“My brother,” she murmured. “My brother. How will I be able to tell them? The best of us is dead . . . John.”
Klei took her hand again.
“Sit down, Zoë. You can rest a while.”
“No, I can’t rest. We have to do this now, and then we have to find out where they’ve taken Jon. We’ve no time to waste.”
And so they covered John’s face with his shirt and buried him under a cairn of stones. It took hours, but neither uttered a word while they worked, laying each stone gently on the growing pile. When they were finished, they looked down at what they’d accomplished.
“Goodbye, Brother,” Zoë said. “I will do what I can to save Jon. It’s what you’d expect of me, isn’t it? I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I promise you that I’ll give it my best.”
Then, followed by Klei, she climbed to where Alf was sitting.
He was no longer bleeding, but dried blood lay in streaks across his face and upper body.
“Do you know where they’ve gone?” Zoë asked him.
He looked at her for a moment.
“We were on our way to a camp down the road. The others are already there. It can’t be far.” Alf spoke as if in a daze.
“Are you able to travel?” Zoë asked him.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then we have to find that camp.”
“Zoë, what will we do when we find it?” Klei asked.
“I don’t know—but we must do something. You heard what I promised my brother.”
“I can help,” Alf told them. “I know the way they arrange things. I’d risk anything to save Jon.”
“So would I,” Klei said.
Zoë was silent for a few seconds.
“Why are those men here?”
“They’re going to meet a group they call the Chosen and travel north with them. They brag that the Chosen have granted them the Southland.”
“Where will they join them?” she asked.
“On the River Road. The others may already be there. We were slower because boys aren’t allowed to ride horses until they’ve been with the Brotherhood two years. They want to prevent us from running away.”
“Do boys run away?” Klei asked.
“Yes, a few. But they catch most of them.”
“What do they do to the boys they catch?” Zoë asked.
“Beat them usually. But there was one boy—they broke both his legs, and forced us to come look at him. It was supposed to be a lesson. He was in terrible pain, but nearly everyone laughed at him. Even boys who’d been his friends. Can you imagine laughing at something like that?”
Was it the boy she and Jon saw? Zoë even remembered his name.
“Tug. Was it Tug they did that to?”
“How did you know?” Alf asked in surprise. “Yes, it was Tug.”
“What happened to him?”
“Someone set his legs, but not very well, so he has trouble walking. And people still laugh at him—they call him Runaway Tug.”
She had to rescue Jon. If the Brothers did things like this, what might they be planning for him?
“It’s time we set off,” she said. “But I’ll remember this place—the stone bridge where two streams join—and everything that happened here. I’ll remember it to the end of my life.
Chapter Eleven
John was dead—that was all that Jon knew. And now nothing mattered. Why had he tried to save Alf against such odds? And Alf was probably dead as well—or brutalized beyond recovery. It had been the same with Klei. Jon may have prided himself on his rational mind, but in a crisis he acted on impulse—and made a mess of everything. Couldn’t he get it into his head that feelings were dangerous? He swore he’d never trust them again—never as long as he lived—although that was promising little. His time for feelings was over.
Jon had walked for miles, dragged along by the horseman, who’d glanced back at him from time to time with an inane grin. When they finally reached camp, he’d lost the ability to think clearly. Forka dismounted and led him to a large tent where men were squatting in a circle, eating and drinking and talking loudly with one another. They didn’t notice him at first. Leaving Jon with the guard at the tent entrance, Forka walked over to one of the men and spoke in his ear. The man looked up at Jon and smiled broadly; then he said something to the men surrounding him. Evidentially his words amused them. “Perfect!” one shouted. “Perfect!”
One of them stood and approached Jon, first untying Jon’s wrists, then retying them after looping the cord around the pole of the tent. He then used its other end to secure Jon’s ankles, pulling it tight into his flesh. Two other men rose to take a closer look at him.
“Thirsty?” one asked, rubbing a metal cup of water against his lips and then spilling it. “Sorry. I slipped.”
“You’re such a clumsy guy,” a voice rang out. “Our guest will get the wrong impression. He’s probably used to the refinements of high society.”
Again, wild laughter. These men were no different from the oafs in the valley, Jon thought.
“Enjoy your road trip?” someone asked.
“He’s lucky. You heard what the kids did to his pal? He ought to thank us for allowing him to come along with us.”
“I don’t hear any thanks.”
“Yeah, let’s get him talking. I want to hear what he has to say.”
“Tomorrow. We can wait ‘til tomorrow for the thank-yous. Pretty boy is tired. Let him rest. He needs his beauty sleep. It’s a pity Leo tied him up that way. Makes it hard for him to get comfortable.”
“Poor, little thing.”
“They say he’s a wild one. If we don’t tie him fast, there’s no telling . . .”
And so it went, but not for long. The men soon tired of the game, and more important matters were on their minds. The conversation soon returned to next day’s meeting with the Chosen, who’d promised them land and power in return for walking through a ridiculously simple ceremony. All they had to do was kneel and kiss a book.
“But they expect us to be serious about it.”
“Right on. Are you saying that’s all they want?”
“Dumb shit, I’d say.”
“You’d say that ‘cause you’re dumb shit yourself.”
“What do you mean, Asshole?”
“Hold the jimjam,” a louder voice interjected.
“As I say, all we have to do is kiss a book, and that’s peanuts to pay when the Emperor’s in their grasp. You have to choose the right time to find your allies.”
“I’d rather kiss a book than kiss an ass.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“Cut it out, you two. This is serious business.”
Could what they were saying be true? Jon wondered. But did it matter? John was dead, so who cared about the Emperor? Jon would have to escape this place, but it couldn’t be that difficult. He still had Lyla’s knife—the fools had been too dumb to search him—and with patience he should be able to loosen his wrists. Once they were befuddled in sleep he’d cut the ropes and slit a few throats. They’d catch him perhaps, but they’d been right about one thing. He could be wild if he needed to be. But he was so tired, so incredibly tired.
Now more men entered the tent, bringing platters of roasted meat. Someone threw a piece of gristle at Jon’s feet, as if he’d been a dog. After that, they pretended to ignore him, but he knew they were watching. They wanted him to beg for water or food or to have his bonds loosened, but Jon would allow no syllable past his lips.
And it was strangely easy. He should have been wracked with pain—his body was bruised, the skin on his wrists was torn and bleeding, his face, arms and legs were lacerated from being dragged along the road and even now the rope was cutting into his ankles—but he felt nothing. It was as if he’d stepped outside his body and was looking down at it from above. He expected no mercy and when the time came he’d give them no mercy. Yet how could you take them seriously? They were children who’d man
aged to avoid growing up.
The men in the tent were getting louder. They’d been drinking wine, and now they called out for arrack. Tonight was a celebration. They’d drink themselves into a stupor. Yet, even as Jon began to hope that they’d forgotten him, he discovered they hadn’t. A short, bullish man stood up, making sure he had everyone’s attention.
“I have to piss,” he announced.
“Then piss, for God’s sake.”
“I’m going to piss on him. He must be real thirsty by now. Dried out, I’d say.”
He shuffled over to Jon.
“Cut it out, Marto,” someone shouted.
“I’ll piss where I want to piss. Right on his pretty face.”
“With that little thing? You couldn’t piss on a duck.”
Marto turned and glared at the speaker.
“Since when do you give me orders?”
“I said cut it out. There’s no pissing in the tent—do you get me?”
“Oh, not in the tent. I forgot,” he mumbled and staggered out into the darkness.
This wasn’t the real world, Jon thought. It couldn’t be the real world.
“We’ve got to keep Marto away from the booze when we get to the Chosen. Remember, we’re supposed to be converts.”
There was more laughter.
“That’s just my point. We have to act like we’re taking their shit serious.”
The man who said this had long, wavy hair, which must have taken effort to keep untangled. From the look of it, most of these men must have spent hours grooming, and, with their tattoos and jewelry, they probably thought themselves handsome. Jon smiled grimly at that thought. The last speaker had a wide silver collar around his throat and three silver chains across his chest. All of them wore silver, but he wore the most. Pounds of the stuff, it looked like. And his lower arms were covered with tattoos—jagged lines like lightning going around in circles.
“I still don’t get why we agreed to do it,” someone said from the back of the tent.
“You never get anything, Finny.”
“That’s why he took that name. He has a mind like a fish.”
“Let me explain one more time. We agreed to accept their religion because they want us to police the southern territory—all the way to Krapàn. That means we’ll rule Bridgetown and everything, including those bitches who pretend we’re not good enough for them.”
“Can’t we already do what we want with the women?”
“No, we can’t. Four days out of a year is an insult. And even then they treat us like children. They want our dicks, I can tell you that. But they pretend they’re doing us a favor. And for four lousy days.”
“It’s all I want.”
“It’s probably more than you want, Finny.”
Again general laughter erupted, this time at Finny’s expense.
“But why are they doing this?” someone asked.
“How many times do I have to tell you? The Chosen believe women were meant to be ruled by men and not the other way around. They call having a separate state for women unnatural, so they want us to be in control and mingle with them on a more regular basis.”
“Mingle? Does that mean fuck?”
“It means whatever we want it to mean. The point is, we’re going to be the bosses, and the women will have to do what we tell them to do. And not just the ones in the Valley of Women. We’ll have first pick of the women in Bridgetown as well. But all that will come in due time. Right now, the Chosen expect us to join in their crusade against the Emperor. They say some god granted them the land west of the desert and so they have a duty to take it back. It’s in that book of theirs—the story of how the land used to be a paradise until the Emperors stole it.”
“You believe that?”
“I’ll believe what they want me to believe—so long as we get something out of it.”
“But if we join them against the Emperor, does that mean we’ll have to fight?”
“You afraid to fight?”
“No, no, I didn’t mean that. If it’s for the Brotherhood, fighting’s fine. But if we get mixed up in a battle I don’t want it to be helping them and not us.”
“Well, I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you. There isn’t going to be any serious fighting around here. The main action’s a long way off. Aside from a handful of men at Bridgetown, there are no Imperial Armies in the Southland. And, if it comes to it, we’ll be able to handle the Bridgetown garrison just fine. We come and everybody gets scared—haven’t you ever noticed that? They either run away or start bowing and scraping, like we’re a bunch of fancy rapists. Anyway, the Emperor can’t defeat the Chosen—there are too many of them. All we have to do is make sure we’re on the right side.”
During this conversation, several of the men had dozed off and others had left the tent.
“It’s time we slept,” one of the remaining men said.
“Tomorrow’s the big day.”
“Yes, tomorrow—the day we kiss that fuckin’ book of theirs. The day we become Chosen.”
The remaining men were finding places to lie down when one of them came up to Jon.
“Here, boy. I’ll fix it so you can at least sit comfortably. You need to rest too. There’s a ways to go tomorrow, and we wouldn’t want you dying on us.”
Jon couldn’t tell whether he was being kind or threatening. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
As he fussed with the knots, he ran his hand up and down Jon’s thigh. The man had heavy silver rings on his fingers; it was like being fondled by a metal claw.
“A handsome boy like you doesn’t have anything to worry about. They talk big, but nobody really wants to hurt a face like yours. A little soap and water and you’ll be even prettier. But what’s this?”
He’d found the knife.
“Some fool didn’t think to search you. They’re used to boys from the Valley of Women, and they never have weapons. Where’d you get this thing?”
“What are you doing, Adrian?” one of the men called from across the room. “Get your hands off the boy.”
“He had a knife. I was checking him for weapons and found a knife.”
“Let’s see it.”
Adrian reluctantly carried the knife to where the man was lying.
“Here it is, sir.”
The man grabbed it and thrust it into the ground next to him.
“We’ll have a look at this tomorrow. Now everybody shut up and go to sleep. And you, Adrian, go somewhere else tonight. I don't want you bothering my new boy.”
Chapter Twelve
Zoë, Klei, and Alf had found the camp, but they weren’t sure what to do next.
“I bet they took Jon to the middle tent,” Alf said. “That’s where the leaders group. I’ll go and try to find him.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” Zoë asked.
“He risked his life for me, didn’t he? What else can I do?”
“Then I should go with you,” Klei said. “He risked his life for me once, too. We should do this together.”
“No, Klei,” Zoë told him. “I don’t want you to go. One person is better than two when you’re avoiding notice.”
“And they don’t know you, Klei,” Alf pointed out. “They’re used to seeing me. The only ones who’d cause me trouble would be Piers’s friends—although he’s not called that anymore. They make us take new names, so Piers calls himself Zandor now.”
Klei furrowed his eyebrows.
“What kind of name is that?”
“It’s the kind of name the Bearded Men like—names that sound mysterious or dangerous—or at least they think they do. Most are pretty silly.”
“Do you have a new name?”
“I’m called Alfred.”
“That’s not much different from Alf.”
“That’s why I picked it.”
“Alf,” Zoë said, “I think it’s time for you to start your mission.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Alf disa
ppeared into the darkness. Zoë stood watching him for a long time, then began slowly pacing back and forth along the hilltop, while Klei sat in silence looking down at the camp.
▲
The fires had burned low and the camp was quiet. From the feel of the air, Zoë knew that dawn was near. The constellation called The Eagle, which had been above the horizon when Alf set out, had disappeared, but for a single red star.
“I must learn to be patient,” she said quietly, sitting down next to Klei. “How long has it been?”
“Three hours—maybe more. Do you think anything’s happened to him?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
For a moment, Zoë thought she heard voices in the distance, but then she heard only silence. In the East, a glimmer of light was visible.
“I shouldn’t have let him go.”
“No, Zoë. You did the right thing.”
“Do you think so?”
Klei took her hand, just as he had before.
“We’ll find him. I know we will.”
At that moment, they heard a noise. Someone was climbing the hill. Zoë stood up and drew her knife as a figure emerged from the shadows, but then resheathed it when she recognized Alf.
“I found Jon,” Alf said. “He’s tied up in the main tent, just like I said. But there’s a guard.”
“How did you locate him?”
“They’re not all bad. I had to find the right person to talk to.”
“What do you mean, they’re not all bad?” Klei asked.
“They’re our fathers, Klei; and some don’t forget that. It’s the leaders who’re bad, the same as in the Valley of Women. The Brotherhood tell us that bullying’s part of what it means to be a man, and most boys believe them. All they learned in the Valley of Women was a list of failings, so if you’re bound to be bad, then isn’t it better to enjoy it? But not everybody accepts that line. Some think there’s a way to be a man that’s different.”
“So you found one of these different men?” Zoë asked impatiently. She wanted to hear about Jon; nothing else mattered.
The Flight from Kar (The Emperor's Library Page 18
