by Russ Linton
"Who?" she asked.
Hedgedweller moved closer. With her seated, they were face to face and it regarded her with speckled, yellow eyes. Each irregular spot flexed and contracted as it considered her question.
"Who?" it echoed from its mouth hidden beneath a smooth, angled chin.
"He. Who is the 'he' you speak of?" Kaaliya knew that asking a troll questions was only looking for trouble, but she often did that.
"He, she, I speak the tongue of your kind for you to understand."
"Most of what you say I will never understand."
"Good. Understanding isn't knowing. Living is understanding. You will know more when you are free."
Kaaliya laughed. She reached out and caressed the moss on its cheeks. Hedgedweller gave no response aside from following her hand with several of the irregularly shaped pupils. "But you did free me. I'd probably still be in the Pit if you hadn't helped."
Its mossy topknot bounced as it shook its head. "You would have left. Become a wife and learned to farm. So many lives await you." The pupils churned, cinching and relaxing.
She raised her eyebrows. "I would have jumped first."
"Into the black? Where you are and will always be?"
The conversation hadn't taken the light turn she'd hoped. Maybe it was her deep reflection and the discussion with Firetongue earlier which made enjoying the puzzling responses impossible. Too many well-placed strikes had found the chinks in her armor today.
"You freed me from that as well, or do you forget?" She asked this despite the fact trolls never forgot. And as far as she could tell, each of the curious beings was connected, somehow. Hedgedweller, the Hollow One, old Oakworm, and dozens more she'd met on her journeys, each shared more than a plant-like appearance and penchant for riddles. They were a consciousness melded together despite the distances between them.
"We did not free you. We moved you. We began you. We ended you." Its reply became a drawn out whisper.
She didn't want to try and unlock that puzzle. She couldn't. Instead, she asked the question she had intended to ask all along.
"Why?"
Why free her? They had taken her from the Pit and helped her as she explored the world outside. They had freed her yet left so many others trapped in that miserable existence. Her story wasn't the worst of them by far.
Hedgedweller raised a massive palm to her cheek. The fingers of the oversized hand could have engulfed her head. Instead, it traced softly down her chin.
"We do not have an answer. You will give it."
"When?"
A troll's laugh was a disconcerting thing. A deep bellowing chortle winding its way up from the bottom of a sinkhole. "There is no 'when', Cave Daughter. Only now."
It bounded away and disappeared into the ferns.
***
When Kaaliya returned to her client's home she found him lounging on a pile of exquisite pillows—pillows he'd bought specifically for her quarters, which currently lay on her bed.
As part of her agreement with Chakor, she'd done as most palace courtesans and requested a private space. Usually, this was for the sake of the wives. As for Chakor, who was unmarried, she kept the custom for her own sanity.
"Ahh, good," he stumbled out of her bed, naked, preceded by an earthen jug in one hand and a particularly eager part of his anatomy. "If you would but disrobe, we can get this nasty bit of business out of the way."
Chakor had this strange effect on her. Her first thought went to the knife strapped to her thigh. Normally stashed away in her boot, courtly fashions required dainty sandals of little use for travel or kicking in a frisky noble's teeth.
At the same time, she wanted to laugh. A nobleman, drunk, with his manhood pawing at the space between them and a devil-may-care look in his eye. Chakor's charm was in the boyish bravado and impish stunts he surrounded himself with.
An hour ago, he might've been entertaining.
She sauntered toward him and reached out for his eagerness. Drunken pleasure crossed his face, and he closed his eyes as she traced a line down his chest with her free hand. Next, she placed her foot behind his and drove her shoulder into his chest, hard.
He tumbled back onto the pillows, and she flung the sheer curtain around the bed closed.
She continued into the room toward a bronze tub placed in the center-most archway looking out onto her patio. Marble floors and columns of polished heart of treestone studded with gemstones graced the room. A geometric mosaic covered the ceiling, reflected on the glossy floor.
A groan issued from the bed and she heard fabric rustle. With slow, inviting motions she pulled the pallu of her sari over her shoulder and began to untuck from the waist. Chakor muddled his way through the curtain and lay on his stomach, watching.
Her festival garments had been a flame-envied orange, her favorite color, which also dominated the mosaic on the ceiling above. She'd been sure to tell Chakor of her hatred of all things orange, anticipating his attempt to make the room less appealing and his own moreso.
The sari she removed now was the ivory shade of the Deep Night moon, chosen for her evening stroll. The contrast against the warm tone of her skin made the unveiling more obvious with every pass.
She turned, naked. Chakor propped a drunken grin on interlaced fingers. After a moment of hesitation, she wheeled toward the bronze tub and climbed inside.
"Fetch the servants. I'd like a bath."
"Marvelous idea," Chakor slurred. He slithered out of the bed leaving a trail of pillows in his wake. "I'll be right back."
She clicked her tongue, and he balked. "Servants and hot water, nothing more."
"I could wait there," Chakor waved a finger at the bed. "Or there," he offered, his hand swinging toward the tub.
He gave her a fierce grin, and she almost said yes.
The man was attractive. With his bronze eyes, she often wondered if he were distantly related to the pale Ksijaav of the far north. Contrary to popular fashion, he was clean-shaven leaving a perpetual smirk on constant display. The choice maintained his youthfulness as well as complimented his lean physique.
"No room for two," she sighed with mocking disappointment. "I'll come to you later." She extended her leg into the air and unlaced the knife sheath. "In your room, my lord. Not mine."
He attempted a bow and nearly fell off-balance.
"Of course, my love," he said and disappeared naked through the door. His shouts echoed in the empty pre-dawn halls. "A bath for the lady of the house!"
Reclined in the tub, she folded her arms across her chest. What he said troubled her. She had become the lady of this house. He'd been her second royal client, and she'd never bothered searching for another. Their arrangement was clear of course, but like most men, he had his own interpretation.
And there was a more frightening thought. Chakor had the desire and the funds to make the arrangement permanent.
Moving from the bare floors of a cave to a throw of silken pillows in a palatial room of her own had never been her goal. Freedom was her goal. Freedom to travel, explore. Chakor had given her that without the need to continually seek out clients.
Yet the troll had said she wasn't free, and she was beginning to see how right it was.
While she could navigate the social snares of the royal court, the task had no joy. It had been easier than she thought. So hungry for intrigue in the stagnant palace baths and sitting rooms, nobody had questioned her flimsy connections to a respected commoner of Cerudell, one to whom she made regular payments to maintain the cover story. The nobles' wives all despised her. The other courtesans all assumed she wished to become the Nagavardhu—wife of the entire royal household—for that was all they desired.
She was no lady and desired no house, just the pleasure of being her own woman and no longer a husbandless prostitute. And if the others ever found out where she'd come from, she'd be wandering from inn to inn once more, assuming she could escape the guard.
The Deep Night festival would wind d
own over the next few days. In the lull while they awaited the return of the pilgrims, she could take anything, everything of value and slip away. Chakor could keep his ancient Jadugar secrets.
There was a knock at her door.
"Enter," she called.
The door swung inward, and Firetongue stepped inside, drawing a wheeled basin behind her. Steam trailed as she moved and droplets glistened on her chitin made redder by the lamplight.
"A pleasure to see you again, Firetongue."
She touched her head with a free hand and nodded. "Lord Chakor requested a female Ek'kiru deliver the water due to your current state."
"Ah yes, wouldn't want to go seducing any more bugmen," Kaaliya sighed. She felt bad for Sidge. Such rumors were a hazard of her profession, and she hoped they didn't affect him or his own more chaste aspirations.
"Not to worry. While many are enthusiastic about experiencing humanity, they find humans unattractive and filthy," Firetongue said as she wheeled the cart next to the bath.
"I can only imagine." Kaaliya dipped her hand into the water and nodded for Firetongue to begin to pour. Hot, but not scalding, it stung against her skin. She leaned back and closed her eyes letting the sensation loosen the tension in her muscles and allowing the steam to cleanse her lungs. "Any indication as to when Lord Chakor will extend the water to this room?"
"None, Mistress," said Firetongue between pours. "I've been instructed, however, to remind you Lord Chakor's chambers have the amenities you seek."
Kaaliya released a groan of half-hearted frustration. Every room in the Attarah's Palace and Chakor's estate connected to an ingenious series of pipes and aqueducts which brought fresh water and carried away waste. When she first learned of the system, she'd thought fresh water without a climb to a bucket was Jadugar magic as well.
Her first royal client had been driven to his wits end by his courtesan's fascination with the wrong "magical" faucet. He'd introduced her to Chakor mostly to satisfy her curiosity and end her questions so they could return to business as usual. They never did. Kaaliya made a new deal.
Chakor had promised her a room of her own with running water, among other things.
"Perhaps I'll demand we switch chambers then."
"You play intriguing games," chuckled Firetongue.
"What? Never met a demanding whore? I'll admit, elsewhere it isn't so good for business." Kaaliya opened her eyes and focused on Firetongue. The Ek'kiru had been extremely obliging about her culture. "Ek'kiru have courtesans, right?"
Firetongue quirked her head and skimmed the air with her antennae as though gathering her thoughts. "There are men who will pleasure women outside of courtship."
"Men? Do you compensate them?"
"Their fortune is compensation enough. Though a truly worthy male may be allowed to father a brood." Kaaliya saw her amazed expression in Firetongue's eyes and the Ek'kiru continued. "Among my people, women are less common than men so we have many eager mates. Frequently, the men leave Abwoon to explore the temporary settlement, or further, while they wait for their time to care for their own brood."
This explained much about the Ek'kiru whom Kaaliya had met on her journeys. They were invariably males, young males, though age was more difficult to determine than she'd once thought. Sidge had been an exception. Even before he told of his life at the monastery, growing up under Izhar's care, she knew he was young, inexperienced.
She sank back into the bath and closed her eyes. She had more questions for Firetongue, but the discussion made her want to grab her dusty leathers and boots, disappear under her traveling hat, and exit the city gates.
She was free, trolls and the Jadugar be damned.
She would enjoy her bath first, then, who knew? Maybe Abwoon again. She might cross paths with Izhar and Sidge along the way, and it would give her a chance to explain things to the excitable little bugman.
"Do you mind combing my hair," she muttered. Firetongue offered no response aside from the gentle rake of a comb. "Tell me again how your kind bite the heads off their mates."
CHAPTER XIII
Of the many rooms in Chakor's estate, the Grand Hall was Kaaliya's favorite. She'd stumbled across it during her first stay. At the time the doors had been locked, something she made short work of. Dusty and unused, the deep history of the space entranced her, so she'd asked the servants to begin cleaning. Ever since, she and Chakor had begun taking their breakfast here at her insistence.
This morning, they sat on the floor on opposite sides of an ivory-inlaid table laden with melons, spiced gourds, and fried barley cakes. Chakor, his eyes closed, nursed a goblet of goat's milk. She nibbled at the edge of one of the cakes while enjoying the ancient architecture for perhaps the last time.
What had first caught her eye had been the relief on the double doors, mirrored in the hallway. A woman and a man faced each other across the sliver of a gap. Each wore similar ritual clothing consisting of an elaborate dhoti and bare chests.
Pillars of unworked treestone ran the room's length, the petrified bark giving the appearance of a well-ordered grove. These ended at a wide alcove, a space that could provide a raised platform for Lord Chakor and his honored guests if he ever had any. The remainder of the room could have hosted hundreds more.
Instead, they dined alone. For all of Chakor's scheming, he never allowed the palace intrigue into his private estate. At first, he'd tried to maintain his mysterious airs around her. Yet his reaction to the picked lock and the Ek'kiru servants busily whisking centuries old dust from the floor had been a knowing smile.
Silent sentinels lining the walls formed their only audience. Men and women hammered out of copper sheets, each one's face turned to the ceiling with eyes closed and mouths ajar. She imagined the figures intoning a mantra sung ages ago, one unspoken in the halls of the Stormblade Temple.
She and Chakor had argued before about the symbolism. Surely, they'd been male and female Jadugar. Chakor blithely disagreed. Wives or apprentices at best.
The figures all gazed into a terraced dome, each stratum carved to represent a bank of storm clouds. Vasheru glared down from the shadows at the peak. On the bottom tier, four platinum chains radiated into an empty ring. Beneath this, a spiral mosaic on the white and turquoise heartstone floor ended in a blinding white point. In the spiral, she thought she could make out faces, wan and mournful.
Leaving such beauty and mystery behind would be difficult, but she'd grown too comfortable here.
"Tell me you came to me this morning as promised and it was amazing," Chakor muttered over the rim of his glass.
She recalled her broken promise of last night. "I did. It was," she replied without taking her eyes off the room. Their voices rolled about the space like a glass bead on the empty deck of a junk.
Chakor kept his eyes closed and head low. He'd been drinking for several days. All of Stronghold had. Deep Night was the longest night. And day. And week. Several passings of the moon after the pilgrims had left for the desert, the festivities had started to slow. This gave the city a chance to recover and restock for the pilgrim's return.
Normally, she could ignore the politics and enjoy the raucous atmosphere. This time was different. Chakor's growing affection beyond their professional arrangement had put her on edge. His schemes which seemed to involve poor Sidge and then those vicious lies about their friendship was all too much.
"Will you be recovered in time for the return of the pilgrims?" she asked as Chakor rubbed his temples.
"Always," said Chakor. He opened his bloodshot eyes, and a smirk crawled across his face. "I need to make sure my new Cloud Born returns to the Stormblade Temple safely."
"I asked you to help Sidge, not make him a pawn in your little games." She surprised herself at the ferocity behind her words. Chakor raised his eyebrows, and his grin spread further.
"Don't worry for your friend. If all goes well, he'll gain more than he ever dreamed possible."
That look again. A speck of grain in the
thief's beard.
She hadn't though she could feel worse about the harmless little Ek'kiru. First, she'd confused him and then thrust him into Chakor's machinations. She'd warned Sidge not to thank her, but her warning had regarded a bet on an already cast die.
She glared. "You'd better explain yourself."
He lit up, bronze eyes flashing in their bloodshot settings. "You've been avoiding the festivities too much. Rumors abound."
"I've had my fill of rumors," she groused and picked a slice of melon from her plate.
"Then what have you heard of the Stormblade?"
The piece of melon was bitter, cut too close to the rind. She chewed carefully and thought back about her experience with the acolyte and his master while Chakor continued to wait gleefully for an answer.
A driven rebel without the sanctimonious zeal which normally accompanied such types, she liked Izhar the minute she met him in Cerudell. He'd paid for her time—a Cloud Born! She'd have turned down any other offer, but she couldn't resist. Besides, he'd simply bought information. He wanted to ask what she knew of trolls. Somewhere he'd heard Spider was acquainted with their ways, and he sought new means to deepen his meditation.
Of course, the Cloud Born's reckless pursuit of the Wisdom nearly got them killed. Sidge, who'd constantly made excuses for his Master's eccentricities, had wrestled with certain death as Izhar brought down Vasheru's power with alarming intensity. Chuman had intercepted it or redirected it somehow, his bones showing through his flesh as he held it unchecked in the tower of light. Gods, she'd almost forgotten about him.
Chakor watched, his fingers drumming on the table.
She didn't know much about the Stormblade or the temple. She'd always meant to travel there. When Izhar had called down Vasheru's power, she'd had to ask Sidge about the Wisdom. Only the Stormblade channeled the Wisdom, he'd said. Her eyes widened. Chakor clapped his hands with glee.
"They need a replacement for the Stormblade!" With each word, Chakor nodded. He waved his hands for her to continue. "Sidge?" she sputtered.