by Clayton, Jo;
Kell sneered and pressed harder, still supremely confident of a quick and thorough victory. His brilliant green eyes grew larger as he beat at her, slamming his force against her, tap-tap-tap, easy, at first then harder and harder until her head jerked in rhythm with it.
Leaving her defense to the Three, she slipped beneath the bludgeoning and tickled at the Vryhh’s exoskeleton hunting a weakness, searching for the power points. So intent was he on crushing her he didn’t feel her fingers closing around the cells that drove the metal skeleton. With a cry of triumph, she wrenched them loose and threw them across the room. They fell with a tiny pattering like a fistful of rice cast against stone.
He was off balance. The sudden lifeless weight of the metal dragged him back, plastered him against the chair. His hands were pinned to his meager thighs. His head was jerked back until he glared at the ceiling.
The pressure on Aleytys vanished. She heard his breathing grow harsh and ragged as his skeleton-supported lungs began to fail. Rubbing at her forehead she struggled to her feet and staggered to the bed. She dropped onto the end and rubbed the heels of her hands across her aching eyes. “Harskari?” They were gone. Loneliness was raw and new again as if the days she’d spent learning to accept her loss had never been. Alone. Without kin or kind. How can I live? she thought. She looked at the Vryhh. Monster … and kin? Is that what Vrya are like? My mother.… An intense longing to know her mother swept over her.
The rasp of Kell’s breathing drew her attention. His face was turning blue. She slid off the bed and walked over to him. His eyes were open. When she bent over him, they fixed on her with a cold determination that caused her to shiver. Avoiding that malignant stare, she began examining his clothing, twitching the heavy cloth about, looking for openings. He tried to fight her, but his strength failed and his breathing grew more labored. In seconds he was forced to let her do as she pleased with him.
She worked the clothing from his body. It shocked her and woke a pity in her she knew he would hate. His skin was dry, large pieces of it sloughing off to uncover livid bruises, great sickening patches of green, purple and ocher. He was a barely fleshed skeleton in a cage-of gray metal. She watched his decaying chest rise and fall slightly, hampered by the weight of the metal. The exoskeleton was a beautifully crafted instrument that sheltered him and kept him mobile. Now it was killing him. She fumbled at it, but there was no way she could find to take it off. Parts of it seemed to be sealed to the bone and there were elaborate neural connections.
She bent over him, staring down into that baleful green gaze. Kin to me, she thought, amused at the absurdity of her sentimentality. My luck. First relative I meet is this thing. She touched the great artery pulsing in his throat. Press on this, be a mercy almost. He threatens me. He threatens my son.
She pulled her hand away, flexing the fingers. He disgusted her. But her fingers itched with the need to heal. He was sick. He deserves to die if anyone ever did, she thought. He ought to die. I wonder if I could … Serd-Amachar. No cure. She pressed her hand to his taut midsection, on the rotten flesh the skeleton left bare.
It was the hardest, most exhausting, most painful experience she’d ever called down on herself; the agony stretched on forever in a battle longer and harder than her struggle with Kell. The disease was tenacious, clinging to the wasted cells, but at last the black water flushed the sickness away and sparked the rebuilding of the flesh.
Aleytys broke contact before this had gone on long. The exoskeleton fit too closely. Kell would have to have it removed as his tissues plumped out. She sighed. Once again her resources were depleted. She reached back to the river. It was so thin and mistlike that her healing was slow and uncertain. She let herself down until she was sitting beside the pneumochair. She’d called on it more during the past minutes. Minutes? She rubbed at her aching back. Minutes. The whole battle. Five minutes? Certainly not more than ten. My god, she thought.
She heard the pounding of feet and jumped up, backing away from the naked Vryhh, then relaxing as Grey plunged through the door.
He stopped when he saw her. “You all right?” He moved to stand over the Vryhh. “Playing games?”
Aleytys walked to the bed and scooped up the dress from the floor beside it. “Dirty mind, shame-shame, Grey.” She giggled. “Look at him. You think I would?” She slipped the green velvet over her head, kicking away the jewels, then smoothed her hands down over the velvet to settle the dress in place. She crossed to Grey. “What’s happening out there?”
Grey jerked a thumb at the Vryhh. “What about him?”
She grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ve defused him; he’s pinned in that chair by the weight of the metal.”
Kell turned his head slowly and focused on her. “Run, half-ling,” he whispered. “Twist and turn, struggle as you will, animal, you’re mine. I know you now. I know you.”
She shivered and pulled Grey toward the door. “We can pick him up later. Where are Manoreh and Faiseh?”
Chapter XV
Kitosime sat against the railing of the roof walk. The four boys knelt beside her where they could reach out and touch her, draining off some of their nervous excitement. The long spell in the shrine had worn them now. It wasn’t an easy place to stay, especially at night.
Liado pressed his face to the uprights of the fence, staring out over the plain. The Fa-men had stayed the night, forcing the boys to remain in hiding. Kitosime had slipped them some food and a pot of cha in the middle of the night and stayed a little while to comfort them. She’d sat in the uneasy darkness, hugging and stroking them until they’d calmed enough to sleep. All but Liado. He’d tried. She had to leave him curled up in a miserable lump against the wall as if the solidity of the wood gave him some assurance.
When she’d let them out after the Fa-men had ridden off, he’d flown out of the darkness, his small body nearly knocking her off her feet. He clutched at her, shaking so hard he couldn’t stand. He made no sound, just held on. Now he clung to the uprights, still shivering occasionally.
Fa-kichwa Gakpeh had stopped her in the kitchen, grabbing her arm. “We hunt the wildings today. Don’t worry, lady. We will be back at nightfall to protect you.”
Kitosime stood very still. She inclined her head, heavy eyelids falling over eyes that might have betrayed her horror.
With reluctance he let go her arm, then he wheeled and marched out with an absurd pomposity that should have been ridiculous but was not.
Now Liado was watching for them, his small body knotted with tension.
Cheo scratched at the side of his hand. “Kichwa bother you,” he said suddenly.
Kitosime looked at him, startled. “How.…”
“When you speak of him.…” Cheo sought words then shrugged and projected DISGUST/HORROR/FEAR. He touched Amea’s thigh and the bigger boy nodded.
“We help?” Amea said slowly. Words were very difficult for him still. He understood more and more but spoke little.
“No,” she said firmly. “You help me most when I don’t have to worry about you.”
Cheo frowned. “I think we kill him quick before he hurt you.” Amea growled, an angry sound deep in his throat.
Kitosime reached out a hand to each. “No, no, my little ones, no, Toto-angi. Not until we have to. I know. I know. Yes he threatens me, us, all of us. But he’s too dangerous. They all are. Promise me you’ll tell me before you do anything. Promise me!” She bent forward earnestly. “Promise me!”
Before they could answer, Liado whimpered, patting at her shoulder to get her attention. She swung around. Cheo, Amea, and Wame scooted forward until they could see also.
The Fa-men were riding down the red dirt road outside the emwilea hedge, heading back for the house. They rode slowly because of the string of wilding children that trotted among them, a rope looped about their necks, tying them from the Fa-kichwa’s faras to the Fireman’s mount. Second and Sniffer rode beside them, looking down repeatedly at their catch.
Kitosime c
ould read their satisfaction even at that distance. “Meme Kalamah,” she whispered. “A burning.”
The boys pressed against her. She closed one hand about the eyestones and closed the other about the railing, trying to fight off the stifling outflow of terror and rage. “Help me,” she said softly. Amea gulped. He closed his eyes and struggled back from the edge of blindrage, carrying Wame and Cheo with him into a measure of calm. Kitosime flashed PRIDE at him and turned back to watching the Fa-men coming closer and closer. Cheo leaned past her shoulder. “We let them loose,” he whispered into her ear.
Kitosime nodded. “Tonight,” she said quietly. “They light the Fa-fire at dawn and keep watch by turns during the night, except for Fireman who lays the fire and dedicates it to Fa. At least, that’s what I’ve picked up, listening to Kobe talk.” She closed her eyes and swallowed her sudden flare of old anger. Forgotten. Kneeling blank-faced beside the Old Man as he chatted with furred and scarred visitors. Hearing … hearing.… She rose unsteadily to her feet. “I’ve got to get downstairs before they come in. Amea, take care of the others. Here.” She handed him the key. “You can lock the door from inside. Please do lock it. They could come up here any time.”
The boy took the key reluctantly, but he nodded. “I do,” he said. “I can unlock and come out after dark?”
“Be careful, little ones.” She touched each upturned face then ran for the stairs.
When the Fa-kichwa found her she was sitting in the women’s rooms working on a piece of embroidery. Hodarzu was playing quietly across the room with S’kiliza, and Mara was sitting at her knees. He stood in the doorway and beckoned to her. Kitosime silently laid her embroidery aside and walked across the room to him. He drew her into the hallway. “We burn a fire at dawn. You will come?”
She lowered her eyes. “I should not, Fa-kichwa. I am woman.”
“Lady, Kobe would approve it. You are his blood. You will come.” His hands stroked her arms, sweaty and shaking, pulling her closer and closer to him until she was pressed against his body. He was trembling, febrile with excitement. She could feel his arousal and stood very still, caught in a paralysis of horror. He was panting, his breath hot on her face. Then he pushed her away. “Be there,” he said hoarsely, then wheeled and strode off toward the front of the house.
Kitosime staggered to the door and stood with her forehead pressed against the wood. Her stomach churned. No more delay. He was going to make her eat wilding flesh, then he would.… She closed her fingers around the eyestones and tried to laugh. But the sound frightened her with its unsteady shrillness. She pressed her back against the door until her snaking stopped.
When she stepped inside the room again, Mara sat staring at her. S’kiliza was smothering Hodarzu’s disturbed cries against her meager breast. Kitosime projected a calm determination that brought startled reactions from all three. Hodarzu stopped crying, wriggled from S’kiliza and trotted over to her. She scooped him up and carried him to her chair. S’kiliza came to sit beside. Mara and both girls stared up at her.
“The boys and I,” she began, then stopped as protests came from both girls. She laughed, relaxed, low and easy. She touched Mara’s cheek. “I learn slowly, don’t I. Very well. All of us, we’ll have to … to kill the Fa-men. Tonight.” She closed her eyes. “We’ll stay in my room until time. The door bars. Skik, would you stay with.…” She felt the girl’s emphatic negation and smiled. “I didn’t think so. We’ll leave Hodarzu there, though. He’s too little to understand and might make noise.” She was tired. After the tension and terror in the hall, she felt weak and boneless. At the moment she wondered if she could even stand. “In a little while,” she murmured. “In a little while.”
Kitosime knelt by the railings, straining past the cistern to see the field dimly visible behind the barn. The Umgovi cluster was up again, its deceptive silver light giving the illusion of great clarity. Shadowy figures moved about a growing heap in the field. Two, she thought. But she couldn’t be sure. Fireman of course, he had to build the fire. The other? Or others?
“How many do you see?” she whispered to Cheo.
“Two.” He pressed his face against the railing. “One make fire. One jump around like he crazy.”
Some kind of rite, she thought. The others must be in the barn with the children. Fa-kichwa and Sniffer. She shivered. Has to be them, places they wouldn’t give up, tormenting the children. Small hands stroked her shoulders, her children projected COMFORT. She sighed. “The rest of you, do you see only two?” When they nodded, she said, “I too. But I had to be sure.” She frowned at the shadows, feeling a great uncertainty and a greater need. “We have no weapons.”
In the darkness beside her Amea hissed, then said, “Kitchen have knife, mama ’Tosime. We get one of the Fa-beasts alone, we cut him throat.” The longest speech he’d made since he’d come. Kitosime could feel the effort behind it.
“He’s a man. Strong.”
“He one man,” Cheo said fiercely. “We six and you. He hurt us, so be. But we get him dead. Dead!”
“I know so little.” Kitosime rubbed her aching eyes. “Just that we don’t dare fail.” She felt their agreement and determination. “One at a time,” she whispered.
The night was suddenly lighter. Kitosime scurried on her hands and knees along the roofwalk to the eastern side. The glow was fading but whiteness like a ghost veil hung over the peaks. She watched until the children’s impatience brought her back to herself.
“What that?” Wame wriggled beside her and stared at the remnants of the glow.
“I think it means Haribu is dead. Manoreh and the Hunters have finished their job. I wish he was here.”
“He?”
She smiled at the jealousy obvious in the children’s reaction. “Manoreh. My husband. He’s a Ranger.”
“Don’t need him, you got us.” Wame took hold of her wrist and shook her arm, radiating a deep and bitter jealousy. Kitosime looked at the others and sensed the same thing in them. “My dears.…” She turned helplessly from one to the other. “Oh, Meme Kalamah, there isn’t time.” She crawled through the children to the stairs, keeping below the railing so her silhouette wouldn’t show to the men in the field. “Come,” she said softly. “We can talk about this later. Now we have to deal with the Fa-men.” She went down the stairs, straightening up until she was once more walking erect. The children followed silently behind.
Kitosime slipped into the barn and stood watching the Fa-men in the great hay storage vault. Sniffer was prancing about the huddled wilding children, jabbing at them with the assegai, his shrill, unlovely voice raised in a wailing chant. Fa-kichwa sat a little apart, a small drum resting on his crossed legs. He was beating out the chant rhythm. In the feeble lamplight she could see that several children were bleeding and all of them were numb with terror, glassy-eyed, slack mouthed, slumped over. She closed her eyes, closed her hands into fists, summoned her courage. Then she arranged her features into her doll mask and stepped gracefully into the light. She moved in a gentle, swaying walk to stand in front of the Fa-Mchwa, one hand stretched out to him. “I have come,” she murmured.
Fa-kichwa frowned. “You come too early, lady. Go back to the house and wait.”
She went to her knees with a serpentine movement that brought sweat to his face. He’d kept his hands moving on the drum, but now the beat faltered. “Must I?” she said softly. “The dark frightens me.”
He rested his hand on the drumhead. “You came.”
“In fear. I can’t go back, not alone.” Her breathing stilled. Would he tell her to stay or would he escort her back? Which was stronger, his fanaticism or his lust? She dropped her eyes modestly, bowed her head before him, displaying the gentle curve of her long neck.
The kichwa glanced at Sniffer. Then he stood. “Continue,” he said sternly. “I will return in a few minutes.”
Kitosime watched Sniffer from the corner of her eye, wondering if he would protest. But he shrugged and took up the chant ag
ain. Fa-kichwa thrust a hand at her. “Come.”
The walk back to the house was a nightmare. His hands moved over her body. His breathing was hoarse and rapid by the time they reached the kitchen. Fa-men were supposed to remain celibate before a fire but he’d forgotten everything beyond wanting her. He pushed her through the kitchen door and into the room that was lit by a single lamp and filled with swaying shadows. Kitosime started toward the door into the main house but he stopped her. “Here,” he said hoarsely. He pulled the broochpin from the rollknot of her dresscloth, pulled the cloth away from her body and tossed it to one side. Then he was on her, pushing her down, squeezing her breasts, mouth slobbering over her, kneeing her legs apart.
Cheo came out of the shadows and drove the butcher knife into his back. It went completely through the Fa-kichwa and scratched Kitosime between her ribs. Lost in a hurricane of blindrage, Cheo jerked the knife out and stabbed again and again, until Amea and the others pulled him off.
Kitosime shoved Fa-kiohwa’s body off her and sat up, gasping and nauseated. She wiped absently at the trickle of blood, then huddled on her knees vomiting until she was shivering with exhaustion. Then Mara was beside her with a cool wet cloth. The girl bathed Kitosime’s face and helped her to sit up. Between them, the two girls sponged the blood and stains from the woman’s trembling body. Kitosime gradually stopped shaking. She looked into the anxious eyes and smiled, projected APPRECIATION/LOVE. She stood and took the dresscloth from Mara, twisted the rollknot into place. She looked around vaguely. “Anyone seen my broochpin?” S’kciliza shook her head and crawled about the floor looking for it.
Kitosime went to the silent boys. She folded Cheo in her arms and held his trembling body close for a long time. “You saved me from a terrible thing,” she said softly. “Thank you.” She examined the others. “You all right?”
Amea shrugged. Wame nodded. Liado said nothing, just stood shivering, eyes wild. Kitosime brushed her hand across her face. Worse than she’d expected. The killing had disturbed them deeply. With light touches she projected COMFORT/LOVE/GOOD/ACCEPTANCE and stroked them until some of the dark mood was gone. Liado leaned against her, relaxed now and heavy. She turned to the girls. “You could stay here.”