The Book of Forbidden Wisdom

by Gillian Murray Kendall

  Then, as we went over a rise, I saw something shimmering in the heat waves on the horizon. At first I thought I was seeing small hills.

  After an hour, we seemed no closer to the forms. Whether it was through some trick of the eye or because of the midday glare, it was only when we were considerably closer to them that I realized that these were no hills. These were the work of ‘Lidan land slaves.

  We had reached the great Cairns that marked the borders of Shibbeth.

  The ‘Lidan Cairns were frightening in their size. They loomed over the desolate landscape, and they cast inky shadows onto the flat brown ground. I knew from legend that one couldn’t climb them; they were solid things of mortar and stone smoothed to a flat surface by those who had built them. No one could take or add a pebble, as one could with the small welcoming Arcadian Cairns that were at most crossroads, and no one would mistake them for guides to the lost or signs of hospitality.

  In both directions, they just went on and on and on.

  “Shibbeth,” said the Bard.

  “Can we go back?” asked Silky. Trey sighed, and I shook my head. There was no going back. There could be no patched wedding to Leth to save my reputation, my standing, my wealth. The sole ceremony Leth and Kalo were interested in was that of execution.

  Our only hope of return lay in finding The Book of Forbidden Wisdom. Kalo had probably thought for a long time of the land deeds it contained—­deeds to thousands and thousands of hectares of unclaimed Arcadian land. The contents of The Book might just be enough to satiate even Kalo’s voracious land greed. And once rich beyond his dreams, Kalo would, in the end, call off Leth. Leth might feel betrayed, dishonored and even jealous, but ­people tended to listen to Kalo.

  I would let Kalo have his happy avaricious ending, and I would marry Trey and so give Silky a home and have a patched up sort of honor again.

  Perhaps the Bard could sing at our wedding.

  I liked thinking about the Bard.

  I couldn’t seem to help it. I thought about his bringing me back to life—­my chest continued to hurt where he had pounded on it. I turned in the saddle to look at him, and his deep-­colored eyes immediately met mine. His mouth turned up into an almost smile, and the thought came into my mind: This is a man who might prove dangerous to me.

  “Angel.” Trey’s voice was sharp, and I realized I had been about to guide Jasmine into a gorse bush.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “Clearly I’m not,” I said.

  “Why are you blushing?” asked Silky.

  “It’s hot, Silky,” I said. “My face is red. It means nothing. I’m tired and hot and exhausted.” I looked at the Bard. “And I just drowned,” I added.

  “Do you want to stop and rest?” Trey was obviously concerned. I wanted to hit him.

  “No,” I said. “I don’t need to rest.”

  We were in a scrubby, lightly wooded area, but ahead of us, about a mile between us and the Cairns, the land had been cleared—­and obviously kept clear—­of all brush. The purpose was obvious to me: it would be easy to spot anyone trying to go from Arcadia to Shibbeth.

  We were going to have to cross that flat open land. There would be no way to hide from Leth if he were behind us.

  “Is this safe?” asked Silky, also seeing what I saw. “It seems so wide open.”

  “It’s safe enough,” said Trey.

  “No,” said the Bard. “It’s not.”

  “We don’t have a lot of alternatives,” said Trey.

  He and the Bard glared at each other. Silky looked puzzled.

  “Well,” she said, “it can’t be safe and unsafe.”

  The Bard began to speak, but I gestured for silence.

  I could hear something. And I saw something, too. The birds were rising, rank by rank, from the trees far behind us. Closer now, they wheeled into the sky, stirred up by something below.

  “They’re coming,” I said.

  The wide, clear area between the looming Cairns and us now looked terribly exposed. There wasn’t even grass covering the dirt; it had been burned back; I could see charring on the earth. We hesitated at the edge. Jasmine could feel the conflict within me, and she began shaking her head, pulling at the bit, backing up and then moving forward.

  “You and Silky,” said Trey. He was trying to get Bran to turn away from the scorched earth, away from Shibbeth. “Go. Now. I’ll keep them busy.”

  “We all go,” I said to Trey. “We’re not losing anyone to them. Not here. Not now. We ride together, or I’m not going to go.”

  Trey paused, but then nodded his head. Yes. He knew me.

  “But,” he said, “the packhorse won’t make it.” He dismounted and hauled saddlebags from the animal’s back. A moment later, he put one of the bags across Jasmine’s withers. The Bard’s Crop Ear got two saddlebags, as did Bran. Trey left the rest on the ground—­Squab would be hampered by an extra burden—­and, after stripping the packhorse of saddle and bridle, he released it.

  The animal stood there, ears pricked forward. Waiting.

  “When they find the horse,” I said, “they’ll know we’re here.”

  “They already know we’re here,” said Trey. He remounted. “Let’s go.”

  “Come on,” said Silky, but still I hesitated.

  “This is your chance to leave,” I said to the Bard. He turned his strange eyes on me.

  “Time and chance have thrown our lots together,” he said.

  “That’s poetic,” I said, “but you’d better get out of here now.”

  “No,” he said. “I haven’t engaged in a last-­chance gallop in a while. In fact, not ever.”

  “Come on, Angel,” said Trey.

  “Yes,” said Silky. “I can hear something.” She was hearing the wild clamor of the birds taking flight. And possibly my heart beating against my ribs.

  “You can hide,” I said to the Bard. “They’ll only be looking for us.”

  “They’d find me, Lady Angel,” the Bard said. “And they’d make me talk.”

  He was right. Our futures apparently lay together, and I knew then that we were tangled in some intricate design that I didn’t understand.

  Birds continued to rise from the trees in flocks—­we must have been near some venerable nesting place. The sky grew black with them, and their cries were raucous. They were terrified by something below.

  I gathered Jasmine.

  “All right,” I said. “Let’s go.” I gave Jasmine her head. Trey, Silky and the Bard were only moments behind me. Together we rode for it.

  By the time we had all crossed onto the barren ground, we were at a hard gallop. The birds wheeled overhead.

  We pounded across the open land. Silky was keeping up with me on Squab. Trey and the Bard were slightly behind us. Chivalry. I wanted to be chivalrous and heroic, too, but I had to get Silky across the border. I had to keep her safe.

  And then the rising birds flew out of the last bit of cover.

  I turned my head as men on horseback burst out of the trees on either side of the ancient road. I saw Leth, who, in a kind of fury, seemed to have given up on superstition and was in a flat-­out gallop down the middle of the Great North Way. He whipped his horse cruelly. I realized that all along his fair face had concealed a deeply embedded brutality. I should have watched the way he treated animals. I should have found out if he gave charity to vagabonds. I should have taken notice of how he spoke to his servants.

  Those shallow eyes had kept me focused on his shallow courtesy.

  I could not bear the sight of him. And, indeed, I didn’t have time to stare at him; I could only hope we could stay ahead and that we were all moving too fast for crossbows to be effective.

  We were going flat out. I fixed my eyes on the Cairns in front of us, an
d I despaired. They seemed to come no closer. They shimmered in the heat; they were no longer something forbidden and foreboding; they beckoned, offering safety.

  I focused on Jasmine’s stride. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I could see Squab beginning to lag. I was swept with fear. I wouldn’t let Silky be taken alone.

  “Stop them,” screamed Leth. I could hear the pounding of hooves, the jingle of bridles, even the squeaking of leather as they gained on us. Above, the birds called and cried as if to mock us.

  The Cairns looked closer now.

  But maybe not close enough.

  We were really going all out now. For a moment Silky fell no further behind, and we rode as one. And then Squab lost more momentum. I turned my head and screamed at her.

  “Hit him,” I yelled. Silky shook her head. I was frantic. “Hit him! Now.”

  And Silky, her face as pale as milk, pulled her crop from her boot and smacked Squab on the rump. In a second, he was up with us again. As I had turned to Silky, I had seen arrows in the air, but they all seemed to be falling short.

  And then the Cairns were no longer a shimmer in the distance; they were in front of us. We galloped without looking behind; my breathing was labored, and Jasmine was slathered with foam.

  At last we surged forward between two of the great standing Cairns of Shibbeth.

  Into the land of the ‘Lidans.

  Leth and his men had to pull up hard not to cross the boundary—­so hard that two of the horses went down. I felt elated, but I knew that this was not the end. Leth—­and Kalo—­would find another way to get at me. But for now Leth didn’t dare enter. He didn’t have enough at stake to risk being taken by the ‘Lidans.

  We did.

  “Harlot!” Leth screamed at me. “Harlot! Whore!”

  We kept riding hard until we could no longer make out what he was saying, and the Cairns were well to our backs.

  And I thought, So this is Shibbeth. This is the forbidden country.

  “We can give the horses a breather now,” said Trey.

  I dismounted, but Trey remained in the saddle, and I realized he had the reins in the wrong hand.

  “Let me see your arm,” I said, and he turned so that I could.

  “Oh, Trey,” said Silky.

  A bolt from a crossbow had pierced the flesh of his upper arm; it had opened the muscle in a wide gash. Trey swayed in the saddle. In a moment, the Bard was at his side, helping him down, and I felt a great relief.

  To help Trey dismount, I would have had to take his whole weight on me.

  I tried to turn my mind elsewhere. I focused on the injury.

  “How bad is it?” I asked.

  “It looks bad,” said Silky.

  “I’ll be fine,” said Trey. The Bard eased him to the ground. The two of them spoke in low voices. The Bard ripped Trey’s sleeve open and examined the gash.

  “We set up camp here,” the Bard said to Silky and me, and he began taking the saddlebags off Bran and then Jasmine. “Do your skills stretch to making a fire, Lady Silky?” he asked.

  “Not really,” she said. “Sorry.”

  “Then you get to handle the horses,” said the Bard. “I’ll get the fire.”

  “What about Trey?” I asked.

  “I thought that would be your job,” said the Bard. “Squeamish?”

  “No.”

  I wasn’t squeamish, but examining a wound, touching hurt flesh, would have been too intimate an act even if I’d had a sanctioned chaperone at hand. The Bard should have known that.

  “Come,” the Bard said to me. Silky had stopped unsaddling the horses and was watching us.

  “Why don’t you just leave her be,” said Trey wearily. “I’m fine.”

  “He’s not fine,” said the Bard and reached out and took my hand. I snatched it back.

  “If I wanted to hold hands with you,” he said, “I would try charm.” The Bard sounded annoyed. He looked closely at my hand again, although this time he didn’t attempt to touch me.

  “You have small fingers,” he observed.

  The horses were left standing as Silky trailed over to us.

  “What do you want?” I asked him as mildly as I could.

  “Yes,” said Silky. “What do you want? I saw you touch the Lady Angel’s hand.” Her tone wasn’t mild.

  “Trey needs stitches,” the Bard said. “Small stitches made by small fingers. Lady Angel’s will do. I never met a Great Lady who couldn’t do needlework.”

  “Oh.”

  It all made sense now.

  I gave way. Silky was better with a needle, but my reputation was already in tatters. No need to involve her in any immoral close contact stitching.

  Besides, Trey needed me.

  The Bard built the fire and boiled the needle and thread he carried in his pack. In the same pack, he found some healing powder for the wound and a length of clean bandage. Trey lay down by the fire and put his arm on a length of cloth I had prepared. He didn’t say much, but his forehead was creased with pain. After that, as the others watched closely—­to ask for privacy would have been lewd indeed—­I held the lips of the ragged wound together with one hand. With the other hand, I made small, delicate stitches. The work required total concentration.

  Only once did Trey break my focus. He moved as my needle accidentally slipped off the skin and into the gash, and I looked at his face sharply for any signs of shock. My mother had taught me about shock.

  “Angel,” Trey said.

  I knew then. It was all in his voice, all that I had really known for years but had kept carefully buried. Yet there was nothing I could say or do. I hadn’t learned to swim, and I hadn’t—­I felt it sorely now—­learned to love.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m almost done.”

  Those were all the words I could manage.

  My cold hard heart.

  When it was finished, I sat back and examined my handiwork. Silky looked closely but was very careful not to touch.

  “That’s astonishing, Angel,” she said. “Your needlework’s usually awful. I wish Madam Ogilvy could see.”

  “She’d drop dead on the spot,” I said.

  Trey quickly fell into a healing sleep. Once he called out “Angel,” and I was embarrassed. Men do not dream about modest Ladies of Great Houses. The Bard, who was near, pretended he hadn’t heard; he showed delicacy. He turned away.

  Later, when Trey woke up, the Bard tended him. Silky, who wanted to speak, walked with me to the edge of the camp.

  “Angel?” she asked, and I feared her question. I had just set her terrible examples of modesty, chastity and discretion. I noticed I still had some of Trey’s blood on the back of my hands.

  “Yes?”

  “I have a question.”

  “What’s your question?”

  “What’s a whore?”

  This was not the question I had expected. I thought for a moment.

  “A small breed of horse,” I said.

  There was silence as Silky took in the information.

  “Angel?” she asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Why did Leth call you a small breed of horse?”

  “He wasn’t calling me that,” I explained. “He was calling out because he wished he had that small breed of horse. They’re very fast over short distances. If he’d had a whore, he might have caught us.”

  “Oh,” said Silky. “It makes a lot more sense when you use it in a sentence.”

  Later I left the three of them and went up the road so that I could see sunset and moonrise. The sun seemed to pour liquid gold along the horizon as it went down, and, at the end, I saw a flash of green light. Seeing the flash was considered lucky. The moon rose, ghostly and huge. I saw the West Star hanging against the rising night like a bright coin in a jackdaw’s
nest.

  “The moon’s sailing full,” I said when I went back to the others. “Come on, Silky. You can see better away from the fire.”

  “I’ll go with you,” said Trey.

  I looked down at Trey and opened my mouth to speak, when the Bard broke in.

  “It’s not a good idea to leave the camp, Lady Angel,” he said. “There’re worse things out there than your brother and your almost-­husband.”

  I met his eye.

  “Doubt it,” I said.

  And yet the beauty of the enormous moon and the low West Star had an ominous quality; it was so very fragile and ethereal, the sort of beauty that tears one’s heart out. The sort of beauty that doesn’t last. I didn’t stray after all.

  Chapter Ten

  Wheat

  Before I readied for sleep, I examined Trey’s wound again—­with Silky close by my side. The wound had grown red, and I packed wild garlic around the stitches. I tried doing it with a spoon, but it proved awkward. Surely there was a purpose to having small and nimble fingers.

  My morals were slipping.

  I turned away and narrowly missed colliding with the Bard.

  “That’s good work,” he said.

  We needed to speak.

  He had dumped his pack and saddle by the fire, and he had given no hint as to where he intended to sleep. It was one thing to have Trey near the fire—­especially now that he was wounded. It would be quite another to allow a bard, a landless man, so close to Silky and to me at the vulnerable time of sleep. The Bard’s beautiful face might edge its way into my dreams, where chaperones, no matter how much they might be needed, were in short supply.

  I looked up at him. He was quite a bit taller than I.

  “I wanted to tell you,” I said, “that you can sleep inside the perimeter. Over by the horses.”

  “Lady Angel?” he said. He looked at me quizzically.

  “By the horses. You can sleep there.” I was getting a kink in my neck looking at him.

  “Yes, Lady Angel,” he said. “I understand the words that are coming out of your mouth.”