The Dead Falcon (The Eastern Slave Series Book 4)

by Victor Poole

  "You cannot strip me!" the old man said again, but this time his voice wavered with doubt. Ajalia looked at Ocher. He was meeting her eyes, and she felt now as though she could see Ocher inside and out. Ajalia wanted to ask Delmar why Ocher had been able to get through her, to reach inside of her the way he had just done. She did not, curiously to her, feel violated, or as though she had been used. She felt rather as though she had stumbled upon some secret system of communication. Ocher did not look strange to her, or guilty. He met her eyes steadily. Ajalia wondered if Delmar would be angry, when she told him of what she had felt in her body.

  "You cannot do this to me!" Tree quavered, staring around in despair at the stony eyes of the people, and at Ocher, who regarded the old man with scorn. "I saved you from the witches!" Tree cried. "I gave you all life!"

  "Pack up your things," Ocher said. "Rane will see that you are not stealing what belongs to the city and the people of Slavithe. Go with him," Ocher said to Rane. Ajalia stepped towards Rane. Tree flinched wildly when Ajalia passed him.

  "I'm not going with her!" Tree shrilled, pointing a now-trembling finger at Ajalia. "She is clearly a witch!" he shouted. "No one can hold the lights who is a female. You know this!" he shouted, turning frantically towards Ocher, his eyes testing him, his mouth a curled swirl of anger and terror. "That woman is a witch! A witch!" Tree repeated, turning towards the windows, and waving his hands. He looked like a man who seeks to conduct an orchestra by force of will, and as though he thought he would be able to rile up the whole crowd merely by putting words out into the air, and flapping his hands.

  "Ajalia is my little bird," Delmar said, his voice carrying through the receiving hall, and out into the street. Ajalia heard the people in the street repeat what Delmar had said to the others; their voices made a strange, echoing backdrop to what came next. "She is as our forefathers," Delmar said. He raised one hand high above his head, and Ajalia saw slow beads of gold gather together in his palm. It was not the way of magic she had used today; it was Delmar's old way of drawing out pieces of his own soul. She could see now, what he did, inside of his body. She watched the curving lights of green and gold roiling in Delmar, and she saw tiny drops of gold splitting away from the main body, and travelling, like dripping rain, up his arm and into his palm.

  Those who had the white brand, when they saw the golden drops appear in Delmar's hand, grew still and solemn. They had been serious before, but now Ajalia saw that they held Delmar in even greater respect. Their neighbors who could not see the magic asked them urgently, in low voices, what he did, and when they were told, their faces took on the same sepulchral tone. Ajalia felt now as though she were standing in the midst of some great festival, or as though she had stumbled into a private and solemn feast. The people in the street told the others what Delmar was doing, and a hush fell over the whole crowd outside. Soon the only sound was the horrified panting of the old man, who had frozen, staring in dismay at Delmar. Tree waited for Delmar to continue speaking; Ajalia thought she could perceive the old man's thoughts. She thought that Tree knew what Delmar was going to say, and was waiting, hoping beyond hope that what he feared would not come to pass. Tree looked up at Delmar in the way that a sailor looks up towards a mountain wave that trembles high above his head, about to tumble down over him, and dash him deep into the sea.

  When Ajalia saw that Delmar had gathered a hand full of the golden light, so that he looked as though he had dipped his palm into shining, molten gold, he spoke again.

  "As our forefathers were slaves," Delmar said, "and as they were sponsored by the great spirits in the sky, and lent power and freedom in order to gain the city of Slavithe, so I," Delmar said, turning his hand from side to side, so that all could see the glistening light in his hand, and hear his voice, "give my protection and the seal of my soul to Ajalia."

  "She is the sky angel," someone in the crowd said, loudly enough for others to hear, and many of the people in the windows shouted agreement. The Slavithe people in the receiving room glanced at the crowded faces in the windows; Ajalia thought they looked as though they would have liked to shout agreement as well, but felt as though they must be solemn and quiet in the room with Delmar, and Ocher, and Tree. Ocher was standing with his arms folded, his eyes narrowed a little. He watched Delmar, and his beard seemed to fold up over his creased mouth. Ajalia thought that Ocher looked displeased. She wondered what he had hoped to do instead of Delmar. Ajalia could guess now, or she had ears, and she could hear, that Delmar was absorbing her into Slavithe; she saw that she would be accepted as an honorary citizen now.

  When Delmar had finished speaking, and when the murmurs had died down a little, he held out his free hand to Ajalia, and gestured for her to come to him. Ajalia hesitated; she glanced at Rane, whose face was battered. He had a black eye, and two long scrapes over his forehead that had yet to be dressed. He was scuffed and dirty, as though he had been thrown against the floor several times. Rane nodded slightly to Ajalia, and she turned to Delmar. She felt as though Rane, as a double agent on his own terms, would be a useful barometer for her to judge by. She did not yet trust Rane with much of anything, but she knew he would read situations as she did, and she wanted to see if he had a look of horror on his face, before she went to Delmar and received whatever sponsorship he was about to bestow upon her.

  Ajalia went to Delmar, and Delmar turned her so that she faced the crowd of people.

  "I take you into my house," Delmar said, "after the manner of our forefathers, and I share with you the power of my soul." He laid his burning golden palm against her right temple, and Ajalia felt a hideous jolt of light and power. Her knees shifted, and she felt as though a second person's worth of light poured down into her body. Her ribs expanded out in an involuntary breath; she felt as though she were about to burst wide open. Ajalia's heart began to race. She flexed her fingers, and her skin felt tight around her fingers and palms. She thought she could hear her own blood rushing through her veins, and her shoulders ached. She closed her eyes for a moment, and she saw what had happened to her. She was being twisted through with Delmar's colors. She saw now that her own soul was a mix of red, and orange, and gold; when Delmar's green and golden light came into her body, her muscles seemed to fill up with life, just as the horses had seemed to grow larger and stronger, when she had twisted the lights from the earth around their legs and bellies.

  Ajalia opened her eyes, and she looked out at the crowd of people. She could see the people with the white brand now. She had not been able to see them before, but now she saw an extra layer over the world, and the people within it. She had never been able to look, and see who had the white brand. She had relied on Delmar to tell her when someone had it, or she had guessed. Now she looked out at the room full of Slavithe people, and she saw plainly where the shining white badge lay over the hearts of those who wore it. Ajalia glanced at Delmar; he was standing beside and behind her, his face turned imperiously towards the people. He looked as though he were waiting for someone to fight him, or to protest what he had done.

  "You can go now," Delmar said to her, turning his eyes down towards her for a moment, and nodding towards Tree, and Rane. "You're one of us," he added with a smile. Ajalia smiled back, though she was not sure yet if she was pleased, and went towards Rane. She passed Ocher, who nodded to her. Ocher's eyes were still clouded; he looked annoyed. Ajalia guessed that he had wanted to sponsor her himself. She guessed that there was some bond, or special relationship between a sponsor and the person sponsored. She remembered the way Ocher's energy had filled her up, when she had laid the blue light against Tree, and she thought that Tree had been sponsored. Why, she asked herself, hadn't the old Thief Lord had any power of his own? She stood near Rane, as Rane ushered the protesting old Tree out of the room, and she saw that Tree had no white brand, and hardly any lights of his own at all. She wanted to ask Rane about this, but the people were pressed in on either side of the hall, and she felt embarrassed to ask such questions in front
of all the solemn eyes. She felt as though she had undergone some serious rite of passage; the people stared at her differently now, than they had done. They looked at her as though she had gained some special privilege, and now they watched her to see if she would abuse it, or honor it as they did.

  Tree complained volubly until they gained the outside of the house, and then he fell suddenly quiet as he walked between Ajalia and Rane.

  "Are you all right?" Ajalia asked Rane. Rane grimaced at her, but he smiled.

  "It wasn't too bad," he said, but Ajalia saw that he was not telling the truth.

  "If I'd known," she said, "I wouldn't have left you there."

  "That's all right," Rane said. He grinned at her. "You're one of them now," he said. Ajalia thought that he sounded wistful.

  "You'll never belong here, either of you," Tree said angrily. The old man had become frail; he was not very impressive, Ajalia thought, now that Ocher's soul had been pulled out of him.

  "Why is he so pathetic?" she asked Rane in a low voice.

  "I heard that!" Tree half-shouted. His eyes were weaker now, and they were quickly beginning to turn dull. Ajalia thought that he was going to get partially blind in a moment. His face seemed to be aging as they walked. Rane was leading the way towards the poor district of Slavithe. Ajalia half hoped that Tree would turn out to live in a basement somewhere, surrounded by old rags, as the witch in her tenement had done. She felt bitterly towards Tree, and she wasn't sure why, aside from his clear dislike of her, and his general awfulness.

  "Did you ever have any soul?" Ajalia demanded of the old man. Tree's face twisted up into a stubborn look. He looked as though he had put a cork into the neck of a bottle of words; Ajalia thought she could see angry words, and irritated looks, building up behind the tightness in the old man's face. Tree's neck was beginning to swell and turn purple.

  "As they said," Rane told Ajalia quietly, glancing at Tree, "his wife was a witch."

  "So?" Ajalia asked. "Delmar's mother was a witch, and he has soul."

  "Yes," Rane said, "but you can't help who you're born to."

  Ajalia looked at Tree, and she pressed her lips together.

  "I heard," she said to the old man, "that you were the one who drove the witches out."

  "He was," Rane said, after watching the old man to see if he would reply. Tree had turned his face obstinately away. The old man's shoulders were beginning to sloop down on the sides; his spine seemed, slowly, to be collapsing in on itself. "He used his wife," Rane said, "to trap many of the witches, and then he betrayed them, and cut off his own wife."

  "What does that mean?" Ajalia asked Tree. Tree glared at her, his chin quivering with annoyance. Ajalia saw that Tree dearly wanted to tear her down with words. She told herself that the old man was a bigot, and that he did not see herself or Rane as proper beings at all.

  "He told his wife that he believed in the old ways," Rane murmured to Ajalia, "and he underwent many of the ceremonies, to become her thrall. He says," Rane added, in a voice that dripped with doubt, "that he did so to save Slavithe from the plagues of witches."

  "And you doubt this story," Ajalia said. Rane nodded.

  "He's always been pretty awful," Rane said.

  "You don't know that," Tree burst out with bitterly. "You don't know what I was like. You weren't even born," he added, as though that was the peak of any possible argument.

  "You were married to a witch," Ajalia said suddenly to Rane. "Beryl was a witch. I killed her," she added quickly. "Did anyone tell you?"

  "Yes," Rane said with another smile. "That's why I'm out of confinement. Thanks," he added, as an afterthought. Ajalia shrugged.

  "You're welcome," she said, although she had not thought of pleasing Rane when she had killed Beryl. "So why do you have a soul?" she asked.

  "I never gave myself to Beryl," Rane said, glancing with distaste at Tree.

  "Didn't have sex with the woman, he means," Tree said loudly. The streets were beginning to flow with people again; the passerby all looked curiously at Tree, and at Rane's marked-up face.

  "Why don't people get excited about things here?" Ajalia asked Rane. She was thinking of the other cities she had visited in Leopath, and of her own East, where such events as had transpired in the last few days would have led at least to much running and shouting in the streets, if not to outright civil war. "What makes them all so calm?" she asked, watching the faces of the people, many of whom were walking towards the Thief Lord's house.

  "They are used to walking in the darkness of ignorance," Rane said. "Many of them know that they will never know what really happens, and many of them do not want to know. They like things the way they are, and they keep their thoughts about the successions to themselves. Fewer people die that way," Rane added.

  "Has it always been this way?" Ajalia asked. They were drawing near the scattered tenements, which were the only places Ajalia had seen in the city where the streets were dirty in the corners, and the white stone grew over a little with green scraps of stubborn plant life.

  "It was awful, when I was a young man," Tree put in. He was growing interested, in spite of himself. Ajalia was sure that Tree wanted to share the advantage of his age, and lord his intimate knowledge of Slavithe over them both. She could see the old man struggling between the dignity of silence, and the temptation to monologue at Rane and herself. She watched Tree's face change colors; the few words he had let slip out seemed to act on him as a primer. It was clear that Tree wanted to say more. Ajalia turned a calm and steady eye on him. He glared at her as they walked towards a fairly filthy building.

  The house where Tree lived was two stories high; Ajalia found, when they went up the stairs, that Tree occupied two rooms on the second floor. The stairs here were not crowded with discarded things, as her own tenement stairs had been, but the same air of dank and quiet hung over the place. They came up to Tree's rooms, and Tree let himself in.

  "You two infidels stay out here, in the hall," Tree said loudly. Ajalia thought that he was trying to alert the other residents in the building to what was happening. She looked at Tree, and she saw a scrap of a man, a being who was desperate for attention of any kind. She saw that he had been ignored for much of his older years, and that he hoped that this new development would at least lead to an exciting scene of some sort.

  "Are you hoping that we'll stay out here?" Ajalia asked, and followed the old man into the rooms.

  "No," Tree said sourly. "I knew you would follow me." The old man picked up a block of wood that lay on a table, and flung it down on the floor. The block of wood emitted a loud thump, and after a moment, Ajalia heard a series of aggravated taps against the first floor ceiling.

  A VERY SMALL SIEGE

  "Do you keep this here just to annoy the neighbors?" Ajalia asked, amused. She picked up the block of wood. Rane had come in, and closed the door behind him; he was standing with his back against the door. His arms were folded, and his eyes were fixed on Ajalia. Ajalia had the sudden impression that Rane was watching her, and thinking of how it would be to kiss her. She looked at Rane, and Rane met her eyes without embarrassment. Well, Ajalia told herself, and she examined the block of wood.

  The old man had passed into the farther room; Ajalia could hear him clattering and rustling among his things. The temptation to follow the old man was strong; she wondered idly if Tree would burst back into the room with a weapon in his hand, and attempt to destroy her. She had, in fact, followed Rane for a reason somewhat like this. She did not trust Rane yet, though she thought she could see his character, and she did not know if Rane was prepared to deal with a manipulative old cuss like Tree.

  The block of wood was plain and dark; Ajalia picked up a soiled tunic from a chair, and rubbed the surface of the block. An etching became partially visible beneath the soiled surface. A tickle at the bottom of Ajalia's heart told her that she had found something quite valuable and important. The block was made of heavy and dense wood; it spanned about a hand's bread
th from side to side, and was almost perfectly square. Ajalia glanced at Rane, who was now staring at the floor near her feet, seemingly lost in thought. Ajalia went into the far room, and watched the old man pack up his things.

  "Why are you leaving without a fight?" she asked him. The old man glanced at her irritably, his lips pressed together in a pile of wet annoyance.

  "Oh, go away and flirt somewhere else," the old man snapped. Ajalia smiled. She held out the block of wood.

  "What is this?" she asked. Tree glanced at her, and rolled his eyes.

  "Just right," he complained. "You walk in, and the first thing you want to take is my heart stone."

  "What's a heart stone?" Ajalia asked. Tree glared at her, and flung ragged cloaks and shoes into a bag.

  "What a heart stone is is none of your business," he said angrily. "Now go back to whatever hole of ignorance and filth you crawled out of."

  "Don't talk to Ajalia like that," Rane said. He had wandered up behind Ajalia, and was now leaning in the doorway between the rooms, his arms folded, and his eyes resting with light disdain on the flurried old man.

  "I am not happy!" Tree shouted. He yanked several items of clothing down from a cabinet. Ajalia had a sudden premonition. She did not yet know why she felt danger, or from what direction it would come at her, but she moved forward without thinking. She drew her dagger; she saw that it was yet agleam with the clear white lighting from the mixed magic. Tree hissed in anger and fear when the dagger appeared before his face.

  "Drop what is in your hands," Ajalia said, one hand on his arm, and the other, holding the shining dagger, before his throat. She had not yet pressed the magical blade to his skin, but she could feel him pushing away from the edge of the knife. Tree seemed strangely unafraid; Ajalia had threatened men before with knives, or with her particular knife, and she was used to the movements of their muscles beneath her hands. Tree, she found, did not react as though he were properly afraid of death. She released Tree, and snatched up the wooden block she had dropped when she moved in towards the old man. She ran towards Rane, and pushed him out of the room.