As the suns stood sentinel overhead, Rhuan sought and found the rock formation he had guided them toward all along. On the downslope of a steep hillside, huge, tall outcroppings of grainy, gray-purple stone presented a narrow chute, a slotted opening that appeared to end in a wall of rock. But Rhuan knew the slot bent left behind a gleaming bulge of faceted, ruddy stone that was visible only during brief periods of the day, at dawn and dusk. As he paused on the cusp, followed by Audrun, who was breathing hard and sweating, he lifted his arms in a wholly spontaneous gesture of success and relief. He swung around, smiling, took a long step to her, and grasped her shoulders.
“Almost,” he said, “almost.” She stared at him blankly. He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Audrun, we rest here the night. We may take time tomorrow as well. The Kiba is very close.”
“Don’t touch me,” she said with exquisite clarity.
He released her as if she burned his hands. “Audrun, I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”
“Be quiet.” Her voice was ragged. “Silence from you, in fact, would be best of all.”
He opened his mouth to apologize again, to say he understood, but nothing in her eyes suggested that was wise. After a moment he inclined his head in brief acknowledgment, then indicated the slot in the twin walls of stone. “The path is clear.”
She slanted him a sharp look. “Prey goes first?”
Rhuan shook his head. “Guests go first.”
The brief expulsion of breath was a scornful laugh lacking in humor, devoid of forgiveness. Audrun walked past him and entered the slot.
For a moment he remained where he was, staring after her vanished body. A vow wholly alien to one born of Alisanos, but somehow oddly fitting, rose in his mind: Mother of Moons, let her come to understand.
IT WAS NEARING sundown as Brodhi led his complement of Hecari into the settlement. In his absence a large bonfire area had been raked and tended, rocks set to ring it, a pyramid of wood leaning against one another in its center. Small cookfires dotted the surviving grove; the bonfire, obviously, was for communal gatherings. Mikal’s tent stood where it always had, appearing somewhat sturdier than when he had left; other tents, some with multicolored patches in place of uniformly-colored oilcloth, had been pitched as well. This time it was not a helter-skelter jumble of tents raised by whim and inclination, leading to tangled skeins of footpaths, but a clearly delineated circle around the bonfire area. Karavan wagons still inhabited the grove of elder trees, but even the immediate environs of each wagon appeared to be neatly tended. This was not a haphazard transient stopover thrown up by those in a hurry to depart, but a true settlement.
Riding ahead of the warriors, Brodhi was nonetheless aware of their low-voiced commentary, the tension infiltrating their tones. Blowpipes remained in their hands, and warclubs hanging by their knees were tested for ease of unhooking. They broke out of their single file to spread themselves behind him, horse by horse by horse by horse, with room between each mount. He heard the word for culling. He heard the word for decimation. He heard them say to one another the warlord would not be pleased, that a place so recently culled would come out of the experience with a greater sense of permanence.
Brodhi halted his horse six paces or more from the bonfire ring. The Hecari behind him halted as well. By the moment, twilight deepened. Mother Moon, in the sky, had begun the aging process to become the Grandmother. Using courier training, Brodhi pitched his voice to carry. In Hecari he called, “Who is warlord here?” He followed it in Sancorran, “Who is in charge?”
The entry flap of Mikal’s ale tent stirred. Then came a slight figure with short-cropped fair hair and glinting brass ear-hoops. She stopped equidistant between ale-tent and bonfire ring.
“I am in charge!” she called.
Brodhi turned in the saddle to the Hecari, translating, and saw the horrified disbelief in the faces of the warriors.
For their sakes, Brodhi laced his tone with scorn as he turned back. “You are? You? You are a woman!” He repeated it precisely, in like tones, in Hecari.
“I am in charge!” she repeated.
By her tone and posture, it required no translation. Brodhi reined his horse in a tight circle to face the four warriors. He spread his hands in a gesture akin to annoyance and helplessness, in effect asking for advice. The men shot brief, hard glances at one another, muttering angrily among themselves. The woman would never be accepted. That she dared to claim herself a warlord was insult of the highest order. Women in Hecari culture were completely subservient, refusing even to meet a warrior’s eyes.
In Hecari, Brodhi said, “The warlord would order a culling.”
They agreed emphatically.
“Shall I kill her now?”
That pleased them. Black eyes glittered as they looked briefly at the woman who dared to call herself in charge, then fastened avid but questioning gazes upon Brodhi.
He shrugged with exquisite nonchalance. “I am not Sancorran. I work for the coin-rings. Your warlord pays me well.”
One of the warriors raised his chin, lifted his warclub from his saddle, and let loose a ululating cry of approval and encouragement. Brodhi wheeled his horse, set the gelding on a leaping course over the pyramid of wood in the center of the ring, and roared in Sancorran: “Kill them now!”
As the warriors gazed in fervid anticipation, as Brodhi neared Bethid on a galloping horse, karavaners and settlement men, bearing such weapons as they had contrived, rose up in the dusk from behind the tents and fell upon the Hecari, hamstringing horses to bring them down, dragging warriors out of their saddles. Even as Brodhi veered around Bethid, who wisely stood her ground, and spun his horse back again, the killing was over.
He glanced at Bethid. “Whose thought was it that you claim yourself the leader?”
“Mine.” She smiled grimly. “I suggested it would distract the warriors more than anything else, being as how they view women as worthless.”
He nodded. “That was well done, Beth.”
Her expression was odd as she looked across the bonfire ring to where some men surrounded the dead warriors while others killed the hamstrung horses. “No, I think it was ill done, but it was decidedly necessary.”
Brodhi left her then, riding around the ring to the other side. Jorda and Mikal were directing matters. Both were blood-stained. Jorda glanced up as Brodhi reined in. “You placed your sentries well,” Brodhi told him. “All went smoothly.”
The karavan-master nodded, saying nothing. The crease between his brows had deepened.
“If I may make another suggestion … have the bodies taken as close to the forest as is possible. Beasts will come out to fetch them. And then, should the question ever arise, all can say in perfect honesty that Alisanos took the warriors.”
“Clever,” Jorda murmured. Then his eyes focused more sharply on Brodhi’s. “Rhuan is in Alisanos.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“I still need the boundaries surveyed and mapped. Will you do it?”
Brodhi uncapped his scroll case and pulled a rolled parchment from it. “I have already begun. Have this copied as best you can; it shows the new route to the Cardatha road, and the way into the settlement.” He handed it down. “I will begin with the other areas tomorrow.”
Jorda accepted the scroll with a word of thanks, then glanced up in open curiosity. “You are being very generous, Brodhi. If I may be blunt, more so than I was led to expect from you.”
Brodhi considered saying something such as, I have to deal with you because it’s a test I must complete on a personal journey you could never possibly comprehend, but he had meant what he said to Bethid about dealing with the Hecari. The karavaners and tent-folk, directed by Mikal and Jorda, had acquitted themselves far better than he had ever anticipated. “It’s quite true I have no patience with the extreme emotions your people exhibit so frequently, and other habits I find inexplicable or deplorable. Many humans I consider worthless. But a few of you, in the face of terrible odd
s, have occasionally proven yourselves somewhat competent.”
Jorda’s brows twitched upward, then leveled again. His tone was expressionless. “Ah. I see. High praise, that.”
Brodhi nodded, then turned his mount away from the bodies of Hecari and horses and rode through the settlement to the common tent he shared with the other couriers. His gelding was due untacking, grooming, and a meal; once those tasks were completed, he thought he would make his way to Mikal’s tent for ale. The journey with four Hecari had made him quite thirsty.
AUDRUN MADE HER way along the chute winding through the massive rock formation. She was aware of Rhuan following, though he moved very quietly. She supposed she had been quite rude to him, but was too tired to spend much thought on it. She knew if she stopped moving, she would not begin again. All of her reserves were spent. Her body trembled with exhaustion. Knees threatened to buckle. Much of the time she placed one or both hands on the chute walls just to remind herself she was upright, gaining momentary support, a slight encouragement for continued momentum. When she rounded a slight curve and a vista spread out before her, she stopped short because it was so unexpected.
The chute widened itself into a roundish, rectagular cave opening out of a cliff face. Audrun stood nearly at its edge on a broad shelf of stone, astonished by the world presenting itself to her. Across the way her eyes met a cliff similar to the one housing the cave. But below it, and below the cave she stood in, spread wide, shallow terraces of red rocks, each containing a pool of brilliant blue-green water. To her right, at the edge of the uppermost pool, the two cliffs merged into one, forming a slot for a narrow fall of water to the pool below. Surrounding the pools, in hummocks within the cliffs and along the crowns, spearlike trees stood as sentinels. At their bases yellow flowers bloomed.
Rhuan stepped up beside her. Though still angry with him, she could not prevent the question. “This is the Kiba?”
“No. This is merely the vestibule.” He pointed. “The deepest of those pools below are no higher than your shoulders. The current is slight—you’ll see that each spills into the pool immediately below it, all the way down to the stream that cuts through the canyon. There you may bathe, or just float in the water.”
She was stunned. “This doesn’t even seem like part of Alisanos. It’s beautiful!”
“The deepwood has many faces.” He glanced at her briefly in profile. “Are you ready to go down? We’ll spend the night here, and rest tomorrow.”
“There’s a way down there?”
He smiled and extended a hand to the right side of the cave. “There. That shelf extending beyond the cliff leads down to the upper pool, and additional pathways skirt the edges of the others below it.”
The way down he indicated was a steep, narrow shelf of stone jutting sideways from the cliff face, girded on the right side by vertical stone. In descent, the left side of her body would be next to open air.
“It’s all of stone,” he said. “It’s a part of the cliff itself. There’s no danger of any portion breaking away.”
“You say,” she muttered.
“I have climbed up and down this path more times than I can count. If you like, I will descend in front of you, and if at any time you feel unsafe, say so. I will be happy to provide a steadying hand. Or you may place your right hand on the wall if it serves your sense of balance.”
She looked at him, prepared to answer sharply, until she saw that he, too, was weary. At some point he had been transformed from the dimpled, laughing guide she trusted to a man with tension and tiredness etched in his face. He had nearly died in defense of her baby. For all she knew, his wounds still troubled him.
But still, she had to say it. “You pushed too hard.”
“It brought us here.”
“You asked too much.”
“No,” he said, “Oh, no, that I did not do. The spirit dwelling inside you can survive much more. And once we reach the Kiba, you will need every bit of it.” His lips twitched briefly in a tired smile. “Tonight, and tomorrow, we can give our souls and bodies the rest they deserve, but only if we first descend this trail.”
After a moment, Audrun nodded. But before he could move to take his place before her, she took the first step, and another, and another, upon the path of stone.
Chapter 30
DAVYN MADE HIS way into the ale tent and found Mikal there as well as Jorda. No one else was present. They shared a table companionably with jugs and tankards at their elbows and a wheel of cheese set on a platter. Heads were bowed over a sheet of parchment weighted down in the center of the table. They glanced up as he entered.
Smiling, he went directly to the karavan-master. “I’ve left my wagon in the grove and returned your team to your horse-master with my thanks for his aid. Now I tender you the same, and an offer of any help you may need, at any time.” He thrust out an arm and Jorda gripped it. “I see much has been done since the storm—tents repaired and raised, and an orderly arrangement! Much improvement. And the bonfire ring will do well as a place all may gather.” He nodded. “Well done.”
Jorda and Mikal exchanged wry glances. “We decided,” Mikal said, “after hearing from a few wives and mothers, that if we wished families to be part of the recovery, we needed to offer a place more appropriate than an ale tent.”
“Join us, if you like,” Jorda said. He gestured at the parchment. “There have been developments over the last two days.”
Davyn looked and saw the beginnings of a crude map. The circle of tents had been inked in, as well as the karavaner grove, the river, and the road leading southeast out of the settlement. He frowned, studying it. Parts of the map looked familiar, but other portions did not. “It’s changed,” he noted, “the way we came.” He indicated markings denoting a forest. “Is all of this Alisanos?”
Jorda touched a finger to the parchment, tracing a route. “This is the old road, this beginning—here. But Alisanos encroaches now, as you can see. We must swing northeast two full days through a narrowing cut before we reach open grasslands again. But there is a way. Brodhi came through it. This map is his.”
Davyn glanced up sharply. “Brodhi’s back?”
“He is scouting for us,” Mikal said. “With his landsense, he can tell where the edges of Alisanos lie. Within a ten-day or so, we should have a better idea of where we may go safely, without fear of stumbling into the deepwood.”
Dismay was abrupt. “Then he’s not here now? I need to see him.” He met Jorda’s eyes. “I told you what I must ask of him.”
The karavan-master looked beyond Davyn. “Then I would say you can do so in short order.”
Davyn swung around abruptly, feeling his heart lift as he saw the Shoia entering the ale tent. He didn’t believe he had seen Brodhi before, but found him very like Rhuan in appearance. They shared coloring, build, complex braids, and yet there was an austerity, a coldness in Brodhi’s face Davyn had never seen in the guide’s. He wondered, idly, if this man ever smiled.
Brodhi strode to the table with a scroll in his hand. “Somewhat more,” he said, “and more yet to do.”
“Brodhi.” Davyn cleared his throat. “May I speak with you? I have work for you.”
The Shoia glanced at him as he handed over the scroll to Jorda. “You wish a message carried?”
Davyn shook his head, looked briefly around the tent, then pointed to a table tucked into a corner. “May we speak privately?” He paused, shot a questioning glance at Mikal. “May I offer you ale or spirits?”
Brodhi contemplated him a moment, then hitched one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Ale will do. I’ll hear what you have to say.” He turned and headed toward the table, the heavy cluster of braids filling the space between his shoulder blades.
“It’s midday,” Mikal said, rising from the table. “I’ll set you out food as well.”
Davyn thanked him and followed Brodhi, seating himself across from the courier. He began without preliminaries. “My family was taken into Alisanos when the s
torm came down, on the Atalanda shortcut.” He paused, but Brodhi said nothing, nor did his expression alter from one of something akin to boredom. “I haven’t many coin-rings, but I will give you all of them if you will do me this service.” He drew in a deep breath, then said it all at once. “I wish you to go into the deepwood and find my family.”
Brodhi ignored Mikal’s arrival with two tankards of foaming ale clutched in one big fist, and the platter of bread, butter, and cheese in his other hand. The alekeep set all down on the table and departed. Davyn waited, trying not to squirm, twitch, or babble with impatience beneath the Shoia’s steady, emotionless gaze. He knew he was being weighed, and likely came up short in the other’s estimation.
“No,” Brodhi said.
Schooling his face into a similar austerity, Davyn picked up his tankard, drank several swallows, then set it down again, brushing foam from his lip. He was not surprised by the response, but felt he himself was in control of the situation—yet how did one tell a man he had to do so, because a diviner had seen it? “I am offering to hire you.”
“No.”
Davyn met the cold brown eyes with his own and held them, unflinching. Quietly he said, “I think you must.”
Brodhi’s eyebrows arched up. “Must? I must?”
Davyn nodded. “The hand-reader says so.”
“The hand-reader.”
“She saw you there, in the deepwood. In my hand. She saw you with two of my children.”
“I have no intention whatsoever of entering Alisanos.”
“The hand-reader said—”
“I care nothing at all for what this hand-reader said. I will not do it. She will have to admit her reading is wrong.”
“I believe her.” Davyn hung on to self-control with great effort. “I have to. All of them are in Alisanos. Can you understand what that means to me? My wife, four of my children—” He stopped short. “No. Five of my children; the diviner says the baby is born. Yes, I know it is dangerous; I know that very well, if you please. But this is my family. I would go—I told the diviner so—but she read my hand and says that you go. She saw you with two of my children.”
Deepwood: Karavans # 2 Page 27
