“I’m not afraid and I will remember.” Viper straightened and glared up at the old man. He wasn’t a mouse or a coney, and nobody had the right to treat him as if he were some timid little creature.
“Fine.” Trevor blinked down at him for a moment, looking like a puzzled canyon owl. He shook his head and strode up the road. “All streets on this side of the river lead to the market, except of course the South River Road and the Souwall Road. Should you ever get lost, find the river.”
“I hear you.” Viper ran a few steps to walk beside the tall silhouette disappearing in the building’s shadow. “Tell me, this Zedisti city–”
“The city is Zedista. The language and the people are Zedisti.”
“I hear you.” The old man didn’t seem to hear him, though. Viper tugged at the black tailcoat gingerly. With his luck, the ancient material would tear if he pulled too hard. “Does this Zedista city really always stay in the same place?”
Trevor stopped and stared. His eyebrows twitched like a jackrabbit’s hind legs. “Of course it does. Where could it go?”
“But surely you run out of food and forage if you stay in one place very long.”
“You’re comparing Zedista to a tent city. However, rather than taking our city to the food, we import our needs.” Trevor smiled proudly at his city and set off at a brisk walk.
He scrambled to keep up with the old man. “But doesn’t it get boring, being in one place all the time?”
“No, of course not. Where did you get such an odd idea?” How could Trevor sound so surprised at such a sensible question? “It’s a sign of stability. I, myself, have never been outside of the city wall farther than a three hour walk past the Trader’s Inn. A man who never travels is a properly civilized man.”
“In that case I’ll never be civilized.”
“Nonsense. I will turn you into a perfectly civilized being, never you fear.”
Just what he needed. Viper mouthed a chant to the Thunderer asking for protection.
Trevor pointed ahead. “This road empties into Market Square.”
The square was roughly circular, and disappointingly empty for a marketplace. It seemed fairly large… He counted the streets and buildings around the edges of the area.
Thunderer’s dice! All his Tribe’s tents could be set up within the market’s boundaries. But neither man nor tent camped on the cobblestone plain.
Was it haunted? “Why is it empty?” he whispered.
“Because it’s night, silly boy.” Trevor patted Viper’s head. “Tomorrow you may come here and see what it’s really like.”
Viper jerked away from the offending hand. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Trevor glanced down at him, but kept walking.
He’s just an old turybird. If I take everything he does seriously, I’ll drive myself crazy.
Viper marched across the vast empty space. The Monitor and the Miner lit the area clearly here, freed from the buildings’ constricting shadows, and he even saw dim glow of the Sleeper. Suddenly the brilliant, blue-white Racer rose and began its journey, nearly doubling the light.
He’d never seen so many moons together at night before. When the Coward rose, this place would be almost as bright as daylight. Thunderer’s drums, how he missed the clouds. A night this bright was indecent. Why were there thunderclouds on the plains each night, but none here?
“Isn’t it a lovely evening?” Trevor turned his face to the night sky, somehow keeping his footing on the uneven cobblestones. “I am always grateful for a brightly-lit night. These streets are abysmally dark when it rains. All sorts of nasty things crawl out of the sewer. By the way, if Gandar didn’t tell you, it is illegal to wear a weapon within the city. I know it must be tempting for an untutored barbarian.”
“Gandar told me the Zedisti have strange laws.” Viper shrugged. “Why am I forbidden to protect myself?”
“We are under occupation by the Nashidran Empire. Have been for about thirty years now. Until the Emperor decides to absorb us or turn us loose, we are governed by a military council. And because their soldiers are in the city, we are not allowed to carry weapons. Other than that, we abide by both our old laws and the Imperial laws and everybody is perfectly happy. It’s a very civilized solution.”
“If you say so.” He pointed to the largest canyon, no, the street before them. “Are we going down there?”
“No, no. That’s Stonehouse Ter.” Trevor pointed a little to the left. “We’re going down Ladysmith Street. Can’t you read?”
“Not much in Zedisti I can’t.” Viper clenched his fists. “Besides, you didn’t tell me where we were going.”
“You can’t read Zedisti? Of course you can’t. Yet you speak the language exceedingly well. Where did you learn it?”
“Some of my mother’s slaves spoke it.” Tension drained out of his body, replaced by warmth. “Xavien was my favorite. He never said where he was from. Never told me about cities.”
“You had a Zedisti slave.” Trevor stopped and glared, his arms folded over his chest. “What became of this slave?”
Now what had he done? Viper stepped out of the old man’s reach. “I arranged for his escape. I smuggled him out to a caravan, a couple of lunars before– before I moved out of my mother’s tent. Please, don’t tell on me.”
“Don’t tell?” Trevor rubbed his sleeve over his face. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s against our laws to free a slave. I’d be punished if anybody found out, hunted down even this far away.”
“But you freed him.” Trevor motioned that Viper should walk with him. “Did you free others?”
“Sometimes. When I liked them and felt they had a chance to get away. You act like it’s a good thing to do.”
“It was a very good thing. We don’t have slaves here. It is against the law.”
Viper kicked at a loose cobblestone. “Setoyans don’t have so many laws.”
“Oh, they do, I think, but they are a different type of law. Here we are. This is Thorn Lane. We’re almost home.”
Thorn Lane. How appropriate. Everything around him poked and prickled, and now he was to live in a thorn thicket.
Trevor brandished a knobby bronze twig and bounded up the steps of an old wooden tent nestled among several taller buildings. Sweet smelling herbs grew wild in the yard and on the roof.
There was something appallingly permanent about a home that stayed in one place long enough for plants to grow on top of it.
When Viper stepped on the bottom tread, the staircase swayed ominously. He froze for a moment before rising another step. All seven steps creaked and wobbled like an old rope bridge swinging over a canyon, the planks groaning under the strain of holding up an unusually adventuresome hyena.
A spider-footed shiver scuttled down his spine. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“What’s safe?” Trevor glanced back and saw him balancing on the second step. “The stairs? Perfectly safe. They’re simply a bit independent. Come into the house. Why would you be afraid?”
House. It’s called a house, not a tent. “I’m not afraid.” Viper clenched his fists and glared up at the old man.
Trevor raised an eyebrow and turned away.
Clutching at railing with his fingertips, Viper darted up the dancing staircase to the porch. His back tight against the opening, he eased through the door.
A shabby red sofa and several large chairs dominated the room. Low tables covered with books supported cobwebs that fell from ceiling to the floor like his mother’s lacy curtains. The place looked like it ought to be haunted.
At least the floor didn’t sway.
The walls looked like they’d been made of fluffy tent canvas. Viper ran his fingers down one wall, leaving long blue streaks. He rubbed his fingers together. They felt like he’d dipped them in his sister’s Kerovi face powder.
What was this stuff? He blew gently, only to be rewarded with a thick cloud. He jumped backward. Was it magic? Or just an incr
edible amount of dirt?
“Don’t do that, child. If you want to clean the place you can start tomorrow.”
“Master Trevor, if my mother saw this filth she’d–”
“Let’s sing to the Weaver in gratitude she’s not here.” Trevor ambled down a gloomy hall and plodded up the staircase. “The sleeping chambers are up here.”
It wasn’t fair. Trevor had to bend his entire body to clear the ceiling above the steps. Viper didn’t even need to duck his head.
Trevor stopped at the top of the creaking stairs and glanced back at him. “Your room is up here.”
The old man had picked up an oil lamp when Viper wasn’t looking. At least, he thought it was a lamp. It was too small to be a candle, but he couldn’t seem to see it clearly.
He didn’t see anything clearly anymore. He sighed and slouched after the old man.
“Here we are.” Trevor pointed to the second door on the left and held the light up high. “This is your room. And a nice, comfortable room it is, though I do say so myself. You may need to clean it up a bit before you sleep. It’s been a few years since I was in here.” The old man wandered down the stairs, carrying away the little lamp.
Now he’d been told to go to bed like a toddler. And it was barely after sunset. Well, not more than a couple of hours past sunset. Way too early to go to bed. But there wasn’t anything he could do sitting in the dark, except try to clean the room and go to bed. Like a useless baby’s doll.
Though he had to admit, he was awfully tired.
Viper dropped his pack to the floor. Feathery dust puffed around it. He stalked around the dim room. Dust swirled around his feet with every step, creating pale ghosts within the shadows cast by moonlight.
He would not clean this mess up now. He was too tired. He’d clean it in the morning when there was decent sunlight. He couldn’t see what he was doing by moonlight, even if five moons were shining outside the dirty window.
He stamped across the room and flopped fully clothed onto the bedcover.
A whirlwind of dust exploded from the bed. Grimy soot choked him. He rolled off the blanket and fell to the floor in a thundering tornado of dust. He thrashed in circles on the rug, coughing like a bullfrog. He fought to get his head above the powdery sandstorm.
It must be sandstorm. A magic sandstorm! He needed to find shelter!
The door. Where was the door?
He gasped for air. Demons wearing boots of glowing coals danced inside his lungs.
Not dust, not a sandstorm; ashes! Searing ash scorched his nose and charred his bones. The mountain had erupted – it must be a volcano! This stone-bound city must be perched on a belching volcano.
He fought to survive the burning ash and the molten rock and the fiery rain and the burning doom. Ash billowed around him. Death mocked his struggles.
He could not breathe – he could not run – he would not live.
All he could do was cough.
A pounding earthquake shook the room. A grating screech conjured a shaft of cold white light.
The world exploded.
And he couldn’t see and couldn’t breathe and couldn’t even yell for help.
Long, thin arms grasped him around the waist and lifted him off the floor. He wailed and coughed and struggled against those arms with all of his strength.
I’ve got to get away. I can’t. I must! I’ll die a horrid death in the claws of the wicked demons escaping from the liquid bowels of the volcano. They’ll burn out my eyes and chop off my arms and feed my living innards to putrid zombie vultures. They’ll take my writhing corpse back to the tribe and stand it up in shame and–
“Do be still, child.” Trevor’s calm voice drifted above the storm. “I’ve opened the window, and that will help. Let me get you out of here.”
Viper cracked open one eye. There was no fire in his room. No explosion. Only cool white moonlight shining through clouds of dust.
No volcano, no monsters. Just one nameless Outcast making a fool of himself.
To make everything worse, old Trevor was carrying him like a baby. Viper tried to wriggle out of the old man’s bony arms, but he still couldn’t catch his breath, and his body refused to move faster than a dried up earthworm.
Trevor carried him down the stairs, thumping his head against the wall on every third step, and laid him on a wooden table. The old man squeezed his wrist as if he were looking for something, but gave up after a moment. “No pulse, of course not. Children don’t have a pulse.” He poured hot water from the hearth kettle into a mug and added a few leaves.
Viper watched through dust-encrusted eyelids, too exhausted to care what the old turybird was up to. Blessings from the Thunderer, he was finally able to breathe a little better.
“Perk up, child.” Trevor eased him into a sitting position and supported him in one arm. “Drink this.” He tilted the mug over Viper’s mouth.
Scalding liquid cascaded over his face, into his ears, all over his chest. Viper screeched and tried to twist away from the blistering stream.
His struggles set off another round of coughing. He doubled over, too breathless to squirm off the table.
“There, there, now.” Trevor patted him on the back. “Drink your tea and you’ll feel much better.”
Viper coughed up muddy dust. Tea dripped from his hair and slithered down his back. He tugged at his slimy leather shirt. “I’m all wet.”
“I do apologize.” Trevor wrapped Viper’s fingers around the hot cup. “I thought you were more awake. Finish your tea, child. I’ll help you clean the detritus out of your room. I hadn’t realized it had gotten so out of hand.”
Viper stared into his half-empty, shaking mug. The old man was crazy. If he didn’t smother in the dusty room, the old turybird would drown him. In tea, of all things.
He wasn’t sure which could be worse. Staying with the weird old man and constantly risking his sanity, perhaps his very life? Or going back to the plains and accepting a lifetime of dishonor? Of creeping around the edges of the Tribe, begging for work. Begging for handouts. Running from rocks like a panicky slave.
Did he dance with the turybird and risk its claws? He supposed it would be better than slithering through slime like a slug-eating salamander.
No. He refused to dance or slither.
Viper planned to be the one drumming the dance music. If Gandar was right and the crazy old man could teach him how to stand up for himself, he had to stay. And to learn. Everything.
Chapter 7.
Sunlight warmed Viper’s face, but his arms were bound tightly to his sides. How had he gotten tied up? Were his sisters playing jokes again?
He wiggled until he sat upright. No ropes. Only a damp sheet and blankets trapped his arms. He must have had some weird dreams to get so wrapped up in the bedding.
He fought his way out of the tangled blankets and rubbed grit from his eyelids. Mama would have his hide to line a basket if she caught him sleeping after dawn. Wait– this was not his mother’s tent.
He groaned, flopped back onto the bed, and hid his head under the pillow.
Thunderer, what a fool he’d made of himself. Only a worthless Outcast could be so stupid. Volcano indeed. Why did he think that myth might come true? Every child big enough to herd the bahtdor knew better than to believe in that silly story, and he, the great world traveler, got panicked into believing it by a little dust.
Actually, a lot of dust, but that had no bearing on his shame. Next he’d believe in dragons, too. He should be doing slave labor in Gandar’s caravan. That’s all he was good for. But Gandar gave him to the old turybird.
Thunderer’s dice. That madman tried to boil him alive last night.
He examined his chest for blisters, but he couldn’t find a mark until his jabbing thumb raised a red blotch above his navel. He hissed in disgust and abandoned the search. No evidence, as if his near-drowning never happened.
It did happen. He didn’t imagine it.
There must be some proof o
f his torture. Yes, near the door. His tea-stained clothes coiled over a chair like a snake’s shed skin.
That proved he wasn’t crazy. Not that anyone cared. Viper swatted the pillow. Another swirl of dust burst from under his hand. He cringed and wriggled out of bed.
His belly rumbled. When had he last eaten? Yesterday morning?
Without bothering to dress, he walked to the window. Trevor had wafted the dust out through this opening, but he didn’t see how the old man had finagled it. The magicians who entertained the tribes never conjured anything so impressively anticlimactic. No bright lights, no sleight of hand. Trevor simply mumbled a little rhyme and the air had moved. Not very fast, but still, it moved and all the dust had gone with it.
The old man was down in the overgrown garden even now. Viper watched him putter around the dusty plants. What the deathwind was the man up to? Nothing down there looked like food.
A shrill whistle sounded above him. Viper looked up into the eyes of an older girl perched in a window of the tall building next door. She grinned and waved down at him.
He retreated deeper into his room and snatched up a blanket. Wind-blasted nosy girls. Nobody was that rude at home.
A cheerful whistle followed him, joined by a chorus of whistles from the surrounding buildings. Could they see every part of this room?
He got dressed under the blanket.
Girlish laugher echoed between the buildings.
Viper hustled out of the room and closed his door on them, but his face burned hot enough to light a Dedication pyre. He snuck down the creaky stairs with as much dignity as he could muster.
Trevor met him in the hall. “You really should close the curtains.” The old man’s lips twitched into a smile when he glanced up the staircase. “I can understand young men wanting to entertain the girls, but you might find a more respectable method.”
Like anyone wanted to entertain silly, rude girls. He had better things to do.
Viper stomped past him, into the room where Trevor had tried to drown him. It appeared to be the cooking area. What did these outlanders call it? Oh, a kitchen. He prowled the shelves, but was rewarded by only a series of small crocks containing dried leaves and some empty glass plates and mugs.
Illusion's Child (The Mindbender's Rise Book 1) Page 5
