Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1
Page 7
“Peaceful eve, young man,” she said without thinking. She bowed slightly, though she doubted he could see the gesture. “I beg forgiveness for disturbing you.”
He took a step back, appearing shocked by her words, then said something else that she couldn’t understand, except that it ended with “young lady”. His accent was thick! Was he even able to speak the common tongue properly?
Sayri tried to speak more slowly. “I say greetings, young man. You’re hard to understand,” she added.
She wasn’t sure if he understood her, but he started moving toward the steps. Sayri’s heart sped up, and she tensed. If he came any closer—
He stopped at the base of the steps, and spread his hands, then placed one on his chest. “I am Arad,” he said slowly and clearly.
Benn’s Harbour was a free city, but the warders were still looking for her. Sayri was going to need a disguise, another fake name—Merikal was no good after meeting the Collector—and some way to stay alive and hidden until the year had passed. She needed to stay away from people, except what she needed to survive; employment at a farm, perhaps. Safely outside the city limits. Any connection inside the city was foolish, at least until she had worked out a way to be invisible—a totally new identity would be best. A fresh start—away from here, and away from this young man whom she had no reason to trust, who had discovered her hiding here; hardly innocent behaviour.
And yet, something else pulled at her. She had trusted the Collector, and he hadn’t betrayed her when he could have. For some reason, she felt that this young man would not betray her either—it didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t resist the impression. Besides . . . she couldn’t go it alone. She was only a farm girl, and she didn’t know anything about the city. She needed someone.
To be sure, the last thing she needed to do was tell him her real name.
“I’m Sayri,” she said despite herself. Why did she do that?
He nodded. “Well met,” he said. “Are you . . . lost, Sayri?” He pronounced her name like “sigh-ree”, but she didn’t bother to correct him. Actually, now that she had heard more of his accent, she quite liked it; it was very . . . musical.
He was looking at her, waiting for an answer. Was she lost? Sayri wasn’t sure about that. She didn’t know where she was, and she didn’t know where to go, or how to get there.
“I guess so,” she said quietly.
He frowned, apparently not understanding her. “Can I help you?” he asked, raising both hands palms out.
His arms were thick in the dim light, and his shirt lifted up to reveal a stomach that was . . . extraordinary. It looked like he had rolls of straw stuffed under his skin. Sayri felt her face reddening again, and she was glad for the dim light. His thighs—
“Sayri?” he asked.
If she was going go trust him, she might as well start now. Sayri steeled her nerve, then stood up and walked down the steps onto the edge of the stage, and into the light.
Near to him now, in the brighter light coming from the street, she saw that he was only a bit taller then her. His skin was darker than anyone she had seen, and his cheeks were more prominent. His eyes were kind.
“I . . . yes. I mean, please, young man. I mean . . . Yes, I think.” She slumped, sitting on the bottom step. “I’m lost, Arad.” Suddenly she realized how tired she was.
・ ・
The girl had made her way down the steps and was sitting on the bottom bench, where many a spectator had sat laughing and dodging as the wrestlers rolled into him (women rarely sat in the front row, for obvious reasons).
She didn’t look like any spectator he had ever seen in the front row. In the brighter light spilling over from the oil lamps burning in the street, Arad could finally see her clearly, and his breath caught.
She was about average height, less than three fingers shorter than he was. Her hair was the yellow so common here in Benn’s Harbour’ but not straw yellow; it was honey yellow, deep and liquid in the curls that fell across her shoulders. She had great green eyes, and a delicate nose over full lips . . . never in Somria had he seen beauty like hers. Could such allure be common here? Back home, this girl would stand out among hundreds of screaming spectators; she would be impossible not to notice.
She was also younger than he thought. The girl couldn’t be a day over sixteen summers, if that. Why would a girl her age be alone and lost? Arad didn’t know how it could have come to be, but he felt the desire to protect her growing more and more intense.
He had been staring at her, but she didn’t seem to mind; in fact, she was staring back at him.
“The yarn man,” (young man, he realized), “ease warrior?” she asked.
He ignored the word he missed; he was beginning to puzzle out her accent. “Krakari,” he said. “I mean, I’m a wrestler.”
“Wha’s that?”
Arad was taken aback. This time, there was no misunderstanding; she really didn’t know what wrestling was, even though she was standing in an arena. Clearly, she wasn’t from Benn’s Harbour. Though he had already guessed that from her accent, now he knew she was from somewhere quite far from the city.
“I fight,” he said, “for money.”
Her eyes widened, and she reeled back. “Yar in satsayin?” she asked in a hushed voice, her accent thicker again; her face reflecting horror. She took a step back, seeming about to flee.
Arad didn’t know what she’d said, but he could guess her assumption; he quickly spread his hands to deter her. “No,” he said firmly. “I don’t kill for money. It’s sport. Nobody dies. Worry not, Sayri. It’s all right.” His voice was imploring now; he didn’t want her to run.
She paused while considering his words, then stopped backing away and nodded. She still looked upon him with apprehension, but no longer fear. Arad was fairly certain she still didn’t understand what he did, but at least she wasn’t going to bolt.
He gingerly moved closer to her; she no longer seemed afraid, so he sat down on the bench beside her.
“Sayri,” he said, keeping his voice gentle, “do you have a place to sleep? It’s late.”
She didn’t answer, but just shook her head.
“Wait here; I’ll bring you coin for a room.” He stood and started down the steps. Halfway down, he turned back. “Sayri? You’ll wait here?”
“Entruce,” she said. Then, when she saw his frown, “Yes, Arad. I will wait. Thank you.”
・ ・・
Madness. It was absolute madness! Nothing but a voice in his head had led him to go outside, where he met the strange girl—probably a thief—and he was going to give her money? It made no sense at all, and yet he knew he had to see it through. There was something about her; something . . . familiar? Or just something he liked? Arad wasn’t sure what was drawing him to the girl, but he couldn’t resist, or at least didn’t care to. He certainly wasn’t going to leave her out on the street.
He reached his room and pulled on a pair of the rough breeches, almost falling as they caught at his sandals. He was flustered, he realized! He took a moment, sitting on the pallet, and caught his breath. He was a krakar champion, and a world traveller. He had survived tendays on a ship, crossing the great sea! And yet . . . this girl made him nervous—a girl many years his junior. Swallowing, he steeled himself and grabbed his purse, checking to ensure it held enough for a good inn. Then he stood, smoothed his tunic, nodded to himself, and left his room.
Rast was coming down the hallway. Arad froze when he saw him, feeling like a guilty child caught with a hand in the jooksa bin. Then he saw the look on the former champion’s face; one of deep urgency. “Rast? What is it?”
“It’s Horth,” Rast said. “Come quickly. It may already be too late.”
Lamps were going on all down the hall; Arad could hear anxious voices echoing throughout the stadium as word spread. He followed Rast to the end of the hall and up the stairs to Horth’s private apartments, which were much more extensive than any of the others, including
Rast’s. The old trainer had worked with students in the stadium for decades, becoming more than just a teacher; during his tenure, ownership of the building had changed hands several times, and Horth had gradually taken on the roles of administrator and building manager as well. Truth be told, other than announcing at tournaments and throwing lavish parties for wealthy and important patrons, the owners weren’t involved with the day to day functions of the stadium at all any more. It was Horth who ran the show, literally and figuratively, and ultimately it was he who made the stadium a success.
Rast led Arad to the sleeping room, where Horth was lying on the modest pallet that he preferred over the more comfortable platform popular in finer apartments. He was in his sleeping clothes, a light cloth tunic—of precisely the coarse weave that Arad would find impossible to sleep in—and the odd circular red nightcap that he often forgot to remove at the communal morning meal.
People in Benn’s Harbour had fairer skin than most back in Somria, but Arad could tell from his trainer’s colour that it was already too late.
Horth was dead.
・ ・ ・ ・
Sayri would have stayed anyway. Even if he hadn’t offered coin, even if he’d told her she would have to hide behind his sleeping platform. Where else could she go? She had trusted him now; there was nothing for it. Besides, there were worse places to hide . . . why did this Arad have her thinking such thoughts? She needed to focus on her task, her life depended on it!
Sayri’s head cocked to the side. Voices from inside the building, from where Arad had gone. Many voices, and they sounded upset. Shouting!
She leapt to her feet. He had called the warders! No—she couldn’t believe that; she couldn’t have been so wrong about him. No matter, she had been discovered. She ran back up the steps, heading for the wall at the top of the hill.
Don’t go, Sayri. It’s not what you think.
She stopped short, halfway up the stairs. Just like in Red Rock; it was her own voice in her head, but not her thoughts. Was she going mad?
No—now was not the time to question herself, especially not simply because of stray thoughts. The anxious voices from inside the building were getting louder; insane or not, she was getting out of this place.
At the top of the stadium, she paused, looking back at the archway into which Arad had vanished. A deep sadness filled her. Would she ever see him again? What was it that pulled her toward him, made him seem so . . . right?
More shouting. She rolled over the wall, then ran along the crest of the hill and faded into the shadows.
6 BUNGMAN
He sniffed at the dirt on his hands. It smelled of grass and roots and insects. And something else; something unfamiliar, but that he had smelled many times, ever since he came across the great river that the others had been afraid to cross. He cocked his head, sniffing the air as he remembered the sights, sounds, and smells of that moment. The roar of the water, white and frothy; the scent of lush greenery on the sunny side of the water where he emerged; the grunts and whistles of the others, from the safe side of the river. He had waved them over, but they were afraid the water would take them as it almost had him. They waved him back, but he was afraid to cross again. One by one they disappeared into the forest, and she was the last, hooting at him to come back, to join her, to mate again. He snorted back, a dismissal, but truly he was too frightened to cross again, after almost being pulling under by the raging water. Then she disappeared as well.
The first thing he had seen was a big cat; bigger than any cat from his side of the river, but smaller than one of the biting lizards. It had slunk at him, thinking to surprise him, but he noticed it right away and threw rocks at it, jumping and thrusting his arms up to look bigger. Then it slunk right back where it came from, snarling, and he had laughed at it.
After that he slept a couple of times, walked more, then ate some roots and berries that he found on a hill looking out over the end of the world, and the wind pulled at his long hair, and he smiled. It was good here, on this side of the river; the wind seemed warmer, and the berries were large and grew thick, and there were no biting lizards so far.
He found a stream running towards the big water, and caught two fish that were smaller than the fish from the other side of the river, but tasty with soft bones and yellow flesh. A while later he saw a big black flat area, and a strange large bush with no leaves, and he smelled something burning. The bush was on fire but it didn’t burn down, and then an other came out of the bush! He was very afraid then, and ran away. The other yelled barks at him, maybe a threat, so he kept running.
After that he saw the strange bushes everywhere, and many of them were smoking but didn’t burn down. There were animals wandering around everywhere. Most of them were prey, but a couple of them were the pack hunters, but they were alone, which was odd. It was even more odd when he saw the one of the others with a pack hunter! They were sharing packs?
Once, a few melting times back, one of the others in his pack found a young pack hunter, and fed it until it grew large. It helped hunt for a while, but then it tried to keep the meat, so they killed it and ate it. He wondered when the other would decide to kill it, and tried to offer to help, but the other yelled at him and the pack hunter ran closer, shouting at him, so he ran away.
Thereafter he ran away when he saw either of those. Many times when he walked down a wide game trail (they were everywhere), he expected to see big hairy pigs or biting lizards, but instead he saw more of the others, wearing strange skins and sitting on prey. It was like a dream. He always hid in the bushes until they passed.
It was easy to get food, with all the prey wandering around, even big birds that couldn’t fly. The latter were so stupid that he walked up to one and hit it on the head with a stick and killed it. He would have eaten well that day, but one of the others came running out barking at him and waving a shiny stick, glittering like water. He hadn’t seen one of those before, and it frightened him, so he ran away, even though the other was skinny and probably would have broken easily.
A few nights later, he was eating a pig that had died almost as stupidly as the big bird. He even had managed to get a fire going with the silver rocks he found in a ravine nearby, and the pig was resting on two rocks across it, popping and sizzling with juicy fats dripping off it, smelling wonderful.
Then he heard a yapping sound, and he saw a pack hunter standing a short distance away, yelling at him. He threw a rock at it, but it didn’t run away. He thought maybe it was starving, and a starving pack hunter was never a good thing, so he threw a haunch at it. Oddly, it ignored the meat and continued yapping at him.
After shouting at it for a while, he noticed two others sitting on prey approaching. They had shiny sticks, as well; he didn’t want to give up his meal, but he wanted to fight the two others even less, especially sitting up high where he could barely reach them. He grabbed a haunch, even though it was hot enough to hurt his hands, and turned to run.
Those prey were fast—and somehow the others were controlling them! One came up in front of him quickly, and he knew he had to fight, so he hunched up holding the leg of meat as a weapon, and growled at the other.
・
One them must have come up behind him faster than he expected, because he woke up lying in dry grass, and the sky was dark. No, there was a flat bush over his head, or a skin; he pushed at it, but it was stuck on something. There were strange black roots all around him, thick like the roots exposed along a river bank. He was under a tree, in some creature’s nest. He looked around for eggs, but there were none; at least it wasn’t a biting lizard’s nest.
The others! There were other all around him, more than he had ever seen! Others walking and eating and yapping like pack hunters at each other. Prey wandered all around as well, and seemed perfectly comfortable with all of the others around them. Were they that stupid, happy to be eaten? Even stranger were the cliffs all around him; tall and flat on top, and perfectly smooth on the sides. Where was he?
An other moved in front of him, behind the roots. He grabbed one of them to use as a weapon, but it was stuck, so he grabbed another. They were all stuck fast in the ground, but at least the other would have trouble reaching him.
The other snorted and walked away. Then he heard a snapping sound, and a prey standing nearby walked away, and then the ground started moving. The ground was being pulled by the prey somehow. He yelled at the prey, but it ignored him! Then he noticed an other sitting on the prey—no, not on it, but . . . on something being pulled by the prey with him . . .
The other pulled at a skin and it fell down, covering the nest he lay in, and after that he heard the prey huffing and the nest kept moving, and every now and then the other yapped.
It was all too overwhelming, and he curled into a ball and covered his ears, and clenched his eyes, and moaned.
・ ・
“Where find you that?” the warder asked, lifting up the blanket and peeking under.
Lorpe Razar pushed his hand away and the blanket fell. “Don’ disturb it,” he said. “It sleeping, finally. Been whining all day, driving me mad. Don’ want it to start again.”
“Be it some sort of ape? From Somria?” The warder frowned, looking at the foot protruding from under the blanket. “Does look human to me.”
“Not human, but something like it. Not an ape,” Razar said. “I heard stories of these, up north ways. They live across the White River, beyond the mountains, as it said.” He pulled an argrot from a brown sack under his wagon’s seat and bit into it, the orange juices running down his chin. “They run as packs of sprinters would there, hunting giant lapizars. As I heard,” he added with a shrug.
“That old mother’s tales,” the warder snorted. “Nothing can live there, it too cold. What you have is a man gone wild, I say.” His eyes narrowed, and he added, “That there would be slavery, against Lords Law.”