by Jo Clayton
Hern sat back and sighed, his hands folded around the cha cup that rested on the diminished bulge of his belly. “That was good.”
Serroi smiled. “Thank you, master,” she said demurely, her eyes lowered, her head bowed meekly.
“Viper.” He sipped at the cha. After a moment’s comfortable silence, he said, “Let’s stay here this night. You need the rest and I can use it.”
Serroi smoothed her hands along her leather skirt. She looked up. He was smiling sleepily at her. She caught her breath, didn’t breathe for a dozen beats of her heart, then she jumped to her feet and walked to the front of the cave. Over her shoulder she said, “My clothes should be dry now. You’d better fill the waterskins. I can’t guarantee we’ll find water again before sundown.”
He put the cup down with exaggerated care. “Serroi.” The word was a command.
“No.” She set her shoulder against the stone, narrowed her eyes against the white glare of the desert.
“Why?” He came up behind her, curled a hand over her shoulder.
She moved restlessly under the touch. Very briefly she let herself lean against him, her head against his chest, his fingers playing gently in her hair, but when he began fondling one of the curls, she pulled away and went to fold up the trousers and long-sleeved shirt.
He watched her, frowning. “Because of your shieldmate?”
“No.” She lifted the white shirt, scowled at it. A short dunking in icy water and a bit of banging on the rocks cleaned the sweat smell but did nothing for dirt and sweat stains. She folded it, held it against her, smoothed the sleeves down, then rolled it into a tight cylinder.
“Why then? Last night you didn’t object.”
She set the shirt roll down, scooped up the trousers, snapped them vigorously, then started to roll them up also. “Last night.” She looked down at the dark blue cylinder. “I need … I need affection, Hern. Given and gotten. Water for a killing thirst. Bread against starvation.” She tapped the cylinder of blue wool against her thigh, shrugged. “Passion.” She smiled at him. “Pleasant as an extra, but not necessary, not for me.”
He ran his fingers impatiently through his hair. “Serroi, that doesn’t explain a damn thing. You don’t have to sleep with me if we stay here another day. What in zhag does it matter? You need the rest. I need the rest.”
“And I have bad dreams. He knows I’m here.”
“Serroi …” He took a step toward her.
“And don’t take my boots off again, no matter what. He can get to me then.” Her hands were trembling; she saw him smiling at her, the ruby riding his lip, a fire in its heart. He smiled at her and beckoned. She shuddered.
Hern caught her by the shoulders, pulled her to him, his strength overcoming her instinctive resistance. He held her without words until the stiffness went out of her body.
They rode in a companionable silence down the chalky track toward the alkali plain glittering between the worn hills. Hern was lost in thought, riding with automatic skill, holding his rested and restive mount to an easy walk. Serroi frowned at the bobbing head of her macai, her mind plodding in relentless circles about Hern and Ser Noris and the weary ride to Shinka that lay ahead of them.
Intent on their concerns, neither of them heard the padding of half a dozen macain or the low, irregular rasping of velater hide against metal. They rode around a bend and found themselves in the middle of six armored and alert Sleykynin.
CHAPTER IX:
THE MIJLOC
Burin Blanin stumped into the circle of moonlight, tugging at the sleeves of his tunic, scowling. “When a man has to sneak out of his own house like a thief …” he muttered.
“You’re not the only one.” Vrom Santinin stopped beside one of the violated Maiden columns. He touched the thick black paint splashed inexpertly in a long swipe up and over the carved face, scanned the court, his eyes moving over the painted pavement (more black paint, in thick almost unreadable letters) to the fountain now dry, the dancing figure that used to stand clothed in water and now had a thickening coat of dust over more disfiguring black paint. His lips tightened and his long narrow face pulled together in a worried frown. “What I’m bothered about most is spring. How we going to plant if Floarin takes all our seed?” He moved past Burin, his long legs scissoring rapidly across the court, his moonshadow jerking across the black paint and the delicate floral design beneath it. “How you, Tesc.”
“Well enough, better than the Plain.”
“That’s for sure.” Burin glanced with some sadness at the silent fountain. “I used to like the sound of that.” He crossed to Tesc holding out a massive hairy paw. “You looking good.”
Havor Kalestin and Kimor Gradsigornin came into the court together. Havor looked around, pursed his mouth to spit, then changed his mind and swallowed. “The rot’s in all our houses,” he grumbled. “You look around and all you see is black. More’n half your folk are wearing it. Getting so even the food taste like hauhau shit. They won’t let us Maiden-bless it, we have to listen to some git preaching at us, enough to make a posser puke.”
Kimor chuckled. He stopped in front of Tesc. “Salah sends greetings and good wishes, says you’re to know you’re welcome in our home.” He wrinkled his long humped nose. “Says you’re her brother and zhag can swallow any damn traitor in her household.”
“Thanks, cousin. How you put up with that tongue.…” He grinned, shaking his head.
“And if Annic needs anything, clothes, you know.…” He chuckled softly. “What a hoo-haw. First the terrible twins, then you bust Annic and Sanani loose a couple weeks later. The Decsel he went roaring about with the Agli, digging into every stinking corner. How’re the twins, by the way?”
“Enjoying themselves.”
“I bet.”
Vonnyr Mallin was the last of the five taroms to show up. He came striding into the court, his impatience blowing before him like a summer storm. “Hah! Tesc. You looking good. What’n zhag we going to do about this stupidity?” He flung out a long thin arm, forefinger jabbing at the silent fountain, swooped his whole hand to encompass the mutilated pavement, the disfigured columns. “Look at this mess. Maiden’s sweet breath, I’m ready to hang the bunch of them from the nearest brellim. Those Soäreh-posser who watch and watch and wrinkle up their silly faces when a man does a natural thing. Cousin, when that idiot norid comes snooping around pretending to be so holy, hah! Agli, hah! Posser dung, that’s what.” He distorted his face, thrusting out his chin, pulling on his nose, his hand fisted, rounding his eyes, moving his head in the lazy arcs of an ambling posser, squealing eagerly, sinking the squeals into staccato grunts.
Eyes watering, face red with suppressed laughter, Tesc caught hold of him and pulled him toward the small schoolroom behind the sanctuary. “Shut up, you fool, or you’ll have the town on us.”
The schoolroom was empty, all the furnishings burnt in a bane fire the day the paint was smeared on. Tesc settled himself facing the door which he had Burin leave open. For several minutes the men said nothing, simply stared at the gritty floor, the spray of leaves blown inside and left to decay. Havor coughed against the back of his hand, wiped it on his trousers. “Tallig come home t’other day in Soäreh black. M’own brother. Now when I look at him, which I don’t if I can help, churns my belly worse’n a three-day binge, I see him eating me with his eyes. Wishing me to step out of line, make a mistake, do anything he can get a handle on.”
Tesc frowned. “Then you keep out of this, Hevi-chal. No need to let them get their hooks in you.”
“Hanh! How long before he starts inventing things? You think the Agli-dung’ll want truth? All he give one damn about is the look of things and that to keep honest folk quiet. Lot of them in Soäreh black they’re honest enough, just stupid’s all. They won’t stand for naked grabs, I know my folk, but it don’t take much to fool ’em.” When the others nodded in solemn agreement, he rubbed at his nose, grinned more like a mischievous boy than a man well into his middle y
ears. “Know what I did? Climbed out the window. Went up a tree and over the wall. Felt damn silly, I tell you. But he don’t know I’m out and Lelice will keep a closed mouth. She can’t stand him, never could. And she for sure don’t like this Soäreh business. Says her maids have stopped laughing, go around looking pious and superior. Makes her want to slap them, then check the stores to see how much they’re stealing.” He shook his head. “Don’t know how much more of this she can take. With her temper.…” He spread his hands in a quick helpless gesture then folded them on his knees.
After another interval of heavy silence, Tesc said, “I’m the example that’s supposed to keep you all in line. You don’t make any bad breaks, the Soärehmen should let you be.” He cleared his throat, stared out the open door at the cloud shadowed moonlight. “Why I wanted to see you—wanted to warn you, things might be getting tougher. Tithe wagons’ll be starting back to Oras any day now. I got Annic and the others tucked away up in the Earth’s Teeth. We’re collecting quite a bunch of mijlockers up there—from all over, more coming in as time passes, most of ’em with about what they got on their backs, men and women and kids. Now, the weather’s not been right for more’n a passage, but winter’s coming like it or not and we need food, clothes, arms and shelter.” He held up a hand, shook his head. “Not from you, friends. From the bastards that sent us up there. We going to start taking the tithe wagons, one thing. Another, we start making the days hard for Followers. We are going to hassle. Soäreh black till they feel like they’re sitting bare-assed on a hill of bloodsuckers.” He passed a hand across his round face. “Wanted you ready. Keep your noses clean. They get on you too hard or on your kids, come on up, just ride into the hills, someone will see you and collect you. Could be dangerous, they’re not going to let us sit up there and hit them when we want; we’re trying to set things up to deal with that.”
The six men sat once more in a heavy silence. Outside the open door Teras and Tuli sat with their backs against the wall, their legs drawn up, listening to what was being said inside, watching the clouds gather and break up as if whatever was herding them in place was distracted by something. Tuli wiggled her thumbs slowly, glanced now and then at Teras. His head back, his eyes half-closed, he might have been dozing but his body was taut with a nervous intensity that was beginning to worry her. She brushed a hand over her short hair, chewed on her lip and thought about talking to him. Eyes drooping wholly shut, Teras began tapping the tips of his fingers on the paving bricks.
Inside, Vrom burst out, “Dammit, Tesc, they’re impossible to live with. A couple of the laziest ties I ever seen, you know ’em, that slattern Tink and her blockhead brother Doddle, since they took the black, they even started bathing. Hah! Clean, neat, do their work. Never thought I’d say it, liked ’em better before. Now they make my skin crawl.” He wrinkled his bony nose. “Times I want to kick ass so bad I just gotta walk away.”
“Me, I’m mad and scared and don’t know what’n zhag to do about it,” Kimor said suddenly. “Listen, yesterday afternoon, I come home from arranging the cull. A couple my tie kids had been going at it hot and heavy in the strawbarn and got themselves caught.” He grinned. “What’n zhag, they’re ties, no problem, even if the girl gets pregnant. She just gets married a bit sooner than she might otherwise or takes off to the Biserica for a while. No one the worse for a little fun.” He growled low in his throat. “The Followers on my place they were going to take a whip to the pair, said they were immoral and damned unless they repented and changed their ways. Well, I rode up and wanted to know what all the fuss was about. The kids wriggled loose and got to me. Dammit, Tesc, I thought those fools, the Followers I mean, were going to take their whips to me! I hauled the kids inside and chewed them out, told them they were brainless gits being that careless when they knew how things were. Told them to get off home to their parents and next time they had an urge they should make damn sure they were well hid.” He snorted. “Getting so a man feels eyes on him even when he’s in bed with his wife. Salah’s complaining a lot about that. Says it’s worse than trying to cook a big dinner stark naked. Bug eyes and grease popping out of the pan on you. She’s some tetchy these days.”
Burin laughed, cleared his throat. “Tesc, got a feeling one of those you might be getting up there is ol’ Zeb. He started coming round to the tars like he always done before and some fool got word into Cymbank and the Decsel came for him; Maiden be blessed, the old fayar he smelled trouble and got away, but you tell me how we’re going to get our pots mended if the guards chase all the tinkers off like that. And the cobbler here in town, he put on the black. Now he won’t do work for anyone but Followers.” He slapped at his boot. “Look at that hole. Tried to get it fixed yesterday. Not a chance. Bastard looked pious and said his hands were given for the service of Soäreh. Talk about wanting to kick ass. Phah!”
“You want to talk about bad.…” Vonnyr’s flexible voice dropped to its lowest register. “First couple weeks they were all sweet as honey. Rest of you know this, but I don’t know if you heard, Tesc. Hihnir and Innal?”
“What happened?”
“We got public whippings now, ain’t it wonderful. Made Hihnir forge the irons and set the post himself. In the middle of the green. I tell you!” He spat. “Decsel come around to all the shops. Joras and me, we were in town for some chain, needed to fix up another hoist for the butchering. Made us go too, and us just riding in no idea what we were getting into. Got no chains, just got to see the blacksmith and his helper hung up on that stinking post and whipped bloody. Every soul in town there. Had to listen to the Agli rant about natural and unnatural till I was ready to rot. Then they marched the two of them to the House of Repentance, said they were going to teach ’em to live normal Soäreh’s way. No one’s seen ’em since and no one, me either, has got the nerve to ask about ’em. I don’t hold with the way they lived, but sweet holy tits, they’ve lived here near on forty years not bothering no one.” His feet scraped on the floor and he coughed again. “I don’t see where this is going to end.”
“Thing I’d like to know is what happened to Hern. He might be fat and lazy like all the Heslins but he wouldn’t stand for this.”
There was silence inside for a few breaths then Tesc said, “You remember Rane the meie?” There were a few rasping sounds as the men shifted about, a grunt or two. “She said the Biserica took him in after Floarin turned the guards on him, let him live in the gatehouse.”
More silence.
“Pretty good with a sword, Hern, or so they say.” Vrom chuckled dryly. “Me, I’d cut my foot off.”
Burin slapped his hand against the wall. “What do we know about battles and such? That’s what we got Domnors for. Maybe we should send someone to talk to Hern, see what he thinks we should do.”
“Could do that.” Tesc sounded tired. “Me, I can’t afford to wait for him to get busy. Got mouths to fill and shelters to put up. Things should settle down, though, when the first snow falls.”
“If it does.” Vonnyr’s gloom spread to the others. Again there was silence in the gutted schoolroom.
Teras sat up suddenly, his face wrinkled with concentration. Tuli stopped trying to juggle her two stones and clutched them tight in one sweaty hand. “What is it?” she whispered. “Gong?”
“Uh-huh.” He rubbed furiously at his eyes, scowled at her. “There’s someone snooping about, at least I think so,” he whispered, his esses spraying in her ear. “If they heard … take a look, will you?” He got quickly to his feet. When she was up beside him, he finished, “I’ll tell Da and the others.”
She nodded and started off, circling the fountain and fading into the deep shadow under the vine trellis linking the carved columns, filled with a restless energy that made her glad to be moving, whatever the purpose. She trotted through the columns, her feet dancing between and around the heaps of dead dry leaves, floating, it seemed to her, without effort or sound, feeling the Maiden peace settle over her in spite of the desolation. S
he felt like singing, like laughing, then she came out of the columns and slowed as she moved along the front wall to the main gate of the shrine, most of her senses tuned to the road outside. She tripped suddenly over something soft and crashed to the paving, knocking the wind out of herself, scraping her palms bloody. The noise of her fall seemed to echo louder than a gong. She jerked around, switching ends like a spooked macai, and found herself nose to nose with a familiar face. “Joras,” she whispered. She pressed her hand to his neck under the angle of his jaw, breathed more easily as she felt the strong, slow beat. She sat back on her heels. Must’ve been standing watch and the sneak got to him.
The dying vines whispered in quick papery rustles, the wind blew bits of grit over the paving. In the distance the flute song of a kanka ended on a sharp high note as it loosed its gas and swooped on a prowling rodent. She reached toward Joras’s shoulder intending to shake him out of his stupor.
Leather scraped against stone. Someone out in the darkness took an incautious step, arrested the movement, but not before she heard. She sprang to her feet, looked wildly about, plunged into the columns as a dark figure came leaping at her.
She yelped, but didn’t bother screaming. Her father and the others knew about the prowler, no use alerting the town. She twisted and turned through the pillars, trying to get around him and back to her father, gasped with horror as a dark shape came round a column and fingers caught her arm. She jerked loose, panting, sweat breaking out all over her, her heart thudding in her throat, plunged again into the darkness under the columns. She was intensely angry, but it wasn’t like one of her rages, more like Sanani’s bitter anger that was cold and mind-clearing. She was afraid but in her body and her mind was the memory of the guard in the clearing folding slowly to the ground, killed by a stone from her sling. She slipped a hand into her pocket, felt the stones and the long strips of leather. She made one last desperate turn, ran flat out for the middle of the court of columns, hearing his feet slapping on the bricks, his breathing hoarse as he labored behind her. Sling in one hand, stones in the other, she skidded into the processional aisle, flew along it and out into the street, skidded about again and ran round the outside of the wall toward the grove behind the shrine. Halfway there, she stopped, whirled, stood shaking and unsteady, eyes burning and blurred, gulping in great bites of dusty air. Still shaking a little, she thumbed a stone into the pocket of the sling and started whirling it about her head, her eyes on the corner.