by Jo Clayton
He didn’t answer for several minutes; finally, he tossed down the rest of his tea, set the mug by his foot. “She left my coin, all she took was Klukesharna. I need a horse and winter gear. Where’s the nearest settlement?”
She, Korimenei thought. He knows who shot him. I suppose that’s his business. “There’s a Gsany village a day’s ride south of here.”
“You said you’re for Cheonea?”
“The Vales. My Vale. Owlyn Vale.” She spoke slowly, tasting the words, finding pleasure in the feel of them in her mouth. I’m going home, she thought. Home.
Danny Blue yawned, went back to brooding at the fire. His face was drawn and weary. Khorimenei watched him a while, wondering what he was thinking about; it wasn’t pleasant if she read him rightly. His eyelids fluttered; he forced them up again, but he said nothing. She smiled. No doubt he thought he was being courteous, letting her state the conditions of their cohabitation, because cohabitation it was going to be. She had no intention of forgoing the comforts, such as they were, of her tent and her blankets and he certainly wasn’t strong enough yet to survive the night outside even with a fire. Gods, it’s one of those tales Frit was always reading, twisting and turning to get the hero innocently into bed with the heroine and give him a chance to show just how heroic he was. How noble. Put a sword between them and grit the teeth. Silly. He was in no shape to… damn, she didn’t want him thinking he had to… how do you say… hah! just say it. In a while. Not now.
She pushed the blanket off her shoulders and got to her feet, checked the pot, she’d washed after supper and hung upside down over the top of one of the young conifers huddled in an arc around the rim of the glade, an adequate windbreak if the wind kept coming from the north as it had the past several days. The pot was dry enough to put away. She moved busily around the camp space, collecting items scattered about and stowing them in the pouches; when she was finished she took a last tour of the camp, came back to the fire.
“We’d best turn in now, I want to get started with first light.” She picked up the blanket she’d been wearing, shook it out and draped it over her arm. “We’ll be sharing tent and blankets, Danny Blue. You’re tired. I’m tired. I’m sure neither of us is interested in dalliance.”
“Kori my Thine, Amortis her very self couldn’t get a rise out of me tonight.” He stood, staggering a little as he unfolded.
“I like to have things clear,” she said. “You go in first, I’ll follow.”
6
Morning. Early. Frost crunching underfoot, whitening every surface.
Ready to start, saddle and packs in place, the ponies are huddled next to the fire, lipping up piles of corn set out for them, tails switching at half dormant blackflies. When the two people speak, they puff out white plumes of frozen breath.
Bulky with her layers of clothing, tendrils of soft brown hair curling from under her knitted hat, the girl stood with her fists on her hips, glaring at Danny Blue. “I don’t give spit for your blasted vanity, man. Either climb in that saddle or get the hell out of here. I don’t care where.”
The Daniel phasma being off somewhere or still asleep, the Ahzurdan phasma seized control of the body; hating his weakness, hating her for her strength, resenting her because she’d saved all their lives and laid that burden of gratitude on them, Danny Blue found himself wanting to smash that imperious young face. He wanted to beat her and by beating her, batter in her all the other women who’d dominated and rejected Ahzurdan, his whining mother and Brann chief among them. Lips pressed together, he swung into the saddle. He felt like a fool; even with the stirrups lowered as far as they’d go, his knees stuck out ridiculously, he thought he looked like a clown in a child’s chair. He pulled the blanket about his shoulders and looked around. The odd little beast that traveled with Korimenei went running past and scrambled onto the packs; Korimenei tossed the lead rein into the small black paws.
She strode past him without looking at him and set off along the Road. He toed his pony into a brisk walk, heard the pack pony snort, then start after him.
##
They passed the whole day in silence; even when they stopped to rest the ponies and let them graze, neither acknowledged the other’s, presence with so much as a grunt.
Danny Blue was exhausted before half the day was gone, but Korimenei kept on, walking with steady, ground-eating strides, never looking back. She was no doubt partly putting it on to annoy him, but there was an impatience about her he couldn’t discount; he knew she was eager to see her home again and he’d cost her time and was still slowing her down, something he found sourly satisfying for a while, until he was too tired and sick to sustain any kind of emotion so even the Ahzurdan phasma who’d been ruling him was forced to give way.
Though the pony had an easy rolling walk, he had to concentrate to stay on its back. At the last stop only the impatient jerk of Korimenei’s shoulders gave him the strength to pull himself into the saddle. He sat there fumbling with his feet, unable to fmd the stirrups. She didn’t say anything; grimly controlled, she caught hold of one boot, shoved it in place, circled the pony, dealt with the other foot, then started off along the Road.
In his head the Ahzurdan phasma sneered at the girl, at Danny Blue, and the Daniel phasma watched both with sardonic appreciation. Wearily, Danny Blue did his best to reclaim his body. Every, step of the pony juddered through him, jolting his brain, shattering his sequences of thought so he had to begin over and over before he finished one. He stared at the striding girl and wondered who the hell he was and where his life was going. He couldn’t get a hold on himself, he came to pieces when he tried, though he was getting a glimpse of something, a feel of potential; fatigue had stripped away his defenses, he couldn’t hide any more. Or slide any more. A woman, a lover, had asked Daniel Alcamarino once don’t you want to do something with your life and he said no and left her behind. Now Danny Blue was being forced to ask the question of himself. And forced to realize he had no idea what the answer was. There was another thing. Puppet, he thought, playtoy, the god’s still jerking my strings and making me dance. Bored. H/it wants to amuse h/itself. I know it. Running me in a circle. I go with her I go back to h/it. Round and round. Not a puppet, no, a rat in a running wheel. Round and round. Back to the place I started from. Kori’s going home. I want to go home. I want to get out of this madhouse reality.
More and more he was drawn to the rationality of Daniel’s world, the reality where gods were products of the mind and necessarily reticent about interfering in the lives of common men. Where the forces that worked on those lives were perhaps as powerful, but much less personal. The Ahzurdan phasma resisted this with all his strength though that was little enough; he was fading, his painfully cultivated Talent slipping away from him into the unappreciative hands of his semi-son. All he could do was try keeping his part of Danny Blue’s double memory shut away from that semi-son, frustrating Danny’s attempt to find a way to transfer himself to the Daniel reality. Danny had no doubt that was one of the constraints that kept him out of the realities, that blocked him from regaining this part of Ahzurdan’s skill.
As the sun went down, the idea came to him. Settsimaksimin. If he can’t do it, no one can. Yes. If he knows where my reality lies, if he can reach it. I’m sure of it. He can do it. All I have to do it is find him. And find out what price he wants for doing it. Kori knows him, maybe… can’t think. God, I don’t know. Is this my own idea? Or is that Compost Heap messing with my head again? Pulling my strings? Jump little puppet, run little rat?
The jolting stopped. When he realized that, he lifted his head. They’d been moving through huge old conifers for several hours, he’d noticed that without being particularly conscious of it; now they were on the edge of a broad clearing with a small village rising up the slopes of both sides of the track, its bright colors muted by the twilight and a dusting of snow; they’d ridden beyond the heart of the blizzard that laid the deeper snow to the north. Gsany Rukkers were moving about the s
lopes and the broad mainstreet, coming in from the night-milking and other chores, gossiping over the last loaves from the communal oven, going in and out of a notions shop and the tavern built into the largest building, the village CommonHouse. It was a busy, cheerful scene, all the more so in its contrast to the dark, brooding conifers that surrounded it.
Kori slapped him on the leg, waking him from his daze. He looked down. “What?”
“I said do you have enough coin to pay the shot at the CommonHouse? I’m close to flat.”
He thought that over. “How much will it take?”
“A handful of coppers, around twenty. Thirty if you’re willing to spring for grain for the ponies.”
“Thirty?” He rubbed his fist across his brow. “Yes. All right. Ah…” Seeing she was still waiting, he frowned at her, shut his eyes. “Yes. I see.” He tugged a zipper open. His hand was shaking with cold and exhaustion. He scooped up a fistful of the coins in the pocket, gave them to her. ‘If it’s not enough, tell me.”
She inspected the miscellany she held. “It’s enough. Look… ah… Danny, they’ve got hotsprings and a bathhouse here. I think you ought to soak awhile before you sleep.”
He blinked then smiled at her. “You telling me I stink?”
“Don’t be an idiot, man. You’re cold to the bone, you should get warmed up.”
He brooded on that a moment, then nodded. “I need you with me.”
“What?”
“Not that.” Again he shoved the back of his fist across his brow; he was beginning to feel more alive, but he wasn’t sure whether that was good or not since he was also feeling every ache and pull of his muscles. “If I soak alone, I’ll go to sleep and drown.”
“All right.” She took hold of the halter’s nose-strap. “Let’s do it.”
7
She was a seal in water, agile and slippery; she cast off whatever burden it was that kept her short-tempered and turned playful. Danny drifted in a corner, of the bath, smiling a little as he watched her splash and sputter, dive under and come shooting up with Ailiki in her arms, sending waves of herb-scented water washing at him. She seemed hardly older than the child he remembered. The water rocked him gently, warming away his aches and much of his weariness without sinking him into lethargy; it was the efferves-
cence that did it, the clouds of tiny bubbles that went rushing past his body like pinhead fists kneading and energizing him. He found it extraordinarily pleasant, the more so since he’d reached a temporary peace with himself. His mind was at rest, leaving his body to tend itself.
Kori came paddling over to him, hooked her arms over the bathsill; her freckles shimmered in the lanternlight, her eyes were the color of the water, her hair was slicked back though tiny curls had escaped the mass to make a frizzy halo about her thin face. “Feeling better?”
“Mmm.” He reached out, brushed a fingertip across a dimple. “You don’t look a day older than that girl in the cart.”
“Am.” With an urchin grin, she skimmed her hand lightly up his chest, then flicked water into his face.
Before he could, react, a voice like icewind cut through the tendrils of steam. “Look up, you l’hy’foor!”
8
Korimenei levered herself up and over the bathsill, sprang to her feet. And froze.
A woman stood at the end of the pool, a taut, dark figure wreathed in steam with a short recurve bow held at stretch, one arrow nocked, a second held by the notch end between two fingers. She vibrated like a tuning fork with a rage that was on the raw edge of erupting.
Danny floated in his corner without trying to move. “Felsrawg,” he said softly, “I should have known.”
A stocky man came from the dressing room. “It’s not in his clothes or hers.” He inspected Korimenei. “What’s that she’s got round her neck?”
“Simms,” Danny said, “that’s nothing to do with you. You can see it’s not Klukesharna.”
Felsrawg drew in a breath; it sounded like the hiss of a snake about to strike. “Where?” she spat at him.
Danny didn’t waste time pretending not to understand her. “Trithil.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Wasn’t it you shot me? How’d you miss her?”
The bow shook. Danny’s hands began to move under the water, gestures to support and shape the spell he was weaving; Korimenei saw that and took a half step away from him.
“You! Hoor! Don’t you move.”
Again Korimenei froze.
“You! Laz! Get your hands out of the water. Put them on the sill where I can see them. I swear if you move one finger you’re dead.”
Danny hesitated.
“Do it,” Korimenei whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Don’t be a fool. Remember what I am.”
“I hear,” he murmured.
Korimenei slid a hand up to touch Frunzacoache; the woman he’d called Felsrawg was glaring at him, watching him like a cat before a mousehole. She took advantage of Felsrawg’s distraction to ease another step away, but forced herself to relax and go back to watching Danny when she saw the one called Simms watching her.
Moving slowly so he wouldn’t trigger Felsrawg’s precarious temper, Danny eased around so his shoulders were tucked in the corner, his arms outstretched along the sill. “Satisfied?” he said.
“Simms! Scrape your eyeballs off that hoor and get over there with him. Laz, you know what we want. You know how far we’ll go to get it.” She eased up on the bow though she could still get that arrow off before he could move. “Be sensible, man. What’s the point?”
“I can’t give you what I don’t have. The Esmoon went off with it. See her anywhere about?”
“That silka limp? You expect me to believe she’s any good off her back?”
“She’s not a woman, she’s a demon.”
Demon, Korimenei thought. Salamander? No. Too damp in here. It’d likely panic and go out of control. A mancat. Yes… Keep her distracted, Danny, give me time to reach… She moved uneasily at a bark of laughter from the stocky man. Standing beside Danny, a skinning knife in his hand, Simms was watching her with cool speculation; Felsrawg might think he was looking at her breasts, but Korimenei knew better. It was Frunzacoache that attracted him, not her.
“You’re lying. Simms!”
“Let him talk, Felsa. There’s plenty of time for the knife.”
Danny snorted. “Much good it’ll do you, knife or talk.” He waited for Felsrawg to stop quivering, then said, “You got me good three times, Felsa. What happened after that? The Esmoon was there, why didn’t you get her? Think about it.”
“You know.” She growled the words. “You know. Sorceror! You blasted us. Laid us out and went off leaving us to freeze.”
“I was facedown in the snow, leaking blood from three holes, woman. You had to see me down. Use your head. You came within a hair of skewering my heart and you know it. I was in no shape to do anything to anybody.”
“No!” Felsrawg was, getting agitated again. “No! Liar! If it was true she had it, you’d be nose to the ground after her. You’d have to be.”
“For one, who says I’m not, eh? Think of that?”
“You’re saying she came this way?”
“No. Far as I’m concerned, I’d be delighted if I never saw the creature again. Come on, Felsa, put the bow down. The poison’s out of me. My friend here, she did that when she healed my punctures. She’s got a Talent for that sort of thing.”
Felsrawg stretched her mouth into a mirthless feral grin. “Good for her,” she said, “she can enjoy herself putting you together again. Simms.”
Gods, Korimenei thought. She dropped to her knees, hugged her arms across her breasts and slipped dangerously unprotected into the trance that took her across the realities.
##
Sand and more sand, sand and brush and sand-colored mancats prowling after herds of sand-colored deer. She saw a mancat she knew and called to him. Help me, she said to him, name your price and
help me.
He came trotting up to her, considered her. After a minute he opened his formidable mouth in a broad grin. She understood from him that he was fond of her as a man would be, fond of a favorite pet and would help her for the fun of it.
##
Korimenei lifted her head and smiled.
The mancat dropped from nothing behind Felsrawg, wrapped thick muscular tentacles about her and breathed hot, meat-tainted breath in her ears. She screamed her rage and tried to kick and claw, but his front legs were spread too wide for her to reach and her arms were locked against her sides; she was as about as helpless as she’d ever been since she started walking. She went quiet and lay against the mancat’s powerful chest, glaring at Korimenei and cursing bitterly.
The instant the beast came through the membrane, Danny Blue acted; using his elbows to power himself up, he slapped his hands about the wrist on Simms’ knife hand and toppled him into the water; he set his feet against the thief’s floundering body and kicked, using the resistance to help him roll out of the pool. He was over the sill and on his feet before Simms surfaced sputtering. Panting a little, Danny smiled at Korimenei, waved a hand at the mancat. “A friend, I hope?”
She chuckled. “My demon’s better than yours.”
“No argument there.”
The mancat interrupted with an apologetic coughing rumble. He was uncomfortable in the damp and thought it was time he left.
“Right,” she said. “Danny, you take care of him, I’ll do her.” She nodded at Simms who was holding on to the edge of the pool, watching them warily, then padded around to face Felsrawg. “Are you intelligent enough to know the truth when you hear it?” She inspected the woman, sniffed. “I wonder.” Over her shoulder, she said, “Where’d you meet this pair, Danny?”
