The Book of Forbidden Wisdom

by Gillian Murray Kendall

  A potato flew toward Renn’s head but missed and hit the stocks. Laughter and jeers from the crowd.

  Put your head down, I thought. Put your head down.

  He put his head down, and the crowd soon lost interest once more. The market was next to the stocks, and there were vegetables and chickens and ducks to buy and cloth to look at and more interesting things to do than harass an obviously broken man.

  I went to the village water pump. I soaked my outer shirt so I could clean his face. I had no jug or jar to put water in, but I found I could cup water tightly in my hands.

  Then I crossed what seemed to be a forbidden zone—­although there were no guards—­and knelt down next to Renn. He jerked as if to move from a threat. I couldn’t say anything; I lifted my cupped hands to his mouth. His eyes were now on mine, and I saw to my relief that there was no madness in them, although there was no recognition either.

  He licked the water out of my hands as best he could with his swollen tongue. I had never been that intimate with a man. I squeezed the water from my shirt onto his lips and wiped the blood and refuse from his face. He was trying to say something, but it was hard to make out what. I pushed his hair back out of his eyes, and I put my ear next to his mouth.

  “Go away,” he said.

  The members of the crowd had moved in closer now. They were disgruntled.

  “That man gave him water,” a boy called out.

  “Better leave it,” said the woman with him. “He’s a traditionalist.”

  I made my face expressionless as I walked into the thick of the crowd. Most of them looked afraid of me, and I wondered at a place like Shibbeth, where ­people feared mercy more than torment.

  I saw him in the shadow of the column that marked the center of the market square.

  Trey.

  I made my way to him. Trey looked down at my small form with alarm.

  “Trey,” I said. “It’s Angel.”

  His response surprised me. He touched my chin, tilted up my face and looked into my eyes. His touch was really no more improper than any of the dozens of rules he and I had already broken, but a shock ran through my body. I felt it all: sorrow and anxiety and suddenly both exhilaration and joy. I felt, too, Trey’s longing. I had been afraid of that longing for so long; I had tried to deny it even after the rescue. Finally, now, I began to understand what he felt for me.

  But there was no time to think. No time to feel.

  “Angel?” said Trey.

  “I found Silky,” I said. “We’re safe. We need to free Renn.”

  He raised his eyebrows at my use of the Bard’s name, but all he said was, “They won’t release him until sunset.”

  “We’ll need a horse to get him away from the square when the time comes, then,” I said.

  “Squab and Bran are in the wide gully outside the gate,” said Trey. “We can use Squab to carry Renn. Angel, I—­”

  “We have a sturdy animal,” I said. “Easier to use him. Even Squab has a little too much breeding for this job. He’ll call attention.”

  “I didn’t know if you and Silky were alive,” said Trey. “I thought they might have taken you—­branded you.”

  “But you waited for us,” I said.

  “I’ll always wait for you, Angel.” He was upset. “No one hurt you?”

  I thought of my shoulder.

  “No.”

  I told Trey more before I went back to the inn to face the fury of Niamh and Jesse and, what I dreaded most, the wrath of Silky.

  “I was sick with worry,” Silky said.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I really mean I was sick. I threw up on Niamh. Next time, take me. Where you go, I go.”

  The sun was low in the sky when I returned to the square with Jesse. Trey looked Jesse over carefully; apparently he passed inspection.

  Renn’s face was once more bloody, and, as the time came close for his release, the crowd seemed to become interested again. They threw rotting vegetables from the market’s refuse pit and yelled obscenities.

  But they didn’t kill him.

  At sunset, the soldiers unlocked the stocks. When they released Renn, he crawled forward into the garbage ­people had thrown at him all day and then fell on his side.

  Before I could move, a man from across the square went toward Renn. I tensed, but Trey put a warning hand on my arm. The man carried a water skin, which he held to Renn’s lips. Renn tried to gulp down the water, and I could see that the stranger was trying to slow him down.

  I couldn’t wait any longer. I left Jesse and Trey holding the pony, and I hurried over to Renn.

  “Thanks, friend,” I said to the man and gently disentangled his arm. “We’ll take him now.”

  “He be a bard,” said the man. “Renn of Arcadia. I seen and heard him before.”

  “I’ll take care of him,” I said.

  “I thought traditionalists be not liking bards.”

  “We just don’t like it when they sing out of tune,” I said. “Why are you helping?”

  The man looked almost ashamed. “I heard this one right here sing the Tree ballads once. He made me weep.” He leaned forward confidentially. “Shame to hurt a bard.”

  “You’re a good man,” I said.

  It was impossible for Renn to sit a horse, so we ended up hoisting him onto the animal’s back like a bag of flour. The stranger helped. Renn made no sound.

  “Good luck to you then,” the stranger said. “I hope someday I hear him sing again. Maybe The Taken. I never heard a real good bard sing The Taken.” And with that, the man blended back into the crowd.

  Renn’s head, since he was slung across the pony, was even with my neck. I looked at him now and saw that he was watching me.

  “Angel,” he said.

  “You’re going to be all right,” I said. Trey was looking at us, and I felt myself flush.

  “You should,” Renn said to me, “have gone away.” His voice was hoarse.

  “I did. Now I’m back.” And my heart opened a little.

  “Angel,” he said. “Lovely name. Mustn’t say so. The Lady Angel.”

  “Renn,” I said. “It’s Angel. Just Angel. I’ve been stupid.”

  “Angel.”

  The light was dimming fast. A woman from the market came close and pressed some bread into Jesse’s hand. An herbalist from the market left his stall to pass Lorsum leaves and Calla powder to me. Lorsum dulled pain so that stiff muscles and tendons could be stretched out. Calla was a stimulant.

  I had been ready to dismiss all ‘Lidans, but I had been wrong.

  “Angel?” Renn’s voice surprised me.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m here.”

  “All right,” he said.

  Together we moved down the street.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Reunion

  When we reached the inn on our way to the gate, Jesse went in to get Niamh and Silky. They were heavily veiled. Meanwhile Jesse, Trey and I managed to get Renn upright in the saddle. No guard would have let us go unquestioned through the gate with a man slung across the pony like a sack of grain.

  “Move on,” said the bigger of the guards as we approached the gate. He pointed at Renn. “We don’t want that one dying here. It’d block the traffic for hours.”

  And so we left Parlay unchallenged.

  It seemed to me almost a little too easy.

  Once out of sight of the gate, Renn slumped forward, his cheek against the horse’s neck, his arms hanging down.

  “He doesn’t look good,” said Jesse.

  “He’ll be fine,” I said. I gave Jasmine to Silky and added the herbs the man at the market had given me to a skin of water. I knew the strong stimulant would tax Renn’s system, but he had to drink it if he was going to be able to ride. Trey and I pushed Renn up into t
he saddle again so that he could drink.

  We moved on.

  “We’re camped in a deep niche of the oasis,” said Trey. “We need to run the gauntlet to get back to the horses.”

  “What do you mean ‘run the gauntlet’?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” said Trey.

  We moved beyond the edge of the oasis that Parlay was built on, and I soon understood what Trey had meant. The gully near the oasis was a kind of haven for the disenfranchised—­those who had been denied entry to Parlay and had nowhere else to go. The diseased and the criminal, the mad and the starving subsisted on what they could by the side of a fetid brackish rivulet.

  A man made a move toward us, and I saw with horror that his face had been partially eaten away, but Jesse—­strong, young and healthy—­glared at him until he returned to his tiny camp. A woman there, her face marked as his was, pushed at him and began to weep.

  We passed a dancing madman who whirled and swooped and spooked the horses, all but the staid pony conveying Renn.

  A little farther on, close to the path, three women who were cooking something over a small fire stared as we passed. One of them stood and started to walk toward us. She wore no veil, and neither did those back at her small camp. One of the other women caught hold of her arm, seemingly to stop her, but she came right up to us.

  “I be no beggar,” she said, using some of the old-­style speech. “We need food. We be desperate.” She suddenly caught at Jesse’s arm. “It be too late for us. You understand? We have no money for food. We trade.”

  Jesse shook her off, but not unkindly. To my surprise, he reached into one of the saddlebags and gave her some dried fruit.

  “If you sell yourself,” he said, “you just start the long spiral down into darkness.”

  “The choices are gone, Lord,” said the woman.

  “There are always choices,” said Jesse to the woman.

  “You’re young,” she said. She paused, as if afraid of going too far. “And you be a man.”

  She tucked away the food and looked sad—­and a little bitter.

  “Go to The Village of Broken Women,” said Jesse.

  The Village of Broken Women. Our passage back into Arcadia, to the Spiral City—­a place of the northern territories.

  “They have Arcadian ways there,” said the woman. “We be ‘Lidan women.”

  Jesse leaned very close to her, and she drew in her breath, as if afraid. But he did not touch her.

  “You’ve lived like ‘Lidan women,” he said. “But you don’t have to die like them. If you won’t go to The Village of Broken Women, wait some weeks’ time and go to Niamh at Negreb. She’ll take you somewhere safe.” He didn’t look directly at Niamh, but she nodded.

  “I thank you,” said the woman.

  She turned and went back to her little camp. I could see the other two women exclaiming over the food. They made gestures of reverence toward Jesse.

  “What just happened?” I asked. “I don’t think I understand.”

  “I know I don’t,” said Silky.

  Jesse, Trey and Renn were silent. It was Niamh who spoke.

  “They’ve been violated,” she said. “Probably by the guards at the gate, who will no longer let them in because now they’re harlots. No veils anymore. She offered Jesse sex for food. He tried to send her to safety. That’s it.”

  “But why—­“

  “There are no whys,” said Niamh. “Women can’t travel alone in Shibbeth in safety—­not in small numbers, and certainly not women of low caste.”

  “There were three of them.”

  “And no men.”

  Soon we passed a group of four roasting a giant ox heart over a fire. Their eyes were intent on it as juice dripped into the fire, and I wondered how they had gotten it—­until the smell reached me. The meat was bad. They had probably scavenged the heart from a pile of butcher’s offal, and now they were going to risk poisoning themselves in order to live a little longer.

  Renn became more and more alert as the herbs coursed through his blood. Trey was on the other side of the pony, leading it, and the others followed, so only I noticed that Renn was also becoming freer in speech—­a side effect of the stimulant.

  “Lady Angel?”

  “Renn, are you really going to call me Lady Angel again?”

  “No. And I like that you’re calling me Renn.” Alert as he seemed, he almost fell off the pony.

  “Is he all right?” asked Trey from the other side.

  “Yes,” I said. I helped Renn sit up.

  “I like your hair in a braid,” he said softly.

  “Thank you, Renn.”

  We had left the path as we made our way to the niche Trey and Renn had found in the gully, and I saw no more ­people. We had left behind those pitiful castoffs of Parlay.

  Except that we were castoffs, too.

  Abruptly, a figure like a scarecrow stepped out of the darkness; he held Crop Ear by a frayed rope loosely hung around the horse’s neck. The scarecrow figure glanced at Renn and then addressed himself to Trey.

  “I done what you asked, Lord,” he said.

  “Squab and Bran?” asked Trey.

  “All’s well, Lord.”

  “Take this for your trouble.” Trey reached into a pocket, and I saw the glint of silver. “As well as our food gift.”

  “No point, Lord,” said the man. “There be nothing here to buy. Nothing but food’s worth anything.”

  “You’ve kept our bargain; you’ll feast tonight.”

  “Yes, Lord.” And the man vanished into the shadows, taking Crop Ear with him.

  “Crop Ear?” groaned Renn.

  “I’m sorry,” said Trey.

  “That horse—­carried me far.”

  “That horse will keep at least one family alive. For a while.”

  “Trey,” said Silky, “you didn’t.”

  He gave her a little smile. “Dinner on the hoof.”

  “Trey,” I said, “that’s too much information for Silky.”

  Moments later we found ourselves reunited with Squab and Bran, and Silky spent a long time stroking Squab.

  Silky was sentimental about horses, but less so about small edible game. We were all hungry, but we were low on food until Silky went to the nearest outcropping to see what she could find. Guarded by Jesse, she killed an enormous rock hyrax.

  We built a fire, and we ate stewed rock hyrax, and I have to say—­it was pretty good.

  Jesse made his bed at the perimeter and then came and sat by Silky’s side. I saw surprise on his face when he realized how close to the fire Trey’s bedding was, but Jesse made no requests to move farther into camp. Perhaps he thought I would refuse him. Perhaps I would have. Renn lay on a blanket near Niamh, who was making a poultice for him. Trey and I were side by side. He smiled at me, and his hand hovered over mine for a moment, but he didn’t touch me.

  “We can’t stay here much longer,” said Trey after a little while. “Those ­people out there are drawing closer and closer to the camp. It’s only a matter of time before enough of them gather and attempt to overrun us.”

  “Should we go now?” Silky was alarmed, but I knew that travel would badly overtax Renn.

  “The earliest we can leave is tomorrow,” said Trey. “We’d never get out of this gully at night—­but if we keep the fire up and keep good watch, we have a chance to make it until morning.”

  “A chance?” said Silky.

  “A good chance, Lady Silky,” said Jesse.

  I closed my eyes the way I sometimes did when my mother’s face would come to me, or when, sometimes, the future seemed near, so very near, and I thought that, yes, we would survive the night. I’m not sure it was foresight, but it was a feeling that had never failed me. I opened my eyes.

  “We’ll be a
ll right,” I said to Silky.

  “But where do we go then?” Trey was looking at me.

  “North. To the Spiral City. To The Book of Forbidden Wisdom.”

  Trey laughed. “Either there, or eventually we’ll just fall off the top of the world.”

  “What’s The Book of Forbidden Wisdom?” asked Jesse.

  We all stared at him.

  “It’s a key,” I said.

  “The key to more Arcadian land than you can possibly imagine,” said Trey.

  “I don’t know,” said Jesse. “I can imagine a lot.”

  “Me too,” said Silky, and they smiled at each other like idiots.

  So we prepared to stay the night. My words. My plan. My choice. If we had left at that moment, it’s possible that everything would have turned out differently. It might have. But I saw the six of us live through the night, and I chose to stay. I didn’t yet know much about near misses and last chances or actions that could never be mended. But even if I had known, it might not have made any difference.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Raid

  We were attacked just before dawn.

  A ragged crew of ten or so men swarmed into our camp, overrunning the perimeter before we could react. One of them grabbed the rock hyrax stewpot from over the fire. He howled in triumph until another man tried to wrest it from his arms, and the entire contents flowed onto the ground.

  Both men raised their heads, seemingly in unison, and the setting moon revealed them to us.

  They had no faces. Slits for eyes and a hole for a mouth and everything else a red broth of disease.

  For an instant, none of us could move, then Silky ran for the horses. I cried out “No,” but I was too late. One of the men grabbed her by the hair and started to drag her behind the rock that marked the outer limit of our camp. I don’t remember raising my crossbow or fitting a bolt to it, but I do remember my hands shaking as I took aim. Niamh was at my elbow.

  “You can do it,” she said.

  I aimed for the man’s chest, but the shot was far wide. I knew I was going to be too late, but in desperation I loaded another bolt and swung up the crossbow. Before I could take the shot, the man staggered and fell; a bolt protruded from what had been a face.