by JANRAE FRANK
Most of the fingers were stiff and unresponsive. The thumbs had survived the impact nearly intact, letting her grip a bit. The forefinger on the right hand worked in an awkward fashion. She could feed herself as long as someone cut her meat for her. She could handle a horse's reins by wrapping it around her palm; a weapon was out of the question. Yet, in some ways the worst of it was the way that people, those who were not of her household, looked at them or tried not to: the sight of her hands made them uncomfortable.
Aejys found Dree a surprising comfort, always purring and nestling against her: the little cat never winced away when Aejys touched her the way people frequently did. Even the bouts of despair and depression were not as bad once the calico curled up against her. Some indefinable quality in the cat's purring tended to pull her out of it as if the small creature laid a comforting touch in her mind and heart, turning her from fits of silent weeping to smiling and renewed hope. She appreciated Dynarien's gift and wished she could have thanked him in person, but she had as yet only met him in what might have been a fever dream from the venom or might not: her memory was not clear enough to say.
She could not figure out why a god, even a minor one like Dynarien, would send her a cat. Aejys owed Dynarien; he had kept her alive with that tiny drop of elixir in the 'might-have-been-dream', and then sent Talons with the antidote and the cat. The cat had to have some significance. She desperately needed advice and information; especially about whether her soul had been damaged and become unclean as well as where or even if healing could be found for her crippling and, if not, how to stop Margren and Mephistis in spite of it.
That morning was particularly bright and sunny, a good day to look for hope from another source. It's time, she decided. "Josiah, help me get into my cloak and riding boots."
"Where are we going?"
"The Willowhorn Shrine."
"About your soul? Whether it's unclean?"
"Among other things."
Josiah got her dressed and they went down. They passed Becca on the stairs.
Josiah now carried a longsword of his own, not the consecrated weapon with which he had slain Cedarbird. Aejys liked to watch him working out in the mornings, amazed by the change in him since his two incarnations had finally become fused. Josiah Stormbird was still the man she had fallen in love with, only more so. If Tamlestari approved, then they would hold a formal triading.
He chose a table, and gestured her to sit. While Aejys still ruled in matters of ownership, politics, and policy, the others ruled in matters of physically accomplishing those things, hovering over her like a flock of wild hens. Josiah was both the best and the worst of the 'hens'. He packed their kit for the ride, and then arranged for servants to get them down and put enough food for four days, two days more than they needed in case they had to take it easy, into saddlebags and fetch the bedrolls.
They had sent word to Tagalong and Tamlestari by way of some wind-folk who ran a discreet and expensive messenger service, hoping to catch them before they set out. The two were strong-willed enough to have set out with the first thaw despite the fact that the children were due in late spring. Aejys had also let her small privy council (Becca, Taun, Skree and Josiah) know about the children, that they were hers. She informed Skree that she intended for he and Taun to be their godfathers.
* * * *
"I want to see you in skirts," Bryndel told her peevishly.
"Why?" Talons demanded. "So you can get between my legs faster?"
"Oh, there is that." Bryndel leered. "But I will be getting there eventually. The engagement will be announced tomorrow."
Talons stiffened as he moved closer, practically pressing her against the soft padded arm of the couch. His arm slid around her and he pressed his lips to her neck. Talons shoved him away. "Don't touch me."
"Oh for gods' sakes, Talons! Loosen up."
"No. You and your father have been informed about my condition. I'm bi-kyndi. Until we hear back from Ishla's temple, you are not to touch me."
"I'm sick of hearing about this bi-kyndi, bullshit. It's just an excuse to keep your legs crossed. I know for a fact you were not keeping them crossed with him."
"So now we're back to Dynarien."
"Well, I guess we are. You know, you could do far worse than me. After all I do love you."
Neither of them noticed the faces watching them closely from outside their third story window. Jysy and Arruth stared in, suspended by crude rope harnesses they had secured to a chimney.
"I don't like him," Jysy signed.
"Me neither." Arruth signed back. "I'm glad we're not nobles."
"Yeah."
"I want to fix him."
"Let's do it."
Then they climbed back up.
* * * *
Josiah insisted on taking an easy pace, yet by midday Aejys was already worn. She hated letting him help her down. He had gotten her a well-trained "ladies" mount the previous month, anticipating this. She resented that, but said nothing, not wanting to hurt his feelings. There was still much of Josh's hypersensitivity in him. The horse knelt on command, making it easier for her to dismount. She hooked her wrists on the pommel and cantle and slid from the saddle with Josiah steadying her. She hated that too. It stirred the feelings of helplessness that had haunted her since she awakened in Vorgensburg with her hands splinted. Josiah laid a blanket over the new grass springing up along the roadside, then set out a lunch of sweetbread flavored with dried fruit while he sliced chunks from a small round of sharp cheese passing them to Aejys. Her hands shook as she forced her twisted fingers to grasp and then lift each morsel to her lips. They ate in silence, Josiah watching her intently. When she finished, Josiah filled and lit her pipe, handing it to her and holding on until he could tell she had it firmly.
"I know it's hard. But you are managing better than you realize."
Aejys did not answer. He leaned close, took her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead. "Aejys, beloved. Listen. Please. You are managing. It will get better."
"My hands ... this didn't have to happen."
"Aejys. I'm sorry. I was drunk. I should have stopped them."
"It wasn't your fault."
Josiah frowned. "Who are we talking about?"
"My ma'aram. Myself. I tried so hard to do the right thing. To be noble. Honorable. Everything she expected of me. I gave everything I had. It never seemed to be enough."
"We don't have to talk about this," Josiah said, putting his arms around her. "If it hurts."
Aejys shook her head, and then lifted it, fighting back tears mixed of anger and grief. "Let me get it out."
"I'm listening."
"I loved Margren. She was a sweet child. She changed. I used to wonder if it was something I had done – or not done – that caused it. No matter how good I tried to be..." her voice caught and for a moment she struggled with it. "When Kaethreyn forced that vow on me, she practically called me a liar. I felt like she was. I felt ashamed. I made her cry. I couldn't bear that. So I swore to her on my honor and before my god that I would never do anything to harm Margren."
"She knew that at the end. After all she killed Margren. She released you from that vow."
Aejys nodded, sucking a deep breath, and letting it out slow. "You should have seen Margren's face ... it haunts my dreams ... when she shoved that blade in. kept shoving it in... She looked ecstatic. As if she had never been so happy before in her life." Aejys let Josiah pull her tightly into his arms, sobbing, then stopping, fighting for control. "Since the day I made that vow, I stopped feeling loved. I love. I have loved. But, deep down inside, I just can't seem to feel loved."
"I'm sorry."
"No. I'm sorry. It isn't anything you did. I guess I just felt so abandoned. I grew up feeling loved. Tried to live up to her every expectation. And I thought that I had. I thought that she loved me. And then suddenly out of nowhere she tied my hands and hung me out to die. Not literally. You understand what I mean. Then when I was trapped in Bucha
rsa and I prayed to my god to help me ... when there was no answer. I felt abandoned all over again. I stopped feeling loved. Now – except for brief moments – I don't think I'm capable of feeling it."
Josiah hugged her again. "Come on, let's pack up. I'd like to make the shrine before dark."
* * * *
They started their journey beneath the canopy of spruce and fir which dominated the rainshadow east of Vorgensburg, then gradually lost their sway to white fir and willow as the land rolled down into the deeply recessed water hollows stretching like dark fingers toward the south. They reached the Willowhorn two hours before sunset, dismounting in a willow thicket surrounding a small stream. Aejys led Josiah through the trees to a small clearing beside a waterfall. The shrine seemed to rise out of the earth itself, a log building with a roof tiled in muted gray and green. The doorframe and edges of the roof were thickly adorned with seasonally discarded deer horns.
The door opened and the slender figure of the priest stood forth. She was a small dark woman with a face too narrow and long for her otherwise modest nose. Her large black eyes, warm and compassionate, seemed almost too large for her face. She extended her long fingered hands and clasped Aejys' arm. "I am sorry, but you cannot enter," Suthana Willowheart told Aejys.
Aejys hesitated, and then crumpled to the ground, her arms across her face. Josiah started toward her, but the priest waved him back. She knelt beside Aejys, taking the paladin in her arms and holding her while she shook, small sobs escaping.
"I learned to pray." Aejys' voice was low, shaking, catching repeatedly in her throat. "I made peace with her... She took me back."
"I know," the priest murmured. "I know how hard that was. How hard this must be–"
"You don't know. You can't..."
"She has not abandoned you. I can smell the undeath clinging to you. You cannot enter."
"She took me back."
The priest sighed. "This is not something you did. Or even that she did. She has not turned her back on you. This is the law as the Nine have written it. You cannot enter a temple, except to die. It would be a desecration. When a temple is desecrated, then the evil one can enter."
"Can you cleanse me?"
"No. That is beyond my powers." The priest took a long, white horn on a leather strap from around her neck. "She sends you this." She hung the horn around Aejys' neck.
"What is this?"
"A holy relic from the Age of Renewal. The Horn of Sephree. Your triton will know it. She also sends you this word "trust the cat."
"The cat?"
"The cat is your guide. She can take you to something that will set you free. The sa'necari fear this thing even more than they feared the lifemages. She also asks that you both..." The priest looked up at Josiah, gesturing him to join them. "You must both give me your sworn word that you will trust the cat completely and without reservation. Do you so swear now, before Aroana's shrine with Our God in your hearts? Say it."
"I swear it," Aejys answered.
"And you, Abelard?"
Josiah had a moment of startlement at her knowing him, then remembered Aejys telling him that Suthana was an oracle and channel. "Yes. I swear it."
"When the cat reveals herself to you, she will be in great danger. Margren and Mephistis will know she lives. They will try to destroy her."
"Who is she?" Aejys asked.
The priest smiled, a twist of sadness at the corners. "You must ask the cat."
"Dynarien sent her to Aejys as a gift. Is she catkin?" Josiah asked.
"You are a perceptive mage. She is catkin. Newly brought over."
"Can we dance around the edges here?"
"Around the edges? Yes."
"Is her tribe pledged to Dynarien?"
"Yes. As Dynanna has her Badree Nym, so her brother has his catkin."
"Then why has she not made herself known? She has been with us for months now."
"You will know that when you ask her."
"Okay. How firmly is she in her service to Dynarien?"
"You ask about her loyalties?"
"Yes."
"She wishes to become his paladin. So strong is her faith that she would gladly die in his service. She has left her young children in the care of another to come to you. She loves her children, but she knows her duty. Now this is at an end. You may camp here for the night. But you cannot enter the shrine itself."
Suthana rose, shaking out her robes, and re-entered the shrine.
Josiah got the bedrolls down and laid them out together.
"What do you know about catkin?" Aejys asked.
"Not much. They are one of the few races whose minds cannot be taken by the sa'necari. Torture cannot break them. Faced with it they will themselves to die. Their spirits resist becoming undead. They travel in little tribes or clans. Hate being alone."
"That is a lot."
"Hmnph!" Josiah snorted. "You would not say that if you were a mage. Shall I list what I don't know about them?"
"No. I want you to remind me you love me. I want you to keep reminding me until I know it in here as well as here." She touched her heart and then her head. "Make love to me. Chase the nightmares away."
"Get under the blankets with me." He crawled into the bedrolls and she followed. Josiah removed her clothing, then his own. "I love you," he said.
"Show me."
He started with her ruined hands, kissing and licking gently. He moved up her arms, then down her body, leaving nothing unkissed. He pressed his face into the black thatch between her legs, licking and sucking until she moaned and wrapped her legs around him. Josiah worked his way back up to her breasts, his cock teasing the lips of her womanhood. She reached down and guided him in, her thumbs and palms substituting for her useless fingers.
"You're getting good at this," he said, and then covered her lips with his before she could respond.
* * * *
Josiah packed up at first light.
"I understand pain," Josiah said, quietly, soft and hesitant. "Grief, terror... They have been my earliest companions. When my parents died ... when he burned the magic out." He held Aejys as he spoke. "There is no shame in feeling these things. You taught me that nearly four years ago, trading me nightmare for nightmare on the bluffs above the wyrmhole."
Aejys lifted her tear-streaked face to his and their lips brushed. Josiah shamed her in his very gentleness, he could have – most would have – become as violent and hostile and indurate as those who had hurt him, but he had not. She kissed him. Then again deeply.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE CAT
Yukiah Woodbourne, the armsmaster, paired Jysy off with her sister that morning for unarmed sparring. They were working on their throws when Arruth spotted Bryndel walking onto the field and gesturing at the armsmaster. They spoke quietly for a while, and then the armsmaster came toward the pair.
"Don't look now," Arruth whispered. "But he's here."
Jysy glanced surreptitiously. "What the hell?"
"You, Arruth," Yukiah called. "Lord Wrathscar wants a word with you."
"Me? Why me? I didn't do it!"
Jysy started to follow, but Yukiah caught her arm and held her back. "Not you. Just her."
"Like Hell!" Jysy darted forward, executed a startling roll, and went right between the armsmaster's legs as he tried to grab her. She came to her feet running, raced off the field and into the hall. Bryndel and Arruth were nowhere to be seen. She glanced about, hearing footsteps behind her. She whirled to find three of the older students coming toward her.
"Hold up, Jysy. You can't just run off the field like that."
"Get away from me." She ran again and they followed. Something wrapped around her legs, tangling them and she fell hard, twisting around to struggle with the leather cord of the bolas around her ankles.
"Look, kid," Jimi said, kneeling to retrieve his bolas. "We're not exactly knights in shining armor, but if you've got a problem with Bryndel, you ought to tell us about it." Jimi was a
scruffy, light brown-haired youth of fifteen, with a roguish smile that concealed an iron-will and a well-disciplined mind. He came from the eastern steppes where they hunted giant, flightless, predatory birds from horseback, armed only with javelins and bolas.
Jysy felt half-mad about him, but he never seemed to notice. She rather hoped, now that she had turned thirteen, that he would begin to look at her as something more than a scruffy street kid. She desperately wanted to trust him. "I think Bryndel's going to hurt my sister."
* * * *
Arruth was shaking by the time they got to Lord Wrathscar's chambers. After all, she thought, I'm the one put the noodles in his pants.
"This is the one?"
Dynanna help me, it's the noodles!
"So, child," Lord Wrathscar said, rising from his chair and coming around the desk to get a better look at her. His eyes raked down her, pausing at her modest but well-shaped breasts and then at her loins. "You say she's only eleven? She looks older."
"That's the way it is with Sharani, father. They mature young."
"We're not going to hurt you. We just want some answers. My son and I do not know a lot about your people."
"Okay," Arruth said in what she hoped was a chastened voice.
"What do you know about the bi-kyndi? Explain it."
"Why is it supposed to be so dangerous to males?" Bryndel asked.
Arruth wavered for an instant between the truth or turning it into a really tall tale, and then decided on the truth. "The kyndi is not meant to be experienced by males. They don't have enough pleasure centers to diffuse the energy so it burns them out. The bi-kyndi rouses equally with males or females."
"You mean they die of pleasure?" Lord Wrathscar asked.
"Ecstasy. In a male it's sheer ecstasy."
"So, father, think you, if a male were strong enough. Might he then survive this pleasure?"
"Don't go putting your rod in me." Arruth spit at him in a flare of defiance before she could stop herself. "I'm not bi-kyndi."
"But Talons is," Bryndel said. "And she says she's not trained."
"Touch her and die." Arruth spit at him again and this time her aim was better.
