by Linda Nagata
Koráy wove new threads, and with them she bound herself, heart and soul, to the people of the Puzzle Lands, who later named themselves the Koráyos people, and who call those of us who are the descendants of Koráy “the Bidden,” because Koráy came when she was bidden to do so.
Negotiations
The Bidden had served as guardians of the Puzzle Lands for five generations, but they were not kings. The Koráyos people ruled themselves, deciding right and wrong and settling their internal affairs through councils and judiciary, but all authority for security and defense belonged to the Bidden—first to the Trenchant Dehan, and then to his twin daughters, Takis and Tayval.
The twins were forever linked to one another by Koráy’s binding threads. Takis was eldest, if only by an hour. People said she was a spirit like Koráy—proud and bright, a born leader. She was a warrior by choice, a diplomat by need, a seductress as the chance presented itself, and a beloved figure to the Koráyos people. By contrast, Tayval was an enigma. She was rarely seen outside the family hall at the Fortress of Samerhen, and she never spoke, not even to the Trenchant. Many assumed her to be simple, but the truth was otherwise. While Takis was the bright face of the twins, Tayval was the source of their deep intellect and power.
Both were in conflict with their father, the Trenchant Dehan.
“I differ from my father,” Takis said softly, whispering into the ear of the Lutawan general as they lay together in her tent, with only a single oil lamp to hold back the night's shadows. “I think our conquest of the borderlands is a mistake. Holding this territory doesn’t make us more secure. It only feeds resentment, and makes it harder to negotiate what I want—a true and lasting peace between our people.”
The general lay on his back, his eyes closed, a half smile on his lips as he listened to her . . . or perhaps he was just enjoying the warmth of her breath against his ear. Certainly he was relaxed, pleased with his prowess and deeply satisfied. Takis had seen to that—and she was well equipped for the task. Still young at twenty-six, comely if not beautiful, dark haired, green eyed, with a warm-brown, well-balanced face and an athletic figure, she had easily won the general’s appreciation.
“I have a heartfelt regard for you,” he confessed in a gentled voice.
His was a strong and handsome face with a proud nose and chin, smooth lips, and a sun-darkened, brown complexion. His black beard was neatly trimmed, as was his black hair. Takis had enjoyed him as a lover—she was a bit befuddled by how much she had liked him.The taste of his skin had pleased her so much more than other men she'd known. Even better, she liked his temper. Nedgalvin felt like a man who could think for himself and could think in radical new ways while still knowing how to appease the old guard. How else could he have been promoted to general at the age of thirty-seven?
Takis said, “In my experience, a man who finds himself welcomed into his enemy's bed is inclined to think he has already won the war. Are you such a man?”
He opened his eyes to look at her. “Are you such a woman, to bring the battlefield into your bed?”
“I am.”
He stiffened, as if suddenly suspecting that she had a knife hidden in the bedding.
She smiled at this revealed fear. “It's not my ambition to bring you down Nedgalvin, but to raise you up.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “You have already done that, lady, quite effectively.” Then he rolled onto his side, reaching for her, as if ready to start all over again.
“In a more permanent fashion!” Takis protested with a laugh, letting him spill her over onto her back. He set about kissing her cheeks, her neck, her breasts, while Takis said, “I tire of your king. I think war is his only amusement.”
“Perhaps you’re right. But I have more diverse interests.” His kisses wandered ever lower on her belly.
“Ah, but you are a rational man.”
“I was, before I lost my head over you.”
Takis drew in a quick breath as he gently spread her legs, tasting what was there. Her fingers grasped at his hair as she whispered, “A rational man—like you—would make a better king.”
He stopped his ministrations, raising his head to gaze at her with anxious eyes. “Don’t speak such words, Lady. They will be heard. Know that my only ambition is to serve the king.”
Takis nodded somberly. “That is right and proper, whoever the king may ultimately be.”
“Are you a kingmaker, Takis?”
“I cannot negotiate with the existing one, so it seems I’m forced to be.” She sat up, shifting so that she was cross-legged in the bed. “Think on it, Nedgalvin. Peace would be a benefit for both of us, but peace is impossible while the Lutawan king preaches that our oppression and enslavement is mandated by your god.”
Takis knew the true name of this god was Hepen the Watcher. He was cast out of the north long ago by the Dread Hammer. But in the south people had forgotten his name and called him only ‘God.’
“The king speaks for God,” Nedgalvin said as if by rote. “You must submit to him to be saved.”
“We would rather be saved from him.”
The general winced. He sat up in turn. “Is it true you’re a witch who can read a man’s mind?”
Takis laughed. “The Dread Hammer is not so cruel as to force me to wallow in a man’s unfiltered thoughts.”
The general did not share her humor. “I wish you could hear mine now. I dare not speak them.”
“Because the king hears all things?”
The general nodded.
“Whatever the reach of his mind, he can’t penetrate the Puzzle Lands. Will you cross the border and come to me so we may speak freely?”
“I cannot.”
“I’ll open the way for you.”
“I would be missed.”
“For a single night?”
“Can I trust you?” he wondered.
“You must chance it, but I assure you it’s a chance worth taking. Will you come?”
He thought on it for many seconds, and in truth Takis could not read his intention. Then at last he nodded. “I will come.”
Takis smiled. “Then our present negotiations are done. Return to your own encampment now. But two nights hence, an hour past sunset, come alone to the Trader’s Stone—you know where that is?”
“Yes, but there is no pass over the mountains there.”
“There will be when you come. Ride past the stone, toward the Séferi Mountains. The way will be open. We call it Scout’s Pass. The trail is very narrow at times, but once you reach the crest, you’ll see Fort Veshitan.” She cocked her head, studying him thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you this, as a token to affirm my good faith. All the women who flee from the southern kingdom seeking refuge in the Puzzle Lands are housed for a time at Fort Veshitan. There are at least a hundred there at all times, being schooled in our customs. This is how I know it’s possible for your people to learn new ways. Will you come?”
The general’s face had gone stony, though whether to hide his anger or his eagerness Takis could not say—nor did it matter. He must prove his own good faith. “I will come,” he said gruffly. “But only if you withdraw all your troops from the region around the Trader’s Stone, and from this hidden pass. I will not risk being seen in an act of treachery.”
“The way will be open to you,” Takis said again. “As a sign of my good faith I will withdraw all my troops and also the spells of deception and confusion that protect the pass.”
The general nodded. “So be it.”
They both dressed. Then Takis walked with the general across the encampment, each one flanked by their own escort. At the edge of the Koráyos lines they bid one another a formal goodbye. The general and his men mounted their horses and set out toward the Lutawan encampment, marked by a scattering of small fires more than a mile away.
Takis stood watching their retreat until her sister, Tayval’s, voice spoke crisp and emotionless in the back of her mind. Don’t hope too much.
“Per
haps he’s braver than he seems,” Takis said softly.
Two women on watch stood nearby. Both looked up at the sound of her voice, but only for a moment. The Koráyos soldiers were used to Takis, “speaking to ghosts.”
Takis bid them both good night, then returned to her tent, alone.
~
There is the world, and then there is the world-beneath. In my mind they are separate places, but Smoke is like the Hauntén in that he sees no separation and moves easily in both. He’s like the Hauntén in that the lives of inconvenient people mean little to him. He’s like the Hauntén in that his eyes shine with an emerald gleam when the light is dim. He is often mistaken for a forest spirit, but Smoke is not Hauntén. It’s not in his nature to summon the forces of the Wild Wood as the true forest spirits will do.
And yet for reasons no one understands, Smoke is not like us.
We are the Bidden. We are bound to the people of the Puzzle Lands by the threads laid on our family long ago by the Hauntén named Koráy.
The threads Koráy wove bound all her descendants for five generations—all, that is, except my brother, Smoke, whose heart was not entangled until that day on the forest road.
A Pretty Wife
Ketty ran, not knowing if she was more afraid of her father’s wrath or of the mad Hauntén. She ran until her lungs burned, until she couldn’t take another step. Then she collapsed, rolling beneath the fine, trembling branches of a pale green bush, the better to hide herself. She lay on her back, her chest heaving, already unsure from what direction she’d come.
A minute passed and her breath quieted. Several more minutes went by and still she heard no sound of footsteps. Maybe she’d escaped? She hoped so. Truly. Although there had been something sweet about the mad Hauntén, despite his bluster . . . and something tantalizing in the scent of him as he lay against her in the ferns, something like sun on rocks, or dark red flowers . . .
But it wouldn’t do to think on that. She had to get to Nefión.
So Ketty gathered her courage and crept out from beneath the bush, moving as quietly as she could manage. She looked around—and gasped when she saw Smoke standing only a few feet away. He was leaning up against a tree trunk, his arms crossed in an attitude of patient waiting. As their eyes met he greeted her with a pleased smile. “I’m glad you changed your mind, Ketty. I thought you’d be more stubborn.”
Ketty leaped to her feet, regretting how she’d let her thoughts stray—but he couldn’t know, could he? “What do you mean?” she asked with a hammering heart.
“How did you know this was the way to my holding?”
“Is it?” Ketty looked about at the endless, undistinguished trees. “I didn’t know. And I don’t want to go to your holding! I was just running away from the forest road. I don’t dare set foot on it again, my father could return. Tell me please, is there some other way to Nefión?”
His cheerful aspect changed at once to something fearsome. His green eyes glittered with a dangerous light. “You still speak of Nefión?”
Ketty shivered. The thread of her life felt suddenly fragile, but she held onto her courage and answered, “I do. There is some other way, isn’t there?”
He scowled and shrugged exactly like a resentful boy. “There are countless ways if you make your own path.”
Again, Ketty looked around. Every direction seemed the same to her. “Won’t I become lost?”
“Yes, of course you will. Lost or eaten.”
“I won’t be lost if you show me the way.”
“And why would I do that?”
Making an effort, she put on her sweetest smile. “To show me your kind heart.”
“I don’t have a kind heart, and nor do I lie, as you do.”
“Oh, rot it!” She bent to pick up her staff. “Just tell me which way the forest road lies. I’ll take my chances there.”
“It lies back the way you came!”
“Right! Of course it does. And, well—”An embarrassed flush warmed her cheeks. “Which way is that?”
He turned his gaze briefly skyward, as if imploring the Dread Hammer for an extra share of patience. Then he fixed his green eyes on her again. His anger had faded, leaving him perplexed and maybe a little hurt. “Ketty, why do you pretend not to like me? Why do you play at running way?”
Her treacherous heart wondered the same thing, but she defied it, and him. Thumping her staff against the ground, she said, “You are the most astonishing creature! So utterly spoiled. Look at you—pouting!—because I have not agreed to take you out of the blue as my husband.”
“You only refuse because you’re stubborn. You want me. I know you do. You’re just too proud to admit it.”
“That is not true.”
“And you should be flattered that I want you.”
“You are so vain!”
“So? I have good cause. I’m beautiful. My sisters always said so.” He licked his lips and spoke more softly. “You think so too. I can hear your heart beating faster when you look at me.”
“That’s because I’m afraid!”
“You even like the way I smell, don’t you?”
She blushed. “You are impossible! You will drive me to distraction! Even if you are beautiful—and I’m not saying that you are!—I don’t even know you.”
“You know me. You’ve named me.”
“Smoke? What kind of a name is that? That’s not a man’s name, but then you’re not a man are you? You’re a forest spirit. One of the Hauntén.”
This was too much for him. He drew back, affronted. “How have I harmed you, that you take such delight in insulting me? Of course I’m a man. How could I fancy you otherwise?”
“Today you fancy me, but what of tomorrow, next month, next year? What will become of me when your sudden fancy turns to someone else?”
“And who should it turn to?” He looked around, his arms spread wide, palms up in a helpless gesture. “Who else is here to distract me?”
Ketty was stunned. “You live alone in the Wild Wood?”
“I told you I am but one and I am alone. Don’t you pay attention to anything I say? Ketty, you must cease this argument and yield to me now. There’s no good reason for you to decline.”
“Oh, yes there is! I don’t fancy you.”
For a moment he appeared too stunned to speak. Had he never considered such a possibility? But a moment later a bright smile chased his doubt away. “Ketty, you are such a liar.”
She bridled. “How dare you speak—” But just then a cloud shifted, sliding from the face of the sun. A brighter light reached through the leaves to flicker over his handsome features: his pretty, golden-honey hair, his fine nose, his white teeth, his sparkling green eyes. The scar on his neck was cast into shadow. Ketty blinked, her heart racing and her throat gone dry. “It’s just . . . I planned to go to Nefión.”
Smoke stepped closer. He held his hand out to her. “It’s better here. No one comes here. It’s a hidden place. Your father will never find you, and I’ll share it only with you.”
She thought it over. To go with this creature was surely a mad thing to do, and yet her treacherous heart was urging her to give in, if only for the present. “I am very tired,” she conceded. “Maybe I could stay at your house tonight before I go on to Nefión?”
Smoke took his hand back. He lifted his chin. “You’re as nervous as a she-wolf just out of the den.”
“Well, if you don’t want me to come—”
He bared his teeth. “Oh, I want you. Very much.”
She shivered, but when he turned to go she yielded and followed meekly after him. What choice did she have? Better to go with the mad Hauntén than wait for the wolves to find her.
The Wild Wood was an old, old forest. Perhaps as old as the world, though Smoke rarely paused to consider such things. Bright green ferns grew in the gloom beneath the trees, their fronds hiding a clutter of fallen branches. Looking less happy than the ferns, azaleas and berry bushes bided against the day a st
orm might bring down an elder tree and open their dim world to light.
It would not be this day. Above a scaffolding of old branches the trees still held on to their summer leaf. The canopy shuffled and swayed, sending random glints of light tumbling to the forest floor. The glittering was quenched occasionally when clouds passed over the sun, but it was still a fine day, one of the last of summer. Smoke thought there might be a fog that night and rain tomorrow, but he didn’t fret on it. Tomorrow would take care of itself. Today, his only concern was to bring Ketty to his holding.
Of course they had to go on foot and this annoyed him. He hated walking. Why bother with it when he could slide with great speed along the threads beneath the world? But Ketty couldn’t follow him on that path so he was forced to walk with her.
It was a very long way. He hadn’t realized how long, since he’d never walked it before. The farther they went, the farther it seemed they still had to go and so, frustrated, Smoke went ever faster. He was sure that as soon as he brought Ketty to his holding, as soon as she saw the pretty cottage he had built, the last of her doubts would be chased away and she would confess that she did indeed love him.
“Smoke!”
Her distant cry startled him. He looked back to find that she had fallen behind yet again, and so again, he waited for her. He was already carrying her sack. She’d been willing to let him do that, though she insisted on keeping her staff.
“You should be better at walking than I am,” he said as she came huffing up.
Her temper flashed. “You are taller than me, and you haven’t been walking for two nights and a day without rest, and you are Hauntén.”
“I am a man.”
“How much farther?”
He thought on it, feeling the pull and stretch of the threads. “Some while yet. But there’s a brook not far from here. It’s a good place to rest.”
Far off through the trees there came the sweet wail of a wolf’s howl. Another answered it, and then many took up the song. It was a misty sound, floating down from the tree tops. Smoke closed his eyes, the better to listen, until he felt Ketty clutch his hand. She was trembling. “Are you afraid?” he asked with an amused smile.
