by Clayton, Jo;
Aleytys blinked. Once again she reread the passage and got little more from it the second time. I don’t have enough information to understand, she thought, and that was frightening to her. If she couldn’t understand the words, what about when she was in the middle of the actions …? She shoved the thought away and turned the page.
It took a while to get through all that archaic language—my gift, child—but I finally managed to find out where the ship landed. This damn world. I’ve got to make my way across half of it to get to the ship. Seems the nomad clans chased your people out of the western mountains and clear across the central plain. A good thousand stadia of hostile territory!
Besides reading the book. I’ve talked to the caravan people. So in a few days I’ll start off along the trade road, going south until I reach the vadi Massarat. There I’ll wait for Khatarnak when the caravans come to that valley. Then I’ll go with them up the mountain to a pass called the tangra Suzan. On the western side of the mountain is a small lake almost perfectly round. From that lake flows a river called the Mulukaneh Rud. I’ll follow that until it reaches the tijarat, which is, my dear, the trade fair where the caravans and the nomads meet. The only place where these gentle people—the nomads, I mean—meet any stranger without slaughtering him on the spot. If you follow my route, don’t get to the tijarat before Khatarnak or you’ll have a hungry wait. If you get there, even at the right time, you’ll have to persuade one of the nomad clans to take you across to the western mountains. Don’t ask me how. I haven’t the faintest idea. I’ll fit my plan to the occasion when I get there. Be warned. Those nomads are obstinately hostile to strangers. Implacably hostile. Sounds impossible, doesn’t it? I only know I’ll manage. And so will you, my dear. Aleytys, we may be deficient in the warmer emotions, we Vrya, but we’ve more than our share of cunning.
Cunning, Aleytys thought. Looks like I’ll need it. Hmph, what an unflattering catalog of virtues.
She yawned and rubbed her eyes. The air in the room was getting stale. Stretching aching arms and legs, she turned over on her back for a moment and sighed as her tired muscles relaxed in the new position. “Wonder what time it is?”
After a minute she bounced back onto her stomach and smoothed her hands over the pages.
When I get to the western mountains, I’ll have to find a place called the Bawe Neswet. If the nomads get me that far, maybe they’ll take me all the way. The place of fire, that’s what the people of the caravan said. Must be a volcanic area, hot springs, open craters, and stinking air. If you make it there, you’ll have no trouble figuring out which protuberance is the starship. It’ll have a point on top—a metal object taller than a horan. Halfway up the side there’ll be an airlock—that’s simply a ship’s doorway—round in shape on a Romanchi. So look for that round opening big enough for a man to stand up right in. Climb up. Inside, somewhere around the middle of the ship, you’ll find a metal ladder passing up and down to the tip and tail of the ship. Climb up high as you can. This is-an old, old ship. They were still putting the bridge in the nose when it was built. It’ll be a long climb, I’m afraid, but the lift probably won’t be working and you wouldn’t know how to operate it in any case.
You’ll know the bridge by the instruments—a lot of things that look like clock dials.
Any spots on this page, my dear, have to be drops of sweat running off my nose as I hunt up words to explain translight technology in horse-and-wagon terms.
In that room I was talking about you’ll find the emergency beacon. Somewhere on the left of the main screen—a thing made of glass like a big window—there’ll be a small square panel painted red. Open that. Inside there’ll be a button also painted red. Push it. That sets the beacon going. That’s all there is to it.
After that all you have to do is wait. Someone will come to answer the call.…
Aleytys scratched beside her nose. She read the last page. Then read it again. “Well,” she grunted. “At least I know how to push a button.” She turned the page.
What you do when he gets there is up to you. Persuade him somehow to take you to Ibex. Be prepared. He’ll want some kind of payment, probably be as amoral as a prowling tars and as vicious. I won’t need the beacon. I know the Romanchi instruments and can work the sanchettia. I’ll call one of my own and be home in a blink of an eye. It’ll be harder for you, my baby. Find your way to me. That’s the test I set you. The luck of the Vryhh be with you, my Aleytys. By the way, let me warn you. Don’t tell anyone you’re part Vryhh. You’ll regret it quickly if you do.
Aleytys flicked up an eyebrow. “Luck,” she groaned. “It’ll take a whole flock of miracles. Don’t tell anyone I’m Vryhh? Who the hell knows about them on this world!” She grimaced and scanned the last paragraph of the lengthy letter.
When—if—we meet, we’ll meet as strangers. Part of you is mine, but … part of you is his. I hope I’ll be cured of the sickness he woke in me when we meet. I hope I’ll be able to greet you, accept you as yourself, without the distortion of the memories.… Never mind. Don’t expect too much of me.
Shareem.
Aleytys flipped the book shut and sat up, resting her chin on her knees. “That’s interesting.…” She stretched and wriggled around, working the stiffness out of her muscles. “Whew, it’s hot.”
A knock on the door broke her musing. She scrambled off the bed and thrust the book hastily under the mattress. As she smoothed the quilts again, she called out “Who is it?”
“Ziraki. With your lunch. Open the door, Aleytys, before I drop something.”
When she pulled the door open, he shoved the tray at her. “Take hold, Aleytys. These damn books …”
She laughed. “Next time, bring an asiri. Where shall I … ah.” She set the tray on the bed and turned back to him. “What’s happening?”
He shrugged. “Nothing much. People still jittery and talking a lot in whispers. Hope you like these.”
“Thanks.” She dropped the books on the bed without looking at them. “Ziraki …”
He held up his hand. “No, Aleytys. You know I can’t …”
“Relax, friend. How’s Qumri taking it?”
“Funny.” He looked at his hand, spread the fingers out, then closed them into a bony fist. “She hasn’t said a word. I saw Rubhan riding out across the fields toward the foothills.”
“Rubhan! He’s Qumri’s pet weasel.”
Ziraki nodded and twisted his mobile mouth into a grimace of distaste. “The herdsfolk. That’s where I think he was going. The Sha’ir … an evil man, crazier than Qumri even. Aleytys, I’ll do all I can. But if he and Qumri get together …” He shook his head unhappily.
“I know.”
“Keep your heart high, Aleytys, you’ve got more friends than you know.” He took her hand. “The guilds are for you. All those not crazed with fear and envy. We don’t make much noise, but we’re with you, Aleytys.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and blinked the tears back. Without saying anything she squeezed his fingers until he had to pull his hand loose. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he patted her comfortingly. “Just keep out of the way of the lusuqs, Aleytys. A little time. That’s all we need. People forget.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder. The fluttery weakness in her chest began to subside. “Thanks, friend.”
He patted her shoulder again, then freed himself. “Eat your lunch before it congeals, Aleytys. I’ll take your advice and send an asiri for the tray. Aleytys, you can leave the door open a few minutes for some air. Nobody’ll be coming up for over half an hour.”
“That’s a good thought.” She moved past him and danced to the middle of the hall. Swinging around and around she held the abba out from her sides, letting the drafts that constantly flowed down the halls of the house swirl around her sweaty body. Ziraki grinned at her and strolled over to the stairhead. Then he sobered abruptly and looked at her with pity in his eyes. “One more thing.”
“What’s that?”
She danced around to face him.
“Twanit won’t be up for khakutah today. Suja put her in one of the guest rooms.”
“Oh?” She frowned. “Why?”
“Suja made her go to bed an hour ago. She kept shaking and crying. Couldn’t hold on to anything and just kept crying harder each time she dropped something. But you know Twanit. She’ll be all right tomorrow. These things never last.”
Aleytys swallowed painfully, anger and a guilty conscience combining to damp down her rising spirits. “Where is she?” she asked. “Take me to her, Ziraki. I can help her. She is always better with me.”
“Not this time, Aleytys. Anyway, she’s asleep.” He started downstairs. “Eat your lunch. When you finish, leave the tray outside your door for the asiri. And, Aleytys …”
“Hmm?”
“Keep out of trouble, will you?”
6
A shrill scream followed by hysterical sobs broke into Aleytys’s dispirited musings as she trudged upstairs from her solitary lunch in the sewing room. She tilted her head and stared. “Twanit! What now?” She lifted the front of her abba and streaked up the rest of the stairs, touching wood about every third step.
Twanit crouched in a heap outside their bedroom door sobbing wildly, her fingers writhing like white worms through her straggling black curls. Aleytys caught hold of her and tried to pull her up onto her feet. Twanit shrieked again and hit out at her in panic. Catching the wildly swinging arms in firm gentle hands, Aleytys pulled her back against the wall and slapped her sharply. Twanit gulped and cowered back, tears streaming down her twitching face.
Aleytys caught hold of her hand. “What happened, Ti? No, no, little one, don’t worry, I won’t let it hurt you. Tell me.”
Twanit buried her face in Aleytys’s shoulder and clutched at her with her thin nervous arms. “In … in there, Leyta.… It … it’s awful. The blood … and … and the smell … oh.…” Her body trembled against Aleytys until her knees gave way and she sagged toward the floor. Aleytys patted her back soothingly. “Hush, Ti. Shh. You don’t have to see it again … forget it. Sh … it’s only a bad dream. Think. It’s a dream. Just a dream. Forget it. Just a bad dream. Shh, baby.” Over Twanit’s shoulder she saw Zavar’s anxious face. “Vari,” she said quietly. “Take Twanit while I see what scared her.” She rubbed her hand gently up and down Twanit’s spine until her trembling lessened. “Ti, look. It’s Vari, your sister. You go with her while I take care of what’s in the room. Shh.”
Aleytys worked herself free and passed the still-shaking girl to Zavar. As she turned she saw someone standing like an ominous dark ghost at the far end of the hall. Qumri. Hovering in the background, a twisted triumphant smile distorting her handsome face. Anger flared through Aleytys and she took a step toward her tormentor. At that moment Suja came sweeping majestically down the hall, sending Qumri into retreat. Suja turned her calm questioning eyes on the young ones circling curiously about and they melted away like smoke before a high wind.
With a taunting smile at Qumri, Aleytys leaned against the wall and watched her efface herself. Suja was younger than she and theoretically had less abru, but she was also heir’s wife and young heir’s mother. More, she was a woman with considerable quiet strength of character. Qumri didn’t quite dare rouse her anger and Aleytys knew it. As she watched, the older woman glowered and slipped away around the corner.
Aleytys hastily straightened and made the respect shalikk as Suja nodded to her. Without a word Suja swept past her and stood in the doorway. Her body stiffened and she turned quickly. “Do you know what’s in there?” Her voice was sharp with distaste.
“No.” Aleytys took a deep breath and steadied her voice. “I’ve been eating downstairs. You should know that. When the asiri took my tray down yesterday she told me you said eat in the sewing room after that. Kerde can tell you. She brought the tray.” She scowled at Suja. “I haven’t done anything.”
Twanit’s sobs had subsided. She turned in her sister’s arms and stared blank-faced first at her mother, then at Aleytys. “Abruya Madar,” she began hesitantly.
Suja stepped to her side. She drew her into her arms and looked over the girl’s shoulder at Aleytys. “I sent no message to you, Aleytys.”
“Qumri!” Aleytys stiffened and glared down the hall.
“I shall send the bakra Shams and Auh for my daughter’s things.” Suja’s quiet voice pulled her head back. She looked into the compassionate face and felt the anger wash out of her, leaving her weak enough to need to lean against the wall. “You permit they enter your chamber?” Suja went on.
Aleytys bowed slightly, then straightened and looked proudly into Suja’s face. “Of course, salkurdeh khatu. They are welcome.” She touched her forehead and lips in the formal shalikk.
Suja hesitated. Reluctantly she said, “You’ve been a good friend to my child, Aleytys, and I …” She closed her eyes a moment. A quiet determined look stiffened her face. “I know you’re not to blame for that horror in there.” She paused and touched her lips nervously with her tongue. “But I’m afraid that and worse will happen again. Not your fault. I’m shamed that I can do nothing to help you.” She stroked Twanit’s hair with absentminded gentleness. “I’ve made my disapproval known to the house and to …” She Tightened her mouth. Then her face sagged tiredly. “It won’t do any good. As you know. But you’re strong, Aleytys. What merely disgusts and angers you could really hurt my daughter.” Her arm tightened protectively around Twanit’s shoulders. “We haven’t been friends. I don’t make friends easily, as you know, and you and I have little to share. I wish you to believe, though, that I’ll never be a party to such … such sickness as you’ll find there.” She nodded toward the half-open door.
Aleytys sighed. She felt a weary admiration as she looked at the slim plain woman with her strong, honest face and her quiet integrity. She spread out her hands helplessly and sought for words to express what she felt, but had to fall back on formality. Touching her head and lips in the formal shalikk, she bowed deeply. “I understand, abruya Suja. I honor your courage.”
Suja nodded stiffly and moved away, pushing the bewildered Twanit ahead of her.
Aleytys looked around. The hall was empty except for Zavar. She took a step toward her door, then turned. “Still here, Vari? You better get out of here too, might catch something bad for you.”
Tears gathered in Zavar’s soft brown eyes. She flung her arms around Aleytys and hugged her so impetuously that she knocked the breath out of both of them. “Leyta,” she gasped, tumbling the words out one over the other, “Twanit can have my bed and I’ll move in with you. Just think, we could have so much fun.” She danced back, her face glowing with sudden excitement. “I like you so much better than Misha; she’s a giggling idiot.”
Aleytys smiled reluctantly, but shook her head. “Your mother would have twenty fits, Vari.”
“Mama?” Zavar giggled at the thought of dignified Suja throwing a fit. Then she sobered and peered anxiously at Aleytys past tumbling curls. “Don’t you want me, Leyta?”
Aleytys reached out and stroked her fingers down the girl’s soft cheek. “Dear Vari. I’d love having you with me, chuchik. But …” She sighed. “You’re better off where you are. And …” She rested her hand on Zavar’s shoulder for just a minute. “You know it’s better for me to keep my head down so it won’t be chopped off. Just let it be. Give me a little time.” She turned away and stepped to the door, wondering what horrible mess waited for her. When she looked inside she froze.
“Ugh! How sick-making.” Vari’s voice seemed to come from miles away, struggling through thick fog.
Blood Streaked and dribbled around the room. A sickly sweet stench. Her eyes returned to … flinched away … returned to … to the small corpse … Mooli. Ah, Madar. Mooli. And blood. Red-brown crusts dribbled in a crossed circle on the immaculate whiteness of her pillowcase. Mooli. Curse her … curse her, damn jealous bitch.
The gurb was spread-eagled stiffly in
the center of the obscene mandala with her belly slit open and her throat torn as if something had worried her with its teeth.… And around her, five tiny unborn kits, wrenched from the womb and arranged in a stiff-legged wreath.… Mooli.… Aleytys put her hand against the door to steady herself.
“Ugh.” Zavar wriggled past and went over to the bed. She touched the mutilated body. “Who could?” She wrinkled her snub nose and shuddered.
“Mooli,” Aleytys whispered and the name seemed to release something hard and cold inside her. “Poor little gurb, it should have better been me,” she said bitterly.
7
She stormed up the ramp and through the partly open door into the dim interior of the stable. At the far end of the long narrow room Azdar examined a black stallion that was backing around skittishly, discussing his points with Chalak, Mavas, Yurrish, and three o’amalehha from the fields.
“Azdar!”
He whipped around at the sound of her voice. She saw his face whiten, met his astonished stare with her own hot blue-green eyes. Chalak stepped around him, mouth tightening. He started toward her.
Aleytys tossed the hair back out of her face and glared at her father. “Just leave me alone,” she spit at Chalak, thrusting out a hand to fend him off. “I won’t contaminate the precious old maimun.”
