Between Worlds: the Collected Ile-Rien and Cineth Stories

by Martha Wells

  The curtains that closed it off from the open portico were partly drawn, but a couple of oil lamps were lit, and it was enough light to see Ranior standing with Delphian. Ranior’s shoulders were tense, and he held Delphian’s panpipe as if examining the workmanship, but from his face his mind wasn’t on it. He’s angry, Ilias thought. Delphian’s expression was placating; maybe he had asked for a favor, for Ranior to speak to Halian or Erinni. People sometimes sought Ranior out for that, and it never pleased him.

  “I’ll take my leave,” Delphian said, with a gracious nod, “I should speak to the other guests.” He took the panpipe back and turned for the doorway, pushing the curtain aside to step out onto the portico.

  Ilias went to Ranior’s side, but Ranior still stared after Delphian. Ilias asked, “Did he want something?”

  Ranior blinked, then smiled in a preoccupied way. He patted Ilias absently on the shoulder. “It was nothing. Go on.”

  It took Ilias longer to get back, because he got roped into moving the tables off the portico to make room for the dancing. Once he escaped that and reached the atrium again, Karima was already there, standing aside with Irissa.

  Giliead stood a few paces away, arms folded, and from everyone’s expressions it was clear there was an argument in progress. Ilias moved to Giliead’s side in time to hear Karima say in exasperation, “Of course you don’t have to choose one tonight, but you need to get to know these boys.”

  Irissa gritted her teeth. “I already know them.”

  “You don’t. You’ve hardly spoken to any of them since last summer.” Karima sighed. “Irissa, I’m not asking you to do anything you don’t want. But an alliance with a town family would help us, it would help Erinni and Halian, it would help every other family we’re allied with. I’m just asking you not to disregard all these boys just because of how they behaved as children.”

  Irissa seemed unaffected, but the words hit Ilias hard. He hadn’t seriously thought he had much chance of becoming Irissa’s first husband, but... Maybe he had taken it more seriously than he had realized. You were stupid to get your hopes up, he told himself. If Irissa married him, it wouldn’t cost the family anything, but it wouldn’t bring them anything, either. No new alliance with another family, no interest in anyone else’s farming or trading concerns. It would be a waste of both of them. And his prospects, as a ward of the family and not a real son of the house, weren’t nearly as good as Irissa’s.

  “That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about,” Giliead muttered, sounding bitterly pleased about it.

  “Lucky you,” Ilias said, bitter but not pleased. He needed some time, or he was just going to say things he would regret later. “I’m going down to the docks, see if I can find Macritus. I’ll go back with them.”

  “What? Are you sure--” Giliead called after him, but Ilias was already heading for the door.

  * * *

  Ilias ended up riding back to Andrien in a wagon with Macritus and Selias, who had been in town buying supplies for both Andrien village and the house. The two men had sampled too much of the wine part of their cargo with the merchants, and were now moving more slowly than usual and were glad of the extra help. Macritus had lost the lower part of his arm in a long ago battle, before Ilias had even come to Andrien, so once they arrived at the village Ilias stayed to help them unload. By that time it was late into the night, and they all three agreed that no one at Andrien House would be pleased to be woken to take in amphorae that could be just as easily delivered the next morning. Ilias ended up on a pallet on Macritus’ porch, lulled to sleep by the sound of the sea.

  Ilias woke to a gray cloudy dawn and a sharp salty wind off the water. Standing up to yawn and stretch, he looked down the hill toward the fishing beach, between the houses and huts. The breakers rushed up the sand, white-capped and rough. The sky threatened rain, and it was obviously not going to be a good fishing day. It didn’t make him feel any less depressed, but he thought he could at least keep his problems to himself now.

  Ilias smelled porridge cooking and decided to go up to Andrien House for breakfast before he got to work.

  He borrowed the blanket he had slept in, wrapping it around his shoulders as he started the walk up the hill path. He followed it up through the stands of trees, then to the more level ground of the orchards and pastures, through the large vegetable garden and across to the house.

  The farmyard was quiet under the gray sky, the big flat-roofed two-story stone house not showing much sign of life. Ilias heard someone moving around in the cowshed as he passed it, but didn’t stop to see who it was. He went up the steps and through the open front door, through the painted foyer and into the atrium, heading toward Giliead’s room to see if he was awake yet. Ilias needed a bath and a change of clothes, but he thought he might as well put that off until they had finished moving the amphorae.

  Then Ranior stepped out of the doorway into the receiving room. He demanded sharply, “Where have you been?”

  Ilias stopped short, startled. “I was down at the village, with Macritus--”

  Ranior’s shirt was rumpled and some of his braids were coming undone, as if he had dressed in a hurry, as if he had barely slept. “Don’t lie to me.”

  Ilias stared, felt his jaw drop. “I’m not-- Why would you think--”

  “Where’s Irissa?” Ranior took a step forward.

  “I don’t know, she didn’t come back with us. I thought she was here.” Ilias’ heart started to pound. If something had happened to her... “Is she missing?”

  But Ranior just stared at him as if Ilias was an enemy, was someone he hated. Ranior said, “I know you’ve been sleeping with her.”

  It was as shocking as a slap to the face. Ilias fell back a step. “No! No, Ranior, I haven’t.” Guilt made him flush hot then cold. He had been thinking about it all the time, they just hadn’t done it. How could he know that? Ilias must have been looking at her too much. He lived with her, how could he not look at her? And they flirted, it was innocent... It wasn’t innocent, but it wasn’t anything else, either. He stepped forward. “I swear--”

  The back-handed blow knocked him sideways. It was so fast, so unexpected, Ilias didn’t know he had been struck until his shoulder hit the floor.

  Ranior loomed over him, shouting, “Don’t lie to me, you useless little motherless bastard! We should never have taken you in, after your own people threw you away. Your mother’s mad, do you think we’d let you breed with our heir?”

  “Ranior!” Giliead stood in the doorway to the dining room, shocked and incredulous. “What is...” Then his face changed, his expression turned horrified.

  Ranior rounded on him. His voice low and even, he said, “You stay out of this.”

  Giliead took a step forward. “Ranior, listen to me--”

  Ranior strode toward him, and the sudden punch he threw caught Giliead in the chin. Giliead staggered backward as Ranior hit him again, then he fell over the little table.

  Ilias shoved to his feet, sick with horror. “No, stop! He didn’t do anything, it’s me!”

  Ranior turned, grabbed up the iron brazier from the floor, scattering ash and dead coals. “Get out, now.”

  Ilias stumbled, then bolted for the front door. He made it through the foyer and to the front portico before Ranior caught the back of his shirt. Ilias jerked sideways to free himself but his foot caught the edge of the first step and he sprawled face-first on the dusty ground below the porch. Breathing hard, he rolled over. Ranior stood over him and lifted the brazier.

  Then Irissa leapt on him from behind and sent him staggering forward. Ranior dropped the brazier as she wound strong arms around his neck.

  Ilias struggled to his feet. His first impulse was to run, but Irissa shouted for help, her clear voice ringing out over the yard, and he couldn’t leave her. He felt hollow, numb, he couldn’t make himself think.

  Ranior grabbed Irissa’s arms and dragged her off, and tossed her away as if she was a rag doll. She hit the
ground and rolled, as Ranior turned back to Ilias. Then Giliead slammed out of the house and leapt off the porch to tackle Ranior to the ground.

  Ilias went to Irissa, grabbed her arm to pull her to her feet. He still wanted to run, and he had no idea what to do. Then Irissa clutched his arm, and he realized Ranior wasn’t moving.

  Giliead shoved himself up and pushed Ranior onto his back. Ranior was limp, his eyes rolled back in his head.

  A crash sounded across the yard and Ilias looked up. Macritus and Cylides had just dropped a two-wheeled handcart of amphorae and were running toward them. Confused herdsmen were coming out of the shed.

  Then Karima appeared in the doorway of the house, staring in incomprehension. She still wore a bed robe and her hair was down. Sabiras and some of the kitchen workers appeared behind her. After a shocked moment, Karima flung herself forward and dropped to her knees beside Ranior. Giliead pushed to his feet to give her room. She cupped Ranior’s face, bewildered. “What happened?”

  Ilias shook his head. He wanted to run away, to lie, go somewhere and pretend this had never happened, that he hadn’t been here. The side of his face was starting to throb from that first blow, proving that the whole nightmarish moment had been all too real. He said, “Giliead didn’t-- It was an accident.”

  Irissa began, “There’s something wrong with him, he’s ill, it’s--”

  “It’s a curse.” Giliead’s voice was flat, but it silenced everyone.

  Leaning over Ranior, Karima froze. She stared up at Giliead. “No. Giliead--”

  Ilias couldn’t speak. Cursed. The word burned the shock away into sick horror. There were murmurs from the others, in dread and disbelief.

  Giliead’s gaze was on Karima. “I can see it. The air around him is...” His voice hardened. “I can see it.”

  Sabiras came down the steps, shaking her head helplessly. “But how could this happen...”

  “Send for Menander,” Karima snapped. “And someone help me.”

  Macritus jerked his head at two of the herdsmen, and they bolted for the barn to get the horses. Menander is on a hunt, Ilias remembered, trying to make his brain work again. The men would have to ride to Cineth, then Halian would have to send a courier to the Uplands. If Menander was on the track of a curseling, he would have to finish it off before he could come to Cineth.

  Cylides stepped forward first and leaned down to help Karima lift Ranior. Cylides had a curse-mark branded into his cheek, from something that had happened years ago, Ilias had never known what. It meant he had been touched by a curse and survived, and marked forever. Ranior had given him shelter in Andrien village, when the rest of Cineth had ostracized him. Giliead leaned down to take Ranior’s feet and Ilias realized he should be helping, that the others might be afraid to touch Ranior now. But then Gamias, the chief herdsman, moved forward to help and Ilias ended up just following as they carried Ranior into the house.

  They took him to the atrium’s portico and put him on the couch there. Sabiras hurried to get water and a blanket, and Karima sat next to Ranior, brushing the hair off his forehead. Her voice tightly controlled, she said, “Giliead, are you certain?”

  Ilias thought, Maybe he’s wrong, maybe he just wants him to be cursed, so it would explain-- But with absolute conviction, Giliead said, “Yes.”

  “How did this happen?” Irissa sounded ill. She hugged herself, and Ilias realized she was shivering. “How could Ranior be cursed? He was fine on the way back home last night.”

  Giliead told her, “It has to be something that took time to work on him. If it had been something immediate, the god would have heard it and told me.” He turned back to Karima. His voice was firm, his face hard, no doubt, no hesitation. “It was something that came on the Hisian ship. There was something about it, I couldn’t tell what it was.”

  Karima’s face was drawn, but she watched Giliead intently. “Then you think it’s Delphian.”

  Giliead nodded. “None of the other Hisians came further into town than the port.”

  Macritus protested, “Dozens of strangers, travelers and traders, have passed through the city in the last few days--”

  “And Delphian hasn’t been out here,” Irissa said, baffled. “Ranior never spoke to Delphian alone.”

  “But he did,” Ilias said, startled to realize it. “At the lawgiver’s house, after Delphian performed the poem.”

  Giliead focused on him. He asked sharply, “You saw this? When?”

  “When I was looking for Karima. I found Ranior in the receiving room, talking to Delphian.”

  Everyone else stared, trying to understand. Frowning, Sabiras said, “That’s not much to go on, is it? It could be innocent.”

  “Was it innocent, Ilias?” Giliead’s gaze seemed to hold Ilias frozen. “What was the first thing you thought when you saw them? Not the second, not the third, but the first?”

  Ilias wet his lips. Part of him didn’t believe it was a curse, part of him was certain this was all his fault, that he had driven Ranior to this... He tried to force that aside, to be objective, the way the Chosen Vessels’ Journals instructed. “I thought Delphian wanted something from him. A favor, something. They weren’t just talking. I thought Ranior was annoyed at him. But then Delphian took the panpipe back and went away--”

  Giliead said, “Ranior was holding the panpipe?”

  “Yes.” The others stirred uneasily. Everyone knew that curses could be left on objects, passing the curse to anyone who touched them. It was one of the ways that wizards slipped curses past a god’s boundaries. Ilias felt his heart sink. “That’s it, then. That was how he did it?”

  Giliead let his breath out. “I’ll have to see the panpipe to be sure. The curse wasn’t showing on it last night, but... Now that it’s been used on someone, it might be visible.”

  Karima touched Ranior’s hand. Ilias hadn’t thought she could look any worse, but her face might have been etched in stone. She looked like she was dying.

  His voice thick, Macritus said, “Delphian can’t be a wizard. Surely the god would have known.”

  “Not if Delphian was careful,” Giliead said, still certain. “There are ways to make the curses almost silent. Something like this, carried on the panpipe, that didn’t work until later...”

  “You can’t accuse him in front of others, even if--” Cylides said, sounding desperate. Cylides knew better than anyone just how serious an accusation like this was. “If you’re wrong--”

  “I won’t accuse him, I’ll bring the god to him,” Giliead said quietly. “If it’s not him, he’ll come to no harm.”

  Cylides nodded, reassured. It was only sense, and it quieted all objections.

  Irissa said, “We’ll go now,” and no one argued with her.

  As they walked toward the waiting horses, Giliead said, “It was a curse, Ilias. It made him say things that weren’t true.”

  “I know it was a curse,” Ilias said. His heart was like a lump of ice in his chest. Giliead didn’t know what the curse had really done. The only thing they knew for certain was that it had made Ranior sick and angry.

  “If it’s not Delphian--” Irissa started to say.

  “It’s him,” Giliead said.

  * * *

  But when they reached Cineth, Delphian had already fled.

  While Macritus and the others waited outside, they met Halian and Erinni in the lawgiver’s house. The sudden arrival of the Chosen Vessel, with Ilias, Irissa, Macritus and two other men from the farm, plus Erinni’s orders to search the city for Delphian, meant that suspicions were already spreading, despite Giliead’s best intentions. The Hisian ship had left early that morning, despite the bad weather, and Halian had sent a patrol galley after it. It didn’t seem likely that Delphian had been aboard, but they would have to bring the Hisians back to make certain they hadn’t been cursed too.

  People started to gather worriedly in the plaza. There had been no mistake; Giliead had looked at the room Delphian had used in the lawgiver’s gues
t quarters, and seen curse trails, invisible to anyone but a Chosen Vessel.

  “Something must have changed, he’s leaving traces now. It means whatever curse he’s carrying is stronger,” Giliead had told them, and backed them out of the room.

  Now the men and women who had been sent to search the city were coming back with reports, and Halian told Giliead grimly, “He borrowed a horse from Belia’s stable, before dawn, and told her he was going to visit a farmstead down the coastal road.”

  Erinni came back from the portico, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. “We’ve sent riders after Menander, but it’ll take some time to find him. He must be nearly to the eastern hills by now.”

  Giliead nodded. An ugly bruise marked his jaw where Ranior’s fist had landed. Ilias’ jaw and cheekbone ached, a counterpoint to the stiffness in his shoulder and back. Giliead said, “When Menander gets here, send him after me. He’ll be able to follow the trail.”

  Halian frowned. “After you? What do you mean?”

  “I have to follow Delphian now.” Giliead’s voice hardened. “I have to catch him before he does this to someone else.”

  “I’m going with you,” Ilias said. It sounded as if he meant to be heroic, but he knew it was more for his benefit than Giliead’s. Ilias thought if he stayed behind, not knowing what was happening, it would kill him. Just knowing Delphian was out there, free, was near to killing him now.

  “So am I,” Irissa added. Giliead took a sharp breath, and she cut him off, sharp and bitter, “He’s my father. It’s my right.”

  There was one thing Ilias was certain about. “Gil, it’s your first time, you shouldn’t go alone.”

  “If you try, we’ll just follow you.” Irissa made it sound grimly final.

  Giliead’s expression was an odd combination of guilt, anger, and relief. He doesn’t want to go alone, Ilias thought, he wants us with him, and somehow that eased some of the pain. Halian and Erinni both spoke at once, trying to object.