The Wanderers

by Paula Brandon

  “I came upon the Magnifica Yvenza engaged in some sort of quarrel or difficulty with young Nissi,” Aureste declared. “In hopes of restoring peace, I moved to intervene, and the magnifica clearly misinterpreted my intention.”

  “There could be no mistaking his intention,” Yvenza whispered, terrified. “His face …”

  “Well, I don’t know which of you two is telling it right—although I think I can take a good guess.” Ojem Pridisso bobbed a reassuring nod in Yvenza’s direction. “One thing I do know, though. We can’t have this sort of nonsense going on, so it stops now. Anyone carrying a weapon is now going to hand it over to me. If we should be attacked, or find ourselves in trouble, I’ll pass them back again in a hurry, but until that time, I’ll hold the steel.”

  Raised brows greeted this announcement.

  “Will you?” Aureste was the first to break the silence. He drew a draft of glowing mist deep into his lungs, and felt the freedom course through him. “And tell me, Master Pridisso—just what in the name of all that’s ludicrous gives you the impression that I would consent to relinquish my weapons to you?”

  “Because it’s what’s best for everyone.” Pridisso’s chin lifted righteously. “I hope that’s something you can understand.”

  “And you believe yourself entitled to speak for the group as a whole?”

  “Certainly. Who else? Every group needs a leader to bring it through the times of trouble. Does anyone need to explain that piece of common sense to you, Belandor?”

  “Not at all. The only point that requires explanation is your assumption that the leader in question must be you.”

  “Who else?” Pridisso repeated, with an air of faint surprise. “How could it be any plainer? In the first place, I’m the only Taerleezi in sight, which should settle it right there. Aside from that, who else have we got to choose among? A couple of women? A couple of youngsters? A pleasant-mannered cripple? Or an ungifted, ignorant Faerlonnish hanger-on? Come now, let’s face reality.” Without awaiting reply, Pridisso addressed himself to all. “Right, then, let’s go ahead. Magnifica Yvenza, are you willing to hand over that poniard of yours?”

  “Oh, gladly, Master Pridisso.” Yvenza tendered the blade haft-first. “I’ve never felt comfortable carrying such a dangerous thing, and I’m happy to trust in your ability to protect us all.”

  The treacherous crone doubtless concealed other weapons upon her person, Aureste reflected.

  “Well said. Widowlady Corvestri, Miss Nissi, I suppose you’ve nothing.”

  They had not.

  “Master Innesq?”

  “I am not armed, Master Pridisso,” Innesq declared.

  “I thought not. Vinzille, lad?”

  Vinzille hesitated, then shrugged and surrendered his knife with good grace.

  He could afford to, Aureste realized. The boy’s arcane abilities were far more potent than any weapon of mundane steel.

  “And now, Belandor,” Pridisso challenged. “If you please.”

  Go hang yourself, you insufferable Taerleezi buffoon. Aureste forced the words down, replying only, “I’m not willing to disarm.”

  “Are you one of us, a member of this company, subject to our rules, or no?” demanded Pridisso. “If you’re some kind of wild renegade, then maybe you’d better just take yourself away from our campfire. Go back home, or go off by yourself, if that’s what makes you happy. Otherwise, you’ll have to abide by our rules. What’s it to be?”

  “It’s hardly your place to decree ‘our’ rules. Nor do I regard the indulgence of your caprices as some obligatory demonstration of worthiness. I have no intention of removing myself from the campfire, nor have I any intention of handing my weapons over to you or to anyone else. If you’ve an objection to offer, then I venture to inquire whether you yourself carry a blade. If you do, then perhaps the two of us might settle our differences by means of—” Aureste broke off as he sensed the pressure of his brother’s regard. He looked into Innesq’s eyes, and read the unspoken message clearly.

  Calm. Steady. Here in this place, judgment is impaired. Remember that, and be calm.

  Innesq was right, as always. No good could come of challenging Ojem Pridisso to a duel. Immediate satisfaction, perhaps, but no real good. Aureste paused a moment, suppressed the combative impulse, and concluded simply, “I’ll keep my weapons.”

  “Well. I can’t say I’m surprised.” Pridisso shook his head. “I guess most of us here already had a pretty good idea what kind of a person you are, and you’ve lived down to our expectations. Only remember this, my friend. You’d best take care how you flourish those weapons that you won’t let go of. We here know how to take care of ourselves. Wave your dagger under the wrong nose, and you’re apt to find yourself clutching a handful of molten steel. You’d better keep that in mind.”

  Pridisso turned and marched away, accompanied by the others, with Vinzille Corvestri propelling Innesq’s chair. Innesq cast one look back into Aureste’s eyes—a look of unequivocal approval. Then he was gone.

  Only Sonnetia remained. She stood straight and tall amid the flickering mists, whose glow found a home in her eyes.

  “Are you unhurt?” she asked.

  “Certainly. What would hurt me?”

  “Yvenza had a dagger in her hand. She meant to kill you. I saw it in her face.”

  “Think nothing of her. She’s a ghost of the past.”

  “A little more than that, I suspect. She’s dangerous. Don’t underestimate her.”

  “I won’t discount her, but neither will I fear her.”

  “Then I’ll fear on your account. When I thought of something happening to you—when I realized that you might die, then and there, before my eyes—I couldn’t bear it. I thought I would die myself.”

  “It would mean so much to you?”

  “More than you can imagine. I didn’t truly know it until I saw that you could be snatched away forever, in an instant. And then I finally felt the full force of it.”

  “I didn’t guess. I hoped—oh, I confess there was no limit to my hopes. Yet I feared that I dreamed of the unattainable.”

  “You did not.”

  Her smile was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but conscience smote him.

  “Sonnetia, you know this place. These mists and their light have made us all drunk. We’re both of us swept away.”

  “I know.”

  “Another day, you may regret the words spoken tonight.”

  “Yes. Another day.”

  It was enough. He went to her, took her in his arms, and kissed her. Her lips were warm as he had dreamed them, and he felt his life renewing itself.

  Later, in a quiet moment, Nissi sought out Innesq Belandor.

  “What is it, child?” Innesq inquired. “You are troubled?”

  She shook her white head. “Something happened.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Today, I said something to the Magnifica Yvenza that I have never said before.”

  He waited, and she concluded in an incredulous whisper.

  “I said no.”

  FIFTEEN

  “All right, let’s hear it,” Odilline commanded. “Every single word, now.”

  Jianna suppressed a sigh. Her eyes dropped to the creased scrap of cheap paper purchased from another prisoner at the price of the flatbread square she had received as reward for her service in herding the Wanderer into his ultimate niche. The words on the paper were printed in block capitals. The blunt scrap of charcoal that served as her writing implement allowed for nothing finer. But every word had come from her heart, and every word was meant for one pair of eyes alone. The thought of serving up her feelings to Odilline and the others for their amusement was repellent. That had been the bargain, however. Should she renege now, the message would never leave the women’s dormitory.

  “Dear Falaste,” she commenced reading aloud in a voice of scrupulous clarity.

  “Rub his name out,” Odilline advised at once. “That thing
happens to fall into the wrong hands, and he could be in the skillet, if they see his name on it.”

  “I didn’t think of that. Thanks.” Jianna applied her fingertips, expunged the incriminating identification, and resumed reading. “This note finds its way to you by the agency of influential friends and sympathizers within the prison.”

  “Powerful friends, you should have said,” Odilline instructed. “ ‘Influential’ sounds too weak in the knees.”

  “ ‘Influential’ makes better sense, though,” Fraxi pointed out. “If we was powerful as all that, then we wouldn’t be here at all, would we?”

  “It’s all relative,” Odilline explained loftily. “Don’t you mind her, Burlap. Keep reading.”

  “Since the day we were separated,” Jianna continued unwillingly, “I have suffered no harm. I was questioned without brutality, and willingly signed a confession of guilt, as there was no plausible denial.”

  “Stupid, that was,” Odilline interjected. “I can’t get over it. So stupid!”

  “Thereafter, I was transferred to a large dormitory for women, where I have received treatment no worse than that meted out to the general run of prisoners. I have been told that I shall continue thus until I face trial at the next court session. I do not know when this will take place.”

  “Day after tomorrow,” Verth informed her.

  Jianna stared at her. “Are you sure?” she asked, in a voice little more than a peep.

  “Of course. Don’t you know nothing?”

  Jianna sat in thunderstruck silence. She had never expected her trial to materialize so swiftly. Somehow she had counted on a delay of weeks—perhaps unconsciously equating the interval with the long wait at Ironheart for the arrival of the East Reach Traveler, whose tardiness had postponed her wedding. But here in Vitrisi, even in these dark times, the law operated with reasonable efficiency. Thus, her trial would take place within two days, and there could be but one outcome.

  “Read on,” Odilline commanded.

  “A little later, if you don’t mind.”

  “I do mind. Read.”

  Moistening her dry lips, Jianna obeyed. “Throughout these sad days, you have always been present in my mind and heart. The sound of your voice echoes through my thoughts. The image of your face glows behind my eyes. I feel the clasp of your dear hand and the touch of your lips.”

  “Heh. Good stuff.” Fraxi smacked a wet kissing noise.

  “You have brought joy and purpose to my life. You have filled my days with the greatest happiness. In the realm of imagination, we walk together beneath the free skies, and our hearts beat as one. As long as life is left to me, in this world or in any other, I will love you.” Her voice broke as she concluded.

  “That all?” inquired Odilline. “Kind of short.”

  “It’s a small scrap of paper,” Jianna managed to answer calmly. “That’s all that would fit.”

  “Well, it was nice enough. Almost poetical, in places. But kind of milk and water, wasn’t it? You should have talked more about closing your eyes, and thinking about his hands on you. That’s the way to keep Doctor Dumbscum interested, you can take it from me.”

  “She’s right,” Fraxi concurred. “You could have said that you’re thinking of him, and that you’ve got your own hand under your smock, and—”

  “It’s not that kind of message!”

  “Look, doctor or no, he’s a man, ain’t he? Well, never mind, it’s your business,” Odilline conceded. “You want to waste your big chance to shoot ’im a real scorcher, it’s up to you. Here, hand it over. If you want to send your man a pretty pocket posy, I’ll see that he gets it. Now, let’s hear some more about Vazian. Is he really going to fall for that bitch in the tree house?”

  The night passed, the morning dawned, and it seemed a day like any other in the Witch, with one possible exception. Odilline, Fraxi, and Verth had waxed relentless in their demands for recitation. They were hounding her continually. From earliest morning, while using the buckets; then, while eating what passed for a breakfast; to the midday break in the sifting yard; to closemouthed encounters at the well; and finally, back to the dormitory again—all day long, they clamored for news of Vazian, Soliastrus, and the others. The unspoken reason was only too apparent. All three of them believed that the next court session, comprising Jianna’s trial, would take place upon the morrow. They expected an unfavorable verdict, and regarded this day as their last opportunity to hear the story of the Zoviriae.

  Jianna strove to oblige. She recited to the best of her ability, and when her memory of the verse failed, she filled in the gaps with prose narrative describing the events of the plot. When her recollection of specific incidents flagged, she improvised quite effectively. At least, Odilline and her henchwomen appeared satisfied.

  She had sought distraction in the task, but found only limited success. All the while that she declaimed, embellished, and invented, one part of her mind continued to dwell on the message that she had dispatched to Falaste Rione. Would it reach him safely, or would it be intercepted? She had only Odilline’s word, of course, that the creased little scrap of paper had gone anywhere at all. It might repose yet in Odilline’s pocket, awaiting emergence to serve as a source of collective merriment. But somehow Jianna did not think so. The message was on its way and it would reach him. It would mean something to Falaste to hear from her, even so briefly. Certainly he would want to reply. Would it be possible for him to do so?

  The day passed at its own pace. In the late afternoon, her sifting uncovered a tiny lump of yellow metal that must once have been a gold charm. She turned it in, received her flatbread reward, and found herself, incredibly, without appetite. She stowed the morsel away for future use. What future?

  The skies darkened. Work ceased. Sifters and sacks were set aside for the night, and the women were marched back to their dormitory. As they moved along the corridor, a uniformed guard walking in the opposite direction brushed by Odilline, jostling her as he went.

  “Beg pardon, sir,” Odilline mumbled, with downcast eyes and an air of consummate humility.

  He threw her a scowl and passed on.

  Into the big communal cell they went in double file. No sooner had the heavy door banged shut behind them than Odilline and her minions approached Jianna.

  “Got it,” Odilline proclaimed victoriously.

  “It—?” Jianna’s heart fluttered.

  “Your answer from Doc Dumbscum. At least, that’s what I’m supposing it is. I don’t expect that old Guard Baboon Face would be passing me state secrets.”

  “You mean, in the corridor, just now—?”

  “What else?”

  “Oh, please, let me see it!” Jianna extended an eager hand.

  “Not so fast. Now, I’m giving you service fit for a princess here, and I think a little appreciation is called for.”

  “I do appreciate all that you’ve done, more than I can say. Indeed, I’m truly grateful to you, and—”

  “Actions speak louder than words.” Noting the other’s look of incomprehension, Odilline inquired, “You still got that flatbread on you?”

  “Here, take it.” Jianna withdrew the flatbread square from her pocket and handed it to Odilline, receiving in return a small pellet of tightly rolled paper. Her hands were shaking as she opened the message. She saw at once that it was short, written in ink, apparently with a proper pen, and that the handwriting was Rione’s. For an infuriating moment, the words blurred.

  “Come on, under the light,” Odilline commanded. Grabbing Jianna’s arm, she dragged her into the circle of indifferent illumination cast by the overhead lamp. Fraxi and Verth followed. “Now read.”

  Resentment tightened Jianna’s jaw. A message from Falaste, the last message, unique and precious—could they not find the decency to allow her a moment of privacy?

  “Read,” Odilline commanded.

  Apparently not.

  Her eyes were clear again, and the overhead light was feeble but adequate
. She glanced at the notes, and read,

  My heart’s darling,

  “Dear Noro,” commenced Jianna aloud.

  “Used your right name,” Odilline disapproved. “Stupid clodpoll!”

  “This must be very brief, for the one who will carry it to you consents to wait no longer than seconds for my reply,” Jianna read accurately.

  I wish that it could be hours, days, weeks, for it would take that much time and more to write all that I long to tell you. Sadly, I am no poet, and have not the eloquence to speak as I would.

  “It would be nice if I could write you a longer note, but I am very pressed for time,” Jianna translated.

  The arrival of your message was a joy exceeding my greatest expectation. I scarcely comprehend how you performed such a miracle. Your words allayed my most immediate terrors, if not my remorse. You are alive and you have suffered no harm. But you are a prisoner in this place because of me, and all that follows must be charged to my account—a bitter thought, and a grief that will haunt me to my grave.

  “I was pleased and surprised to hear from you. I am relieved to know that you are well, but sorry to realize that I bear some responsibility for your current troubles,” Jianna translated, adding parenthetically, “Of course, he isn’t responsible at all, it was entirely my own doing.”

  As I write these words, I see your face before me. I yearn for you, every minute of every waking hour. At night, you fill my dreams. You are with me always, and every thought of you is a priceless treasure.

  “I think of you often,” Jianna reported.

  I wish that we might have spent long years together, yet I am more than grateful for the time that we did share, for it taught me the true sweetness of life. You are all that is fine, courageous, and beautiful, and I will love you always.

  “I remember the good times we shared, and wish there could have been more of them. I respect your character, and will always hold you in the highest esteem,” Jianna concluded.