Bones of the Past (Arhel) (5 page)

Medwind looked into the cold angry glitters in her grandfather’s father’s eyesockets, and tensed. “I still have no child to bring.”

The bones hissed. “Our shame… our shame…” and Grandmother Song asked angrily, “How is this, then? Are we to be abandoned, barren one? Left without honor at your death? Who will light candles and incense for us when you are gone?”

Medwind grew angry. “I’m trying to get pregnant! I just haven’t yet.”

Around her, the hissing grew louder. “Get a younger husband,” some of the voices demanded. “Kill that old makcjek,” Troggar Raveneye urged. A small drum, a shempi, suddenly leapt off the hanging rack and flew past her, almost hitting her.

“Stop that!” she yelled.

The hissing stopped. The vha’attaye glared at Medwind.

“Don’t throw things at me,” the mage said.

Inndra Song whispered, “Then honor us as you should. Destroy your unworthy vha’attaye. She shames you and shames us. She has not earned the long passage of vha’atta. And bring a child for us to teach, a child who can honor us when you are gone.”

“And if I cannot do these things?” Medwind asked.

The bonevoices rose again in grating wails—soft, horrible echoes that mimicked living voices—but stripped of all humanness. Teeth clacked and gnashed, eyesockets blazed bright, ghostflesh contorted in shapes of remembered rage. The vha’attaye did not answer her.

Medwind asked again, “If I cannot do these things?”

Inndra Song spoke over the rest of the voices of the dead. “Then we will not know you—and when you ride to the gates of Yarwalla, you will be turned away. Living, you will have no people—and dying, you will have no home. That shall be our curse.”

ROBA Morgasdotte shivered on the cold stone seat in the damp, draft-ridden subbasement and pulled her cloak tighter around her. Her mask was wood and heavy, with a featureless circle with slits for her eyes and a very minor and uncomfortable depression for her nose. It slipped a bit, and she shoved it impatiently into place. Around her, on rows of equally awful stone benches, about thirty other scholars huddled, rubbing their hands or fidgeting with their masks. A few of them scratched on wax tablets with tiny stone styluses, then passed their notes around.

So this
, she thought,
is the mighty and blasphemous Delmuirie Society, huh? For this I got up before the crack of dawn? Without even a nice hot cup of coffee? Bleh! I had better secret meetings than this when I was eight.

It was funny that her boss had made such a big deal about the Society. She grinned beneath her mask. That was Thirk Huddsonne all over though, once she thought about it. He made fusses about the oddest things. She leaned over and patted him companionably on the shoulder. “So when does this meeting get going?” she whispered.

He threw his finger over the blank mouth-region of his mask in a melodramatic fashion and bent down to scrabble around under the bench. He came up with another wax tablet and stylus. In big letters, he wrote, “It’s already underway. Haven’t you been reading?!”

Oh, please
, Roba thought.
They get up before dawn on a workday morning so they can wear stupid costumes and sit in a cold dark room passing notes? I’d rather do the university’s seasonal inventory by myself.

Still, once she was aware that the notes she’d been passing were for everyone to read, she gamely perused them. Most were benign—and exceedingly dull; memos regarding upcoming secret meetings, suggestions for festivals honoring the great Edrouss Delmuirie, a sketch suggesting a new mask design (it had more room for a nose, and Roba voted in favor). There were also some heated protests over the contents of the last issue of the Faulea University
Campus Informer
. Some student humorist had published a satirical piece called “Delmuirie Lives: Paternity Suits Prove It!” in the University press sheet. There were any number of fraught little editorials decrying that. Roba shook her head sadly, reading those. “Delmuirie Lives…” was hilarious.

One memo brought up the recent news of the Ariss Historical Society’s decision to cut out all funding of Delmuirie-related research, declare Delmuirie an apocryphal figure, and proclaim the recently discovered Delmuirie Diaries a fraud. Roba, who read Thirk’s copy of the translated diaries at the time she got her job, thought the AHS was on the right track with the diaries, even if it might have gone too for with its other decisions. Nobody got laid as often or as variously as “Delmuirie” claimed to and still got any work done. But the Delmuirie Diaries were apparently damned-near sacred texts to DS’ers. And as for cutting funding—

“I move that we infiltrate the AHS,” read one memo, “find out who voted in favor of the Delmuirie revisions, and neuter the reprobates.”

“Duly seconded,” was scrawled underneath, and someone had drawn a tally with votes FOR and AGAINST.

Roba noted that votes were running about three to one in favor. There was even a little block drawn on the bottom where volunteers could write in their secret society name, offering to take on this essential mission.

She shielded the tablet with one arm, bent over it, and made a little mark in the AGAINST column. Then, grinning behind her mask, she rubbed the wax smooth over everything except the initial motion and the second, and scrawled in, “I move that the above motion be tabled as unworthy of the generous spirit and upstanding ethics of Edrouss Delmuirie, for whose honor we meet.”

She passed the tablet to the person on her left and noted that the woman read her note, nodded, and scrawled “Duly seconded” under her own motion.

But that was the high point of the excitement, as far as she could tell. The Delmuirie Society huddled on its benches and wrote its little notes until the bells for antis began clamoring through the city; then one by one, and with a great show of cloak-and-dagger secrecy, the members crept out.

“Wait for me by the Sargis Crustery and we’ll get antis-fare,” Thirk wrote. Roba nodded, and when her turn came, marched into the anteroom, tucked her mask into her carrybag, and strode out into the last damp curtains of Ariss’ morning fog.

She waited a block down the street, outside the huge double doors of the Sargis Crustery, surrounded by the rich aromas of wood smoke and hot spiced meat pies and fresh breads that wafted from the shop. If she thought about it, she also noticed the barnyard smell of the road and from somewhere down the Way, the stench of a tannery as well. So she tried not to think about it. Instead, she watched the goings-on of Six Round Way.

Ariss traffic always left her in awe. When in the city, she didn’t drive, she didn’t ride, and she didn’t fly—and the reasons why were in the street in front of her. Traffic was still light—it was, after all, very early—but the flat paving stones of Six Round Way already rang with the iron-shod clatter of horses’ hooves and the pitters and clunks of herds of goats and sheep and cattle, all bellowing. To these, Ariss drivers added the rattling wheels of huge wooden transport carts, the swish of light two-wheelers pedaled furiously by suicidal riders, and the rumbles and low growls of the lean, fast, demon-powered horseless carts. Bells and horns and voices all demanded right of way; the bad-tempered, long-horned bovines mostly got it. That was road traffic. Above the road, fliers of airboxes and carpets and a menagerie of exotic winged mounts swooped and dove and screamed at each other to make way.

Even on the walkways, the traffic was hectic—walkers tended to be fast and rude, while the rollers in their faddish new wheelboots were bloodthirsty maniacs. Pedestrians like Roba, who found the pace too exciting, kept to the walls and tried to think thin. Still, collisions happened. Those who got hit swore in three or four languages that Roba recognized and a score she didn’t, while those doing the hitting swore back, mentioning “mudcrawlers” and “slugs” about as often as not. Roba found it all, perversely, very entertaining.

In the outer rim of Ariss, housing was cheaper and foreigners from other provinces were common. She noted three Huong Hoos—pale, black-haired, blue-eyed—their faces cat-patterned for battle, pacing majestically forward on their lean, bell-bedecked war-horses while traffic parted and surged around them like water around rocks. A flock of ebony-skinned Ralledines from Punce dropped their light flier to eye level, watching for someone or something on the ground. Stone Teeth Hoos pushed past, and she backed nervously. One of the young men flipped his long gold hair out of his face and grinned at her, and she smiled back, faintly. The sharp points of his filed teeth glittered in the pale sunrise.

Someone tapped her shoulder and she jumped. Thirk grinned up at her, his round face beaming.

“People watching in this part of town always has that effect on me, too. You know not to show your teeth when you smile at a Stone Teeth Hoos, right?”

“Ah, no.” Roba tried to remember how much she’d smiled. “Why don’t you show your teeth?”

“Big toothy smile means you want to have sex with him. It’s a very blatant form of making a pass.”

Roba let that thought percolate for a moment. Finally, she muttered, “Why, that little shit.” Then she thought about it further and burst out laughing.

Thirk crossed his arms in front of his chest and tipped his head to one side. “What’s so funny?”

Roba headed for the doors of the Crustery. “I’ll bet those horny little cannibals are disappointed a lot here in Ariss.”

It was Thirk’s turn to laugh. “Probably not as often as you’d think. They have a reputation as legendary lovers.”

“I didn’t know that. I might have given him a nice big smile if I had.”

Roba stepped inside and inhaled. Behind those heavy doors, the food smelled even better than it had outside. And once the doors swung shut the riot from the street was muffled. She closed her eyes for a moment, appreciating the atmosphere.

Thirk said, “That’s fairly common knowledge among Arissers—but you aren’t actually from Ariss, are you?” He pointed out the items he wanted to the Crustery’s shopkeeper. “Get whatever you like,” he added. “I’m buying.”

Roba ordered a small loaf of blackbread and hard cheese, a mug of coffee, and a slice of the still-steaming mutton pie that sat on the counter. While Thirk paid, she carried both of their trays to one of the low tables next to the window.

“I’m actually from Gornat Wilds,” she admitted. “It’s a fishing village not too far from Big Tam.”

Thirk raised an eyebrow. “Not a very cosmopolitan area,” he said between bites.

“Indoor plumbing came as quite a shock.”

Thirk laughed. “I bet. At least that explains why city traffic puts you in a trance. And why you didn’t know about the Stone Teeth Hoos.”

“I knew a Hoos once…” Roba sliced a thick slab of cheese with her belt knife and ate it with the tough blackbread. She washed it down with the scalding hot coffee and sighed happily. “
Huong
Hoos.”

“Oh?”

Roba sawed another hunk of blackbread off the loaf and piled the cheese on. “Medwind Song. Student at Daane University, way back then—very strange girl. She kept a collection of skulls on the worktable in her room. We took a lot of classes together and hung around with each other in the evenings, even roomed together one year. We still stay in touch.”

Roba broke off her reminiscences and smiled, remembering with amusement some of the long-ago adventures she’d shared with Medwind.

Thirk nodded, clearly not interested. “I know some Hoos jokes,” he said. “What do you get if you cross Huong Hoos with Stone Teeth Hoos?”

Roba shrugged. “What?”

“A warrior who can’t decide whether to talk to his dead victim’s head or eat it. What do you take to a Stone Teeth Hoos feast?”

“I don’t know—what do you take?”

“Weapons. Why are Huong Hoos girls lousy at sex?”

Roba narrowed her eyes and said, “I don’t know, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

Thirk laughed. “Yeah. They’d rather drum on your bones than come on your bo—” He faltered, catching Roba’s expression, and winced. “What? You don’t like jokes?”

“Tell you what—” Roba started packing her leftovers into her daybag. She decided she would have them for lunch and save her meal money for the next day. “I’ll tell those jokes to Medwind the next time I see her, and tell her you told them to me. We’ll see if she likes them. No telling when she went headhunting last.”

“Never mind. I didn’t realize you’d get huffy about it. I just won’t tell you any more of my jokes.”

Thirk stared out the window, arms crossed over his chest.

“Med’s a friend of mine who happens to be Hoos. I don’t like people making jokes about my friends.”

“I’ll remember that.” He stood to go, still obviously annoyed. He left the remains of his meal on the table. Roba eyed the leftover food wistfully, then stood as well.

Outside the Crustery, they headed toward Faulea University, not talking.

Thirk moved off Six Round Way at the first opportunity, down a curving little side street that ran along a small stream. Traffic thinned and, as they worked their way deeper into the residential area, nearly disappeared.

“I’m sorry I offended you.” Thirk muttered the apology so softly Roba almost couldn’t hear it.

“It’s all right.”

They walked again in silence, but at least, Roba thought, it wasn’t angry silence. Finally, with no one in earshot, Thirk leaned over and whispered to her, “So what did you think of the meeting? Pretty exciting, huh?”

Roba kept a straight face. “Thrilling,” she agreed.

“I’m glad you thought so. It’s important that you be a part of this, Roba. The Society is poised on the threshold of change; signs and omens of change are everywhere. We need scholars with vision to piece together the truth about life in Delmuirie’s day—we need facts and plenty of them before we make our move.”

Roba nodded.

Thirk’s expression went from intent to rapt in one instant. His eyes gleamed with a zealot’s fire. “We are going to win Edrouss Delmuirie the place in history he rightly deserves,” he whispered. “It would mean a lot to know we could count on your support—a lot to us, and a lot to you. Are you with us?”