by Greg Keyes
“Oh—no. It's something I'm translating for the fratrex. Could we leave it here, so I can take it up more easily tomorrow?”
“Of course,” the fellow said.
“I'm Stephen Darige,” he offered.
“Brother Sangen, at your service. I keep things on the shelves, here. That's one of the new Vadhiian scrifts?”
“There are more?”
“Oh, yes. They've been trickling in for the past few years.”
“Really? All from Saint Donwys?”
“Heavens, no. From all over.” He frowned slightly, as if suddenly concerned. “You'd better get going. Fratrex Pell is mostly patient, but if he asks that something be done, he means it.”
“Of course.” Stephen picked up his free translation and notes. “I'm going to keep these with me, so I can mull them over before sleep. Is that permitted?”
“Of course. Good evening to you, Brother Stephen.” His voice dropped. “Keep you well on the path to the watchtowers. 'Tis said the south path, down by the woods, is longer but more … pleasant. I can explain the way to you, if you would like.”
“I would,” Stephen said. “Very much.”
In the gloaming, with fireflies rising like ghosts departing the world, Stephen felt the chill return. He fought the urge to go straight to the fratrex and reveal what he had discovered.
He didn't fear the curse, of course. Whatever pagan god had been invoked was long dead, or a captive of the saints. The Black Jester had been defeated and lay dead for more than a millennium. The curse was no longer of any matter.
But any scrift that began with such a strong curse was likely to contain things no man ought to see, ought to have ever seen.
Yet he couldn't be sure. It might prove to be nothing more than a catalogue of dead fiends. And it might contain information useful to the church.
Until he was certain it was irredeemable, he couldn't give it up to be destroyed.
He would read further. If he came across something clearly unholy and dangerous, he would take it straight to the fratrex.
Right now he had other worries. Brother Sangen was either helping Stephen avoid Brother Desmond and his thugs or sending him into their arms. There was no way of knowing which, and nothing he could do about it but prepare himself.
He had the sudden, strange thought that it would be nice to have Aspar White with him right now. The holter was gruff, but he also seemed to know clearly what was right and wrong.
Not to mention the fact that Desmond Spendlove and his bullies wouldn't last a twenty count against Aspar. That was a fight Stephen would love to see.
Then again, Aspar White would scoff at Stephen for being a weak, pampered child. He straightened his back. He couldn't defeat his enemies, but he could make certain that they did not defeat him, even if they beat him to the ground. They would not beat his spirit.
It was the best he could do. It would have to be enough; he only hoped it didn't kill him.
On the heels of that thought, a voice spoke from the forest, soft but carrying.
“Well. What are you about, little one?”
Stephen took a deep breath, for courage, as Desmond Spendlove stepped onto the grass, a wicked gleam just barely visible in his eyes.
It took Stephen a moment to understand that Brother Desmond wasn't talking to him. In fact, he hadn't even seen Stephen. Quickly, Stephen ducked behind a hummock of hay, peering around the edge of it.
The prey Spendlove and his wolves were gathering around was Brother Ehan.
“Don't call me that,” Ehan cautioned.
“I'll call you whatever I want. What did you tell the new fellow, Brother Ehan? Nothing disparaging, I hope.”
“Nothing he didn't already know,” Ehan replied.
“How do you know what he does or doesn't know? Are you that friendly with him already?”
Brother Ehan's chin lifted defiantly. “Come on, Spendlove. Just you and me. Without your dogs.”
“Hear what he called you, fellows?” Brother Desmond said.
“Dogs,” Ehan repeated. “Little bitches following a big one.”
The circle closed in. Ehan suddenly leapt into motion, straight toward Brother Desmond.
He never got there. One of the other cowled figures swung a stiff arm so that Ehan caught it under his chin. His feet flew up in the air, and he landed with a pronounced whoosh of air, audible even from Stephen's hiding place.
Stephen felt a knot in his throat. He shouldn't interfere with this; every instinct warned him not to. And yet, from far away, he still somehow felt the holter's eyes on him. Aspar White, however crude he might be, whatever his faults, would never stand by and merely watch this.
“Damned cowards!” Stephen shouted. Or his throat did, anyway. He couldn't remember giving it the go-ahead.
But it got their attention. Brother Desmond and four others started toward him, at a run. Three made a beeline, and the other two circled around the other side of the haystack.
Stephen ducked behind the mound of fragrant straw. He could run, of course, but they were moving fast, much faster than he could. They would catch him.
So instead, he dug his fingers into the plaited grass and climbed as swiftly as he could. When he had nearly reached the top he stayed very still and watched his pursuers meet and mill below.
“He must have run on to the tree line, under cover of the haystack,” one of them said.
“Find him.” That was Brother Desmond, whose face Stephen could suddenly see quite clearly, for a torus of light had appeared around him, a sort of glowing mist.
Saint Tyw, don't let them look up, Stephen prayed silently.
Whether by the grace of the saint, or because it simply did not occur to them, they didn't but instead spread out and ran for the trees.
That wouldn't distract them long. Beyond the stream and its willow border lay nothing but open pasture, and they would quickly discover that he wasn't there.
Stephen scrambled on over the haystack and slid down the other side.
The two remaining men were still with Ehan; one was holding the little fellow down while the other produced what looked like a heavy bag.
They saw Stephen at the last second, as he kicked the fellow on top of Ehan under the chin. He felt teeth clack together, as the other man bellowed like a bull and swung the bag at him.
It hit hard, low in his back, and it hurt. It felt like a sack full of pears, and probably was. Stephen dropped to his knees, tasting blood in his mouth.
The next thing he knew, Ehan was tugging at him.
“Get up, you idiot! They'll be here any second!”
Stephen came woozily to his feet. The fellow he had kicked was lying still, and the other was on the ground, too. Moaning.
“Come on!” Ehan repeated. Then he ran.
Stephen followed, inspired because he could suddenly hear Desmond and the others, calling for them to stop, threatening dire things if they didn't.
He followed Ehan to the forest edge, and then it was all branches scratching at him, sudden outcroppings of unseen rock, and finally a trail that twisted its way uphill.
His lungs felt like a pair of hot lanterns, and the ache in his kidneys where the bag had hit him turned into a matching fire.
Finally, they dodged back into a clearing. It was now full pitch night, but Ehan seemed to know where he was going.
Just when Stephen thought he couldn't go another step, his companion grasped his arm and pulled him down.
“I don't think they're following anymore,” he panted. “We'll wait here, and see. But they can find us anytime; they probably won't waste the effort.”
“Why—did—we—run—then?” Stephen managed, between savage, painful breaths.
“I wouldn't have, if you hadn't done what you did,” Ehan replied. “But they might have killed us, just then. Next time Desmond catches us alone, it'll be bad, but he'll have calmed them down.”
“They can't just kill us!” Stephen protested.
&n
bsp; “Oh, can't they, fellow-boy?” Ehan said. “They killed a novice just two months ago. Broke his neck and dumped him down a well, so it would look accidental. These fellows aren't playing. That was an ogre-stupid thing you did. We're just lucky they left Inest and Dyonis with me; they don't have any saint gifts yet. If it had been any of the others, we would be dead.”
Ehan paused. “But—Eh Danka 'zwes, yah? Thanks. You didn't know any better. You're a better fellow than I reckoned you for. Stupid, but a good fellow.”
“I couldn't just watch,” Stephen explained.
“You'd better learn,” Ehan said seriously. “You'd really better.”
“Surely if we all got together—”
“Forget that. Listen, they really will leave you alone, eventually. That's the first time they've come after me in a year.”
“Because you talked to me.”
“Yah, I guess.”
Stephen nodded at the darkness, and they both sat until the tempests in them had calmed to a normal-breathing zephyr.
“All right,” Ehan said. “This way back to the dormitory.”
Stephen felt the provision bag, still tied to his belt.
“I have to take this to the watchmen.”
“They'll be waiting for you to do that, like as not.”
“The fratrex told me to do it.”
“The brothers on watch will understand.”
“The fratrex told me to do it,” Stephen said again, “and I
will.” Ehan mumbled something in his own language, too low and quickly for Stephen to understand.
“Very well,” he said finally. “If you insist on being a fool. But let me show you a back way.”
CHAPTER NINE
EXILE
BREATH CAUGHT IN ANNE'S THROAT as Roderick's fingers brushed lightly over her breast. Had it been an accident? He had never done that before. But it had never been like this before, either, their kisses grown so urgent, demanding of something more.
No, here his hand came back to her breast, clever thing. The first brush had been a foray, to see what her reaction would be. But now he was there with confidence, tracing over the thin fabric of her gown, raising her nipple into a little fortress tower.
And his mouth nibbled and bit and licked its way around her throat, till he was standing behind her, panting into the nape of her neck, one hand still on her breast, one tickling over her belly, lower and lower, exploring her like an adventurer in an unknown land.
When she could stand it no longer, she turned in his grip and kissed him fiercely, beginning an exploration of her own around the base of his throat, to his chest where his shirt opened. When their lips met again it was with a furious, passionate tangle as something other than her brain took control, and Anne was pushing and pulling her body against his with all of her strength.
They came apart, both gasping like animals, and for an instant Anne felt ashamed and frightened. But then Roderick's hand came to her cheek, very gently, and his dark eyes held her, promising nothing but happiness and devotion.
Around them, the tomb was utterly silent, little revealed by the single taper burning in a wall sconce. They were in the center room, where bodies lay in state and the family gathered for the rites of the dead. No one had died recently; her ancestors were elsewhere, in their own rooms, in the vaults that made up the rooms of the great house. Before Roderick arrived she had said a prayer to keep them quiet.
“You are more beautiful than anyone I have ever laid eyes on,” Roderick whispered. “When I first met you, it was not so. You were beautiful, yes, but now—” He struggled for words. “It's as if each time I see you, you glow with a greater light.”
She couldn't think of anything to say, and she could hardly stand the intensity of his eyes, so she leaned in and tucked her head under his chin and laid her cheek against his chest.
“It must be that love brings greater beauty,” he said, into her hair.
“What?” She drew back, to see if he was joking.
“I know, it's doomed, but there it is. I love you, Anne.”
This time she didn't turn from his gaze but watched as his face dropped nearer, his lips parted, and he gave her a long, sweet kiss.
But then she pushed away from him.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” she said roughly. She felt sudden tears clotting her head, trying to get out.
“What do you mean?”
“Father is sending us away, to Cal Azroth. My mother, my sisters, my brother—me. He thinks we're in danger. It's stupid. How could we be safer there?”
“Tomorrow?” Roderick sounded as if he was in pain. “For how long?”
“I don't know. Months, probably, until this stupid thing with Saltmark is over.”
“That's terrible,” he whispered.
“I don't want to go.” Now it was her turn to stroke his cheek. “We still have time,” she said. “Kiss me again, Roderick. Let's worry about tomorrow when it arrives.”
He did kiss her slowly at first, but within moments he had reclaimed all of the ground he had conquered earlier, and pushed forward. When he took her nipple between thumb and forefinger, she laughed in delight: who would think of something like that? It was all so surprising!
He unlaced her bodice and kissed the long border of fabric and flesh, so each touch of his lips was wet and vivid, yet somehow far away, and all the more exciting for it.
The bodice slipped farther.
When his hand worked past her stockings, to the bare flesh of her upper thigh, her whole body went stiff. She moaned, and for the first time felt real fear. It was a strange fear, however, a mixed one. And Roderick seemed so certain of what he was doing, so confident.
And he loved her, didn't he?
He stopped, and caught her with those great eyes again. “Shall I stop? If you have any doubt, Anne, say it.”
“Would you stop if I asked?” she panted.
“Yes.”
“Because I'm not sure—but I don't want you to stop yet.”
He grinned. “I love you, Anne Dare.”
“I love you, too,” she said, and just as she was realizing what she had said, he came back to her. And a sort of helplessness swallowed her, as if nothing could happen anyone would blame her for. Nothing.
And she was fifteen! Who remained virgin at that age?
Just then Roderick stiffened and leapt up, whirling, reaching for his sword.
“Young man,” a familiar voice said, “do not be more foolish than you already have been.”
Anne sat up, gathering her gown against her bosom. “Who is that? Erren?”
Erren stepped through the doorway, and behind, saints help her, came Fastia.
“We were—” Roderick began.
“About to hump like wild goats? Yes, I saw that,” Erren said dryly.
“Anne, fasten your clothes,” Fastia snapped. “Now. By all the saints, in the house of our ancestors?” Something strange quivered in her voice, something more than outrage, but Anne could not identify it.
“Anne is blameless,” Roderick began.
But Anne had found her own voice. “How dare you!” she snapped. “How dare you follow me down here? This is my affair, and mine alone! It's no one's business who I love!”
“Perhaps not,” Erren replied. “But it is very much the business of the kingdom with whom you rut, I'm afraid.”
“Indeed? Really? What of my father, who lies with every slut who—”
“Hush, Anne!” Fastia shouted.
“—walks into the palace, no, I will not hush, Fastia. I cannot help that my blood does not run like ice, as it does in both of you.”
“You will be silent,” Fastia said. “And you, Roderick of Dunmrogh, you'd best begone. Now, before this turns into an incident that must come before the court.”
Roderick lifted his chin. “I do not care about that. We have done nothing shameful, Anne and I, and we have only followed our hearts.”
“When hearts swing between thighs, that
will undoubtedly be true,” Erren said.
“Don't go, Roderick,” Anne said. It was more a command than a plea.
He took her hand. “I will go. But this is not done. You will hear from me.”
He gave Erren and Fastia one arch glance, then left without looking back.
Anne glared at the other women, as well, marshaling her arguments even as the sound of Roderick's horse's hooves on lead cobbles faded. Fastia's face, meanwhile, was working through some frightful contortions.
And suddenly, Anne's older sister burst out laughing. Erren joined in by grinning and shaking her head.
“Heavenly saints!” Fastia managed. “Where did you find that one?”
“It's not funny! Why are you laughing?”
“Because it's so laughable! Do you think you're the first to come to the tombs for this sort of thing? Did you think you were being clever? And Roderick. ‘Shall I stop?’ Oh, dear. And you, thinking he would, that you would even want him to!”
“You were watching the whole time?”
Fastia calmed, but she was still chuckling. “No, not the whole time. Only as it was starting to get interesting.”
“You had no right, you cold-blooded bitch!”
That stopped Fastia's laughter, and Anne was suddenly sorry. How long had it been since her sister had laughed? Even if it had to be at Anne's expense. Her self-righteousness faltered.
Fastia nodded, as if to herself. “Walk with me a moment, Anne. Erren, if you could stay here?”
“Certainly.”
Outside, there was a faint chill in the air. The necropolis lay under silver light. Fastia took a few steps into the courtyard, then looked up at the half-empty moon. Her eyes were wide and glistening. Anne wasn't certain if there were tears there or not.
“You think I begrudge you this, Anne?” she asked softly. “You think I don't understand exactly how you feel?”
“No one knows how I feel.”
Fastia sighed. “That's just part of it, Anne. The first time you hear a new song, you think you're the first to ever hear it, no matter how many lips it's been on. You think I never trysted, Anne? You think I never felt passion or thought I was in love?”
“You don't act like it.”
