-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 53
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
Road through the Great Forest
The day wore on and the landscape didn’t change much.
Lelet couldn't remember the last time she'd been out of the city. There was nothing out here but trees anyway. She'd never been able to understand the way Billah went on and on about how wonderful the outdoor life was. This was proof, as far as she was concerned, that fresh air and green things were better in theory than in practice. She wondered if Billah had missed her at the party last night, and if he'd wondered where she was. Did he have it in him to look for her? Was anyone looking for her?
She ate another apple and wondered for a second if she should offer her peculiar abductor anything to eat. She decided not to. She might have to run for it after all and would need her strength. She thought about simply slipping off the back of the cart and hiding in the woods until someone heading back to the city came along, but they hadn't seen another soul all day. And besides, the man—whoever he was—was correct about brigands, even if no one had called the thieves and robbers one heard about by that name in a hundred years. The open road was a dangerous place, and without even a pair of decent shoes, she doubted she'd have much luck on her own. No, best to go and find out what Rane thought he was doing, then have a story to tell when she got home.
Once she decided to allow herself to be kidnapped, she tried talking to the strange man again. Wench, brigand—maybe he was an actor? Or a scholar who needed Rane's money?
"What’s your name?" she asked. He had hardly said a word since he'd given her the bag.
"Moth," he said.
She snickered. "Moth? That’s your name? Really? Were your parents angry with you?" He slumped even further down on the bench. "My name is Lelet." Nothing. Then she said, "Let me go home," not for the first time.
The dark figure at the front of the cart sighed. He's a perfect picture of depression, whoever he is, she thought.
"I've said I can’t do that."
"Of course you can. Just stop—right now and let me out. I’ll make my way home and you can tell your 'employer' I escaped. Or better yet, turn around and drive me home. You can drop me off at the back gate again and sneak away. It's a perfect plan. I can better whatever Rane is paying you. We can do this right now." This was such a perfect plan it had practically already happened. She was already planning her story. Althee had probably gone for a drink with her brother before he got exiled, and said something about her pirate idea. And when he got sent away, it was the perfect time for him to strike—he had a foolproof alibi. Her friends wouldn't believe her. She'd have to whip out the ugly brown dress for a climactic reveal.
"It’s not about money. And women shouldn't talk about money, anyway. It's demeaning," he replied. "One might say it’s even vulgar."
"Well. That's... interestingly... crazy. But honestly? It’s always about money," she said, thinking, If he's an actor, maybe these are lines from a play? Because otherwise Rane has hired a lunatic.
"Well, not this time," he said.
"Just let me go home. I can tell you’re not really like this. You’re not bad. This isn’t you." Just in case, she hid one of her satin shoes behind her back. It had a sharp heel and was the closest thing she had to weapon.
"What isn’t me?" he asked, although it sounded like he really didn't want to know.
"You don’t want to be doing this. Someone is making you. I can help you!" She had a sudden image of herself—beautifully backlit—being congratulated by someone—the Mayor? Her father?—for rehabilitating a poor, simple criminal.
The man sighed again and flicked the reins over the horses back. She noted that he’d listened to her and was holding them evenly, but the animal was clearly a good judge of character and slowed its pace, ignoring his commands.
"I’m not like this," he said. "The only thing I’ve ever stolen is sarave from my mother’s kitchen." Sarave? she thought, What in the world was that? "And I sincerely doubt you or anyone can help me." He shook his head and sat straighter and taller. "Mind your mouth and behave, wench. Your voice is an assault." She gasped. It was like he was two people—one was a lunatic but at least polite, and the other was arrogant and rude in addition to the lunacy. Rane needed to check references more carefully the next time he hired a felon.
"How do you even know you have the right victim?" she asked.
"I was told that the slattern had white hair and white skin, like a dead animal," he told her.
"A what? Who said that?" Her voice rose to a near shriek.
"I believe you were also described as looking like a cave creature. A lizard, I think it was, who never sees the sun." She gasped again and he turned, saying, "Forgive me. That was unkind. And untrue. I shouldn’t have—" and caught one of her satin pumps in the ear. It knocked his hat off. He rose to his feet.
"You get one blow and this is how you waste it?" he roared. "On vanity?"
"Vanity?" she replied. "You call me a cave lizard and I’m supposed to..." Her mouth snapped shut. She stared up at him.
He looked at her anxiously. "I’m sorry I scared you. I was about to say you don’t look like a cave lizard. I’m sorry I yelled, but you shouldn’t have thrown your shoe at me." He rubbed his ear where she’d clipped him. "I did scare you, didn’t I? Some?"
Lelet, for her part, had played enough lawnball that her aim was more than fair, and had simply aimed for his head. Knocking off his hat was a bonus, because now she could see his face.
He's young, maybe only a bit older than I am. And he's handsome enough to be an actor, she thought, but how strange....
His eyes were bright red. Red eyes... they got red eyes....
She finally said, "You’re from the other side of The Door."
"What are you saying? No I’m not. That’s madness." She thought he looked a little sick. "Rushta," he muttered.
"Your eyes. You’re a demon. I’m right." She stood on her knees in the back of the cart, swaying slightly, her hand stretched out as if it still held the shoe.
"You're wrong," he told her. "I was kicked in the head. By a horse. And it’s rude of you to stare at me."
She gaped at him and then laughed. "I'm certain you were kicked in the head, but that has nothing to do with the fact that you're a demon. My sister is practically an expert and she told me you can hide your... what's it called? Oh, True Face! Some burny thing! But not your eyes." She paused and shook her head. "Rane got a demon to kidnap me, that’s pretty impressive. I can't wait to find out how he did it." She rearranged herself in the cart, tucking her long brown skirt around her knees.
"There’s no such thing as demons. They are mythological." He picked the hat up and made to put it back on, then sighed and tossed it into the cart near where she sat. She grabbed it and shoved it in the bag.
"Show me," she said.
"Show you what?" She thought he knew.
The horse, sensing a moment, had come to a halt. The forest was silent. Even the birds were watching.
He sighed, "You didn’t know until just now, when you saw my eyes?" She nodded. "Good. I didn’t know if I was doing it right."
"Doing...?"
"Being a human person, as you said. I’ve been here a while, and no one seems to have noticed me at all. I haven’t really had anyone to talk to. Until now. You."
She wondered which one he really was: the polite one or the jackass. He seemed to be leaning towards the former. She hoped so. She drew a long breath. "This is just amazing. You really are from the other side? How did you get here? How long have you been here? Are you by yourself? Do you miss it? What is it like?"
He gazed at her for a moment and she wondered how anyone could have looked in those eyes and thought to recognize a fellow human. And look at him and not notice him? Impossible.
/> "Show me," she repeated softly. He looked at the ground, his golden skin reddening to his ears. So he can blush, she thought. It suddenly felt much warmer.
He finally said, "No. No. You'll just have to take my word for it."
"Why don't you want to show me? Is it frightening? Is it dreadful? Are you ugly?" This was all just so interesting!
He looked shocked. "Ugly? Am I... Do you have eyes?" He straightened up. "Yes, ugly and terrifying. One might say a beast, in fact. I hope you never have to see it, because if you see my True Face, it means someone is going to die."
She bit her lip, then burst out laughing. "That is the single most dramatic thing anyone has ever said to me." She bounced a little in the cart, wide-eyed. "What happens next?" She wondered if Rane had told him what to say, or if he was a writer along with a player. In any case, he was very good. Playing the part of a demon—he was very convincing! She couldn't wait to tell this story to her friends, even if she had to miss the party to do it. For his part, he seemed at a loss for words—not that he had that many to begin with. He glared down at her, but she felt sure there was also something like shame in his expression.
He turned back to the horse. "No more questions."
The cart rolled forward.
Chapter 52
The Duke looked Gwenyth up and down. She could feel the heat of his gaze. She shivered in her thin bodice, despite the warmth of the great room. What could he want with her?
"Can you cook?"
-The Claiming of the Duke, pg 60
Malloy Dos Capeheart, Little Gorda Press (out of print)
Mistra
100 years after the War of the Door, Mistran calendar
20 years later, Eriisai calendar
Road through the Great Forest
Moth—now hatless—squinted through the trees. "It’s getting dark. We’ll stop here." He climbed down from the front of the cart, warily approaching the horse.
She folded her arms and glared at the back of his head. She was hungry, and while having an adventure seemed like an exciting idea, being carted through an empty forest in a dirty cart—there was a distinct smell of garbage—was both boring and a little scary. The only way to get her captor, whatever he was, to talk to her was to provoke him. He was certainly good looking enough to be interesting, but he sat there like a stone, he didn't pay her any attention at all. And this whole being a demon thing, the thing with his eyes, well, there had to be some trick to it she wasn't seeing. Rane was going to have to come up with the explanation of a lifetime. She'd deal with Rane in due course, but right now she was in a mood—a Low Snit. And this person—Moth of all things, honestly, what sort of a name was that?—wanted to stop.
"What’s the difference?" she said. "You’re just going to slit my throat and eat my flesh."
"You might as well be rested when I do."
"Was that a joke? Are we joking about murdering me now?" Low Snit was quickly escalating.
"I am not going to murder you," he replied. "I am also not going to eat your flesh, skin you, cut off your hair, cut off your feet... what else was it you said before? Oh, I’m not going to make a necklace of your eyeballs. You are very imaginative, though. You should write a book."
Did he actually think this was funny? He was doing something with the horse, which turned into a slow motion ballet of him trying to tie the leads to a tree and the horse pulling just ever so slightly far enough away to prevent it. She stalked up behind him and grabbed the leads away and secured the animal, which calmed down when he moved away from it.
"I am so glad you can see the humor in dragging me off in the night and throwing me in a filthy wagon. Or did you not do that, either?" she snapped.
He looked up from fiddling with a collection of rocks. He was making a pile, like a small pyramid, with bigger stones at the bottom. "I am to deliver you. That’s all."
She knew he wouldn’t say where or to whom, having asked more than twice. "What are you doing? With those rocks?" she asked, more out of frustration with his behavior than actual curiosity. After all, how many different things could you do with rocks?
"It will be cold tonight. I’m going to light them," he told her. Unsatisfied with their formation, he carefully rearranged several near the top. As he did, the form collapsed. He again said something that sounded like rush toe or rich tea, and started over.
She barked a laugh. "Light them? Do you think they're made of wood?"
"There isn’t much wood where I come from." This time the pile seemed to be the right size and shape, and he sat back on his heels and brushed the dirt off his hands.
"On the other side of The Door," she said, hoping to catch him in a lie. But he was sticking with the demon thing and said, "Well, obviously we don’t call it that."
She put her fists on her hips. "What do you call it?"
He looked back at the rocks, did something with his hands, and they began to glow. "It’s called Eriis. We call it home."
***
They sat across from each other with their scant dinner of water, cheese and bread. The pile of rocks was warm and nearly bright as a small campfire. She could almost forget her situation—cut off feet and eyeball necklaces and so on—she was so entranced by the sight.
"Is it magic? How does it work? Can I do it?" She leaned forward, seeing how close she could get her fingers to the stones without singeing them.
"It’s called magic here, but I can’t make a fire with wood so I guess it works both ways." He went back to building tiny sandwiches out of bits of bread and cheese. She watched his profile, he sat half in and half out of the wavering light, which occasionally tricked her eye into thinking he had entirely vanished.
She toyed with a stick, tossing it onto the pile of stones. It instantly turned to ash. "Why is there no wood?" she asked. "Where you're from. You said there wasn't any."
He turned to face her and looked puzzled. "Certainly you know what happened during the War?" She returned his confused stare. "It was only about 20 years ago. I know most of you human persons don't know much about us, but you knew about The Door, you recognized me—don't you know about—"
"I'm sure if there was a war I would have heard of it. Was it a real war? With soldiers and fighting?" What was he talking about? Why make up something so obviously untrue? Probably he was just a red-eyed lunatic hired by her brother after all, despite the magic trick with the rocks. That was a frankly disappointing thought. Kidnapped by a genuine demon was a much better story than kidnapped by an (admittedly) good looking crazy person. She sighed. Not a pirate.
He took a long time to answer. "I don't know why you don't know this. The War was very—"
Suddenly she remembered a story, a legend from the past. She could picture herself part of a semi-circle of children sitting on the floor in a classroom. But it hadn't been a history class. "You don't mean the locking of the Demon Door thing, do you?" she asked. "But that was supposed to have been at least a hundred years ago. And it’s just a story, no one even knows if it’s really true."
He stared at the stones. She could see the light reflected in his strange eyes. They were nearly the same color. Finally he said, "It happened, all right. A hundred years on this side? And now a story for children?"
"Then tell me the story." She folded her legs under her and settled down to listen. Convince me.
He considered it, then nodded. "I'll tell you the way it was told to me. I think parts of it are even true. It began many lifetimes ago, long before the War—"
"The locking of The Door? Before that?"
He nodded. "Yes, because there was no Door," he said. "A long time ago, there was just a place of passage, and anyone could go through. Your world was described to me in sight and color and smell as I see it now. Of course, one reads about these things, but seeing them... The people here, the human persons, they are unexpected, but this place looks as I think it must have always looked."
"Not on your side, I gather," she said. It had never occurred to her that
a place could change.
"My home—Eriis—was not always what it is today. But I'm jumping ahead. In those long past times, our people traded knowledge and your people traded goods, back and forth. But it was never a friendly border.
"The humans never trusted their demon neighbors, those elegant and slightly contemptuous distant cousins, not even when you could walk out of Eriis and back home to Mistra in the space of a drawn breath. The demons coveted the ease and bounty of the human's home, and the humans were disinclined to share with the lithe, slender men and women who all looked stamped from the same mold. They could snap their fingers and create a flame! They could stretch their arms and wings would sprout. And worst of all, they could show what they called their True Faces, and become a living weapon. An Order was formed, originally to keep order at the boundary. Would it not be wise, they asked each other, would it not be prudent to put up some sort of barrier? These creatures are decadent savages. They are unlike us. We do not know their minds. Perhaps we ought to build a door.
"And they did. And for many years, it was possible—though only by permission of the Order—to lift the Veil of darkness and confusion that surrounded The Door, open it, and travel to the other side. At this time, Eriis was a great stone city surrounded by fields and ringed by mountains. Three times a year storms would sweep in and water the gardens. The King, though old, was well advised, his son was clever and quick, his daughter was fair, and the people were at peace, enjoying the slow trickle of luxuries from the other side. The few humans that visited were treated as guests. Requests to visit Mistra from Eriis were generally politely declined. Emissaries, ambassadors, and spies traveled back and forth in those days.
"Then," continued Moth, "there was a war. I don't know why the Order attacked us, but when it was over, the gardens and the fields were all gone. So were most of the people and half the buildings. And The Door was sealed. That's when I was born, right after that, and I was... not a joy to my family." She wondered how that could be, and why, and what he had done, but it could wait. "But there were so few of us, all were cared for. It’s better now, there are many more of us, and we've learned to do things like keep ourselves cool, because it's gotten very hot there. It doesn’t rain anymore, it’s really nothing but sand."
The Sand Prince Page 28
