by Katy Winter
"I was offering you my horse," he said, after a moment.
Luton looked meditatively at him, then turned away and began walking again. Kher shrugged, mounted his horse and kept back enough so Luton could be ahead of him and he could contemplate the tall, slight figure from behind.
He sensed power in the young man, but felt an aching loss for himself. Profound sadness washed over him. Over the seasons Luton was with him, he'd come to care very deeply for the tormented boy he'd brought south and had looked forward to seeing the boy again. He'd felt a yearning to be with Luton, but now he looked at one who regarded him as a stranger, someone without emotion and without memory. Kher wondered if perhaps how Luton appeared now was actually a kindness to the boy.
They came upon the men soon enough, Kher spurring his horse forward so he could speak to them before Luton joined them. They sat their horses comfortably and listened with schooled expressions when Kher spoke briefly and tersely. When Luton came up to them, he stared blankly at each face, before he saw Kher indicate a horse held by Abek.
Without recognition, Luton mounted the horse. The horse, the warriors noticed with interest, responded immediately to Luton, whickering at him. When it whinnied quietly, Luton, without being aware what he did, stroked it as he'd always done. Kher drew in a breath, but neither spoke nor trusted himself to look at his men.
At one stage or another, all the warriors studied Luton curiously, their fascination showing in their eyes. Every so often, Luton's glance would take in one or other of the warriors, in a way that made Kher feel an uncomfortable sensation of being analysed.
~~~
Their first camp was south of the desert where Kher once left Luton with his new master. Kher recalled his sense of foreboding at leaving the boy and knew his misgivings hadn't misled him. He pushed the unwelcome memory away. They were in a shallow valley with stands of trees that stretched up the hills and beyond, almost to their peaks. It was isolated and peaceful. Kher saw Luton take a very deep breath of what he assumed was as near to pleasure as this youth was allowed to feel.
Luton did none of the things he'd done as a slave boy, accepting the unsel pitched for him and acknowledging food with a nod of his head, the nod familiar to the Churchik but the authority that went with it wasn't. After he'd eaten, Luton went for a long walk up to the first line of trees. Kher's instinct was to send one of the warriors with him, but then he changed his mind and just watched the dwindling figure instead. It was a solitary form he followed. Lus let out his breath.
"My lord," he murmured.
"Not the same boy," Kher said softly, then he sighed. "There, men, is a youth with power. He is a somewhat alarming figure, is he not?"
"What has been done to him, my lord?" asked Abek, a hand stroking his beard. "Apart from his looks and the head movements, I would not have known him."
"And he does not know us, my lord, does he?" asked Emil. He shivered. "You can see in his eyes that he does not recognise us."
"The horse knew him," argued Han.
"Yes, but did he recognise his horse?" retorted Lus.
"Strangely enough," murmured Kher, "I think something in him responded instinctively to the horse. You notice how he is when he is alone in the wilderness. That is not so different either. He was always closely attuned to nature in an odd way."
"How could he forget everything he ever knew?" queried Abek.
"With power, you can totally alter someone's mind." Kher spoke so quietly it made his men shiver anew. "That boy's mind has been changed and completely re-shaped to serve the wishes of his master. I wonder how much of the boy is left, if any?" The warriors heard the sadness in the haskar's voice and prudently stayed quiet. "Of course he does not know us, men. His ability to remember and his emotions have been drained. Though he is not allowed to feel, he still can sense his surroundings which suggests the power of Ambros should not be taken lightly or ignored."
"It is sad to see him so, my lord," murmured Emil, with a twisted smile. "It would be fair to say we all came to feel something for the boy and still do."
"He is tragically abused, Acedar," replied Kher. "I would wish it had been otherwise." He turned abruptly away, his eyes back on the distant figure as it reached the first line of trees and paused.
Luton threw himself down on the ground, to absorb the strength and peace he felt from contact with it. He found he liked being away from the Keep where not so much as a blade of grass grew. Here, he could laze back in long grass where flowers, whose scents were unfamiliar, dotted the ground all about him, and insects, such as he'd never seen, hovered overhead. The clouds above kept his head turned upwards, because to him they were new and quite unknown.
His senses revelled in the novelty of where he found himself, though nothing triggered a response of who or what he was. He was merely aware of peace within that was unexpected. His enhanced perceptions made this experience a delight, though he was unable to express pleasure or to feel it in the way others did. What the ground gave Luton was something even Malekim would've found elusive, because the young man shouldn't have responded this way, and the fact that he did, so strongly, would have concerned the sorcerer.
Luton lay still, his eyes staring at the clouds as they scudded past. The Keep was in such a hot spot and the sun poured out such endless energy, Luton couldn't remember anything other than sweltering and torrid heat day after day. Here there was warmth, but it was tempered by a cooling breeze that blew across his face and stirred his curls in a sensation he liked.
Back with the warriors, he sat to one side of the small fire, his eyes watchful and taking in every move the men made. Later, Han confessed to Kher that it made him distinctly nervous. Kher crossed to Luton with a tankard in his hand - he stood waiting for a response and made no endeavour to do or say anything. Luton looked up and politely nodded. The haskar sat beside Luton and offered him the tankard. It was taken with another nod. Luton placed it to one side and leaning forward, touched Kher on the temples again, his touch feather-light.
"You are all Churchik, are you not?" came softly into Kher's mind. "I have read much of you."
Kher suddenly thought of the devastating fear this boy once had of warriors and felt pain gnaw at him that he hurriedly suppressed.
"Yes," he responded in his bass voice. "We are."
"The Master isn't."
"No."
"I don't wish to be rude, but I'm unused to conversing with others. I've spent my life alone in my room where I'm made to study, mostly without rest, so I feel uncomfortable around others. My solitary existence has made me so." A wave of pity for Luton swept over Kher, but he kept his response neutral.
"I see," he said quietly. "Do you not shake or nod your head -." He broke off, aware he'd almost said `anymore` and only stopped himself in time.
"It's not permitted. My master punishes me if I disobey him. He speaks to me in my mind, as I'm doing with you. I must respond in the same way. Do you wish me to nod and shake my head?"
"No, Luton," replied Kher gently. "Just let me know if there is anything you need and I shall try to do as you would wish." He sensed nothing in his mind, though the youth's hands still held his head, then he heard the young deep voice clearly.
"You still think you know me, don't you?" came the unexpected question. Kher was in a quandary because he knew he couldn't lie to one who had the power this youth had. He temporised, but was honest.
"I did know someone very like you two or three cycles ago, Luton. He was a slave boy I cared for and like you he had dark hair and black eyes. He, too, was mute."
"I'm Blach's slave and I'm a mute."
"I accept that is so, boy."
"What was the slave's name?"
"He did not answer to a name as such. He just nodded and shook his head. We called him `boy`." Kher allowed that lie to slip through.
"What happened to him?" Kher could answer that honestly enough.
"I will never know."
"Your feelings for that slave boy ru
n very deep. You mourn his loss as though he was your own."
Kher was profoundly relieved when Luton took his hands away and rolled reflectively onto his stomach, in an attitude that caused the haskar yet another wrench because of its familiarity. Kher had never questioned the depth or validity of his emotional response to the boy, but he was now caught in tides of feeling he found difficult to control because they ebbed and flowed strongly within.
To calm himself, Kher crossed to the fire and helped himself to a tankard of badran, then sat opposite Luton from where he could study the young face. Luton came up on his elbows so he could drink. He paused, then sipped again. He looked over at Kher with upraised eyebrows.
"It is badran, Luton. We drink it all the time. Have you never tasted it?" To the haskar's surprise, Luton actually shook his head before he drank again, this time more deeply. "Do you like it?" Luton nodded. "You may have as much as you wish, but do not overdo it because it has an effect that is quite unpleasant." Luton nodded again. Kher had the oddest sensation that time had turned around and was going backwards. He drank.
Kher realised that everything was new to Luton, with his memory going to the Keep and not beyond. He absorbed like a sponge, often touching Kher to ask questions. When things were done for him, he accepted that as passively as the young Luton and if he was gently directed to do anything, he didn't question it, turning to obey immediately. The one aspect of Luton that hadn't changed was that he still never smiled.
Travelling further south was no hardship, Luton adapting to the Churchik routine without obvious distress, though he always kept to himself and was uneasy close to others. He frequently took off on his own. Kher fretted over this once they came to small towns, concerned for Luton once they reached a city, but when he suggested that it might be best if Luton stayed closer he got an odd look from the young man and the shake of the dark head.
"I can care for myself," came the thought in Kher's mind. Kher stared fixedly at Luton and then shrugged.
~~~
It was a long trip that would take them to Chika, a city that was the hub of the slave trade and had made its wealth from the degradation and distress of thousands. It was to Chika that merchants went from all over Churchik and conquered lands, haggling and squabbling over the best buys at the market, before taking their slave booty on yet another caravan to other cities where they'd be sold.
Chika was famous for its boy market where pretty boys, from all over Ambros, brought wealth to the traders and sparkles to the eyes of those who ran the boy harems. The slave markets were always busy. They were a meeting place for warriors and their families where Churchik looked over the goods for sale, prodding and handling them with callous indifference. Kher wondered how Luton would deal with Chika when he saw slaves like himself for sale.
There was only one episode on the trip where Kher thought Luton's calm assurance seemed to desert him. The riders came through a cleft between two low ridges, the way rather rough and unkempt because it wasn't the regular trail Kher chose to follow. The horses had to be carefully guided around boulders and strewn rocks, there was scrubby vegetation and a few stunted trees with twisted limbs, but it wasn't an especially appealing landscape.
The wind had a nip to it. Some miles back, Kher handed Luton a cloak. Luton nodded his thanks. Kher noticed again how frail the young man really was - he wasn't thin as such, it was just frailty that concerned the haskar. He knew Luton would never be strong and when he saw him shiver, without being aware how cold he was, Kher saw how dangerous that could be. The haskar was aware he'd have to monitor Luton closely. As they rode, the wind gusts became more buffeting and the temperature dropped sharply. Kher put up his hand for a halt.
The haskar stared about at the barren land, his hand up to his beard in a thoughtful gesture. Then he swivelled in the saddle and ordered a stop, while he assessed how far they would be from shelter if the conditions worsened. The warriors dismounted. Luton absently gathered reins and began to lead the horses a short distance to a cluster of extremely thorny bushes where he tethered them. Kher stood still ruminatively, but his thoughts were interrupted by Abek.
"My lord, the boy has not done that before." Kher looked round surprised.
"Done what?"
"As a slave boy he always cared for the horses. It is as if the boy remembers and has slipped back for a moment." Kher turned to watch Luton carefully caring for their mounts and a slight smile came to his eyes.
"We can hope what you say is correct, Acedar, because if it is, it means all that boy was has not been totally destroyed." Abek chewed his lower lip, glanced again at Luton and then walked away. Kher still watched Luton.
It was as Kher stood there, that he noticed a solitary rider come into view from the south. Luton's head came up, but though his eyes remained riveted to the rider who came unhurriedly at a leisurely pace, he remained unconcerned, finished tethering the horses and made no effort to move. Kher stayed watchful because Luton wasn't immediately close, but the other warriors just sat quietly, their cloaks tightly round them for protection from the pronounced chill. As the rider approached Luton, Kher quietly and unobtrusively made his way towards the young one.
Kher kept his eye warily on the rider who picked his way carefully through rocks and an outcropping, before he came to a stop alongside Luton. Luton looked up into deep, meditative green eyes that smiled lazily into his. The rider was broad-shouldered and had a calm, soothing voice.
"Are you headed south, young man?"
Luton's head had gone down but it came up at the question, his dark eyes staring searchingly into the face above him. When the rider looked into Luton's black eyes and held the contact, his green eyes seemed to pierce to the core of the younger man's being, Luton aware of a disturbance, so far down in his subconscious, he felt a split second of indescribable pain. Kher saw that he flinched and gave a faint shudder before he blinked. As soon as Luton felt the sensation, it was gone. He blinked rapidly again.
The rider, meanwhile, lounged at ease in the saddle, his eyes staring into the distance. Luton ran a hand over newly grown fluff on his chin then touched the rider's arm, pointed to his mouth and shook his head.
"Can't you speak, young man?" Luton shrugged, his eyes coldly indifferent. "Well, lad, if you're going south, you should know there's a hellish wind blowing up. You'd do well to find some shelter." Luton was unresponsive. Kher came up to them and looked coolly up at the rider.
"Who might you be, stranger?" he asked curtly, though there was no discourtesy in his voice. "You ride an unfamiliar route that few seldom choose."
The rider brought his gaze to bear on the Churchik in a way that gave Kher the strangest feeling this man read his every thought. It was an idle fancy that swiftly passed.
"I'm a rover for a caravan coming up from the south with supplies for the warlord's army."
"What were you telling the boy?" The rider smiled pleasantly.
"That there's a very strong storm coming up. It'll be on you in less than an hour."
Kher frowned and turned to look south. It hadn't looked as inky when they'd first stopped, he was sure of that. Indeed now it did appear that a nasty storm brewed, huge black clouds built quite fast and the air had got cold. The haskar was concerned for Luton. He decided seeking shelter was an urgent priority and looked up at the rider who stared blandly ahead again, the expression on his face unreadable.
"Did you see any shelter as you came north, stranger?"
"Oh yes," smiled the rider, his glance coming back to Kher. "A half mile farther on you'll find caves set under the ridges. They'll shelter you." He laughed. "There's plenty of wood around for you too."
"Where will you go?" asked Kher, studying the still smiling face.
"I'll find somewhere," the rider responded absently. "I usually do." Kher wondered at himself when he heard himself speak involuntarily.
"The storm looks vicious. You could join us if you wish." The rider looked briefly at Kher and he seemed pensive.
<
br /> "I'll lead you if you like," he offered. "That'll get you under shelter faster. You can call me Mensak - most other folk do." With that he turned his horse and began to ride back the way he'd come.
Kher signalled to Luton that he was to bring the horses, responding to the question in the dark eyes.
"There's a storm coming, boy. Get to your horse. There are caves not too far away."
Luton nodded, mounted and brought the warriors' horses to them as the men neared him. Kher was already astride his mount and pointed at the distant rider.
"Follow!" he ordered crisply.
The storm broke shortly after they reached the caves. It was a wild storm too. Kher couldn't remember a wind with such fury as it raged outside the caves and whistled down cavernous tunnels. He thanked the gods for their guide. The caves all ran into one another, but they found one that offered the most shelter from occasional icy blasts, where they could safely spend the necessary time until the storm abated. Luton, in his old habit, cared for the horses, even the stranger's, and that brought a smile to Mensak's face. Abek and Emil managed to collect some wood before the gale struck. They made a fire, then, once it began to blaze, all seven men sat closely round it, listening to the howling wind outside. At one stage, Lus went to the entrance but retreated hurriedly, his eyebrows up.
"It is teeming," he announced, crouching back beside the fire. "And it is bitterly cold."
He shivered and Mensak noticed that Luton did so without respite. That brought a rueful smile to his eyes. He offered his cloak to the young one, who looked across at him with what Kher thought was a puzzled expression on a face usually devoid of emotion. Luton draped it round him over his own and nodded his thanks.
"Doesn't he know he's cold, this lad of yours?" Mensak asked Kher. Kher gave a non-committal shrug.
"He feels very little."
"Odd for such a young one," commented Mensak. "Is he a southern lad, then? He looks more northern by his colouring. You lot are Churchik, aren't you?"
Kher stared hard at Mensak, but saw only a bland expression and put the questions down to the man merely trying to make polite conversation.
"Yes," he responded. "The boy is northern - he is a slave. We are southern. What are you?" Kher's look at the stranger was a curious one.
