The White Brand (The Eastern Slave Series Book 2)

by Victor Poole

  Ajalia began to entertain for the first time the possibility that she would not recover from this strange weakness. A trembling feeling of despair threatened to engulf her; she did not know what she would do if she could not be her usual self. A vision of herself living alone in some desolate wilderness rose up in her mind; she shook it away, telling herself she was being silly. She thought about Delmar, and about getting rid of Delmar. She thought that if she had started feeling like this when Delmar was around, and if the feelings had worsened the longer she was around him, then she would be able to get back into her old groove if she removed Delmar from the equation of her life.

  At this idea, her breath came a little easier, and the horrible numb feeling at the bottom of her spine lessened. She thought about Delmar's sparkling eyes, and sighed. A scratching sensation in the inside of her long sleeves made her look down; one of the long cracks in the drying skin was starting to pull back, and she could see the pinkish glow beneath. She was going to start to bleed soon.

  Ajalia stood up from against the wall. She hated getting blood out of her clothes.

  "Chad!" she roared, going deeper into the house.

  When Ajalia had rounded up every one of her servants, and berated Chad until he cried, she set the girls to scrubbing the house from top to bottom. The house had been swiped, as it were, with the ardor of limp elbows and undisciplined servants. Ajalia shouted at everyone for some time; Leed watched her rail at the young women and at Chad with a satisfied smile on his face.

  When the sun had climbed into the sky, and the streets were crowded with Slavithe people coming and going about their business, Card came and knocked on the door. Ajalia, who had finally gotten angry enough to defeat the strange weakness caused by Delmar, answered the door.

  "Oh, good," she said briskly when she saw Card. "We need to talk." She opened the door wide for Card to come in. His grizzled white hair was still yellowed and lank, but his clothes were better, and his face looked well-fed and successful.

  "How are Daila and the child?" Ajalia asked the old man. He told her they were well, and thanked her for the house she had let to them. She had let many of the houses in the city out at rates that undercut the general cost of rent in the city; since she owned the little house she lived in, her money was likely to pile up in a reassuring manner over the coming months.

  "I have a question for you," Ajalia said, when the pleasantries had been run through. "If," she said, "at some future date, I suffered a debilitating injury—"

  "Are you planning on this happening?" Card asked.

  "If something were to happen, and if I were to retreat, after a manner of speaking, to recuperate," Ajalia continued, "how would you feel about managing without me?"

  "Fine," Card said. He was watching her closely. "Is someone after you?" he asked.

  "I am going to pare down my personal servants," Ajalia said. "I got some rotten humans in this transfer from Gevad. I would never be able to leave them alone."

  "We promised their families we would train them," Card reminded her.

  "I promised that to the nice ones," Ajalia said. "I never said that to the city girls."

  Card shifted a little in his seat. Ajalia ground her teeth.

  "Tell me you didn't," she said.

  "I'm sorry," Card said honestly. "I should have asked. You were so sincere, I assumed it was your wish."

  "Well," Ajalia said. "No matter. I'll think of something else." Card took in her folded arms, and the restless tapping of her foot.

  "Talking out loud helps," Card said. "If you had told me before, about the young ladies—"

  "I know," Ajalia said. "It was my fault. I'm sorry. I come from a different place."

  "You come from a harder place," Card said. "People are not used to your kind of thoughts here."

  "I think that you understand me," Ajalia told Card. "You cannot tell me that my thoughts are hard when you look at your daughter."

  "But everyone agrees to lie," Card explained. "Life is different when there are soft and twining lies around all of the pain. Your mother may sell you, or your brother may steal your living, but over the top will be all the promises about the future, and that will give the victim something to hold on to."

  "That's disgusting," Ajalia said.

  "That's what you're dealing with," Card said with a shrug. "Their dreams will die hard."

  Ajalia chewed on her lip. She could feel the skin on her inner arms hardening, and catching on the fabric of her sleeves. She wanted to run away and hide until she had found some way of binding the blood back so it wouldn't stain the cream cloth of her sleeves.

  "Is something wrong?" Card asked.

  Ajalia looked at him. The old man looked at her with the same piercing stare he had shown her when she had seen him at the little workbench, beating the wood pulp away from the strange red fruit.

  "I have a problem," Ajalia said. "Perhaps you can help."

  "I am an old man," Card said, "but I am not utterly without use."

  "Come outside," Ajalia said, going through the house into the back courtyard, where the basin of the poison tree juice burbled merrily on the stones. Two Slavithe girls were dawdling over the black pit, bowls in their hands. Ajalia snapped at them, and they hurried away.

  "I can see the house from here," Ajalia said. "I can see the windows. They'll listen, if they can. Do you speak the old Slavithe?" she asked suddenly. Card's face grew still; his shoulders froze.

  "Why do you ask me this?" he said.

  "Can you read it?" she asked. He studied her eyes, his mouth pinched up into a frown.

  "I can," he said very slowly. "And write a little."

  "I need you to teach me," Ajalia said. "And I don't know when I'll be able to learn, but I need all the old Slavithe, and I need to stop the bleeding," she added. A corner of the scabbing skin had just torn over her wrist; she held the cloth away from the place, and examined it.

  "Tell me what's going on," Card said. "Maybe I can help."

  Ajalia looked at the old man for a long moment. He reminded her of a grandfather she had barely known. His eyes were kindly, but in an angry sort of way. She trusted his crustiness.

  "No one can know," Ajalia said. "I cannot tell you much."

  "You're going to lose things," Card said reasonably. "It appears so to me," he added.

  "What makes you say that?" Ajalia asked irritably.

  "You came to see me before, and you were not like this," Card said, waving his hands up and down at her distraught expression, her shaking hands, and her restless form. "You were calm and collected. You have lost something, and you are not yourself. Go away for a while. Let Chad make a mess. Let the girls be horrible people. Give the boys something to do, and give the girls a fake job, and disappear."

  "I do not disappear," Ajalia said. "I have never done that." This was not true, she realized, but she told herself that disappearing in the name of freedom from torment was not the same thing as running away now.

  "You don't look yourself," Card repeated. "What's wrong with you? Is it a young man?"

  Ajalia's face puckered. Card chuckled.

  "Well," he said, "that's a fine thing. Do I know him?"

  "Everyone knows him," Ajalia admitted, "and I wish I had never seen him."

  Card's face grew somber. Ajalia saw that he knew who she meant.

  "Oh dear," he said.

  "You see?!" she asked. "You see what is happening here? It is absurd!" she laughed. "I do not have these kinds of problems. You have seen me work," she added. "I am not the kind of person to whom this happens. I refuse to let this happen."

  "You can't go back," Card said reasonably. "So go forward. Maybe if you retreat, as you said, and think things over in quiet, you'll come up with a solution. I made a mess of it with these girls. They mind me; I can sell their services for now in groups. There are two or three that can manage some others. We can make them into packs, and they can clean and sew. The boys are not all bad."

  "No, they aren'
t," Ajalia said. Her body was beginning to relapse into the curious weakness. She fought it off with all her might, but the backs of her knees were beginning to shake. She wanted to punch something.

  A white stone bench lay at the back wall of the enclosure; she walked to this with stiff legs, and sat down. She made it just in time; after she had sat, a violent shiver passed all down her back. She put her elbows on her knees, and tried to control her breathing.

  "Are you in love with him?" Card asked. His words triggered a fit of laughter from Ajalia; she could feel the blood beginning to seep out from under her skin. She bit her lips; her body shook with silent sobs that came out stifled giggles. The pressure under the skin of her arms was building slowly; she could feel it. She lifted her left arm, and pulled back the sleeve a little.

  Card gasped as though he had seen her heart being cut out of her chest. He rushed to her, and examined the part of skin that was showing beneath her sleeve.

  "What is this?" he hissed, his eyes no longer jovial, his face turned up to her in vivid fury. "Who did this to you?"

  Ajalia was no longer laughing. She gingerly held her arms against her stomach, keeping them still so the skin would not crack.

  "It's a long story," she said. Tears were floating in her eyes. She glared up at the clear morning sky, keeping her eyes wide open to make the tears dry. She did not want tear streaks on her cheeks. "I'm fine," she said, her voice steady, "only I'm having a hard time standing up lately, and I have to hide the blood."

  Card was studying her face, his eyebrows burying up his eyes in shadow. Ajalia thought that it looked like he was trying to decide whether or not he should rush her to his home, to cluck over her, and force feed her soup. His obvious concern made her feel rather better.

  "It really is fine," she said, "only the Thief Lord is watching me, and the servants are out of control, and I don't have time to bleed out for two weeks in the city. So I might disappear for a while."

  "Where to?" Card asked.

  "Well, I would disappear," Ajalia said patiently. "I have friends in Talbos."

  "You would pretend to go to Talbos," Card said. "All right. Fine. Hide away somewhere. And how will I know that you aren't dead?"

  Ajalia shrugged.

  "I'll come back," she said.

  "Two weeks?" Card asked.

  "Can you manage Chad and all the servants for three weeks?" Ajalia asked. Card studied her.

  "Double pay?" he asked.

  "Triple pay," Ajalia said, "and a bonus if the servants are in better shape when I get back."

  She watched Card, and Card watched her.

  "Fine," Card said. "But how are you going to get away if you can't walk?"

  "I can walk," Ajalia said. "I just don't want to bleed."

  Card stood up and studied her.

  "I think you're crazy," he said, but a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

  "I'm fine," she said. "Anyway, you've probably seen worse."

  "I don't know," he said.

  "You're taking this awfully well," she said.

  "Well, you aren't fainting, and you have a plan," Card said with a shrug.

  "And one more thing," Ajalia said, taking a deep breath and standing up. "Don't tell anybody that you knew I was leaving. It's a mystery to you."

  "Why?" Card asked.

  "Because," Ajalia said, walking very slowly towards the house, holding her arms away from her body to avoid jostling them, "mysteries are exciting."

  "You're crazy," Card called after her.

  "I left Daniel in charge of the boys," Ajalia told Card over her shoulder. "And Gull is helping him. They both have enough money the feed the children for a month."

  Card waved at her. He had a dazed expression in his eyes. Ajalia went into the house and walked carefully towards the front door. She felt curiously awake now, and dizzy. She still did not know what exactly her plan was, but the arrangement with Card made a floating ball of anticipation light up in the back of her skull. She felt as though she could handle the awful sensations now, and the imminent blood.

  She was not entirely sure how far she would make it walking; she had stuffed the slim leather book into her robe before she had left the little house that morning, and the translation stone was still tucked in a secure pocket above her heart. Her pack of things was still in the attic of the little house, but she had the feeling that if she went back there, she would never make it out of the city at all. The last thing Ajalia wanted was to be reclining in a bedroom of the little house, surrounded by Delmar, and all the boys and young women, clamoring inefficiently over her while she changed her own bandages. She chortled under her breath at this mental picture, and walked a little faster. Leed was hovering in the front room of the house, waiting for her.

  "Are we going now?" he asked. Ajalia stopped walking, and then stepped forward again. She did not think she would be able to continue walking if she stopped to talk to anyone again.

  "If you're coming with me," she said, "come now."

  Leed fell into step beside her as she left the long row house, and entered the street. The city road was crowded with pedestrians; Ajalia gripped the little boy's shoulder.

  "Take me towards the gate," she said. Her eyes were beginning to cloud over again, and with the noise and bustle of people in the street, she did not trust herself to find the way. Leed adjusted to her strange behavior almost at once; he suited his stride to hers, and led her through the street towards the far edge of the white city, where the great gate led into the farmlands, and then the desert.

  "Where are we going?" Leed asked quietly, his eyes fixed ahead on the moving shapes of the many Slavithe people in the street.

  "Away from here," Ajalia said. She could feel tickles of blood dancing at the edges of her arms; she wished suddenly that she had her black horse, but he was stabled at the edge of the horse district, far away at the other end of the city.

  "Let me find Delmar," Leed said. "He could help you better."

  "I don't want Delmar," Ajalia said. "I'd rather go by myself."

  "I don't think you can make it far by yourself," Leed said. "You look funny."

  "Not that funny," Ajalia said, but she felt that the boy was probably right. "Help me sit down somewhere," she said. She didn't like how faint her voice sounded. "Quickly," she said. Her knees were beginning to shake again. She wanted to curse. She had been sure she would be able to walk in a straight line through the streets and out of the great white gates. Beyond the city walls, she was sure she would be able to sit somewhere in the tangle of trees until the world stopped spinning around her.

  "Here," Leed said. He led her to an alley that cut into the street; down the side was a long pile of logs, half covered with a slip of canvas.

  "What are these for?" Ajalia asked. Her voice came out muffled, as if she were under water.

  "I'll come back," Leed said. "Stay here." The little boy ran away, and Ajalia put her head down between her knees. She felt the whole world spinning around her in crazy loops; she put one fist in her mouth, and pushed the tips of her teeth into her knuckles.

  Ajalia thought about where she would rather be right now; she thought about the clear blue skies and wide grasslands where the horses lived, down south of the house she grew up in. She thought of the chestnut mare she had made friends with, on the mornings she had carried her father's lunch to the priesthood where he taught. Time passed around her in dizzy swirls as the memory of the low chants of the boys in the priesthood echoed through her mind.

  Ajalia felt herself slipping down, under the surface, down to the dark places she had not visited since she was a child. She had shut those places away, keeping them out from touching the rest of her life. The dark places were like pools of poison that tainted everything they touched; she had never talked about them to anyone. She felt a sudden longing for Delmar that was sharp, like a blade of sun piercing through her heart. She could not breathe. She was sure she was going to slump into a pile of bones and ash on the sta
ck of wood; she was going to fall down, and then she was going to die.

  "Jay," Delmar said.

  Ajalia could no longer lift her head; she had propped her arms on her knees, and was concentrating with all of her might on not spilling the blood onto her sleeves. She was sure that the scars had opened up; she thought she could feel wet slithers of red smoothing out between the crackling skin, piling up near her elbows, and ready to cascade down into her palms. She kept waiting to see droplets of brilliant red splashing on the white stone beneath her feet. She had forgotten that Delmar was there.

  He lifted her arm, and pulled the fabric a little away from the skin. Ajalia watched him move his fingers over her wrist; he looked to her as though he were moving in slow motion. She saw his lips moving, but she couldn't hear what he said.

  "I can't hear you," Ajalia said. She couldn't tell if any sound came out of her mouth. Her lips were dry. Delmar put an arm around her waist, and pulled her upright. She saw a form nearby; she thought she saw a pair of brilliant eyes, and a tuft of brown hair. She supposed that the eyes belonged to Leed.

  "I'm having a hard time walking," she told Delmar. Her eyes closed, and she felt hard stone passing beneath her feet. Delmar had cinched his arm around her waist; she thought that the street would have been bright, but darker shadows fell over her face. She remembered that everyone out in the street would see her, and see Delmar half-carrying her. She tried to tell him he ought to put her down, so that she could gather her breath, but the words got lost. Air fanned against her cheeks that was stale, dusty, and close. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids only fluttered drowsily. She could hear someone breathing loudly nearby; it was only after she felt a tearing sensation, like rasping metal over her the inside of her throat, that she realized it was her own breathing she could hear.

  "Sorry, guys," she said. This time she heard herself; the words came out with a painful croak. She did not think Delmar would be able to understand her. A moment later, she realized that she had spoken in her native tongue, from the grasslands, and a furious blush of shame overspread her cheeks. She tried to get away, to wrestle free from Delmar's grip, but she only choked for air and stumbled, her hands lifting uselessly into the air.