by Don McQuinn
She was aware of him, after all. Nuzzling her hair. Pressing against her. It wasn’t too late to be firm, push him away, insist they talk out this problem.
Not that he didn’t confide in her, ask her advice. He did. Trusted her.
They really did have too little time to simply enjoy…
That was a dangerous word. Appreciate. Not enough time to appreciate each other.
Enjoy was better. It really was. A person might as well be honest. And he was so handsome. Strong. Strong? How did his hands get there, with her holding his wrists so tightly?
She pulled her head away, where her face had inexplicably found its way to his shoulder. She looked up at him. “You’re sure the door’s barred?”
He grinned. Winked. “First thing I did when I came in.”
She knew she should be angry again. He was lifting her, going up the steps out of the soak. She wrapped her arms around his neck, but feigned a pout as a matter of form. “You really have become deceitful.”
His grin broadened. “So exactly like a man.”
* * *
The following morning, Leclerc scribbled furiously, bent over Bernhardt’s table. His writing utensil was a quill. The surface he busily covered with rough sketches was hide. He grumbled to Bernhardt as he worked. “I hate working on leather with this miserable charcoal-and-water stuff. I’d sell my soul for a pad of paper and a ballpoint pen.”
Patting his back, smiling sympathetically, Bernhardt chided, “Watch your language, Louis. People here would see that soul freed of earthly concerns for just that sort of talk.”
“I know.” Angry resignation burdened the words. Mercurially, Leclerc brightened. He straightened, jabbed at the picture with the quill pen. “That’s got it. Yes, that’ll work. It’s the way I remember it. Sinew’s wrapped around these shafts, and that’s what pulls the crossarm back, see? It’ll take a winch to do it, of course, but that’s easy. It’s the release that’s going to be a problem.”
Another voice intruded. “What’s got you two so intrigued?” Followed by Sue Anspach, Janet Carter forged into Bernhardt’s small cell in the Iris Abbey. The presence of four adults in the space effectively cut off cross-ventilation between the slit of a window and the doorway built into the stone walls. Furniture was meager and rough; a narrow bed, a table barely large enough to hold its washbasin, pitcher, and Leclerc’s work. There was a solitary chair. A box under the bed was the sole point of storage. A tall candelabra, its three tapers unlit, sat on the floor in a corner. Directly behind it, impossibly anachronistic, Bernhardt’s wipe hung from a wooden peg.
In their black Church robes, the new arrivals seemed to absorb the limited light. Bernhardt said, “Conway told Louis about Moonpriest using an oversized bow to shoot arrows. Louis says the best catapults were different. He’s going to build some.”
Carter addressed Leclerc’s bent back. “I thought you were showing people how to build arches. Better roads. Aqueducts. Conway and Tate make war; let them work on this catapult thing.”
“Believe me, I’d rather not design weapons, but none of us pursues any goals if Gan’s overthrown. You remember the Harvester? Picture what she’d do to your little Chosens who’ve learned to read and write.”
Anspach spoke up. “All Janet meant was that you’re too good a man to be wasting your time. There’s so much this world needs. You could provide it.”
“Thanks, Sue. I can help; I know that. This is important, though. Come spring, the whole world’s going to drop on us.”
Carter refused to be persuaded. “Bigger and better weapons will make a difference? What about negotiation? Logic and self-interest?”
Pivoting slowly, Leclerc abandoned his sketches. “It takes two. Gan already sent Messengers to Windband and the Skan asking for conference. Nothing will come of it. Look at Church’s own Violet Abbess, right here in Ola. She hates Gan. He’s doing more for Church and the Chosens than anyone in history, and half of Church hates his guts.”
Anspach interceded. “We just hate to see you doing this.”
“I don’t.” There was a diffident, embarrassed look on Bernhardt’s face, overlaid by determination. “Louis is doing what he has to do so we can all do more of what we want to do.” She spoke with her gaze studiously fixed on the other women. Still, she edged closer to him.
Thanking Bernhardt with a glance, Leclerc said, “There’s almost no tradition of arbitration in any of these cultures; not as we understand it. Discussion, if there is any, comes after the fight, not before.”
“We’re going to change that.” Normally the least outspoken of the trio, Anspach stuck out her chin. “The Chosens of the Iris Abbey are growing up educated. When they leave here as missionaries of Church, they’ll be more than Healers and War Healers. They’ll carry learning with them.”
Leclerc said, “Gan insists his officers all learn reading and writing.”
“Not a completely happy situation,” Carter said, her face darkening. “We’ve seen the power elite in every tribe we’ve contacted. It frightens me to think of weaponry and education consolidated in the hands of a few. That’s a recipe for caste.”
“Of course.” Leclerc was conciliatory. “We’re the ones who have to take the responsibility of assuring fairness. Sweetness and light won’t do it. Leadership and sheer strength are the only safe bet.”
A Chosen, demure in her miniature version of Church robes, appeared at the door. “Murdat’s wife comes,” the little girl said, all wide-eyed solemnity. “She brings the Jaleeta one.”
Bernhardt thanked the child and sent her back to the abbey. The foursome elected to meet their guests outside, where the weather was fine. After getting acquainted, the group strolled to the abbey herb garden, with Jaleeta exclaiming at every step at some new wonder. “Everyone says how grand Ola is, but it’s more. No one ever saw walls so high and thick. And the size of these gardens. So many flowers.”
“What about the Skan village?” Carter asked. “How do they live?”
Jaleeta’s eyes darted at her questioner, the features momentarily hard and wary. “Cruel people. They say other people live to serve the Skan.” While the others walked the garden paths in silence, Jaleeta told of her capture. On describing the torture inflicted on herself and her mother at the Skan village, she wept.
Everyone gathered around immediately, sympathizing, assuring her there was no need to continue her tale. Jaleeta insisted. “How else can you understand why I even pretended to agree to betray my people, to spy on the one man who can help me and my poor mother? You must know what they’re like. They worship an octopus they call Sosolassa, a religion of fear and terrible magic. The spirit woman, Tears of Jade, is old, old, old. And ugly. She never knew love, and hates anyone who does.” Suddenly, Jaleeta reached for the closest arm, that of Leclerc. “Please, all of you, my new friends; I trust you. I know you’ll protect me, and I’d give my life for you. Never let her have me again. Kill me, first. I’ll kiss the hand that strikes, I swear.”
“No more of that.” Neela swept to Jaleeta, pushing Leclerc aside. “We have our own magic. We have Louis Leclerc. He has more secrets than there are stars in the sky. These women know the way of reading and writing. Conway and Tate are great warriors. Our Church friend, Sylah, is the very Flower promised to us for generations.” Neela held Jaleeta at arm’s length, smilingly confident. She tossed her head, and sunlight glowed hot on the golden sway of waist-long hair. Something beyond Jaleeta caught Neela’s eye. “And we have leaders like that.”
Jaleeta and the others turned. Neela waved, beckoning for Emso and Wal to join them.
“The scowling one is Emso,” Neela explained. “The black-bearded bear is a For, one of your own people.”
With a scream of delight, Jaleeta broke away from Neela, raced to embrace Wal, reaching as far around him as she could. Wal froze, stunned. Emso howled laughter. Finally, laughing and crying, Jaleeta turned her face up to Wal. Barely coherent she said, “Wal Stonebeach. Sea raider, trader.
I’m Jaleeta, daughter to Narom Sailman. Don’t you remember me?”
“You’re dead.” Wal’s eyes, already huge with shock, bulged even farther. “The spring renewal… The Skan…”
“I escaped. They captured me, gave me to Tears of Jade. I escaped.” In broken phrases she summarized her story. The tears finally stopped, leaving only the smile. At her story’s end, Wal whirled her in a mad dance. Her hood flew off, releasing a cascade of hair, black and hard-shining as a raven’s beak. “Look at you!” It was an exultation. “You were a skinny little wave-racer, eyes too big for your head, all giggles and wiggles. No one would know you. And you live.”
The excitement bled away from Wal’s voice. He saddened. Interpreting his look Jaleeta said, “Only me, Wal. And my mother. Tears of Jade holds her to assure I don’t betray her.”
Wal nodded, grim. “We’ll protect you. When we crush the Skan, we’ll save your mother, too.”
“No one can make that promise.” Jaleeta put her hands on his arms. She pushed herself free of his grip. “They may kill her any day. The Skan don’t even need a reason to kill. I’ve seen. Make no promise. Except revenge. I ask that.”
“You’ll have it.”
Carter interrupted. “Jaleeta. There’s another man here you have to meet. Emso. He’s been with Gan from the very first. Emso’s the only man besides Gan who’s commanded the forces of the Three Territories.”
Emso colored. A smile sat uncomfortably in place of his normal dour look. He nodded politely. “What Wal told you is true. You’ll be protected here.”
“The Skan will come. In the spring. I’m not supposed to know.”
Emso’s eyes flicked toward Wal, then back. “We’re preparing for them.”
“They know the sea. They have many, many sharkers, warriors. They expect the River People to help them.”
This time Emso’s look at Wal was much longer, more meaningful. The black-bearded For moved closer. Emso asked, “What do you know of the River People?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft. Narrowed eyes betrayed concern.
Jaleeta stepped back nervously. “Tears of Jade has an adopted son, Lorso. He’s Slavetaker. That’s like a war chief. She sent him to the Mother River to talk to the River People and Windband.”
Wal said, “You told Murdat?”
Jaleeta appealed to Neela. “No one asked me anything except about myself. Did I say something wrong? Why is everyone angry with me?”
“No one’s angry.” Leclerc came forward, frowning disapproval at Emso and Wal. “You’re telling us things we didn’t know. It’s not good news.” Seeing the alarm flash across Jaleeta’s features, Leclerc hastily added, “It’s very important news, though. We have to tell Gan. All of it.”
“Will you be there?” At his nod, she turned before he could speak, pointed at Emso. “And you? Janet Carter said he trusts both of you, and he doesn’t know me.”
Emso answered, “Of all the people in the Three Territories, you’re the one with the least reason to lie to us about the Skan.”
“Thank you. And thank you, Neela, for bringing me to your friends. I felt safe before I met all of you. Now I feel I can even fight back, if only in my woman’s way.”
The three women in Church black watched the others hurry toward the castle. Bernhardt turned to walk to the abbey, halting at the sound of Carter’s thoughtful musing. “That’s a very complex, shrewd article. Did you see the way she broke all three of those men to harness? I’ve seen some feminine wiles in my time, but that was rock-solid Eve-at-her-best stuff.”
“Oh-h-h.” Bernhardt drew the syllable out into a descending note of disdain. “She’s young and pretty and frightened. No man can resist that.”
Carter turned to face her. Taking Bernhardt’s elbow, she pushed her gently toward the abbey. “Two out of three won’t do it. She’s not frightened.”
Anspach disagreed. “Sure she was. I saw it.”
“We saw something. Like, when Louis mentioned talking to Gan, she was all right until he said to tell Gan ‘all of it.’ I’ll swear she winced. Maybe not winced, exactly, but something happened. It was quick. A twitch. But I saw something.”
“Nuts,” Anspach said. “Kate’s right. The girl’s scared. It’s that simple.”
Carter refused to give ground. “Wrong, wrong. Not scared; not the way any of us would be. And I’ll tell you something else: If you believe our dark charmer is a mere child and not a sexually sophisticated young woman, you better spend a few hours out in the meadow observing the birds and the bees. Trust me on this.”
Kate Bernhardt was amusedly sarcastic. “So when did you become the expert on lost innocence?”
Drawing herself erect, the wiry Carter strutted. “You’re looking at a woman whose own perfection has driven several men into the consoling arms of women exactly like Jaleeta.” Carter spun, flaring her robe, arms outstretched. “Presenting Janet Carter, new to this world, but nevertheless the authority on the timeless principles of how to screw up a romance. I know a succubus when I see one. If that bimbo has her way, we’re all doomed to eternal spinsterhood.”
Anspach and Bernhardt fell on her with mock blows. Grabbing her arms, they hustled her along between them. Bernhardt carefully avoided eye contact with her friends.
* * *
Jaleeta stood in the center of her room, hands clasped at her waist. The angle of her bowed head precluded her looking at anything higher than the maid’s waist. Even so, the other young woman’s patronizing voice underscored the scornful expression Jaleeta couldn’t see. “Neela said you should be given this room for permanent quarters. When Altanar was king—when I first came to service in the castle—all this was servants’ quarters.” Jaleeta saw the woman’s floor-length skirt hitch, and knew she’d made some large hand gesture. Tempted to look up and discover exactly what “all this” signified, Jaleeta forced herself to maintain her mouselike humility. The maid went on. “Some day the rooms’ll be much nicer. For important guests.”
The carelessness of the insults irritated Jaleeta. The woman knew her charge was under Neela’s personal care, and still she hadn’t the wit to watch her words. It was very disappointing. The maid was too stupid to be a source for all but the most insignificant gossip. A two-edged proposition, at best. Tears of Jade insisted that anyone who carried tales in one direction invariably carried them in the other. Jaleeta wasn’t certain that was true, but Tears of Jade had been right about everything else.
The maid described the room, tone clearly implying that Jaleeta needed help in appreciating such luxuries as a down-filled mattress and a pieced-glass window that actually opened on hinges to provide ventilation. The woman completed her circuit at the single door. Head still down, Jaleeta asked, “Where’s the locking bar?”
“When Altanar was king, the only rooms with bars were his. No one needed protection. We had the protectors, then. All dressed in white. Everyone was afraid of them, but we slept easy. No one went creeping around at night when the protectors were on guard.”
“Is the castle dangerous now? People creep around?”
“I never said that. I was just saying how things used to be.” Fear rippled through the words. Jaleeta murmured understanding and apology. She amended her earlier evaluation of the maid. There was resentment in her. Was it isolated? Reinforced?
As soon as the door was closed behind the departing servant, Jaleeta flung back her hood and raced around the room. Touching the polished wood of the two chairs and table by the window, she made low, sensual sounds of pleasure. She examined the ceramic pitcher and washbasin, the copper-decorated wooden clothes cabinet. A tall candelabra made her smile, thinking of such a wealth of candles instead of a stinking fish oil lamp. Flinging open the window, she exulted in the dizzying two-story drop to the cropped lawn and neat gardens. A westerly breeze stirred late summer’s heat. The air came laden with alien scents: hot stone and mortar that made her nose wrinkle; many horses; turned earth, and the sultry aroma of sun-washed flowers. Over eve
rything, though, familiar and insistent, was the sea. Jaleeta leaned across the deep windowsill and inhaled luxuriantly.
The knock on the door startled her. Whirling, she faced the sound.
The knock came again, followed by an imperious, “Jaleeta. The escaped For girl. You’re in there; I heard you.”
Jaleeta took a deep breath. Raising her hood, resuming her subdued manner, she opened the door.
The Violet Abbess waited, arms folded, hands hidden within voluminous sleeves. Bright green and violet trim enlivened the sleeves and lower hem of her black robe. The hood, thrown back, carried identical decoration; deep within the hood, invisible unless intentionally exposed, was a gleaming green lining. Sweeping in, the Abbess literally knocked Jaleeta aside. From the center of the room, her back to Jaleeta, the older woman said, “I am the Violet Abbess. You were captured by unbelievers. Tortured. Lived with a spirit woman. Are you still loyal to Church? Tell me the truth. Lie, and you’ll be cast out. Confess your sins freely and your punishment will be lightened accordingly.”
“Please, Abbess.” Jaleeta appealed to the Abbess’ back. “I refused their god. They couldn’t make me worship. I am loyal.”
“Ah!” The Abbess whirled, stepped away in order to extend an arm and an accusing finger. “Loyal to whom? Even the Skan know Church is split, fully half our sisters in open rebellion. Whom do you support?”
Eyes downcast, Jaleeta pondered. This woman was power. Authority. Jaleeta had survived that once. She snatched at the Abbess’ hand, clasped it to her forehead, and dropped to her knees. The unexpected move pulled the Abbess off balance. Jaleeta wailed, “She beat me! They hurt my mother, and made me watch! She said she’d give my mother to the Deep Calm. But I never worshipped, Abbess. Never. I swear.”
The Abbess reclaimed her hand. Shrewd eyes examined Jaleeta’s face. Their intensity frightened the younger woman, made her feel the very pores of her flesh might betray her. Tears came easily.