Bethid bent to canvas again. “I have to find my other boot—ah! Here it is. And weather garb, if this is the beginning of monsoon.”
Brodhi watched her balance neatly in place as she tugged on one boot, then the other, stamping to settle the fit. “Did they say what this meeting is about?”
“Plans,” Timmon replied. “The immediate future. Safety. There is much to discuss.”
“Not for us,” Brodhi declared. He wanted no part of human plans.
“Us, yes,” Bethid said succinctly. “We are a part of this settlement when we stop here. We eat their food, drink their ale, share their company, do we not?” Her gaze on him was level, unwavering. “Do we not?”
“And we pay for eating their food, for drinking their ale. It isn’t done in friendship.”
Bethid glared. “Mikal is as much a friend to all of us as can be expected of any man. We share his company far more than anyone else’s.”
“Because he happens to run the ale-tent.” It was an inane argument, not worthy of his time. Bethid had, once again, lured him into a somewhat testy discussion about humans. He wondered if she had set herself that task, to make him see in some way that humans were in truth worthy of his company, worthy of his care. “Were he merely a farmsteader, we likely wouldn’t even know his name.”
“Oh, stop.” Timmon, disgusted, placed hands on hips. “Come on, Beth. Leave him here to deal with the downed tent. He wouldn’t appreciate our help anyway.”
Bethid hitched a shoulder in a brief shrug and turned away to accompany Timmon. Brodhi stood there a long moment, debating, then swore inwardly and set off after them. His longer strides brought him even with Bethid easily.
“Ah,” she noted. “Curiosity has gotten the better of you.”
“Nothing,” Brodhi declared, “as you so inelegantly put it, gets the better of me.”
“Except for Alisanos.”
Well. That was true. But he had not expected such insight from Bethid, or that she would speak of it in front of Timmon. He cast her a frowning glance, but said nothing. Later, he would.
Bethid, however, snickered, and gave him a sunny smile.
YOUR AGREEMENT IS not necessary, Karadath had said, just your womb.
Audrun felt the rush of ice through her body. Her mouth dried. She stared back at him with trembling limbs and a myriad of thoughts and fears so drowning her mind that speech was impossible. Indeed, he would not kill what he required to bear his child, but that did not mean he would treat her kindly.
Yet she dared not show him her fear, or he would play on it. Blessed Mother, lend me the strength. “Then may I ask what you intend to do with me before I am expected to conceive? Since now you ‘prepare’ human women?”
“We will provide for you and your get.”
“Do you expect that to alter my opinion of you?”
The primary’s brows arched up. She had seen that expression on Brodhi’s face: a palpable arrogance coupled with a delicate but disturbing disbelief. “Your opinion of me is of no import. It has nothing whatsoever to do with whether you can conceive.”
Audrun gritted her teeth. She was resolved not to give him any ground. “In my world—the human world—a woman lies with a man for three reasons. First, they are wed and love each other. Second, a woman accepts payment for it. The third, we call rape.” Then she reflected that she had left out a fourth reason: bedding without marriage. Not every woman took coin for it. But she wasn’t about to mention that to Karadath.
His eyes read her. She saw it, saw what he registered. She was sweaty, grimy, battered, exhausted, sunburned, and, compared to him, most insignificant in the world. Tears prickled, but did not fall. Insignificant? Yes. But she was also, in this world, the only predictable certainty her children knew. That gave her the strength of will to withstand anything he said, anything he promised.
She raised her chin and met his eyes. “Please move aside,” she said briskly. “I would like to see my children. I would like for them to see me. You are impeding that.”
With no visible warning, Karadath caught and cradled both sides of her head in big hands. The startling pressure was enormous. Audrun feared he might well crush her skull.
“No—” But that blurted word was all she could manage. She clung to his wrists, tugging at them, but her attempts to remove his hands were wholly unsuccessful. He was simply too big, too strong.
He pulled her up onto her tiptoes. Most of her weight now depended from her head. She felt her neck stretch, heard and felt the cracking of her spine that would ordinarily bring relief were she not practically hanging from the primary’s hands. Yet another lift and her toes left the ground. Mother of Moons, help me. She pointed her toes, stretched them downward in an effort to gain even a toenail’s worth of purchase. Other than the occasional weak scrape against the paving stones, she could do nothing. She gulped painfully. She believed any moment her head might, like a melon, burst through its skin. Blessed Mother . . .
“It need not be rape,” he said, “when it’s a question of whom and what you will eventually become. Do you care to see?”
The heels of his hands, set just below her mouth, dug into the hollows beneath her cheekbones, pressed painfully against her jaw. She could barely open her mouth. The protest she longed to make was merely a twisted blurt of sound that did not pass her lips. She yanked at his wrists, clawed at them, using what fingernails remained to her. The primary merely shook her.
“Yes,” he said, “I think you should see it.” He lowered his head, pressed his brow against hers, and a world she didn’t know opened before her. “Look well,” he said, still squeezing her skull, “that is indeed you. That is what you will become.”
She saw scales instead of flesh, claws instead of nails, fangs instead of teeth. The pupils of her eyes were slitted, not round. Most of her hair was missing; what remained were thin, tangled strands. Her nose had altered, forming serpent-like slit nostrils. From her mouth ran saliva but also blood.
“Ah,” Karadath said, his breath brushing her mouth, “I see you have fed.”
She tried to cry out, but could not. She could not open her mouth widely enough to do so. She could only emit a sound that was a strangled, terrified, inward wail.
“Shall we see your prey? Yes, I think we shall.”
The vision was of Meggie.
Half-eaten Meggie.
The primary released her. Audrun fell and fell hard. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the vision in her mind.
She scrabbled against the paving stones on hands and knees, tangled within the vision, trapped in her own mind. But at last she sat upright. She clapped hands over her eyes. The cry came as much from her soul as from her mouth. MotherMotherMother— She bit into a wrist to keep herself from screaming. The vision, the knowledge, filled her mind, threatened to extinguish her soul. She could not check her tears, could not stop the keening that escaped her mouth. Whatever courage she had once relied upon, the determination to withstand anything he said, was banished. She could not escape the horrific vision of her bloodied mouth, of the fangs, of her jaws unhinging, so she might take in more of her daughter.
Karadath loomed over her. He reached down, caught a wrist, and turned the joint so that she saw her palm. “You had best keep watch on your skin. Once the scales break through, it won’t be long before the hunger rises.”
A thin, terrified screaming began. She knew it wasn’t her. And then, with a mother’s ear, she realized exactly who it was.
“Meggie—oh Mother, Meggie—”
The screaming continued. “There,” the primary said in mock kindness. “The little one saw the vision, too.”
Ah, not Meggie.
Meggie, half eaten.
Audrun bent over the walkway and vomited.
Chapter 9
MIKAL’S TE
NT HAD been propped up hastily to provide shelter against the rain. It was a haphazard job and Ilona knew they would have to erect it all over again if it were to remain upright. For the moment, it stood. For the moment, people—all of whom she knew—ducked into it, all with damp hair and clothing. She herself slipped in before Rhuan, pushing clammy woven fabric from her hair. The rain had worsened during the short walk from wagon to tent. To offset the gray of the day, Mikal had set out lighted, drooping candles in cups on the tables along with battered plates of bread and cheese for all. The interior was hazy with muted glow; fragile wisps of smoke twined upward.
Mikal stood in his customary place behind the plank bar, propping himself on thick arms planted against wood. To his left, at the end of the plank, Jorda was setting down two lengths of iron bars. The longer was hollow, the shorter solid. After years on the road with Jorda, she knew the sound of the Summoner’s chimes very well. When he rang the Summoner, everyone responded.
Darmuth was already there, appropriating a table for himself with arms propped up and chin resting in his hands. His shaven skull gleamed with rain. Alorn, one of the couriers, was seated at a table. She knew none of the couriers well, only by name. Then Brodhi came in, and Bethid, rubbing short wet hair into its usual spiked, untidy cap, took a seat at the table inhabited by Alorn; Timmon did the same. Brodhi did not join them, but gravitated to a corner of the tent where he stood with arms crossed against his chest, looking for all the world like a man irritated by something he wished not to do, yet did nonetheless.
Rhuan sat next to Ilona. As he sliced and then handed her bread and cheese, she smiled crookedly. They were so different, Brodhi and Rhuan, despite shared blood, despite similarly shaped faces, identical height and weight. She glanced sidelong at Rhuan and a wide, private smile blossomed. No, regardless of what Darmuth said, they had not wasted time in a friendship that was precursor to intimacy. If anything, it strengthened their intimacy.
Jorda, one hip set against the end of the bar and a full tankard close by, sounded almost matter-of-fact. “We have Brodhi’s map through the passageway. We can escape being trapped here.”
Brodhi’s expression was ironic. “Can you?”
Jorda’s tone changed to concern. “Can’t we?”
“Should you?”
“We can’t stay here!” Mikal declared.
“The warlord will send more Hecari when the four warriors don’t return,” Brodhi said. “You had no choice but to kill them, because they would have carried word immediately. For a little while, you won’t be in danger. But in time they will come. Many will come.”
“Then you can lead us through,” Jorda stated. “We’ll go back to the grasslands now and avoid the Hecari.”
“That is a great risk, Jorda.” Rhuan’s voice was quiet. “We will be in the border. So many wagons, most of them large and thus closer to the trees. Possibly scraping the trees. A child steps off the path. The mother follows, or the father. All are taken by Alisanos. Others panic, and more are lost. Animals wander and are chased. Another lost.” He paused. “And there is more reason to stay here the season. Monsoon. We left the settlement late, and then Alisanos delayed us even more. Even if we survived the passageway and the Hecari, it’s too difficult, now, for horses and mules to pull the wagons in such mud, and levering bogged wagons out of it requires too many men and too much time.”
Jorda stared hard at his guide for a long moment. Then he rubbed a wide hand across the top of his head. His tone was weary. “Alisanos. Hecari. Monsoon.”
Rhuan nodded. “Three dangers. There really is no choice.”
Jorda opened his mouth to speak but broke off as another man entered the tent—the farmsteader, Davyn. A moment later a woman Ilona recognized: Naiya, a Sister of the Road. Silence fell. The farmsteader found a stool at a table, but the woman remained standing near the untied door flaps, a length of rich green fabric wrapping her torso over russet tunic and skirts. Honey-colored hair was damp, curling, tied back from her face. She wiped rain from her brow and cheeks.
Jorda went on. “Nearly all of the younger trees in the smaller grove were uprooted and torn. That saves us the effort of cutting several trees down, and provides firewood enough to last us a very long time. Also, planks may be cut out, shaped, planed. We will build a rough boardwalk in the open spaces where there is no shelter, leading to both the grove and throughout the tents. New poles must be cut and trimmed for the tents, stronger rope is needed, and the irons will be pounded more deeply. Weather garb must be made for those who have none. We’ll need barrels set throughout the tents and old grove to catch the rain so no one needs to walk all the way to the river and back when the storms are bad. We can’t plant in monsoon, so those who are skilled at making and setting snares will be called upon to do so; others will hunt; some will fish.”
The Sister made a sound of disbelief. “We’re staying?”
“We have no choice,” Jorda answered. “Monsoon is upon us. When the season is over, we’ll depart. But for now, best to stay put.”
The woman shook her head. “We’re surrounded by Alisanos!”
“Nearly,” Jorda corrected. “Not entirely.”
The farmsteader, in the midst of cutting slices of cheese and bread, asked the question in nearly everyone’s mind: “How dare we hunt when we don’t know where it’s safe to go, what to avoid?”
Jorda looked at Rhuan, who nodded. “That is my task,” Rhuan said. “I have land-sense, as I have said, and can tell when I am close to the border between safety and Alisanos. We will raise cairn markers to warn you away from danger with significant space between the deepwood and the cairns. And we will map it as well.” He indicated Brodhi with a tilt of his head. “Brodhi has already created a rough map of the way leading here. We can build upon that and map the perimeters. It’s vital that we set to work, which is why I will begin sorting out the border from the actual deepwood as soon as may be. Rain or no.”
“While it rains?” the Sister asked.
Rhuan shrugged. “We can’t afford to wait out the rain each day.”
Naiya registered disbelief. “You’re saying it will rain every day?”
“Monsoon,” Mikal said matter-of-factly.
Rhuan nodded ruefully. “Let us say the cessation of rain would be more worrisome.” He smiled. “I take it you’re not from this area.”
“No. From the west.” She raised her chin. “Yes, we may lie with men for coin rings—none of us has a home or family—but should we remain here so the Hecari can take what they want of us? Perhaps even kill us?” She shook her head. “It’s not just families who wish to go to safe environs.”
Rhuan smiled wryly. “No, I can see—”
“But what if Alisanos moves again?” Davyn asked, interrupting. “Then neither map nor cairn will apply.”
Naiya shook her head. “It’s too dangerous to stay here. We should leave and find another place.”
“Would you have your wagons bog so deeply they can’t be moved until the monsoon is over? That is weeks from now. And would you live there, mired in the open where Hecari may find you?” Rhuan shook his head. “Safer to remain here. We’ll map the border, as I said, and raise cairns.” He indicated the karavan-master. “And we can warn people with Jorda’s Summoner.”
To demonstrate, Jorda rose, picked up the bars and lightly tapped the longer one. It raised a deep, rich, chime, familiar to karavaners, until Jorda silenced it with a hand. “Different rhythms for different threats,” Rhuan went on. “For draka, for other beasts loosed by Alisanos, if I sense that the deepwood is close to moving. . . . Everyone will have to learn what the different rhythms mean. If it’s draka, you don’t want anyone running for shelter. If the land is shaking, we must avoid being trapped in an earthfall. All must know the differences.”
Jorda set the Summoner down atop the bar planks. “It’s true that we w
ill need supplies if we are to remain here. Much has been shared out, as the Mother requires us to do in times of trouble, but there is not enough to see us through the monsoon and, if necessary, beyond.” He looked at Brodhi. “Could a few get through the passageway, if we are careful and follow your lead?”
“A few,” Brodhi answered. “Possibly. But danger still exists.”
Jorda nodded. “Then I propose that some of us travel to Cardatha immediately, before all the earth is mud. We will buy what we can of foodstuffs, new canvas, rope, awls, and other needful things. We will take two wagons and two teams of horses for each. And yes, we may bog down; this is why I’m taking extra horses. For any reason other than replenishing crucial supplies, I would not go. But I must, if we are to survive. If we leave very soon we’ll escape the worst of the rain and mud. When the monsoon ends and the land dries, I will reorganize the karavan and lead folk to safety, if Alisanos and the Hecari allow it.”
“We’ll go with you,” Bethid said, and everyone turned to look at her. “Timmon, Alorn, Brodhi, and me. It’s time we returned to the Guildhall anyway. We can help with the wagons on the way there.”
Ilona saw a flash of irritation in Brodhi’s face before implacability returned. It made her grin at the tabletop.
Jorda nodded his thanks then gestured to Mikal. The one-eyed man took up the discussion. “This tent will now serve as more than a place for ale, spirits, tale-telling, and rumor-mongering, though of course all of those activities will continue.” He smiled faintly. “News will come through me, and when a summons is rung, select men of the folk will assemble here. It’s not efficient to call everyone out and too slow with only one or two men carrying news to the others. Then we can spread the news throughout the grove and the tents in a way phrased not to panic folk. Panic may be the most dangerous thing of all, living so close to Alisanos.”
Davyn raised his voice. “What about the road? The road through Alisanos.”
The Wild Road Page 10