He paused, pursed his lips, as if searching for the right words again.
“This area, the Horn, our home place, not good ground for ha’reye or ha’ra’hain. And ha’ra’hain children different. They aware, they smart, earlier than human babies. So this child not happy. Child want out. Child want away. So child start ripping free, taking mother life to build its own. That what you see, in room back there. We try to keep child from killing healer. Not easy.”
Despite her earlier resolution to keep a skeptical ear to what the teyanin lord told her, his words made too much sense to argue. Alyea found no lie in the tone or expression or phrasing; everything she could see or hear told her Evkit was presenting unvarnished, unattractive truth.
“We not know how much Deiq knows about all this,” Evkit said. “We not know what Scratha ha’rethe tell Deiq to do once you out from Lord Scratha’s sight. Deiq bound to obey, if full ha’rethe say Kill her; but he smart enough to do it in his own time and his own way, to avoid offending human allies. So we take him, and the young one, and put them aside for your safety until we find out. We one of very, very few can prison ha’ra’ha when needed. If Deiq mean harm, you go on your way alone, we keep them here as long as you like. And now you have the right-now questions answered.”
“He can’t mean to hurt me,” she protested.
“Mm,” he said, and watched her with a disconcerting, sharp dark stare.
She drew a deep breath and looked at the azure sky for a while in silence, until her racing heartbeat steadied and her thoughts began working again.
I won’t hurt you, Deiq had said, with a strange intensity, more than once; and she wondered if he’d been trying to tell her that even if ordered, he would refuse to do so. It seemed the only possible explanation at this point.
“I don’t believe he means me harm,” she said at last.
“You bet life on it?”
“Yes. Deiq could have killed me a dozen times over already if that’s what he was after.”
“He not love you,” Evkit said suddenly.
She shot him a hard glare.
“Truth,” Evkit said. “He ha’ra’ha. If he say he love you, he either lying or insane.”
He met her anger steadily, his expression sober.
“Maybe younger one, maybe he able to feel like that, maybe his blood diluted enough. But the older one, never.” Evkit rose from his chair. “You sit; you think who you trust now. I leave teyanain to guide you. You honored guest. When you ready, come talk to me, go sleep, walk round. Guides will tell where you may go. Please, do not try run away from guides. They here to help, to serve, for safety. And please do not go to see Deiq. It is not good idea you talk to Deiq right now.”
He paused, one hand on the door, and looked back at her with a sudden frown.
“You take Deiq, as desert lord? You—” He made a crudely explicit gesture with both hands.
Alyea felt hot color flooding her face.
“No,” she said. “And I have no intention of doing so.”
Lord Evkit smiled. “Good,” he said with an unmistakably smug overtone, and left her on the patio to think.
Drugs of the Southlands
(excerpt)
There are three main drugs exported from the southlands to the northern kingdom: esthit, also known as dream-dust; aesa, also called dream-weed or simply weed; and dasta. Of course there are others, as varied and ingenious as the human race itself; but those main three, being of the greatest concern to your more conservative factions, should be addressed.
Esthit is produced largely by Darden Family. It is actually a simple combination of dried sap from a particular cactus mixed with a few other similarly common ingredients, ground into a coarse powder. It is taken by applying a small amount to the back of the tongue and allowing it to dissolve. Some prefer to dissolve it first in a spoonful or two of warmed liquor or coffee, but that naturally dilutes the effect.
Esthit dulls the senses and calms the mind, producing a pleasant, dreamy stupor and occasionally hallucinations. It actually serves a very prosaic function. New desert lords tend to have difficulty adjusting to the increased acuity of their senses, and esthit returns them, temporarily, to a more standard level, providing much-needed relief. Unfortunately, Darden Family has altered the original formula to make much of what they produce highly addictive and much more dangerous.
Aesa, also extremely common, can even be found in areas of your own kingdom. It is nothing more than the dried leaves of a plant similar to true pipe-weed, but smoking aesa gives one a pleasantly euphoric feeling and, rarely, mild hallucinations.
The last and most serious of the major southland drug exports is known as dasta. This, too, comes from the dried sap of a cactus; and this, too, started out as a vital tool for the southern ketarches. Originally developed by the Aerthraim ketarches, dasta served to relax and anesthetize patients with severe wounds, and by relieving their anxiety, tremendously assisted their rate of healing. It also assisted desert lords with the performance of certain duties.
Unfortunately, F’Heing stole the secret formula and, as Darden did with esthit, altered it to something far more dangerous and unethical: dasta became a powerful and addictive aphrodisiac that lowered all boundaries and disabled all possibility of resistance from the taker.
That alteration led directly to the formation of the so-called katha villages—the term itself is a corruption of proper grammar, but I will not sidetrack here to discuss linguistics—along both east and west coasts. While kathain are part of a very old tradition, their abuse has never been tolerated previous to the alteration of dasta. Kathain serve as honored servants to important guests, and so much as raising one’s voice to kathain is absolutely forbidden. Older kathain may offer sexual services if they so desire, but again, at the first hint of abuse the visitor is ejected without ceremony.
The katha villages are something else entirely. They consist of a community built around one or perhaps two central brothels, many of which use children and generally involve a very rough trade. This corruption of an ancient and sacred custom is reprehensible, revolting, and incomprehensible; as is the apparent reluctance of the other desert Families to step in and end the horror. One may only conclude that while F’Heing provided the means, the interest had already been present, as sickening as that thought is for me to contemplate; and that the katha villages are, in fact, tacitly underwritten by every desert Family in one way or another. I do not include Scratha, the Aerthraim, or the teyanain in that condemnation, as I believe those three names alone have never had a hand in the promotion of the katha villages.
I am well aware that this section of my notes to you will raise extreme protest from the other Families and quite possibly even the loremasters. But my revulsion for what a once-proud tradition has turned into is far too strong, of late, to hold my tongue to polite speech. Let them prove my accusations unfounded. Let them move to shut down those horrible villages and prove themselves above such filth. Then, and only then, will I apologize for these strong words.
From the collection
Letters to a Northern King of Merit
penned by Lord Cafad Scratha during the reign of King Oruen
Chapter Twenty-three
Night brought with it an intense chill unaffected by the Aerthraim heat-grid overhead, and no meal save what they had in their packs: trail jerky and water. Idisio sat huddled, arms wrapped around knees and both their blankets drawn round him, shivering.
“You don’t have to be cold,” Deiq said for the fifth time, patiently. “Just know that you’re warm. Raise your body temperature to suit your comfort.”
“I’ve been trying,” Idisio retorted, his night-blurred glare warmer than the rest of him. “It isn’t working.”
Deiq sighed and tried not to roll his eyes. Idisio, locked into his human habits, would at the least get seriously ill from the frigid Horn night if he didn’t learn to adjust his internal temperature. He wished he could give Idisio the energy direct
ly; but the only available source to draw from was himself, and that would likely destroy Idisio’s mind long before it warmed his body.
“Come here,” Deiq said, putting out a hand.
Idisio, reluctant, skinched over closer. Deiq curled a hand around the boy’s blanket-shrouded, skinny bicep and tugged him right over until their shoulders were touching. Twisting, he grabbed with his other hand and bodily hauled the younger into his lap. Idisio stiffened and jerked forward, scrambling to get free.
“Damn it, stop that!” Deiq said, exasperated, as a sharp elbow jammed against his shoulder.
“I don’t need to get warm that badly!” Idisio snapped, kicking free and rolling halfway across the floor.
“I’m offering body heat, Idisio! You’re hardly hai-katihe!”
“A what?”
“It means—oh, never mind—” As he spoke, residual energy from the brief contact sparked memories not his:
Dirty stone wall at his back, a larger body pressing against his front . . . sand and dirt under his back . . . grit shifting under hands and knees . . . hoarse grunts, a slap to the back of the head, a curse. . . .
Deiq hissed, yanking himself out of Idisio’s memories before they swamped him completely. The most dangerous flavor of rage rose in him, sharp and swift; he rose to his feet, feeling control slipping.
“They dared use you that way?”
“I was a street brat,” Idisio retorted, climbing to his own feet. A shimmering glow began building around him, an aura nobody but another ha’ra’ha or ha’reye would see. “Pull your pants out of your ass!”
Deiq stared, rage choked under surprise, and grabbed the moment, with the smoothness of long practice, to redirect his emotions. He forced a burst of laughter. “What?”
“Nobody ever said that to you before?” Idisio snorted. “Means—”
“I understand what it means,” Deiq said, the last of his anger safely gone. He sat back down, still grinning and deeply relieved that Idisio had distracted him at the critical moment. Two angry ha’ra’hain in a confined space was generally a lethal situation for at least one of them; and Idisio wasn’t experienced enough to restrain his own temper. “I just hadn’t heard that particular version before. Never mind.”
He watched, interested, as the vague glow around Idisio faded and dissipated. Now, that was an emotion-effect he hadn’t seen often, or in a damn long time. The younger ha’ra’ha was turning out even more unusual than he’d expected, and as soon as they were in a place where it was safe to talk, he’d be having a long discussion with Idisio—about several things.
“Yeah, well,” Idisio said, and slid to sit against the wall across from Deiq. “Thanks but no thanks, you know? I’m warm now, anyway.”
“Yes,” Deiq murmured. “I expect you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Idisio’s tone spiked from hard to hostile.
“Anger’s a very warming emotion,” Deiq said easily. “Good night.”
Idisio glared for another few moments, clearly mistrustful. At last he muttered, “ ’night,” and rolled onto his side, stuffing a blanket under his head to serve as a pillow.
Deiq sat awake, looking up at the stars, listening to Idisio’s quiet breathing and considering what the younger ha’ra’ha had endured. Ninnic’s child should have sensed Idisio’s presence, should have sensed kin-distress, that close at hand. But it hadn’t; and even if it had, given Rosin’s teachings, it might have actually found the violent treatment of a younger by tharr to be acceptable.
Bad enough that Idisio had been raised by tharr as a “street rat” and thief. If the ha’reye of the Jungles ever found out what Deiq had just seen, they would likely retaliate, as Ninnic’s child should have. He had to keep Idisio from returning to the southlands. It was sheer luck that Scratha ha’rethe had been too lazy to pry after memories.
Deiq stared up at the night sky and wondered if there were more stars in the sky or dangerous secrets in his head. It felt like a depressingly close count, these days.
As the dark eased into grey, he heard something beyond the walls of their prison and rose, feeling rather like a asp-jacau ready to spring. Idisio snorted, coughed, and sat up, his gaze locking onto Deiq immediately; he scrambled to his feet just as a tall rectangle of stone nearby swung outward without a sound.
Lord Evkit stepped into the doorway, displaying his usual mocking half-grin. The little teyanin lord regarded them dispassionately, then made a quick, warning gesture as Deiq shifted his weight.
“Not smart, attack me,” Evkit warned.
“Smart or dumb, I’ll still take you to pieces,” Deiq snarled, and started forward.
Evkit held up a hand, and Deiq stopped moving; every muscle locked into utter stillness, however hard he strained to take another step.
“Not smart,” Lord Evkit repeated. “I come let you go. You attack me, I do not.”
Deiq stopped fighting the invisible bonds, his eyes narrowing.
Lord Evkit dropped his hand, a faint smile on his lips. “Better.”
“You’re going to let us go,” Deiq said, staring hard at the teyanin lord and setting aside the question of how Evkit had managed that trick for later consideration. Not even an athain should be able to stop a First Born in his tracks, although a clee probably could. “Why?”
“I only take you for Lord Alyea safety.”
“What?” Deiq took another step forward, unable to believe the man’s gall. Evkit raised a hand again, but Deiq had already made himself stop moving.
“Is truth,” Evkit protested, showing the palms of both hands in the ages-old signal of utter sincerity. “I think maybe you hurt her. But Lord Alyea say she trust you. I think, maybe she wrong, but she is guest. It is her decision. So I agree, let you go. And so you go to Bright Bay now. You go, you leave Horn, you not come back this way soon.” His eyes glittered, innocence evaporating. “And for my part, I say: you stay out of teyanain land for long time. You agree, you go. You argue, you stay here.”
Deiq stood very still for a few breaths, deeply suspicious and trying to decide what game Evkit was playing this time. It wouldn’t be nearly as simple as ensuring Alyea’s safety. There were at least two other plots underlying this moment. Evkit never took one-dimensional actions; and he was using the fractured speech patterns that made lies nearly impossible to pick out, which confirmed the suspicion in Deiq’s mind.
“Idisio, too?”
“Same,” Lord Evkit nodded. “Both stay out teyanain lands. Long time. Many years. Hundred. Two hundred. Many. Until we say you may walk our land again. You come back without permission, you die. No argue, no exception.”
“He makes his own decision,” Deiq said, temporizing.
Lord Evkit shrugged and flicked a dark glance at the boy. “You agree?”
“Yes,” Idisio said fervently.
“Decision made,” Lord Evkit said, and looked back to Deiq. “You agree?”
Deiq shot Idisio a dark, unhappy glare. He’d hoped for at least a few moments of hesitation in which to think. At last he shrugged. Being banned from the Horn meant he’d have to travel south by boat, and that meant weeks of being tremendously ill. But he’d endured that before.
“Agreed. Where’s Alyea?”
“Lord Alyea wait outside,” Evkit said. “With packs, supplies, horse. All ready to go. Sun ready too, about to wake up eastlands. You walk with waking sun.”
“How kind of you,” Deiq said with heavy sarcasm.
“You come, follow guide,” Evkit said, and turned away without so much as a head-tilt by way of courtesy.
The deliberately insulting movement—from someone who damn well knew better than to provoke a ha’ra’ha already under a severe strain—brought the rage boiling back up, set the red haze dancing at the corners of Deiq’s vision. Deiq took a step forward, already knowing just how he’d shred the little rotworm into a thousand pieces—and Idisio grabbed his upper arm hard.
“Don’t,” Idisio hissed.
Deiq turned a dark glare on him; the younger ha’ra’ha flinched, his face paling, but didn’t let go.
“I just want to get out of here, Deiq,” Idisio said, his fingers digging in even harder. “Please!”
Deiq drew in a harsh breath, forcing the anger down and admitting to himself that Idisio was right. Unwilling to voice that aloud, he shook off Idisio’s grip, snatched up his pack, and strode through the doorway without looking back.
Chapter Twenty-four
Alyea stood waiting, one hand on the neck of the most muscular pony she’d ever seen, as the trail guide silently loaded panniers and saddlebags with numerous heavy packages. Besides her own pack, the pony carried two dozen full waterskins, a bundle of fine teyanain hand-stitched cloths, jars of dried Horn rosemary and other spices, candies, and assorted other gifts, including a largish tin of well-aged thopuh tea and a set of six translucently thin cups carved from agate.
She still wasn’t sure if she should have accepted it all; but without Deiq to give a nod or a warning, she’d had no reason to refuse. It all felt rather embarrassing. Lord Scratha hadn’t given her anything at all on parting. Granted, his situation had been a bit more complicated; but Alyea was left wondering, now, whether the lack of gifts ought to be interpreted as a snub on Scratha’s part: and if so, what she was expected to do about it.
By northern terms, Evkit’s gifts were an overload of riches for no particular cause, and might well be perceived as whore-gifts rather than due courtesy. She resolved to ask Deiq what it meant under southern custom.
As though thinking of Deiq had been the final summons, a teyanin guide emerged from the nearby tunnel that led into the heart of the teyanain mountain complex. Deiq followed, Idisio on his heels, and Lord Evkit stepped out a few moments later, smirking.
Guardians of the Desert (Children of the Desert) Page 15
