“I’m a Tender,” Netra said. “This is Shorn. He’s my friend. Let us in. We can help. We have information about the Children that the FirstMother will want to know.”
“A Tender you say?” the officer said, his expression becoming slightly less suspicious. He lowered the sword fractionally.
“Kinda late, ain’t you?” the gray-bearded soldier said.
“Shut your mouth, Clet. Show respect.” To Netra the officer said, “Begging your pardon, but can you prove it? I mean, that you’re a Tender?”
Netra held up her hands. “How do I do that?” She still had her sonkrill in her pack—Shorn had retrieved it after she was captured—but she doubted the soldiers would know what it was.
“Ask her if she’s got one of them sulbits.”
“Shut up, Clet,” the officer said. The way he said it made it clear it was something he said often—and something he didn’t expect to have any real effect. To Netra he said, “Well, do you?”
“I don’t know what a sulbit is.” An idea occurred to Netra. “I think some of the Tenders from my Haven are here. You could send word to them. They’ll vouch for me. But you need to hurry. The Children aren’t that far behind us.”
At her mention of the Children all the soldiers looked to the south. Then the officer looked back at her. “Could be you’d be a lot smarter following those people north.” He gestured at the wagon with his sword. “Could be this is a death trap.” The other soldiers looked grim at his words and the young, black-haired one paled somewhat.
Netra looked at Shorn, then back at the officer. “I appreciate the warning, but no more running. This is where I need to be.”
The officer considered this, then abruptly sheathed his sword. “Archers, stand down!” he called. The archers in the gatehouse towers released the tension on their bows, but they kept arrows nocked. “Lower your weapons,” he ordered the men behind him.
“You’re letting them in?” Clet asked.
“I am.”
“But—”
“Look at him, Clet,” the officer said, gesturing at Shorn. “You telling me you don’t want him on our side in the fight to come?”
“If’n he don’t turn on us,” Clet said sullenly.
“I’m not explaining myself to you. Stand down. Let them pass.” Grumbling, Clet sheathed his weapon and stood aside with the rest. Every eye was fixed on Shorn and every hand was near a weapon as he and Netra approached the gatehouse. Awed murmurs came from the soldiers. The tallest came up to Shorn’s shoulder, but with only a fraction of his breadth.
Netra and Shorn passed through the outer gates and into the gateway passage, which was almost a dozen paces long. She looked up and saw dark murder-holes above them in the arched stone. Netra held her breath. She could feel the tension that radiated from the soldiers manning the murder-holes. They were frightened, beset by an enemy they didn’t understand, one they had no real hope against. Though ordered to stand down, she could feel how little it would take to cause one of them to lose his nerve and attack.
Compounding her fear was the fact that the portcullis at the far end of the gateway passage was still down. Had they walked into a trap? She felt Shorn’s tension and knew that he had noticed the same things.
It was a relief when the chains rattled and the portcullis slowly rose as they approached it. They walked under it and out into the broad, open square beyond.
The square was several hundred paces across and there was a large statue in the middle. Bordering the square on all sides were tall, stone buildings that had clearly been designed to provide a second layer of defense in case the outer wall was breached. The buildings had been built together and there were no windows on the bottom three floors. Only one narrow street led from the square into the rest of the city and it had heavy, iron-bound wooden gates to close it off.
Two squads of soldiers stood facing them when they emerged from the gateway passage. There were a few dozen civilians in the square as well, people fleeing the city with what possessions they could carry. They stared at Shorn with wide eyes.
One of the soldiers came forward. He looked askance at Shorn, then faced Netra and told her he would escort them to the Tender estate. They passed through the narrow street leading from the square and then turned onto another, wider street, that led up the hill toward the palace, visible at the highest point of Qarath.
As the street climbed, the buildings lining it grew larger and more opulent until giving way to large, walled estates. The soldier led them to an estate that had forty or fifty people standing in line outside it.
“I wonder what all those people are here for,” Netra said.
“They’re feeding the sulbits,” the soldier replied.
“They’re feeding what?”
“You’ll see,” the soldier replied, leaving them and heading back down the street.
The people waiting to get into the estate were lined up next to the wall along the uphill side, most of them fidgeting nervously, lost in their thoughts enough that they didn’t notice Shorn as he and Netra approached. The few who did gaped at him and seemed to be seriously considering running away.
Manning the gates was a woman dressed in a white robe. She had severely short hair and she was flanked by two armed guards. Neither she nor the guards noticed the approaching pair: She was turned half away, talking to the first person in the line, and the two guards were staring at the ground.
As they got closer, Netra sensed something strange, something that she couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it was radiating a great deal of energy, but the energy was different in a way she didn’t understand.
Then something crawled out of the woman’s robe and onto her shoulder and Netra stopped, grabbing Shorn’s arm as she did so.
“What is that?” she whispered.
It was unlike anything Netra had ever seen. About the size of a rat, it stood on its hind legs. Its tail was fairly long and was curled around the woman’s neck as if to help it balance. Its head was blunt and rounded, its mouth a sharp gash, its eyes black and deep set. It was a milky white color with hints of light brown or yellow in its skin, though it was hard to tell for sure. The thing was difficult to focus on, as if she was seeing it through cloudy water.
It was staring at her.
“The guard asked to see your sulbit,” Shorn replied.
“You think that’s what it is?”
“There is only one way to find out.” Shorn started forward once again.
Netra followed hesitantly. The sulbit made her uncomfortable. The energy radiating off it made her skin itch. It seemed unnatural. It was also clearly powerful. Large quantities of Song swirled within it, far more than should have been possible for something so small.
But the most disturbing thing about the creature was its stare. There was hunger in those black eyes. Hunger for her.
The woman was clearly a Tender. Did all the Tenders have them?
All this and more went through Netra’s mind as she followed Shorn up to the gates. When they got close, one of the guards suddenly looked up and saw Shorn. The man went pale and backed up against the wall, choking out a warning to his partner. The other guard looked up and was so shocked he dropped his sword after drawing it. Picking up his sword, he tapped the Tender on the shoulder.
“What is it?” she asked querulously without turning. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Begging your pardon, Tender, but…but…” He was pointing his sword at Shorn and the tip was wavering badly. The first guard seemed paralyzed, backed up against the wall, staring at Shorn.
Making a disgusted sound, the Tender turned. When she saw Shorn her mouth dropped open. “What in the Mother’s name is that?” she whispered. The sulbit on her shoulder was now crouching, its mouth open in a soundless snarl.
“His name is Shorn,” Netra said.
The Tender’s gaze flicked to her, then back to Shorn, who had come to a halt and was standing with his thick arms crossed over his chest.
<
br /> “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I’m Netra. I’m a Tender. I need to speak to the FirstMother.”
When she said she was a Tender, the woman relaxed fractionally. She put one hand up and stroked her sulbit, murmuring to it as she did so. Her sulbit’s mouth closed.
“The FirstMother is very busy. Come back later.”
“Please…” Netra began, but she got no further because Shorn, clearly deciding he’d been patient enough, simply started walking forward.
The Tender’s eyes grew very wide and for just a moment she stood her ground, but when it became clear that Shorn wasn’t slowing, she scurried out of the way. The guards had already moved and though she hissed at them they made no effort to impede Shorn in any way.
“Thank you,” Netra said to the startled Tender, and followed Shorn through the gate.
“You sure know how to make friends,” she said to him when she caught up.
“We don’t have the time,” Shorn grunted.
Netra had to agree with him. Even from this distance it seemed to her she could feel the Children, could feel Reyna especially. Several times during the night she’d awakened with a certainty that some trace of Reyna’s tether was still buried within her, waiting to flare to life. But when she looked within, she found nothing.
Shorn pointed. “I believe that is the FirstMother.” Then he headed that way.
They were on a broad, paved drive that led up to a large mansion, several stories tall. The drive was circular in front of the mansion, with a fountain in the middle that was surrounded by flower beds. But now the fountain was dry, the flowerbeds fallow with only a few yellowing weeds in them. To the left was a row of four long, low, wooden buildings that looked cheap and recently constructed. To the right was an open, grassy area, where a group of people waited apprehensively. Near them were a dozen Tenders in a line, each bent over a kneeling person, one hand resting on their shoulders. Overseeing them all was a stern-looking Tender wearing a large, gold Reminder, the many-pointed star inside a circle that was the symbol of the Tender faith. A thin Tender with narrow features and a long face stood beside her.
As she got closer, Netra realized that the Tenders’ sulbits were crouched on the shoulders of the people who were kneeling. But what were they doing? She took two more steps before suddenly it hit her.
They were feeding.
She could feel the Song they were drawing from the people. It gave her an unpleasant sucking sensation in the pit of her stomach.
The feeling of revulsion was so strong that Netra stopped, grabbing onto Shorn’s arm as she did so.
“How can this be?” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “How can they do this? Why?”
But did she really need to ask why? After what she had done? After what she’d seen?
Shorn gave her a questioning look and she nodded. “It’s okay,” she said.
The FirstMother was a large woman whose robe hung on her loosely, as if she had lost quite a lot of weight recently. Her sulbit was larger than any of the others and she held it in the crook of her arm as if it were a baby. She didn’t see the two of them approach, her eyes fixed on the Tenders as they fed their sulbits.
Her sulbit, however, was staring fixedly at Netra. It chittered and she looked down at it, then up to see Shorn and Netra approaching. She did a double-take when she saw Shorn and her free hand went to her sulbit. She muttered something to the Tender attending her and when the woman looked up she gave a startled squeak and fell back a step.
“Who are you?” demanded the FirstMother. She was staring at Shorn, but her sulbit was still staring at Netra. Netra felt her heart beat a little faster.
“I’m Netra,” she said. “This is Shorn.”
But the FirstMother didn’t seem to be listening. “How did they get in here, Velma?” the FirstMother demanded of the Tender standing beside her, as if she had personally let them onto the estate.
Velma waved her hands helplessly. “I don’t know, FirstMother.”
“I wonder why I bother to have guards at all. They’re almost completely useless.”
Velma shrugged, then nodded vigorously.
“What do you want?” the FirstMother asked. “I’m busy.”
“I can see that, FirstMother, but this is important.” The FirstMother’s expression said more than words could have about how doubtful she found that. “It’s about the Children.”
That got the FirstMother’s attention. “What about them?”
“I can help you against them.”
The FirstMother looked her over. “I seriously doubt that.” She measured Shorn up and down. “Though I suspect Rome could find a use for that one on the wall. Go up to the palace and talk to them.” She turned her attention back to the other Tenders, clearly dismissing Netra.
“I’m a Tender,” Netra blurted out.
The FirstMother looked irritated that she was still there. “Without a sulbit you’re useless to me. Go away.” Again she looked away.
“I was captured by the Children. I can tell you things about them.”
That got her the FirstMother’s attention again, but she looked skeptical. “A bold claim, child, but one I seriously doubt. The Children leave no survivors.”
“It is true,” Shorn interjected.
The FirstMother looked mildly surprised that Shorn could speak. She turned to Velma. “Go with her. Hear what she has to say.”
“Me?” Velma squeaked.
“Do you see anyone else standing here?”
Velma looked around like a trapped animal. “Right now?”
“Yes, now.”
Velma nodded furiously, but the FirstMother had already dismissed her and turned back to the Tenders she was overseeing. Velma came hesitantly over to them, making sure she didn’t come within arm’s reach of Shorn. She looked worried he might try to bite her. For his part, Shorn didn’t even look at her. He was busy looking around, assessing possible threats, establishing the layout of the estate.
“Uh, follow me, I guess,” Velma said. She led them back over to the paved carriage way then looked around, as if unsure where to take them. Uncertainly, she turned to them. “So…” she said, biting the corner of her lip. After a long hesitation she ventured, “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to ask you.”
“Does it make any difference?” Netra asked. “No offense, but I don’t think she’s going to listen to you.”
Velma hung her head. “You noticed.”
“I did.”
“Were you really captured by the Children?” Velma asked, looking up at Netra with big eyes.
“Yes, I really was.”
“How did you escape?” She glanced sidelong at Shorn. “I bet it was him.” Now that Velma had accepted that the FirstMother wasn’t going to expect a real report from her, she seemed to be getting over her fear somewhat.
“It was him,” Netra said. She rubbed her face. She suddenly felt really tired. She’d put so much into getting her and now she was here and it didn’t seem to make any difference. She just wanted to lie down and sleep. “Maybe you can help me. There may be some Tenders here from the Haven where I grew up.”
“If they’re here, I probably know them. I know a lot of the Tenders,” Velma said proudly.
“One of them is Cara. She has long, blonde hair…” Netra trailed off, realizing that all the Tenders she’d seen had very short hair and so that description probably wouldn’t help. But Velma brightened right away.
“Of course I know Cara!” she said excitedly. “She was a great help when the FirstMother went off to Guardians Watch and left me here in charge.”
Netra doubted the last part. Who would leave this apparently simple woman in charge of anything?
“She is wonderful at the morning services,” Velma continued. “Everyone loves her. That was the greatest help, when she took them over. I was awful at them,” she confided to Netra. “I never had anything to say.”
“Okay,” Netra sa
id, cutting in before the woman spent all day talking. “Do you know where she is?”
“Not right now,” Velma admitted, peering around at the estate grounds. From the way she was squinting, Netra thought she probably couldn’t see all that well. “But it shouldn’t be hard to find her. Come on. Let’s go look.”
She led them around the side of the house along a tiled path through gardens that had been neglected for some time. As she walked, she kept up a steady stream of commentary, but Netra heard none of it. She was thinking about the sulbits. What were those creatures? Where did they come from? She remembered the Musician she and Shorn had encountered on their way back to the Haven. He’d seemed surprised that she didn’t have a sulbit, but never answered when she asked him what they were. Apparently they fed on Song, but why were they being fed on people?
“There she is,” Velma exclaimed, stopping and pointing.
Netra looked and saw a woman sitting on a stone bench, her hands folded in her lap. Even at a distance, even half turned away, Netra knew at once it was her and she cried her name and ran to her.
Fifteen
“Oh, oh, oh, I can’t believe it’s really you. I can’t believe you’re back,” Cara kept saying as she cried and hugged Netra to her as tightly as she could. At least that’s what she thought she was saying. She was so surprised and so overwhelmed that she couldn’t be sure. It didn’t seem real. She’d dreamed of this moment, but deep down she’d been terrified it would never happen, that she’d seen the last of the woman she considered her sister.
At length they pulled apart and looked at each other, still holding hands. “It’s really you, isn’t it? I’m not dreaming?”
“It’s really me,” Netra replied, tears streaming down her face as well.
“I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve been so frightened.” Cara remembered then, why Netra went away. “Did you find your mother?”
“No, I didn’t. I think I was close, but then the Plateau…it kind of blew up and I had to leave.”
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