by Jane Baskin
Zoren-te, feeling a margin of strength returning. Standing straighter. “You brought me here. I meant no harm to you. What happened, just happened.”
“It did not just happen, you witch! You stole it! You took everything!”
“Noar, I mean you no harm.”
Noar, swaying on his feet, just a bit. His entire body, so tense … his teeth clenched. His fists, balled. A tiny bit of spit, dribbling from his lip. Studying her? Deciding? Could a wild impulse, a quick grab – could that fester and fester … into this? Did he – they – anyone – think his abduction of Zoren-te would not some day ripen into this moment?
“Well, I mean you harm, sister-in-law. I hate you more now, than you ever hated me. So this time, you will submit. Do that, and see how much you like the North.”
Zoren-te, backing up steadily. Felt the garden wall behind her, the tunnel mouth. Thinking, wildly. Her thoughts, racing. I know I told Nayan I couldn’t move things with my mind. And it was true, then. But I’ve been practicing …
“You can’t get out, Zoren.”
“Let it go, Noar.”
Not to be. Noar moved toward her so fast, she barely saw it. His hand, reaching for her throat.
Am I clear enough? Can I do it? Am I strong enough? Can I do it?I’ve been practicing … I can lift the ale urn … a little … maybe, just maybe … Gods alive! If only my head would clear!
Two terrible alternatives. The one before her: unthinkable. Not even sure what he meant, but knew it was awful. Had to make her decision quickly. Thinking: I can do this. I’ve been practicing. I can do this. I’m strong enough. And if I can’t … Oh Nayan. Forgive me. All gods, please help me. Nayan …
Spun around, darted into the tunnel. Made it to the cliff edge. Turned toward the overhang side. But the patch of ground she knew … now different. A hole – yes, there – about a meter wide patch of rock missing. Caught her foot, slid into the depression. Tried to jump. Fell.
“All gods, Noar; what have you done?”
Old Scell’s hollow voice, directly behind him.
Noar, turning slowly. Seeing – unbelievable – the old man. Just standing there, a library book in his hand. His mouth moving. The words: “I was making use of your library, when I saw movement beyond the window … ”
Noar, speechless. Still high. Still not comprehending what just happened. Standing before Lord Scell, his shoulders squared, his fists balled; his eyes, struggling to focus.
“What’s the matter with you, boy? What just happened?”
Noar, honestly: “I don’t know.”
“Gods alive, boy. Are you dazed? Did the Lady of Cha-ning just run through that tunnel? Where is she?”
Noar, suddenly coming to consciousness. Shook his head. Oh. No.
No.
Ran through the tunnel.
There. Look. In the moonlight. The broken body of Zoren-te, smashed on the beach below.
Suddenly Scell, through the tunnel; at his side. Looking down. “All the gods help you, Lord Noar.”
Noar, looking at the old man, then. Straight into his eyes. “I had nothing to do with this. She jumped.”
“I saw you hit her.”
Silence. While Noar studied the old aristocrat. While he looked into the rheumy eyes, understood the bloodlines of evil there. Appreciated the millennia of meanness. Then. Smiled. “You know, old man, it wasn’t mercenaries who fired Vel and Darleigh.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you trust me?”
“Oh don’t be foolish boy. I never did. Why would I trust a northerner, especially Cha-ning’s brother? I simply figured your skills could be helpful to us; and as for Vel and Darleigh, well it was too late, now, wasn’t it? Better the profit of the moment than the losses of the past. And with the pretty lady as bait, maybe – if you survived – we could finally get some seeds.”
“You’re a practical man, Lord Scell.”
“And you’re a young fool, Lord Noar.”
Probably, the wrong thing to say. In seconds, Old Scell: joining Zoren-te on the jagged rocks. His astonished cry lost in the night wind, the relentless roar of the sea.
32.Even the Stars Are Hiding
Nayan, arriving on the morning train. Had been less than forty-eight hours since Noar had been stopped from going to the gell fields. Responding to the line message from Che. From the desperate thought transfers that followed it. But unaware of … other developments.
No one able to tell him. Could not think it to him. Could barely think it … themselves.
So, not at all prepared for the news that greeted him at the train station. Not at all prepared to find his bride … dead.
Beside her in death: her murderer, old Lord Scell.
Noar, reporting that he interrupted an argument between Zoren-te and the old man over the theft of gell seeds. To which he admitted. For which he apologized. Had been pressured into it, by Scell, he said. Who had come to take his bride away if he did not comply. But – he said – when he walked into that argument between the old man and Zoren-te … when he saw him shove her through the tunnel … when he gave chase … when he saw … oh. Too much. Too far. Pushed the old bastard off the cliff himself.
The cliffs at Cha-ning: oddly structured. One side of the prow jutting out into the sea: vertical. The top, extending out over the bottom. This side, dropping unencumbered directly into the sea itself. The bottom edge of the cliff: worn away. A hollow, a deep spot where it met the sea. One could – cocky young men had tested the theory over the years – survive a leap if the tide were high.
But the other side of the cliffs, the side that met the beach: rugged, jagged rock. Worn into fantastical shapes by the tides and storms. A gradual slope of sharp ravines, extending forward into the sea; down onto the edge of the beach. Shallows, where it met the water. If one fell on this side … a human body would bounce off the many ridges of rock, wind up like a broken doll in the water or on the beach.
So … Zoren-te.
Lying on the beach, horrifically twisted. Beside her, Scell. Discovered later by strolling lovers, also watching the beautiful double moonrise.
At first, the pain too intense to permit belief. “It can’t be. It’s someone else. You’re mistaken.”
“It’s her, Nayan. Her face … was intact.”
His head in his hands. Just holding his own head. Would it explode? Would it crack open like a shelled nut?
No way to hold such pain. Took them close to half an hour just to convince him.
In the end, had to take him to the room in the basement clinic, where her body lay under a sheet. Where the physician pulled the cover back just enough to show her face, now blue gray with death; her blood matted hair.
Where he fell across her broken body, weeping like a child.
Eventually the physician, giving him an injection of something that allowed them to get him upstairs just before he passed out.
Sometimes, nature is merciful. Between the drugs and the sorrow, Nayan slept for almost three days.
Waking, finally, to realize her not-hereness. Not here in the bed beside him. Her hairbrush, undisturbed on the bath counter. Her spring cloak, unmoved where she had draped it over a chair. Her clothes, untouched in the closet, the chest.
The fur lined slippers she wore in the anteroom, sitting beneath her chair. Where she was not.
Walking through public rooms like a ghost. Through the library, where she was not sitting. Not reading. Into the great hall, where she was not pouring herself a mug of tea. Or a mug of ale, at dinner. Where the few diners peered at him in shock.
Finally, after all this time. Finally … understanding that dark thing he had seen. Way back before he and Noar made their wild, reckless foray into the South to blow up weapons caches. When he tranced, saw that the crazy caper would be successful, that they would survive. But that other thing. The dark stuff. The dark thing he could not recognize, could not name.
Finally, he understood. It was here.
Zore
n-te … was not.
She, only found inside a plain wooden box, as they lowered it into the ground. Beside his parents and Ania-te, among others.
When he could speak; when the lords and People could speak to him: wondering if it would be war, again. For certainly, it would be justified.
Right?
Che: The old man should never have been here. Just took the train north, with his own gantha, came riding over the field like he owned it. I’m not excusing Noar – he should have told the bastard just to go to all the hells – but I understand. That was a mighty threat, taking his bride home, making him stay here. But Zoren-te … all gods, Nayan. All gods.
Life means very little to Southerners.
Yes.
Nayan, pushing grief away with a mighty effort. Trying to smother it in anger. Trying to find something, some emotion anywhere, that would dull the pain inside of him.
To Che: You move for vengeance?
Listen to me, Nayan. We have the gift. You have it – so strongly. You could bring Scell to ashes, all by yourself. Like Darleigh and Vel. Only not with an army. Just with the gift.
Nayan, sighing. Looking off to some undefined point in the distance. Knowing … Che: right. Not a shred of doubt about it. They could go – he could go to the South. Ride up to the keep of Scell just like the old man rode up to Cha-ning. Ride up and reduce it to ash, just by looking at it. Thinking it down.
Aloud to Che: “I have to think about it.”
The cool starry night, finding him sitting in dirt. Cross legged beside the fresh dirt of Zoren-te’s grave. Thinking to her, as if she could answer, What should I do, love? I want to avenge you. I want to cut a swath through the South that will make the peasant armies look like children. I want to kill everyone. Everything.
I want to kill.
He hesitates. He’s actually thinking about it.
Of course he is. That’s the seed.
It’s a critical moment. Don’t you agree?
Of course, old friend. This time I agree. Everything depends on this moment.
Nayan, not knowing his true power. Sensing it, perhaps. But not really knowing for certain.
Was pretty sure he could think himself to Scell. Could jump time and simply be there. That he could lay waste to Scell’s keep, his family, his soldiers; could end his entire line … just by thinking about it.
But maybe sensing … just enough sensing …
Riding out alone. To the forest.
Where he got his nervous gantha to walk deeper and deeper into the dark wood, now full of the scents of early summer. Winter’s leafmeal, still damp, muffling the sound of the animal’s hooves. Nayan, knowing it would not matter. Knowing their scent would carry. It would know of their presence as certainly as if he had sent a line message.
There. At last. The flash of gold.
Nayan, dismounting. Letting his hysterical mount bolt for home. Letting it carry off the whip, the rifle. Standing; just standing. His hands at his sides.
Like the lion of Vel, in his own final moments.
Now, look. There. He comes.
The giant beast, charging from behind the brush, its roar enough to silence the angels of all heavens in mid-song. Nayan, just watching it come. Taking a breath, standing straight; his hands at his sides.
Be my judge, old friend. Master of the forest, sacred beast. Tell me what to do, or release me; your choice.
Maybe because of his stillness. Maybe his thoughts. Maybe the strangeness of it all. The lion, skidding to a stop. His roar, reduced to a snarl. His back spikes, fully extended. His huge teeth bared. Claws, extended.
But stopped.
Zoren told me once I had a staring contest with a lion. I thought it was silly at the time.
But now. Look at this. The lion, stopping. His jaw, half closing. Standing, just standing. The man and the lion, just standing.
Are you seeing this?
Of course I am.
He’s gone mad! Maybe her death was too much for him.
Maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Squat! That beast will kill him! We should intervene!
I think not.
Now eye upon eye. Gold eye, black eye; fixed upon one another. Stillness, like a barrel of mud. Breezes, quiet now. Nothing moving; not the new unfurling paddle fans, not the small glow flowers, not even time.
Surely, time had stopped.
What should I do, king of the forest? You, who know everything. I’m sure of that. You, who kill to defend your territory. Without a second thought. You, untamable, unkillable … you manage your power without a single thought. Tell me what I should do.
Silly, talking to a lion.
You wouldn’t dither over such a thing. If I killed your mate, you would kill me. But. Would you kill all my relatives? My friends? Would you knock down my house?
The lion, staring. Listening?
Justice is so pure, for you. But is it what I need? Is it what I should do?
The lion, his gold eye mellowing. As if it understood. Its jaw closing, its snarl silenced. Claws, retracted. Back spines, settling.
Just staring. Looking at the puny human. As if he knew his mind, his heart, his very soul. Had always known him.
Which of course, he had.
The human line of Cha-ning: descended from the lions of the forest. Or so the legends said.
Silly old stories.
And yet, the lion just stared.
Did this understanding go on forever?
When the lion turned, walked quietly back into the brush … Nayan, certain he had aged a year.
Walked back to the castle keep at a slow pace.
By the time he got there, knew what he had to do.
Even without knowing he been deceived. Even without knowing … so much. Would it have mattered? To Nayan? To the lion in its wordless wisdom?
Even without knowing what was in Zoren-te’s heart that awful night. The storm inside of her that she had taken to the garden, the beautiful/terrible place where it had all started, to see if the moonrise could help her choose.
I stayed in the North. I married a northerner. And I know I did so, hoping that I could live in both worlds. Papa … he would have become friends with Dar-agan. I knew it then and I still believe it. They were so alike. I could have visited my home; I could have thumbed my nose at those who despised me. I could have said, “Look at me now.” But then … roast in all the hells, Darleigh. How could things have gone so terribly wrong? I didn’t want to have to choose. But so it was. I set fire to my own house. My own house! And still, I couldn’t face it. Having to make a choice. But oh, I love Nayan, so much. I love Cha-ning. And the North. And tonight, I must finally choose. I must choose.
I choose Nayan. I choose the North.
Tomorrow I will take the train to Sauran City, and join my husband. I will tell him about his brother, trying to steal seeds. About that miserable old Scell, coming to check on his evil plans. And if I run into southern relatives, I will just look away. It will be hard, but I will look away.
I am of the North, now. I will tell this to Magana. And maybe she was not so right, after all.
And the other thing Nayan did not know: Zoren-te had not been murdered. Had been trying to escape an attacker, nothing more. Had she made it to the far side of the cliff, might have made it. Had she not slipped in the slick hole his gift had made in the rock … probably would have made it. Would have gotten wet, but would have survived. Especially with her own rudimentary gift, which she had been counting on to slow her descent.
Nayan, knowing only what the only witness told him.
Noar, having returned at a run from the garden, the skies having opened in a heavy spring rain. A lucky rain, erasing all evidence of struggle. Blood, still spattered on his face from her head-butt to his nose. Iskaya-te, insensible on the bed. Quickly washed the blood away, changed his clothes. His gell high: fully evaporated now. Sitting in the anteroom, just shaking. What have I done? I just wanted to … what d
id I want? I was so high. She deserved it. Or maybe not. I wanted her … to submit. Submit to me. Somehow. Beg me … something. I don’t know what I wanted. But not this. Why did she do it? The bitch! The crazy bitch! What will I tell Nayan? All gods, I can’t tell Nayan. It was Scell. Had to be.
Told Nayan – everyone – that Scell had murdered Zoren-te.
Still Nayan, bitter. Having unleashed some of his rage at Zoren-te’s death, directly at Noar.
“You moron, Noar! You let the South use you, manipulate you! You could have told Scell to go back to all the hells he came from! You should have! If you had … all gods, Noar! For all you know, your enchantment with Iskaya-te was set up by them, just to entrap you! How could you be so stupid?”
Noar, having said nothing during this tongue lashing. No longer able to play the fool, laugh his way out of things. Just burning, with rage that would never leave him.
But … Noar was not the only witness.
Silly, jealous Seren-ye: taking the opportunity to tidy Nayan’s rooms while the Lady was out in the garden. Wistful. Remembering the one time she had gotten her heart’s desire. The one time she had been in Nayan’s bed, had tricked him into loving her. A memory she would cherish until the day she died.
For she: still loving Nayan, as desperately as she ever had. Resented the Lady – couldn’t really talk herself out of it. Knew it was foolish. Knew it was inappropriate. But oh. Still loved Nayan.
That night, wandering into his bedroom. Running her hand over the neatly made bed. The Lady always made the bed herself. Strange. Cleaned up after herself. Definitely strange, for a southern aristocrat. Seren-ye: had heard they were all a bunch of slobs. But no matter. You’re not the only one who’s been in this bed.
Took her sweet memory to the window, just to gaze out over the little garden, to share the memory with the beautiful double moons, rising together.
The double moonrise: considered a romantic time. A time for lovers. Only happened once every few years.
