by G. Deyke
~*~
Unlike all Mountain cities I have seen, Saluyah has no city wall dividing it from the Desert. The first I see of it is farmland, kept alive by water diverted from the river. Then there are small houses, built with great slabs of gray stone, and streets cobbled with the same. The houses grow steadily richer around us as we go; the estates of nobles must be nearest the center.
“We shall go to House Lithuk,” says Mel, “and see if we can find the woman's name.”
I nod. Ty says: “Can you find it?”
She doesn't respond, except to tighten her lips and touch the scar at her cheek. She has never told me whence it came, only that it is a mark of her nobility, and a reminder to behave as a noble ought to. She does not often speak of it, and touches it only when she is in a dangerous mood.
It breaks apart the beauty of her face, but sometimes I think it is her best feature. It is because of that scar that I know that she is real.
We search for most of the morning without success, and in the end we must stop a commoner and ask the way; so it is nearly noon by the time we stand before House Lithuk's estate. “With luck, we shall be invited to stay for the midday meal,” Mel says, in a tone that does not quite dare to be hopeful. I think she is glad to hope for a meal prepared for nobles. She has found our traveling food tasteless at best.
She knocks hard on the main door, certain we shall be listened to there – for isn't she a noble? It is soon opened by a servant with an uncertain smile. Her eyes pass quickly over Mel and Ty; then she sees me, and moves to shut the door, saying: “What is this?”
“Wait –” Mel says, and shows the servant her arm, where the sign of House Chinlar is scarred lightly into her skin. Nobles take no chances of losing their children.
The servant waits, eying us with deep suspicion. “Right, then, who are you?”
She makes no effort to hide her distaste. I was a fool to think I could follow Mel. The servant will not listen to us, not while I am here.
“I am Melianarrheyal of House Chinlar, betrothed to Kerheyin of House Lithuk, whom I shall wed in less than two years' time,” says Mel. “This,” gesturing to me, “is my faithful servant, whom we have disguised as kretchin in order to better complete the mission to which we both have sworn; and he,” – Ty – “is my hired bodyguard.”
But I am not a servant, and I am not disguised as kretchin. I am kretchin. I wonder how Mel could forget this. At first I want to correct her; but we are not alone, and I do not quite dare to impugn her words before this servant of House Lithuk, lest I witlessly doom our mission.
The servant, for the moment, seems somewhat relieved. Of course – of course Mel in her wisdom would devise a way for me to come with her. I was foolish to think otherwise. I am glad now that I held my tongue, and ashamed that I almost did not. And the servant believes her! But a shadow crosses her face when she hears Kerheyin's name.
“Come in,” she says, and we follow her through the door. I have never seen a noble mansion before, not from the proper entrance. I can scarcely contain myself; I look around the entrance hall openly, wanting to see everything; but Mel looks at me sharply and warns me to stop, saying only: “Calm yourself.” So I endeavor to look forward, and only forward.
We are given seats, and told to await the return of the servant with Mother Lithuk, whom she has promised to fetch. Mel sits demurely on the edge of her chair, and Ty on her other side sits back in his, but he sits straight, as he is always straight. I try to sit straight, to affect the air of a servant who is merely dressed as kretchin, but I cannot. I am too thoroughly accustomed to holding myself low, to keeping my head down and my shoulders up. I am too accustomed to being afraid. In the hope of hiding that fear I keep my hands in tight fists and rest them on my knees, holding my arms straight. I fix my eye on the wall ahead of us so that I cannot look down and give myself away.
I do not know how to do this, how to be a servant. I tell myself I will say nothing, if I can, so that I do not give myself away by saying something improper, and otherwise I will follow Mel's lead and even Ty's as well as I can. I must not give myself away. They must not know what I am.
After a while the servant returns and introduces Mother Lithuk, and bows, and leaves. I look up at the noblewoman quickly – I can see some of Kerheyin's features in her face, from Mel's painting – but I am too afraid to look for long, and I soon drop my gaze.
Mel introduces us again, as she did to the servant, and Mother Lithuk nods.
“We have much to discuss,” she says. “If you would care to share a meal with me? Naturally your servants may take a repast as well.”
“My servant has sworn to the mission as I have,” says Mel with a glance at me; “and, though of course I expect no need of him here, I trust you will understand that I wish to keep my bodyguard nearby as well.”
“Of course,” says Mother Lithuk. “Then they must hear our talk.”
She leads us to a room with a long table and a row of arched windows. She and Mel are seated at one end and Ty and I at the other. They are on my blind side. I cannot see them without turning my head.
“Now they may listen,” the Mother says, and sends for the meal. Ty and I are brought servants' food. Never before have I been served in this manner, and I keep my eyes down so as not to offend those who bring out our food. I forget that I am here as a noble servant myself, however much I try to remember.
What might Mother Lithuk do, if she knew there was a kretchin boy in her house? I am afraid to think of it. I am afraid she might read my thoughts in my face, afraid she might see that I am no servant at all – only kretchin in the disguise of a disguise.
The food is very good, much better than I have ever had, except when Mel gave me something; better even than the food she brought for our journey across the Desert. I try to restrain myself, to eat slowly, and to to follow Ty's lead in the proper use of the utensils.
“Where is Kerheyin, then?” Mel asks when the servants have left us.
“He's not in,” says Mother Lithuk. “We shall have to conduct our business without him. I am, of course, willing to give your mission whatever aid I am able; if I may know what it is?”
“I must admit,” says Mel, “I am here because of something I have not seen myself, nor heard except from servants, so I cannot know if it is true. I overheard them saying something which could not be true, of course, but I am afraid I believed them; or in any case I thought perhaps I should see for myself whether, by chance, they had happened upon the truth. And I swore to act on this truth which may not be, and came to Saluyah following only a rumor. My servants seemed very certain, though, that this rumor is known to everyone.”
I don't understand. She knows that the woman bore Kerheyin a child; why doesn't she tell this to Mother Lithuk? Why does she say everything but that? But I know nothing of the ways of nobles. I say nothing, and hope that Mother Lithuk cannot see my confusion.
When I glance toward her, quickly, I see that her brow is knit with something like concern. “If it pleases you to tell me the nature of this rumor?” is all she says.
“I do not like to say,” says Mel, “for it mars the honor of all House Lithuk. I would not be said to accuse your noble House of dishonor, and all the less for I shall join it within two years.”
“Of course I know that you are only repeating what you have already heard, that whatever you may say is a servant's accusation and not your own,” she says. She is visibly flustered, now.
“Very well...” Mel pauses, as though unwilling to go on. “What they say is this: a strange woman is known to have seduced my betrothed. They say she has born a child of his blood. I know it is a cruel accusation, but of course I know that my Kerheyin would never betray me of his own will: he must have been charmed beyond his wit, if it is true, of that I am certain. The strange woman must be a healer, with a strong talent to charm. I am true to my Kerheyin still, and I know he must love me still as I love him; and so it is my intention to visit punishment on the wo
man who led him astray – should she exist.”
I cannot bring myself to look only at my plate; my eye keeps turning to their faces. Mother Lithuk looks very strange as she hears this. I am glad that nobles have no glance to spare for their servants, for she'd surely know something was amiss if she saw my eyes on her face. I do not look at her for long.
At last, slowly, she answers. “Yes,” she says. “I regret that I must tell you this, but it is true. It is the shame of House Lithuk. Kerheyin, it seems, begot a child by some strange woman almost three years ago; and perhaps she did charm him, though I cannot speak to that.” She laughs lightly. “How rare that your gossiping servants knew the truth! Not the whole truth, surely, but that they had heard of it at all – and that, for once, it seems they did not invent the scandal themselves. It is only fortunate that the news has yet to reach any noble ears but yours.” Now she leans toward Mel and lowers her voice. “It would please me if you did not go about spreading the gossip. I do not accuse you of telling tales, of course – but this had best remain private, I think, even from House Chinlar.”
“Why should I gossip about the shame of the House which shall soon be my own?” asks Mel. She sounds amused, but I think I can see the confusion in the knit of her brow. I know her so well.
“I only thought to be certain,” says Mother Lithuk. “But there is something more you must know, I think, for this was not the worst the woman did, nor was his troth the most precious thing she took from him.”
Mel raises her eyebrows. “Is there a more precious thing she could steal? If I may know what it was?”
“She died in childbirth, and whatever spell she cast over Kerheyin – if spell it was – obliged him to drown himself for sorrow. It was his life she stole.” I can no longer read the subtleties of her expression. Instead I look at Mel: she has put a hand to her scar, and her eyes are hard.
“If I may ask, why did it never please you to tell House Chinlar of his death?” she asks. Her voice is cold, and she sits very still except to speak.
I hold very still, and look down, and hope she does not glance my way. I know her anger is not with me, but sometimes it is not enough to know this. I am always afraid when she is like this, always.
For a moment Mother Lithuk says nothing at all. When she speaks, at last, her voice is halting. “Did your mother and father never tell you? I sent a messenger, of course; but I never did receive a response, so perhaps he was lost along the way. If he was disloyal, perhaps that is why this gossip is everywhere, as you describe it. Now that you are here, and I know that he never reached you, I shall send another message forthwith, to tell of your safe arrival in Saluyah and to tell again of Kerheyin's demise.”
Ty has been leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, unmoving, waiting for the talk to finish; but now he stirs. I glance at him and see that he is frowning, but he says nothing. Perhaps, like me, he thinks it better to allow Mel to speak for us all while we are with another noble.
Mel says: “No.”
Mother Lithuk looks at her. “Pardon?”
“That will not be necessary.” Mel sticks out her chin. “They would rather not be troubled with such a message.”
“Surely they might be glad to learn of your safety?”
“Your concern is appreciated, but unnecessary. I shall inform them myself of Kerheyin's death and the reason for it; you needn't waste another disloyal messenger.”
For a long moment both noblewomen are silent, leaning very slightly forward and looking into each other's eyes, their faces oddly alike. Neither of them blinks. I can see Mother Lithuk biting her lip, and Mel's face is set in some mixture of challenge and something I cannot place. Her eyes are narrowed, her chin thrust forward, her mouth drawn in a thin line.
“Perhaps we can come to an agreement,” Mother Lithuk says at last, stiffly.
“Perhaps.”
Mother Lithuk summons a servant, a scribe with ink and parchment and two quills. He lays the parchment between the two nobles, and uses his nail to crease a line down the center of it between them; and he gives each of them a quill, and sets down the inkwell beside them. Each begins to write, and the servant stands by, looking blankly across the room.
I am glad he does not look at me, for he would surely know what I am. I cannot deceive them all. It is only luck that has kept me hidden here so long.
The scratching of quills against the parchment continues for some time. Now that Mel's attention is fixed elsewhere, I become more afraid that Mother Lithuk will glance up, and see me for what I am, and cast me out. I purse my lips for a whistle to Snake, but hold back at the last moment, remembering that this would betray me. Instead I hold as still as I can, hoping to turn her attention away from myself.
Now my thoughts turn to the mission: I wonder how Mel will find the woman, and I finally grasp that the mission is already fulfilled, and was before it began. The woman is dead, and she cannot be killed again. Perhaps it was not Mel who killed her, but it is finished all the same. Neither of us is bound by oath any longer.
The quills fall silent, first Mel's and then Mother Lithuk's, and Mother Lithuk gestures for her scribe. “Bear witness,” she commands.
The scribe reads aloud what his mistress wrote: “I Melianarrheyal of House Chinlar will spread no word of the death of Kerheyin of House Lithuk, nor of the child he sired, nor of the woman who bore it nor of their relation, to anyone, be they noble or common or yet neither, be they kin or stranger. If asked I will deny knowledge. Nor will I spread any untruths about House Lithuk, nor gossip of any sort.”
Mel hears all this in silence, and says only: “Ty. Bear witness.”
“Not the servant?” I can hear from Mother Lithuk's tone that this is wrong – I suppose it is because Ty is only a hired bodyguard, not the servant I pretend to be. Panic rises in me. If I am made to do this... I cannot think of it. I cannot read. I am kretchin. I cannot read, and I cannot speak to a noble (but for Mel), and I cannot know what I must do well enough to know I will not fail; and I cannot read. I stare at the goblet before me, and I clench my fists beneath the table, and I try not to breathe, so as not to draw attention toward myself. My sight begins to swim, so sharp I cannot see anything but the goblet. The shape of its wooden handle is fixed in my mind. My temples tingle, and I feel a great pressure winding around my head.
I can feel my heart beating. I can hear it in my head.
When Mel speaks, I can hardly hear her. Her voice comes in waves, sounding closer and then farther away. “My servant is mute,” she says.
This is not true.
I can speak, I can speak as well as anyone. It is not true. Why can she not remember me speaking?
How much am I giving myself away, by staring at the goblet instead of giving any sign that I heard Mel's words? But I cannot look away. Everything else is gone, white, blank.
I fear I will float away, and I want to grip the table, to assure myself of its nearness and reality, but I do not dare unclench my hands. I will not lose what I have hold of already, be it only my own fingers. The fine food, fit for the servants of nobles, feels unsteady in my stomach. I try to keep it down, to cast aside the discomfort.
I wish beyond wishes, so much I am nearly overcome by it, that I dared to whistle to Snake.
Now I am dimly aware of Ty standing up, walking around the end of the table, passing behind me, standing behind Mel's shoulder. I can feel him moving, but it doesn't seem to matter. I am occupied with trying to breathe, slowly, quietly, evenly. If I hold my breath inside for too long it will escape in a sharp burst, and they will hear, and they will look at me. They must not look at me. They must not see me, they must not know me. They must not see me.
Every breath is shaky.
He speaks, and his voice is deep and solid. I want to cling to it, to ground myself by it. I cling to it with my mind, with my ears, although I can hardly hear his words.
“I Mother Lithuk will not by any means give notice to House Chinlar of the presence of Meli
anarrheyal of House Chinlar in Saluyah.”
The words drop from his mouth like stones, but they do nothing to weigh me down. Still, I know now that the task has not fallen to me, and will not, and I am breathing almost normally again. I become aware that my fingernails are digging deep into my flesh, and I make an effort to relax my hands. My fingers hurt from the strain of the clenching.
My sight begins to return to normal; the fear is replaced by lassitude. I am stricken by the thought that I cannot see Mel or the others at all, even on the edge of my vision, without turning my head. I turn it enough to watch the noblewomen shake hands and turn the parchment around. Again, each of them dips her quill into the ink and writes: their names, I think, to promise their obedience to the agreement. This is a practice Mel told me about once, long ago.
Now Mother Lithuk nods again to her servant, and he tears the parchment along the crease. He gives the portion bearing Mother Lithuk's name to Mel, and the portion bearing Mel's name to Mother Lithuk. Mel's eyes narrow slightly as he tears it, but she says nothing. Her eyes are still cold and hard. She takes the parchment wordlessly, and rolls it up and puts it away in one of the pouches at her belt.
“Might I visit Kerheyin's place of rest before I leave? He is buried beneath this mansion, yes?”
“No...” Mother Lithuk draws out the word, as though to soften its impact. “He is not yet buried. We could not bury him without House Chinlar's attendance, of course, and as the messenger never returned...”
“And the child?”
“It was moved to Qualin, last I knew.”
“Thank you.” Mel stands. “I think we had best be on our way.”
I hasten to stand as well, and to stand a little beside and behind Mel, where perhaps I may be cast in her shadow and shielded from Mother Lithuk's attention. Mother Lithuk thanks Mel for her company, and they say their farewells, and we are led out of the mansion.
“She lied,” says Ty when we are alone. “If she had truly sent a messenger who did not return, she'd have sent another. A noble does not despair after a single attempt.”
Mel acknowledges his words with a grunt, but says nothing.
“And now that the mission is finished, do we return to Therwil?” I ask. My voice is still thin and shaking, but I am calm enough to speak, now. And I am not mute.
“Finished? Arri, the child yet lives! We journey to Qualin.”
“But the woman is dead,” I say.
Mel looks me full in the face, holding my eye with hers. Her voice is low and deadly. “The child lives,” she says. “It must pay for its mother's crime, if she cannot. We journey to Qualin, and there Ty shall summon his demon to remove it. Kerheyin must be avenged. The mission is unchanged and unfinished.”
“Not unchanged,” I insist, foolishly obstinate.
She takes my arm and twists it, not enough to cripple it but enough to remind me of my place. I cringe at the pain, but I say nothing. The mission is unchanged or it is unfinished; it cannot be both. I know what I swore.
But – perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps she vowed the child's death silently. Perhaps I forgot the words of her vow. Then her mission is unchanged. Mine, though, is finished.
I am no longer bound by oath, but I am still bound by friendship, and I will follow Mel as far as she permits it, and I will do what I can to help her. As long as I follow her, does it matter why? I am sure it will be good enough for Mel if I help her for friendship alone – I am sure it will be enough – so I needn't trouble her with it. “Unchanged,” I gasp, and “but finished!” I add in my thoughts. She needn't know. It is good enough.
She holds me for a few seconds more before releasing me. I back off from her a little and keep my eyes on the ground.
“We shall stay for the day in Saluyah,” she says as though I never spoke. “There are things I must buy before we venture into the Desert again.”
“If you don't need me for anything, I should like to visit the temples,” Ty says. “Perhaps the Namers know something more of the child.”
The child must have seen a Namer two weeks after its birth, as every child does. Still, I wonder how he plans to find the Namer who named it. He knows nothing of the child except its father, and as both mother and father died before the child was named, I doubt that the Namer would know the same.
“Good,” says Mel, surprising me a little. “Arri, be so good as to go with him. Perhaps you too may learn something.”
I nod my assent silently.
“Then we shall meet again at the great burning ground in the center of the city,” says Mel. I don't know of what she speaks; there is no such burning ground in Therwil, nor in Quiyen. But Ty seems to understand, for he agrees without question. I shall have to be sure not to lose him.
He leads the way, and I follow, rubbing my arm.
“Does she do that sort of thing often?” he asks.
“What?” I feel strange following him, this man whom I neither know nor like, and who neither knows nor likes me; but also a little proud that Mel trusts me with watching him.
“Hurt you.”
I stop rubbing at my arm and let my hand fall to my side. “Mel doesn't hurt me,” I say. “She has never done anything to harm me.”
“Your arm?”
“If I am being especially foolish, she does what she must to remind me to at least try to think. She does not hurt me.”
“So you've said.” A short pause. “'Think'?”
I shrug, nod, watch the ground beneath our feet. We have reached a river and now walk alongside it, against the direction of the stream. I wonder if this is the River Saluyah or only a diversion of it. It is rather wider across than even Ty is tall, and it looks very deep. I do not doubt that Kerheyin was able to drown himself in these waters.
Across the water is a bare section of sloped stone, and across it is the city wall. There is one on this side of Saluyah, at least; I wonder why only here. Perhaps the Desert doesn't bear protecting against, although I don't know what lies on the other side of the River.
“Is it thinking to change your words to appease her?”
I frown and shake my head. “I saw that I was wrong. I must have forgotten what she swore.” I wonder why he must invent reasons to dislike Mel. He seems willing enough to dislike me without a reason.
“You really believe that, don't you?”
There is something strange about his voice, as though something is missing from it, but it is over too quickly for me to be sure. I don't understand what he means, so I try to speak of something else. “Where are we going?”
“To the temple where the child was born, with any luck.” Whatever was strange about his voice is gone now. He is as unfriendly as always.
I did not think children were often born in temples, and I say as much.
“A noble bastard would surely be born in one.”
I think about this for some time, but I cannot see why. Also I am distracted by a faint memory, again, that I have heard something about a noble bastard in Saluyah before; but I cannot think of what it was. At last, hoping I don't offend him, I ask: “Why would a noble bastard be born in a temple?”
“Because it would certainly not be born anywhere where it might cause gossip. No one of House Lithuk could know about the child, and a hired healer could not be trusted to keep silent. Usually at least one Namer in each temple is a healer, and they are easier than most to buy into silence.”
“Do you know which temple?” He hasn't hurt me yet for asking questions, so I am growing bolder, though I don't know why he doesn't. Mel has taken pity on me and allowed me to come with her, but I am still kretchin. Another man might have hurt me for speaking to him at all.
“I can guess.”
I wonder how, and almost ask; but I don't want to press my luck. Besides, I remember now the disdain with which Mel treated him in the Desert. Then, I did not ask questions because I knew she disapproved. Now that she is not here, I have no reason to act any differently. Out of respect for Mel, I say nothing
for some time.
And out of respect for Mel, I do not ask that question at all. But after a few more minutes of walking, curiosity overcomes me, and I find I cannot keep silent. “How do you know Saluyah so well? And the Desert? Do you live here?”
“No,” he says shortly. “And I do not know Saluyah well. I know it no better than any other city. But, as with any city, I can find the temples more easily than anything else; and I know that there is only one which is near the river and yet far from House Lithuk.”
“What –”
“Mother Lithuk is known to be a strong healer, and I very much doubt the boy was without a servant. If he were near his home when he drowned himself, his servant would surely have brought him to his mother before he died. And I assume that he went straight to the river once the child was born, so the temple must be near the river. We shall see if I am right, and if not we shall visit the others as well.”
“Couldn't he have waited to drown himself?”
“Certainly he could have, but it would be very rare for a noble to kill himself in anything but the heat of emotion. If he waited, it was no longer than a day.”
I don't quite know what he means, but I think I have asked enough questions. We walk the rest of the way in silence.
