Moongather (20 page)

The summons came, twisting through the water, pulling them back and back to something she'd forgotten but remembered as terror. A dark figure drew them, fishes on a single hook. She tried to uncramp her fingers from the fin and kick the fish away from her. She couldn't. She was bait to trap this fish. Bait. She saw and remembered the Noris then, and knew she was bait tossed in the water to catch this particular fish. She lay along its strong muscular back, felt the knobs of the spine moving under her, whispered soundlessly, I'm sorry, sorry, sorry.

The fish hung in the water in front of the Noris, its body moving slowly as it adjusted automatically to the slight tug of a sluggish current. Serroi tried to move, but could not, lay stretched out along the fish, struggling to lift her head, keeping it turned so that the eye-spot did not touch the fish anywhere. The Noris drifted closer. His hands curved with terrible gentleness about her head and eased it down until her face was flat against the slippery skin, her eye-spot pressed to the fish's spine. The Noris's hand continued to rest gently on her head as he used her to reach into things he would have no access to otherwise, into the life-affirming forces. The cool water that bathed her and sustained her began to stink and thicken as she tried to fight him away. Things came swimming around, circling around her as she lay on the fish's slowly rotting body, beautiful translucent things that thickened and rotted with the water, that came slowly to the Noris and submitted to him. When he touched them, they blackened, were whole again, but whole in another way, solid black, shiny, filled with a terrible energy and slaved to the Noris. The water grew stiffer, blacker until everything was dull black.…

When Serroi woke, she was in her old room, lying in a dainty bed, a new bed. There was a Sankoy rug like a woven sunrise on the floor. Chairs, familiar bookscrolls, a line of robes pegged on the wall, paper and pens on a familiar table, an alabaster lamp. The magic mirror. She lay in silken sheets, wore a brief silken shift. Dazed for a moment, she lay blinking at the splendor, then memory came rushing back and she scrambled out of the bed. With a scream of rage, she pulled the lamp off the table and slammed it to the floor, laughing wildly at the resounding crash and the skitter of alabaster fragments over the brilliant rug. Hoarse with anger, she tugged hangings down, tracked bloody footprints into the priceless rug, stripped sheets and quilts off the bed, more blood on the rug as she ran heedlessly over the alabaster fragments. When everything she could lift or tug down was piled in a tattered heap on the rug, she ran to the window.

The tower fell away beneath her, straight down to the sea far below as the cliff continued the line of the wall. For a long time she watched the water curling around the rocks, the white-tipped waves a painful reminder of what had happened. Finally she went back to the mess on the floor, rolled up the rug, stuffed the awkward bundle through the window. She leaned out and watched it turn over in the air, spewing fragments of glass and fabric, splatting finally in the surf to bob up and down or paste itself in sections against the jagged rocks. After a moment more she turned away, padded to the bed, leaving more bloody footprints on the naked floor. She crawled up onto the mattress and sat with her legs crossed, glowering at the door, waiting for the hands to come.

THE WOMAN: VIII

The double line of small fires went north and south as far as Serroi could see. “I didn't quite expect this,” she said quietly. She tugged at the strap of the boy's cap as the bright dots blurred then steadied. The Tarr was beginning to wear off. She straightened her back and looked around.

“What are those fires?” Dinafar sounded awed.

“Pilgrim campfires. Along the Highroad. On their way to Oras, walking, I imagine.”

Clouds were gathering overhead. The first half of the Gather was up over the horizon and still free of cloudcover, touching the hillsides with silver light. The moon-knot was pulling tighter. For a moment Serroi was tempted to renew her energy with another Tarr button and keep riding. There was certainly enough light.
No time, no time
, she thought. She looked to the North.
A day and a half riding, longer if I walk. And there's Dinafar to deal with
. She looked at the girl beside her. “Dina.”

“Yes, meie?”

“The Highroad goes south almost the whole way to the Biserica valley. You could be there in half a passage, twenty days of steady riding. There and safe.” She waited for questions, but Dinafar was silent, watching her. “The other way, that goes to Oras. You've seen the danger I'm in. Go south, little one. Knock at the Biserica gates, they'll take you in. You don't need me anymore—if you ever did.”

“I'm going with you.” In the moonlight Serroi could see Dinafar's face take on its sullen, stubborn scowl. “If you won't take me with you,” she went on, “I'll follow you.”

Serroi shivered. “We'd better camp.” She scanned the hillside below. There was a small grove of brellim about a quarter of a mile ahead. “There,” she said, pointing.

They tied one groundsheet on a slant against the wind and spread out their blankets on the other after Serroi weighted it down with a few rocks, some of the many dredged up by the brellim's mobile roots. As Dinafar gathered wood for the fire, Serroi unsaddled the macain and turned them loose to graze. They worked in silence, putting aside the quarrel that lay between them until they'd eaten.

The fire had burned down to coals. Serroi shook the cha pot, poured the last of the liquid into her cup. Then she crossed to her blankets and settled down under the slant of the groundsheet. She sipped at the cha and looked down at Dinafar lying beside her.

“Five days ago.… Maiden bless, only five days … five days ago my shieldmate and I were part of the Doamna's guard in Oras.” She rubbed at her eyes and drank some cha. “The Doamna, Domnor Hern's head wife, Floarin, a royal bitch. Tayyan … Tayyan was a mountain lord's niece. A Stenda. Her father taught her a boy's skills and a love for racing macain.” She smiled. “A racing macai would make our pair look pale. She loved those savage, near intractable beasts with a passion no one could beat out of her and sneaked away to races whenever she could, even after our training was done and we were sent out on ward.”

Dinafar wriggled around until she was lying on her back, her legs drawn up, her hands laced behind her head. “I don't see …” she began, then pressed her lips together, blushing because she dared to interrupt.

Serroi lifted a hand. “I know. I ramble. It's the drug, I think. I hope. Never mind, I'll get on with the story. Five days ago, just about this time.…” She flicked her fingers at the fragments of sky visible through the leaves. “When we were going off duty, Tayyan pulled me aside. She'd heard about a macain race, an illegal one, held outside the city walls. The Sons of the Flame had managed to shut down all the races at the arena, called them incitement to sin. For some reason, I didn't know what at the time, Morescad had ordered all the meien warding at the Plaz confined to their quarters for the night. Tayyan wanted me to go with her, said Morescad was a stiff idiot with bone for a brain and no reason to order the meien curfewed except he didn't like us. She said she didn't see any reason to obey him. She'd met one of her father's old riding mates. A distant relative. And he'd told her of the race. As I said, she loved the racing macain and she hadn't seen a good race for a long time. She was determined to go. I let her persuade me. We went out of the Plaz through the Doamna's private garden and over the wall into the stables on the far side.” Serroi sighed and turned away, watching red run across black on the dying coals. “At least she had that. It was a good time. We came back into the city drunk with much wine and more excitement.”

They clattered over the cobbles, Tayyan excited and counting her winnings, Serroi quiet and increasingly disturbed. Her eye-spot throbbed uneasily and she had a sense of impending disaster.

“Here.” Tayyan caught Serroi's hand. “This is yours.” She dropped coins into the small palm and closed short fingers over them. “I put down a couple of decsets for you.”

Serroi shook her head. “You know I don't play those games.”

“You'll spoil no sport tonight, little worrier.” Tayyan lifted her hands to the gathering clouds, yawned and groaned with the pleasure of stretching stiff muscles.

Serroi walked several minutes in silence, then she sighed and put the coins in her money sack. “Thanks,” she said.

They continued in silence until they came to the bulk of stone that was the Domnor's Plaz. The Plaz stable backed against the outer wall, close to a small, seldom-used door. Serroi and Tayyan stopped across the street. While Tayyan waited, Serroi probed for guards. “Nothing,” she whispered. “Come on.”

They climbed the pole gate, both of them having some difficulty with balance, Serroi grimly concentrating, Tayyan full of giggles and nonsense until they both nearly tumbled in the thick macai muck in the corral. They slogged through the muck, weaving unsteadily around the sleeping macain, then started fumbling through the dusty vines tumbling down the wall. “Hey, where's the rope?” Tayyan's hoarse whisper sounded loud even over the increasing wind. “Maiden's breasts, windrunner, what the hell'd you do with the rope?”

“Shh,” Serroi hissed. “Wake the macai. Wake ol' Morescad.” She jerked at the vines, sneezing as the leaves dropped dust and pollen around her. “Must be here. Who'd wade through that slop but a pair of idiots like us?”

Tayyan looked briefly offended, then she giggled and lifted a filthy boot. “Wash it off in Floarin's pool. Wonder what the royal cow'll think when she gets a whiff of its new perfume.”

“Unh.” Serroi shook the rope free of the vines. “You first or me?” Taking Tayyan's snort for an answer, she started climbing, making hard work of it as the wine fumes wheeled in her head.

They got up the rope with whispered curses and slipping boots then slid down into the garden. Serroi started to shake loose the grappel and pull the rope in. Tavyan tried to drag her away, but she jerked loose, stumbling back into a pleshtree, bringing overripe fruit down around her. While Tayyan watched, swaying and grinning. Serroi scraped a dollop of plesh off her front. “My rope, it's my damn rope, you grinning beanpole,” she hissed. “Be damned if I leave it hanging there.”

“Scrap.” Grinning still, Tavyan forgot her impatience, stalked regally over to the shallow bathing pool and splashed into it, sloshing about while Serroi reeled in the rope and tied it back on her weaponbelt. Serroi watched the lanky form dancing about, kicking up noisy gouts of water, then she ran unsteadily to join her shieldmate, gloom forgotten for the moment. They splashed about in the pool clutching at each other, giggling at the thought of the dignified Floarin's rage if she ever discovered what they'd done.

When the clouds began to obscure the moons Serroi shivered and climbed back onto the grass. Tayyan was quieter also, the wine beginning to wear off. The two meie looked at each other, sighed, climbed out of the pool, and walked silently toward the guarddoor. Abruptly Serroi clutched at Tayyan's arm halting her. “Someone coming,” she hissed. “I feel.…” Her eye-spot was throbbing crazily and the stink of danger was thick in her nostrils. “Bad,” she murmured. Tayyan grew quiet and alert, the years of training clicking on. The meien faded into the dense shadow of the shrubbery, watching as two dark figures came through the small door in the outer wall and strode across the patch of grass toward the Plaz.

Serroi touched the hilt of Tayyan's sword. Tayyan shook her head. They were in no position to challenge anyone.

The two men stood a moment in front of a section of wall then seemed to melt into the stone. The meien waited a dozen heartbeats then raced across the grass to that portion of the wall where the men had stood. Serroi touched her eye-spot, raised her brows. Tayyan nodded, a sharp assenting jerk of her head. “Catch them inside,” she breathed, then she giggled softly. “Hanky-panky in the harem.”

“Hush.” Serroi felt along the wall until her eye-spot throbbed. She pressed hard and felt a slice of stone tilt under her fingers. Behind it there was a hollow with a T-bar protruding from the back. She twisted the end of the T.

With a whispery scrape, a section of the wall swung in-ward. Tayyan pushed past Serroi as she hesitated, unable to summon any of her shieldmate's glee to lighten the foreboding that was a cold hard knot in her stomach. Shaking her head, she followed Tayyan into the darkness.

For an eternity they twisted through the dusty passage lit at long intervals by guttering candles, their flames flickering in a sourceless draft. Serroi concentrated on moving soundlessly, cold with fear and with the certainty of disaster ahead; she had no thought of arguing Tayyan out of this; she knew too well her shieldmate's stubbornness when her curiosity was aroused.

In spite of her caution she almost bumped into Tayyan as she turned a sharp corner. Her shieldmate crouched by a break in the wall, peering through peepholes in a heavy door. She tapped Tayyan on the shoulder, braced herself on one hand and pushed her head against Tayyan's and peered through one of the holes.

Four people inside. She saw three of them as fluttering shadows, her eyes fixing on one. A Nor. She pulled away and leaned her forehead against the cold stone, colder than the stone. A Nor. She pressed her hand to her mouth, swallowed, tried to steady her breathing. She looked at Tayyan; her shieldmate's body was a taut arc, she was breathing quickly through her mouth. Serroi closed her eyes a moment, then forced herself to look again.

The room was square and small, walls covered by heavy tapestries woven into erotic scenes that brought a blush to her face. Her eyes slipped hastily over the Nor, then came back to him. Even as she shivered with fear she knew he was one of the lesser Nor, a street Norid or a fifth-rank Norit. That didn't matter, he still dominated the room, making the others look like paper cutouts. He was a thin man with red-brown skin and stiff black hair, his narrow body clad in a seamless black robe that hung from his bony shoulders and reached his ankles without touching flesh. Her stomach churned and she shook until she couldn't trust herself so she turned from him and examined the others in the room.