Fire Margins

by Lisanne Norman

  “When’s that?”

  Kusac shrugged. “When the God tells us,” he said with a wry smile. “Will you come?”

  The silence lengthened until Kaid’s hand began to move underneath his, turning over so it clasped his. “I’ll go if the God calls me. I can’t say fairer than that.”

  Kusac’s hand tightened briefly round Kaid’s before he let him go. “Thank you, Kaid. Now I know you’ll be with us.”

  “I didn’t promise!”

  “Trust your God, Kaid, that’s what you told me. He’s got work for you, for us. Changing our world, you said. Did you really think He’d leave you out of the center of the picture?”

  “No, I have to admit I didn’t.”

  Chapter 7

  The message had come that morning via the main house comm and was handed to Dzaka by one of the attendants.

  Surprised, he opened the note, then as he scanned the words, he realized it was from Ghezu, requesting he contact him immediately.

  Dzaka’s first impulse was to crush it into a ball and fling it the length of his room. If he’d ever been in doubt that Ghezu was using him against Kaid, this note, coupled with the fact he’d refused to release him from his oath, proved it. Then he stopped as common sense took over. He couldn’t afford to disobey the Leader of the Brotherhood, it would mark him for the rest of what would be a very short life. It was, however, an ideal opportunity to try and find out what Ghezu was up to this time. That it involved spying on Kaid yet again, he had no doubt, but despite everything, the ties that had bound him in the past to his foster-father were still strong. He was all the family Dzaka had left since he’d lost Nnya and their cub at Szurtha.

  He’d shut all thoughts of her away for months, unable to cope with the aching loss. Now her image came to his mind as clearly as if she’d been in the room with him. She’d been a colleague, attached like him at the time to Lijou’s staff. He’d surprised Dzaka by giving them permission to take out a bonding contract, and suggesting it be for five years, when she’d requested planet leave on Szurtha to have their cub. Normally they’d only have been allowed a three-year contract.

  Their cub, Khyaz, had only been a couple of months old when he’d been recalled to the Khalossa. He’d been everything a father could want in a son. Alert, healthy, and already developing his own personality. Dzaka smiled at the memories of him and Nnya. Then reality returned, and with it the grief. Once more he hardened himself, turning his mind away from them and his loss.

  He’d contact Ghezu and see what he wanted this time. Spreading the message out on his desk, he did his best to flatten it again before folding it neatly and putting it safely in an inner pocket.

  *

  Once in Valsgarth, he headed for the Warrior Guild Accommodation house and requested the use of their secure comm.

  “Leader Ghezu,” he said as his superior’s image appeared on the screen.

  “I’ve got a job for you,” Ghezu said without preamble. “One involving protection. At Rhijudu, a village on the western side of the Ghuulgul desert, there’s a female called Khemu Arrazo. I’ve reason to believe that Kaid may try to reach her. There’s been bad blood between them in the past, but until now he’s not known where to find her. I want you to keep an eye on him, follow him if he leaves the estate.”

  Dzaka sat motionless. “What are my orders if he does head for Rhijudu?”

  “Do nothing unless he tries to contact her,” said Ghezu. “Then you must stop him by whatever means possible. This female’s life must not be put in jeopardy.”

  The cold knot in the pit of Dzaka’s stomach was beginning to spread as he listened to Ghezu. “‘Do we know the nature of what lies between them?”

  “That’s not your concern,” said Ghezu.

  Dzaka hesitated briefly before speaking again. “With respect, Leader Ghezu, I think you’d be better off choosing one of the other Brothers. My relationship with Kaid is close enough that I may not be able to conclude this job for you should he attempt to harm the female.”

  “Your closeness is precisely why I want you,” said Ghezu, leaning forward slightly. “You’re the last person he’d expect to be involved in guarding the Arrazo female, especially since you’re based at the Aldatan estate with him. No one else can get close enough. Unless you have news, report to me weekly through the usual channels.”

  The comm went dead and Dzaka was left staring at a blank screen.

  *

  L’Seuli was aware of the sudden sense of purpose in the air before he heard the commotion caused by the Faithful and the guard as they scrambled from their bedrolls. Fyak, the Prophet, was back from his vigil earlier than expected. Like the rest of the elite guard, L’Seuli was instantly on his feet and ready.

  While the Faithful prostrated themselves on the ground, their sand-colored robes making them almost invisible, he and the other guards were allowed to remain standing. The air was electric with expectation as Fyak, the Word of Kezule, entered the huge canopy that formed their communal tent.

  He watched the Prophet stride to the center, stopping to survey the bowing figures of his followers. Alone among them, his head was uncovered against the sun, his mane of long tan hair flowing wildly around his narrow face. At his throat, the green-jeweled torc briefly reflected the light.

  “Rise,” Fyak commanded, his voice filling the expectant hush. Around him, like grass swaying in the breeze, the Faithful rose to their feet.

  “Today we are in the territory of the Rhijudu Tribe. We shall consolidate our position here. Go to the same families you visited last time. Listen to their problems, their achievements, and praise them where you can. Where they have slipped back into the old ways of looking to their one-time Tribal Leader for guidance, chastise them. Remind them of the power of Kezule’s wrath.”

  His almost hypnotic voice rolled over them, washing toward L’Seuli and the other guards. He had to force his attention away from the Prophet and concentrate instead on the male who stood just behind him, the Commander of the Guard.

  “Tell them of the duty they owe to Kezule, God of Fire,” continued Fyak, raising his arms above his head, hands spread out to the heavens as if in supplication. His eyes glowed feverishly. “I have visited the time of destruction! I saw the demons walking among us, spitting venom in our faces, killing our people with one blow! Beside them walked the mind-poisoners—our own people—helping them! I saw the very sky ablaze with the holy fire of the God as He came to our aid!”

  Fyak paused to survey the upturned faces of his followers. The sudden silence took L’Seuli by surprise and he looked back at the prophet. Behind him, beyond the edges of the tent, he could see the movement of shadowy figures as more and more of the villagers of Rhijudu gathered to hear their Prophet speak. Glancing at Fyak’s face, he saw that he was well aware of his impromptu audience.

  “Kezule will come to our aid again! He will free our people from the slavery of the demons once and for all. Make no mistake,” he said, dropping his voice, “the demons still walk among us—the demons and the mind-poisoners! Search out those who talk with their minds for they are cursed of Kezule! Bring them to me so that we can deal with them as befits those who are traitors to their own kind!” he said, raising his voice again. “The time of fire is near at hand! Only those who believe will survive. Go now, and spread the word of our God.”

  The Prophet let his arms fall by his sides and turned toward the curtained-off portion of the tent that was his private sanctum. L’Seuli shook his head to dispel the feeling of dizziness that always came over him when Fyak began to speak. He was convinced the Prophet had to have some kind of Talent. It was the only way he could mesmerize a crowd like that and somehow get past his own training. But why target telepaths as being from the same den as the demons? And who the hell were the demons anyway?

  A hand closed on his shoulder and shook him roughly, making him jump. He looked round to see Rrurto.

  “Come on, lad. We’ve got work to do,” he said. “Stop drea
ming.”

  L’Seuli flicked his tail in compliance and accompanied the older male to the edge of the tent. The crowd of villagers was dispersing now, returning to their homes to wait for the Faithful to call on them.

  “We’re on the usual duty,” said the old trooper. “Mingling in the village, ready to arrest anyone that causes any trouble.”

  L’Seuli remembered their last stop with a shudder of horror. A suspected telepath had been identified but they hadn’t reached him in time. The villagers had managed to inflict such severe wounds on him that he’d died shortly after.

  “Don’t go remembering the one who died,” said Rrurto as they ducked under the tent edge and walked toward the village walls. “That’s why we’re here. To stop that.”

  “What the Prophet does to them is almost as bad,” said L’Seuli. “They’re like the walking dead when he’s finished.”

  “Aye, well, maybe, but they say life of any kind is better than death,” said Rrurto. “I’m not so sure myself, but I wouldn’t want the death he had. Dying fighting is one thing, but being torn apart by a mob is another.”

  L’Seuli turned to look at him. “What’s he got against telepaths?”

  “You know as much as I do, lad. You heard him. The telepaths worked with the demons to destroy us.”

  “Do you believe all that?” he asked, frowning.

  “He’s the one the God takes back to those days. What he says he sees is what he sees. Now enough talk. We got work to do,” Rrurto said as they passed between the gates into the village square.

  L’Seuli kept his eyes open as they walked through the narrow lanes between the houses. He hadn’t seen any sign of the female he was looking for yet, but then if she was as ill as he’d been told, she’d likely be inside her home.

  All was quiet for now as the Faithful had dispersed into the houses to speak to the family groups. It was easy to tell they’d been here before. Peer group pressure had worked on the dissenters in the interim, and everyone who remained was prepared to listen to their lay-priest as he or she dispensed punishment or praise for their actions over the past four weeks.

  Here and there blank windows faced the morning sun—homes that were now empty because their owners had been driven from the village for raising their voices against the Word of Kezule.

  “It’s not right,” said L’Seuli abruptly. “These houses,” he indicated the empty ones, “they should have families in them. They shouldn’t have been forced out.”

  “Keep your opinions to yourself, lad, I told you that already,” growled Rrurto. “It’s not about families any more, it’s about couples. Some of those empty houses will be used for couples, and others will be single-sex houses where the cubs will live till they’re old enough to pair, then the Faithful will choose mates for them.”

  L’Seuli stopped dead. “What?”

  Rrurto grabbed him by the arm and pulled him on. “You heard me. It won’t be families any more, only couples, with one of the Faithful assigned to them.”

  “When was this decided?” he asked, still too stunned to take it in properly.

  “The last time the Prophet talked with the God. You missed it. You were in Laasoi getting provisions. That’s what the Faithful are out there doing now,” he said. “We’re to stop here for a couple of days till the village has been set up right, then four of the Faithful will stay behind. When we move on, we’re taking the Tribal Elders with us. The Prophet says their presence is a reminder of the old ways.”

  L’Seuli’s mind was beginning to work now. This latest edict of the Prophet’s fit in with his doctrine of one male bounded to one female for life. By destroying the structure of the family, and through that the Tribe, Fyak would control the whole of the desert community.

  “It’s not so bad,” said Rrurto, misunderstanding his silence. “At least it’s not our lot to go on the punitive mission to Sonashi village. I’ve done my time fighting. I don’t like the idea of waging a war on poorly armed villagers. I’ve seen too much death and bloodshed.”

  L’Seuli said nothing. His time among the Ghuulgul desert people was turning into a nightmare.

  Raised voices nearby drew Rrurto’s attention. “Over there,” he said, pointing to the street corner on his left as he began to run toward it.

  L’Seuli followed, rounding the corner and almost sending Rrurto flying into the house as he skidded to a stop behind him.

  “What the hell’s going on?” the older male demanded of the villager standing in the open doorway.

  “She refuses to get up,” he said, ears flicking in distress. “Because she lives alone, the Faithful at our house said I should take her to the gathering hall where all the other infirm are being assembled.”

  L’Seuli’s ears pricked forward. If they were collecting the infirm, then there was a chance he’d be able to see the female he sought.

  “One old female’s causing all this commotion?” said Rrurto in disbelief.

  “I’m not old, you ignorant plainslander!” came the quiet but venomous reply. “This has been my home for thirty years, and no dirt-grubbing snit like you is going to tell me to leave it!”

  “You see?” said the villager.

  Rrurto gave a low growl of annoyance. “Just go in, pick her up, and carry her out.”

  The villager looked at him in horror. “It’s not that easy,” he said. “You don’t know what she’s like!”

  “Get in there and do it,” snapped Rrurto, giving him a push.

  The male disappeared from sight as he stumbled inside, only to reemerge with a howl of pain amidst a shower of pots and pans and other kitchen implements. Rrurto and L’Seuli dodged aside.

  “You see?” the villager said, leaning against the wall for support as he removed his head covering and began to massage the back of his head. “If you want her out, you can damned well fetch her yourself!” With that he stalked off up the street.

  Rrurto stood there with an expression of disgust on his face. L’Seuli was hard pressed not to grin, and when a smirk did escape him, the older male rounded on him angrily.

  “Wipe that grin off your face and get busy picking this rubbish up,” he snarled. “I’ll get one of the Faithful to see to this.” He stalked off back the way they’d come.

  L’Seuli thumbed on his rifle’s safety switch and, slinging it over his shoulder, began to pick up the pans.

  Finished, he stood at the doorway, unsure what to do next. “Excuse me,” he said. “What shall I do with your pans?”

  “Bring them in here, of course! What do you think I use for cooking? There aren’t food dispensers out here in the desert, you know,” she said in a voice that this time held a trace of vulnerability.

  “You won’t throw anything at me, will you?” he asked cautiously.

  “Are you going to try and take me out of my home?” she asked in reply.

  “No. I’m just going to put these inside the door.”

  “Then unless you try something you’ll regret, I won’t throw anything at you. I’m not short of ammunition, you know.” She broke off to cough.

  L’Seuli cautiously poked his nose round the doorway. The room smelled musty though it looked clean enough. To his right, leaning against an ancient stone cooking range, stood the female he was looking for.

  The autumn sunlight, still powerful here in the eastern desert, illuminated her strong features unkindly. The wasting disease had obviously got her firmly in its clutches. The high cheekbones were almost as sharp as blades, the hollows below them and around her eyes, pockets of dark shadow. The arm that held onto the range was stick thin, the bones almost showing through the thin layer of gray fur.

  Cautiously, he stepped inside, his arms full of her hardware.

  “Bring it over here,” she said, gesturing to the stove. “I won’t bite you. I haven’t got the strength anyway,” she said, mouth opening in a faint grin.

  He crossed over to her and waited as she took the various metal objects from him and replaced them on
the stove top.

  “At least you’ve got your ammunition back,” he said.

  She turned to look at him, eye ridges lowering in concentration.

  “A strange thing for one of you Modernists to say.” Her voice was quiet, barely audible. “Best not let anyone else hear you.”

  “Why do they want to move you?”

  “Pass me a chair, lad. I might as well sit beside my ammunition. If I have to stand any longer, I’ll fall down.”

  L’Seuli turned and fetched a wooden chair from beside the table. He placed it behind her, lending her his arm to lean on as she lowered herself onto the seat.

  “Thank you. They want all us old and infirm together because they know that away from our families and the young ones, many of us will just give up the fight to live. We’ll have no purpose in life anymore.” She shrugged, leaning against the back of her chair and closing her eyes. “They want to be rid of us. With no Elders in the village, the rest are dependent on the Faithful for advice, aren’t they?”

  “Can’t they see what’s happening?” demanded L’Seuli. “Are they that stupid?”

  “Yes, lad, they’re that stupid,” she nodded. “Four years of drought have given them a hopelessness. They don’t want government handouts, what they need is hope. This Prophet gives them that. He says the drought is Kezule testing His people, hardening them for the time of fire that will come soon.” She sighed. “At least he’s stopped the interminable bickering and petty fighting that’s always gone on among the Tribes,” she said.

  L’Seuli heard voices from outside. “I’d better go,” he said, backing away from her toward the doorway.

  “Go, and don’t let them catch your thoughts, lad,” she said, her voice only a thin whisper now.

  Rrurto was approaching with one of the more senior Faithful. They came level with him, then stopped. “She still as belligerent?” he asked.

  L’Seuli shrugged.

  “I’ll see if she’ll talk to you,” Rrurto said before sidling into the building. “One of the Faithful wants to talk to you,” he called out.