“Sure, because I won’t be controlled by you.”
“Because you won’t control yourself.” She leaned back into the chair, as though it were of no consequence to her. “Well, you’ll learn, or you’ll be ruined. It’s up to you.”
“Damn it!” Dov’s blood throbbed in his temples; he couldn’t fix his thoughts. “What the hell do you want of me, woman?! I’m tired of all this.”
“Then end it. Of course, to do that, you’d need to understand the beginning, wouldn’t you? But you’d rather hurt and be hurt.”
“What the hell are you ranting about now?”
“The rage and fear that’s rooted at the beginning of all this.”
He started to protest, “It was just a story.” Then he realized that wasn’t really how he felt. “No, it was more than a story. It was people who lived and died and never won. But to you, it was nothing more than a teaching tale; the people didn’t matter.”
“No, that wasn’t the beginning. It was simply a spark from the tinderbox.”
“The people never really matter to you Alleshi and your Allemen, do they? You talk of big issues, about trade and treaties and the fruits of Peace. You move whole villages to suit your plans. You send men off wherever you need them, never noticing what your whims do to the individuals in those villages, to the families of those men. To their sons — to my mother.”
Tayar just sat there, watching him.
“Sure, you dress it up with smooth words and pleasant touches, seducing an entire world with your tricks. No wonder you work so hard to twist boys like me to do your bidding. If enough of us become men who know enough to resist you, you’d have real problems, wouldn’t you? You’d have entire communities that haven’t succumbed to your witchery. Then where would all your power be? You’d be just a bunch of old dried up women nobody wants or needs. I’d pity you, if I weren’t so disgusted. So you can drop the mask. The game is over, and you’ve lost.”
Tayar reached back to rearrange the pillow behind her.
“You don’t believe it yet, do you? But you will. Yeah, you made a man out of me, but not the one you expected.” He thumped his chest. “This is a man you’ll never control.”
She leaned back into the pillow and crossed her legs.
“Damn it, woman, don’t you have anything to say?”
“Until you reach your truth, anything I say will be meaningless to you. When you reach it, my words won’t be necessary.”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’ve reached my truth, and it’s nothing like yours.”
“No.”
“No? You don’t believe me or you don’t agree with me?”
“No, I have nothing to say.”
“Skies!” Dov slammed his fist onto the table beside him, cracking a leg. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Tayar glanced at the table. “That’s too bad. I liked that piece. I wonder if we’ll be able to repair it.”
“To hell with the table.” He smashed it, splintering the cracked leg and kicking the pieces away. “What about me? You care more about your damn table than about me.”
“No, I don’t think we’ll ever repair it now.” She leaned forward in her chair. “What about you?”
“I told you, I won’t play your questions games anymore.”
“But it wasn’t my question. It was yours, as the answer must be. When you know what it is you want—”
“No!” The tortured screech erupted from deep within him. The force of it propelled Dov from his seat, to pace the room, each step pounding his anguish. “You don’t know when to stop, to leave a man alone. How am I supposed to think with all the questions and probing and pushing and wheedling?”
When he reached a wall, he punched it, tumbling books from a shelf. Driven by his anger, he ricocheted off the opposite wall and back. “You just keep pushing and pushing, so a man can’t breathe or think.” The next punch felled a picture, smashing its glass. He stomped on it, then grabbed another larger picture, and flung it with all his might, for the sheer satisfaction of its destruction. He didn’t see her quickly covering her face with both arms. The heavy frame and shattering glass missed her, crashing against the table in front of her. Punching or pulling down another picture and another, he smashed all within his reach. He grabbed a small stone sculpture from a table, feeling the gratifying heft of it in his hand as he prepared to hurl it.
“Dov! Stop!” she screamed.
Fire and stones! he suddenly realized, I was aiming! But not at Tayar?!
He stared at the heavy stone piece in his hand, almost surprised to find it there.
I couldn’t, I wouldn’t… would I?
Uncurling his fingers, he watched it drop to the floor, heard the thud of its deadly weight. He glanced at the woman, her face contorted with horror, and he looked away.
“Why does everything I touch turn rotten?” Dov barely realized that he spoke his thoughts aloud. He swatted at his face, where it felt as though an insect buzzed, surprised to find his cheeks wet. Wiping the tears with both hands, he continued to pace, but his feet no longer stomped. His closed fists hung like dead weights at his side.
Reaching a wall once more, his legs seemed to lose their will to hold him; he slid slowly to the floor. When his hands fell into his lap, he stared at them, bloodied and useless. He picked a small splinter of glass out of his thumb, then pressed his hand against his trousers to stanch the blood.
The Allesha’s deep sigh broke through to the depths of his thoughts, awakening him to his surroundings. Looking at her, he felt as though a sharp knife that had been lodged in his stomach had been wrenched out, leaving a gaping, rusting hole in his gut. He searched her face the way he had studied his hands. “I believed in you. That you were—” He paused.
“That I was what?”
“No, don’t do that anymore. I’ll find the words, the answers, without your prodding.”
“Yes, Dov.”
He heard her without understanding. But in the silence that followed, one word did get through to him. “You called me ‘Dov.’ But it’s not really my name. It’s the name you gave me, and I chose to accept it, because you were my Allesha. You were the emblem of all I had been taught to believe in. But you’re not. You’re only a woman. There’s no magic in you just because you have the title Allesha.”
“That’s true.”
“What? You admit it so easily, now that I confront you?”
“I have always acknowledged it.”
“Then why all the poses, the demands, this Season?”
“The Alleshi have no magic, just as Allemen do not.”
“Yeah. Allemen.” He slowly shook his head. “I wanted to be an Alleman.”
“You don’t now?”
“Why should I? I’d just be trying to be like him. What is he that I should want that? He can’t help anyone.”
“It hurts to stop believing, doesn’t it? When you can believe that someone has all the answers, life is quite pleasant. Safe. But now you’re angry at me and your father, because—”
“Keep my father out of this!”
“You mean you never did believe in him?”
“Never!”
“Then, please, explain it to me.”
“It’s like that story. The way the Traveler tried to spread that cancer of hope. It sounded like she might really win the peace. I wanted her to win it. But she failed. Because she had no answers. No one does. Pa goes off on his missions. He says he fights for the Peace. But what does he really know of peace? If he wins, it’s as much a mistake as if he loses. Because he has no magic, no power. Like you. You wouldn’t know what to do, would you? If you were sent out to a village like that one in the story, you’d just guess, and maybe you’d guess right. But that’s all. No one has the answers. It’s all a lie.”
“Dov, which do you think is the greater achievement? For a sorcerer to create peace using some secret magic formula that sets him apart? Or for an ordinary man to struggle to learn and grow, to reach w
ith all his being, that he might someday be wise enough to help two warring villages work toward peace?”
“You’re doing it again. You spout such fine words, but they mean nothing.”
“Dov, you’re correct. There is no magic. All I can promise you is a great deal of hard work.”
“I don’t understand. You’re acting like you still want me to be an Alleman. Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said?”
Tayar didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she looked at him; he had the feeling she was swallowing the words she really wanted to say. “Dov, we’ve been through a lot tonight. We’re both exhausted. I hope you will want to continue your work here, so you may become an Alleman. But it is up to you. It has always been up to you. Tomorrow or whenever you reach your decision, you must let me know how you wish us to proceed.”
Dov stood, but held his arms at his side, willing himself to not reach for her. “You’re leaving.” He was too worn out to let his anger boil once more, but it continued to hover as a buzz in his head, a rough rawness in his throat.
“No, Dov, I’m going to sleep, because it’s nearly dawn and I’m tired, and because we can accomplish no more tonight. I suggest you clean those wounds on your hands. Use the sap from a leaf of the k’mri succulent that’s in my kitchen window. It will speed the healing. Good night, Dov.”
Chapter 50
Even after a series of deep relaxation exercises and a bath, Tayar/Rishana was still too distraught to sleep. She replayed each moment in and out of sequence, recoiling against the pain and violence, the unfettered wildness of the boy. Was it truly just the next stage in his development as a problem boy?
Or was it in his nature as a Mwertik?
One image kept intruding on her thoughts, unbidden and unwelcomed. Jared, alone and cold in the Red Mountains, set upon by Mwertik with knives and spears — raging, rampant Mwertik, not unlike her Winter Boy.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t been warned to expect his explosive response to all the changes they were forcing on him. Why else would the stage be called Conflagration? Until the boy had plumbed the full extent of his frustration and fear, faced his own anger and seen it for what it was, he would be blocked by it.
But it happened too soon and was so shockingly violent. Or was it? Did other Blessed Boys destroy pictures and tables when Conflagration ignited in their Seasons? She couldn’t imagine her son Eli or Jared getting blood on their Alleshi’s walls — and certainly not Tedrac. Mistral, maybe. But not like this.
Would Dov have hurled that heavy stone figurine at her head if she hadn’t stopped him? Had she pushed him too hard, releasing poison into their Season that damaged it irretrievably?
She had nothing to compare it to, nothing to assuage her horror — or her fear of his Mwertik blood.
So it returned, again and again — the picture her mind had built of Jared’s murder, twisted now into an ugly parody of her own Winter Boy seizing her, hurting her, almost bashing her with that stone sculpture.
Throwing on clothes without any attention to what they were or what pose they represented, the Allesha wandered out of her bedroom, relieved that he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The greeting room was a shambles, but picking up the pieces just made her doubt burn stronger.
Standing in the middle of the room with a shard of broken glass hanging limply in her hand, she heard a silent cry echo in her heart. Somebody, help me!
At that moment, she knew how much she needed Dara. Despite all the lies and treachery, Dara was the one person who had possibly been where she was right now, who understood problem boys and maybe even the Mwertik.
She lit the candle on her gatepost, knowing that Dara usually awakened before dawn, and hoping her mentor would be watching for her signal. Then the young Allesha went into her kitchen and heated some cranberry cider, to give herself something to do while she waited. She was seated at the kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a steaming mug when she heard the soft tapping at her mudroom window.
It wasn’t Dara.
“Kiv?” she didn’t hide her surprise or disappointment.
Framed by her black hooded cloak, the older woman’s face reflected the room’s light, softening the sharp angles of the long nose and pointed chin that had inspired Dara’s derogatory nickname for her —“Knife.”
“Good morning, Rishana. I saw your candle and wondered if I could help.”
“But Dara—” Caught off guard, Rishana struggled to find the right words or pose.
“Oh, she’s not home right now. I believe she’s at the library.”
“But how could you know? “
“Your candle.”
“No. I mean know that Dara isn’t—”
“I saw her. So, how may I help?”
Was Kiv watching Dara? Had she been watching Rishana — and Dov?
“Kiv.” Rishana felt the shape of the name roll around on her tongue. Was she truly a threat, as Dara would have her believe? Or did Kiv offer fresh views worth considering, even possible solutions? Whichever it was, Rishana needed to know the truth.
After surreptitiously glancing toward the greeting room to make certain that the door was closed and no evidence of last night’s violence could be seen, Rishana said, “Please come in.”
Rishana poured a mug of hot cider for Kiv, and they sat opposite each other at the table.
Kiv studied Rishana. A probing look of tender concern, reading the signs in the young woman’s face as they had been trained.
“I’ve been worried about you, Rishana. But I’d never interfere with Dara’s mentorship.”
“Kiv, what is it between you and Dara? Why are you always at loggerheads?”
Kiv wrapped her long, thin hands around the hot mug, closed her eyes and breathed in the pungent steam. “We disagree about essentials.” She said it without opening her eyes, though her knuckles whitened.
“Tell me, please,” Rishana asked.
With the steam still wafting about her face, Kiv stared at Rishana once more. “Surely that isn’t why you lit your signal candle.”
“Perhaps in some ways, it was.” Rishana paused, gathered her resolve and pushed ahead. “I want to know.”
Kiv put down the mug, withdrew her hands onto her lap and squared her shoulders. “Our Peace is collapsing, and the Alleshi do nothing but carry on as always, seducing boys and mouthing platitudes.”
Rishana struggled not to protest. Instead, she concentrated on remaining silent, so that she might fully hear and understand what Kiv had to say.
“The Mwertik,” Kiv continued, “have been testing us, raiding here and there, pushing deeper into our lands with each thrust. No doubt readying their forces for a flat-out attack. Yet we act as though they’re nothing more than an annoyance to be dealt with in the same manner as other outside villages we eventually bring within our Peace.”
Kiv sighed, letting Rishana see her deep-seated pain. “But the Mwertik are not like any other people we’ve encountered. They want nothing from us — not our prosperity, our goods or our land. Nothing other than our total destruction. That’s why they salt our fields, poison our wells, destroy our mines and workshops, burn our villages, leave no one alive. They’re vicious marauders who live to kill and destroy.”
Kiv’s words — the familiar litany of Mwertik atrocities —descended on Rishana, a dark echo of her deepest fears.
“Dara and Peren would have us use subtle, generational influences to bend the Mwertik to our ways. But we won’t survive long enough. We must act now!” Kiv’s right fist slammed onto the table surface. “Or surely we will be destroyed.” Kiv picked up her mug, leaned back in the chair and slowly sipped the cider, allowing it to fill her mouth before swallowing the heat into herself. “Now you know what I think. Does that give you the answers you seek?”
Rishana shook her head, unable to accept or reject Kiv’s vision of their world. “But war isn’t our way. The reason for our entire existence is to prevent war, not pursue it.”
“
We have the armament and the skills, but not the will to fight for our very existence. Instead, we take the most powerful boys and turn them into spies and negotiators. Look at your own First Boy. He’s unruly and undisciplined, but anyone with eyes can see the power in him. What a warrior he could become, to lead our forces against the Mwertik.”
“But we do give our Allemen defense training.”
“I’m not talking about defense.” Kiv nearly gagged on the word. “Are we to sit here in our Valley until our world shrinks into itself, one destroyed village at a time? Until they come here, to our own mountain passes, to our hall, storehouse and library? Are we domesticated dogs who sleep at the hearth and dream of a bone we buried long ago? If we love our Peace and our people, we must be willing to fight for them, or we’ll have nothing left to defend.”
“How? We don’t even know where to find them. No one has ever lived to tell us what they look like.”
“I’m not sure.” Kiv’s small, black eyes bored into Rishana. “Jared and Mistral must have brought back some intelligence.”
Rishana’s mind reeled. Of course Mistral would know better than anyone. But Jared? Why hadn’t she seen it before? Certainly, as close as Jared and Mistral had been as Triats— and Tedrac, too, their third. How wide did it spread? What other connections had she missed? If Jared, then what of Savah? Suddenly, her breath caught in her throat with a stranglehold she couldn’t break.
Kiv reached across the table, grasped Rishana’s hands in hers and shook them twice with a force that jarred the young Allesha’s shoulders. “Rishana!” Her voice grated with its calm, caustic insistence. “Get ahold of yourself, girl!”
Rishana yanked her hands away, as if they had been immersed in scalding water.
“What on earth has got you so riled, child?”
Rishana felt beads of cold sweat on her upper lip. “I’m so very tired, Kiv, and when you mentioned Jared and the Mwertik….” She shook her head, hoping that Kiv would read her turmoil as a widow’s grief and nothing else.
The Winter Boy Page 31
