmth more securely and blinked, rubbing his eyes. An oil lantern sat on the ground nearby, lonely warden against darkness.
“You're awake!” Riss knelt by his side an instant later, her voice high and shrill. “Gods, Idisio, gods, are you all right? What happened to you?”
He wanted to crawl under the covers and hide from the fear that sparkled off her like the light from a thousand splinters of glass in sunlight. He sat up instead.
“It's all right,” he said, trying to be reassuring, and glanced around. “Where's Scratha?”
“He went into that thing,” Riss said, throwing a glance at once hostile and terrified towards the great stone. They were camped within a few feet of it, and Idisio resisted an impulse to claw his way out of the blanket and run like all the demons of the s'iopes' hells were after him.
“When?”
“Right after we got you settled,” Riss said. She drew a deep breath and shut her eyes. “I don't know why he hasn't come back yet,” she added, her voice steadier. “I'm getting scared, Idisio.”
Idisio put a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her.
“He'll be back soon,” he said, not sure he believed it himself, and wound up somehow with an armful of trembling Riss. She curled up practically in his lap, her head buried in his shoulder.
“I don't understand what's going on,” she said.
“Neither do I,” Idisio admitted. “But he'll be all right. Don't worry.”
“And what if he doesn't come back?” Riss demanded, sitting up a bit and staring at him, her face so close to his that he thought he could feel her eyelashes flitter against his skin.
“Worry about that when it happens,” Idisio said. He found himself at a loss. He hadn't expected her to fall apart on him and didn't feel strong enough right now to handle it.
“I'm back,” a familiar voice said, and Scratha stepped into the thin circle of light.
Riss scrambled away and sat nearby, her face visibly reddening in the dim light. Scratha settled to the ground in a cross-legged position and rubbed at his face wearily.
“My lord,” Idisio started, then stopped, biting his lower lip hard to hold the words back.
Scratha seemed to have lost several pounds from his already-thin frame; his face was tinged with grey, and his eyes held a terrifying bleakness.
“I'm fine,” Scratha said, offering a thin smile.
“What did it do to you?” Idisio blurted.
With a faint flicker of a glance towards Riss, Scratha shook his head. “Stretch out and get some sleep, Riss. We'll be moving on soon. Sleep while you can.”
The cadence of his speech was hypnotic. To Idisio's surprise the girl made no protest. She simply lay down a few feet away, her breathing deep and even within moments.
“We need to talk,” Scratha said.
“What did it do to you, and how did you do that just now?” Idisio demanded, caught between anger and deep, trembling fear.
“Neither one matters right now,” Scratha said, an edge in his voice that stopped Idisio from pressing the point. He paused, watching Idisio for a moment, then shook his head. “Why did you refuse to let the ha'rethe teach you?”
> Idisio blinked. “I want to stay with you.”
“I can't teach you as much as a ha'rethe can. Even a ha'ra'ha can help you more than I.”
“I'm staying with you,” Idisio said, clinging to the words stubbornly, not sure why.
Scratha sighed, annoyance shifting into weary resignation. Idisio had never seen his lord so open and easy to read. That, as much as anything else, frightened him badly.
“I'll give you the best I can, then,” the desert lord said, “but eventually you're going to have to go to either a ha'rethe or a ha'ra'ha.”
The look on his lord's face warned against disagreeing, so Idisio just nodded.
Scratha drew a deep breath and looked at the sleeping girl. “We've been granted passage,” he said in seeming irrelevance.
Idisio listened to the strain in Scratha's voice and looked at the unremitting grey of the man's face. “You don't sound happy about it,” he said slowly.
“Being granted passage through a ha'rethe's private underground ways is an extraordinary honor,” Scratha said. “With a rather high price.” He shut his eyes and winced as if at some internal pain.
“Underground?” Idisio said, his voice suddenly high and squeaky.
“The ha'reye have passages all over the world,” Scratha said without looking at him. He leaned forward a bit and splayed his hands out on the ground in front of him as if for balance. “We'll be able to go right to Scratha Fortress in less time and far more safety than traveling the sands would have given us.” His voice came out slower and more ragged now, as if he were reaching the end of his strength.
“With that thing right beside us at every step?” Idisio demanded. “No, thank you!”
“Idisio,” Scratha said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper now, “I need to rest. Argue with me later, please.” He rolled forward and to one side, letting his weight fall on his left shoulder and from there onto his back. After blinking vaguely at the stars for a moment, his eyelids slid closed.
“But. . . .” Idisio began. Something told him beyond doubt that Scratha really was exhausted beyond measure this time; he gave up and glared at the stone looming over them instead. He didn't quite dare curse it, didn't quite dare get up and bolt for the relatively safe northlands, but he thought long and hard about both options before allowing himself to drift into a dark sleep.
His dreams were broken and uneasy. Glowing eyes and seductive women appeared and disappeared randomly during visions of dank stone walls—and, oddly, that small, clean, sunlit room he'd seen before.
That room still felt full of a powerful, desperate anger and fear, but somehow it didn't affect Idisio so much this time. He felt more like a bystander watching a terrible tantrum being thrown by an exceptionally strong child. With that thought came a further sense of widening perspective, and Idisio caught a flash of red hair, clipped close to a young boy's skull, before the vision dissolved into darkness again.
Finally, free of troubling visions for the moment, Idisio slept.
Scratha shook everyone awake shortly before dawn.
“Eat,” he said, pushing desert bread and hard cheese into their hands. He set a water skin by Idisio and moved to stand some distance away. As Idisio chewed the tough bread, he watched Scratha's profile in the greying light. The desert lord stared into the distance, expressionless, showing no sign of weakness or weariness, motionless as the stone looming over them. His pack lay at his feet, ready to go.
Riss said nothing as they ate, and Idisio didn't feel like talking. He felt well-rested, although he suspected he hadn't actually slept much at all. Nervous energy, he told himself firmly, and concentrated on eating and keeping an eye on his lord.
Finished with their meal, Riss shook out her blanket and folded it neatly back into her pack. Idisio shoved the last of the cheese into his mouth and took a hasty swig from the water skin as he stuffed his blanket untidily away. Scratha turned only when they were finished and standing beside their packs.
“Follow me,” he said. He led them, not to the side of the stone Idisio had approached before, but around to the other side. Unlike the eastern side, this one had more smooth spots than furrowed ridges. Scratha moved to one of the widest flat areas and put his hands on the rock. He seemed to push lightly, and the rock face swung inwards, revealing a narrow passage that sloped into utter blackness.
“My lord,” Idisio said involuntarily. “I can't. . . .” His protest died under the sharp glare the man gave him.
“Well, I'm not afraid,” Riss said, and marched forward.
“Stop a few paces in,” Scratha said, his voice pitched just loud enough to carry, and motioned for Idisio to move. Mouth dry, Idisio obeyed, aware that his lord would likely drag or carry him if he stalled for another moment. Scratha had that look to him right now. Putting a hand out as the light disappeared around him, he touched a thin shoulder. He couldn't help making a muffled noise and jerking back.
Riss made a faintly disgusted sound.
“I'm not a cactus, you know,” she said tartly.
Scratha joined them. A moment later there came a scraping sound, and the square of dim light from the opening disappeared. The door had closed, and no light remained.
Idisio took a deep breath, then another, fighting not to whimper.
“Ha'rethe,” Scratha said, and something else, words in the old desert language Idisio had never heard before.
“Don't call that thing's attention,” Idisio said, but it came out in a whisper, barely vocalized, and most of it caught in his throat.
A whitish-blue, sourceless glow filled the passage, barely a small hand-lantern's worth of brightness, but Idisio's panic lifted instantly. The dim light revealed smooth, pale stone walls, a sloping floor, and a low ceiling. Scratha stood slightly stooped, one hand on the ceiling as if to remind himself not to stand straight up.
The light sparked glittering reflection from tiny, mica-like chips in the walls; Riss grinned in delighted wonder, while Idisio sighed in relief that this passage felt nothing like the dank one under Bright Bay.
“Let me take the lead,” Scratha said. He kept his voice low, and as he glanced around his expression seemed tinged with awe.
Riss flattened against the wall and let the desert lord squeeze past. Scratha led them onwards and down, the gradual slope of the passage giving way to shallow, wide steps with wear marks more towards the sides than the center. Idisio thought of four-legged creatures, like the marsh lizards of Kybeach, but said nothing.
The descent went on for a long time before leveling out, but Idisio felt no pressure or panic. The light moved with them, as though some invisible creature held an unseen lantern in their midst. The walls stayed a dry, comforting desert color, and the passage felt clean, quiet, and safe.
As they walked, the ceiling rose, bit by bit, until Scratha could stand without difficulty. He paused and ran both hands over the ceiling and down each wall, then across the floor and back up. He made an odd, satisfied noise and started walking again, trailing his fingers along the wall.
“Idisio,” he said over his shoulder, “put a hand to the wall on your right. Don't look at it. Keep walking.”
The wall felt smooth at first, save for a few faint bumps and creases. The irregularities gradually became more distinct, more deliberate in nature, like a pattern of some sort. Idisio struggled with the urge to turn his head and look at the wall, and compromised by slanting his eyes just a bit to the right as they walked.
To his disappointment, he saw nothing visible on the wall, even as his hand insisted there were markings clear as any black-ink writing on clean new parchment. He blinked hard, trying to force his eyes to see what his fingers felt, and stumbled, crashing sideways into the wall on his left. A wave of dizziness dropped him to his knees, breathing hard. He shut his eyes, pressing his hands to the ground, waiting for it to pass.
“I told you not to look,” Scratha said, sounding amused, and hoisted Idisio back to standing. “Open your eyes and look straight o
n, get it out of your system.” He kept his hands under Idisio's armpits, supporting him, and turned him to face the wall.
Idisio stared at the smooth tan wall in front of him. He couldn't see the slightest nub or crack or crevice, even when he stepped forward and stared at the surface up close.
Scratha let him go, allowing Idisio time to explore the wall with hands and sight, and finally said, “It's all like that. Walls, floor, ceiling.”
Idisio shut his eyes and ran his hands over the wall again, shaking his head.
Riss made a faint, impatient noise. “What are you talking about? There's nothing there.”
Idisio could hear her feeling along the wall nearby.
“There's nothing there,” she repeated. “Just a rough stone wall.”
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