Fifth Quarter

by Tanya Huff

  To his surprise she shifted uncomfortably. *Don’t you start.*

  *Start what?*

  *The whole time Bannon shared my body, he kept trying to push me into having sex with someone, anyone. You. Karlene. He didn’t care just as long as he got to experience it from the other side.*

  *It’s just a dance, Vree.*

  He could feel her tension as she chopped a hand at the leaping, stomping, sweating bodies that filled the deck. *If you think this won’t end in a sacrifice to the horizontal gods, you never spent much time expecting to die.* She snorted. *How stupid of me; of course you didn’t. If you expected to die, you just … jumped ship.* Wiping damp palms on her cotton trousers, she added, her voice flat, all sarcasm gone, *Not for Bannon. Not for you.*

  It didn’t take much to recognize where the tension originated. First Bannon. Then him. *It’s been a while, hasn’t it?*

  *Shut the slaughter up!*

  *Vree, I’m not your brother. I don’t want to be with you—in you—while you’re with someone else.* The thought of her wrapped in the arms of a man or woman, taking what he couldn’t give her, drove daggers into his heart and twisted. She might not know how she felt about him, but he knew exactly how he felt about her.

  *Don’t say it.*

  They could feel each other’s strong emotions.

  *Vree …*

  *No.*

  * * * *

  When the Gilded Fancy made her way into Pitesti Harbor—the only harbor in the Broken Islands deep enough for a merchant ship of her draw—followed closely by the Raven, the hysterical reaction on shore could be both seen and heard from the foredeck. Bells rang out, fishing boats ran themselves aground, and the broad pebble beach curving between the town and the sea began to empty.

  “Fools think they’re being invaded,” the armsmaster snorted, jerking his head at the masts where the flags of Shkoder hung limp and unreadable. “Think i’Oceania’s crew has both ships.”

  Vree glanced toward the Raven where the late captain’s body had been lashed to the bowsprit. The surviving pirates were secured belowdecks and the sailors now guiding her in past the breakwater were a skeleton crew off the Fancy.

  On shore, the beach began to fill again as archers took up their positions behind the curved shields of overturned dories and siege engines were uncovered at both ends of the crescent.

  “Pitesti was the last place to fall when Shkoder took the Broken Islands,” the armsmaster told her, leaning unconcernedly on the rail. “They’re proud of that. Obviously, they don’t intend to fall again.”

  Vree squinted at the town silhouetted against the setting sun. “I’d feint at the harbor, land troops on the other side of the island and take the place from behind.”

  The armsmaster nodded. “You and King Mikus.”

  *Should we be worried?* As far as Gyhard could tell, the catapults were being loaded with what looked to be bales of hemp soaked in pitch.

  Under the circumstances, it seemed a reasonable question, so Vree repeated it.

  “No, we’re just at the edge of their range.” As the armsmaster spoke, the anchors were dropped. “Captain’ll send a boat in. With any luck they won’t sink it.”

  From the expressions on the faces of the boat crew, they were aware of their danger; postures visibly relaxed when the keel scraped gravel and the mate stepped safely ashore. Her hands out from her sides, she moved a body length from the boat, and stopped. There seemed to be a lot of shouting going on although no one on either ship could make out the words. After a moment, she half-turned and waved an angry hand toward the harbor.

  As though the mate had commanded it, a sudden evening breeze unfurled the crowned ship of Shkoder flying from both the Fancy and the Raven and a last, long ray from the setting sun bathed both ships in a golden light.

  The cheering carried clearly over the water and the bells of Pitesti began to ring again.

  “Always said Kirston had a touch of bard. Couldn’t have done that with more style if she’d Sung the kigh.” The armsmaster pushed off the rail. “You’d best get ready. They’ll likely want you ashore.”

  “Why?”

  He chuckled, the sound almost fatherly. “You killed Edite i’Oceania. That makes you a hero in these parts, Assassin.”

  *I wish he’d stop calling you that.*

  Vree nodded slowly. She didn’t know why but the armsmaster’s reinforcement of her past made her uneasy as well.

  Bonfires were lit on the beach that night, but most of the sailors, exhausted by the effort of bringing two ships safely to harbor with what remained of a single ship’s crew, crawled into their hammocks and stayed there.

  The next morning, the town council and the captain of the Gilded Fancy hung Edite i’Oceania’s body in an iron cage on the harbor headland.

  “And she’ll soon have company enough,” growled an old woman. Dry fingers wrapped around Vree’s forearm and drew her away from the crowd clustered under the dead woman’s dangling feet. “I’m Ilka i’Gitka, the eldest on the council. You’re the Southern girl who cut that second smile ’neath her chin, aren’t you?” Before Gyhard could finish translating or Vree could answer, she went on, “Slip of a girl like you doing what the entire Shkoden Navy couldn’t; that’s going to make them feel like a bunch of unenclosed fools, isn’t it? Looks good on them. We’ll have the trial this afternoon, you’ll tell your story—that’s you, the Fancy’s armsmaster and anyone else who feels like they’ve got an anchor to drop—the pirate scum’ll tell their story, then we’ll likely hang the lot of them. Until then, you let folk make a fuss of you, you hear? Few enough heroes in the world as it is.”

  A muffled exclamation drew them both around. The man who’d made the noise was staring wide-eyed at Vree.

  “Looks like you’ve made an impression on young Tomas,” Ilka cackled.

  Did she say young Tomas? Vree frowned. The man was at least forty; possibly older, the broad faces of the Northerners made judging age confusing.

  *Look at the robe, Vree.*

  Tomas’ robe hung off his narrow shoulders in full folds of green and blue. Other than a white splash of seagull shit, Vree couldn’t see anything special about it.

  *He’s a bard!*

  *Oh.* Bards knew. In ways she couldn’t understand, they could sense both of the lives she carried. Even injured and in the dark, Karlene had known.

  *Make friends with him, Vree. He keeps these people connected with the world and his opinion carries a lot of weight.*

  She set her jaw. *Why should I care what he thinks?*

  Gyhard watched through her eyes as the pair of Imperial merchants came ashore and, keeping as far from the assassin as possible, joined the crowd. He hadn’t wanted to tell Vree his suspicions, but now he had no choice. Quickly, he outlined the damage he thought the merchants could do.

  Vree’s hands curled into fists. *The next time you see danger at my back,* she said, her mental voice an edged weapon, *tell me or this slaughtering … thing we have won’t last very long.*

  *I just thought …*

  *No. You didn’t think. I can’t protect myself against enemies I don’t slaughtering well know I have.* She turned to the councillor, who’d been talking about bards and heroes and how the former could create the latter while she and Gyhard had been holding their silent conversation. A quick bow cut off the flow of meaningless words. “If I may be …”

  *Excused,* Gyhard broke in. *Not dismissed. Let’s not remind people of the army right now.*

  “… excused, the bard and I have … something to talk on.”

  *Discuss.*

  *That’s what I said.* Her tone made it clear he was far from forgiven.

  As Vree approached, Tomas stopped nervously cracking his knuckles and tried, not very successfully, to smile.

  * * * *

  The Bardic Hall in Pitesti occupied the seaward corner of the top floor of the four-story Healers’ Hall. It was the tallest building in the town and Tomas’ balcony—a ten by twent
y cedar-covered section of the third-floor roof—had an unobstructed view out over the harbor. As he Sang, Vree watched the leaves of potted herbs flutter against the wind and wondered what Karlene would tell him.

  His voice quavering just a little, the bard Sang a gratitude and sent the air kigh on its way. Although the salt breeze was cool, he wiped a dribble of sweat from his brow before he turned to face his guest. Guests. “We won’t get an answer for a while,” he explained. “Would you like some, well, lunch?”

  *Well, would I?*

  She could feel Gyhard’s approval. *Lunch is good.*

  *Lunch is all. I don’t care how friendly we need him.*

  *Having touched Bannon’s mind, I can see how you might have gotten this impression, but not all men think about sex all the time.*

  “And if it’s all right, I’d like my partner to look at you,” Tomas continued, taking her silence for assent. “He hasn’t a full healer’s talent, but he’s a good diagnostic and I’d like to show him proof that the fifth kigh exists. That is, if you and, uh …”

  “Gyhard,” Vree prompted.

  *He has the worst memory of any bard I’ve ever met.*

  *I don’t think he wants to remember.*

  “Yes. Gyhard. If the two of you don’t, well, mind?”

  “No.” When his face fell, Vree frowned. “Yes?” When he only looked confused, she sighed. “The words in your language get … mixed.” Hands spread, she said very slowly, “You may bring your healer.”

  “Good.” The bard finally managed a smile. “I hope you like fish.”

  *What do you man, he doesn’t want to remember?*

  *Isn’t it obvious? This whole slaughtering fifth kigh thing, you being here in my body, has screwed up everything he thought he could be sure about in his entire life.* Vree perched on the edge of a huge fan-backed wicker chair and, out of habit, adjusted her daggers. *You’re good at that.*

  *Vree, are you about to begin your flows? You seem unreasonably angry.*

  *Jiir forbid I should be angry at you for destroying my life? For nearly killing my brother? For deciding what I do and do not need to know about potential danger?*

  *For loving you?*

  *Yes. No.* She sagged into the chair. *I wish you’d quit bringing that up. It doesn’t have anything to do with …*

  *You?*

  *Oh, shut up.*

  Gyhard tried to remember how close they were to the next dark of the moon. There were aspects of occupying a woman’s body that had never occurred to him during the previous six lives he’d lived. He thanked all the gods the Circle contained that he wasn’t facing those complications alone. If Vree had made it to his/Aralt’s chamber before her brother and he’d taken over her body … He shuddered.

  * * * *

  Brow furrowed, Tomas listened to the message the kigh brought out of the Empire and tried to keep from glancing over his shoulder to where Vree—“No, Vree and Gyhard,” he corrected himself silently—sat talking quietly with Adamec. His partner had been first skeptical and then, after laying on his hands, ecstatic. He’d had a thousand questions. Tomas only had one.

  “You can trust Vree completely,” Karlene told him through the kigh. “She’ll kill to survive, but I believe that’s it. Ignoring for the moment the implication I would’ve even considered sending a maniacal murderer to Shkoder—Imperial assassins don’t work that way. If anything, they’re too controlled. All she wants is to talk to our healers and see if there’s anything they can do to find Gyhard a separate life.” The kigh paused and their ethereal noncolor seemed to darken. “Gyhard, on the other hand, you can’t trust. He’s spent over a hundred years jumping from body to body—I don’t know how he does it; I wish I did—and this is the first time he’s been in a willing host. It’s also only the second time he hasn’t killed the host and the first time with Vree’s brother Bannon was, as I understand it, a fluke. He says he loves her, but I personally am not sure I believe him.”

  Tomas grinned a little at that as the emotional nuance the kigh gave to the words indicated that Karlene herself had an intimate interest in the tiny, Southern woman.

  “Even if he does love her, I doubt it would be enough to change his basically amoral nature. This is, after all, a man who has removed himself from the Circle. We can’t do anything about justice as long as he’s sharing Vree’s body but he seemed to believe Gabris and me when we explained that if yet another host died because of him, that would be it. I explained the whole thing to Captain Liene, and if I’d known Vree’d be stopping at Pitesti, I’d have let you know as well. Final chorus—as long as it’s Vree in control of her body, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “You wouldn’t worry about it,” Tomas muttered after Singing a gratitude and dismissing the kigh. How was he supposed to tell who was in control of the assassin’s body? With two kigh in a place where there should be only one, all nets came up empty. Why did he have to be the first bard to deal with this situation? “All right, third bard,” he amended, granting first and second place to Gabris and Karlene. Not for the first time, he felt completely inadequate. Although most bards who anchored the country at a Bardic Hall Sang all four quarters, he’d been given Pitesti because he Sang the two most common, air and water, very strongly and because King Theron and the Bardic Captain had agreed that a returning native might be more acceptable to the Broken Islanders than a perceived foreigner.

  As he turned, he heard Adamec say, “I wish you could stay! There’s so much we could learn from you! So much we could learn to do deliberately instead of instinctively.”

  “Trained instincts,” the young woman replied, “can be a powerful … tool.”

  Crossing toward them, Tomas wondered what she’d intended to say. What had been discarded in that pause? Weapon, perhaps? She doesn’t look dangerous, he mused. With that pointy little face she looks almost fragile. Then she stood and the way she moved suddenly made him think of several deadly predators. It took him a moment to find his voice. “If we’re going to be on time for the trial,” he managed at last. “We’ll have to leave now.”

  Vree nodded but remained where she was. “What did the air spirits, the kigh, tell you?”

  “Well …” He weighed the information and separated what he thought he should pass on. “Karlene says I should trust you.”

  “Are you going to?”

  Meeting her steady gaze, Tomas saw strength and vulnerability about equally mixed and found himself in sudden sympathy with this strange young foreigner. “Yes,” he said, a little surprised by his reaction. “I am.”

  *I wonder what Karlene told him about me,* Gyhard muttered.

  Vree snorted. *I think you already know.*

  * * * *

  “Bertic a’Karlis step forward.”

  Vree watched in horror as the armsmaster obeyed the bard’s command.

  “Bertic a’Karlis, you will speak only the truth.”

  *Are they going to do that to me?* She remembered the terrifying feeling of being held by an invisible fist the night they’d broken into Karlene’s chamber at the Healers’ Hall in the Capital. She’d broken the spell by having Bannon take over her body, but she didn’t have Bannon with her now.

  *Calm down, Vree. They just want to make sure they’re getting at the whole truth. People’s lives are at stake here. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt.*

  *I wasn’t worried about it hurting,* she snapped. *I don’t want anyone controlling my body ever again.*

  *He won’t be controlling your body. In a minor way he’ll be controlling your mind.*

  *That makes me feel so much better.*

  *They don’t need your testimony as such, but if you refuse, you’ll be playing right into whatever rumors those merchants started.*

  They’d definitely started something. Vree could feel the hostility rising from whispering clusters scattered through the crowd and wrapping around her like a dark fog. She’d seen mobs work before and couldn’t ignore the danger.

  * * * *
<
br />   “Vireyda Magaly, step forward.”

  It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be, but without Gyhard’s constant murmur of comfort, she doubted she’d have been able to stand it. When it finally ended, she was covered in a clammy film of cold sweat.

  As Gyhard predicted, her cooperation, combined with the apparent approval of Tomas and his partner, returned the hero status the Imperial merchants had nearly managed to destroy.

  * * * *

  The Raven’s carpenter and sail maker, impressed from captured ships and tortured to maintain their compliance, were set free. Unfortunately, the sail maker was no longer exactly sane. Three women in the early stages of pregnancy were taken aside—their sentences commuted until their babies were born. The rest, condemned out of their own mouths, stood bound on the beach before the council. Most of them looked numb, a few cursed softly, a couple wept. They all wore the marks of rotten eggs and fruit. The crowd had stopped throwing things only after the council had threatened to move to the privacy of the council chamber.

  From her central seat in the semicircle of driftwood chairs, it was clear that Ilka’s position as eldest not only allowed her to run the council but also everyone on it. “You’re lucky we’re not on the mainland,” she declared, looking as though she considered them lucky indeed. “On the mainland you’d have to go through all this again before the king at a Death Judgment. Fortunately for us, our distance from His Majesty ensures a certain autonomy in dealing with the sort of people who have, over a period of some years, slaughtered, individually and collectively, upward of two hundred men, women, and children. In short, in dealing with scum like you.” She stood, accepted a staff carved with an entwined pattern of kelp and crowned with a leaping dolphin, and slammed its metal-bound butt three times into the smooth stones of the beach, “By the power invested in this council by Theron, King of Shkoder, High Captain of the Broken Islands, lord of a whole bunch of places that don’t mean fish shit out here, I pronounce sentence—hang them.”