by Ginn Hale
Sheb’yu slumped in her chair. She glowered at John almost sulkily, then sketched a quick sign of apology with her right hand. John signed his acceptance, but Sheb’yu wasn’t paying attention to him any longer. She frowned into the fire.
“Four fighters and two witches.” Sheb’yu rubbed her temple. “Yah’hali Prison isn’t a public wine house, you know. And with the ushiri’im there as well, I don’t know…”
“What ushiri’im?” Lafi’shir demanded.
Now Sheb’yu had everyone’s undivided attention. Even Fenn seemed to have woken up at the mention of ushiri’im.
Sheb’yu nodded, her expression grim. “Didn’t Ji tell you why you were called here?”
“She just ordered us to get to you as soon as we could,” Lafi’shir replied. “You want us to breach Yah’hali Prison?”
“Exactly. You can see why I’m disappointed at seeing you ride with so few soldiers,” Sheb’yu said. “One ushiri could take you all out with a wave of his hand.”
“How many ushiri’im are there and why are they there?” John asked.
“Such a practical question,” Sheb’yu said. “I wish I had a practical answer for you. My informant has seen several coming and going. Not usually more than one at a time. I suppose they don’t like their brothers to see them raping the girls.”
“Raping—” John lapsed as his knowledge of the devout lives of the ushiri’im crashed against Sheb’yu’s offhanded accusation. “What girls?”
“The witches they’ve imprisoned since the massacre at the blood market.” Sheb’yu scowled at him. “Where have you been the last three months? Under a rock?”
“I was in prison and then on the Holy Road to be burned,” John replied.
Sheb’yu’s eyebrows rose slightly.
“All right, then let me tell you,” Sheb’yu said. “The Payshmura have been gathering girls, accusing them of witchcraft, and sending them first to Yah’hali Prison and then on to Amura’taye to stand trial. Every one of them is found guilty, but very few are burned.” Sheb’yu glared at the fire. “This is because by the time they reach Amura’taye nearly all of the girls are pregnant. Two weeks ago my informant in Yah’hali discovered that it wasn’t just the work of a few nasty guards either. The ushiri’im come to the prison and rape the girls in their cells.”
“They want more issusha’im?” Saimura asked.
“Well, from what Ji says,” Sheb’yu murmured, “the ones they do have seem to be falling into discord. It seems likely that they’re hoping to swell the ranks and stabilize the issusha’im.”
A terrible, sick feeling spread through John’s stomach at the thought of the Payshmura accusing girls of witchcraft and then raping them to ensure that they would be chosen as issusha’im.
John simply couldn’t associate such corruption with the ushiri’im he’d known in Rathal’pesha. They could be cruel men, but not dishonorable. Some had even been friends to him.
“Why would ushiri’im impregnate the girls?” John asked quietly. “They’ve taken vows.”
“Take a vow, break a vow. What the hell do they care? Do they even consider witches as human beings?” Sheb’yu replied with disgust.
John stared down at his hands.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” he told Sheb’yu, “but this just doesn’t make sense. If the Payshmura want more issusha’im, then any man could have served to impregnate the girls. But for the ushiri’im to be involved—for them to desecrate their sacred vows in that way—”
“Maybe they just enjoy it,” Sheb’yu snapped. “I don’t know what their motives are and I don’t think it really matters.”
To John’s surprise, Saimura said, “But I think Jath’ibaye may have a point. Something more could be going on.”
Sheb’yu looked annoyed but Lafi’shir nodded.
“So what are you getting at, Jath’ibaye?” Lafi’shir asked him.
“There has to be reason that the Payshmura would want witches to be carrying the children of ushiri’im,” John said. And then he realized what it had to be. Both Ravishan and Fikiri were the children of witches… “The Payshmura aren’t just after issusha’im. Now that Ravishan and Fikiri have come to the Fai’daum they have no candidate for Kahlil. I think that they’re trying to breed new ushiri’im. Ones as powerful as the two they’ve lost.”
But to break the ushiri’im’s vows to do it? John couldn’t imagine it. Had everyone in Rathal’pesha gone insane? Even Dayyid would never have allowed that.
And Hann’yu, John thought. Hann’yu could hardly endure a single witch burning at the Harvest Fair. John couldn’t imagine him being able to stomach this kind of brutality. It would turn him inside out—or maybe just turn him into a hopeless drunk.
“And so what difference does that make to us today?” Sheb’yu asked, startling John out of his thoughts.
“Maybe not today, but later on the southern front it could mean a great deal of difference in the Payshmura’s morale,” Lafi’shir said.
“No Kahlil means no Rifter,” Pirr’tu said. “It means the Payshmura are even weaker than we thought. And they know it.”
“No possibility of the Rifter…” Sheb’yu’s harsh countenance softened a little. “It’s almost too good to believe that we could truly be free of that threat.”
A rare, wide smile briefly lit Lafi’shir’s face as well.
John turned his gaze to the fire. Ji had told him that the knowledge that he was already in Basawar would destroy the Fai’daum’s morale. He just hadn’t, until now, grasped how subtly and completely the unspoken threat of the Rifter oppressed them.
“We have to stop them from breeding more ushiri’im or creating more issushu’im,” Saimura stated firmly.
“We’re going to try,” Sheb’yu replied. She ran a hand through her short brown hair. “They had at least forty girls in Yah’hali Prison a week ago. Some may have been sent north to Amura’taye since then, but most of the girls are still being held there,” Sheb’yu said. “From what I’ve been able to discover, Yah’hali Prison is the only place ushiri’im make their conjugal visits.” Sheb’yu almost spat the last words.
“How many friends do we have in the town?” Lafi’shir asked.
“Maybe a hundred,” Sheb’yu said. “But not all of them are such good friends that they’d give up their lives. And none of them are fighters.”
“Safe houses?” Lafi’shir asked.
“The Weavers’ Row, the Lost Lamb wine house, Gold Sheaf Bakery and the Red Spring Hostel are all Fai’daum. They’ll feed, clothe, and shelter any of ours if I ask them to,” Sheb’yu replied. “But it would be idiocy to ask them to shelter forty girls fresh out of Yah’hali Prison.”
“What about your informant in the prison?” Lafi’shir asked.
“She cooks and serves meals to the prisoners,” Sheb’yu said.
“Could she get some of us inside?” Pirr’tu asked.
“What as?” Sheb’yu arched her brows sharply. “Stew dogs?”
“Assistants?” Pirr’tu offered.
“The warden chooses the serving women himself,” Sheb’yu replied. “And I doubt that you’re much to his taste.”
Lafi’shir hunched down in his seat. He contemplated the fire.
“Let’s leave that for a while. Let’s say we can get the girls out. Where do we hide them?” Lafi’shir said.
“Here,” Saimura said. “We break them into small parties and bring them back here.”
“The Payshmura will be searching,” Lafi’shir said.
“I’ll raise wards,” Saimura replied.
“Do you have the power to ward this entire farm?” Lafi’shir asked.
“I’ll need blood.” Saimura glanced to John and John remembered Ji looking at him in the same manner. ‘The blood is the power,’ she had said.
“You can take as much as you need from me,” John said.
“I would have to start tomorrow, but I could have the farm warded in two days,” Saimura said.
“All right then.” Lafi’shir returned to his study of the crackling fire. “We transport the girls in small, separate groups.”
“I have grain wagons and chattel carts,” Sheb’yu said. “There’s also my widow’s carriage. If they could endure the ride, we could transport a number of them in wine barrels from the Lost Lamb.” Sheb’yu stared past John to the tapestry hanging behind him. “We could hide some in rolled tapestries from the Weavers Row. They do a good trade even in the winter. It wouldn’t seem suspicious.”
“Yes. That’s good.” Lafi’shir nodded. “So, we have the girls’ transportation. Now, how do we get them out of the prison?”
John found it fascinating that Lafi’shir seemed to be solving the entire problem backwards, beginning at the triumphant conclusion and unraveling its route. The idea lent an appealing sense of inevitable success to the entire endeavor. As if it were predestined.
“Could your cook leave a door unlocked?” Tai’yu asked Sheb’yu.
“Maybe one, but she couldn’t do anything about the inner doors without being noticed.”
“What about a distraction?” Fenn suggested. He looked hopefully between Pirr’tu and Tai’yu. “Maybe something like what Tai’yu did in Gisa. If something like that could happen in the prison, then the guards wouldn’t be watching.”
“In the prison?” Tai’yu shook his head. “I would have to have been arrested. Then the guards would just beat the life out of me. Pants around my ankles or not.”
“The worst way to get into a prison is to be arrested, let me tell you,” Pirr’tu added. “They take your weapons, outnumber you, and have you shackled. There’s little difference between impersonating a prisoner and being a prisoner.”
John nodded, remembering the prison in Amura’taye and his own shackled hands and feet. Then he thought of the lock that had held the stable doors at the Hearthstone. A month ago he hadn’t possessed the self-control to break it, but he did now. A weird mix of fear and inspiration filled him.
“I could do it,” John whispered.
Lafi’shir glanced up at him.
“What did you say, Jath’ibaye?”
“I can break through locks and bring down a wall if I have to.” John’s voice sounded strained, even to himself. “I could cause a disturbance in the prison. I could keep the guards occupied,” John said firmly, though he felt a little sick.
“Doing what? Killing you?” Sheb’yu demanded. “It wouldn’t take long and it wouldn’t make for much of a distraction.”
“Jath’ibaye isn’t so easy to kill. And there’s a bounty on him, so it won’t be hard getting him arrested either.” Lafi’shir considered John. “You’re sure you want to do this? Once you’re in, there won’t be any backing out.”
Despite the heat of the fire and the insulating tapestries, John’s skin prickled with goose bumps. He felt suddenly very aware of the silence in the room and the way everyone there watched him.
“I’m sure,” John said.
Lafi’shir just nodded.
“So, we have the doors unlocked and a disturbance that occupies the majority of the guards,” Lafi’shir said. “How do the rest of us get onto the prison grounds?”
No one responded. John felt too stunned by his own decision to even think about Lafi’shir’s question. Fenn and Saimura were both staring at him while Pirr’tu and Tai’yu attempted not to.
“We come with the butcher’s wagon and sheep,” Sheb’yu said. “We deliver the week’s meat to the kitchens.”
“That would do it all right.” Lafi’shir smiled briefly at Sheb’yu. “We’ll need a map of the city streets and the prison…clothes for the girls…fresh mounts for the fighters just outside of the city.”
“That can be arranged in Yah’hali,” Sheb’yu replied. “I’ll accompany you in my widow’s shawls and make sure you have the support you need.”
“This could just work…” Lafi’shir leaned back in his seat and John thought he might be smiling behind his thick graying beard.
A boy darted in from the kitchen with a tray of steaming bread. He set it on the table and then disappeared back into the kitchen. Fenn wandered towards the table.
John took his place in front of the fire. The flames flickered and swayed over black logs. John held up his hand and felt the waves of heat roll up over his arms and caress his face.
Behind him, John heard other men and women come in. Their voices were accompanied by the clink of clay dishes and quiet laughter. Sheb’yu and Lafi’shir discussed sleeping arrangements. Fenn volunteered to share John’s room. John nodded his consent, but his attention remained fixed on the fire.
The flames fluttered like blond hair caught in a strong wind. They jumped and rolled into the images of bodies and faces. He remembered the first time he had seen a single pale flame flicker up between Laurie’s hands. She had been so proud of her power. She’d been so happy.
John closed his eyes. What were they doing to her in Umbhra’ibaye? He was almost afraid to even wonder. No matter what it was, he couldn’t be there to save her.
But maybe he could save these other girls. Maybe somehow it would balance out. Some anonymous fighter in the south would free Laurie if John rescued his wife, or perhaps his daughter, or maybe his sister…John didn’t know. But the thought kindled in him, not quite becoming a belief, but at least offering him a private hope.
When he turned back from the fire, John saw that many of the workers and farmhands had come inside. The room was nearly full of strangers. Three children teased each other as they set the table. Sheb’yu’s riders chatted with Fenn and Tai’yu. Pirr’tu entertained a young woman by rolling a bright silver coin over his knuckles.
Sheb’yu and Lafi’shir headed the dinner table. Sheb’yu moved her finger across the tabletop, sketching out some map for Lafi’shir.
Only Saimura seemed to notice John. He excused himself from the company of two young men to join John by the fire. He stopped just out of arm’s reach.
“Scrying our fates in the flames?” Saimura asked. John wasn’t sure if he was serious.
“No,” John said. “I was just thinking of something my mother used to say.”
“Oh? What?” Saimura asked.
“You jump out of the frying pan and land in the fire.”
Saimura smiled a little.
“Out of prison in Amura’taye into prison in Yah’hali?” he asked.
John nodded.
“You aren’t there yet,” Saimura said. “Come join me with these young men. They have some amusing stories and they’re good company for an evening.”
John followed Saimura back to the dinner table. Saimura was right. He’d have enough time to think about being back in prison when he was there.
Chapter Ninety
John hated the smell of prison. The odors of urine and sour sweat saturated the cold stone floor and clung to the walls of the cramped cell. One of the grizzled men shackled next to John reeked of a festering wound. He moaned softly and shuddered against his chains.
John rested his chin against his chest. The pungent scent of stale liquor floated up from his clothes. Five hours before, at midnight, Pirr’tu and Fenn had doused him in cheap flower liquor, dragged him to the prison, and demanded to be paid the bounty offered for him. They claimed they had recognized him at a wine house and waited until he was too drunk to stand before they captured him.
John had sagged between the two of them as a captain in the city guard explained that no bounty could be paid until a priest had arrived to ensure that this was the right man. Two city guards took hold of John. They struggled with his limp weight, swearing at him and cursing his ugly Eastern mother. As they hauled him back into the depths of the prison, John heard Pirr’tu complaining about the money owed him.
Now John and some twelve other men in the cell hung by shackles looped through a long chain that was bolted to the wall. John’s feet easily reached the floor, but many of the men dangled above the ground, hanging from th
eir wrists like so many charms on a bracelet.
Outside in the hall, John heard the sound of boot heels striking the stone floor. Several of the men in John’s cell looked warily to the door. As the guards passed the cell door John heard a muffled whimpering noise.
A boy hanging near the door shuddered.
“What was that?” the boy asked.
“They’re taking a witch to the iron bed,” a man near John answered.
“Why?” the boy asked in a whisper.
“To break them,” the man said. “They keep them gagged so they can’t utter a curse. That’s how you can tell it’s a witch. The men they take to torture, you hear them screaming clear enough.”
The boy said nothing in response and silence returned to the dark cell. It would still be a half hour before the sun rose and most of the men seemed to be trying to sleep. John closed his eyes. He felt the chains and stone surrounding him and then allowed his senses to expand outward.
Mortar, halls, walls, streets, tall stone buildings, and cramped alleys flashed through his mind. He rose over them, rushing past snow-covered miles of farmland and sprawling forest. His thoughts swept past a wide, rolling river and the green trees that stood on its banks. He plunged south, through wild, lush woods and cascades of rain. At last he found Ravishan, sleeping in the shelter of a crumbling Payshmura shrine. His hands curled against his chest, clasping the key he wore around his neck. John watched him sleep. He ached to reach out and touch Ravishan, to lie down in his arms, to kiss his mouth.
John drew in a deep breath and the stench of the prison rushed back in on him. He opened his eyes. The man next to him coughed and spat onto the floor.
Distantly, John heard the city bells ring. Fifth bell of morning. John straightened. The butchers would be arriving in the kitchen courtyard.
John reached up to the chain that secured him to the wall. He ran his fingers over the thick, metallic structure of a single link. It crumbled and suddenly the chain went slack. Men around John dropped to the floor with startled cries. John pulled his shackles off and stepped away from the wall.