I know more, it said.
Lies, she said. All lies. No one knows that better than I do.
Beneath her, the sturdy mare trembled, sweating and snorting at every step, ears flicking back and forth. She patted the shaggy neck. "Don't listen," she told the beast.
They reached the main valley floor just after moonrise so that silver limned the trees and streams and meadows of long grass bending in the breeze. Sometimes, as she rode, a bear kept pace with them, its eyes gleaming, sometimes a wolf or fox.
Such stories you have missed, the something said. Such goings-on! And of course Jorn waits for you still.
White-hot anger surged through her, so intense, that for a breath she could not even see. Her fingers clenched on the reins and her face heated. Do not speak her name to me!
So you no longer love her?
I'll kill you! Though she did not know how. No one did. Even the Tamraire only made pacts with the fierce wildness that abided here. They didn't rule it.
I was never alive, the something said slyly. But you know that.
* * * *
The Tamraire watched as she drew closer, passing boulders that had crashed down from the mountains long ago, moon-silvered ponds and beaver dams, and meandering weed-choked streams in no hurry to lose themselves in the rushing white-water heart of the river. Some of Jorn's people she saw, their eyes glittering in the darkness, others she only felt. Perhaps they would slay her for returning when she had been cast out. Or, perhaps they would only kill Franz-William Garth, Fifth of his name, slowly, with great attention to detail, as was their way, and compel her to watch.
She was angry at Garth for forcing her to come back, and yet it was not his fault. She was his guide, and so should have found better words to make him understand what listening to the wild something cost. Words, though, had never been easy with her. She and Jorn, well, they had done best without words in the deep silences of the night.
The moon's pale quarter was just setting behind the western mountains when she arrived at the hot spring terraces where the Tamraire kept their main camp. The something lived very close to the earth's surface here, so they considered this place sacred.
Her mare stopped, hanging her head, nostrils flaring. The air reeked of sulfur as hot water bubbled down a hillside of white mineral-coated rocks into a broad steaming pool.
A woman emerged from one of the tents off to the side. "You were never to come back here," she said, her eyes gleaming moon-pale as Jorn's once had. Her voice identified her—Matda, one of the elders.
"My client was lured down here, so I have come after him," Spark said. She drew her sword and held it ready.
"If the something wants him, then he is ours," Matda said. She was a tall woman, taller than even Jorn had been. Her plaited hair, once close to the same shade of gold, was now silver. "You lived among us long enough to understand that."
"I gave my word to deliver him safely to his uncle," Spark said, knowing full well they would not care. What was the honor of outsiders to a Tamraire? She slid down the mare's sweaty side and then dropped the reins.
"Then this—uncle—will be disappointed," Matda said. "The something finds him amusing."
"Where is he?" Spark said. The short sword felt entirely inadequate in her hand, but it was all she had.
The darkness stirred, then a group of Tamraire, male and female emerged from behind a line of hide tents. Garth was among them, walking stiff-legged as though dazed.
"We have to go," she said steadily to him, though her heartbeat hammered in her ears. She felt dizzy as again the something probed her defenses.
Mine, it whispered. At the top of the steaming white terraces, a massive geyser erupted into the night air.
"I never understood why Jorn wanted you," Matda said. She wore one of the wildly decorated Tamraire hides cut into an overshirt and leggings.
"Nor did I." The old unwanted tears scalded her eyes, but Spark fiercely refused to spill them. Jorn had hated tears.
"That must be why the something possessed her in the end," Matda said. "She had given herself over to someone unworthy. It was the only way to redeem her."
It had been a night much like this, fine, with only a hint of late spring's chilly edge. They had lain together in the privacy of their tent, twined in one another's arms, then the something had called Jorn outside.
At first, Spark was too deeply asleep to hear its voice, but then, becoming aware of the cooling emptiness in the furs beside her, rolled over and went to find Jorn. Out in the night, beyond the scattered tents, her partner stood at the top of the terraces, staring down into the broad thermal pool below. Her pale-gold hair shimmered in the scant starlight. She looked more beautiful than Spark had ever seen her, as though she were made of moonbeams.
"It wants me," Jorn said, wonder in her voice. "After all these years, I finally interest it."
"No!" Spark scrambled up the trail toward the top, slipping and falling in the darkness, skinning hands and knees. "Don't listen!"
"I am Tamraire," Jorn said. "How can I not listen? It is the bargain we made long ago when we came to this sacred place. We belong to it."
"No!" Spark cried. "You belong to me!"
Jorn's sons, both almost man-grown, had emerged from their tents and were following Spark now, racing to the top. They caught up with her and trapped her arms, holding her back. She fought them savagely until Brod, the oldest, clouted her on the head with his fist, sending her to her knees. Her vision fuzzed.
There was a splash, then, when she could see again, Jorn had cast herself into the steaming pool at the foot of the mineral-coated terraces, the one that had no bottom if you ventured close enough to the torrid water to gaze down. Spark staggered to her feet and tried to follow, but Jorn's sons held her back. That was not to be permitted either.
Did you think I wanted you? the something had said then, and in its terrible voice, there had been a hint of Jorn's beloved timbre, her cadence of speaking. Jorn should have left you to the swamp where at least you could have made yourself useful feeding my trees.
She blinked and came back to the present time, the night with all its unfeeling stars, and the terrible wild something's amusement.
Matda gestured and two hulking men came to stand beside her, Jorn's sons, grown well into their manhood. The angles of their cheekbones, the paleness of their hair, and the cast of their eyes, all reminiscent of her lost love.
"For Jorn's sake, we only drove you away that night," Matda said. "By returning, you end any obligation for leniency on our part."
Then Garth lurched forward with none of his usual careless grace. His tunic was torn and there was a darkening bruise over one eye. "Fight!" he said in a strained voice and drew his fine sword with a great ringing hiss.
"No," she said, keeping her weapon down at her side. "Put the sword away and come with me." Her throat was constricted. "You don't want to be late for your investiture."
He cocked his head in a way she'd seen before, just such an angle, on someone else's body. Ice enclosed her heart. "Spark, what are you doing here?" his voice said, but the words were not his.
The hot tears were back, dammit. "Jorn?"
"You should not have returned."
"It is a matter of honor," Spark said, "along with not much caring what happens to me, since you—" She could not finish.
"Deermouse, it was always going to be this way," Garth's borrowed voice said. "I can see that plainly from this side of things. It was ordained."
The old endearment cut. "Not by me!" She would not shed the stupid, useless tears, she—would—not!
"It allowed me to have you, so that I would be happy for a time," Garth's voice said.
The breath caught in her throat. "And now?"
"I am happier."
That was a blow more solid than any she had ever received over the entire course of her life. "No!" Her answer was but a hoarse whisper.
"You should not have followed him here, worm," Garth's voice sa
id and now it was the wild something, not Jorn.
"Then strike me down," Spark said. She whirled, looking into face after Tamraire face, all impassive in the starlight, eyes glimmering with its presence. "Make me nothing. I have been full ready since that night!" She raised her old sword with all its nicks and scratches.
Garth's blade swung toward her, but his stance was still awkward, unbalanced, as though he had never trained in the weapon's use. Sweat ran down her neck, soaked the length of her back. She couldn't kill the mush-brained wretch. He was her responsibility, but perhaps she could knock him senseless, just long enough to throw his body over her saddle and lead the mare back out of the valley. If she could get him up into the hills again, he would come to his proper senses.
Garth's body lunged at her, taller by a full head with a correspondingly greater reach. She shuffled aside, feeling the steaming terraces and that dreadful pool all too close at her back. Who was she fooling, thinking she had any sort of chance to succeed? Even if she knocked him out, the Tamraire would never let her just walk away. Not unless the something said to let her go.
Garth swung again, as clumsy as a boy wielding his first wooden sword, stumbling as he threw himself off balance.
"What in the name of all Creation do you want?" she shouted at the something. "I've never understood!"
Garth stopped, and again his body took up one of Jorn's achingly familiar postures, free hand on its hip, eyes narrowed.
"You have everything," Spark said, "this valley and the Tamraire, every deer and bear and spider that makes its home here, even Jorn, who was the sun and the moon to me. What more do you want?"
Freedom, the something said, disdaining to use Garth's voice this time. I have been trapped here since long before your kind walked the earth. I want to go back out into the world again.
"Then why don't you just leave?" she said.
The something laughed and it was a broken, painful sound, like the grinding of rock against rock, even inside her head. I am bound.
"By what?" she said, even as Garth took another awkward swing at her. She edged back again and then almost stumbled on the stones bordering the thermal pool. She could feel the moist heat rising off its surface, smell the noisome sulfur of its waters. She'd always hated living next to that reek, but Jorn had insisted.
I—
She waited, steam droplets condensing in her hair.
I—have forgotten.
Matda closed in on her then, and Jorn's looming sons, whom she'd help raise, and the rest of the Tamraire, their eyes gleaming in the star-riddled darkness. "I am not afraid," she said, though in truth, she was. "You've already stolen the only thing I ever cared about, the only thing I will ever care about!"
Yes, I did, and there was satisfaction in its tone.
"And you would do it again, given the chance," Spark said. "You're vain and wicked! Whatever imprisoned you here was right to do it. You don't deserve to be part of the wide world!"
Up on the crest of the mineral terraces, the geyser erupted again in a fury of superheated water and steam. Flying drops of hot water stung her cheeks and neck and the reek of sulfur thickened. The Tamraire, caught in their trance, did not seem to feel the water's savage heat on their skin.
"Do your worst!" Spark said as their hands seized her and dragged her to the trail leading upward. "You can't kill me twice!"
I can trap you here forever with me, the something said.
But it had already done that, she realized. A large part of her had leapt into that bottomless pool with Jorn. Only the merest shell of a person had ridden back out of the valley the next day. Briefly, she struggled free of the imprisoning hands. "How long?" she said as they closed in again and held her even tighter.
I do not understand.
"How long has it been since you tried to leave?" She glanced down into the simmering pool, which looked black and oily under the stars. "Or do you just swoon about the valley, using the Tamraire for playthings while bemoaning your fate?"
I—do not remember that either.
"Not much good to anyone then, not even yourself!" she said as the Tamraire with their strong hands forced her closer and closer to the geyser. The spray was so hot, she could feel blisters rising on her face and arms. They would throw her in! she thought with rising panic, fighting with the last dregs of her strength. No comparatively kinder plunge into the steaming pool for her.
How would I go? the something said. I have no form.
"A Tamraire could carry you," she said, digging her heels in to little purpose.
They cannot leave the valley, the something said. I have bred that into them, bone and blood, down through the centuries.
"A bear then, or a wolf?" The column of superheated steam was so close now. Each drop stung like liquid fire.
The same, it said. I do not allow what is mine to stray.
She closed her eyes against the terrible heat as her captors strained to throw her in.
But you could leave.
The hands fell away and she stumbled back from the deadly spray.
Or your ungainly companion.
Yes, Garth, she thought wildly. If it had to be one of the two of them, let it be him!
Garth loomed down below, sword in hand, still and silent in the darkness, seemingly unaware that Spark was up here bargaining his life away. What would he become if the something took him? There would be no investiture in his uncle's court, no marriage to the properly brought up young lady who most certainly had already been selected by his family, no children of his own to turn out equally self-assured and insufferable. The something would take it all away and pour itself into what was left.
And it would be her fault, the back of her mind whispered. She had known the full measure of what lived down here, though he had not. She had pledged her honor for his safety. "No, take me," she said, though her flesh crawled at the thought.
I prefer the youth. His body has more years left than your pathetic carcass.
Garth's head raised. His hand jerked up and starlight gleamed along his expensive sword.
"He is well known!" she said, darting back down the path. "His people will come looking for him! You'll never have a moment's peace!" As she ran, she visualized the companies of armed men who would surely be sent to find the rich man's son, the ducal uncle dispatching his troops to join the search, the fiance's family—
Very well.
The night exploded behind her eyes. She fell to her knees, filled with opalescent white fire, cold cold flames searing a hollow inside her head where the something could fit at least a portion of itself. Memory after memory burned in a flash like sawdust put to the flame. In the space of one breath, she lost her childhood, the next, her youth. Then the flames hesitated. "Take the rest!" she said. "Take it all! I don't want to remember!"
Not even me?
It was Jorn's beloved voice.
"Stop—that!" She felt broken. "I'm giving you everything! There's no need to torment me with what I can never have!"
I'm still here.
"You're dead!" Spark said, though the words still hurt as much now as ever they had.
I gave myself to it, Jorn said, much as you have just now, and you are still here.
Or at least some portion of Spark was. She wasn't sure how much the something had burned away. The opaline flames still scintillated inside her head and it was difficult to see out of her own eyes.
Poor Deermouse, Jorn said. I'm sorry it has been so hard.
"Is it really you, love?" Spark whispered.
It is.
* * * *
In the gray reaches of morning, when the light was thin-edged and painfully new, the Tamraire watched the two of them, Spark and Garth, saddle their horses and ride into the dew-drenched grass. An eagle soared overhead for a time, frogs hopped along in their wake, and several long green snakes kept pace for as long as they could, finally disappearing as the little party approached the foothills.
The something held itself ba
ck for the most part, letting Spark hold the reins and teach it how to sit in the saddle without falling off. Jorn was so silent, Spark worried that her partner was no longer present. Or had her seeming survival been just another vicious trick after all?
Garth stared ahead as his nervous bay picked its way through scattered rocks, across streams, around fumaroles and ponds, never once deigning to look aside at her. He seemed unaware of how close he had come to losing all that he was and had once again focused upon reaching his uncle's court.
She held her breath as they climbed into the forest that surrounded the valley. Would the something be able to cross the invisible boundary, and if not, would she die too?
They were just entering the trees when she felt a growing feeling of constriction, like a band stretched tighter and tighter, pulling them back. The mare rode on, unconcerned, but Spark had to fight to remain in the saddle.
I—cannot! the something said, throwing off white-hot flashes of pain inside her head. Turn—around!
If they went back, she would be trapped in that valley with it for the rest of her life. Though she was afraid, Spark leaned forward, throwing her arms around the gray's shaggy neck, and dug her heels in. "Run!" she said, though her teeth were clenched with pain. The mare's head came up, her ears flickering uncertainly. Spark kicked her again. "Run, damn you!"
The gray lurched into a lope, then flattened out into full gallop, weaving sure-footed through the pines and hemlocks. Spark heard Garth shout as she left him and the bay behind.
The constriction dragged, sucking the breath out of her body, the very life out of her heart. A roaring whiteness filled her head. It was like being gutted as everything vital was drawn back to the valley. The something had been right. Her head lolled and she tasted blood. It—and she—could never—never—
The bond snapped, and then she was breathing again in great heaving gasps. Tears ran down her cheeks and she didn't know whose they were or even why she was crying. She pulled the mare up with shaking hands that blessedly once again answered to her own will. Jorn? she said inside her head.
Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword and Sorceress XXIII Page 15
