“She is ready,” Mayra said. “Quickly now, quickly.”
Hurriedly the acolytes forced the Wanderer to her feet. From somewhere they produced paints and began to trace intricate patterns on her skin.
“She is drifting.” Mayra handed a strap to one of the acolytes. “Strike her, Sh’ta, and continue on a count of ten until I say otherwise. She must fight. She must struggle, or it won’t work.”
Sh’ta took a stance behind the strange woman, lifted her arms and brought the strap down with all her might. The Wanderer moaned and tried to pull away. They held her and continued to paint. The pattern grew, down her arms, across her breasts and belly, down her back and buttocks, down her legs. It seemed to have no end. Nor beginning either. It seemed to shift. It seemed to move, to—
I shook myself and looked away. It would have provided material for a lifetime of jokes if I had been caught in a spell not even meant for me, one for which I had paid, or would pay, at some unspecified time in the future, with some unnamed service.
They moved back from the woman again, leaving her to stand alone. At some time during the painting they had untied her arms, but she moved them as if she were not certain they were hers. She swayed, watching us blearily, and the lines on her naked body appeared to take on a life of their own.
Mayra moved forward again, lifting a bone wand to point at the woman. Loudly she recited spell-words, and with every word the Wanderer jerked as if struck.
“Gemeente! Pacavra! Oko! Ghala! Mikate!” She took a last step and touched the wand to the woman’s forehead. “Spara’t’gi!”
And the woman fell backward to the ground. From head to foot she quivered, her head tossing from side to side. Her chest heaved more violently with every breath. And then the quivering was gone. Her muscles became rigid, instead, each muscle tightening, clenching, as she began to bend, to arch into a bow, until only her toes and the top of her head and her fingers touched the ground, and every muscle stood out as if carved from stone. Her throat corded, and she screamed, a scream that went on and on and on.
“Sri Ja’ti!” intoned Mayra, and the woman collapsed bonelessly to the ground.
For a time she lay there without moving. Finally she lifted her head. “What happened to me?” she asked faintly. “Must be a dream, a dream or a nightmare. Can’t be real.” She pushed herself up to sit on one hip. She looked at me, then at Mayra, then back to me again and shook her head. “It just can’t be real.”
Mayra smiled at her gently. “Are you all right, child?”
“I’m tired,” the woman replied, “and I’m cold. And I—” She froze with her mouth half open. “I understood what you said,” she said softly. “It was nonsense, just noise, but I understood. And I, I’m speaking the same thing. It’s not—” Her mouth searched for a word that wasn’t there.
Suddenly she threw her arms around herself and shivered. “I can’t think of the name of my own language.” Tears bubbled on the edge of her voice. “I can’t say it, I can’t even think of it. I’m going crazy.” Her voice rose to a peak, and the tears that had threatened now fell.
“Be easy, child.” Mayra touched her on the forehead, and her tears stopped.
She looked at the older woman in wonder. The tension and fear drained out of her almost visibly. It was a fine moment, perhaps, but I had no time for fine moments.
“Mayra, let’s get on with finding out how she can help me.”
“Slowly, Wulfgar.”
“Mayra—”
“Slowly. Slowly.” She smiled at the woman, and got a faint smile in return. “What’s your name, child?”
“Elspeth. There’s more, but I can’t seem to remember.”
“That’s because Elspeth is a name in our language, too. The spell I used took the words that you knew and replaced them with the same words in our speech, but words for which we have no equivalents, or words for which you had no equivalents, you don’t know. The spell couldn’t give you names for things you’d never seen, or replace words that just don’t exist here.”
“You’re saying that my, my old language is gone? Forever? But why? Why would you do something like that?”
“Because you’re a key,” I said, “or so the rune-bones say, and I’ve no reason not to trust them.”
“All right, Wulfgar,” Mayra sighed, “ask your questions. But don’t be too hard on her. It’s early for her yet.”
“Who is he?” Elspeth asked. “Who are you?”
“He’s our leader,” Mayra replied.
“Mayra,” I said, “the questions? If she’s the key I have to know how to use her.”
“Wait a minute,” Elspeth broke in. “Nobody’s going to use me for anything.”
Mayra raised her hands and let them fall in her lap. “You see, Wulfgar, you’ll have to be patient. And you, child, ride with this as best you can. Sooner or later you must, and it would be best to make it as easy as possible.”
After a moment the girl nodded, and Mayra signaled me to continue. For all her outbursts, she was self-possessed, this Wanderer. Her body formed a fluid curve, and she wore the paint from the spell with the grace of a Tufek skin dancer. The momentary eruption of fear was gone.
“Elspeth,” I began slowly, “you are the key, the answer to two problems that confront us.” I stopped, for in truth I wasn’t certain how to discover what I needed. I wasn’t even certain what it was that I needed.
“Elspeth,” I began again, “what were you in your world? Were you a Sister of Wisdom?”
She shook her head. “Whatever that is, I wasn’t it. I was a student. Another year and I would’ve been qualified to teach history at a university.”
“A scholar.” I dug a heel into the ground and glared at her. “A historian. Do you know how to keep the fanghorn from raiding the herds? Does your history teach you how to find water when there is no water, but your people and your herds will die without it?”
“Gently, Wulfgar,” Mayra said. “If she doesn’t know the answers, perhaps those aren’t the answers you need.”
“Mayra, could it be that it’s not something she knows? Could it be she herself that’s the answer? Could she be a catalyst?”
“I’ve told you what I know. I might try to find out how she fits the pattern of events, but there’s already a great clouding surrounding everything. Spells and counterspells and more spells. If I try to find out anything too specific the chances are I’ll see nothing at all or what Sayene or the Most High want me to see. They’ve moved first on this. The advantage is theirs.”
“All right.” I got to my feet and pulled Elspeth to hers. “Let it be. Will you send a message to Moidra about this for Bohemund?”
“If you wish it. And if you’re willing to have anyone who cares to listen know all about it. Message-spells aren’t very private.”
I hesitated. That there was trouble brewing I had to let him know. The rest I might keep to myself for a while. “Leave the Wanderer out. Just let Moidra know about what’s happening in Lanta. After all, solution or not, Elspeth’s of no use until I can find out how to use her.”
Instead of going straight to my own tent I headed for Talva’s. Elspeth seemed more interested in looking than talking. I was happy enough with her silence, for I still couldn’t understand her. She did not act naturally. A woman who’d been swept away from her own world should have been hysterical. She, once her breakdown over the language was past, had taken it all much too calmly. As we walked she acted as if the tents had been laid out like a village peddler’s pack for her enjoyment. It wasn’t natural.
VI
THE PRICE
Talva was waiting for us. She was inside her tent, and an apprentice had to go inside for her, but it was all for show. The apprentice hadn’t time for three words before Talva was out to meet me. Besides, she wore a cape of brocade and the boots with thick soles and high heels that she used in place of sandals when she wanted to appear taller. She wouldn’t have worn either while lounging around her tent.
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“My lord.” Her bow was smooth, and it could have been used as a study on exactly how far to bow, to the last fraction, without giving offense.
“This girl, Talva. I want to buy her. How much?”
“Buy me!” Elspeth interrupted.
She cast an eye over Elspeth, ignoring the outburst, and pursed her lips. “One hundred imperials,” she said finally. “Gold imperials.”
“One hundred—? Does she look like a graduate of the training pens of Asmara?”
“I’m right here,” said Elspeth, but we continued to negotiate over her voice.
“The price is still one hundred. If you don’t want her at that, there are others who will. My lord.”
The title had been an afterthought, and a surly one at that. I wondered if she was this rude to all of her customers.
“Done,” I said.
“In two or three days I’ll have her speaking well enough to be understood. More than that—”
“That’s taken care of. Mayra spell-taught her.”
Her look was more speculative this time. “So much expense, so much trouble, for a Wanderer? Why is she so important?”
“The concerns of the Sisters of Wisdom are not for you to worry about.”
Talva stared at me blankly. I wasn’t sure if she believed me or not, but until I could find out what was important about her myself, I wanted no rumors started, and few dared start rumors of the Sisters of Wisdom.
“What is this?” demanded Elspeth. “No one owns me.”
Talva opened her mouth to speak, but I interrupted her. “I did buy you, Elspeth, but now you are free.” Talva’s eyes widened in shock. “You will serve me until you pay off the debt of your freedom. Talva here will train you, teach you to live among us.”
Stunned, Talva came to her senses. “Every day, for several hours a day, for tendays to come, you belong to me. I will see that you are taught the things you should know. How to dance. How to sing. You must know how to read and memorize, because you’ll have to recite poetry and stories, the great sagas, to your lord. You’ll learn how to cook and to clean and to care for him in a thousand ways.”
Her voice trailed off, and she smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.
“If you think—” interrupted Elspeth.
“Tomorrow,” Talva continued, “you will learn respect.” She rubbed her hands together eagerly. “First thing in the morning, before it’s light even, we’ll hang you up by your heels and beat you. You’ll scream, but after a time goes by you’ll realize that screaming isn’t doing much good.” Her satisfaction grew. “That’s when you’ll begin to beg. You must do it very hard and very well before you’ll convince me to let you down, but you will. Once you’re down I’ll let you follow me around, on your hands and knees, of course, like a dog. You’ll be just the right height then for me to pat you on the head if you please me. Won’t you enjoy that?”
She stopped as if for an answer, but I doubt she expected one. Elspeth looked as if she was beginning to feel sick.
“Of course, little one, you won’t be good for long. Sooner or later you’ll try to take advantage. You’ll think you’re privileged just because I’m not punishing you. And then it’ll be heels up in the air again and on with the whipping. And that’s all we’ll do, all day, but do you know, before the day is over I think you’ll have learned your proper place. When can I have her, Wulfgar?” It struck her who she was speaking to, and she modified her tone. “I meant to say, my lord.”
“Tomorrow will be time enough,” I said. “I want her with me tonight.”
“Of course, my lord.” She made that fractionally correct bow again.
Elspeth appeared thoughtful on the way to my tent. Her interest in her surroundings was gone.
“If I really believed that I had to face that tomorrow, I think I’d go crazy.”
I sighed heavily. I had been going to let her worry about it for the night, then stop Talva in the morning. Now I wondered if I should let it go on as planned. I needed to know why she seemed to think it was a game, that none of what Talva had said would happen. I asked her.
“Why, this is all a dream,” she said. “At first I was terrified. I thought I was going mad. But now I have it all figured out. I am in a, in a, in the care of a healer, you see. I was injured by a robber.”
“Just how did you puzzle all this out?”
“Well, it just has to be. I was on my way to a party. I told the man I was going with that I’d meet him there. It was a nice night, so I decided to walk through the park on the way. Somewhere along the way, though, I got off the path. The ground was very rough, and it seemed to have gotten very hot all of a sudden. I tried to find my way back to the path, but I couldn’t, and then I just tried to walk out in a straight line, but that didn’t work either.
“Along the way I realized that the moon was too big. Then I realized there were three other moons, and one of them was moving too fast, and none of them was moving in the right direction. Finally the sun came up. Instead of being in the park, I was in some kind of desert, and the sun looked wrong in some way, and there was another moon in the sky, in the daylight, and it was colored red. Whoever heard of a red moon in the daytime? It was only a little while later that those men showed up.
“There are some tough gangs who hang out near where I go to school, but they’d all run away screaming if one of those horsemen turned up. I had my, my weapon for protection when I went out after dark, and I just pulled it out and let fly.” She laughed. “It didn’t do much good, but I did get one where he sits.” She laughed again.
“And after that there was everything that happened here. You, with your face carved out of stone, looking like some kind of war god. That witch woman. Spells and magic. That funny little woman who says she’s going to beat me. It’s all too wild and strange to be anything but a dream. I was hurt somehow, or maybe I drank too much and passed out, but this is a dream.” The smile faded away. “It is a dream, isn’t it?”
“In the morning,” I said, “you’ll discover how real it all is. It’ll be a painful lesson, I’m afraid, but in the long run it may save your life or your sanity if you learn it now.”
She seemed a little dazed as I took her arm, and we walked back to my tent.
VII
A WARRIOR BRAND
With darkness the Altaii retreated to their tents, except for those on guard. There was no reason for it here, far from the Plain we normally rode, but custom is a strong thing. No man who has experienced the night winds, the sudden storms and the moving walls of sand that cross the Plain at night stays out in it without reason.
In my tent the table was set with food, the wine was cold, the toklava hot, and Sara danced for me. She was tall, an olive-skinned beauty from Keev, and she saw in the tall Elspeth a rival for her place. So she danced. Not what the men of the cities call dancing, not the pale thing that their women do in taverns. The dance that Sara did spoke of life and lust and passion. More heat came from her than from the toklava.
Mirim and Elnora served the food. On this night I had no companions to meet, but still, according to custom, they did not eat with me. They would eat when I was done. Once I met a man from a far city who said that this proved we were barbarians. If we were civilized, he said, all would eat together. I wonder what he would have said could he have been on the Plain with us when the months of Keseru are on us, when the waterholes are dry, and the rivers gone, and the cattle die by the thousands. Then food is portioned out, but the largest portions go always to the warriors, and they are first fed.
Barbarous, that man would have said, but what would he say when the fanghorn came to drink the blood of horses and cattle and of men who were too weak to escape? Would he then have called it barbarous that there were men with strength enough to fight the fanghorn and drive it away? Should everyone have eaten alike, that all might die at the beast’s attack? Twice have I seen the months of Keseru, once as a man and once as a child, and neither time did any die who was n
ot among the warriors who faced the beast.
On this night, though, there was no thought of hunger. Even the dogs would eat better than a man during Keseru. The details of all this were still not quite clear to Elspeth. She sat and watched and fumed. When first she realized that she would have to wait before eating she thought it was a joke. Now she no longer thought it funny. Perhaps she thought we intended to starve her.
The tent flap opened, and Rolf entered, sealing the flap behind him. “My lord? I may talk with you?”
“Come in, Rolf. Of course. What is it you want to talk about? Mirim, wine for Rolf. Or would you rather have toklava?”
“Toklava. If it please you, my lord. The Wind still blows out there, and it’s enough to freeze your bones.”
“Then what are you doing out in it? Couldn’t it wait until morning? Mirim! Where’s that toklava?”
She scurried up and bent over him with the pot, fresh from the coals. Rolf’s face was a study as she leaned toward him to pour. Her own face was stiff and worried. Then she caught my eye on her, and a smile returned to her lips, but not her soft brown eyes.
“You’re worried, Mirim?” I asked.
Her smile broadened. “No, my lord.”
She turned and moved away in a walk that was as interesting in its own way as Sara’s dance. Rolf certainly seemed to think so.
“Rolf,” I said, laughing, “time enough for that when you get the warrior brand. What is it you want to talk about?”
He sniffed the steam rising from the clear liquid, and drank deeply. “There are rumors in the tents, my lord. Rumors that fly as if they had wings and seem to change completely from the first teller to the third.”
“You know better than to trust rumor,” I chided.
“That’s why I came to you. All of the rumors have one thing in common, and if it’s true, you would be the one to know, my lord.”
Warrior of the Altaii Page 5