Lamarchos Page 5

  “I don’t understand. How …?”

  “At sunrise, when our neighbors were there with the kauna of elders from Wahi-Po, she came staggering out of the house, screaming, tearing at her hair, thighs covered with blood. She swore I had raped her. She swore I had laughed and spat on my father’s corpse.”

  “And they believed her?”

  “They believed her.”

  “But where were you? Didn’t they listen to you at all?”

  “I was lying in a drunken stupor on the floor of my father’s bedroom.”

  “She drugged you.”

  “Right. I was a fool. They found me naked and snoring like a pig, my own thighs and groin covered with blood, deep scratches on my face and arms. She pointed them out triumphantly, as evidence of how she’d struggled against me.”

  “Not a fool. How could you expect such a thing?”

  “I knew how she hated me. I should have been alert for some such action.”

  “And they all believed her.”

  He laughed, a mirthless bitter sound. “Why not. I’d been going over a lot of house walls into women’s quarters for the past year, leaving angry and suspicious husbands scattered along my trail. To speak bluntly, my reputation stank.”

  “Stupid.”

  “How was I to know?” He protested mournfully. “My lady friends were very willing. No cries of rape followed me. But …” He sighed. “I admit all this lent color to her tale. And then there were the years when I made no secret of how I hated my father.”

  “I see.” Aleytys stood up and fastened the batik around her. “Is there much more?”

  “Not much.” He jumped to his feet and stood pinning his borrowed batik around his skinny hips. “I can finish as we walk back to the wagons.”

  Aleytys nodded and started up the slope.

  “The kauna pronounced me pariah. Then they took me out, threw me in a horsetrough to wake me, shaved me bald top and bottom, slapped me on the back of that ramshackle pensioner of a horse and drove me out, still dazed and not quite comprehending what had happened to me.” He yawned. “And here I am.”

  “How’d you get the wound?”

  “I needed water.” He shrugged. “Took a while to learn how to sneak it. I got the wound first week. Had to live with it.” His square teeth gleamed whitely as a grin nearly split his face in half. “Or die with it except for you happening along.”

  “I doubt there was much chance to our meeting.” She stopped him, hand on his arm. “How far is Lake Po from here?”

  “There’s a crossroad ahead some hours. On that, a two, two and a half day trip north by caravan.”

  “You want your father’s land back?”

  “Damn right I do.”

  “And your half-brothers?”

  “I’ve nothing against them. Remember, I’ll be serving you for what time you choose, gikena. They can take care of the place for me.” He glanced at the lowering moon. “The dew’s coming down and it’s cold out here.”

  “A minute more. Will my being gikena really be enough to get the curse lifted and put you back in your place?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the kauna will listen to me?”

  “Lahela, the gikena speaks for the Lakoe-heai. Would they want their mares to die in foaling, their crops to turn black dust in the earth, their water to go foul, their dreams be filled with horror, the very air they breathe turn poison in their lungs?”

  “They believe that?”

  Loahn grunted. “It happened once in another place. That’s not a thing to be forgotten.”

  “Ahai!” Aleytys shivered. “I hadn’t realized. Come on, I’ll get you a quilt.”

  “A quilt?” Hairless eyeridges arched in unspoken question.

  “My bed is taken,” she said firmly.

  They trudged to the top of the swell then began sliding downslope to the dark, silent caravans. Aleytys jerked to a halt. “Loahn.”

  “Change your mind?”

  “My god, is that all you ever think of?”

  “Can you think of better?” He grinned. “What is it, then?”

  “The other woman. Leyilli. She’s a killer. And she doesn’t like men. I’m going to have enough trouble convincing her to turn aside without your making it more difficult. Don’t play your tricks with her.”

  “Jealous.”

  “Idiot! There’s another thing you ought to know, my naive young native. Leyilli’s the leader of this mismatched group of thieves.”

  “A woman?” He sounded skeptical.

  “A woman. Don’t underestimate her. Barehanded that dainty little creature could kill you so fast you wouldn’t even know you were dead.”

  “Nice company. Thieves and killers.”

  “We’re all here for our private reasons, Loahn.” She shrugged and moved away from him. “Remember what I said.”

  “Si’a gikena. Tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

  “Then I say this. Treat Leyilli as if she’s a cocked crossbow aimed at your heart.”

  “With respect and caution.”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded at the caravan looming black before them. Stavver sat on the back steps watching them pick their way downhill. “What are you going to tell him?”

  “The truth.” She bit her lip and frowned unhappily. “He’d not believe anything else. Why waste my time and his?”

  “How’ll he take it?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know yet how I take this.”

  He looked skeptical. “You’re no innocent.”

  “But my experience has been limited. I’ve never had to face this kind of thing before. My lovers till now have been strictly sequential.”

  “You’re a strange one.”

  “You ought to see me from the inside, you’d go dizzy trying to figure out the twists and turns.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Hello, Keon. Can’t sleep?”

  He nodded briefly acknowledging the name change. “Good evening, Lahela. Did you enjoy your walk?” His voice changed on the last word, turning harsh.

  “It was educational.”

  “Educational?” His eyebrows arched, tangling with the thatch of hair falling forward over his brow.

  “Loahn told me the story of his life.” She nodded at the caravan. “Would you get me one of the spare quilts for our new recruit?”

  “Recruit?” As he stood, holding the curtains parted, he looked startled. “Have you talked to Leyilli about that?”

  “In the morning.”

  He nodded and vanished inside.

  Aleytys turned to Loahn. “I suggest you sleep under the other caravan. It’ll keep the dew off you.”

  Stavver stepped out and handed the folded quilt down to Aleytys. “You sure you want it this way, Lahela?” He nodded at the other man. “Or should we change places?”

  “Don’t be silly. He knows better, so should you.”

  Loahn took the quilt and walked off, humming cheerfully, to the other caravan.

  Chapter VI

  “Well, Aleytys?” Stavver leaned back against the side wall, face somber, hands clasped behind his head.

  “I should ask you that.” Nervously she settled on the other bunk, careful not to disturb the baby. “I don’t know.” She tucked her legs into lotus position then rested trembling hands on her knees. “It’s up to you how we go on from here.”

  “Me?”

  “We’re friends. At least, I thought we were.” She tapped her fingers rapidly over the firm flesh of her thighs.

  “So?”

  “I like you, Miks.”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “I mean it. You don’t need to sound like that.”

  “So how should I sound?”

  “You’re not helping.” She struggled to see his face in the gloom inside the caravan. “I never.…”

  He slid off the bunk and stood in the back doorway staring outside.

  She rubbed her thumb across her palm, chewed on her lip. His face, silvered b
y the moonlight, was drawn and cruel. She felt anger and amusement in him. Amusement! Pulling wings off flies. An odd satisfaction in seeing her squirm. A tinge of self-disgust. A harsh desire to punish her, to flog her with his silence.

  “We’re loners, Miks. You and me,” she said abruptly. “And I’m half Vryhh. Mother left me a letter, explaining—warning me—no lasting ties … ever … it’s not in me to give that much.” Her voice trailed off. She shook herself and straightened her back. After a difficult silence she began talking again, as much to herself as to his unresponsive back.

  “My friend, we live together in an uneasy alliance, both aware of its impermanence. So anything that threatens it causes a disproportionate upheaval. I suppose I’d feel just as destructive if you went with another woman. I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

  He stirred, hands moving in an abortive gesture as if he reached for her then denied the impulse. “Fine philosophy.”

  “Ay-mi, Miks. You don’t own me, but we are friends. I will not deny that or let you deny it. And I need you. The loyalty of need. Isn’t that stronger than sex? I don’t know your … your bottom line beliefs, the ones that go below conscious thought. You never let me know you that deeply, did you.” She slipped off the bunk and edged up to him reaching for his arm.

  He jerked away and dropped down the steps.

  With an impatient exclamation, Aleytys ran after him.

  He swung around to face her. “Lee, leave me alone.” He ran nervous, jerking hands through his hair, frowning at the growing anger in her face. “Words!”

  “More than words.” She flung her head back, the black mane rippling like a skein of silk.

  “All right. Just let me alone. Give me time to think. Okay?” He wheeled and strode away, disappearing behind the other caravan.

  She stood a while till her feet ached from the cold, damp grass. Sighing, she trudged up the steps and dropped on the bed. Resting one ankle on her knee, she wiped the cold, gritty mud off with a piece of rag. When she finished the second foot, she sat lumpishly on the bed, staring into the dark.

  The baby stirred in his blankets and gave a tentative whimper.

  “Sharli-mi, Baby-mi,” she crooned, bending over him. She lifted him to her breast and rocked him for a little while she scrubbed an edge of the blanket over her nipples. Then she let him suck.

  “My son,” she murmured, suddenly filled with a blissful contentment. “My little one. You’re getting so big. So big and strong. You’ll be a fine man one day, Sharl-mi. Without the twist your mother suffers from. A fine, strong man. Like your father. Ah god, baby, be like your father.…” She sighed and settled back, the baby warm across her body.

  The hours passed. Somehow. Sharl went back in his bed, sleeping the deep, placid sleep of contentment and a full belly. Aleytys pulled the quilt around her and huddled unhappily, waiting for Stavver to return. If he chose to return.

  The caravan creaked and swayed as he came up the stairs. He pulled the curtain aside, hesitated, then stepped into the caravan. “Leyta?”

  “Here, Miks.”

  “Geod.” He dropped beside her shivering as much from over-stimulated nerves as from the night cold. “I’m a fool,” he muttered.

  “I think so too.” She touched his cheek. “You’re freezing. Come under the quilt with me.”

  He hesitated, passed shaking hands over his face.

  “Isn’t it time to stop acting like a boy? You’re a man.”

  “What’s a man?” With a deep groan, he stretched out beside her, letting the quilt fall over him. He pulled her into his arms. “I never thought maturity would be so complicated.” Relaxing against her soft warm body, he let the dregs of resentment wash out of him.

  Chapter VII

  Aleytys stroked her hand over Olelo’s soft, russet fur as he cuddled against her, watching Stavver smother the fire with a shovel full of sandy dirt. Behind her the orange sun was a fat pimple on the horizon, throwing extravagantly elongated shadows that flickered in a stilting dance behind Loahn and Kale as they buckled harnesses on side-stepping, restless horses and backed them over the wagon tongues.

  Maissa came walking with short tense steps over the top of a knoll. Halfway down, a dozen paces away from the campsite, she stopped abruptly, her face crumpled in a bad-tempered scowl.

  Aleytys sighed. The omens pointed to a bloody-minded confrontation when she informed Maissa that their plans had to be changed. She hesitated, reluctant to precipitate the conflict, then took a deep breath and called, “Leyilli.”

  Maissa whipped her head around, the scowl deepening as she focused on Aleytys. She jolted downhill, kicking viciously at the cold wet grass. When she reached the level ground of the campsite, she halted, shivering, arms crossed over her bare breasts. There was a drawn look to her face and her skin humped in blue-tinted gooseflesh. “What do you want?”

  Aleytys glanced at Loahn then lowered her eyes, let her shoulders droop, minimizing her own personality to offer less abrasive challenge to Maissa’s hypersensitivity. “The pariah boy,” she said softly. “We have to take him back to his people.”

  Maissa hissed and took a short step backward, coming up on her toes like a snake poised to strike. “So?”

  “He has to be put right with them.”

  “We stick our fingers in the fire for that?” Trembling from anger and cold she jerked a thumb at the watching boy.

  “If you want peace and quiet, we take the boy back. Unless he’s put right with them, we’re all in trouble.”

  Maissa’s nostrils flared. “Put a knife through his throat, put him under dirt, there’s no more problem.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “This damn lump of shit.” She was shivering more violently. “The sooner we get off …”

  “You do it that way, you’ve got another problem.” Aleytys’ voice was cool and crisp, pulling Maissa back around in a wary hunter’s crouch. She straightened and glared at Aleytys.

  Stroking a gentle hand over the speaker’s fluff, Aleytys nodded toward the boy. “Me. You’ll have to do me too. I will not stand aside and watch that boy killed. I will not.”

  “You!” Lips curling in a contemptuous sneer that was part snarl, baring her small ivory teeth, she ran insolent eyes over Aleytys from head to feet then back up again. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse, the words came out in clear harsh syllables. “Filthy grubling. You will not? Phah!”

  She wheeled and leaped at the boy who stood gaping at the fury plunging toward him. Face contorted with a hideous combination of rage and killer-lust, hands set for the killing blow, she was a screaming death missile. She bounced off Stavver as he leaped between her and her prey. Moving faster than Aleytys had ever seen him shift his long thin body, he whipped past her as she tottered off balance and wrapped wiry arms about her. “Leyta,” he grunted out. “Get that damn magic of yours working.”

  The diadem sang, flowing in phantom splendor on the blue-black hair while in her head fragmented images of cool wary black eyes flickered hazily at the rim of mental vision, triggering confusion and a ravening curiosity in her. Her body moved, clumsily at first, then with a swift sureness that startled and delighted her. For the first time since the diadem had started taking her body she wasn’t wholly pushed aside, a helpless prisoner in her own skull. She shared the grafted skill and the pleasure she found in it added to the confusion that wheeled in her head. Stavver’s strained face, Maissa’s hate-ugly one reflected the phantom sparks of flickering colors from the jeweled centers of the diadem flowers as they caught the light and reflected it back. “LET HER GO.” Her voice sounded strange to her as if it struggled toward a resonant baritone an octave below her normal tones.

  Stavver nodded. He released Maissa, shoving her roughly forward while he leaped backwards several paces.

  With a shriek Maissa whipped a hand in a three-finger strike at Aleytys’ throat, not bothering to cover out of her contempt for what confronted her. Aleytys swept the hand aside and struck hard, whipping
her fist around, so that two knuckles slammed into the juncture of jaw and neck, drawing a grunt of pain out of the smaller woman. Maissa fell back but hit the ground in a quick roll that brought her to her feet poised to attack.

  As soon as the strike was completed Aleytys threw her suddenly skilled body back, ready to attack again if necessary.

  Maissa circled warily probing for weaknesses in Aleytys’ defense, eyes chilling into reluctant respect as she failed to find any opening. Finally, breathing a little too quickly, she moved out of reach and dropped her hands, staring fascinated at the glimmering diadem coiling regally above a stern, drawn face, set in strange lines, a shifting of features into a new conformation that altered Aleytys almost out of recognition. Made obscurely uneasy by this change, Maissa focused on the jeweled crown. Greed seeped in to replace the anger. “The diadem,” she breathed. “The Rmoahl diadem. Stavver said you had it.”

  The black-eyed presence flowed imperceptibly from her nerve webbing as the chimes dimmed to taut silence. Aleytys shrugged. “As you see,” she said, her throat tight, her voice shrill in reaction to its plummet into the lower tones. Olelo came scampering to her, small black hands out, begging to be taken up. Absently she settled the speaker on her shoulder. “Will you listen now?”

  Anger clamped Maissa’s full lips into a tight line. She nodded, head dipping in a taut small arc, body rigidly erect, muscles contracted for the attack that her cooling brain refused to initiate.

  “If the boy stays alive, for our sake as well as his, I have to take the curse off his head. It won’t add that much time to the length of our stay here …” She kicked at the clodded sandy earth, toes sending up a spray of coarse soil. “Four days … five … not more. But we’ll roll into Karkys sunk layer on layer deep in the life of this world. The boy is bound to me body and spirit until I release him. I guarantee he’ll prove no danger to us.”

  “Guarantee.” The word reeked scorn but Maissa had herself firmly in hand. She watched Aleytys from unblinking eyes, cold as death.

  “Yes.” Aleytys tapped her temple so that the others staring fascinated at her heard the chimes.