CIEDÄR
TWOHUNDRED FIFTYTWODAY, COMPLINE
It was past nightfall when the storm finally blew itself out. Braan stuck his head out of the opening cautiously. Nothing. A faint evening breeze had begun, but no sand, no gale-force winds. In front of his crevice lay the half-buried carcass of the pack hazelle, already drained of its fluids by krwb. He had lost his rider beast entering the mountains: it had stepped in a rock fault and broken its leg. Sand, the deadliest enemy of hazelles, had killed the pack bearer. Their lungs could not veil to protect them from the blowing, burning grains.
Braan sat a moment, his head bowed, trying to face the loss of Lyte. Even the elements conspired against them. If he had made it to the mountains ... It was not until the hazelle broke its leg that Braan realized he had lost him. In the storm season groups always traveled roped together. If he was ever in the desert with an off-worlder again, he would use ropes, no matter what the time of year.
An agonizing scream rent the darkness, chilling the man to the bone. Katt—an adult male, a hungry one. On the scent of prey he was confident of—Here? The main diet of katt was tazelle and brush rodent, timid fare but swift. Lyte. Braan jumped up, pulling out his blaster and setting it on high beam. Mastering the rush of adrenaline, he swiftly crept in the direction of the cry, up into the mountains.
oOo
The third new moon had just popped up when Braan reached the katt’s plateau. He almost jumped back off the ledge when the beast roared again, until he saw the caves. An echo made the animal seem closer. Moving as noiselessly as possible to the entrance, Braan pulled out one of the two flares he had brought up and lit it. He heaved it as far into the cave as he could and stepped back to hide in the scrub brush. Nothing. No vaaze, no katt. Whispering a quick prayer Braan stepped into the cave.
It was not a cave, it was a cavern. A maze of openings stared him in the face. The ceiling rose to darkness. Cied paintings trickled down the walls, the mournful eyes of long-dead warriors staring at him. He heard another scream from the left, and it occurred to him that the male might have lost the scent. Then there was a rush of footsteps; someone was running toward him.
He ducked in the first opening, the tip of his blaster peeking around the corner. A Cied robe flashed by him, fluttering wildly, and Braan leaned against the stalagmite nearest the entrance, steadying his weapon.
A flash of black and gold came tearing out of the darkness, and he fired. The animal collapsed onto the stones lining the cavern floor. A half-dozen heartbeats, and Braan stepped out quickly, checking the beast. The blaster had ripped its chest open. A female ...
Trembling, Braan slowly backed away from the body. Not a young one, a full adult, and her mate had acted as a decoy. He looked wildly for the other person. Cied—a woman or a youth? The robed figure had looked too slight for a man. A small rock slide started within the cave. Braan whirled and ran to the entrance where the Cied was huddled, gasping for air. Grabbing a wrist, he pulled the human along and toward the left cave slot. At the same time he lit the other flare. The individual began to fight him, swinging a drawn cat knife.
“We cannot outrun it. We must find an opening too small for it to pass through!” Braan hissed softly, forcing some of the Cied dialect. “It will circle to the other side!” The other immediately complied. Light from the flare revealed a fairly smooth, wide path, and they began to run. They had until the katt found their trail; then they had nothing.
Twists and turns and false trails, always taking the narrower lead. The wall paintings accompanied them; some were of katt hunts. In one picture, the katt was hunting the man. Braan himself was becoming winded when he found what he sought. An opening, a bit high but human-sized, too small for katt.
He tossed the blaster into the opening; until it recharged, it was useless. Jamming the flare into a hole, Braan grabbed the Cied and pushed her—it was female—up the wall. The woman must have been on the run for a long time. She was exhausted and having trouble finding footholds.
There was no time to be chivalrous. When she slipped and fell for the second time, Braan pushed her aside and was up the wall in a bound. Two steps and he was pulling himself inside. Turning, he reached down for the bundled woman. She had found the first foothold.
Braan heard sliding pebbles. Using his last strength, he dragged her to his level and flipped her over his knees into the hole. Fumbling to drag her completely inside and feeling for his kat knife, he saw a pair of gleaming golden eyes. The katt crouched and sprang; high, arcing, hurtling at them with the weight of five men.
Braan brought the knife down.
The katt screamed in pain and fell to the path, clawing hysterically at the rocks. The blade had punctured the top of the skull, just as it was designed to do. Ignoring his now tattered sleeve, Braan sagged against the lip of the hole, stretching his legs and undoing his veils, using them to wipe the sweat from his brow and neck. Dear sweet Mendülay...
The woman was still draped over one of his legs, shaking but silent, the dignity of her people wrapped around her more securely than cloth. She sat up slowly, curling her knees close to her body and wrapping her arms around herself, weaving in her dream as if to pass out from exhaustion. Braan grabbed her to steady her movements, and then pulled her closer when he realized her body was icy to the touch. She did not protest—she was that tired.
He listened to the katt’s dying whimpers as its brain stopped functioning and then noticed that the woman’s veils were loose and bent to see the age of his fellow survivor. She glanced up; her gray gaze met his green and brown one. Amazement crept over her smooth, thin face, and Braan wondered if he looked as shocked as he felt. He had prayed to find her but had expected her to be with a tribe.
“Thank you” came a whisper; tight, high-pitched, like water reeds in brisk wind. How well she controlled fear.
It was too much for him. He cautiously touched her face, as if afraid she would vanish. Then he let her head drop to his arm and bent to kiss her; gently, thoroughly, as he had wanted to do for so long. Reaching to hang on to his other arm, she did not try to stop him. They clung to one another awhile, and then Braan straightened.
“Are you alone?”
“Except for my hazelle.” Teloa must have read more in his face. “Your companions?”
“Lyte is—gone. We were separated in the sandstorm. And the three animals are lost or dead.” He eyed her searchingly. “You have heard, seen nothing?”
“Tikki. No humans.” She gripped his arm in sympathy. “He is a commando. He’ll make it.”
Braan did not answer. He flicked on the safety of his recharged blaster. “Come. Before the flares die.” He helped her down from the ledge, and they slowly made their way back up the path. Braan was thankful for his memory, which had saved him in mazes before. He pinpointed the katt in his mind. Krwb did not venture into a cave, and he wanted the skin if there was time.
“The blaster.” Teloa stopped him before they reached the front of the cavern. He looked surprised. “There is another katt, smaller.”
The pit of his stomach grew cold and knotted. For an adolescent to prowl the same range as an adult pair, it had to be desperate.
They soon learned how desperate. They went down several plateau levels to where Tay had hidden her hazelle and supplies in a narrow cave. Crawling through the tiny opening facing south, they were greeted by Tikki, who immediately burrowed into Tay’s hood. The hazelle was behind the fire, its body caked with dried foam. It turned a wild eye on them. The cave smelled of blood. Puzzled, Tay went to the beast while Braan built up the fire. Then Tay gasped and pointed to the other exit where she had brought in the hazelle.
Braan stared, astounded. She had gathered and kept all the Cied swords from painting rock, and planted them, blade-up, in the dirt, the shorter blades extending from the sides of the cave opening. The young male katt, determined to reach the hazelle, had slashed its face and neck trying to squeeze between the weapons. Finally it had attempted to jump over them and had impaled itself.
The Atare went outside and pulled the carcass off the swords from the front. Then he asked if she was going to boil water.
“I have none.”
“None?”
“I use these plants.“ She held up a stalk of tropc. “Not the freshest but palatable.”
“I have water with my things. Wait here.”
oOo
The packs were untouched. Any small, furred scavengers would wait several days to make their meals, until the hazelle was so sweet with death, a katt would not touch it. The krwb had left little for their fellow predators to find. Braan stripped off the equipment and returned to Teloa’s level.
The woman had dug out what rations she had left, including some roots from mountain plants. She had also removed her tattered outer robe, piling it like a pillow next to the fire. As Braan entered Teloa straightened abruptly, and he knew she was nearly asleep. His own exhaustion weighed on him.
“How long did you hide from those katt?” Braan asked, surveying the pitiful pile of food. No wonder she looked thin. She had improvised well, though, her planter’s knowledge helping her find the tubers and stalks most likely to provide nourishment.
“The pressure changed while I looked for food, so I sought a cave. I thought rain was coming. Unfortunately it was the same cavern the katt were in. I avoided them several days, through two storms—I’ve been here four days,” she added, anticipating the next question. “I’m afraid I finally got lost. I was looking for the Dragoche camp.”
“You did well. Across this range is sand and, in the distance, the mountains we seek. It would take us six or eight days riding from the far side of this mountain. I will explain how to hide from sandstorms. I do not intend to lose you as I lost Lyte.” He poured one canteen into a pan. “Saffra?”
“Please,” she answered, and then caught her breath. “But—we need—”
“There is a free well near here. We will stop there tomorrow, before we cross this range, and clean our faces.”
“The sand works very well,” Tay offered.
Braan smiled. “That is how the Cied bathe, and how we must, too. But nothing feels like cool water on the face, or down the throat.” He sacked the yellow tubers and dropped them in the boiling water. “Fish them out when they start to burst their skins. I have something I need to do. I may be awhile.” Checking to be sure that his blaster was recharged and secure, Braan slipped out into the chill night.
He sat outside on a rock for several minutes, controlling his breathing, watching the stars above. He deserved highest laurels for that casual performance. He had forgotten how beautiful she was. How to begin? He had no idea, but he had to keep his physical attraction to her under control or he would fail. The only way to do it right now was to cool down and work himself into sleep. Tightly gripping the flares he had palmed, Braan adjusted his eyes to the sinking moons and started up the mountainside.
oOo
TWOHUNDRED FIFTYTHREEDAY, MATINS
The adult katt were as he had left them, stiff as a board and dyeing the stones crimson. Braan quickly stripped off his clothes and began to cut away the first pelt. The skin of a katt was worth its weight in diamonds off-world; the skin of one killed with a knife thrust was beyond price. And that pelt would be his major gift to Baakche Dragoche. The others ...
It took less time to skin the female. He folded them the way his guaard had taught him and walked back down the rocky slope. After cutting up the adolescent katt, Braan moved away from the carcass and scrubbed himself clean with the fine sand in the bowl of the glen. Then he sat awhile, watching the last moon set and the night grow old. Peace washed over him, the presence of Mendülay settling like a mantle. It was not until the cold reached his bones that he remembered he had eaten nothing. Regretfully detaching himself from the meditative mood, Braan reached for his joqurs and caftan.
oOo
Tay was asleep next to the fire, her caftan and one blanket wrapped warmly around her, the other coverlet folded and set next to his pack. She had found several other bits of food in the bags and had arranged the brightly colored seeds and dried fruit on the second blanket’s edge. In a tightly sealed sack balanced precariously above the pan were his tuber and beans. The water was now saffra.
“Warm without being overcooked. Nicely done, my lady.” Braan sat across the fire from her and began his meal, wishing briefly for fresh bread. He was grateful her hunger had overcome whatever desire she would have had to allow royalty to eat first.
One hazelle to carry their food and water. Six days riding. But both of them on one beast? Both of them walking with a pack animal ... Maybe twelve or fourteenday, if they were lucky. And maybe a dead hazelle at the end of the trip; even hazelles needed some water. He would regret that, but otherwise it could be their own deaths. He looked long at the beast. It was sinewy, as if it had thrived on the trip. Tay must have fed it every plant from the last range to this one. There would be boulders in the desert, crevices to shield from the light and heat of the day, though they were not on any proper map. Some had free wells, unclaimed by any tribe, for the use of all.
He quietly searched the packs, and his heart leapt to see a long string of gourds. She had kept them with no hope of finding water; or she had kept faith.
Braan closed the satchels and banked the fire for the night.
RAGÄREE’S PEAK
TWOHUNDRED FIFTYTHREEDAY, VESPERS
Liel was studying the ancient parchment so intently that she was unaware of Ronüviel’s entrance. Roe smiled faintly, her amusement fading as she saw what her little sister was reading. Trouble—the girl could draw parallels as easily as she and Arrez had.
“Broadening your horizons?” Roe heard herself say.
“Working on an ulcer,” Liel replied without turning.
Ronüviel forced a chuckle. “Coming with me?”
Liel spun around. “You are crazy! You are really going to go east! You could get killed, and the babies, too! Ever since the night Braan and Lyte left, things have been crazy. The councils have not met, nor the synod; Arrez issues orders and Gid carries them out. People are becoming worried and suspicious. Not one member of the male throne line left in Nuamura, and now you are planning to leave!” A moment’s pause, then, “Why are you asking me to go?” Liel forced out. “Are you so confident of success you will take our whole family into the ciedär? I would think you would be ordering me to stay here!”
Ronüviel sat down on the edge of the desk, facing her little sister. Not so little; a woman, thinking with adult concern. “Liel,” she started gently. “Do you disbelieve the prophecy just because you may be a part of it?” Liel did not answer. “I am not crazy, dreaming about my children becoming great leaders and taking Nuala into a new age. I am practical. And I am willing to do anything moral to bring about the safety of our people.”
Roe gestured out the new doors to the terrace, toward the vineyards and new grain on the plain below. “Have you looked in the fields? Healthy plants, yes, but small, and likely to bear small yield. We will not last another year without assistance. There will be no off-world help. We know that; we merely laugh and jest as night closes in around our fragile fortress. The Cied can aid us, but we must convince them that the house of Atare is their lifeline, just as they are our future.
“Dielaan will not waste energy shielding the ciedär, no matter what his promises; and if the Fewhas land, Ciedärlien will die. No race of semi-barbarians would dare leave a nomadic people ripe for rebellion within striking distance of their installations.” Liel stirred at this, but did not argue the point. The Fewhas had awe-inspiring technology, but from the Axis viewpoint, their culture—their humanity—had suffered.
“We must show them their danger, show them Braan is worthy of their confidence, and show them that the house of Atare continues. Genuar can convince them of the danger. I believe in Braan’s ability to prove to them his worthiness. And I think the prophecy of Naitun can be applied to me: ‘In a year of flame and thunder, from the womb of a healer life shall be born, bearing sight no one has seen before. And ye shall bow down to the one before them,’ and so on!”
“I know the prophecy,” Liel finally interrupted.
“Do you understand it?”
“I know what you want to make of it. In a year of great upheaval the twins—the ‘them’ in the prophecy—are born with Atare eyes never before recorded, and the one to lead is that ruler born before them, Braan. You think you can get away with this?”
A knock came at the bronze shield. “Enter.” Arrez walked into the room. He studied their faces, his own unsmiling, and then his glance fell upon the open manuscript.
“Are you going?” he asked conversationally.
Liel stared at him in amazement. “You as well?” she breathed.
“It rips my heart. But it is the only guarantee of success. I believe in Mendülay’s providence.”
The young woman leapt up. “Then I am also going! Someone in the party must have common sense! I will be ready in ten minutes.” She flew out the doorway before either of them could answer her.
“You are resolved on this?” Arrez said a moment later.
“For me. I do not know if I am right to take her. But who else can I ask to take the risk? This is Atare business, in the end. I do not think I can handle the children in the desert alone, and can you see a guaard tending one of them?”
Arrez reached out and gently touched her cheek. “Be cautious. Let them recognize you for what you are. Do not force your hand. I pray for a safe journey and a swift return. There is no way to determine what will happen.”
“Have faith, my priest.”
“I should be saying that to you.”
THE CIEDÄR
TWOHUNDRED FIFTYSIXDAY, PRIME
When Lyte opened his eyes, he could see the rising star of morning swiftly topping the horizon. It was so large, he could almost reach out and seize it. A blur detached itself from the shadows in his vision and came to him. He felt his head and shoulders being lifted and water being poured down his throat, streaming down his pale beard. It was as if his body belonged to another person. Lyte no longer seemed to exist.
“Don’t breathe it, you’re not a fish.” Moran. How did Moran come into the dream? A day or so ago Moran had appeared, shaking his head in irritation and telling him he was a stupid, selfish fool for waiting so long to come into the ciedär. And then to lose the Atare! And to share his water with the hazelle even though starstroke had set in. Starstroke? Lyte had wondered, even as he had drained his gourd, much thirstier than a commando ever had right or reason to be. He had staggered on, looking for shade, for water, until his head swam so badly that he could no longer stand.
“Bra-an ...”
“You were alone, except for your beast.” Another voice. Jaacav. A dream? Not a dream. Lyte slowly opened his eyes again, focusing on the shadowy lumps. A vatos wool blanket was spread over him. There was no fire that he could see.
“What are you—what were you doing out here? What happened to Braan?”
“Where ... find me.”
“In the sand, west of here. The hazelle stayed with you, and we spotted movement. Where is my Atare?” Jaac asked, her voice sharp.
“Sandstorm.” Lyte tried to sit up, his head clearing. He felt weak, almost as weak as when he had radiation poisoning.
“From the beginning. Take your time. We’re not leaving until you can ride out of here,” Moran said. The warrior helped his friend sit upright, leaning him against a stone.
Lyte explained it all, from the arrival of the assassin to the last thing he remembered, collapsing at the feet of his hazelle. Jaac sat still a long time after his story ended, watching Kee rise higher in the sky. Then she stirred, rearranging her robes and reaching for a tool to kindle the banked fire.
“He lives,” she said definitely.
“Mendülay spares him for some other end?”
She turned fiercely at this, but there was no trace of mockery in Lyte’s voice. “This thing with Genuar is dangerous. If you left on Ascension Day, then word must be spreading through the campsites. And their captors will attempt to remove all traces of the deed.”
“Have you narrowed down the possible places they could be?”
“Pecaio tribe, Stigati,” Moran answered shortly. “Or so all signs indicate. We have been in fifty tribal areas in the last twentyday, all in the 200 Kilon. We have had no time for details.”
“That is no longer important.” The men turned to her. “If Genuar is actively seeking those who flout his orders, then the rebels will attempt to rid themselves of the twins without leaving evidence. But that is not as simple and obvious as it sounds. Even in the wastes, land is strictly divided, and borders are not crossed without incident. To dump them with no water and have the deed unwitnessed would be nearly impossible. There is only one place to take them.”
“Which is?”
“Bloodsand. We are at least a full day and night’s journey from it. We should leave at dusk. That means arriving at vespers the following day, but—”
“I can travel.” Moran choked back a laugh at Lyte’s statement.
“A day’s rest, then we ride hard,” Jaac threw back at him. “If not too worn out, they could survive a day in the heat without permanent injury; it is not yet summer. We must be there by stardown tomorrow.” As the fire blazed up, she poured a gourd of water into a pan.
Lyte turned his attention to the bleak rocks heaped behind him. “Dismal place.”
“Quite the opposite. This is the rock of Evermind,” Jaac answered. “There is a stream that always flows from the inner dell. Legend says it sprang from the stone at the unvoiced command of the prophet Naitun—from the mind of Naitun, hence the name. We will fill our gourds before we leave.”
“What is bloodsand?” Lyte glanced to Moran, who was facing toward the sea. Not talkative today, on edge. He probably missed Roe. Or was alarmed by finding his friend half dead in a deep desert.
Jaacav grimaced. “A place of final punishment. The Cied are long sundered from us and have their own laws and judgments. One of the nastiest is to stake a human out until he dies of dehydration. Bloodsand is used by all the tribes for this purpose. They do not kill the accused. Kee does.
“Convenient scapegoat.”
“Deadly. Between the winds and the krwb, little is left by morning.”
“Jaac, what are the Cied? Renegade Toli? Outcasts?” Lyte began hesitantly, hoarsely. He still felt dry and a bit light-headed.
Jaac chuckled maliciously. “We are the outcasts. Almost four millennia ago many Nualans decided that we were all being punished for using technology to change our planet. Given the proper time, Mendülay would heal both us and Nuala. That was what the followers of Lien believed. So they went off into the ciedär, following their prophet. He did not agree with the way of life that was being conducted on a large scale and felt that if the rest of the people could not see his point, then let them choose damnation. So the Ciedärlien live forever apart.”
“Were they right?” Moran asked in a low voice.
“Their prophets have a high accuracy rate. Naitun, the fellow who created this spring, was one of them. They live harshly yet, from many viewpoints, quite well. They do not have more 20s, though. That was their goal.”
“I would think a combination of their simplicity and coastal ingenuity would be best,” Lyte proposed.
“Agreed. Convince the Cied. Saffra? We must seek shade in the rocks until vespers.” And that ended conversation, until shortly before they left for Bloodsand.
MOORSHEAD BASIN
TWOHUNDRED FIFTYSIXDAY, PRIME
The last star was fading from the sky when Braan spotted the Stone Ring. Finally, a place with shade to spend the next twelve hours. Without turning he spoke to Teloa. “The Stone Ring. We shall spend the heat of the day here and continue at vespers.” Tay did not answer, so Braan assumed she had nodded. He had taken great pains to point out their destination to her; the great slash in the Dragoche Mountains. If something happened to him, she could reach other humans. But she did not comment on day-to-day landmarks.
On other subjects she was quite talkative, even outspoken. The fortyday in the ciedär had been lonely. The akemmi could not answer her, even if it listened. She was full of questions about every imaginable topic, from new births and deaths to interstellar eavesdropping. In the course of the three days and four nights they had been company for one another, they had exhausted the matter of Nuamura, at least to Braan’s taste. He had too much on his mind and no way to begin speaking.
Teloa had been shocked and disturbed over the assassin’s attack; quiet when he explained Genuar’s visit and the subsequent trip east. Was it the office she was concerned about? What kind of thought was that, Atare? Again, for the hundredth time, his body responded to his straying thoughts, and he was grateful that his caftan hid the evidence. Damn, he would have to keep the fire between them at all times.
One hazelle. She had lost the other earlier; it had not been strong enough to survive the desert. Braan now led the remaining beast inside the standing circle of stones. They were tall, at least four meters, and some had lintels across them. In the center was a round, flat stone, the symbol for fresh water carved into its face. Teloa looked pleased. “Shall we check?”
“If you wish. Even if it is dry, we have enough.” Untying the hazelle’s rope from around his waist, he hobbled the animal, staked it on a long line within reach of some stubby brush, and pulled the pack off its back. Tay undid the rope that connected her to the beast and immediately dug through the pack for fire crystals. While she built the fire, Braan began to prepare their food. Tay set out eating utensils and then pushed the rock over a little bit and lowered a weight and tube. She drew some water back up and examined it in the growing light. Clear of debris ... She dropped in a tablet; the color would determine if they could drink it. Pale yellow. Not a single problem. Pouring the tube into a cooking pot, she settled down to wait. The last few days had shown her that Braan preferred to do the cooking. And he did know more ways to prepare the ciedär rations.
Tikki finally stuck her head out of the hood, complaining peevishly until Tay offered her a snip of dried fruit. The akemmi took it graciously and scurried to the packs, where she proceeded to burrow, and then nibble the delicacy. When Teloa lifted up the saddlebags to be sure the creature was under them and not tearing through them, her hand touched fur. She carefully removed the topmost katt skin, which was properly rolled.
“What are you going to do with these?”
Braan glanced up. “They may have several uses. The young male’s is yours; you set the trap for him. One I will probably offer to Baakche as a gift; only trinium would be more impressive, and I have that as well. The other I will make a cape or robe out of ... maybe a wedding gift.”
Teloa had already wrapped the big forepaws around her, looping them in front. “How do I look?”
“Like a child playing dress-up, using a rug for a stole.”
Her brilliant smile flashed out, and she took several graceful dance steps. “What shall I do with mine? It’s too little for a poncho and too pretty to walk on! I’d hate to hang it over a hole in the wall.”
Braan tried to hide his laughter and failed. “How do you and Moran do it? I have never met anyone before who could simplify Nualan and have it sound correct. Usually that mix sounds like strangled Axis. I think you two have invented a new tongue.” He studied her a moment, stroking his beard, trying to remain objective. “A skirt,” he said at last. “Or if you are nice to me, maybe I will give you my skin.”
She danced off again in excitement. “Up to my chin in fur! I love it! I never thought I’d live somewhere cool enough to wear them!” She dropped down next to the fire and slowly, correctly rerolled the skin. “It grows quiet. A strange place, this desert. The nights are lively and full of sound, the days dead and silent.”
“Very quiet. This is the most ‘alone’ I have ever been. Starting with that sandstorm when I lost Lyte. This is the first time I have ever felt totally free.”
“Ever? I am here.”
“Ever. Even with you. This is the first time a guaard or commando has not been with me. I am always a twosome, at the minimum.”
“Always? I mean ... there must be times ...”
“No. Always. Every waking and sleeping moment.”
“No privacy?”
“I ignore them and they ignore me. The mountain is refreshing to live in. They stay outside in the corridor or, at the worst, in the meeting room. In the palace and my home they were in the sanitation, in my sleeping room—one gets used to them, like a glow or a chair.”
Teloa seemed genuinely surprised. “Everywhere. Just one? Or more than that? Do they follow your whole family wherever they go?”
Braan smiled. “Not just my family. My immediate circle. At various times Gid has been guarded, or Prime Minister Lennard, even Arrez.”
Tay looked thoughtful. “The day I was attacked, were the men who saved me guaard?”
“One. The other was a citizen. Yes, a guaard was watching you. But thirdmeal was the time for a change of guaard, and as fate would have it, that was when your problems began. I had ordered them to shadow you, and they did.”
“Can’t even scratch in private,” she replied coarsely, barely concealing her irritation.
“Oh, they do not watch you every second. They know normal sounds and abnormal ones. They listen, smell; they do not have to see us all the time. Do not misunderstand me, I am grateful for their vigil. But sometimes ...”
Teloa reached for the tongs and began fishing for the dinner pouches. Braan pushed the plates in front of her and settled back to open a sack of nuts. Finally, without looking at him, Tay spoke. “That’s hard to understand. I’m used to being alone. Even when I left home and was working. I knew what they meant by the saying ‘being alone in a crowd.’ In a way it was nice. The ciedär, the endless desert, and no one out here except Tikki and Telen and me.”
“Telen?”
Tay blushed. “My little brother’s name. The hazelle has the same wise, gentle look, and yet he is very patient with me. Like Telen. For someone so mechanically oriented, my brother was very concerned about people.”
“Where is he now?”
“I don’t know. At the displacement camp, I gave him everything I had left, my last cubiz, and told him to find a guild that would take him. I was already a planter. As the war stretches on and on, fewer planets take in skilled refugees; they’d rather train their own workers.” She passed him a plate of the tasty red tubers and black beans and accepted a handful of nuts in return.
There was a long stretch of silence but not an uncomfortable one. The fire burned low; Braan finally banked it. They moved their packs as far away from it as possible. Wincing at the pain the movement cost him, Braan slowly lowered himself down behind a cool rock.
“Are you all right, Atare?”
He shot her a glance. “It is nothing. Some people get ulcers; my tension goes to my muscles, especially my back and neck.”
“Muscle tension can become serious. I am a trained therapist. May I assist?”
He answered honestly. “I am not sure that would be a good idea.”
“Why?”
Braan hesitated. Then, “I have learned to control my emotions in your presence, lady. I doubt I could keep such reserve under your touch.”
Teloa looked puzzled. “There are two basic types of massage, Atare: therapeutic-sensual and erotic. One relaxes and heals, the other arouses. To the one giving the massage, and the receiver, it is easy to differentiate technique. My people had need of such a skill. I offer it to you.” She held up her head with dignity as she spoke, but the flush in her cheeks was not starlight.
“I would rather have plain speech. It would ease the tension,” he replied. “I apologize for delaying so long. But I had to be sure that I was not merely lured by your physical charms, which are considerable. I value our friendship too much to make that mistake now. I have learned to appreciate all the other special qualities you have; I have missed your wit, your compassion, even your barbed questions.” He knew what he wanted to say, but the words were wrong now. So he did not say “I love you.”
“Do you understand?” He was startled to realize Teloa was shaking. He started to reach out to steady her and stopped himself.
She did not notice. “Do you know what it is like, Atare, to want something badly and yet to fear it just as strongly?” It was a tight, barely controlled whisper.
“The name is Braan.”
“This cannot be.” She hid her face in her hands to hide her tears.
“Teloa, this is not an absolute monarchy. If you cannot stand to look at me, tell me to go away! You will not lose your head!” Braan was terribly puzzled. Someone else? She had made a crazy vow while praying to be saved? “My lady, I am simply asking to pay court to you upon return to Nuamura. I believe we shall survive this.”
“No! No, I am wrong for you. I hoped it could be different, but I’ve thought—” She folded over to muffle her sobs. Braan knew the comfort of a touch, even an unfavored one. He stiffly moved before her and set his hands on her shoulders. In a little while the woman began to gain control. Soon she became aware of him; her whole body went rigid.
Braan pulled back, slipping his hands into his robe pockets but not moving away. “Please. Explain. What do you want me to say? If it is truth, I will say it.”
“I thought your people were bolder,” she said, straightening and looking him in the eye.
“They are,” he replied without a pause. “If I was merely interested in your body, I would have made it plain. I feel I was quite straightforward concerning your work, which improved daily. Were you almost anyone else, I would have begun with the words I love you.” Tay’s face became even whiter. “But I feared you would react just as you have. Why are those words so frightening?”
“Because. Do you know what I did before I came here?”
“You were a planter somewhere—”
“Between home and Nuala.”
“No.”
Teloa looked away. “I was a hustler.”
“So?”
Tay faced him, her face a tratore mask. “Are you mad? I thought you knew.”
“I knew you worked on a sumptuary planet. There are countless professions practiced there.”
“I was a hustler! How long do you think your kingship would last if you associated with a hustler? Admitted you loved one?”
Braan swallowed quickly to stifle a laugh. “With the exception of Nuala, almost every royal house in the known universe keeps male and female courtesans within its walls—”
“Not a courtesan! Not someone trained to be a walking pleasure palace, pampered and protected! A hustler! Alone, a mark for every sadist, psycho and molester in the galaxy! To be beaten and treated as a doll with no emotions and no response! Where not reacting is what keeps you alive!” Her voice edged on hysteria. She fought to control it. “No guild would take a trained planter, they wanted raw talent to mold their own rules. And I was crazy enough to think nothing was worse than death.”
“My great uncle married a hustler. I almost did, too, but she vanished one night, just before I asked her. She left for much the same reasons, I suppose, though she never said them aloud. A severe inferiority complex—”
“You don’t understand!” The tears came again, in frustration.
“I do not.” The reply was gentle.
“You need the acceptance and neutrality of the non-aligned planets. If they found out you were consorting with a hustler—”
“Who would connect the planter Teloa with the hustler of another name?” There was silence. “You did use another name, did you not? Tay, I love you. How do you feel about me?”
“There is something else.” She clutched the material at her side. “There is a scar along my rib cage. It is from the one time I forgot myself.” As she spoke, her voice diminished to barely a whisper. “To be a hustler is a delicate thing. To be successful one must perform on command—to be passive or active as the patron dictates. He looked so much like my long-dead Caprican love I forgot myself. One does not forget one’s place when a patron desires a passive partner. Were it not for the affection a cantinamaster held for me, I would be long dead. I learn very well. I have not made the same mistake since. Can you imagine a body so well trained that it goes rigid when a child touches its arm?”
“I have never lifted a hand in violence to a woman in my life. I swear by my Lord Mendülay.”
Teloa looked up at his soft answer and could not meet the pain—her pain—in his face. “You need a lover, my lord, not a hustler. I have relaxed a bit these many long days. But enough to pretend that I am a real person? Even if I could overcome this affliction I prolonged my life with, I would be flinching every step of the way. It has been so long. Unless I am passive, or have a passive partner, I am lost.”
“Teloa. You say you learn well. You can unlearn just as easily! Lord, we are not talking about gymnastics! Sex is not a spectator sport, but it is not all games, either! Are you trying to tell me that kiss back in the cave was nothing?”
“I am trying to spare you great pain,” she replied, her words slow and spaced to keep control of them. “You cannot imagine the pain my fears and memories will cost you.”
“They can only bind us closer.” He suddenly pulled her into his embrace. She was startled but not exhausted, as she had been the time before. And she did freeze. Braan did not break off their kiss until he felt the slightest relaxation, the touch of her fingers to his shoulder. He faced her as he arranged his robes to guard against the heat. “There was response. You are not lost to us yet. I am willing to take the chance. If you are.”
“I love you. But I cannot love you.”
She was right. That hurt most of all.
oOo
They posted no guard, for no katt prowled so far from the mountains, and they could not defend against human attack. Braan tossed at the threshold of sleep, forced to lie on his stomach, stirring sand and gravel in his pain. He had the strangest dream; he heard a voice in it.
“You are keeping me awake. Do you know you are kicking rocks? Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” The pressure on his spine and ribs was firm but not hard. And sleep spun away.
When he awoke at vespers, the ache in his back was gone.
BLOODSAND
TWOHUNDRED FIFTYSEVENDAY, VESPERS
Kee was dropping in the western sky, but the night wind had not yet come. Lyte was silent, twisting a broken piece of whip, watching the fire burn low. Moran seethed beside him, his anger barely under control. It was he who had broken the hazelle whip. They had found the young Atares at Bloodsand and dispatched their Cied guards, as Jaac had predicted. The twins were alive ... just barely. Dehydrated, and Kavan bleeding internally from a beating administered after an escape attempt. Moran was furious—with the Cied, with Corymb, with how long it had taken to find the Atares. Now Kalith watched the fire as well—grim, silent, almost menacing in his scraggly beard, but no longer detached from them. There was calculated thought in his movements.
No longer afraid ... of anyone or anything, including appearances, public opinion, or the future. And when a man fears nothing, he becomes dangerous, Lyte thought, studying the young Atare. Nearby, Kavan slept, oblivious to pain and the rising wind.
“May I intrude?” Jaac stood before them, a ghost in the moonlight.
“Of course,” Lyte said graciously.
“We must speak of tomorrow.” The woman dropped to the sand. “The Atares must be returned to Nuamura. My original plan, if we found them strong and healthy, was to continue on to the clan mountains. There I hoped to accomplish what the first party set out to do. But Kavan needs immediate medical attention, more aid than I can give him. However much I wish to go present our case to the Dragoche, even to help my Atare, I have in my hands the lives of the heirs.”
“Must we all go?” Lyte asked. “I was thinking of trying to find Braan.”
“I was going to send you two back with the twins. But we are deeper in the ciedär than I thought. It is easier to explain how to find the Dragoche tribe than how to retrace our path home. Therefore I must return to Nuamura. Moran must come with me. He is the Ragarr, and his safety is as imperative as Kalith and Kavan’s. Also, I need help with them. To the life shelter, Kavan’s injuries are simple to attend to, but if we are too late returning, he could die of blood loss within. That leaves you to journey on, Lyte. You must take three gourds, for there is no water between this camp and mountains, unless you stumble onto a spring.” She stood and pointed east. “Do you see, by the light of the three, the deep slash in the distant range? It grows more obvious as you journey closer, and a free well lies just inside it to the left. That is the mouth to the Dragoche tribe’s domain. You must choose your entry—announced, by the slash; or stealthy, through the valleys running south. Braan may need your assistance. The range grows immense as you see more of it. Do not be dismayed. Keep your eyes on the slash!”
“Roe is not in Nuamura.”
Jaac turned to Moran at this, her eyes narrowing slightly. “What did you say?”
“I don’t think she’s there. I know that sounds crazy, but I have the strangest feeling she’s ahead of me.”
Lyte was suddenly very worried about Moran, but Jaac only studied them both, her gaze unflinching. “Strange are the bonds between sworn lovers, and they are strong. But whatever madness has come upon Ronüviel, I remind you of your children and ask you to return with me. I think we must be up at lauds and journey until high sext. Then we rest until vespers and travel the night through dawning. Summer approaches, and we do not have the countenance of the Cied to travel in this heat.”
“I think I’ll leave at the same time. Let’s all get some rest,” Lyte suggested, bothered by Moran’s tratore face. Not like him...
THE CIEDÄR
TWOHUNDRED FIFTYEIGHTDAY, LAUDS (MOONSET)
Jaac was up with the false dawn, tending a low fire and checking the water gourds. Some were already missing. She had heard Lyte in the night, gone with the stars. She had walked past the sleeping twins and counted bodies; there had been only one by the small boulder. He had been eager to leave then. The missing hazelle was the one with a white ankle. It was the strongest of the group, one of the Cied’s beasts, so adapted to desert life it was more tazelle than hazelle. A good choice.
She was preparing a solid firstmeal and packing the rest of their supplies when she heard someone stirring behind her. “Let us finish packing the gourds. I want to leave as soon as we have eaten,” she said.
“Fine by me.”
Jaac froze at the voice. Standing slowly, she turned to face Lyte, who briefly returned her glance and went to pick up a mug. Then she sprang away to the boulder. Using a smaller rock as a step, she quickly reached the top. In the faint light of the coming dawn there were few shadows across the sand. Their group approached the deep desert, and little was found here except sand and rock. Jaac could barely make out hoofprints leading away east. He was long gone.
“Sear the Path!” exploded from her lips. “Fool! Idiot!” She leapt back down.
“What?”
“Moran has gone.”
Lyte’s face passed swiftly from incredulity to fear to fury. “I’ll kill him.” He ran to the hazelles.
“No! Stop! You cannot, especially without water.”
“Then get me some gourds fast. I want to catch him before starrise—”
“No. He is kilometers from here. You cannot hope to find a commando when he does not wish to be found! He took a Cied hazelle, a beige one. You could pass them and never know it!” She snatched the reins from him, fearless in the face of the frightened, plunging animal. “Calm yourself and the beast! I cannot get Kavan back alone. Kal can barely support himself. Our path is sundered from his, Lyte. I need your help.”
The man was silent, but the hazelle settled into a light prance. Dismounting, Lyte stepped out of the pack line to face the dawn. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with harnessed anger: “I would have gone with both of them, but it’s beyond me.” He switched to Nualan. “Let us head for Nuamura.”
“We shall make straight the path of their return.”