Shaman's Crossing (62 page)

“Get up!” I said to Caulder. I was suddenly furious with him. He was the perfect target for all my pent-up frustration and rage. There he was, a soldier son like me, but without honor or ethics. Yet his father would buy his way into the Academy, and doubtless buy him a fine commission after he’d drunk and whored his way through two years of school. Caulder would be commanding while I was grooming my own horse and eating food cooked in a vat and sweating to make my sergeant’s stripes. Caulder would get a wife of good breeding and fine manners. Perhaps my own cousin Epiny would be his. At the moment it seemed a fit fate for them both. I looked up at Colonel Stiet’s gracious home on the Academy grounds and knew this was the only time I’d ever knock on that tall white door. I half walked, half dragged Caulder up the marble steps of his father’s fine house, and when I released him, he collapsed beside me like a sack of meal. “All your fault, Nevare Burvelle,” he was muttering. “You won’t get away with this. I vow it. You will pay.”

“
You’ll
pay,” I replied harshly. “You head will pound like hammers on anvils tomorrow. And you probably won’t remember a minute of Dark Evening.”

I banged the knocker a dozen times on the colonel’s door before I heard any stir within. The man who answered the door had his collar loosened and smelled plainly of mulling spices. I suspected the servants left in charge of the house tonight were having their own Dark Evening celebration. He did not look inclined to end his festivities, even when I stepped aside and showed them a sodden Caulder on the doorstep.

“Dr. Amicas said to tell you to see him into his bed, but don’t let him sleep until you’ve put a couple of pints of warm beef broth down him. He’s colder than he should be, and he’s drunk far too much. The doctor said he has seen young cadets die of drinking this much all at once.”

Just as I finished, Caulder leaned to one side and vomited down the steps. The smell that wafted up turned my stomach. The serving man blanched. He turned his head and bellowed, “Cates! Morray!” When two younger men appeared, he ordered them, “Take the young master up to his bed, strip him, and get him into a warm tub. Tell cook to make beef broth for him. One of you get a stableboy to come wash down the steps before that vile mess freezes on them. And you! What is your name, sirrah?”

I had been turning to leave. I turned back reluctantly. “My name is Cadet Nevare Burvelle. But I only brought Caulder home. I didn’t get him into this state.”

The man didn’t appear to care. “Nevare Burvelle,” he said carefully and disapprovingly, as if my name were part of Caulder’s bad smell. The other servants had dragged Caulder in, and he followed them, shutting the door behind him without so much as a thanks or a farewell.

I went down the stairs carefully, avoiding the slimed steps, and crossed the foreboding night campus. The cold and the dark both seemed stronger and bleaker here. The only sound was the crunching of my boots on the half-frozen snow. When I reached Carneston House, a single feeble light greeted me by the door. I entered to find the main floor lit only by the embers in the great fireplace. No one was at Sergeant Rufet’s desk. I went up the stairs, blessing the lights that burned on each landing. Our rooms were all in blackness. “Spink!” I called, but there was no response. He hadn’t returned, and so whatever misadventure he and Epiny were involved in was continuing.

I found my bunk in the darkness, let my clothing fall to the floor, and climbed in. I was chilled through and the layers of bitter disappointment fell over me like heavy blankets that did not warm me but only pressed me deeper into despair. I slept fitfully, twitching from one nightmare to the next. I was naked at the carnival and everyone knew that I had been culled from the Academy. My father was there. “Be a man, Nevare!” he charged me sharply, and instead I wept like a little child. I dreamed disturbingly of Rory and the Speck woman. I woke once or twice as other stragglers came in. They were laughing and the smell of wine or beer on them made my stomach turn. After my evening with Caulder, I suspected it would be a long time before I wanted to drink again. I rolled over and finally fell into a deeper sleep, and with it, a vivid and carnal dream.

All young men have such dreams. There is no shame in them. My dream was heavy with sensuality and detail. I tasted, I smelled, I heard, I touched, and I saw. Every sense I possessed was inundated with the woman. I rested between her thighs and lazily traced the mottled patterns on the skin of her breasts. Her nipples were dark and erect. Her tongue was dark, too, and her breath smelled of flowers and earthy forest and tasted like sun-ripened fruit on a warm summer day. Her body engulfed mine in female suppleness. We mated as animals mate, without hesitation or inhibition.

She was my reward for betraying my people. I lay on her mountainous softness, nuzzling my face against her soft drooping breasts. I wallowed in her flesh, fascinated by the yielding folds and mounds of her. Afterward, she held me still inside her, trapping me in her embrace. She kissed me with a sensuality that surpassed all intimacy I’d ever dreamed. Her hands held and caressed my shaved scalp and then clutched my tarred topknot of hair. “You have crossed the line and you are mine,” the tree woman murmured.

I woke with a gasp. Despite the holiday, the drums thundered the next morning. Briefly, the eroticism of the voluptuous woman lingered in my mind and flesh. The next moment, I felt as disgusted with myself as if my dream had been real. No man can control what he dreams at night. Despite that, I felt shamed that I could even imagine such a thing, let alone be aroused by it. Around me, the others groaned and cursed, and we put our pillows over our heads. No one got up. I dropped back into a real sleep, and slept until true light came in at the windows, and then grudgingly rose to a cold morning. I was better off than most of my comrades. I was still tired and dejected, but at least I didn’t have a hangover. Just before it was time for the noon meal, I got dressed in my uniform, still damp from the night before. The tables in the mess hall were half empty. Spink was one of the few who joined me there. I had seen little of him before that meal, for he had arisen early and gone out for a walk in the crisp, cold day. He was smiling to himself and humming as he sat down next to me. I asked him quietly, “Epiny?”

He turned bloodshot eyes to me. He looked tired but cheerful. After a moment he said, “I never found her. I searched for a time, and then gave it up. Perhaps she had the good sense to stay at home. I went looking for you but never found you. Too many people. Will you ask after her when you write to your uncle?”

“I will.” I realized I had neglected to send him a letter yesterday. For that matter, I hadn’t received a letter from him. Well, bad news will keep, my father always said, and I could not think of one good thing to tell him. I thought of telling Spink about my private conversation with Captain Maw. I thought of telling him that all our dreams were doomed. I pushed that thought aside. Some part of me was still desperately clinging to hope. To speak of us being culled seemed unlucky, as if it were a curse I might bring down on us by speaking it aloud. My mind jumped to a topic only slightly less miserable. “At least you had a better night than I did,” I told him, and recounted my pleasant ride home with Caulder. I had thought he would laugh, but he looked grave.

“You probably saved his life, but we all know what a little snake Caulder is. He’ll never appreciate what you did for him.”

Our conversation was interrupted when Oron belatedly joined us at the table. He looked paler than usual, save for the dark circles under his eyes. His hands shook slightly as he heaped food onto his plate. He gave us a sick sort of smile. “It was worth it,” he said to our unanswered question.

“Did Rory go back to the Speck woman?” I asked bluntly.

Oron looked down at his heaped plate. “He and Trist did,” he admitted. He struggled to keep a strained smile from his face as he added, “Actually, we all did. It was amazing.”

I don’t think Spink picked up on what we were discussing. “Well, all of Dark Evening was amazing!” Spink agreed, surprising me with his enthusiasm. He was in such a good mood that I could scarcely stand to look at him. It was as if he’d forgotten entirely about the culling that still hung over our heads. He went on, “Never in my life have I seen anything like it. I didn’t think there were that many people in the entire world; well, you know what I mean. I’ve never seen such a crowd, or tasted such amazing food. I saw this woman, and she was dressed only in paper chains! The man with her was dressed like a wild man; he only wore strings with leaves attached to them. They were dancing so wildly, I was shocked! And, oh, did you go to the circus? Did you see the tiger tamer, with his big cats jumping through hoops of flame? And then, the sideshow…that poor little girl with flippers instead of arms. Oh, and while I was there, the Specks broke their usual custom and did the Dust Dance! It was amazing! The man in charge of them said it had never been seen this far west before! And—”

“They did it when I was there, too.” Light suddenly dawned in my mind. “It was all a trick, Spink. He probably always says they never do it, and they probably do it at every show. That way he makes it seem more special.”

“Oh.” Spink looked deflated.

Oron, across the table from us, nodded sagely. “Most of the acts in that tent were a sham, I’d bet.”

“I talked to the fat man, and he claimed he’d once been a cavalla lieutenant. Can you believe that?” I asked them.

Oron gave a huff of amusement. “Right. He’d break a horse’s back.”

Spink looked so crestfallen, I almost wished I’d kept my knowledge to myself. He shamed me further by saying quietly, “He said the same thing to me and I felt sorry for him. We gave him some money.”

“Gullible country boys!” Oron exclaimed, and then groaned and put a hand to his belly. “Maybe I’m not feeling as chipper as I thought. I’m back to bed, lads.”

He left the table, and Spink and I followed him a short time later. Spink didn’t look well, and I suspected I was as pale as he was. I followed him back to Carneston House, where we found most of our fellows still abed or moving sluggishly about. I sat down and wrote a long letter to my uncle. I’d begun a second to my father, confiding my fears of being culled, when Sergeant Rufet himself entered our common room. He seldom ventured upstairs outside of inspection times, so all of us came immediately to our feet. His face was grave as he said, “Cadet Burvelle, come with me. You are to report to Colonel Stiet immediately.”

I quickly gave my letter to Spink to post and fetched my coat. Rufet was kind enough to give me a moment to smooth my hair and straighten my uniform. I followed him down the stairs, and then was shocked when he accompanied me out the door. “I know the way there, Sergeant,” I said in some confusion.

“Orders. I’m to escort you there, Cadet.”

He sounded as if his head were just as sore as my fellow cadets’, and so I walked beside him in silence and dread. I knew this could not bode well for me. Rufet asked the colonel’s adjutant to admit me. For a change, I saw no sign at all of Caulder. When the inner door of Colonel Stiet’s office opened, Sergeant Rufet remained outside it. It closed behind me.

The room seemed dim after the brightness of the cold winter day. Despite the holiday, Colonel Stiet was in full uniform and seated at his desk. He stared at me, motionless, as I crossed the room. His eyes looked tired and the lines in his face deeper than I recalled them. I walked in the door, stood at attention before his desk, and “Cadet Burvelle, reporting as ordered, sir,” I said.

He looked up at me, cold anger in his eyes. He had been writing something when I came in. Now, without a word to me, he went back to it. He finished it, signed it with a flourish, and then, as he poured drying sand over the ink, said, “My son could have died last night, Cadet Burvelle. Did you know that?”

I stood very still for a moment. Then I answered honestly, “Only when Dr. Amicas told me about it, sir. Then I did precisely as he told me.” I wanted to ask if Caulder was all right today, but dared not.

“And prior to that, Cadet? What did you do prior to meeting with the doctor?”

A stillness was growing inside of me; I had a sense that everything depended on this answer. Honesty was all I had. “I tried to keep him awake, sir. He was very nearly unconscious when I found him, and I feared that if he were left passed out at the Great Square, he might freeze to death or be trodden on. So I carried him from the square to the cabstand and brought him home.”

“So I’ve heard. From both the doctor and my servants. And before that, Cadet Burvelle? What did you do before that? Did you attempt to keep him from drinking so much? Did you think, perhaps, that it was unwise to urge a boy of Caulder’s years to consume an entire bottle of rotgut liquor?”

“Sir, that was not my doing!”

“That isn’t what I asked you!” the colonel shouted at me. “Answer my question! Would you have done the same thing to another boy of his years? Don’t you think that pouring liquor down a lad is a poor revenge for childish thoughtlessness?”

I stared at him, unable to comprehend what I was being accused of. My silence seemed to feed his fury. “He’s a boy, Cadet Burvelle. Still just a boy, prone to a boy’s mischief. He is my son, but even I will admit that he does not have the best judgment. But what do you expect of a growing boy? Whatever grudge you imagine you have against him, it isn’t worth his life. You’re older than he is, and a cavalla cadet. He looked up to you, wanted to be like you, and trusted you blindly! And you betrayed that innocent, boyish trust! For what? Revenge for some minor prank on your fat friend? You went too far! Here!” He suddenly snatched up the paper he had been writing on and thrust it at me. “Those are your discharge papers. You are to be gone from the Academy before classes resume. Pack yourself up and get out of here. There is no room at the King’s Cavalla Academy for men like you.”

“I’ve been culled,” I said dully. I’d been expecting it. I hadn’t expected to be the first officially sent packing.

“No! That would be too good for you. You’ve been dishonorably discharged from this Academy. I trust you know what that means. I intend that you never hold a position of power over any man. You’ve shown that you are not worthy of it, nor to be trusted with it. Take your discharge and go!”