The Law of Isolation (55 page)

“I’m sorry.” Nirel impulsively put her hand on his knee.

He was quiet for a moment. When he resumed, his voice was light again, a bit strained at first, but quickly settling back into easiness. “When I was ten he married my stepmother, and they had my younger brothers and sisters, two of each. We lost her when the twins were born, when I was fourteen. Now he’s got Nathenarre, and I’ve got another sibling on the way.”

Nirel sighed. “That’s so sad.”

Vigorre turned to her with one raised eyebrow. She blushed. “No, I mean how your father’s lost so many people he loved. Kevessa said it was common for people to die, but it still seems strange to me.”

“It happens.” Vigorre spoke matter-of-factly, but there was an intensity beneath his words unlike Kevessa’s unquestioning acceptance.

“Why? What happened to them?”

“Various things. The first time it was a sickness that went through the city. His second wife fell from a horse and broke her leg, and it got infected. My mother had a wasting disease. Then my stepmother lost too much blood after the twins’ birth.”

Nirel swallowed and looked away. She could feel Vigorre’s eyes boring into the back of her head.

After a moment he spoke, low and bitter. “Every one of them the ancient wizards could have healed with the Mother’s power. Their deaths seem strange to you, because in your land that power isn’t only a memory. Your wizards still wield it.”

“They’re not my wizards,” Nirel whispered. He was so ready to be deceived. Just as Elder Davon had told her he would be.

He pulled his arm from around her shoulders and twisted to grab both her hands. “Tell me the truth, Nirel. The Matriarch claims the wizards in your land follow the Mother, that she grants them her power. But why would the Mother give her power to some of her children and not all? If a wizard comes here, and heals the Matriarch so that she bears a daughter, and sails away again, leaving the rest of us to suffer—where is the Mother in that?”

Nirel closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Nowhere!” He dropped her hands and turned away, panting. “I’ve tried to discuss this with Father and the other Keepers, but no one listens to me. The thought of the Mother’s power returning to us blinds them all.”

But Elder Davon’s spies had listened. That’s why she was here.

“They won’t see that the Mother can’t work that way. Not the Mother I know, the Mother I want to serve. She wouldn’t give her blessings to some and withhold them from others. So whatever your wizards are, their power can’t come from her. They must be charlatans, or worse. I think the Purifiers know something. None of them will tell me, not unless I take their vows, but they’ve hinted they have some terrible secret.” He turned back to her, eyes wide and pleading. “So I’m begging you, Nirel, if there’s anything you’ve seen, any hint that the wizards aren’t what they claim, please tell me.”

Her voice trembled. “Vigorre… I can’t… I promised I wouldn’t…”

His breath quickened and his eyes narrowed. He seized her hands again. “You know something.”

She twisted away. It was so easy to tell the lies he wanted to hear. “Ozor made us all swear not to tell. You don’t know what he’s capable of. He’ll kill me if I tell you, and my father too.”

Vigorre stared at her. She ducked her head, forcing her breath into ragged gasps, as if she were suppressing sobs. It wasn’t far from the truth. She leaned toward him. His arms went around her, pulling her close, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

“I’ll protect you. I promise.” He stroked her back awkwardly.

Nirel let her breath smooth out. When she judged the moment was right, she pulled away, scrubbing at her eyes. “I wanted so badly to tell someone, but I didn’t dare.”

“You can trust me.” Vigorre met her eyes, so forthrightly earnest real tears stung her eyes. He trusted her, even though he shouldn’t.

She blinked fiercely and drew a shuddering breath. “You can’t let this go any farther.”

“I won’t.”

She looked away, toward the gurgling stream. She spoke very low, halting at first, then faster. “The wizards are always talking about how their power comes from the Mother, and I always believed them. Everyone did.

“A few years ago, Ozor started asking questions. Why the wizards help people around the cities and big towns, but seldom those farther away. Why they often send people away without healing. Why their windows sometimes show things everyone swears didn’t happen.

“He took his concerns to the wizards, but they just made their usual excuses. Ozor let the matter drop and left on one of his trading journeys. Halfway through, one of his journeymen crept up on him in the night and attacked him. Ozor fought to defend himself and killed him. He was certain the wizards had sent the assassin and would create a false image in their window to make it look like Ozor had murdered him unprovoked. So he went outlaw. He gathered a group of others who shared his doubts, including my father and me.”

Vigorre’s forehead crinkled. “What had the wizards done to you?”

She hastened to reassure him and restore the rapt credulity to his eyes. “Nothing. I just wanted to be with Father. I’ll tell you sometime how we came to join Ozor, but it’s too long to go into that now.” She’d have to think carefully about how she could tweak her account of those events to keep as much truth as she could while making them harmonize with this version of what followed.

He inclined his head, skepticism smoothed away. “Go on.”

She twisted her fingers together in her lap. “We almost escaped over the mountains, but a group of wizards followed us. Late one night they snuck up on us while we slept and captured us. Except for one man, Marom, who was off at the latrine. They held us with their golden light so we couldn’t move or talk. They laughed at us and taunted us for being stupid enough to imagine we could escape.” Nirel made her voice indignant. She hoped the fictitious parts of her story blended well enough with the true parts. In reality, the wizards had been grim and quiet. They’d treated their captives with reasonable dignity, though at the time she’d been too outraged to recognize that. And no one named Marom had been among the outlaws; none of them had avoided capture.

“They marched us back toward Elathir. When night came, the wizards tied us up and went off where we couldn’t see or hear them. Marom followed us all day. He came and cut our bonds. Most of us wanted to run, but Ozor insisted that the wizards would just track us and catch us again. He said that if we caught them by surprise and kept them separate from their familiars, we could overpower them.

“He led us to where they were gathered in a circle around a fire. They were kneeling, not moving at all. Each one had their animal in front of them. It was creepy how the animals kept staring at them. Maybe it was the firelight, but it looked to me like their eyes glowed red.”

Vigorre tensed. Nirel kept her eyes averted. “Ozor gave the signal to attack. One of the animals—a huge hound dog—threw up his head and started howling. The wizards whirled around and grabbed their familiars before we could stop them. They froze us again.

“They were furious. They used windows and saw how Marom had freed us. They dragged him out in front of us, and… and… took sticks and started… beating him. They held our eyes open so we had to watch.” The imagined scene was vivid before Nirel’s eyes.

“Even you?” Horror pitched Vigorre’s voice high.

“Even me.” Nirel crushed a twinge of guilt. She closed her eyes and turned her face away from him, dropping her voice to a whisper. “They started circling around him and chanting. I couldn’t understand many of the words, but they kept saying ‘justice’ and ‘sacrifice’ and ‘Lord.’”

Vigorre drew in a sharp breath and went rigid. Nirel swallowed. She could tell her voice sounded forced, but surely he’d attribute that to the horror of what she recounted. “The animals… they surrounded Marom, and… and started… biting him… There was blood everywhere, they were covered with it…”

She trembled. Vigorre wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “Shh. You don’t have to tell me any more.”

“No, I’ve got to… You have to know.” She took a deep breath. “They
ate
him.”

She felt a shudder of revulsion go through Vigorre’s body. He stroked her hair. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

It was easy to weep. She was slandering her own people, and vilifying the wizards, who whatever their faults had never committed the atrocity she was accusing them of, and cruelly using Vigorre’s concern for her. She let the tears flow, dampening the velvet of his doublet.

After a while she pulled away and brushed at the dark patches on his shoulder. “After that, we knew they were the Mother’s enemies, no matter what they pretended. They never gave us a chance to reveal what we had seen. As soon as we got to Elathir they threw us in prison. We were going to be executed. But a flood destroyed the prison. We escaped, and stole the ship, and got away.”

Vigorre patted her hands. “Why have you kept this secret? People should know. My father, the Matriarch—”

“No!” Nirel grabbed for his hands and stared into his eyes. “When Captain Yosiv found us, he told us how the Matriarch wanted to bring a wizard to Ramunna. How she would give us great riches if we helped her find them. Ozor persuaded us that our only chance was to keep what we’d seen secret. We could take the Matriarch’s money and make a new life for ourselves. A wizard would come, and heal her, and go back to Tevenar, and no one would ever have to know what they really were. If the Matriarch knew the truth, she’d never deal with the wizards, or with us. He made us all swear not to tell.” She let anger creep into her voice. “I think he just wanted the money. I don’t think he cares what the wizards do back in Tevenar, now that we’re free of them.”

Vigorre nodded slowly. “This explains so much.” He looked into the distance, unspoken thoughts flickering across his face. Nirel was sure he was drawing all the conclusions her story had been carefully designed to lead to.

His next words confirmed it. “Did you ever hear the wizards say anything about being faithful, or about a Lady of Mercy, or about ordinances? Do you think when they were chanting they might have been calling on the Lord of Justice?”

Nirel raised one shoulder and dropped it. “I guess they could have. I never heard any of those other things, though.”

“Did anyone ever call them Dualists?”

She drew her brows together and gave him a puzzled look. “I never heard of Dualists until I came here. Why? Do you think the wizards have something to do with them?”

He shook his head. “Just some old stories. Never mind.” He bit his lip and looked at her earnestly. “I have to tell my father about this. I won’t say it was you who told me.”

“But he’ll know! I can’t let Ozor find out.”

“Please, Nirel, it’s important. I can’t let Father go on thinking they’re like the ancient wizards. Not now that I know.”

Nirel gave him a long searching look. Elder Davon had urged her to make Vigorre promise not to tell his father, in the interest of making her tale more believable. He’d assured her that the First Keeper’s son would never let such a promise bind him, but would carry the information to his father anyway, just as they wanted.

But Nirel was swept by a sudden conviction, born of the passion in Vigorre’s voice, the firmness of his hands as they gripped hers, and the directness of his gaze. If she made him promise to keep her secret, he would.

Elder Davon had also told her to use her own judgement. Nirel let her gaze waver and drop to their clasped hands in her lap. “If… if you really think it’s that important… But just him! No one else can know. Especially not the Matriarch. If she finds out we lied to her, she’ll take back everything she gave us and throw us out of Ramunna. You don’t want that!”

He drew a shuddering breath. “No. I don’t want that. I promise, Nirel, I’ll only tell my father, and only after he agrees not to tell anyone else.”

Nirel looked up at him again. “Thank you.”

His dark eyes held hers. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I knew the Mother wouldn’t keep her power for only a few.” He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek. “You’re so brave. To stand up to them, after something so terrible…”

He cupped her chin and lifted her face toward his, leaning toward her. He moved slowly, giving her plenty of opportunity to turn away, but Nirel couldn’t. For a moment she didn’t care that what he believed of her was false, or that she’d only approached him to use him. She just longed for his lips to complete their journey and find their home against hers.

Their touch, when it finally came, was gentle, infinitely soft, but firm as she relaxed into him and returned their pressure. He drew back for a moment, studying her face gravely. She didn’t let herself think of anything but the way the flickering torchlight highlighted the curve of his cheekbones and shadowed his eyes. He moved deliberately closer to her on the bench, and she turned to wrap her arms around his neck and press her body close to his. His arms went around her and he bent to kiss her again. This time his lips moved against hers in a way that made her heart race and the blood rush in her ears. She abandoned herself to the sensation.

So suddenly she almost cried out, he broke away. He cocked his head, then jumped to his feet and pulled her up by her hand. “Someone’s coming. It’s probably our parents. We’ve been out here a long time.”

Nirel’s heart raced in a much less pleasant way at the thought of Kabos discovering her kissing Vigorre. Nothing she could say about Elder Davon’s instructions would placate his fury. She followed Vigorre willingly as he hurried down the path.

They reached a small clearing where several paths met. Two other couples were already there, the girls checking each other’s hair and replacing pins that had worked loose, the boys adjusting rumpled clothing. Mansan burst from a path, leading a girl by the hand. He gave her a last lingering kiss before turning to survey Vigorre and Nirel with a conspiratorial grin. He silently pointed to Vigorre’s tunic; Nirel blushed to see a crumpled camellia petal stuck there. Vigorre brushed it away.

“Anybody left without a group? No? All right, let’s go.” Mansan headed up the main path. Vigorre and the other boys fell in with him. The girls surrounded Nirel and followed, striking up light relaxed banter as if they’d been chatting together for hours. Nirel did her best to join in, though she was sure the truth of what she’d been doing must be written clearly on her face.