“That girl is all greed and muscle,” Sutter slurred as soon as she began to lead them away.
Tahn continued to look after her, noting the hint of sinew beneath the smooth skin of her back—lithe as a mountain cat, and just as dangerous. He rubbed his chin and hurried to follow her, when Sutter collapsed for the last time.
Alisandra reached the tent and pulled back the flap. “In you go, boys,” she said, wearing a half smile.
Tahn hoisted Sutter over his shoulder and ducked inside. The humid smell of caged life hung in the air with the thick, rich scent of straw and unclean skin. Alisandra came in after them, passing to lead them forward.
Inside, small lanterns lined the far right-hand wall, the light scarcely more than a candle might give. Straw had been thrown down to cover the mud. The fetid smell of mildewed canvas permeated the tent. To the left sat darkened cages fashioned of close iron bars. The smell of animal waste and unwashed flesh mingled with the smell of the moldy canvas. Tahn’s stomach turned at the stench. Above each cage another dim lantern burned, fastened well out of reach of whatever might occupy each stall.
The first cage stood empty. Tahn walked ahead without speaking. Rustling sounds, as things shifted in the straw, inspired his anxiety. He swallowed and slowly passed the first cage to view the second. There, two young girls, naked, huddled together in the straw at the back of their stall. The flickering light played delicately upon their skin, but seemed somehow intrusive.
Tahn didn’t immediately see why they might be caged. Then they moved, as one. The girls were joined at the hip, sharing a middle leg and part of the same stomach. Dirty, ratted hair hung over soft, supplicating faces. They looked away and cowered into a corner, gathering up straw to hide their nakedness. Tahn noted a bowl of wormy fruit and another of filthy water. The sight unsettled him. But he wasn’t uncomfortable. He was angry.
His anger burned behind his eyes. Somewhere, these two girls had parents who surely loved them. Yet here they were, an attraction meant to disturb or cause ugly wonder (maybe disgust) in the looker.
Staring at the girls, a different, hopeless thought occurred to him. Maybe the parents of these poor girls had been glad to be rid of them. Perhaps even at a price.
He sighed and moved quietly to the next cage, Sutter grunting on Tahn’s shoulder with each step.
The lantern above the third stall had burned out, casting the cage into deep shadow. Tahn peered into the darkness, but could see nothing. Then a hoarse cry shrieked from the back of the cage and a form rushed forward to the bars. Tahn recoiled, tripping and sending both him and Sutter sprawling. They landed heavily in the straw.
He turned over and looked back. Vaguely human, the creature flesh was little more than scar tissue. It must have been pulled from the belly of a fire. Its features ran like liquid. It made noises with its tongue through one side of its mouth. Its shortened limbs bore no hands or feet. It beat at the bars with its stubs, one good eye fixing Tahn with an imploring stare. The thing lost its balance and fell back into the straw. It made no effort to get up, but sat whimpering with its lipless mouth.
Despair and pity joined Tahn’s indignation. He glanced up into Alisandra’s face, and saw an inscrutable look. Did she find him pathetic, or was there a touch of guilt buried inside her?
He looked back at the burned man. And after a moment, Tahn crawled to the bars.
“Careful,” Alisandra warned.
Tahn put a hand inside the cage, palm up. And waited. Several long moments later, the man dragged himself close. Tentatively, this low one put a clubbed hand in Tahn’s. It looked up at him.
Slowly, deliberately, the man formed a few whispered words with its ruined lips. “Kill me. Please.”
Tahn stared back, grieved at the earnestness of the request. The stink and silence grew thick around them. And somewhere in that long hush, Tahn thought the old words.
Certainty spread in his chest like the warmth of a summer wine. This unfortunate man should die. It made Tahn wonder if the tenendra folks had burned him deliberately to create a low one worth paying to see.
“Please,” the man said again. This time, spittle ran from the corner of the man’s mouth.
It would be a mercy. He could draw his knife and end the man’s suffering. And it was right. He felt that as surely as with every Quiet, as with every animal, he’d ever shot at … after speaking those words.
The burned man nodded, a hope in his eye. Perhaps he thought the hesitation meant Tahn would help him.
And Tahn wanted to.
But he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t a fight. Or an animal. Or the Quiet.
And his heart ached that he would leave the man in his suffering.
“Let’s go, lover.” Alisandra kicked him playfully in the ass.
The burned man shook his head, seeming to hope Tahn’s hesitation wasn’t a denial.
Then a thought. Tahn made a clumsy job of sitting up, and drew his small knife out in a quick motion, tucking it in the deep straw near the bars.
The man’s good eye saw it, and flicked back up to Tahn as he stood. The fellow made a single, almost imperceptible nod. Thank you.
I helped you kill yourself, Tahn thought. It might have been right to do, but it still left an ache inside him. These godsdamned words.
It was more than that, though. Deep inside he understood the man’s need to end himself. Some part of him resonated with it, as though this sad fellow wouldn’t be the first Tahn had known to do it. Though, he could remember none.
He grabbed Sutter’s arms and dragged him forward, following the tenendra girl onward, staying close to the outer wall.
She stopped at the last cage. Tahn let Sutter’s arms drop. His friend was now unconscious.
The sheer size of whatever lay captive in this last stall drew Tahn’s attention. The bars restraining it were double the diameter of the others, casting vague shadow-stripes on its rough skin. Sitting in the pen, something very like a Bar’dyn patiently watched them. It was broad in the face, but the bones beneath its eyes didn’t protrude as far as a Bar’dyn’s. And its skin didn’t look like elm bark. Its legs though, and chest and neck, were immense like the Bar’dyn. Muscled and threatening. Its fingers rested as passive and hard-looking as stones. And it stared, unmoving.
Tahn stared back, and shivered to realize the one certain similarity between this thing and the Quiet that had been following them: the reason and intelligence reflected in its eyes. Tahn stepped closer.
Pity swelled in him, just as it had for the girls a few cages away, and for the burned boy. This last cage was meant to inspire the most fear and awe, culminating the wonders of the low ones. Tahn dropped his eyes to his hand, looking again at the mark there, tracing its familiar pattern with his eyes. They were prisoners, these low ones. Trapped in a routine. He shook his head and looked up again.
He was startled to see the creature standing at the edge of the cage, just a hand’s length away. The beast had moved soundlessly while Tahn looked away. His senses swam and clouded as he stared face-to-face with the creature, its eyes still placid. It could kill him with one hand, but Tahn did not budge. He studied the intelligence in its eyes.
Then, softly, in a deep, proud voice it very clearly said, “Lul’Masi.”
Tahn blinked in ignorance. Was that its name? The word came so quietly, Tahn wasn’t sure he’d heard it correctly. Before he could ask a question, Alisandra pulled him back.
“All right, back up, back up.” She waved her hands at the beast, who slowly stepped backward to the far side of its cage. “Here’s how it’s going to go. You,” she said, pointing at the creature, “are going to stay where you’re at while I open this door and let our young friends here inside. They want your help. And you’re going to give it to them or the beatings on this little family of yours are going to start back up again.” She pointed toward the other cages.
The Lul’Masi’s eyes never left Tahn while she spoke.
Alisandra lifted a lantern fr
om one of the poles behind her, and shined it deeper into the cage, her face more stern. “Do you understand me?”
The creature nodded.
“You may have come here to dig your own earth,” Alisandra said to Tahn. “This beast may tear your arms from your body. You’re either brave or foolish.”
Tahn looked down at Sutter, whose breathing rasped over open lips. His friend was still alive, but for how long? “Hurry. Fetch your key and let us in.”
The girl turned reproachful eyes on him. “Don’t grow brave with me. I may feed you to it for half our agreed price, just to amuse myself.” She replaced the lamp, and retrieved a set of keys from a flap in her boot.
“Mark me, lover. Nothing can be done for you once you’re inside.” She tapped the bars with her knife. “It takes five men to cage the beast. So take your chance. And either I will increase my fortune, or one less low one will need feeding when the supper bells chime.”
“Open it,” Tahn said.
Alisandra stepped forward and inserted the key in the lock. A small click sounded as a tumbler fell back. Alisandra kept her eyes on the beast at the back of the cage as she slowly opened the door.
He’d paid to take himself into the company of a creature from the Bourne. This was mad. But a glance at his friend bolstered his resolve. He took Sutter’s arms and dragged him through the straw and into the cage of the Lul’Masi.
Alisandra closed the door behind them.
As Tahn turned his attention to the beast standing back in the shadows, sudden helplessness filled him. A chill raced down his back.
A chuff of breath came from the great shape in the shadow. Tahn laid Sutter down and began to creep toward it. Its sides heaved as it stared at him in the dimness. Its thick skin rippled with muscle. One of its hands could easily encircle Tahn’s neck. He stared up into its broad face.
The beast stared back, and bent toward him. The ground vibrated with its shifting weight, and Tahn’s legs locked in fear. His heart thumped in his ears and chest. The creature’s arm measured at least the size of Tahn’s leg. He began to feel claustrophobic and started to pant. Waves of hot and cold ran over him, threatening to tumble him to the floor. He turned to look at Sutter, trying to recapture his resolve. His friend moaned, eyes shut tight against unconscious poisoned dreams. A moment later, Sutter cried out in witless pain.
Tahn whipped around and stood face-to-face with the beast. Its glassy eyes were like large black pools, so close that Tahn could see himself in them. He thought he saw a pain-fed apathy in its expression. Its presence was dizzying. Its silence more menacing than any shriek or cry it might have uttered. Intelligent eyes peered at Tahn, assessing him.
For several moments the thing stared, unmoving, unspeaking. Then it said in its deep voice, “We are Lul’Masi. I am Col’Wrent.”
The creature said it as if it should mean something to Tahn.
The beast continued to look back, seeming to consider behind its intelligent eyes. Then its features tightened. “I am Inveterae.”
Warmth rushed into Tahn’s body, like the thaw of winter all in an instant. He knew this word from the Reader’s stories. This creature had escaped the Bourne. But it wasn’t Quiet. It was Inveterae. One of the unredeemed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Stakes Are Raised
A woman’s tolerance for pain and degradation surpasses a man’s, particularly when you have something she cares about. But pushed too far, she will unwind. After that, praying doesn’t help.
—From The Subtle Art of Manipulation, by Rema Olana, in her first essay on odds; copies found in League barracks and the private libraries of riverboat men
Jastail smiled across the table at his opponents. Gynedo’s face fell, making him look every year of his age. Murmurs erupted throughout the gambling deck. Wendra struggled to breathe, panic and smoke and stares rushing in on her. A dark tone stirred inside her, but before it found form, her knees buckled and she fell to the floor. No one moved to assist her. Over the lip of the table she could see Ariana, who showed Wendra a blank stare.
“And now you, Ariana,” Jastail said softly.
The beautiful young woman looked a moment longer at Wendra. With steady hands she turned over her plaques. She did not speak, but sat with quiet dignity, waiting for the game to finish. She was out.
Gynedo found his composure, his face twisting into a semblance of the amiable smile he’d worn before. He took a long drag at his pipe before speaking. “More than a fair price,” the old man said. Then he bent forward and peered into Jastail’s eyes. “You were too young to learn such a game, friend. You’ve gone past me. Silent gods, I hold no value for your life.”
Jastail didn’t avert his eyes, nor blink at the strong condemnation. “Will you try to match me, Gynedo?” he asked with a mocking reverence.
The old man sat back, looking over the plaques, the wagers, and then all the faces surrounding them. “No.”
A collective gasp sounded in the room, mutters slowly filling the silence. Jastail sat back in his own chair. He and the old man locked eyes, each searching the other. Ariana wore open disdain, but it seemed a self-loathing. Like she should have thought of such a wager before Jastail did.
The thought of what had just happened left Wendra breathless and tasting acid bile in the back of her throat. She had been the last raise, the last wager. And something told her it wasn’t merely her life. That vague thought churned like panic in her throat, trying to coax a song.
The roar of the gaming room rose to its previous volume, clouding her mind.
Two gentlemen clapped Jastail on the back before taking their seats again at their own game behind the low wall. The old gambler stared at the heap of tokens, shaking his head. Soft words fell from his lips like prayers to broken stones, but Wendra couldn’t make them out. Jastail swept the pile of tokens into a bag before extending a hand to help Wendra up.
She slapped his arm away and pulled herself up using the wall at her back. Blood rushed to her head, and she steadied herself, waiting for the pressure to ease. The din of wage-makers calling odds and gamblers squealing delight or shouting misfortune rose in dizzying cacophony. Laughter and angry barks punctuated the chorus of voices. No one looked twice at her now, involved in the play of their own chances.
“It’s time we go,” Jastail said.
Wendra stared. Her attempt to play this man’s game, to salvage control over her circumstances, had failed in one raise of the stakes. She wanted to jump at him and tear at his eyes, but his companions stepped behind the wall as her balance finally returned.
“Jastail,” Ariana called with soft seduction.
Jastail half-turned and smiled wanly. “Not tonight, Ariana. I haven’t the patience for it.”
The woman pushed back her chair and started to exit the rear gambling area.
Wendra grabbed her arm. “He takes women? Sells them? And you sit and do nothing? Play games with men like this?”
Ariana stared back. The woman’s face shifted from anger to impatience to something like pity. Mostly she seemed irritated to have lost the game. She leaned in close to Wendra, her expression cool. “You need to find your strong suit, dear. Until you do, every man,” she paused, “everyone will see you as an item to bid.”
Without another look at any of them, Ariana departed.
“Bring her.” Jastail nudged Wendra toward his men, and started to leave.
“Too far,” Gynedo blurted.
Jastail paused but didn’t look back at the old man.
Gynedo’s words were weak against the noise in the room. “Take care. You and I, we know the lie of the wager. Wine and tobacco … they’ll sate a man in a way. What you play at now … it will never satisfy—”
“You’re a poor loser, Gynedo.” Jastail jingled his bag of winnings.
The old man’s face sketched itself in stern lines. “Don’t forget yourself, boy.” The old man reclined into his chair. “I judge that the game has more of you than you of
it. You’re too enamored of the stakes to maintain control. You’re reckless.” He took his pipe to his lips. “Do your trade and leave me in peace.”
Jastail left, briskly striding through the game room and out onto the deck. His companions urged Wendra to follow, and reluctantly she made her way past the revelers into the night air.
She found Jastail leaning against a rail watching the moonlight ripple on the water. Without turning, he dismissed his men, leaving Wendra at his back, unguarded.
“You’re thinking to attack me,” he said calmly. “Take your chance.”
Wendra’s fingers clenched and unclenched. She could shove him over the railing into the river. No. She’d lost sight of her goal: Penit. Jastail had used the promise of taking her to the boy to manipulate her. Maybe it was all a lie.
A dark pressure filled her lungs, burning from within. But it also warmed her against the night, against this place, this man. She took a step toward Jastail and raised her arms.
“Do you suppose you can do it?” he asked. His words stopped her. “I mean to say that you don’t strike me as one acquainted with murder.” He spoke conversationally, as he might to a friend. Still he hadn’t turned toward her.
“You’re wrong,” Wendra answered. “I’ve seen it.” An image flashed in her mind, and she rubbed her empty belly. The dark pressure in her lungs grew. “I’ve had it coaxed from my body and torn away from me before I might give it a name.”
At that, Jastail turned. His eyes looked strange as he searched Wendra’s face. His lips parted as if he meant to pursue her comment, a wary concern folding the lines of his mouth and eyes. He looked at Wendra’s stomach, seeming to understand a part of her story. But he left unspoken whatever questions he had. After a few moments, the same smile as he’d given Ariana played across his features.
“Acquainted, perhaps,” Jastail conceded. “But not done it yourself.”
Wendra came to the railing beside him and looked out at the expanse of river. Moonlight rippled on its surface, a silent dance accompanied by the music of small waves lapping at the prow and the wailing of gamblers inside the game room.
The Unremembered Page 18
