Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) (20 page)

“No,” Alyea said, musing. “I can see that.” And she could. What Lord Eredion was hinting at had little to do with the physical and economic chaos of a regime change, but a deeper, more spiritual set of problems.

People had grown accustomed to hard lives, had begun to expect horror on a daily basis; had learned to devalue their neighbors as nothing more than a distraction to be thrown in the face of an advancing threat. And when the threat no longer existed, the behavior didn’t just fade away overnight. The population as a whole needed—she groped for the right words—to be retrained. She wasn’t entirely sure just how Eredion’s fellow desert lords were going about the matter, but this didn’t seem the time to ask for details.

The only other people who might have understood the problem were the priests, but their reaction to the crisis hadn’t been at all helpful, as she recalled. Even without Alyea pressing the issue, Oruen likely would have banished the s’iopes, just out of exasperation with their idiotic behavior.

“I stayed fairly public, while the others have been moving around the city more quietly, addressing the worst problems.” Eredion said. “I kept my ears open in court. Cleaned out the . . . debris . . . throughout the palace. And beneath it.” His expression turned slightly ill for a moment. “It’s not a particularly pleasant job, and it’s far from finished even now. But I found something unexpected when I started clearing the underground areas. Some
one
, actually—”

“Oh, how
tactful
,” Filin snorted, crossing his arms.

“I’ll admit the term might be a bit shaky at the moment,” Eredion said, not looking at Filin. “But it serves the moment. The child had kept someone alive down there in its lair. I still don’t know how, or why, or who; the moment I opened the door it—she—attacked me. I wasn’t expecting it.” He scratched his cheek again, his mouth quirking in an expression of deep embarrassment, and glanced at Deiq and the king as though checking reactions. “I went down. Blacked out. And when I got up, she was gone.”

“When was this?” Deiq demanded, intent. “How long ago?”

Oruen glanced at him, seeming irritated that Deiq had cut in, but made no open protest.

“Not long after Alyea left,” Eredion said. “It took me that long just to reach that spot. There’s a
maze
of tunnels and caverns under Bright Bay. I’d been clearing the tunnels for months when I found that room. I thought there was nobody left alive down there. I was tired and impatient, and careless. She got past me. And ever since, she’s been haunting the streets of Bright Bay; looking for something, but nobody can figure out what. She seems drawn to the graveyard at the edge of town, which is where we set a trap last night—and caught
him
.” He jerked his chin at Idisio.

“There was a certain amount of confusion over
his
identity,” Lord Filin said as though impatient to have his turn at everyone’s attention, nodding at Idisio pompously. “While we were standing around arguing, the creature—”

“Woman,” Eredion murmured.

Filin shook his head but otherwise ignored the comment. “—attacked us. Thank the gods Eredion had his wits ready and a handful of stibik in its face while the rest of us were scrambling.
These
idiots drew swords on it.” He glared at the trainees; they studied the floor intently, looking abashed and a touch sullen. “But after the stibik hit it, the
creature
took off.” He directed a hard stare at Eredion, as though challenging the Sessin lord to argue the term again; Eredion’s lips thinned but he stayed quiet.

Deiq’s expression turned dark. “That stuff shouldn’t even
exist
anymore!” he snapped. “What the hells are you doing with it?”

“Saving our lives,” Lord Filin said sharply. Deiq ignored him, staring only at Eredion.

Eredion wouldn’t meet Deiq’s glare. “The ketarches made their own decision,” he said, staring at the floor, much as the trainees were still doing. “And it was a weakened dose we used, not full strength—”

“That doesn’t make it better!” Deiq retorted. “It’s
banned
, damn it!”

“Talk to the ketarches about that,” Eredion said, still not looking up.

“I’ll damn well talk to the ones using it!”

“Knock it off! This isn’t the time to argue,” Lord Filin cut in, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and crossing his arms over his chest. “Worry at that bone later. It worked; it drove the creature off. And that means we’re definitely dealing with another mad ha’ra’ha. Unless you want to argue
that
?”

Eredion sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose; whether annoyed by or resigning himself to Filin’s continued attitude, Alyea couldn’t tell. The continuing clash over gender-specific terms was giving her a headache; she hoped they’d stick with
female
from this point out.

Deiq seemed to slump where he stood, the anger fading from his face. He rubbed both hands over his face. “No. You’re right.”

Idisio’s eyes widened and his face lost color again. Alyea tried to catch his gaze to offer a reassuring smile, but the boy seemed lost in some inner worry.

“
Another
one?” Oruen said sharply, leaning forward. “How many mad ha’ra’hain are there, exactly, if I may ask? I was under the impression that Ninnic’s child was an exceptionally unusual occurrence.”

“
Ninnic’s
child?” Alyea said, startled. At the same time, Deiq snapped, much louder: “It
was
.”

Everyone turned to stare at Deiq. An awkward moment of silence ensued, in which Deiq’s ugly expression only intensified. At last Deiq shrugged, his scowl easing, and added, “Rosin Weatherweaver had more to do with the madness of Ninnic’s child than heredity.”

“He’s right,” Eredion said. “Ninnic’s child wouldn’t have twisted so far without Rosin’s help.”

Oruen sat back in his chair, frowning, and looked unconvinced. “And yet, I have another mad ha’ra’ha in my city, less than a year after the first died.”

Filin said, as though generously conceding a point, “Well, we’re dealing with a crossbreed of
some
sort, or the stibik wouldn’t have driven it off so fast. And after all that time imprisoned, it’s likely barking mad, too. But it
might
have started out human-sane. It’s not acting like Ninnic’s child did.”

Alyea took advantage of the following pause and said, again, “
Ninnic’s
child?”

“Gets a bit complicated,” Eredion said, avoiding Deiq’s renewed glare. “There used to be a full ha’rethe under Bright Bay, you see, and . . . er . . . well.” He pursed his lips, visibly unhappy. “It would take so long to explain, and I
know
you’ll ask too many damn questions to let me get to the main point here. Can we just say—yes—Ninnic’s child, and skip the rest for now?”

“As long as you
promise
to give me the rest of the story one day,” Alyea said. “
Soon
.”

Eredion shrugged assent. “In any case,” he went on hurriedly, “this one’s acting more like a ha’ra’ha trying to hang onto what’s left of its sanity. It’s not hurting anyone, it’s not feeding—anymore. . . .”

Alyea’s eyes narrowed. “
Feeding?
”

Eredion glanced at her, then at Deiq’s fierce glower, looking first startled and then uneasy. “Ah, I thought you. . . .”

Deiq’s sour expression intensified even further. Alyea opened her mouth to ask what, exactly, Eredion had meant by
feeding
; that sounded too important to wait for a later explanation. A moment later, she felt a vague, velvet pressure build and dissipate behind her eyes, so quickly she scarcely noticed it; she rubbed her eyes with one hand and blinked hard. Without being sure why, she found herself staring at Deiq; he wore a suspiciously bland expression.

Eredion said hastily, “Well, never mind—Right now, the woman is searching for something. She seems attracted to graveyards at night, and children during the day. She rushes up to them, examines them, and then just
screams
this unearthly wail and rushes away again. Doesn’t hurt them, but gods, there’s an ocean of piss on the cobblestones in this city these days.”

Deiq didn’t laugh. Neither did anyone else.

Alyea struggled briefly with the feeling that she had forgotten something critically important; looked around her for clues and found a faintly puzzled expression on almost every face. Eredion avoided her gaze, and Deiq was frowning, apparently over what the Sessin lord had said.

“During the day?” Deiq asked. “Has anyone gotten a good look?”

“It’s been taking the
form
of a woman in white,” Lord Filin said, cutting a sideways glance at Eredion and pointedly not looking at Deiq. “She moves too fast, and people are too busy running away, for anything else. She hasn’t appeared often in the daylight, but half the city’s terrified to set foot out of doors. Oruen’s being pressured to call the northern priests back to help.”

“They couldn’t do anything but make it worse,” Deiq said.

“That’s what we figured.”

Deiq turned his stare on Idisio again, his expression deeply speculative.

“Idisio,” he said slowly, “why
were
you out in the middle of the night? In the middle of a rainstorm, at that?”

“I just . . . I had to get some air. I felt so hot, and restless, and I wanted to walk the streets alone, the way I used to.” Idisio frowned, as if hearing the absurdity of his own words. “I don’t know,” he said after another moment’s consideration. “I felt . . . called. Drawn. Like something wanted me to come out of the house.”

“You shouldn’t have felt our bait-call,” Eredion said. “Not that far away. What did it feel like?”

“Like someone was riffling through my mind. My memories. I couldn’t seem to stop it.”

“
That
definitely wasn’t us,” Eredion said, looking alarmed.

“No,” Deiq said, almost under his breath. “That was the ha’ra’ha woman you’re after.” He stared at Idisio speculatively. “She seems to have taken an interest in you, Idisio. I wonder why.”

Deiq stood to one side of the gathering, letting the desert lords hash out their ideas for handling the situation and argue over
it
versus
she
. That particular subtlety of wording didn’t matter to him; he’d managed to ignore Filin’s clear intent to antagonize him. And he knew better than to offer himself up as hunter. They wouldn’t trust him: and in this particular instance, he had to admit they would probably be right.

A mad ha’ra’ha was even more dangerous for its peers than for humans. And in this city, with the memories he could never quite escape, the encounter wouldn’t go well at all.

Yellow eyes in the darkness: laughter and a feeling like jagged lace stripping through his veins. A mocking voice ghosted through his mind: Leaving so soon, little cousin? No, that simply won’t do . . .
And as the pain hit, he screamed, louder and longer than Meer had, because Meer had been only human, and able to die to escape.

He blinked, swallowing hard, and gave silent thanks that nobody was looking his way; deliberately turned his back, breathing evenly until emotion eased and the stress-patterns faded from his skin.

It had probably been a very serious mistake to return to Bright Bay, a worse one to step into the palace. And now he had to deal with a mad ha’ra’ha—again—and that took precedence over everything else.

“Deiq,” someone said behind him.

He set a mild expression on his face and returned to the group. “Yes?”

“This, ahhhh, this tath-shinn—”

Deiq grinned, amused by the chosen compromise, and Eredion’s face relaxed for just a moment in response, then tautened again.

“—seems interested in Idisio, right? So how about using him as a draw—”

“As
bait
,” Idisio said, voice edged with a shrill tension. “For another damned trap.”

Deiq pursed his lips, considering. Idisio had already survived an attack by the strange ha’ra’ha once without succumbing to instability. Whether that steadiness came from his heritage or his youthful ignorance, Deiq wasn’t sure.

He only knew
he
couldn’t do it. Not here.

“Not a bad idea,” he said, prompting a betrayed glare from Idisio.

What about dignity and honor?
Idisio shot at him.

Sometimes honor requires losing some dignity
, Deiq answered, and firmly closed down further private communication with the younger ha’ra’ha before it could escalate into an argument.

It took another hour of discussion before a plan was formed. Idisio, still markedly unhappy, at last agreed that the danger to the city was worth risking a bit of his own skin over, and accepted—dubiously—the assurances that he wouldn’t be alone, and that they wouldn’t allow any harm to come to him.

“And you said she hasn’t hurt anyone, right?” he said hopefully.

“No, no, you should be perfectly safe,” Eredion assured him, and if his response seemed a bit too quick and his face a shade too tight, nobody remarked on it.

“And you won’t have any of that stubby powder.”

“No. We won’t use any stibik, except on the catch-ropes. We don’t want to risk hurting you.”

Deiq saw Idisio’s mispronunciation of the word as a fair indicator of just how badly rattled the young ha’ra’ha had become. As the meeting began to wrap up, Deiq murmured in Alyea’s ear, “I think I’d best go have a talk with Idisio, to settle him down. He’s liable to go to pieces before nightfall otherwise.”

“You trust me out of your sight?” she muttered.

“You did say this was
your
city,” he remarked sardonically, hearing more frustration escaping into the words than he’d intended.

She winced, but before she could say anything by way of apology, Oruen called for their attention again.

“Alyea,” the king said, tone pleasant but eyes tight at the corners, “would you mind staying behind for a few moments? I’ve a few things I’d like to go over with you alone before I open my court to the public.”

The word
alone
held the faintest stress. The king locked eyes with Deiq, and they exchanged a brief, bitter glare.

“Of course,” Alyea said.

What does she know?
Eredion asked.
And is it safe to leave her unsupervised right now?

Damn little
, Deiq admitted.
There hasn’t been time or quiet for teaching. And she’s not fully healed from her trials, or fully changed over. She’s still closed to mindspeech, for one.

He left silent that she was already able to deliver a hefty blow from rage; she liked Oruen well enough still for the risk to be minimal. At worst, she’d embarrass herself and scare the king, neither of which seemed like bad outcomes.

Eredion didn’t look surprised: that implied he’d tried mindspeech himself, and had no better success. Good to know.

Do you want some estiqi?

Deiq shook his head.
No. I don’t want to force it. She’ll open when she’s ready.

Eredion nodded. He murmured polite farewells along with the other desert lords and trainees, and withdrew to prepare for the night ahead. With one last hard stare at Oruen, Deiq followed suit: his hand casually resting on Idisio’s shoulder, his thumb pressing hard to keep Idisio moving at a pace that kept Deiq himself from turning around and going back to stand beside Alyea—or sidetracking to ask Eredion for the estiqi after all.