Children of Enchantment
Page 11
“Good.” Amanander turned on his heel, and the stone ground beneath his feet.
“Great Lord?”
“What will I do for foods? For warmth?”
Amanander did not pause. “Your people are accomplished thieves, aren’t they? The kitchens are up this way. You’ll do well enough, I’m sure.” His voice echoed eerily as he faded into the shadows.
Silent as a wraith, Amanander made his way back through the shadowed halls, into Gartred’s chamber. With a terse command, he dismissed her serving woman and waited until one of his guard had escorted the protesting servant out of the apartment altogether. When her surprised admonitions had faded down the corridor, he stripped and slipped noiselessly into the bed beside the sleeping Gartred. He was tired, for the little trick he had played on Roderic earlier had sapped more of his energy than he had been willing to admit. The information which the Muten had brought was unsettling, and he was beginning to feel the strain. He had to find out the answers to his questions about Nydia Farhallen.
He was becoming more and more frustrated. He had probed Gartred’s mind readily enough and discovered that the hen knew almost nothing. Everyone else—Phineas, Brand, any of the Senadors—who might remember Nydia and have the information was too well-guarded in his presence. But perhaps Gartred might still be of service.
Deftly he tied both her wrists together above her head and tethered her hands to the bedpost. He bent over her breasts, lapping and nipping with tongue and teeth and smiled as she began to writhe and moan. When he had teased the nipples to hard, high peaks, he took a candle from the bedside table and dripped a little of the metled wax onto the sensitive flesh. She came awake with a little scream, startled to find herself bound, and then relaxed with a sleepy smile when she recognized his dark head. “Lord Prince,” she murmured.
He smiled. That was Roderic’s title, but he wore it better than Roderic ever would. For answer he clamped down on one nipple, raking it between his teeth so hard she gasped. Without further ceremony he thrust his thumb and forefinger into both her lower passages. She went rigid. “Not ready for me, lady? At dinner you were as eager as a mare in heat.”
She moaned and arched her back a little.
He plunged into her mind as readily as he had her body, searching for something, anything that might be turned to his use. A name surfaced unexpectedly. “Jesselyn Ridenau?” He spoke the name aloud.
“Mmm.” Gartred shuddered as he withdrew his hand and forced her legs apart, and reached again for the candle.
He remembered Jesselyn, a dark-haired child, gravely beautiful—some five or six years his junior. She had spent her childhood here—and at Minnis—in the years when Abelard kept the witch-woman by his side. Perhaps she would know Nydia’s fate.
“You can talk to her yourself,” Gartred grunted beneath his assualt.
Amanander pulled away. It was not uncommon for the mindlink to work both ways. “Ask her myself?” he repeated. “What are you talking about?”
“Jesselyn. She’s on her way here. Isn’t that what you just asked me? I thought you knew. She’s got some urgent information for Roderic—he’s sending a special escort for her tomorrow.”
Abruptly Amanander sat up. Gartred writhed a little against her bonds, arching her back. He slapped her face. “Be still and answer my questions. When does he expect her?”
“Oh,” said Gartred petulantly, “he’s not bringing her here. He doesn’t want to antagonize the priests. So he’s meeting her at Minnis in another week or two, as soon as he can get away.” She spread her legs a little wider, bucking her hips.
Amanander looked at her, scorn curling his lower lip. He would have to reach Jesselyn before the escort. He narrowed his eyes and watched Gartred tug at her bonds. He moved over her, and she relaxed, smiling eagerly. “I’m afraid I’ll be leaving soon,” he whispered as he tightened his grip on the candle, “and ordinarily, I wouldn’t take the time. But you’ve been so helpful, my dear, I’m going to give you more than you ever dreamed you wanted.”
Chapter Ten
The beach was deserted. Not even a gull flew across the empty expanse of the wide, blue sky, and the dark sea stretched to the horizon, the wind whipping it to little foamy peaks. The sun was warm, but the breeze was cool. Jesselyn pulled her cloak around her and gave a brief shiver as the covered wagon lurched to an abrupt halt. Just over the last rise was the toll plaza which marked the boundary of the hereditary holdings of the Ridenau Kings. Minnis was still more than another week’s journey away. but once within the Ridenau lands, the long-maintained peace had encouraged the growth of numerous congregations, and it was no longer safe for her to journey on alone. Roderic’s messenger had instructed her to wait for the escort here.
Above the water, weatherbeaten ruins rose, weird, indefinable, the remains of some forgotten city of long ago, and a crossroad ran straight across the beach down into the waves. Beneath the water, black shapes bore mute testimony to dwellings long forgotten.
“Are you warm enough, Rever’d Lady?”
The driver’s question startled Jesselyn out of her reverie. “I’ll be fine, Chas’n.” His gray-bearded face was creased with concern, and she noted with alarm the deep circles which ringed his faded eyes. It would be a relief to reach Minnis. She nodded toward the back of the wagon, where Tavia lay sleeping under a thin blanket. “We had better get a fire going. I’ll look for wood.”
She clambered out of the wagon, her much mended clerical garments of faded black rustling around her bare ankles. Her clumsy shoes flopped awkwardly on the sand.
“As you say, Rever’d Lady.” Chas’n hoisted himself out of the wagon. His old joints were stiff from the long journey, she knew, and she stifled the urge to offer assistance. “I’ll try to get the fire started and see to the horses. It’s as well we’re stopping. They’re about done.”
Jesselyn nodded agreement. The air from the sea stung with a clean salt tang that reminded her of her childhood in Ahga and made her feel as though she were fourteen again. She walked to the water’s edge, the sand shifting between her toes as it found its way through the patched leather of her shoes. According to the Mutens, the North Sea had once been a series of five fresh-water lakes, changed to salt when the Old Magic had caused the sea to break through the confines of the ancient channel. She halted some five or six paces from the waterline and stared into the distance. North lay the sea, stretching to the horizon for as far as she could see, and somewhere, off to the west, lay Ahga. It was one of those first spring days, when the air was soft with the promise of summer, and the warmth of the sun still a surprise after winter’s cold light. She took a deep breath, savoring the clean, salt scent, mixed with the wild smell of the beach grass, and raised her face. Perhaps it was not so bad to be going home after all.
A thin wisp of smoke blew across her line of vision. She turned, surprised that Chas’n should have started the fire so quickly. The old man was nowhere in sight. Concerned, Jesselyn scanned the rocks, which lay in heaps, perpendicular to the shore line. A tall, bearded man sat on top of a low gray slab. He was smoking a long clay pipe such as the Mutens did. At her startled gasp, he rose to his feet and made her ar awkward bow. “Jesselyn? Please, don’t be frightened. I’m Vere— your brother, Vere.”
Jesselyn stumbled back a few steps. Her initial reaction was to gather her skirts and flee to the wagon, but she controlled herself long enough to take a closer look at the tall, thin man before her. He wore a simple gray tunic, belted at the waist, patched gray leggings and soft leather boots. At his waist was a long dagger in a sheath decorated with intricate beadwork. His gray hair was long and streaked with white, his cheeks above his beard decorated with swirling tatoos in green and white and blue.
The tatoos convinced her. The patterns were familiar from the stories she had heard the Children tell, although she had never seen them. But she knew they delineated a member of the College, someone with access and knowledge to much that had been lost during the terrible
days of the Armageddon. “Vere? Is it really you?”
“Yes.” He advanced across the sand, his pipe held at his side, one hand outstretched. She took the hand he offered, and was struck by the delicate clasp of his long fingers. But the skin on those fingers was rougher than her own, and Vere’s eyes, though shadowed by deep lines, were bright and piercing, the eyes of a man who saw across great distances.
“Are you going back to Ahga, too?” It was the first thing which popped into her mind at this most unexpected meeting with Vere, the brother she barely remembered. He had left Ahga sometime during Mortmain’s Rebellion, had run away from the hopes and expectations of a father who never understood him, from the life he was so completely unsuited to lead. She had known for some time that Vere had gone to live among the Mutens, had been accepted as one of them at the secret College. But he had never contacted her, and she had never heard exactly where he was, for the location of the College was among the most jealously guarded of all the Muten secrets.
He smiled. “Yes.”
“Have you heard?” she blurted. “About Dad? About Roderic?”
“That’s what’s brought me here. I see you come well equipped.” He nodded in the direction of the wagon, where Chas’n had begun to haul out provisions for dinner, and Tavia had emerged from her cocoon and was staring at the water. “Is that Tavia?”
Jesselyn nodded, then put out her hand to stop him when he would have called out a greeting. “No, no, you mustn’t. You’ll frighten her. She’s not like you remember. She’s changed.”
“Why?” Vere frowned. “What’s happened to her?”
Jesselyn shook her head. “I scarcely know what to say. I have so many questions—so much has changed—I—”
“Jessie.” Vere’s thin mouth curved in a gentle smile beneath his beard. “I’m coming with you to Ahga—we have plenty of time to talk. Introduce me to your manservant.”
She gathered up her skirts, and together they started back up the beach.
They had only gone a few steps when Vere said, “I wasn’t strictly truthful. It’s true I’m going to Ahga, but I’m here because of you.”
“Me?” She stopped short.
“On my way back to the College, I met Everard. I’m grateful for what you did for my servant, Torach.”
Jesselyn shook her head. “By the time we found him there was nothing I could do. I saw to his funeral, that’s all.”
“That’s enough. But Everard told me you were on your way to Roderic—and I agree he must be told the content of my message to the Elders. I knew you’d have to come this way. So I thought I’d offer myself as an escort.” Although he spoke lightly, Jesselyn noticed how his eyes ceaselessly scanned the road and hills around them.
Jesselyn frowned. There was more to his story than Vere was telling. “Roderic is sending an escort, but perhaps now that you’re here. I can go back.”
“And not go to Ahga?”
“Surely you can’t be eager to return. I always thought you were unhappy there, and I certainly have no desire to meet Roderic. None at all.”
“Because of what he did in Atland?”
Jesselyn nodded.
Vere looked grim. “Our little brother might well live to regret that day. But I’m not certain that Roderic was truly responsible.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “He gave the orders.”
Vere motioned her on. “Come, Jessie. We’ll talk after dinner.”
The sun had set by the time their simple meal was finished and their utensils washed and stored away. The sky was a wash of lavender and pink and indigo, and the water lapped against the shore as gently as a sated suckling infant. The fire, fueled by driftwood, burned brightly. Vere stretched out his long legs and lit his pipe. Chas’n was already snoring in his bedroll, and Tavia had retreated to the high front seat of the wagon, where she sat murmuring a tuneless lullaby to her rag doll.
“How has Tavia managed the trip?” asked Vere.
“Well enough. I couldn’t leave her, you see, and I thought—well, Ahga was her home, too, until she was married. I hoped when she saw it maybe something would remind her that there were happier days….” Jesselyn’s voice trailed off.
“Tell me what happened.”
Jesselyn traced an aimless pattern of lines in the sand with the broken edge of a shell. “Tavia was married when she was seventeen to a son of one of the Arkan lords. I was only six, but I remember how beautiful she was as a bride. A year or two after that, she was traveling across the Arkan Plain to meet her husband. She was pregnant. They were attacked by Harleyriders, and the entire party was killed.”
“And only she survived?”
“She was found a few days later.” Jesselyn wrapped her arms around her knees and stared unseeing into the fire. “You know how brutal the Harleys are. The baby had been cut from her womb and left to die with the rest.”
“How could she have survived?”
“No one knows. I have an idea, but—” Abruptly she glanced over her shoulder. Tavia rocked her doll, oblivious to their conversation. “I believe she must have been found by an empath.”
Vere raised an eyebrow. “An empath? What makes you think so?”
“I’ve heard the stories the Children tell—that they have the ability to heal, to heal completely. And, on her body, although it was clear what must have happened, there are no scars, no marks of any kind. She is untouched. There isn’t even any evidence that she was ever pregnant, let alone mutilated.’
“Except the scars she carries in her mind.”
Jesselyn nodded. “I guess whoever healed her wasn’t strong enough to heal her mind as well.”
“Such a thing would be impossible, I would think.” Vere took a long draw on his pipe. “Empathy develops over time, but even the oldest and most experienced empaths have limits. If they spend too much of their energy at one time, they can die. And if Tavia was as wounded as you say, I would think the empath did the best she could and hoped that time would do the rest.”
“She? You think it was a woman?” Jesselyn raised her brows in surprise.
“Empaths are almost always female.”
Jesselyn shrugged. “I’m not sure whoever it was did her a kindness.” She glanced again at Tavia. Tavia was undoing the lacings of her bodice.
“What is she doing?” asked Vere.
“Watch.”
He stared in fascinated horror as Tavia exposed one blue-veined breast and pushed her large brown nipple into the face of the doll. Drops of pearly, translucent milk made a spreading stain across its clumsily stitched face.
“Even her body weeps,” murmured Jesselyn.
“And she never conceived again.”
“What man would have her in her present state? You know as well as I do that it is no simple thing for a woman to conceive. I have lain with more men than I can count, and I have never borne a child. When Tavia lost her baby, she lost her only chance to have one. Only the Mutens—the Children— are able to bring more than one offspring into the world, and we humans are engaged in systematically killing them.”
“It’s a matter of resources, Jessie—“
Jesselyn tossed back her hair. “Spare me the lecture. Why do men always think that simply because a woman has another point of view, she can’t comprehend a man’s? I know that hatred is fueled by jealousy and greed and fear. But why can’t we humans learn to accept the Children? They bleed the same color blood we do.”
Vere did not .reply. He stared into the leaping flames, puffing on his pipe. The fragrant smoke swirled about his face. Jesselyn wondered if she should have mentioned her thoughts about the empath. But why not? Vere was a part of the secret College. Empathy was an ability which passed from parent to child. After the Armageddon, during the Persecutions, the priests incited the mobs to burn such people, along with the Magic-users, as witches and servants of evil. It was said many had found refuge with the Mutens.
Finally Jesselyn spoke. “What made you run away?”
“I was sent from Ahga to establish a congregation. And I guess I did. But the ones who made up my flock weren’t the people I was sent to minister to, and so, when I refused to stop, I was placed under interdict by the Bishop of Ahga. That’s why I needed an escort into Ahga. There’s the possibility that if the Bishop catches me there, I could be imprisoned, or worse. Certainly I’d never see my congregation again.”
“I’ve heard of the work you do.” Vere shifted his position. “I was proud to be your brother.” Their eyes met across the fire, and Jesselyn felt hers fill with tears. The breeze whipped a loose strand of hair across her face, and she brushed it away, pulling her cloak closer.
“I suppose we ought to sleep.”
Vere nodded. “Go on. I’ll keep watch for a little. In the morning, we should be on our way. This road goes straight to Ahga—we’ll meet Roderic’s escort on the way.”
“But—I’m going back the way I came in the morning. You’re here, and there’s no reason for me to go to Ahga now,” said Jesselyn.
Vere shook his head. “I’m afraid that knowing what you do, Jessie, even though that’s not so very much, it may not be safe for you to go back.”
“Not safe? The Children have never harmed me—even on our journey through the lands torn by the rebellion, I had no trouble. It’s not the Children I fear.”
Vere sighed. “There’re some things about the Children you don’t know. Have you ever heard of the Brotherhood?”