The Taste of Waterfruit and Other Stories (Story Portals)

by Richard Lee Byers

  Another surprise. “What kind of assignment?”

  “One that will require all of your talents and intelligence. It will, alas, take you far from our beloved Jakarr. Interested?”

  Katya smiled. “Intrigued, at the very least.”

  Her hostess nodded. “I have in my employee a delightfully exotic young woman. Sha’awna was born albino. Her colorless skin and hair attracts many men who tire of the normal darker tones of local women, no matter how beautiful.” Sera Fillia drew an arc with her graceful hand that encompassed Katya’s own body and coloring.

  “Albinos are rare.” Katya said. “Even more unusual that they survive to adulthood. We do not know if they suffer frailties of health or if superstitious parents and priests remove them from the population.”

  “True. Sha’awna’s father is the younger son of a younger son of a minor royal house. He has little money or influence, outside his family. His daughters, however, are beautiful and of royal blood. Many wealthy nobles and highly placed merchants will pay dearly to marry into such a family.”

  “But an albino is too exotic,” Katya finished the thought. “She has no value to such a family.”

  “Yes.”

  The silence between them rested uneasily on Katya’s shoulders.

  “Sha’awna’s parents apparently loved their daughter more than many in their situation. Instead of allowing her to die after she went blind, they sold her to me.”

  Katya frowned. “If I did not know you as I do, and know the quality of your house, I might be appalled.”

  Sera Fillia’s soft chuckle was her only reply.

  After a moment Katya asked, “What is the nature of this mission? Your Sha’awna seems well placed for one of her affliction.”

  “Prince Kanto Branna of Miktarr has fallen in love with her and wishes to make my Sha’awna his consort.”

  “I have never heard of Kanto Branna or of Miktarr,” Katya said suspiciously. “Consort is a high position for a former courtesan, but a lowly one for a man in love.”

  “Apparently he rules a tiny city lost in the jungles of the northwest. He already has four wives, all political arrangements, and can take no more according to the laws of his city and his god. So he will make Sha’awna his consort. The contracts are signed. Vows exchanged and money transferred. All that is left is for Sha’awna to travel to Miktarr.” Sera Fillia fluttered her hands in a dismissive gesture.

  “I am surprised the prince did not take her with him when he returned to his city.”

  “Unfortunately, his time in Jakarr was limited. Something about this arrangement betrayed an alliance with the ruling house of...I don’t remember where. One of his marriages, I suppose. He left in somewhat of a hurry by ship, leaving me to make arrangement for Sha’awna to travel cross country. She needs an escort. Protection. Companionship.”

  “And help, I would imagine, if she is blind.”

  “She does quite well for one without sight. There are times I almost think she sees without eyes.” Sera Fillia paused for a moment, then asked, “So, will you do this for me?”

  Katya already had her answer. To work again, after a month’s idleness? And to gain both space and time to learn more about whoever was seeking her throughout Jakarr? A commission like this was perfect.

  She smiled at her hostess and resumed her seat. “Let’s talk terms,” she said...

  *

  Dawn found Katya wrestling a surly camel to its knees. “Hiya!” she commanded, rapping with the leather wrapped stick the caravan master had given her. “You will obey me, sooner or later, easy or hard, but I am smarter than you,” she cursed the camel.

  “You may be smarter. But perhaps you are not more stubborn,” a soft, gentle voice said from Katya’s left side.

  She started, hands reaching for weapons as heat infused her face. Not noticing the approach of another could cost her her life. The recharged blue bead remained quiet.

  In all the dust, noise, and general chaos of preparing a caravan for departure, the tall, slim woman escorted by a quad of black-skinned servants had drifted close, but not so close as to be alarming. The silent men, clothed in elaborate kilts of gold-fringed linen, each held a corner pole of the peaked canopy that sheltered the lady.

  The stillness of the lady’s spirit struck Katya before her flowing white hair, white skin, white gloves, and white gown registered in her mind.

  “Lady Sha’awna, I presume,” Katya turned to face the woman she was charged to protect.

  The albino bowed, formally.

  Katya returned the bow, then remembered the lady could not see. “I am Kat,” she replied. “The camel is ready for you to mount. I have contrived a saddle with stirrups for the canopy poles as instructed.” Katya checked over her shoulder to make sure the camel had stayed down.

  It sat calmly chewing and re-chewing its cud. Katya didn’t trust it. She stepped to the side and behind the camel’s shoulder, gesturing the escorts to keep Lady Sha’awna out of range.

  Just then the camel spat. The greenish gob landed in the center of the clearing but bits of it sprayed the feet of the closest man. Seemingly, he took no notice.

  All around them shouts and curses erupted as wagons, camels, guards, and merchants moved into the line of march.

  “We must hurry, Lady, or we will eat the dust of those who go before us,” Katya urged.

  “My baggage?” Lady Sha’awna asked. She did not look around, as a sighted person would. Nor did she raise her eyelids above a slit, giving the impression that she looked down her thin, straight nose at the world.

  “I loaded your two trunks and mine on another beast myself,” Katya explained, all the while urging the black men forward with hand gestures.

  “Excellent. Ramir, my hat?” she asked.

  The servant behind her and to her right unfolded a white broad-brimmed garment complete with gauzy veil from somewhere. He placed the head covering into Lady Sha’awna’s hand without disrupting his control of the canopy.

  With her face and hair protected from the unrelenting sun, Lady Sha’awna flowed rather than walked to the camel. Her graceful movements barely stirred the ever-present dust, leaving her white gown as clean as when she arrived. Only then did Katya notice that delicate cords attached to her wrists connected her to the bearers. Their movements, however slight, signaled her. In a complicated ceremony, the men placed the canopy poles in their appointed places and lifted her onto the camel’s back. Only when she was in place did they disconnect the cords. Satisfied that she was safe and comfortable, each man handed his cord to Katya, symbolically entrusting the lady to her charge. “Protect her,” the first man said.

  “Care for her,” said the second.

  “Talk to her,” added the third.

  “Love her as we do,” whispered the fourth.

  Each one fixed Katya with a fierce glare. She knew that if she failed, they would seek her out and take their revenge.

  Katya bowed to them, moved by their care for the lady. “I will see her safe,” she told them sincerely.

  The men returned her bow and retreated into the crowd.

  With less ceremony and considerably less grace, Katya threw herself atop another camel that had bided his time by casually browsing on the lidded basket that contained fresh vegetables for the trip. Since the prideful animal couldn’t feast on the contents, he contented himself with the basket.

  With some well-chosen curses, Katya kicked him into lurching motion as she grabbed the leading rein on Lady Sha’awna’s beast. The more docile pack animals followed.

  Life on the road for the regular travelers quickly took on a routine. Katya followed their lead. They traveled in a casual order, spreading out as far as the road and packed verge allowed for three to four hours, then stopped at an oasis. Katya helped Sha’awna dismount and guided her to a shady spot beneath a date palm. Everyone walked about, stretching cramped muscles and chafed skin. The camels drank from a pool. People drank from their own water vessels and then refil
led them from a well.

  Katya kept a wary eye on their traveling companions, counting and re-counting the numbers of servants, merchants, and mercenaries until she knew them all—one hundred all told—by their stance, their gait, their smell. Some things could not be masked with magical glamour. She dared not rely on clothing, faces, and hair as keys to identity. Those could be changed quickly, as she did routinely when in need of anonymity.

  A four hour rapid march brought them to the next oasis an hour before sunset. While the light held, they made camp. Katya made short work of pitching a tent that held their possessions and two folding cots. “We have not much room or luxury, Lady Sha’awna. I chose efficiency and simplicity in our accommodations.”

  “Wise, I’m sure,” Sha’awna replied. “Simple attracts little attention from more aggressive and greedy travelers.”

  “To be sure. The sun is almost down. It will get cold quickly. You will need a cloak.”

  “Yes. Will you prepare our evening rations?”

  “I have arranged for us to eat with the mercenaries hired to guard the caravan. I scouted them yesterday. We can trust them not to poison us, as my cooking would surely do.” Katya was actually a fine cook, more than capable of seeing to their needs, but she didn’t want her focus distracted by preparing meals or cleaning up after them.

  They laughed together as they walked around the camp, easing the stiffness and aches of a long journey.

  A wiry man with grizzled hair, gathered at his nape with a leather band, ladled a thick stew into the wooden bowls Katya had brought to the communal campfire.

  “Plain fare, my Lady, not what you are used to, but nourishing and filling,” Katya explained as she seated Sha’awna on a camp stool the cook provided.

  “I’m certain it will be delicious.” Sha’awna smiled as she sniffed the fragrant food.

  The guards, too, were gathering around the fire and filling their own bowls. Katya knew it would not be long before the conversation turned their way. They were newcomers, something to break the routine of a long journey.

  “What general do you report to?” Cannik, the captain of the mercenary guards asked, taking a stool beside Katya. He looked pointedly at the grip of Katya’s longest dagger, peeking out from the folds of her robe.

  “In the past I reported to General Maassar of the Wind Sabres. Now I work alone,” Katya openly assessed his own weaponry—visible and potential.

  “I do not know this General Maassar or the Wind Sabres,” Cannik said.

  Katya’s time with them had been brief, and long ago. The general would remember her for many reasons, her skill with weapons the least part of it.

  “General Maassar has worked for a minor king on Alary,” she named the nearest continent to the west, “for nearly twenty years.” And far enough away that Cannik would not go looking for information any time soon.

  He jerked a nod of acceptance.

  “Easy day of travel tomorrow,” Cannik said. “For the first part of the trip the oases are close together for frequent breaks. Then they spread out. We’ll have long hard hauls until we reach the big river and the beginning of the wet lands. We’ll have to start before sunup and stop well after sundown to guarantee stops with water.”

  “You sound as if you’ve made this journey before,” Katya replied.

  “Twice a year for the past ten. I know the road and the danger spots.”

  “Is there danger from raiders?” Katya had asked many questions before beginning this journey, but some questions could only be answered by those who had traveled this way before with an eye to the dangers.

  “We’re too close to the city for raiders to feel safe from pursuit. They’ll hit us four days out, in the pass, beside the river before we come to the ford.”

  Katya nodded. “Logical. Narrow road. No exits or places to hide. They block our retreat and wait for us to come to them, a place where they can drop rocks and shoot arrows from above.”

  Cannik nodded. “I know the place.”

  “Can you and a select few of your men ride ahead and climb above the raiders before they get into place?”

  Cannik nodded again. “We try that every trip. They either hit us at another place, or fade away and wait for another caravan.”

  “You have a leak.” Katya looked determinedly at her bowl rather than at the men around the fire.

  Cannik nodded again, without committing himself.

  They ate in silence for several moments. Lady Sha’awna sat so still, Katya guessed she listened closely to several conversations.

  “Will you come with us on the scouting party? I can always use another trained warrior.” Cannik looked up from his meal and caught the gaze of each of the ten men in this circle. Then he shifted his posture to inspect the two adjacent circles.

  “I must stay with my Lady.”

  “Could not another...?”

  “No other has taken a vow to protect her at all costs. I will stay with my Lady and help you as best I can from her side.”

  Lady Sha’awna brushed Katya’s arm lightly. Not an accident. Katya leaned slightly toward her charge, touching the back of her hand.

  “The man three to my left listens to you most avidly and ignores the conversation with his mates.”

  “Interesting,” Katya and Cannik said together. Then caught each other’s gazes and chuckled.

  “I thank the lady for her observation,” he whispered, masking his words with a spoonful of stew before his mouth. “I will tend to the issue later.”

  The next week passed as Cannik had predicted. Katya and Lady Sha’awna eased the long dusty hours with conversation, alternately walking and riding. They talked of politics in Jakarr, the power of the temples, the cost of bread and silk, the dishonesty of the merchants. Katya found her charge a well-educated and well-versed conversationalist, a quality cultivated among the best courtesans. They talked of many things, except themselves. Even when they discussed religion neither volunteered information about their own faith.

  As the hours of travel grew longer, and their water rations shallower, dust ingrained in clothing made people itch and short of temper. Grit worked its way under camel saddles turning surly beasts of burden into foul tempered monsters unafraid to lash out with heavy hooves and smelly spit.

  The blue bead warned Katya of danger inside the tent on the third night. She drew her daggers before pushing aside the canvas flap. The dim light from a few torches and cook fires showed a round bulge on the end of her cot that should not be there.

  The left hand dagger flew and embedded into a fat viper before she thought about the nature of the danger. Patience frayed to rags by the heat, the dirt, thirst, she stabbed and dismembered the creature again and again until Sha’awna’s grip on her wrist finally stopped her.

  “I think you have made your point.”

  Cannik removed the remains by the simple expedient of lifting the slashed-to-ribbons blanket and carrying it away to toss the snake meat into the desert for scavengers.

  Katya spent a cold night rather than admit she had perhaps responded to the minor threat more fiercely than she should.

  The next day brought a steady wind that circled and played with the dust, sending cyclones of it into their eyes, their hair, their teeth. They walked, letting the camels shield them from some of the blowing dirt.

  “I need a bath,” Lady Sha’awna announced as they approached the evening oasis two hours after sunset. “I need clean clothing. I need protection from the sun!” She stamped her foot and crossed her arms refusing to move forward.

  The caravan flowed around her as a river forges a path around a tiny island.

  “My regrets, Lady. We all want a bath, clean clothes, and real beds. Alas, those are not options for us for a while yet,” Katya tried to soothe her, but her own words were sharp.

  “Options! When have I ever had options? No one asks what I want. I am bought and sold, shunted from place to place so I will no longer disgrace those I leave behind. Their choice.
Their options.”

  Katya cringed beneath the tirade. “Out here none of us has choices,” she said.

  “You chose to come out here. I did not.”

  “You had the choice to sail with your prince. I know a sea voyage is riskier...”

  “No, I did not have that choice. No one thought to offer it to me.” Lady Sha’awna lifted her chin and firmed her posture. “Choices. Everyone has choices but me.”

  Before Katya could think about a reply a scream rose from the oases. She had a dagger in one hand and a throwing star in the other before the shouts of alarm gave way to crisp orders from Cannik.

  “My Lady, stay behind me,” Katya ordered. With a wide gesture she swept her charge away from the surge of traffic, human and animal. Then she checked Sha’awna’s fine silk cord attached to her left wrist, her off hand. Keeping a wary eye on as wide a scene as possible Katya edged across the wasteland toward the swath of green around the wells. Sha’awna led the camels.

  As the animals neared the oasis, their nostrils flared at the scent of water. They brayed, loudly. Their ears flicked forward and back. They stepped more quickly and eagerly.

  “Keep the animals back!” Cannik shouted.

  Katya stopped short. Sha’awna ran into her. The camels tried to lurch past them in their hurry to reach the life-giving water. Katya made a desperate grab for their reins and dug in her heels. She needed all her considerable strength to slow them. They protested mightily, noisily, with much stamping of feet and bellowing and spitting.

  “Stop those camels!” Cannik said again from much closer. Katya dropped her full body weight into the rough dirt and scrub and still the beasts dragged her forward.

  Cannik lunged and added his own weight to the reins. With an annoyed scream the camels dropped, folding their knees beneath them. They continued protesting the humans’ unreasonable action of keeping them from the necessary water.

  “What’s going on?” Katya asked, brushing dirt and spiny plant debris from her wide trousers that gathered at the ankle and hid numerous pockets and compartments. All she managed was to grind more of the grit into the fabric.