Moontide 02 - The Scarlet Tides
Page 8
That night, though, the wagon turned off the main road some time before dusk and rolled along a dirt track away from the tide of people flowing east. As they wound their way up a slope, her eyes pierced the deepening shadow and she saw a gleam of smooth white stone higher up the rise.
Once through the single gate in a low dun-coloured wall guarded by a whole squad of soldiers, the road became steeper, but it was now paved, and lined with sturdy trees. Water that would have saved scores of lives on the road was being poured about the roots of the trees and over the manicured lawns by bent old men with shoulder harnesses for the buckets. The soldiers looked plump and self-satisfied.
Hamid was on the roof with the driver, but he dropped to the foot-step outside the carriage door and pushed the curtains aside. ‘Tonight, we dwell in paradise,’ he declared cheerily. ‘Hot spicy meats and gravies. White man’s beer. Real beds. Young maids with juicy yonis.’ He was almost dancing with delight as he clung to the side of the carriage. It was the most he’d said to either woman the whole journey. He leapt to the paved road and trotted alongside, grinning broadly.
The carriage rolled into a courtyard flanked by white marble pillars and pink sandstone walls. There were people everywhere, guards and servants, milling about in apparent chaos. Ramita stared, taking in the Keshi patterns of the men’s chequered head-scarves as well as the heavy black bekira-shrouds the women wore. None of the women looked to be of rank; they scuttled about with straw brooms, their backs permanently bent by their labours. Amidst them, the men, servants and soldiers alike, strode straight and tall.
The carriage made one last turn and they lurched to a halt, the horses neighing irritably. She glimpsed a welcoming group, a cluster of brightly coloured figures on the steps, and looked down at herself. Her sweat-soaked bodice was sticking to her breasts and droplets were running down to her distended belly and pooling in her navel. Even when she was a market-girl in Baranasi she would not have let herself be seen like this. She hastily pulled her bekira-shroud over her head. Arda, who always wore one despite the heat, covered her nose and mouth with her scarf and raised the cowl. Ramita followed suit, for once grateful for the all-enveloping garment.
The doors opened, and hands reached in to offer aid. Arda pushed ahead peremptorily and Ramita caught her thought: The whore does not precede me. She smiled to herself. She’d heard Arda’s thoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken aloud. Her self-taught fumblings with the gnosis had not been in vain. Newly hatched birds eventually learn to fly, she told herself. But when she left the carriage, blinking in the light, her legs wobbly for disuse, she saw who awaited her and shut her mind down completely, as her husband had taught her.
‘Hello, Ramita,’ Alyssa Dulayne purred. ‘Welcome to the Haveli Khayyam.’
Ramita’s fright at seeing the woman did not prevent her from noting the name: Haveli Khayyam.
Alyssa Dulayne’s honey-coloured hair tumbled about her bare shoulders, a shocking display in this setting – but pure-blood jadugara always did what they liked. She wore a Rondian gown with a deep cleavage, showing her pale skin in flagrant disregard to the rules of the Keshi Amteh. Once Ramita had thought Alyssa a friend, but she knew better now.
Behind her were two others, probably also magi. The paler-than-normal Keshi men with lordly demeanours had gems at their throats. One was middle-aged, with a worldly air; the other was bright-eyed and puppyish. Ramita thought she recognised them from her one foray into Ordo Costruo society. The rest were Keshi nobles and their soldiers.
Alyssa stepped forwards and stroked Ramita’s cheek as if she were a child. ‘How was your journey, my dear? You look dreadful.’ She spoke in Rondian. Her voice was smooth and playful.
Ramita jerked away. ‘I am a prisoner, and have been treated as one.’
‘A guest, my girl – a very special guest. The unborn are well?’
Ramita’s hands went to her belly reflexively. ‘They are well.’
‘But no manifestation?’ Alyssa enquired, reaching out, her periapt suddenly pulsing beneath her chin, lighting her skin with a flickering blue-green glow.
Ramita felt as if the air about her had turned solid, as if she were frozen in glass, held immobile effortlessly. Alyssa herself was unimpeded. Her fingers caressed Ramita’s brow, and she winced a little at the sweat.
Ramita refused to rise to the bait. She let her mental mask speak for her, a narrow emotion-palette of loneliness, resentment and fear. It wasn’t hard – even a non-mage could do it, and she’d learnt from Antonin Meiros himself. She smiled inwardly as Alyssa lost interest. Another little victory.
‘Poor girl,’ the jadugara said. ‘Life is so uncertain for you. But fear not. You will rest here a time, until you’re ready to push on. I myself will take you to Halli’kut.’ She smiled smugly. ‘The journey will be much faster, and much more comfortable.’
They took her inside, to a room on the ground floor with barred windows. There was a wide bed, many pillows, a smooth tiled floor, cut flowers and pretty linen. And a bath. A bath!
Arda came in with her, directing a pair of maids with peremptory gestures and monosyllabic commands to fill the bath, bring in Ramita’s few bags, lay out fresh clothes. Ramita sank onto the mattress, which was harder than she wanted but still a thousand times better than the carriage bench. Her whole body ached and her bones felt like they were still vibrating to the movement of the carriage. The smell of her own body when she removed the bekira-shroud was pungent and unpleasant, but at least the bath was filling fast.
Mercifully, they let her wash alone. She sank into lukewarm water, rose-scented and clean, glorying in the luxuriant touch of it. There were jasmine and lavender soaps and rich argan oil to moisturise the skin afterwards: luxuries she’d never known in Baranasi but had become accustomed to at Casa Meiros. She wondered if her mother now bathed like this every day. Were her younger brothers and sisters growing like pampered princes now? Had Jai returned to them? Were they all safe? How would they cope when the money stopped, now that her husband was dead? Had anyone even sent them word? She so seldom thought of her family these days, for their world was so far removed from hers, but just now she longed to see them.
With the gnosis, perhaps I could do it? But her native caution reasserted itself and she put the idea aside. She could not risk it, not with Alyssa so near. She knew so little. She had no training, only instinct to guide her, and that instinct was saying ‘no’. She sighed unhappily and returned to cleansing herself.
Her breasts were growing larger, her nipples more prominent, and her belly was stretching all the time. She was carrying twins, and would become big quickly, the way her own mother always had. For generation after generation, her mother’s line had begat twins and triplets, with never a singular birth – they spent half their lives waddling about like ducks.
She emptied a small phial of oil into the water, then arched backwards and immersed her whole body to let the oil soak into her skin. Then she closed her eyes and tried to think.
She had maybe three or four days here, in this place that was far from Hebusalim, but not so far as Halli’kut. It might be her last chance.
And if Alyssa detects what I’m doing, so what? They’ll learn the truth soon enough anyway.
She closed her eyes and pretended she was looking out the carriage window at a specific woman, picturing the face she needed, remembering the brittle nature of its owner, the sharp voice and piercing eyes. She started on as narrow a focus as she could and called softly to the only
person left she knew she could trust.
It took time, but not as long as she’d feared. The water had cooled (though it felt no less glorious for that) and her fingertips were puckering from over-immersion when she finally made the connection.
Ramita daren’t call louder.
Justina instantly knew what she meant.
Ramita choked back sudden tears. This was not her first attempt to call the daughter of her late husband, and she’d began to fear she’d never manage it.
Justina’s voice was somewhat stunned.
Justina’s mind immediately refocused. The chill of her mental touch was forbidding.
Abruptly, she was gone from Ramita’s mind. Ramita lay back in the water, panting slightly. Her belly trembled with the sudden movement, a slithering inside she didn’t at first comprehend, and then she realised her children had moved inside her. She gave a small cry, and clutched her belly tight. I’ll protect you, little ones. I will save you. Just hold on …
*
All next day Ramita lay abed, frightened to draw attention to herself. She worried that Alyssa might unmask the gnosis inside her, or read her mind and realise that Justina was coming, but the Rondian jadugara never came near her. She heard her once, her laughter carrying down from an upstairs balcony; the flirtatious laugh was answered by a huskier male voice. That woman is a slut, she thought to herself. The lowliest Untouchable has more self-respect. The vindictive thought made her feel better.
Inside her, the unborn babies squirmed, a sensation that was both alarming and comforting. Godsingers could be heard in the distance, calling the Amteh faithful to prayer, but as she lay forgotten in her bed, she was content. Justina Meiros was coming and nothing else mattered.
They let her eat in bed, and finally Alyssa visited, at dusk. Ramita had started coughing, laying the groundwork for feigning illness if required, though if Alyssa had the healing-gnosis that would be risky. She wished she knew more of the gnosis, and that she’d tried harder to get to know Justina, though Antonin Meiros’ daughter had been aloof and unfriendly. But Alyssa barely looked at her.
The next day dragged past, as featureless as the last, and Ramita alternately prayed to Parvasi for strength and wept in memory of her husband, only three weeks dead. She longed to reach out again to Justina, for reassurance, but she dared not. The only people she saw were Arda and the maids, when they came to clean her room.
She was fading towards sleep, well after the third night-bell, when Hamid swaggered in, posturing like a street tough. ‘What do you want?’ she asked him warily.
‘I’m just locking down the wards,’ he told her, whatever that meant. ‘You were asleep the last two nights and missed it.’
Go away … she said groggily, only then realising that she’d not spoken aloud but with her mind. She froze, praying he’d felt nothing, but no such luck.
The young man stared at her curiously, his eyes coming alive. ‘Did you do that?’
‘Do what?’ she answered, feigning ignorance.
He leant towards her. ‘I’m sure I—’
She felt his quicksilver, ferreting mind inside her, an invasion she cringed from, then he squealed in triumph. ‘You have it! You have the gnosis!’ He stood, his eyes filled with greedy wonder. ‘Lady Alyssa said this could happen. This is glorious, lady. You are blessed with a child of Meiros, a new magus to serve Ahm!’ He bent and kissed her swollen stomach, to her utter revulsion. ‘Ahm be praised! This is glorious news!’ And I am the one who will deliver it, she heard him think.
‘Please, I—’
Hamid seized her hand. ‘We must give thanks to Ahm! A child of Meiros! And you, you are now one of us! A magus, another magus to serve the Hadishah – do you understand, lady? You are one of the magi now! Oh, this is a night of miracles!’ He prayed fervently over her while she watched him with fear and bemusement. He reminded her a little of Kazim, boyish and excitable. But dread of Alyssa sent her into desperation.
I can’t just lie here. I have to do something! If she had a weapon she would have used it, but he was a warrior. How could she best him? She cast about, and her eyes fell on the heaviest thing in reach.
I have to try …
She clutched at her belly. ‘Please, Hamid, help me get up. It isn’t right to just lie here to receive guests. Especially at this moment.’
She saw his mind flurry, desperation to run and tell the world warring with his sense of propriety. She saw questions form in his mind: How did women receive women anyway, especially pregnant women? Should he call a maid? What was the right thing to do?
‘Hamid, please?’ She thrust a hand at him, demanding his assistance, and he reacted instinctively, helping her to her feet. She pretended to sway, then stood, feigning dizziness. ‘Thank you,’ she panted, edging closer to the thing she wanted: the chamber pot beside the bed.
He saw her reach for the heavy basin and immediately turned his back. ‘Er, I should go …’
‘Wait!’ she said quickly, which at least stopped him, though he didn’t look back, in case he saw something a young man shouldn’t. Oma bless you for your manners, she thought with a strange sort of fondness as she picked up the chamber pot. She’d used it an hour ago, so keeping it from sloshing as she raised it over her head was tricky.
‘My lady?’ he asked, half-turning his head anxiously.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and smashed the chamber pot over his head, wincing as he crashed to the ground in a spray of broken pottery and piss. He twitched, quivered and went still.
Now what do I do?
*
Alyssa Dulayne let the last of the evening light kiss her shoulders as she tossed her head lightly and laughed at Taldin’s latest tale. He was ex-Ordo Costruo, like her, a part-Keshi lady’s man with an amusing imagination. He liked to conjure illusions to embroider his tales, making them play out before the eyes of the c
ompany. And when they were alone together, his imagination and body were pleasingly versatile. She was currently viewing the world through a pleasant alcoholic glow and her body was aglow with the languid heaviness of arousal.
‘More wine, Alyssa?’ Taldin purred in her ear, his breath and beard tickling.
She giggled and thrust the glass at him. ‘Fill me,’ she replied, her voice emphasising the double meaning.
‘To the brim,’ he said, raising the bottle. Below the balcony spread the gardens, a vivid green patch on a darkening brown quilt that stretched away towards the jagged skyline of Sagostabad, the largest city in Kesh. It was home to millions and the smoke of the evening cooking fires and hearths was billowing into the sky as if the city were ablaze.
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she replied gaily. She leant against the balcony and looked out at the view, and then turned back to Taldin. The handsome quarter-blood was not just adept in illusion, but also at animism and morphing, a quicksilver blend of skills reflective of his fluid mind. He knew that this was just a temporary liaison, and she found his attitude refreshing in this world full of desperate clingers-on.
She nuzzled his face, giggling throatily, opening her lips to receive his tongue. She liked his dark skin, the attractive contrast against her pallor. They licked each other’s lips, making hot promises with their eyes. I like this one, she thought, and wondered for a brief moment what the servants were making of them.
Somewhere below, she heard a faint, vivid flaring of the gnosis: Hamid, stupid naïve Hamid, crying aloud, and as quickly silenced. She froze, instantly wary.
Taldin heard it too and wordlessly they stepped apart, shields flaring. Taldin moved towards the stairs – but no shields Taldin was capable of raising would have saved his life that night.