by Mary Corran
It was Mylura who tried to make peace, holding out her hand. ‘If we need your help in the future, we’ll ask for it, Councillor. A bargain?’
‘Asher?’
She hesitated, then said reluctantly, ‘A bargain.’
But, looking at her, Mallory found it hard to believe she meant it.
*
In the morning, Kerrick was nursing both a grudge and a hangover. Asher observed his behaviour with disgust, surprised Avorian should entrust the man with any position of responsibility, nephew or not. Her intense dislike for Kerrick deepened when she caught sight of their hostess, who was sporting a livid black eye; she had no doubt who was responsible.
‘I must apologize,’ Mallory murmured. ‘You were right: no woman deserves Kerrick.’ Asher wondered how he felt, if he was disappointed with himself and wishing he had displayed a greater concern for the girl the previous night. She felt weary, tired of arguing, not even in the mood to take Mallory further to task.
The entrance of Val with news that Ancil had disappeared, taking with him Horton’s horse and unspecified supplies, enraged Kerrick further. He shouted abuse at everyone in turn, heaping censure and insults on Hanna, Horton, and finally the hired guards.
‘We were paid to protect your party from thieves, not to watch your slave,’ Val answered stolidly. ‘In any case, it’s most likely he’ll be caught; it’s a long way to the border.’
‘I want him caught and sent to the Games arena!’ Kerrick rounded on Mallory. ‘Bear witness, Councillor! He stole my horse, and who knows what else!’
‘Mistress Hanna,’ Mallory said politely, looking at the bemused woman, ‘you must tell us what has been taken from you, and we will make up your loss.’
‘I’m not paying a copper coin!’ Kerrick snapped.
‘The boy was your slave, and you bear a responsibility for what he took.’ Mallory surveyed the other man coldly. ‘In law.’
Neither Asher nor Mallory was prepared for Kerrick’s response; the man glared at them malevolently, his gaze flicking from one to the other. ‘I’m sure my uncle will be interested in your views, Councillor. And in many other things as well. I can see now why you asked to come on this journey.’ Having delivered the threat to his apparent satisfaction, he glowered at Hanna. ‘What did he take?’
‘Only a little food, and a few coppers.’
‘Here.’ Kerrick flipped a silver coin in her general direction, which she caught with unexpected dexterity. ‘Take note, Councillor, that I have paid my dues.’
There was a general stir as the party prepared for the day’s travel.
‘Do you think he meant it? That he’ll say something to Avorian?’ Asher asked anxiously.
Mallory gathered up his cloak. ‘We’ll just have to take more care. There’re only two more days of travel in Kerrick’s company in any event.’ But, Asher thought resentfully, it was easier for him to say than for her to take comfort in the brevity of the time remaining, for even if Kerrick made good his threat, the Chief Councillor would think no worse of Mallory for womanizing; but he would certainly imagine the worst of her, and might even lose her the Treasury post.
The events of the previous night continued to cast a gloom over her thoughts. While there was some satisfaction in Liss’s escape, Asher felt a dull pain as she remembered Mallory’s reaction, recalling what he had said and how little he had understood. Was his view of the world the right one, or only a pragmatic statement because he did not care or want to change old customs and attitudes of mind?
It was an ill fortune to be born a woman, but was that because of the Fates, or only because people believed it to be true and thus it was so? Was it custom or a gendered imbalance of luck that restricted the lives of women throughout the Dominion, born to wealth or to poverty?
I don’t know. I don’t suppose I ever shall. But none of it makes any sense, or not to me. She was shocked to find herself close to tears, she who never cried.
At last the party got underway, Horton riding Ancil’s mount, more soured than ever by the exchange. The rain, which had held off overnight, began to fall again in earnest, soaking them all within minutes. The trail was heavily muddied, and the plains across which they travelled were dotted with dips and hollows filled to the brim with flood-water, offering new and undesirable hazards. Some of the lower-lying fields, too, were flooded, and Asher’s spirits fell further as they progressed through the sodden landscape; it seemed doubtful the sun would ever shine again.
In the late-morning they encountered a Kamiri troop on patrol who forced them to wait for what felt like hours while their papers and travel passes were inspected, and every piece of luggage was unpacked and the contents scrutinized. Asher and Mylura handed over their papers, on Asher’s part with some trepidation, and she saw Mallory watching her; but there was no outcry, no accusation. The only thing to catch the captain’s interest was Kerrick’s demand for the recapture of Ancil, which brought a gleam to his grey eyes.
‘You say he had a horse. Which way did he go?’
‘North,’ Kerrick said sulkily. ‘Or that’s where the tracks led.’
‘We shall find him, and inform you. He will take his place in the arena.’ The captain placed Ancil’s papers, which Kerrick had given him, inside his thick jacket. ‘You may continue on your way. Everything is in order.’
‘Do you think he could manage to get as far as Saffra?’ Asher asked Mallory in a low voice, although she was better qualified than he to know how unlikely it was.
He shook his head. ‘It’s too far, and the brand on the boy’s face would give him away wherever he fled. I wish it weren’t so, I abominate slavery.’
Slavery in the Kamir sense, yes, because it degrades men as well as women and children, owner as well as owned, Asher found herself thinking, with renewed despair. If he were capable of sympathy for those who suffered the misfortune of being branded slave, why could he not see that there was another form of slavery, equally degrading? Lewes could divorce her, but she could not leave him, or not in law. In any court, his word would weigh three times more heavily than hers, although he was a liar born. That many women found happiness in marriage did not alter the essential imbalance of justice, the inequality of value one half of the human race placed upon the other. But perhaps that, like Ancil’s slavery, had been predestined.
‘He’ll not get away from them so easily,’ Kerrick observed in vicious satisfaction, glaring at Val’s rigid back. No one answered. Mylura’s expression showed her inner rage, although she was silent for once.
They rode on. The rain thinned, and they were making better progress; Asher had travelled the route before on rare visits to her cousin Varah and could pick out a few familiar landmarks. At the front of the column, however, Val raised a hand, calling for a halt.
‘We’re coming to the river, and it’s high,’ he called back. ‘We may have to swim for it. I’ll go ahead and try to get a rope across.’
‘How deep is it?’ Kerrick asked irritably.
‘Can’t say until I try. The water’s too muddy to see bottom.’ Val waited until the others caught up with him, and the cause of his concern became instantly visible; the water was very high indeed, struggling to burst its banks, and the current was strong, especially towards the centre, swelled by recent heavy rains.
Val struggled to persuade his nervous mount into the water. ‘Pay the rope out slowly,’ he called back to Tarm. His horse condescended to take a few steps, but the level was already up to Val’s knees; soon the pair would be swimming. The river was only some fifty or so feet wide, but there was not only the current to contend with; amid the swirling waters lay unseen hazards, branches and other debris washed downstream at a rapid pace. Despite all this, however, Val emerged on the far side, drenched but safe, and proceeded to attach a line of rope to a convenient tree while his brother did the same on the near side. He then beckoned Ish forwards, looking to Mallory for permission.
‘You’re on the light side, boy. Hold to this
as your horse swims.’ He put Ish’s hand on the rope. ‘Can you swim? No? Typical sailor’s lad!’ Then hang on tight; we’ll get you across safe and sound, never fear.’
Ish, following the instructions to the letter, reached the far side without incident, although there was a certain rigidity in his posture that bespoke his nervousness. Tarm looked to Horton to go next; Mallory edged his mount sideways to make room for him to ride forward as Asher watched. Horton made heavy work of the crossing, clinging with one hand to the saddle and the other to the rope for dear life.
Are the Fates watching us at this moment? Have they already decreed which of us will cross over safely?
Asher shivered as an odd excitement grew in her, issuing from her earlier despair. She had no need passively to wait for the Oracle to prove itself to her. The cautious part of her mind told her such thoughts were foolish, but her old, impulsive self no longer had the patience to wait and wonder. It would be better to know. The impulse frightened her, but her fear served only to urge her on, to seize the moment before it was gone.
She saw Tarm gesture to Margit, the tallest and heaviest of the three women, but before she could answer the summons Asher suddenly dug in her heels and urged her horse forward.
No one was close enough to stop her. She was a fair swimmer, for Mallory had taught her and Callith to swim one summer long in the past, and her horse had less fear of the rushing water than Horton’s bony mount. She was not close enough to take hold of the steadying rope stretched over the river, but urged her horse on towards the centre of the current. Asher felt quite alone. The water sped past her thighs, soaking her long skirts, and on a further impulse she took her feet in their heavy boots out of the stirrups, letting herself sit only loosely in the saddle, trying to entrust herself entirely to the will of the Fates.
‘Look out — upstream!’ Val shouted, waving his arms. Asher gave a rapid glance in the direction he was pointing, her heart beating rather faster, but simply sat in her saddle, turning her head to the front once more so she should not see the thick branch being driven towards her in midstream.
It had occurred to her before that she might die, but suddenly, against her will, her resolve faltered; the concept now seemed real, immense and terrifying in its finality. Asher knew she did not want to die. She clutched frantically at the pommel of the saddle with both hands, realizing she had been stupid, tried to get her feet back into the stirrups. But it was too late.
Travelling at high speed, the branch swept down and caught her an agonizing blow high on her right thigh. For a moment, poised between balance and descent, Asher hung in the saddle, then slid sideways, half-stunned, into the rushing water, and was swept instantly away. She no longer had any control over what was happening to her as her head sank under the surface and her mouth and nose filled with water, suffocating her. In panic, Asher tried to raise her head and gulp in air, knowing there was no more time to reflect on what she had done, or why. The only choice left was to struggle to live, and perhaps fail, or to let herself go with the current and certainly drown.
In her frantic attempts to gain the surface, the thought flashed through her mind that perhaps the Fates had already made that decision for her.
*
Her horse swam placidly on until Val could grasp its bridle and pull it out on to the far bank, but Mallory could only watch, shocked into immobility. Asher’s head disappeared beneath the water, resurfacing only briefly moments later.
The near river bank was barely passable, with high grasses and intervals where willow trees overhung the river, but Mallory urged his mount to a trot, then an injudicious canter as he followed the course of the river, desperately trying to discover any sign of Asher, alive or dead. He did not want to contemplate how low were her chances of survival, not unless the river widened or met some natural obstacle downstream, but he refused to despair. There was a frozen place in his chest which would not acknowledge the possibilty of Asher’s loss, that he would be alone again with only the prospect of a dozen years of duty ahead for companionship.
She can’t die. The Oracle said ... But there was no time for thought, or for anything else in Mallory’s headlong plunge as he fought to control his mount, to keep him from breaking a leg in one of the many potholes that marred the surface of the bank. ‘Asher!’ he shouted, without any hope of being heard. ‘Asher — keep your head up! Swim!’
Chapter Eight
The shock of the icy water sent Asher down beneath the surface. She struggled, trying to force her way back to air, her lungs feeling as if they might burst from the pressure. Her head came above the surface momentarily, but she barely had time to draw in a breath before the strength of the current pulled her under again. She was aware of pain in her right thigh, and a thundering in her head which might have been the sound of the river, or simply panic.
Again, she forced her head up, spitting out mouthfuls of muddy water; she panted for breath, using her arms to keep herself afloat. The impulse that had caused her descent into the river was obliterated in a more powerful desire to live; if she was to have any chance of surviving she would have, somehow, to get herself away from the mainstream current.
Her knee-length riding-boots acted as heavy weights, bearing her down, but there was no way to rid herself of them. Asher tried to remember all she had been taught, how to float with the current rather than struggle against it, positioning herself sideways to avoid water filling her mouth every time she opened it to breathe. There was no possibility of resistance — the force of the current was too strong for that — only of keeping her head above water.
From a corner of an eye, she sighted more debris in mid-stream, a branch caught up in another course of the current, and, as it drew closer, reached out to grab it, hoping it would give her more buoyancy. It eluded her grasp. At the same time she felt herself drawn under again, unbalanced, and held her breath. She came back to the surface spluttering desperately, beginning to feel unpleasantly weak, her arms too feeble to bear her up much longer. She could hear nothing but the rushing of the river and a high-pitched ringing in her ears.
There was a moment of terrified certainty when she was sure she was going to drown, completely powerless, her body at the mercy of the current.
There must be a way.
Some impediment below water level struck her legs as she was swept along; it could have been anything — a tree trunk, a boulder. The pain was agonizing. Asher wondered if she had broken her right leg, which had for a second time taken the main force of the impact, because when she tried to move it pain screamed at her; but when she tried a second time she found it would bend. Roaring sounds in her head disoriented her, sending dark messages to her vision, and she swallowed several more mouthfuls of filthy water as she tried to clear her eyes.
The river widened out, that much she could see from her present position. The current was no less strong but Asher gathered her remaining strength, knowing she could not afford to wait any longer. Wearily, she tried to swim a few strokes sideways, not against the current but with it; her arms felt desperately heavy, her sodden clothes and boots making every movement an extraordinary, impossible effort. She kicked out, ignoring stabs of pain from her right leg, and thought she had gained a very little; she continued her efforts, trying to move out of the main current towards the weaker flows at the side. Yet still her body was flung onward, downriver, out of her control, and a brief lucid thought shouted; Fool, fool, fool!’
At last she gave up, no longer having any command over her limbs, which were too heavy to obey her ebbing will. The banks seemed as far away as ever. This time, as she felt herself slipping underwater, she made only token efforts at resistance. Her mouth and nostrils filled with water, and it seemed to her it would be no great difficulty to breathe it in, that water would do as well as air.
The Oracle was wrong. But that no longer mattered.
She let the current take her.
*
She grew gradually aware of being still in the
land of the living. It took time for bodily sensations to penetrate her mind, as though the pace of time had slowed in response to her own sluggish reactions. First, she discovered she was lying on something hard, for her back hurt; second, she ached all over, as if she were covered from head to foot with bruises; and third, she felt extremely, and imminently, sick.
‘She’s coming to.’
There was an arm at her back, lifting her up. She coughed up a mouthful of water and spat it out; the effort hurt her chest horribly.
‘Asher?’
It was Mylura’s voice, but it was beyond her abilities to respond.
‘Leave her be.’ That was Mallory. ‘She’s swallowed half the river; we’ll have to get rid of it for her.’
The next few minutes were painful and exhausting. At the end, Asher was shaking with cold and weakness. She let them do whatever they wanted, unable to resist or care, and, when they had finished, lay back, totally spent.
‘We can’t leave you here, Asher.’ Mallory again. ‘I’ll put you up in front of me. Can you stand?’ She managed to nod; it would be too great an effort to speak. ‘Mylla — help me with her.’
They leaned her against the flank of Mallory’s horse, clinging to the bridle, while he mounted; then she felt herself being lifted into the saddle, an awkward process. She clung to the pommel to avoid slipping off, for her clothes were soaked and the saddle felt like glass; but she did not fall, and an arm came round to grasp her waist, making her feel more secure.
‘We’ve to rejoin the others.’ He sounded perfectly calm. ‘Just hold on.’
She closed her eyes. She was cold, and tired, and she ached; that it was her own fault did nothing to mitigate the sensations. Her mind, however, was clear enough to recognize that the fact that she was still alive weighed heavily in the balance against her tenuous hope of free fate.
*
Mallory left questioning her until the following morning, when she looked almost her old self again. A night spent in a large and comfortable farmhouse had done much to restore her strength, and, while Kerrick had complained endlessly at the delay, even he seemed relieved at her recovery; the miraculous nature of her survival had affected even his sense of importance.