by S. L. Viehl
NINE
Hurgot heard the shuffling sound of a woman seeking permission to enter his shelter, and finished bandaging the gash on his patient’s forearm.
“Next time, keep your braces on,” he told the young hunter before pulling his sleeve into place. “Ptar claws can cut through bone.” He turned his head toward the flap. “Come in.”
One of the younger women who wore the robe covering of a salvage sorter stepped through the flap and to one side before she dropped into a respectful crouch. “I am Ygrelda, Kheder.”
Hurgot waited until the young hunter left before he told her to rise to her feet. “What is it?” he asked, feeling impatient. No more men were waiting to be treated, but a woman who came with empty hands boded nothing good.
“I come to ask after Resa, the ensleg female.” Ygrelda’s voice was soft, hesitant.
“She is not here.”
The woman’s head bobbed in agreement. “She was taken from the gjenvin master three suns ago.”
Like everyone in the iiskar, Hurgot had been aware of Resa’s presence, but only in the vaguest sense, through casual comments made by the other men. Most of what was said came from ribald curiosity, as few of the men had ever tried an ensleg woman. The rasakt had not made her available for general use, and she had not shown herself around the camp to tempt anyone.
That Resa had been removed from the sheds seemed odd to Hurgot, but he had vowed to keep his own distance, so as not to attract any further trouble. “What of it?”
“Resa did well among us, Kheder.” The woman stared at his feet. “She was modest, worked hard, and never asked for more than was offered her. She would do the same again if returned to the salvage sheds. Her presence is missed.”
So it was the usual female nonsense. This one had befriended the ensleg and now wished a boon to bring her friend back to her side. “I have no say over such things,” he told the woman. “Go back to work.”
“May I know of how Resa does?” Ygrelda asked, cringing a little. “There has been no word of her.”
Hurgot frowned. The women in the camp usually knew everything about everyone; they had nothing better to do than to gossip. If the women didn’t know what had happened to her … “Where was she taken?”
“To the jlorra caves, Kheder. She was taken by the beast master.” Ygrelda gulped. “She has not returned to the iiskar since.”
Hurgot bit back a violent curse. “Who gave word to send her there?”
“It is said the order came from the shelter of the rasakt,” Ygrelda said.
Sogayi. Had it been Navn to give the order, everyone would know. The headman’s wife had dared much this time. “Has the beast master returned to camp since Resa was taken?”
Ygrelda nodded. “Three times.”
So Resa had been left with the jlorra, who were known to attack sleeping people when hungry enough. Hurgot went and pulled her to her feet. “Listen to me carefully. You will return to the sheds, and say nothing of this to anyone. I will go out to the jlorra caves to see that she is well, and bring you word. If she is—whatever has happened to her, you will accept it, and you will not speak of this again.”
Ygrelda looked into his eyes. “She is good, Kheder. She does not deserve to be harmed. She did nothing wrong.”
“She was born ensleg, and she did not die on the ice. That is reason enough for some.” Unable to stand the weight of her eyes, Hurgot tugged her head wrap over her face. “Go now. I will send for you when I return.”
It had been too cold to leave the shelters after sunset, but it was only midday, so when Ygrelda left, Hurgot put on his heaviest outfurs and prepared to go. After some thought, he put some food and tea in his medical pack.
Leaving the camp without being noticed was not difficult, for few paid attention to Hurgot anymore. He took care to leave casually rather than with a show of stealth, so as not to make his trek too obvious. To any eyes that spotted him, it would appear as if he were going to gather, as he often did, the medicinal molds and ice plants that grew around vent shafts.
There were no naturally occurring ice caves in the immediate vicinity of the camp, so Iiskar Navn’s beast master had constructed artificial caves for his jlorra, stacking hewed blocks of ice to form three elongated domes. Several consecutive snowfalls had filled in the cracks between the blocks, and wind had scoured and rounded the surface until the caves looked almost identical to those formed in nature.
Hurgot knew Egil, the beast master. He was the son of a low-ranked hunter and one of the camp’s ahayag. Handling pack animals was often a duty given to the youngest men until they gained more experience in hunting. Only when Egil had made a significant contribution to the camp’s stores would he be raised to the status of hunter, and another with a less-certain hand on the bow would take his place. As Egil was also one of the lazier men in camp, he had held the position for far longer than usual.
There were no jlorra in the temporary holding pen, also built of ice blocks, on the side of the caves, so Hurgot stepped into the low, wide entrance.
“Egil?” he called out. “Are you here? It is Hurgot.”
No voice answered, but the sound of many claws scraping the ice came to Hurgot’s ears.
She is dead. Sogayi had him kill her and feed her to the beasts. Hurgot felt angry and resigned, for he had half expected as much as soon as Ygrelda had told him of Resa’s removal from the sheds.
He had turned to go back out when Resa appeared, surrounded on all sides by the beasts. She looked directly at him and smiled before remembering to drop into the customary crouch and wait to be addressed. One of the jlorra nuzzled the side of her face as she did so.
“Stand, Resa.” When she had, Hurgot inspected her. She wore ancient outfurs, and her face was smudged with soot marks, but otherwise she looked intact. “You are well?”
“Yes, Kheder.” She gestured toward the back of the cave. “Come, I make tea for you?”
More curious now than thirsty, Hurgot followed her to the back of the center cave. The jlorra followed the ensleg silently, not even glancing once at Hurgot.
The center cave had been built around the opening of a vent shaft, which provided some warmth for the beasts and their handler. Someone had fashioned a crude heatarc over the opening, and on it sat a salvaged pot and several other odd items, including some chunks of stone.
Resa first picked up a scrap of cloth and removed one of the stones, wrapping the cloth around it before offering it to Hurgot.
“Hold,” she said when he frowned at the bundle. “Make hands warm.”
Hurgot felt foolish—men did not feel the cold as women did—but he could indulge her this much. As soon as he clasped the cloth-wrapped stone between his mitts, the heat radiated into his palms and fingers. The mild ache he usually felt when on the ice vanished.
Resa was busy with filling the makeshift cook pot with meltwater and adding clumps of damp tea plant. “Make hot tea,” she said, glancing over at him. “Soup, yes?”
Hurgot frowned. “Someone brought you food?” He would have expected Sogayi to give orders to starve the girl. Surely Egil could not have brought down any game, and if he had, it would have been taken to the skela and made fit for the camp’s use.
“Cats bring.” Resa reached over to run her fingertips around the ears of one jlorra’s massive head. “I cook. You sit here, please?” She indicated a pile of furs to one side of the heatarc.
Hurgot sat. The furs were warm from being in close proximity to the shaft opening, and although they were a little stiff, they were surprisingly comfortable. He saw another large bundle of furs to one side that appeared as if Resa had been sleeping in them. Some were ragged, and their irregular shape puzzled him, until he saw the narrow lacings of guts holding them together. Resa had taken the fur scraps from the jlorra’s kills, washed them, and stitched them together. He had never seen the like.
“Make fur,” Resa said, following his gaze. “Keep me warm in night.”
“You ar
e learning to speak Iisleg,” he said, just now realizing how well she was able to communicate.
“I speak some, not good,” Resa told him as she brought over a cup of tea and presented it. “We talk, yes?”
“Yes.” Hurgot sampled the tea, which was weaker than he liked, and had obviously been brewed several times before. “Resa, who brought these things here for you?”
She looked around. “Fur here. Cats bring food. I find things.”
He did not want to think about the food aspect, so he asked, “Where do you find things?”
“Pile things.” She gestured toward the south side of camp, where, Hurgot recalled, the gjenvin dumped whatever material could not be salvaged. She went back to the heatarc and poured some of the contents of another, odd-looking vessel into a smaller, bent piece of alloy with a shallow indentation like a bowl. She then brought the bowl to him. “Meat only,” she said, rather apologetically. “Not know good plants here.”
The bowl held a strong-flavored broth with small chunks of meat in it. Because it had no vegetables or spices it was bland by Iisleg standards, but otherwise hot and filling.
To give himself time to think rather than dwell on the origins of what was in the bowl, Hurgot ate slowly. Resa went back to her place by the heatarc and crouched there, warming her hands and sometimes petting one of the cats, who had piled all around her like sleepy, contented children.
“I brought you something,” he said finally, when she took the empty bowl and cup from him. “Here.” Feeling embarrassed, he took the food and tea from his pack.
“I thank you,” Resa said, clearly delighted. She went to the bundle of patchwork furs, pulled one side up, and hid the food beneath it. When she saw Hurgot’s expression, she made a face. “I put here or Egil eat all.”
Refusing to give food to a man was a serious offense, one for which she could be beaten severely. Yet Hurgot found himself only admiring her ingenuity. Also, like every other man, Egil was well fed every night in camp. It appeared that Resa had been left to fend for herself.
He had to be sure, however. No need to jump to conclusions when someone else might be supplying Resa’s needs. “Did anyone bring you food and furs from the camp?”
She shook her head. “Cats, I find, I make. That all.” She looked directly into his eyes. “I not die, Hurgot.”
Was she reassuring him, or was she telling him that Sogayi’s plan had failed? She could not know. “I will see to it that food is brought to you. It will not be much, but you will not starve.” He was beginning to wonder if anything could kill her.
“That kind.” Resa refilled his cup. “I thank you.”
“Aren’t you afraid of the jlorra?” Hurgot asked her as he watched her sit down and idly stroke the blue-white fur of the largest male’s ridged back.
“Cats? No hurt me.” Resa surveyed the animals around her as if they were nothing more than small children. “Cats like me.” She began to say something else, and then frowned.
“What is it?”
“Egil beat them.” Her dark brows drew together in the center. “I no like that.”
“Egil beats the jlorra?” A wave of nausea swept over Hurgot at the thought of the beast master being so foolhardy.
“Sometime,” Resa said. “Cats no like. I try, tell Egil no? Hit me.” She rubbed the side of her head, ruffling her short, sheared hair. “Cats no like when Egil hit me.”
“Hurgot?” A young man in heavy, unkempt furs entered the cave. “I thought I heard your voice, old man. What are you doing here?”
The change in Resa was instantaneous. She immediately put aside the implement in her hand and bent over until her nose touched the shabby boots on her feet, and stayed in that position, unmoving.
“Egil.”
“You should have told me you were going to visit; I’d have brought something out with me.” Egil’s eyes darted from Hurgot to the empty dish and cup Resa had given him. “She didn’t make you eat this swill she cooks, did she?”
“It was acceptable.”
Egil went around the heatarc, kicking Resa out of his way with no more thought than if she were a bundle of furs. “I can hardly stomach the stuff.” Giving lie to his statement, he hunched down and helped himself to the contents of the cook pot. Resa remained curled up to one side, in the position she had landed, still unmoving. The cats, however, shifted their positions, silently moving until they formed a living wall on three sides of her. They also watched Egil with menacing intensity.
“Why come all the way out here, old man?” Egil asked between mouthfuls.
Many of the young men of the camp referred to Hurgot as an “old man,” but rarely to his face. “I came to gather some ice plants,” he lied. “I stopped in here to warm myself at the vent shaft.”
“Ah.” Egil nodded, drank the last of the broth from the pot, and produced a loud belch.
Hurgot nodded toward Resa. “What is the ensleg doing here?”
“Nothing of use to me,” Egil said. He used the rest of Resa’s meltwater to wash his face and hands. “I keep the caves clean, and the beasts hunt for themselves. She does nothing but eat and sleep.”
Resa lifted her head and glared at the back of Egil’s before noticing Hurgot watching her. She returned to her curled-up position, but her expression was one of anger.
Hurgot had been to the jlorra caves before this day. In the recent past, he had noticed considerable piles of gnawed bones and other remnants of the beasts’ kills. They were gone now, and he felt certain that Resa had been the one to clear them out when she had gathered the fur scraps to make her bed.
“Shall I take her back to camp, then?” he asked Egil. “She made herself useful sorting in the sheds; she can work there.”
“The rasakt’s—the rasakt does not want her polluting the other women with her ensleg ways,” Egil said. “I was told that she is to remain here.”
By Sogayi, no doubt. The rest of this conversation could not take place in front of a woman. “Walk outside with me,” he said to Egil. “We must talk.”
Egil went with him reluctantly. “I do not know why you bother with her. She is useless.”
“Navn does not know about this, does he?” Hurgot gestured toward the cave. “About her being brought here.”
The younger man gave him a stricken look. “Yes. Yes, he does.”
“Then I will speak to Navn when I return to camp,” Hurgot decided, “and ask him to bring her back to work in the sheds.”
Egil pasted a false jovial smile on his face. “Healer, is that entirely wise? With the burdens the rasakt bears for us, he may have forgotten this trivial matter. It is best not to remind him and irritate him.”
“He does not know she is here at all, does he?” Hurgot watched the young man’s mouth open and close a few times. “A man who takes orders from a woman may as well be a woman himself,” he suggested. “If this is made known, you will never hold a bow again.”
Egil flushed. “You don’t know what it is like. What can be done to one who goes against what is asked of him. Being beast master is not the worst work a man can do.”
Hurgot thought for a moment. He had no great affection for Egil, but the younger man was simply trying to preserve his hide. “Navn must be informed of this. I think he has plans for this ensleg.”
“I will not tell him,” Egil said adamantly. “Unless you wish to spend the rest of the few years left to you curing hides or digging out privy holes, you should not, either.”
The image of Ygrelda’s pleading face came into Hurgot’s mind. “Perhaps we will not have to.” He glanced over Egil’s shoulder, and saw Resa standing at the entrance to the cave. She had been listening to them talk for some time, he suspected, and if the younger man turned around, he would grab the ensleg and beat her within an inch of her life.
Resa knew this. Hurgot could see it in her eyes. Yet she stood, and she listened to them. She possessed the kind of courage that neither he nor Egil had, and it shamed him so much that he
almost went around Egil to beat her himself.
“What are you going to do?” Egil demanded.
“Something,” the shame made Hurgot say. “Soon.”
Resa turned and walked back into the cave.
“What do you mean, Stuart’s launch crashed?” Orjakis rose abruptly, spilling warm, perfumed water over the sides of the carved crystal tub. He thrust the attending drone aside and strode naked across the inlaid tile floor until he stood before his cowering notch.
“I see Janzil Ches—”
“Do not see us,” Orjakis bellowed. “Tell us.”
“Defense reported that the launch lost control in midflight.” The notch fixed his desperate eyes on Orjakis’s chin. “It apparently experienced engine failure. A partial distress signal was transmitted by Trader Aledver before the ship crashed. The transmission is unintelligible.”
Aledver, one of his most trusted internals. Orjakis felt his rage sink deeper. “Where is it now?”
The notch had to consult his pad. “In the disputed area, Kangal. Defense has sent patrols to search for it, but there has been no success as of yet.”
“It has been days since Stuart left Skjonn,” Orjakis said through clenched teeth. “And they cannot locate it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but brushed the notch aside and strode into his dressing room. More attendants rushed at him, eager to array him in sky white silken trousers and a matching tunic heavily encrusted with tiny emitters. The emitters, programmed to flash sequenced patterns, were already activated and projecting images of wings, jewels, and other finery.
He ripped the tunic from the attendant’s hands and tore it in half. The drone turned and went back to the garment room to select another ensemble.
Orjakis went to stand before the large window overlooking the city. Beneath him, several citizens walking outside the palace stopped at the sight of him. Two women and a man crumpled to the ground, overcome.
I should send for them, he thought. Make them my ministers. They would kill themselves to please me.
“We will see Defense in our receiving room,” Orjakis told the notch, who had crept in after him. “In two minutes. With answers.”
