by Clayton, Jo;
“The Lakoe-heai know we come as thieves. I don’t like it, but what can I do?” She sensed his growing uneasiness around her. “Relax, Kale. They’ve got some kind of plan to use us. They won’t interfere.”
“Oh.” He glanced at the boy again, chewed a minute on his full lower lip, then walked nervously away to look down the road. “There’s no need for a guide,” he muttered half to himself. “The road’s clear.”
Aleytys stretched and laughed. “All right. All right, Kale. You change places with Stavver if it makes you feel better. The boy can ride with Sharl.”
Maissa came striding around the caravan, her delicate, pointed face drawn into an angry scowl. “What’s holding us up?” she demanded.
Aleytys met the cold glare with a quiet smile. “We stopped to help the boy.”
“Well?” The small woman came mincing across the rough soil with its sharp stubs of last year’s grass, not yet accustomed to walking barefoot. She stopped beside the boy’s body and thrust an impatient toe into his protruding ribs. “A waste of time. You finished?”
“The healing’s done. When he wakes, he comes with us.”
“Nonsense! Get back on the wagon and let’s get going. We don’t need a strange pair of eyes to spy on us.”
Aleytys sighed. “Maissa, if I’m supposed to be gikena, let me be. If we go off and leave him, we’ll be outcast ourselves. To take the curse off him, he has to serve me for a time. Anyway, he’s a guarantee the others will accept us as what we pretend to be.”
“I’m sure you thought of that all the time. Huh!” She turned and picked her way carefully back to her caravan. She paused at the big wheel and looked back at Aleytys, her dark eyes glinting hardly. “I boss this job—you remember that.”
Behind her Aleytys heard a rustle in the grass and turned around to find the boy sitting up staring at her, his brown eyes huge in his thin face. “Welcome back to the living,” she said briskly. “How’d you get in this mess?”
His white-caked tongue moved painfully over cracked lips. “Pariah,” he muttered hoarsely.
“Miks.”
“What?”
“Bring the waterskin, will you. Our new friend’s got a big thirst.”
“Right.” The thief came around the back end of the caravan, swinging the well filled waterskin from its wide, leather strap.
The boy watched the dripping, cool bladder with desperate burning eyes, then he held up trembling hands palm out warning them off. “Pariah,” he repeated, his voice breaking painfully.
Aleytys smiled at him and took his shaking hand in hers despite his attempt to avoid her touch. “I am gikena, boy. When you’ve had the water, we’ll see about taking away the curse on your head. Do you understand? I’ve already cured the wound in your back. Have you forgotten that?”
Stavver handed him the waterskin and helped him drink. The boy took a mouthful of water then pushed the skin away. His face drawn in lines of fatigue and suffering, he held the cool liquid in his mouth, working it around and around. Then he spat it out and took another drink, a small one. He swallowed. Fascinated, Aleytys watched his throat working, appreciating the stern discipline that controlled his desperate need for water. He drank twice again, then pushed the waterskin away though his eyes followed it greedily.
“I thank you, si’a gikena.”
“Will you tell me your name?” Once again Aleytys smiled at him, warming inside as the wary suspicion left his eyes.
“Loahn, si’a gikena.”
“You will serve me as required?”
He startled her by bowing swiftly until his head touched the earth in front of him. As quickly he sat up, dark eyes bright with renewed hope. “I serve as long as you want—till the end of my life, si’a gikena.”
She laughed and stood up, reaching out for his hand. It felt warm and dry and curiously strong. “It won’t be that long, Loahn. Not nearly.” She mounted the steps at back of the caravan. “Come in, but be quiet. My son is asleep.”
The interior of the caravan was hot and close. Loahn looked curiously around. The inside was neatly made, the wide, flat bunks doubling as seating in the day, the mattresses covered with coarse ticking. Below these a series of deep drawers marched in neat rows. One was pulled out and turned into a nest for the placidly sleeping baby. Aleytys stopped to touch him, feeling as always the warm outpouring of love he evoked in her. When she looked up she found the boy looking hungrily at her. He blushed and turned away.
“You lost your mother?”
His thin body stiffened, then he nodded. “When I was a child.”
“Well, sit down. You’d better ride in here. We’ll be going on till light fails. Rest and think what to tell me when we camp for the night.” A smile twitched the corners of her mouth upward. “I need to know just what to do about you.”
“Yes, si’a gikena,” he said with careful politeness, the wary look back on his face.
“Olelo, come here.” She smiled at the boy, amused by his skepticism. “I need you to speak for me again, little one.”
The speaker swung through the front curtains. Loahn’s eyes widened then he relaxed, his suddenly shaky knees dumping him onto the bunk.
Aleytys chuckled. “So you’re convinced at last.”
“Pardon, si’a gikena,” he stammered.
“Nonsense. A little skepticism’s a healthy thing. I’d think you foolish if you believed everything anyone told you.”
His mouth curved into a tired smile, his eyes dropping heavily as fatigue flooded over him.
“Unroll the quilt and go to sleep. If you need water, the man and I will be outside. Call. You understand?”
He nodded sleepily.
“When you ride with us, you’ll see things—things that may seem strange. If you find yourself puzzled, come to me. Don’t talk to outsiders about what troubles you. Understand?”
He settled himself on the mattress, wadding the quilt into a pillow for his head. “No,” he said quietly. “How can I?” He stretched out, laced his fingers together behind his head. “Only that I come to you and accept what you tell me.”
She eyed him coolly, then burst out laughing. “No fool, indeed. You’ll accept what I tell you even if you suspect it’s not quite the truth?”
He grinned sleepily at her. “When I got my life back, when I saw your beautiful and wonderful and kind face, I gave my soul into your keeping as long as you want it.” He yawned, then waved a hand. “You needn’t bother asking, gikena. Just tell me and I’ll do it.”
Aleytys crawled through the curtains and joined Stavver on the seat. “That’s a sharp one in there.”
“Dangerous?”
“I don’t think so. I could always put the curse back.” She glanced at the sky. The streaks of color were beginning to thicken, leaving patches of clear blue sky. “Let’s get started,” she said crisply.
Chapter IV
“They’re offworlders, aren’t they.” The boy’s voice came out of the warm darkness behind Aleytys. She swung around and examined him silently, trying to read the set of his too-thin face, the complex mixture of emotions radiating from him. What she sensed most was a calm curiosity which surprised her almost as much as his words.
“What do you know of offworlders?”
The boy sank beside her, resting his thin arms on his knees. A broad smile split his dark face. “My father took me to Karkys the year of my blooding to get my blade.”
“And?”
“We didn’t get along well. My father and I.” The boy spoke slowly, his eyes fixed on her, the whites glowing palely in the light of the low hanging moon. “So he ignored me while he did his trading. I sneaked through the Karkesh quarter and out into Star Street. Nobody paid any attention to a scruffy kid or bothered to mind their talk. I watched the starships come and go and saw the strange ones and heard them talking to the hooded Karkiskya.”
“The year of your blooding.”
“I’ve always been small, looked younger than I am.”
He snorted softly. “Then you come from across the sea. But you better teach the woman not to give orders like a man.” He nodded at the figures walking around the dying fire.
“Her name is Leyilli.” Aleytys spoke softly. “The long man is called Keon, the other Kale. I am called Lahela.” She lay back on the grass, face turned to the moonlit sky, studying the huge pale circle that floated majestically between the false thunderheads. “One moon seems so lonely,” she murmured. “Where I was born we have two.” She smiled as she heard the boy gasp. “Very perceptive, Loahn. We are all offworlders. Except Kale.”
“The speaker?”
“Don’t worry about your curse. Lakoe-heai proclaimed me gikena born and sent me Olelo as a sign of their approval.”
“Why did you all come here, then?”
“To steal, young friend. We’re thieves. Name me Lahela if you please. I need to become accustomed to the sound of it.”
“Why tell me, Lahela? What if I betray you first chance I get?” He shifted on the grass coming to bend over her, his thin face grave and questioning in the moonlight.
“You won’t,” she said quietly. Then she chuckled. “Don’t I have your soul?”
“Tchah! That’s a stupidity.”
“Seriously, I do have a lien on your soul. Remember? I am gikena.” She reached up and touched his cheek. “Besides, my dear, I don’t say it’s impossible for a man to make me believe a lie, at least when I’ve my wits about me, but so far it hasn’t happened. An unkind gift, one I’d sometimes rather do without.” She patted the cheek gently feeling the harsh, dry skin resulting from his recent ordeal. “Do you understand that at all, young friend?”
“Are you so much older than me, Lahela?” He sounded annoyed, jerked his head away from her touch. “I’ve seen a full eighteen winters.”
“And I’ve seen only eight.” She chuckled at his exclamation of disbelief. “But it’s true, Loahn. On the world where I was born our years are three of yours with a winter three hundred days long. I looked up at two suns, not one. Two moons lit our night skies. And that is true!”
“Ahh.…” She could see his eyes glittering as he looked up at the moon then down at her again. “How old are you, Lahela? In our years.”
“Twenty-four. A double dozen. You see I’m an old lady compared to you.”
“Tchah! Six years! A mouse’s sneeze.” He put tentative fingers on her shoulder and walked them down in sly spider pats to touch her breast.
“Loahn.” She caught his hand and held it away from her. “When I took you to serve me, I did NOT mean in my bed. That place is already occupied.”
“I have a sadness, Lahela.” He sighed with exaggerated despair. “It’s going to be a long service.”
“And you’re a graceless scamp. No, don’t try me with that plaintive face.” She sat up briskly, nearly knocking him over. “Sit down. Over there. Out of reach. Do you hear?”
“I hear, si’a gikena.” His voice sounded reproachful, but she saw his grin shining in the moonlight.
“Somehow I seem to have lost my mystique.” Aleytys brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “Loahn?”
“Mmmm?”
“When we meet others, you’ll be the respectful and awe-struck acolyte?”
“Of course. I’m not stupid.”
“I never thought that, my friend.” She sat staring blindly into the darkness. The trivial desultory conversation around the fire floated piecemeal to her ears as she tried to pull her emotions into some kind of order. Loahn’s eyes slid around again and again to rest momentarily on her then flick away. She sighed. “I wonder what you really think of me. Behind that barrage of words.”
“First,” he said calmly, “I want to make love to you. I have food in my stomach, that arrow out of my back, and hope for the future for the first time in days. The most beautiful woman on Lamarchos sits beside me in the moonlight. How else should I feel?”
“You’re direct.”
Loahn chuckled. “I’ve never found that women are insulted by the asking, rather the reverse.”
“So cynical at eighteen.”
“Rather, intelligent.” He reached out and wrapped long fingers around her ankle. “Lahela …”
“What?” She felt her heart speed up while a familiar ache spread through her body.
“Come for a walk with me.” He moved his hand slowly a few inches up her calf, then slid it back to her ankle. “Away from the fire. And them.”
She reached down and closed her hand over his. “I will not after tonight.”
“Take the days as they come. Tomorrow—who knows what that brings?” He stood up, pulling her up with him. “Right now,” he murmured. “Tonight, you’re curious about me and I’m taking advantage of that curiosity. Pushing hard as I can.”
As they stumbled down the swell to the thicker grass in the depression between the hills, she said dryly, “At least you’re honest about it.”
“You said it, Lahela gikena. Who can lie to you?”
Chapter V
“My father had a horse run by Lake Po. We never got along. I told you that. He had the sensitivity of a brick wall, and not a nerve in his body.”
“I know the kind.” Aleytys ran her fingers through her hair. “Damn these burrs.”
“Let me.” Loahn sat up and began picking the leaves and burrs out of her long, tangled hair.
“Go on.”
“Mmmm … no, we never got on. I was a disappointment to him, a scrawny, screaming brat. Far back as I can remember I resented the way he treated my mother. Everything she did was wrong. In the first place, she was fair-haired, daughter of a gypsy horse trader, not one of the black-haired local beauties. He married her because she was graceful and gentle and loving and then once they were wed he resented all these things in her. He’d cut her to pieces in front of anyone around to listen. He didn’t care how she suffered. I think he didn’t even realize she suffered. Sometimes he beat her. I remember once I heard her crying late at night. My father was out with a foaling mare. I tried to comfort her. She sent me away.” He stopped talking to ease a burr out of a complicated knot of hair.
“Careful. That hurts.”
“I’m trying not to pull.” With a grunt of satisfaction and a few tiny snapping sounds he worked the burr loose and tossed it to one side.
“I never knew my mother.” Aleytys spread her fingers out and watched the moonlight shine off the nails.
“She died?”
“No. She went away. I’m on my way to find her.”
“Your mother is Lamarchan?”
“No. This is … this is a waystop. It’s a long and complicated story. Go on.”
His hands moved absently over her hair. “When I was five, my mother died. She grew quieter and quieter. Simply faded away. She needed the open spaces and he … he kept her in strictest purdah. He was a jealous man. He kept closer ties on her than even the customs dictate, locked her behind the walls of the house until a glimpse of the sky tormented her.” She felt his fingers moving with careful gentleness over her back, brushing away the debris that clung to her. “During that time and a few years after I scuttled around full of hate and too stubborn to do anything my father told me without a tussle of wills. I always lost, but we both ended up exhausted.” He pulled her back against him, cupping his hands over her breasts. “You’re getting cold.”
“Never mind. Finish your story.” She stretched and yawned, gently freeing herself. “Are all the burrs out of my hair?”
“Think so. But.…”
“I’m not too cold. Finish the tale.”
“When the mourning time was over and my mother’s spirit safe on its trek to Ma-e-Uhane, my father married again. This one was a strong, passionate woman. Jealous in her own way as my father was. She hated me. Why not? In three years she had three sons and none of them could
take heir-right. Because of me. First wife’s only son. She couldn’t get around that. So of course she hated me.”
“Hated.” Aleytys touched his knee. “My dear.”
“You needn’t pity me. I returned the feeling full strength. Not the healthiest of atmospheres for a growing boy. She was jealous of my mother too. Sometimes when the moon was very bright and the air was still and clear, my father would go out of the house as if it burned him. He’d climb the promontory by the lake and sit there all night, I swear, remembering my mother. In the morning he’d ride off on the run and stay away for three or four days. My stepmother was a fury those times. I learned early that the best thing for me was to disappear.”
“I know that jealousy,” Aleytys said softly. “An aunt of mine. I kept out of her way soon as I could walk.”
“Then you know. As my brothers and I grew older, she hated me even more. You see, none of my half-brothers could match me with the horses. My mother’s blood showing in me. After a while my father noticed this and my life was both easier and harder.”
“I see. What about your brothers?”
“Not so bad. I can’t say they liked me much but they weren’t malicious about it.” He chuckled. “You need a few brains to be malicious.”
“Meow. Pull the claws back, boy.”
“Boy! Tchah!”
“Go on with the story.” She held his hands away from her. “No distractions.”
He shrugged. “So. My father began training me as heir. I was out of the house five days in six. A kind of unmentioned truce held between us. I even managed to feel a brief glow of pride when I heard him bragging about one of my exploits to some neighbors. I think eventually we might have come to a kind of peace. But he died. One minute he was roaring with rage at a failing of the men. The next he was falling, blood gushing from his nose and mouth.”
“And your stepmother kicked you out.”
“Of course not. She couldn’t. I was heir. The pyre was raised on the promontory by the lake. My orders. She hated that because she knew why I did it, why I built his pyre where my mother’s had been raised, where he used to go to dream of her. In the house my father lay on his bed wrapped in the grave windings waiting for sunrise and the torch.”