Hidden Sun

by Jaine Fenn

  I’d be crying now, if I could.

  Kir had a broken-down and much-repaired hut to herself on the edge of the settlement. Even if she didn’t let her stay, even if she didn’t want to talk, Dej needed to be somewhere else for a while, until her stupid hut-mates got bored and went to sleep.

  “Kir?”

  “No, Dej.” Kir’s voice was quiet but firm.

  “Are you… have you got company?” She couldn’t sense anyone else in there.

  “Dej. I can’t… please go away. I just can’t see you right now. I’m sorry.”

  Dej turned away.

  She should have grabbed her cloak; the clear mountain night was bitter. She was starting to shiver, great spasms that rocked her to the roots of her teeth.

  She’d have to go back to those two vile bitches.

  Or she could take up Cal’s offer.

  Dej cleared her throat outside Cal’s hut.

  “Dej? Come in.”

  The seer had a hut to himself too, but about twice the size of Kir’s. He smiled up at her from a wooden stool beside the hearth. As he turned in the seat she saw his loincloth twitch. “Why don’t you make yourself at home?” He gestured at his pallet. There wasn’t anywhere else to sit.

  She hesitated, then crossed to the pallet, swaying like Min sometimes used to when boys watched her. Cal stood and caught her arm before she could sit, breathing hard. He turned her towards him.

  He reached for her breasts, his smile broadening. Dej resisted the urge to knock his hands aside.

  “Ah yes,” murmured the seer, and lowered his head to her chest.

  As Cal nuzzled and fondled, Dej tried to feel pleasure at his attention, but her breasts were still sore. He looked up, and almost met her eyes. “You know everything will be all right, don’t you?”

  Dej nodded.

  Cal caught her hand and guided it to his crotch. She’d got this far before. One occasion had been awkward and embarrassing, one downright comical. But she needed to do this right. She began to stroke him.

  “That’s…” he sighed, “…good but, I need to know. Am I your first, Dej?”

  Should she lie, pretend to be experienced? Was that what he wanted? She didn’t think so. “Yes, you are.”

  “Ah.” His cock jumped in her hand. “Lie down now.”

  Her knees locked. But what had she expected? She forced herself to move.

  She knew the mechanics of the act, and skykin’s privates weren’t much changed. She let him lay her down, remove her loincloth, then guide himself into her.

  When she whimpered at the pain he whispered, “Hush. Hush now.”

  He settled his weight on her and began to move. Dej looked past his shoulder, up into the smoky rafters, and willed it to be over. He began making a noise between a grunt and a sigh in time to his motion.

  All at once he gave a louder, higher grunt and thrust harder. She yelped. He laughed.

  After a last spasm he relaxed, becoming an even heavier weight on her. Just as Dej thought she would suffocate he levered himself off and rolled over with a sigh.

  Dej lay still for a moment. Despite the fire, the air was cold on her bare skin.

  She began to edge away.

  Cal grabbed her hand. “Where do you think you’re going? The fun’s only just begun, my girl.”

  She pulled free.

  He grabbed again. His nails raked her wrist but didn’t catch her. She stood and backed off. “That wasn’t fun.” She scooped up her loincloth, turned, and ran from his hut.

  Chapter 35

  The next day, Breen and Sorne went out while Lekem hung around the guesthouse, not quite on watch. All three men retired to their room after the evening meal. Rhia stayed in the commons until curiosity got the better of her, when she went and rattled the soldiers’ door. “Whatever you’re up to, I want to know.”

  Lekem held the door open for her. When she strode past him she was shocked to find a Zekti man sitting on Captain Sorne’s bed. Then she looked again. “Ah,” she said, “so the wig fits, Captain?”

  Sorne nodded. They had even fixed small wooden discs to his ears, imitating the local fashion.

  “I take it you’re going to the priory?”

  “Not exactly. We have a man in the priory. This evening he’ll go out to meet his cousin, who’s visiting from the country.”

  “Ah. And will that be permitted?” She recalled the priory’s forbidding walls.

  “It will.” Sorne glanced down. “Can I ask you to return to the commons now? Breen will come with you. If asked, please tell our hostess that Lekem and myself have decided to get an early night.”

  Rhia’s gaze went to the room’s small, high window. “All right.”

  The evening with Breen in the commons was surprisingly pleasant. They played set-squares, a game of the lower orders Rhia had learnt from the household servants as a child. He laughed good-naturedly when she beat him. But her mind kept wandering, trying to guess where Sorne was, what he was doing. How long would it take to meet his contact in the priory? He would have to be careful, and make sure he wasn’t followed. Was Lekem covering his back? What would he do if the man didn’t turn up? What would he do if someone else did?

  When the commons emptied she returned to her room and dug out her sightglass. The last two nights had been clear, and she had sneaked out to observe the sky from the courtyard. Tonight’s high clouds would impede some of the view, but the Matriarch should rise early enough to see.

  She spent a while examining a fuzzy area in the constellation of the Stepping Horse, which had just risen above the roof. It was similar to the first misty patch she had viewed on the brow of the Burdened Traveller, if smaller. She dubbed this phenomenon a “star cloud”, and added cataloguing all such patches to the growing list of projects to pick up on her return to Shen.

  After a while she raised her head from the linen-frame and checked along the roofline. There it was: a bright yellow star. She moved the sightglass and, with some jiggling and shuffling, the Matriarch sprang into focus. It was dimmer than the Maiden – and gibbous. Rhia had assumed its phase would mirror the Maiden’s but there was no reason it should: from the Maiden’s times of appearance – soon after sunset, or shortly before dawn – it had long ago been deduced that it orbited the world closer and lower in the sky than the Sun did, while the other two Strays, like the fixed stars, had high orbits, out beyond the Sun. Therefore, they could take any phase. This at least made sense; the three Strays’ strange retrograde movements in relation to the other stars could not be so easily explained, save by the assumption their orbits traced spirals, rather than following simple, circular paths round the world like the Moons and the Sun. Rhia had no idea why they might do this. But nor did anyone else. She looked again and saw a second star, very faint and surprisingly close by the Matriarch.

  “Looking for nightwings?”

  “Breen!” Rhia grabbed the sightglass. “You made me jump.”

  “Sorry.” The corporal’s face was shadowed.

  Rhia straightened. “Is there a problem?”

  “No problem. Just getting some air. Lekem snores, you know.”

  “Not checking up on me, then?”

  “Well, yes, that too.” She heard the smile in his voice.

  “So I’m not as stealthy as I think I am?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Rhia sighed. “I was thinking of retiring anyway.”

  “No need. I can go away again, if you like.”

  If she reached out now, she could touch him. What if she said, Why don’t you come back to my room? What was she thinking! She settled on, “You… don’t have to go.”

  “M’lady?” His whisper was breathy, barely audible.

  “I…” Did she want this? Did he?

  “Was there something you wanted to ask, m’lady?”

  Was there? Perhaps there was, now she thought about it…

  “Hhh-hhgm.”

  Once again, Rhia jumped. Looking round she saw a Ze
kti man standing in the courtyard entrance. But she recognized that throat-clearing disapproval. “Captain Sorne. You’re back.”

  “Yes. And you’re both outside. Shall we?” He gestured to the door.

  “I’ll check the coast’s clear,” said Breen, and slipped into the house.

  “How did it go?” she whispered.

  “Inside, please.”

  She followed Breen down corridors lit by horn-fronted lamps to the soldiers’ room. When Sorne came in and shut the door, Lekem sat up, blinking.

  “Well?” Rhia found her heart racing, from several causes.

  “I met our man. He confirms that Etyan Harlyn is in the First Light Priory. Your brother has joined the order as a lay member.”

  Which was surprising, given Etyan’s disdain for religion. “So he’s living in the priory? Or somewhere else in the city?” She hoped it was somewhere else. It might even be somewhere close, somewhere they could go tonight.

  “He’s living in the priory. But he has fallen ill.”

  “Ill? Ill how? Is he all right?”

  “My man has few details. He knows that several lay members developed a fever. Two died but the Shenese youth is on the mend. He is being kept secluded in the priory’s infirmary.”

  “Then we have to get him out.” Suddenly everything was simple again.

  Sorne nodded. “That’s why we’re here.”

  “Can he walk?” Or run?

  “My contact didn’t know that.”

  “So what is your plan?”

  “In essence, go in without being detected and remove him from the priory. If he’s unwell, we may have to assist him.”

  Rhia did not like the word “remove”. “When will you act?”

  “Twoday.”

  “But that’s five days away!” And it only gave them a day to catch the caravan.

  “It’s also the caliarch’s birthday. A public holiday which brings people out on the streets is the diversion we need.”

  Which was no doubt the plan all along. “Right.” She looked Sorne in the eye. “And I will, of course, be coming with you into the priory.”

  The captain opened his mouth but Rhia cut him off. “This is not negotiable.”

  This must be what prison was like. To be confined, and watched. Sorne rarely left the guesthouse for the next few days. He and Rhia entered a state of polite truce, acknowledging each other’s presence but avoiding meaningful conversation. And his paranoia was catching. She was sure Mam Jekrey paid her more attention than any other guest, always watching for odd behaviour to report to whichever official had taken an interest in the foreigners’ activities. Rhia found herself grinding her teeth, or pacing her tiny room, in a state of permanent stress.

  At the same time, she was bored. Clouds had closed in again, putting a stop to her night-time observations. She had written up all she could, re-read everything she had brought with her and gone over all her notes, twice.

  She began talking to their fellow guests. This allowed her to stay in the commons without feeling obliged to speak to Sorne, who appeared to have taken up residence there; more importantly, it gave her something to do, a chance to increase her knowledge of other shadowlands – to get some stimulation, at least. But most conversations never moved beyond the usual social froth. Those that did required an exchange of information, and that meant embroidering lies about her own supposed past in Shen. What few details people were interested in sharing also tended to be mundane and personal. Never mind how your cousin’s canker makes him behave in an unreasonable manner, tell me how they treat such ailments in your shadowland! She would give all the money in her satchel and several good nights’ sleep for one evening in the company of the skykin seer.

  Inevitably, she found herself going over the events leading to Etyan’s disappearance yet again, and mentally rehearsing her first words to him, along with possible sequences of events that might unfold from there. She couldn’t just come out with the accusation, couldn’t just say, “Did you kill a stranger?” Assuming the girl had been a stranger to him. No: he hadn’t done it; he couldn’t have done it. But he had been involved, somehow. She had to give him a chance to tell his side of the story. But first she had to find him.

  Etyan was so close, yet until the soldiers made their move, until these long, dull days had passed, he had no idea she was here, and she had no idea what he was thinking, doing. And he was ill. How seriously? Was his life in danger?

  One night over dinner Breen reported with mock affront that, “We only find out now that flour made from rice is no good for the kind of baking we know how to do.” He affected a sigh and added, in a fair imitation of their landlady, “Such a shame, it just won’t rise!” When Rhia smiled at his cheerful double entendre he winked at her.

  Sex had stopped mattering to her some years ago. Polain, who she had once loved enough to mutilate herself, was long dead. She had more important things to think about.

  But here, the rules were different. Breen was a pleasing-looking young man, and good company. How would it be if they enjoyed a dalliance? Like the time Alharet had introduced her to a handsome young man who would do whatever she wanted and not mention her ravaged face, and who she had not seen before or since.

  Though he was younger than her, she was sure Breen would be amenable.

  But it would be a diversion, nothing more. She would be using him – much as he had used Mella, albeit without financial exchange.

  And Breen was a soldier. If she gave into temptation, no doubt everyone in the militia back home would hear the details of the countess’s loose morals. Not to mention how Sorne would react.

  The guesthouse took on an air of gaiety at odds with Rhia’s dark mood. The main topic of conversation in the commons became the best place to watch the caliarch’s birthday regatta from.

  On restday, Mam Jekrey produced half a dozen stylized portraits of previous caliarchs which she hung on pegs around the commons. Each frame was draped with fresh green foliage. Lekem refused to look at the display.

  Rhia, for her part, urged the time to pass faster.

  Chapter 36

  I’m unravelling.

  The thought came to Dej as she walked back from the stream.

  Her hut-mates hadn’t said anything when she stumbled back in last night, though Lih had pointed to the mess left from dinner. Dej had tidied it up, wrapped herself in her cloak and lain down. What else could she do?

  It took a long time to get to sleep, because she was still shaking, whether from cold or shock or despair she didn’t know, but she didn’t fight it. It was the closest she could get to tears.

  In the morning, Lih left to deal with the last of the meat from the hunt. When she was gone Vay said, “Put him from your mind. He’s had everyone, has Cal. Probably the rhinobeasts too.”

  Dej stared, but the healer turned away to rummage in one of the tiny drawers in her wooden chest. She extracted, then held out, a twist of dried green-grey stalk. “You know what this is?”

  “Burnheart?”

  “That’s right. Chew it slowly.”

  Min had got out of her bonding by falling pregnant. Dej doubted doing the same would help her in any way now.

  The sensation of unravelling, coming undone, set in as she swallowed the last of the liquorice-flavoured herb on the way back to the hut. The hollowness Min had left was unpicking her from the inside out.

  She’d given away what Min called “the one-off gift the boys all want” because Cal might care, or maybe it might give her some status amongst the clanless, or even just to get some pleasure. She’d been wrong, stupid. She knew how boys – how men – were.

  She still thought of Min, whether she wanted to or not. Somewhere in her head the sense of what Min had been to her had tangled with the thought of what Kir could be. Kir wasn’t mean and twisted, she was kind, and she cared; compared to most clanless anyway. And Kir was a loner, and outcast even amongst these outcasts, just like Dej. So why not be friends, just like her instincts h
ad said when they first met? But every time Dej got close Kir pushed her away.

  Even her music, her first comfort, her secret pleasure, had been reduced to an echo. Reduced, then turned into another stick to beat her with.

  She had nothing left.

  With most of the hunt’s spoils processed, Dej was back to fight practice. The cold fury of her moves surprised, and didn’t please, her tutors.

  “If you lose yourself your enemy will see that and you’ll lose the fight!” chided Jeg.

  “What enemy? I didn’t think pichons were that smart.”

  “We don’t just hunt rockslithers and pichons,” said Tew.

  “Then what–”

  “Less talk, more practice,” barked Jeg.

  When, inevitably, Cal joined the gawkers watching her progress, Dej’s skin crawled. She kept her back to him, tried to blot him out.

  At the same time some small, idiotic part of her wanted him to be impressed, wanted him to see she was worth more than he thought, wasn’t just another naïve and desperate virgin fresh from the crèche, good only to be deflowered and cast aside. And he’d said they could have had fun together. Perhaps they could, even if it was just sex. Maybe if she’d stayed. Maybe if she went back to him now–

  No. No man would ever treat her like that again, as a thing to be conquered, used.

  That evening, having exchanged some of her anger for bruises, and filled some of the emptiness with physical activity, Dej realized there was still one unique and special thing left to her.

  She made her move the next day, before she could think better of it.

  Mar was a creature of habit. Every morning one of her attendants accompanied her to the latrines. Dej had no idea if it was the same one each time. The two men, Vas and Ryt, appeared identical, and showed an identical lack of wits. Mar called them my boys and according to Vay believed they were her actual sons, twins she’d given to a crèche in her youth. Whatever the truth, their hulking presence backed up Mar’s authority. She rarely went anywhere without at least one of them.