by Ru Emerson
“Children,” Ylia echoed blankly. She shook herself. “Children? Nedaoan children?” It almost stopped her breath. Children living in those mountains for four years?
“Said so, didn't I?” the old man demanded peevishly. “Ate all my grain, everything I left there. Two dead little ones. One of ’em—older one, boy—said they'd been in a barbarian camp, one of the women was raising ’em, working the older ones hard. They got away, spring sometime. Afraid to move from the caves, and two—well, the boy said they'd had to carry ’em. Woman beat ’em so they couldn't walk. One still can't.”
Gods, gods! “Older—how old?” Ylia was pulling her boots back on.
“Couldn't say” Verdren shrugged. “Matter of—ah, eight or nine summers.” His hand measured half-way up his own chest. Ylia's eyes went wide.
'Ah, mothers—Nisana!’ Her mind-speech was wildly out of control.
'It isn't safe out there, just the two of us,’ the cat replied. ‘Wait for Galdan or Ysian at least.’ But Ylia waved her silent. Her mind's set; look at her, Nisana thought unhappily. If that old man had tried to find words that would upset her most, he couldn't have done better. She'll go, and that means I will, too. Because Ysian was sound asleep upstairs; there'd been a bad fire on Erken's northern pastures and she'd been out the entire night, helping to dampen it with Power, then healing burns and other injuries for hours after. Galdan was off with Erken, following a trail that might have Mathkkra at its end; if she bridged for him, Ylia would already be gone.
They could call to him, of course. But even sensing Ylia's current state, Galdan might try to convince her that children who had been living in the open for so long would be safe there another few hours. The cat tried anyway, but though she could sense him, she couldn't reach him. Wild Power! she thought furiously, and, tiredly, If I say her no, she'll go without me.
Something did not feel right, she couldn't think why; the backlash of Ylia's wildly flayed emotional state, no doubt. She put aside her usual fastidious dislike of the act and invaded the old man's thought. He was telling the truth, no doubt whatever about that. She could see the ledge, see the children—Ah, gods, it's going to tear her to bits, to see them. Worse by far than the old man had conveyed. If I went alone, brought them back—but Ylia would not permit that, either. She'd follow if the cat tried to leave her behind.
A brief, fatalistic gloom filled her. ‘Let us go, since you're set on it. Now, quickly.’
“My cloak—blast, it's upstairs with the sword!”
'You won't need any of that, let's go!’
Ylia turned to the old man. “Verdren—”
“I don't ride so quickly, Lady,” he began.
“We won't ride. Let me touch your thought so I can see where to go. You stay here; the door guard will bring you food.” The old hunter eyed her doubtfully. Magic; distrust and fear stood out all over him, and he was shaking as she released him. ‘Oh, gods. Cat, you saw?’
'I saw. Let me go alone, Ylia, look at you! You cannot deal with this.’
'No!’
'Hells. All of them,’ the cat responded flatly as Ylia bridged. Verdren cried out as they vanished, sank down into the nearest chair. His face went blank, he seemed scarcely to breathe. Galdan found him there hours later, staring without seeing across the polished table.
It was chill at the northern edge of the marshes. Ylia had forgotten how cold the wind was, coming across so much damp green, and there was a fog drifting up from the wet places and numerous little streams. They rested briefly, despite the smell of damp and decay; a single bridge from the valley had brought them this far, Ylia's doing, and she was paying for it. Nisana curled up in her lap, sheltering as much as possible from the wind, and kept prudently quiet.
“I'm sorry, cat; too much at once.”
'Two bridges might have been easier on you. Take the rest of the distance in two steps, it won't take that much more time, and you need strength to bring the children back to the valley.’
“I know.” Ylia pushed loose hair back from her forehead. “I just—” she swallowed, “children. And all I could think was, Berd—”
'Don't,’ the cat urged gently. ‘I know what you thought, I felt it. But I still wish we had waited for Galdan or Ysian.’ “No. If a child died because we waited or hurt longer than it had to—Nisana, I couldn't face that. You saw them.”
'I saw them.’
Ylia let the cat clamber onto her shoulder and stood. Nisana's thought touched hers, fed her power to shape, and they were again gone. The woods were eerily silent. If any of the Folk were about, she could not sense them. Ylia was too single-mindedly concentrating on that ledge, now just moments away. Nisana put aside all thought of again asking Ylia to wait so she could try to reach the Dryad Eya. She doubted if Ylia would have heard her just now, let alone agreed to such a delay. They joined for the final bridge.
“Cat?” Rock crunched underfoot, and wind howled around them, moaning through the tops of trees far below them. The dark was absolute. “Cat, I can't see, what's wrong?” There was a moon below, a thread of moon, there's nothing now, I can't see! “Nisana?”
'Trap!’ The cat's thought vibrated between her ears. Ylia's fingers moved along her left sleeve, freed the dagger. ‘Bridge, girl! Join flow and bridge! Ylia!’
But she was trying! “I can't!” Terror was crawling up her back, the certainty that someone stood there—she whirled, but there was nothing, nothing to see, nothing to sense—nothing to see with the inner sense, as though absolute darkness shrouded it, too. She could no longer even hear the scrunch of shattered rock under her boots. She felt pressure against her leg, stooped to gather Nisana close; the cat's fur was standing straight out, and she was growling low in her throat. Ylia was whispering in a thin little voice unrecognizable as her own: ‘Nisana, help me, Mother, help me, oh, gods and Mothers, someone, someone, help, please help me—!’
Power caught her by the throat, held her upright, kept her knees from buckling. The air was no longer opaque, she could see the rock ledge behind her, a spot there the size of her spread hand reddening as though it smoldered. It was pulsing, keeping track with her heartbeat. For one long, horrifying moment, she could not move at all.
'Focus. It'll bridge us to them—!’ Nisana's thought reached her faintly: The link between them was being severed.
Trap. “My fault,” Ylia whispered. “No, they can't, not both of us, not you, Nisana.” She bent her head to brush a kiss between dark ears, pivoted, scooped the cat's small body into one hand and threw as hard as she could. Nisana's startled shriek faded as she fell out and down the sheer ledge.
Ylia drew her breath on a sob, tightened her grip on the dagger hilts as the ruddy glow spread and enfolded her; a breath later, she was gone.
Pain, so much pain. I fell what seemed forever, my inner strengths fragmented by the pull of that focus, and then Ylia's ripping me from it perforce. I do not remember the moment when my body struck the ground.
For long I lay there, unable to feel or see, scarcely able to breathe. Sensation came back first; pain like fire, so much of it that I knew my hurts to be grave indeed. I dared not move; I was unable to sense beyond myself, unable even to see.
So much time passed before I was able to dampen the pain enough to call upon the Power, and to move myself by miserably short bridgings, back to the Tower. And I cursed myself the while for not sensing that trap beforehand, for not obeying my impulse when Verdren spoke; that I had not somehow kept my Ylia from harm.
The outside world faded around me as l bridged, until there was nothing but myself, pain, the drain on my strength I could ill afford and a growing sense of urgency and fear. Then only the pain, and the thought that I must find Galdan and lay fresh grief upon him.
17
Ylia woke to such complete darkness and silence that she was certain at first she'd gone deaf and blind. The faint rustle of straw beneath the rough blanket on which She lay assured her she could hear beyond the scree in her ears. Vision, t
hough: She felt for the second level of sight, but there was nothing there.
She sat up abruptly, one arm clawing for support as dizziness swept over her. Stone: Indoors. Cellar, dungeon—Lyiadd's halls? But there was a scent teasing the back of her mind, a tart, fruity scent—wine. Father's wine! The odor was unmistakable: not just any wine, but the special vintage Brandt's father had laid down, the dark red they used only for midwinter banquet. It was the first wine she'd ever been permitted, a smell she'd have known anywhere. And the inference was as unmistakable as the red: Father's winecellar. But there'd never been any kind of cot in the cellars at Koderra. Exploring, trembling fingers assured her she sat on a narrow pallet, affixed to the wall, a layer of dry straw laid over bare board and a rough woolen blanket over that.
She felt further: The dagger was gone, blade and sheath alike; the small blade gone from the holder inside her left boot. But in the place of the forearm sheath, secure around her wrist, was a bracelet: Thullen, her fingers told her. A goodly length of fine, strong chain led from the bracelet to a ring in the wall.
Trapped. It was worse than it had been in the Foessa; she huddled into herself for a long time, shivering with terror. Scythia's calming charm did not respond; like the rest of her AEldra Power, it was gone. The thing about her wrist had the Power buried so deeply she could not feel it at all.
She hugged herself, closed her eyes, spoke to herself aloud. The words were muted in the small stone chamber—an inner chamber, lowest level of Koderra's cellars; she remembered its exact location. It didn't matter: Koderra was so far from her own kind, from any aid—"Shhh. There is a way; there is always a way. Shhh. Relax. Whichever of them it is, don't show fear.” It seemed to take hours; her throat was dry, the words were a mere whisper. Slowly her hands relaxed, a little, but the fear was still a vast knot in her stomach. She gazed into the blackness vainly seeking anything to see. Nothing. The dark was oppressive, frightening. Anything could be there, she couldn't tell. Anything—Hands, feel where you are, see with them.
Time passed; she had no, way to guess how much. The Thullen bracelet was snug against her skin, but no more than snug. No catch her exploring fingers could find. The chain, though long and light enough not to hamper movement, had no weak point, and the staple that attached it to the wall was thick as her wrist.
She could move as far as one corner of the room but not as far as the opposite wall. Back past the cot—she stumbled into it, bruising her knees. She could feel the other corner with her outstretched foot.
It was smotheringly dark, oppressively silent in the boxlike chamber, and the pervasive odor of wine was making her ill; her head still ached from the forced bridge. Nisana. Oh, gods, how could I forget you? They couldn't have taken Nisana. Somehow she got away, she'll warn Galdan. He'll find me, he'll get me out of here. But there was no conviction in that thought, none at all.
Her mouth was dry. She wasn't hungry; that might have been as much fear as time. “Hours,” she whispered to herself. “If it were days thirst would be painful. They won't leave you here forever; someone will come to gloat.” She clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
More hours or minutes. She blinked, robbed at her eyes and sat upright on the uncomfortable bed. She hadn't imagined it: There was light almost directly across from her; the faintest hint of it, a thin band limning the door. Someone was coming. Someone—her throat dried further. There were voices now; murmurs and one rather reedy voice ordering something—Ah, Mothers, no! But there was no mistaking that voice: It belonged to Vess.
At first she could see nothing but a painful glare of light as the door opened; then a body blocked most of it. The outline was Vess', that unpleasant laugh unmistakable. Anger shot through her, shoving fear aside. She stood, blinking as her eyes fought to see. Wait. He would come nearer.
Vess took one of the lanterns from his guard and pulled the door to, behind him. Brandt's seal was impressed on the cellarer's table next to the door. It was one of the few things the Tehlatt had not found to burn. Vess eyed the little table complacently as he set the lantern on it and turned the same possessive eye on the room's other occupant.
“Well met, sweet cousin.” He smiled, reached for her hand as he came across the small chamber. Ylia stiffened; his fingers wrapped around hers, he took another step forward. She brought her knee up, hard. His elbow came down in a blurting arc to intercept it and she doubled over, hissing with pain. Vess gripped her manacled arm tightly, backed her against the wall and held her there, body pressed hard into hers.
“I can play rough if that's what you want, sweet cousin. But it's not my style.” He gripped her chin and forced it up. “Look at me, please.” Silence. “Look at me!”
She tried. Could not, quite, meet his eyes: Hers were watering from the pain in her thigh and the sudden light; she nearly trembled with the need to fight free of him, even knowing he was stronger, his balance point better—and that she was at a double disadvantage. “That's better. Only a fool fights a lost battle, and you, my fair cousin, are scarcely a fool.”
“Not often.” Her voice broke and she hated herself for it. Vess laughed in quiet satisfaction.
“No, not a fool. Perhaps too trusting.”
“Perhaps.” Steadier this time. He was still pressed against her. His skin smelled of soap and smoke; there was wine on his breath, some strange and unpleasant spice, but he'd chewed mint since he ate and drank; that lay incongruously over all.
“Now that you've come to me—however unwilling for the moment—”
“I will always be unwilling!”
Vess’ fingers tightened on her chin. “Do not interrupt me, I do not tolerate that in my women. For now, unwilling. Such things change. Women are changeable, and you, for all your mannish attire, are very much woman.” Silence. “Mine,” he added with an unpleasant smile, “just as Nedao will be mine. Doubly mine—by conquest and by marriage. That marriage will already be consummated, of course. And what better protection for Nedao's widowed Queen than that her cousin should wed her and take the overwhelming responsibility of ruling from her?”
“No!” Fury overcame sense; she fought his grip. Vess merely laughed, pressed her against the wall until she was forced to subside.
“I told you, do you remember what I said? You are just like any other woman. You all struggle—knowing you have no strength to match a man's. You cry out ‘no’ in such loud voices, but you never mean it. Hold still.” He leaned toward her; she twisted her face away from his. With an exasperated oath, he yanked on her plait. Her head went back into the wall with a crack that left her stunned. Vess’ mouth was on her throat, her eyelids, her mouth.
She tried again to turn away, gasped as he tightened his grip in her hair. “Be still! If you insist upon this pretense of protecting your virtue, I will have you held. I would prefer to be kind, but it is your choice. It would be embarrassing for you, but that also is your choice. Your only choice.”
She sagged against the wall, horrified and furious to find herself weeping. Vess gently wiped a tear from her cheek. The scent of him was overpowering on her empty stomach; it heaved.
His grip was hard on her shoulders, his voice all around her, thick with Power. “I forbid you to be ill, do you hear me? I forbid it!” The nausea was gone, as suddenly as it had come, and he was whispering against her ear. “You must not fight me, you must not be ill. You must trust me, my Lady. I want only to make you happy, Ylia. Sweet cousin.” Silence, save for her ragged breathing. “You will forget everything, everyone that is not me.”
She would have denied that; would have tried again to push him away, but her body wouldn't obey her. He picked her up and carried her back to the cot. She watched, numbly, as he moved to latch the door, to turn the lantern down. He was a shadow coming for her, a shadow that grew until it filled all her vision. A shadow and a presence that pressed down on her, driving bits of straw into the skin of her shoulders and back, cutting off breath and light and hope.
It w
as near midnight, but every window in the Tower showed light. People stood in the square and the street; a murmur of hushed, worried speech drifted through the open doors. Something wrong—what, no one had yet said, though many of the Sighted had seen a terrified Queen and her cat vanish from a high place, the reek of black sorcery all about them. Coming and going all day, the Elite Guard here and everywhere—the King shouting and cursing. Folk drew together for what comfort they could find in each other, and waited.
“I can't just stay here!” Galdan wasn't shouting now, but there was hysteria in his eyes, and his voice shook. Ysian gripped his shoulder, handed him wine; he shoved it aside.
“You must stay,” Bendesevorian said flatly. “Lyiadd tampered with the old man. But Verdren must have sent them to someplace. We may discover where they went once I find a way to read him. The Foessa are vast, can you search them all by yourself? And where will you start?”
Galdan slumped in his chair, buried his head in his hands. “I can't wait. If I do, if she dies because I—” He couldn't go on.
“You cannot run wildly, that will not help her or Nisana. Nedao cannot afford to lose you also. You know that.” Silence. Galdan started as the Power backwash of an inbridging touched him.
“Oh, gods.” Ysian dropped the winecup and flew across the chamber. “Nisana.” The cat stood just within the room, swaying; as Ysian dropped to her knees, Nisana made one faint mewing sound and fell over. “She's—help me, one of you, she's hurt, she's terribly hurt!” Galdan caught her shoulders, pulled her around and turned her head away, Ysian clung to him briefly, but then pushed away. Bendesevorian touched dark, sticky fur. One of the cat's hind legs was bent at an unnatural angle and skinned well up the hip. Dried blood darkened her nose; her eyes were half-closed, unseeing.
“She will live,” he said finally. “But she's taken a dreadful fall, I wonder she was able to bridge at all.”
“Ylia—” Galdan turned away and slammed his fists against the wall.