Steelflower

by Lilith Saintcrow

  He laid a finger against my lips, gently. Was it wrong that every nerve in my body leapt at that touch? “Do not ask me again. Where you go, I go, Anjalismir Kaialitaa. Now you should rest. You are trembling.”

  “I am not,” I objected immediately, but let him lead me to the bed.

  He did not press the point. “Tomorrow will be better. The jada’adai has mostly faded. The longer we stay close, the faster you will recover.”

  I did not argue. What was the point? I had thrown my lot in with his, and defended him in front of a collection of G’mai just as if I was his adai. Twas too late now. Flawed or not, it was done.

  Chapter 27

  A Street-Troupe

  We left Vulfentown a little before dawn, Darik leading the gray gelding, Redfist the packhorse. I asked him if he wished to stay with Kesa, who was a little piqued with me for taking some of her custom and her new lover away. Redfist had merely grunted, and kept saddling the packhorse.

  I took it as a good sign.

  Riding out through the East Gate in the early-morning darkness, we were greeted by the sight of two fine black horses, Atyarik and Janaire riding them. I pulled the gray to a stop, cursing inwardly.

  Behind them, perched on a rawboned brown nag that hung its head with shame to be seen next to the beauty of the G’mai, was a lanky, light-haired Pesh minstrel, clothed in wild tatters of red and yellow sewn together with more enthusiasm than skill. A lute-case was strapped to his back with wide rough twine, and he looked very pleased with himself. His dark eyes glittered in the predawn gray.

  “Well,” I said finally, in commontongue. “We have seen you. Now you may leave us be.”

  “We shall accompany you.” Janaire’s lovely face settled into unaccustomed determination. “You require training, and I am yada’adai’s’ina. I can help you.” She wore a travel-dress of blue velvet, and a light summer cloak draped her slim shoulders. Her braids were neatly done in a fashion I had never seen before. Of course—twould change with each new generation of adai.

  Darik dropped his face as if hiding a smile. I could not tell for certain. “I need no training,” I said, shortly. “And you, minstrel. You have made enough coin from me. Go elsewhere.”

  “Iron Flower.” The minstrel almost stammered. “I am bound for Shaituh, and I need protection on the road. Plenty of bandits, and some bad trouble. I am told you never deny a traveler in need—”

  Mother’s tits. Who told you that? “I am about to. What do you want?”

  “Merely to accompany you.” He shifted uncomfortably atop his nag. “I am handy with a blade, and—”

  “Then why do you not carry one?” I sounded like an old, cranky sellsword. I felt like one, too.

  He had no answer. Darik looked up at me. What does it hurt, Kaia’li?

  Plenty. I sought to reply quietly, but Janaire flinched atop her black horse. I will never be free of him and his silly songs.

  Darik shrugged; a beautiful movement expressing resignation. I wondered how I could tell. Then again, he was so fluid, so expressive, twas hard not to.

  “Safety in tribes, lass,” Redfist piped up. “You said it.”

  “Mother’s tits.” I examined all three of them. Atyarik sat motionless on his horse, and I sensed he wished nothing more than to have me refuse. He did not look at me, though, he watched Janaire, who simply sat and waited, something strange shining in her dark G’mai eyes.

  “Very well. Only as far as Shaituh. Then you go your own way, and good riddance.” I eyed the minstrel, who grinned, suddenly delighted. Pesh usually have wide faces and big bones, and this boy had hands the size of troutfish and a few fingerwidths of space between his sleeve and his hand. His wrists and ankles poked out from tattered clothes. The lute-case was lovingly polished, but just as threadbare as the rest of him.

  “My thanks, Iron Flower.” Relief shone in his face.

  He is about fresh mischief. I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Tis Kaia. I shall thank you to stop that Iron Flower business. What sorry stable did you steal that bit of horseflesh from?” I touched my heels to the gray’s sides, and he moved forward. Darik followed.

  “I did not steal.” The minstrel actually sounded offended. “I paid for it in song.”

  And received your song’s worth, too. “I lay my bet you did. Why could not I have Bard Teodok or Illessi Damatria chronicling my exploits? Instead I have one broken-down Pesh lutebeater. The Iron Flower and the King of Thieves—you made that song, did you not?”

  His mouth firmed, and his dark Pesh eyes sparked. He had a hooked nose and a wide generous mouth, fine blond eyebrows that looked a little like Kesa’s. A shadow of dark blond scruff was part of a beard, and he pulled in the nag’s reins. The horse looked old and tired, but it perked its ears and moved forward. The G’mai fell into line. “I heard the story in—”

  Gods above. “It did not happen. I actually never met him. He is too small a fish for me to bother netting.”

  If I had told him the Moon was not made of silver, he would have looked less chagrined. “But I heard it from a good source, a man who said he knew you.”

  I was about to reply when my ears caught the sound of a galloping horse. Vulfentown was quiet this early in the day, except for the caravans and the docks. Here at the East Gate there were no caravans, I would swing north around the bulk of the freetown and join the Road further north. I could avoid the witch, and give myself some time to think. I had also thought anyone seeking to catch Darik and ask him again to go back to G’mai would wait at the North Gate.

  Darik looked up at me, his eyes depthless. “What is it, K’li?”

  “Leave the road. All of you, over there.” I pointed to a small grassy area set to the side of the gate. It was a staging area for infrequent caravans going east to Pesh. My nape tingled. Trouble coming, again. I heaved a sigh.

  Redfist, thankfully, led the packhorse over to the grass. The early-morning mist muffled the hoofbeats. Close now, and quick. What else could possibly go wrong?

  Do I even dare to ask?

  Atyarik’s horse pranced a little bit, and crowded Janaire’s. She tossed her braids and guided her black horse over to the grass. The minstrel’s eyes were wide and dark. His nag followed, far more sprightly than I would have believed.

  “D’ye need me there, lass?” Redfist called.

  I reached up, touched the hilt of my dotanii. “No.” I looked down at Darik. “You should retreat a step or two, princeling. A runaway horse—”

  “I am equipped to deal with such, Kaia’li.” Leave it to him to sound utterly unmoved. But his mouth compressed, as if he sought not to smile.

  The galloping slowed. The guard at the East Gate—a lone burly freetowner who looked to be half Shainakh, half mongrel—stepped out of his hut.

  The horse came into view on Tamarakh Street

  , a bay, slowing to a trot. It pranced—a fine parade-show move. Clinging to its back was a small ragged figure. “What now?” I said, half to myself.

  A beggar on a horse that expensive? Darik’s voice whispered in my ear. Tis strange indeed, K’li.

  “How do you know tis a beggar?”

  “No saddle. And no saddlebags. My eyes are not yet clouded.”

  I should not have asked.

  The horse trotted through the gate, tail flicking. The guard leaned on his pike, regarding the spectacle. Twould make even more fodder for gossips, if he recognized me.

  The urchin clinging to the horse’s mane looked vaguely familiar. I kept a loose hold on the gray with my knees, ready to guide him out of the way. Darik let loose of the reins and moved away a few lengths to give me room to maneuver. The horse trotted up to us and finally stopped, head held proudly.

  A child, his greasy lank hair falling forward over his face, clutched the horse’s mane with white-knuckled fingers. He was barefoot and malnourished, with large, staring black eyes. Looked like a Shainakh. I waited, easy in the saddle, my hand on a knifehilt.

  He stared at me, this litt
le product of the streets, and I cast back in my memory for that face. Why did he look so familiar?

  I remembered. The pickpocket I had tossed the kiyan to. The one Darik had cuffed on our arrival to Vulfentown. Had I not been so disarranged from twinsickness and the aftermath of the duel, I might have recognized him immediately. Tis unlike me to ever forget a face.

  Silence stretched brittle. The gate-guard watched, interest shining on his broad face. I let my eyes move over the thin child clinging to the horse’s back.

  “Lady.” He had a thin piping voice “I brought a horse.”

  I could not let my smile show, but my mouth wanted to twitch. “So you did.”

  “I’m fair with pockets.” He glanced nervously at the other G’mai, the giant, and the minstrel. Last of all his eyes flicked past Darik, and he flinched. “And quiet. Not like that lot.”

  What is it you wish of me, child? “True,” I agreed. “Did you steal that horse?”

  “I'm too small to steal a horse.” Now he was all injured innocence.

  My mouth twitched once more, I kept my face expressionless with an effort.

  The horse bridled a little bit, stamped. I examined the boy again. He put his chin up, and I saw the shadow of a bruise on his sticklike throat. It reminded me of Darik’s scar.

  “What is your name, cha?”

  “None. Call me Rat, cha.”

  “Cha.” I took my hand away from the knifehilt. He was no threat. “Well, what do you want?”

  “Travel with you. See the world. Travel with the Lady Kaia.” He gave me a gamine grin, but there was something too panicked about his wide eyes and his clenched hands. “Doan want to be wharf-rat no more. See the world, learn to fight.”

  “Are you wanted for murder or robbery?” You are far too young for my world, little one.

  “Cha, no. Just pick pockets, steal a meal.”

  “What of the horse, then?” You stole that, young one. But from who?

  “Travel with you, cha. Got to keep up.”

  Mother's tits. When did I become a home for traveling halfwits? What did one more burden matter now?

  It had been the hardest thing for me to learn to ignore, the hard usage of children in cities. Inside G’maihallan, even shunned children are fed and taught. They are too precious to waste, among us.

  I felt the weight of other G’mai eyes on me—Darik’s, and the pair on their black horses. If I did what I should and refused the child, they would think less of me.

  Why did I hesitate? I did not care one whit for Atyarik or Janaire’s disapproval. But Darik’s…that was another thing.

  The guard watched closely, too far away to hear but close enough to be interested. “Do you pick the wrong pocket a-traveling with me and I shall strike all your fingers off.” I tipped my head in Darik’s direction, a braid falling over my shoulder and swinging to add emphasis. “Or he will. Cha?”

  “Cha, yes, lady. I swear.”

  I kneed the gray forward, came side-by-side with the bay. Twas a big horse—not big enough for the Skaialan, but very fine. I ran my eye down the horse’s legs, noted the depth of the chest. I offered the boy my hand.

  We touched fingers to seal the agreement. “I expect you not to steal except when I ask for such.” I held his dark eyes with mine. “You could cause trouble, picking the wrong pocket.”

  “Cha, lady, I know that.” At least his teeth were good. I checked his arms. None of the rash that came with dreamweed, and the whites of his eyes were not yellow with vavir. He saw me checking. “I do not chew weed or vavir, lady. Clean.”

  You are a quick little thing, are you not? Quick, and with brains enough to know quality when you see it. “Good. Would you mind if Darik rides the horse? You may ride the packhorse, with our Skaialan.” I watched him carefully. Darik was moving up slowly, his eyes cold and dark. What am I doing? I cannot care for a little one.

  Still, the horse was a fine one. The boy might be hanged if I sent him back inside the walls. And the eyes were upon me.

  G'mai eyes. The codes of my childhood rose to constrain me once more. Had I ever truly escaped them?

  “Cha.” The Rat slid down from the horse’s back. He landed on both feet, with admirable grace, and staggered. I reached down, caught a handful of his ragged shirt, and hauled him up into the saddle. The gray sidled a bit nervously, but I had my knees clamped firmly, and he relaxed.

  Darik caught the bay’s face, patted him. The horse made a low whickering sound. G’mai s’tarei are good with animals—Darik spent a few moments murmuring in G’mai. Baby-talk, to ease a four-legged cousin. I rode over to the group clustered in the grass, then hefted the child into the packhorse’s saddle. “Shorten those stirrups on the packsaddle, Redfist, if you please.”

  “Aye, lass,” Redfist grumbled. “Ye and yer soft heart.”

  “This is Rat.” I ignored the jibe. “He travels with us. I might as well make it a complete Rijiin streetshow. I know not how I am to feed you all, with winter coming, but I suppose it matters little. Come along, we waste daylight.”

  “Should we not find him a proper saddle?” Janaire’s eyes were on Darik, murmuring to the bay. The horse shuddered, its sides heaving and its muzzle dropped. Darik patted his neck, smoothed his mane, and kept speaking softly. I watched, and finally the horse’s head came up and he nuzzled Darik affectionately.

  Darik took a fistful of mane and was on the bay’s back in one graceful movement. My heart banged against my ribs, subsided. I tried not to show it. “How hard can you ride him, D’ri?” I called.

  “Maybe half a day, hard. Longer if we stay below a trot,” he called back in G’mai. “He is tired, this cousin. Been mistreated—not by the boy, by someone else. The boy has some adai’in, it seems.”

  Perhaps he has more than me. What will happen next? “Lovely,” I muttered, and wheeled the gray toward the dusty ruts of the road. “I would ask how this could become any stranger, but the gods might seek to show me. We shall travel swiftly to outrun such luck.”

  I was certain none could hear me, for I spoke under my breath. Yet I heard Darik's half-smothered laugh, and it made my frustration all the sharper.

  Chapter 28

  Travelsong

  I rode at the head of my little group as we trotted around the walls of Vulfentown, following a track I found years before through a belt of marshland. Twas wet going, but the Sun shone out from behind veils of low scudding cloud. We joined with the road going north to Shaituh midmorning, and Darik brought the bay horse up to pace behind mine. Like most G’mai, he did not need a saddle, though a bridle might have been well. I would have to trade for one, and for a pair of boots for the boy.

  “Why the boy?” Darik guided the bay closer, so my own horse blew out a whinny. “Does he seem a fine traveling companion?” His mouth quirked, firmed.

  I could not deny a child with you looking on. I shrugged. “He has nowhere else to go, D’ri.” I scanned the horizon again. The north road ran between a pair of bluffs here, scrub twisted by the salt wind on one side and trees rising on the other, going inland to the forest, which would begin to take on less moss and more pines. “I remember being that young, and hungry.”

  The barbarian’s voice lifted behind me, growling through a drinking song. The piping of the boy—he could not be more than eight or nine summers high—lifted as well, giving sweetness to the bawdy lyrics. The minstrel's mellow tenor put them both to shame. That did not deter them, though; the Skaialan merely growled more loudly.

  I waited until they ceased, the boy laughing, then I sang to keep from speaking.

  My voice rose between the bluffs, something all the G’mai would know. Twas the Lay of Beleriaa, the daughter of the Moon and Haradaihia, who had met the Silver Ships and returned to teach the First Folk of the Law and the bond between twins. Twas a lovely lilting air. I sang alone through the first verse, wind rising and brushing through the trees on either side. I smelled salt sea and the marsh to the west, and had almost forgotten I t
raveled with a whole cadre when a second female voice joined mine, taking the harmony line.

  I had forgotten what it was like, to sing with other G’mai. Janaire’s s’tarei joined in too, after a brief hesitation, taking the male part; Darik began to sing too, quietly at first. He had only a middling fair baritone, flexible and well-trained, and he gave the song no false decoration.

  Twas a relief to find something he did not do perfectly.

  I began to enjoy myself, my voice loosening, silvery instead of rough in the upper registers. Janaire kept the harmony, and the wind through the treetops sang too. Its voice was lipless, tongueless, but still part and parcel of the harmony.

  With the fourth repetition of the chorus, I decided to play. I took the higher melody, my voice slipping between the s’tarei like a silver ribbon between dark clouds. It rose, fell, caroled out between the branches and flashed forward on the road, showing me a caravan ahead. It moved slowly, we would overtake it probably by tomorrow. Dust hung in the air, and I heard the bellowing of oxen, saw pots hanging from the back of a waggon, heard the crack of a whip and a caravan travelsong. Horses moved between the waggons—the caravan crew, fully armed and watching in all directions. Too many horses—had a caravan master been frightened by the tales of trouble on the road?

  I came back to myself holding the last long sustained note of the first canto, Janaire’s harmony cascading away below me. I held as long as I could, let it fall, and filled my lungs as Janaire brought it to a close.

  The second half told of how the Darkness came from between the stars to make naught of what Beleriaa had wrought. Darkness without a soul, evil without a name; the G’mai fought with Beleriaa, grateful for the gifts she had brought and honoring the woman who had taught them so much and ruled so well.

  I sang through the death of Beleriaa’s s’tarei, Anjalismir Tarikaan, from my own House. And Beleriaa’s survival—unheard of in later times, that an adai or a s’tarei would survive the death of the other. We had been bred to it, the twinning, we did not survive its breaking.

  I sang of the duel between Beleriaa and the embodiment of the Darkness, where Beleriaa—with Tarikaan’s dotanii—broke her first sword inside the Darkness and worked the greatest sorcery of the First Age, binding the Darkness into the remaining blade she named for her twin—Tayrikaan, Darkness-in-Service.