Fires of Nuala

by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

  But Nualans did not lie — they only bent the truth.…

  Placing the pottery piece on the table, Darame leaned back in her chair. “So. Were you merely curious, or have you come to grace my presence for some other reason?”

  “‘A woman of ice, with a heart of fire,’” the man said suddenly, and he spoke as if he quoted Holy Writ. “‘And the grass that refuses to bend in the wind shall burn at her words.’” He nodded once again, as if satisfied with something, and then drained his mug in one breath. Darame studied the flash of firelight against his cup of beaten metal. A thin white scar etched from little finger to wrist momentarily caught her gaze.

  Watching the man set his tankard on the table and signal to the attendant, Darame felt her eyebrows slowly draw together. This one reeked of some religious fringe. Wonderful. How to get rid of him without offending anyone?…

  Settling back in his chair to await a fresh drink, the stranger suddenly said: “I am Fergus reb^Fern, of Lebanon Way. I have traveled these mountains some thirty years Terran, and I am no bad guide.”

  “What could you guide me to?” Darame asked carefully, indirectly.

  Smiling wolfishly, Fergus said: “Many things.” He paused, watching the attendant carefully refill his mug with some sort of ale. “My tab,” he told the youth, who nodded his understanding. Glancing over at the woman, he added: “The boy is deaf and mute, but reads lips quite well.”

  “You know what I seek?” she said, glancing at the bay window across the room. Darkness was falling fast — she would have to return to their small camp soon.

  “Sanctuary,” Fergus replied, his nod slower this time, and drawn out. “I think it can be arranged.”

  “Do you know where to find what I seek?”

  “No.” The man’s expression did not change. “But I can make a very good guess.”

  Darame covered her annoyance. “I do not have time for riddles,” she said gently. “Others more frail than I depend on your answer.” She shivered as she spoke, for the outer door had opened, several snow-dusted figures entering.

  “You will not find another guide,” he told her simply. “The loyalty of this town is absolute.” Rising to the balls of his feet, he leaned forward to seize his mug.

  “And your loyalty is not?” Bland — no accusation, no threat, not even curiosity…

  Fergus laughed softly in his throat. “My loyalty is to Mendülay. Loyalty to a god is not always the same thing as loyalty to one’s ruler.”

  “You are a priest,” she said carefully, uncertain of the noun.

  “Very good. You learn our language quickly.” At her lifted eyebrows, he said: “No, no accent… at all. Your speech is too precise. But one must know what to listen for.…” He blew the foam of his drink into the fireplace, giving a sudden, yeasty smell to the room. “You need not fear the path I will lead you upon, woman. I owe the royal Atares a debt; one I am not sure I can repay. Leading you to Sheel Atare will not begin to settle the balance.”

  “How much?” That might be too blunt, but subtlety was not helping with this one.

  “As I said, I owe a debt.” He drained the tankard quickly, soundlessly, and then turned the mug over, the dregs dripping into the fireplace. “Are you ready?”

  “Tonight?” She frowned, wondering what Ayers would say to this development. “Perhaps at dawn… Heavy snow is promised tonight. Where… can I find you?”

  Fergus shook his head and stood, seizing his staff. “We will be snowbound by morning. If you do not move quickly, your camp will be buried.” He grinned suddenly. “I noticed them before I sought you.” The mug disappeared into the folds of his poncho, and he flipped up his hood. “Come.”

  Dropping several coins on the table, Darame pocketed her pottery fragment and followed.

  EIGHTYFOURDAY, COMPLINE

  Used to the higher noise level of the caverns, Sheel did not really notice Jude’s arrival in the cave, nor Mailan stepping aside for conversation. The screen had absorbed him; they had power, now, and he would solve this mess. Somewhere in all of this was an answer to Cort’s death, to all the deaths. Something they had not seen —

  “Atare?” Mailan’s voice was especially low tonight, cutting through his thoughts. “You have a visitor.”

  Lifting his head, Sheel fastening his gaze upon the guaard. “A visitor?”

  “There are many outkin in the area, my Atare,” she continued steadily. “It was inevitable that one of them would learn of your location.” In her usually expressionless working tones Sheel detected both exasperation and amusement. “She says she has news for you.”

  “What is it?”

  “As she is a serae, I did not presume to question her without your presence.” Approaching the usual lack of expression, the mountain lilt invisible.…

  Sheel sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. After two cups of mead, he was not at his sharpest. Who would have expected visitors? “Send her in,” he said finally, suspecting that this game could go on all night. Why was Mailan suddenly so evasive?

  Squishing snow was audible in the corridor; it was Fion who led in the visitor. A delicate, familiar fragrance floated in the air. Dressed in the browns and whites the locals preferred for outdoor wear, she was almost unrecognizable. Almost.

  “Crystle?” Straightening in his seat, Sheel made no attempt to hide his amazement.

  Removing her scarf and sodden hat, the woman smiled tentatively. It was an embarrassed smile, pasted on a tense form. “Atare.” Although her snow gear was as casual as any could be, she made a formal courtesy to him. Half-rising, Sheel took her cold hand and pulled her toward one of the other packing crates they were using as seats.

  “Welcome to the informal meeting room,” he said easily, struggling to hold back his laughter. Dear Mendülay, I surrender! This woman has defeated me!

  “You should have come to the hotel,” she said without preamble. “It closes for the winter, you know. Avalanches are too common here for winter sports. Surely it would have been as private.”

  “The lights.” At Crystle’s blank expression, Sheel continued: “The lights of the hotel can be seen from the town. I could not arouse comment too soon. It seems we are already undone. Where is our weak link? Or have you come to finish me off?” He asked it lightly — Crystle might want to kill him for avoiding her, but that was another thing entirely — but the woman’s face drained of color.

  “She is unarmed, Atare,” Fion said quietly, still waiting by the entrance arch.

  “I am teasing you, woman,” Sheel said quickly, afraid she might faint. “I know well your loyalty to our line.”

  “I have closed up your weak link,” she started softly. “The men who bring your supplies, Warner and Joseph — they were talking in the stables, my uncle’s stables. I had just come in, and overheard them. They have learned not to discuss even supply trips. They claim it is the first time they have spoken aloud. I hope so.…” Relaxing slightly, Crystle brightened as Crow appeared with mugs of hot wine. “I came to tell you that someone has asked for you in town.”

  “Indeed. When?” Sheel released her now-warm hand to allow her to take a drink from the tray.

  “Just this day. I think I have seen her before, although in snow wraps it is hard to tell. The silver-haired woman your brother dumped a drink on at Seri Tobias’s party. I think she is an off-worlder — do you remember?” Crystle asked, her soft blue eyes lifting to meet his gaze.

  “Yes, I remember,” Sheel said smoothly.

  “Since I left town right after the party, I did not know she was still here. I suppose everyone is being detained until they find who murdered The Atare.” Sipping at her mug, Crystle continued her story. “She asked everywhere for you, but she did not leave word of where she could be reached. She asked only that if you passed through, someone should tell you she had asked for you.”

  “So you do not know where she is?” Sheel said, his gaze flicking to Mailan’s still form.

  “Not exactly.�
� Crystle’s brow furled slightly. “Warner says he followed her to the tavern. She had a light dinner there, and began talking to one of the local holy ones. She left with him.”

  “Holy ones?” Crow asked.

  “Yes, holy ones,” Crystle went on. “Fergus reb^Fern, one of those called a prophet by some of the wandering bands that winter in this area. He is from Lebanon — ”

  “A Sini?” This was abrupt; Sheel doubted if Darame would know how to recognize either a Sini or a mock-Sini, and that could be a problem. It would never occur to a sini that an off-worlder could get so far inland and not know the traditional signs.

  “A mock-Sini. He has been in this area since before I was born. Everyone knows him. Warner could not hear all the conversation, but the holy one seemed to think he could find you, and offered to lead the woman and her group.”

  “Group?” This was from Fion.

  “Yes. I am not sure what that meant, I saw no one except the off-worlder and one other man who shadowed her.” Crystle turned to face Fion at this.

  “What do you mean, ‘shadowed’?” Fion asked gently.

  “Followed her everywhere, like you follow The Atare.” She glanced back at Sheel.

  Nodding, Sheel looked over at Mailan. “Well?”

  “The snow increases, Atare. We may be stranded by morning. I fear you are stuck here, Serae,” she added, glancing at Crystle.

  She shrugged. “I knew it was a possibility. I will not be missed, while Warner or Joseph might have been. Many people suspect you are in the area, and Warner will tell my uncle I went off with a message, should he ask. No one will search for me.” She sipped her wine once again. “I brought some things to keep me busy: a few rings to listen to, if you have a spare machine, and some fine needlework. I will keep out of your way.”

  Fion backed out the irregularly shaped entrance, and leaned against a stalagmite of hard rock.

  Sheel finally reached for the other mug and took a long drink. “How did you end up here? I thought your parents lived south of Atare, on Half-Moon Bay.”

  “They do,” Crystle answered calmly, leaning back against the rock. “But I do not take to the sea well. I never have,” she added ruefully, taking a longer sip of the cooling wine. “Much to my trader father’s dismay. It is necessary for me to be able to return to Atare quickly, so we all decided that visiting up here would be a good idea. I must return to town after the Yule.”

  “A good fortyday yet,” Sheel said, propping his feet up on another crate. “Are you warm enough?” He asked suddenly. It was something he often forgot, that others were cold when he was comfortable.

  “Yes, Atare. Do not concern yourself.” She concentrated on her wine once more.

  At least she is not paralyzed by my position, he thought wryly. A few had been, since his sudden elevation. That Crystle could talk to him as they had before — before she became so desperate about a child — was a wonder.

  “Thank you for bringing us word,” Sheel went on quietly. “The off-worlder may have some important news for me.”

  “A strange messenger, an off-worlder,” Crystle commented. “No one would think of her, that is certain.”

  At least not up here, Sheel agreed silently. Crystle’s tone intrigued him. “You do not care for off-worlders?”

  She straightened at that, coloring delicately across cheeks and throat. “I… do not know the woman, Atare. I meant nothing specific — ”

  “The question was a general one,” Sheel interrupted, sparing her further explanations.

  “Then… no, I do not. At least not for the men. And few of the women. They seem hard to me.… They come here to take, and do not care what they destroy in the meantime. I thought that would make me not care.… That I could come to the capital and succeed where my sister failed. But I cannot bear the thought of them, much less their touch.” She looked down into her glass. “I know they bring needed trade to our home, but still…”

  “Succeed where your sister failed? I did not know you had — ” The wine had loosened his tongue; Sheel stopped abruptly, and then realized the pause drew even more attention to his words.

  “I do not. Not any more.” Crystle kept her gaze on the soft white light of the globe sitting in a wall niche. “She finally conceived late last year — either a trader or one of the younger ambassadors — and tried to carry the child full term. She lost it this spring, before Ascension Day. And her own life.… There was too much blood, and she was far from medical help when it happened. Careless, to assume things would continue to go so well.” Her tone was very even, more controlling emotion than lacking it. “I am now the mother of my line. I must be careful of myself.”

  Just about the time you switched from pleasant scenery to haunting my footsteps, Sheel thought, but did not say aloud.

  “Feeling as you do, I hope you do not intend to go to Caesarea,” Sheel murmured, reaching carefully for the insulated pitcher sitting on the tray.

  That surprised the woman, and the look she gave him spoke many words. “How could I? I am the last. My mother would never sleep again, or worry herself into her grave, if I took ship. And what if I failed even then?…” Shaking herself, she resolutely shook her head. “No. I am satisfied with my decision… at peace with it. I was not fertile during the Festival of Masks, unfortunately, but the lab thinks I may cycle close to the Yule. I will go back right after it, and try my luck then.”

  “You should have told me you were going to the lab,” Sheel said simply. “I know all the people there, I could have made it… easier for you.” Defeat of any kind is a hard admission.

  “I would have asked you about it, but… I did not decide until after The Atare was killed,” she finally said. “It did not seem like a good time to bother you with such small things. And then, after Seri Iver died — ” That seemed to choke her.

  Reaching for her mug, Sheel poured her another glass of wine. “I miss him, too,” he said gently.

  “He was always kind,” she whispered, “and his wife was – is — a sweet woman. Were all the women on Emerson like Serae Bette?”

  Crystle was wrapped in private thoughts, and did not see Sheel stiffen. “If they had been,” he said quietly, “I would have brought someone home.”

  She was sensitive to nuance — her grip tightened on the handle of her mug. “I apologize, Atare. I did not think.” She looked over at him, studying his face. Something she saw there made her ask: “Do you dislike them, too?”

  “Remember I have to marry one,” Sheel pointed out dryly as he settled his attention on his mug. “No… Dislike is not the word. I do not understand them, Crystle. I begin to despair of ever finding an off-worlder who can accept both Nuala… and me.”

  “Whatever could be unacceptable about you?” She sounded so shocked that Sheel started laughing.

  When he finally got control of himself, he realized she was embarrassed. “I think I needed that,” he whispered through chuckles. “That does put things into perspective. Healers do not frighten you?” The question was calm, but he watched her intently as he asked it.

  “Of course they do,” she responded, returning to her drink. “To be able to seal broken flesh with a touch! It must be like being an… an intermediary between man and Mendülay.” There was so much reverence in her voice he could not find her words offensive. “I can see how it might frighten an off-worlder. Especially if they did not expect such a thing. Nowhere else have humans mutated so, have they?”

  “No.” It sounded abrupt, but Sheel had no words to expand it.

  “You will find someone,” she said, radiating an air of supreme confidence. “Someone will recognize your superior qualities, and they will come to terms with your talent.”

  “Curse.” He took another drink. What am I doing getting drunk with this child of the sea who smells of meadow flowers? I am not sure this is approved etiquette.

  “Surely…”

  “Not to our people, of course. But to me, a curse. Do you know what it brought me
after a year of searching Emerson? Two women I thought I could live with for the rest of my – theoretically — long life. One of them was too terrified of the planet and the Long Sleep… of waking and knowing her parents were probably dead. The other thought I was fine for minor pleasures, but the idea of actually carrying my child apparently turned her stomach.” That brought him up straight in his chair. He had not meant to say that much, and hoped she did not try to see within the gaps.

  “Last spring I would have killed for what she refused,” Crystle murmured, snuggling back against the stone.

  “Crystle, I am sorry — ” He started, and then wondered what he was going to say to this woman. You obviously have drunk too much today.…

  “Do not say it, Atare.” She turned slightly so she was facing him, her soft blue eyes vivid in the dim light of the room. “You owe me no explanations. If Emerson was that bad for you, no wonder you had no thoughts for women in the spring. And the way I was acting a few months ago…” She frowned sourly. “It worked for Claire reb^Guin. I had more dignity… until my sister died, and then…” She glanced away from him, her gaze moving from one globe to the next, trying to hide the bright unshed tears caught in her lashes.

  “Why not Iver? Or Caleb?” I do not believe you are asking this question.

  Crystle smiled a tight, wry little smile. “But I did not want Caleb or Iver, Atare. I wanted you. If I wanted good genes that badly, I suppose I should have swallowed my distaste of off-world men. They certainly find Nualan women attractive.”

  “All women.”

  His stress was not lost on her. “Perhaps that is it. They looked upon me as merely an extremely attractive woman.… Perhaps artificial for all they knew, but for what they wanted, it did not matter. As for your brothers… Caleb flitted from woman to woman. His new wife… She had the prestige and money, and his attention, occasionally. I did not want to be passage in the night. And Iver was sweet… indeed, persistent. I had decided at that party to give in, but he had noticed the silvery woman, so I planned to wait. Iver… He laughed at the wrong things. Not the things I found funny. You, however…” Sighing, she smiled at him. “You always had that sly laugh in your eyes, like you saw how funny everything was — all of us, the off-worlders — and yet you still seemed to like things. Even that private sadness around you did not dampen the brilliance that clings to you, like polished trine.” She set her empty mug on the table. “I wanted someone who wanted more than a night, someone whose child I would enjoy raising. Obviously not the right attitude for the head of a line. Mother would have hysterics if she knew I turned down Caleb and Iver for those reasons. She thought I settled on you because you were a healer.”