Changer's Moon (24 page)

The other girl came up the stairs with a heavily laden tray that gave out remarkably enticing smells. A fresh crusty loaf, still hot from the oven, one probably meant for the workers' breakfast. A pot of jam, two bowls of savory soup thick with cillix and chunks of oadat. A pot of spiced cha filled the room with its fragrance. Tuli sniffed and was willing to forgive the girls all their unfortunate dramatizing and nosiness. She looked about for Ildas. He was curled into a ball, sulking in one of the corners of the fireplace. She left him there and joined Rane at the table. The girls finally left them alone.

Eyes warily on that door, Tuli swallowed a mouthful of soup, whispered, “Do you know them?”

“Yes.” More loudly, “Looks like the weather's breaking.”

The door was eased open and a girl was back with a crock of hot water. She smiled shyly, put it down and scurried out.

“Makes riding a bit sticky,” Tuli said. She spooned up more soup, glared at the door. “Don't like them popping in and out like that,” she whispered. “Ildas is upset a lot. You sure you know them?” She nodded at the door, took a hefty gulp of the cha.

“Knew their father better.” Rane wrinkled her nose at Tuli, shook her head. “We'll know better in the morning,” she said more loudly.

“If it's snowing, we'd better find a place to hole up.” Lowering her voice, Tuli went on, “Well, where is
he?
”

“Visiting a neighbor, his daughters said.”

All through the meal one or the other of the girls was bringing something or popping her head in to see if they wanted anything. After the first whispered exchanges Rane and Tuli kept to safe subjects like speculations about when the snow would start. The food was good, the cha was hot and strong, the heat in the room enough to tranquilize an angry sicamar. By the time she emptied her cup for the last time Tuli could hardly keep her eyes open. She knew she should get out of the chair and go lie down on the pallet but she didn't feel like moving. She didn't even know if she could move; the longer she sat, the more pervasive her lassitude grew.

A harsh croak, a rattle of dishes, a table leg jolting against hers. She found enough energy to turn her head.

Rane was struggling to get onto her feet, the tendons in her neck standing out like cables. Her pale blue eyes were white-ringed, her lip bleeding where she'd bitten it. She shoved clumsily at the table, pushing it over with a rebounding crash that nonetheless sounded muted and distant to Tuli. Rane managed to stagger a few steps, then her legs collapsed under her. She struggled to crawl through the mess of broken china and food toward the door. Tuli watched, vaguely puzzled, then the meaning of it seeped through the fog in her head. Drugged. They'd been drugged. This was a trap. That was what Ildas had been yammering about outside. Fools to come into this, fools to eat the food, drink that cha, must have been in the cha, the spicing would cover whatever else had been added. She tried pushing up, fell out of the chair, made a few tentative movements of her arms and legs to crawl after Rane, but before she could get anywhere or concentrate her forces, she plunged deep into a warm fuzzy blackness.

Tuli wakes alone in a small and noisome room. There is a patch of half-dried vomit in one corner, the stones are slimy with stale urine and other liquids, beetles skitter about on floor and walls, whirr into flight whenever she moves, one is crawling on her leg. She is naked and cold, lying on a splintery wooden bench scarcely wider than she is. Her head throbs. There is blood on her thighs. Along with everything else, her period has come down. She feels bloated and miserable. Usually she doesn't even notice it except for the rags she uses to catch the blood and has to wash out herself, maybe the drug was affecting that too. She wants to vomit but won't let herself, vaguely aware that the food she'd eaten will eventually give her strength, and she knows she's going to need strength in the days to come. She is no longer just a rebellious child to these folk. Not like before. She is Tesc's daughter, though she can hope they don't know that. At least they shouldn't know that. But there is Rane, she is Rane's companion. When she thinks about Rane, bile floods her mouth. She swallows and swallows but it does no good, she spits it out onto the floor and forces herself to lie still, her knees drawn up to comfort her stomach. Ildas nestles against her; his warmth helps. Rane. Maybe she's already dead. She might have made them kill her.

Tuli dozes awhile, wakes with a worse headache, forces herself to think.
Got to get out of here. Get Rane out if she's still alive, but get out anyway whatever has happened to Rane. She's counting on me to get word back to the Biserica about how things are on the Plain. I should have listened more. Maiden bless, why didn't I listen? Never mind that, Tuli, think. How do you get out of here? How do you survive without telling them anything until you can get out of here?
After a moment's blankness, she adds grimly,
how do I kill myself if I can't get out?

She forces herself to sit up, crosses her legs so she doesn't have to put her feet down on the filthy floor. She is cold enough to shiver now and then. Again Ildas helps, warming away the chill of the stone. The shutters on the single small window are winter-sealed; the air is stuffy and stinking but the icy winds are kept out and the sense of smell tires rapidly so the stench is bearable. She keeps her eyes traveling about the room, deeply uncomfortable with her nudity, growing more stubbornly angry as the morning drags past. No one comes. There is no water. No food. Though she doesn't know if she could force anything down in that noisome filth. Ildas paces the walls then comes and curls up in her lap.

Early in the afternoon they come for her.

The air in the dim round room is heavy with the smoke of the drugged incense, the sweet familiar smell she remembers from the night she and Teras sneaked round the old Granary and heard Nilis betraying their father. It makes her wary. She tries to ignore the way her nakedness makes her feel, the helplessness, the vulnerability, the absurd urge to chatter about anything, everything, so that they will look at her face and not at her body, those men staring at her, their eyes, those leering, ugly eyes. Then Ildas curls about her shoulders, a circle of warmth and comfort and she is able to relax a little, to let the heat of her anger burn away the worst of the shame and wretchedness. She lifts her head, meets the Agli's eyes, sees the speculation in them and knows she's made a mistake. She should have come in sobbing hysterically, flinging herself about like the child she wants to seem. Maybe rage will do instead. She crosses her arm over her too-tender breasts and glares at the Agli, at the acolytes waiting with him, snatches her arm from the guard's hand, letting rage take possession of her, the old rage that carried her out of herself—funny how she couldn't invoke it now when she needed it yet once it came so easily she frightened herself. Faking that rage and calling on all the arrogance she hadn't known she possessed, the fire of the fireborn running through her, energizing her, she curses the two acolytes and the Agli, curses the guards silent behind her, demands to be given her clothes (lets her voice break here, only half-pretense). And as they watch, doing nothing, the rage turns real. Before they can stop her, she flies at the Agli, fingers clawed, feels a strong satisfaction when she feels his skin tearing under her nails, sees the lines of blood blooming on his skin. Caught by surprise, the guards and the acolytes take a second to pull her off the Agli. She will pay for this, she knows, even through the red haze of rage and fierce joy, the payment will be high, but it is a distraction and will put off her questioning. She doesn't exactly think this out, it leaps whole into her head. She struggles with the guards, kicking, scratching, trying to bite until one of them loses his temper and uses his fist on her.

Shock. Pain. Blackness.

When she wakes it is an indefinite time later. She is in the same round room, but her hands are bound behind her, her ankles are in irons with a short chain between them. There is no one in the room with her. She still feels some satisfaction. She has forced them to put off their questions. But she regrets the leg irons, they are going to make escape difficult. Have to find Rane, she thinks. Her picklocks would take care of the irons. If she is alive, if she has her boots.

Ildas is titupping about, sniffing at things. He lifts a leg and urinates liquid fire into the incense bowl, flashing its contents to sterile ash. He knocks over the charcoal brazier, plays in the coals, drawing their heat into himself. Almost immediately the air around Tuli begins to clear. She realizes after a bit how dulled her reactions have been, how sluggish her body has been feeling. The drugs and fumes from the charcoal have been poisoning her, softening her up for the Agli. She snarls with fury, wrenches at the rope, but it is too strong, the knots too well tied. Ildas comes over to her, curls himself onto her shoulders; she can feel his heat flowing through her, burning those poisons out of her. She laughs and croons to him, telling him what a beautiful creature he is, what a wonder. He preens, nuzzles at her face with his pointed nose, his laughter sings in her. Then he stiffens, his head comes up and the laughter turns to a hostile growling.

The Agli is returning.

Because she is warned, he finds her hunched over in a miserable lump, apparently drugged to the back teeth, dull and apathetic. The acolytes straighten her up, force her onto the hard bench, then go about cleaning up the mess she and Ildas have made of the room. When she dares sneak a look at the Agli, she almost betrays herself by a snigger of delight at the sight of his face, three raw furrows down one side of it, two more on the other side. Hope they poison you, she thinks, then understands she must banish that sort of thing from her mind, or the triumph and spite in her will seep through and spoil the picture she wants to present. There is a tie-girl in the Mountain Haven that she despises, even more than that creepy sneery Delpha. Susu Kernovna Deh. Who as far as Tuli can see has no redeeming virtues, who is sullen and stupid, who would rather pout than eat, who is lazy, giggly, spiteful and fawning. You hit her and she licks your feet and doesn't even try to bite your toes. Why she isn't one of the more avid Followers Tuli cannot understand, she seems made to be a follower. Susu is the image she wants to project, figuring she is such a nothing the Agli will get disgusted and toss Tuli-Susu out. She begins fitting herself into the role, looking out the corner of her eyes at the Agli, keeping her shoulders slumped, holding her knees together with a proper primness that seems to her only to emphasize her nakedness. She hates that, but thinks it is how Susu would act.

The acolytes settle themselves at the Agli's feet. He sits in a high-backed elaborately carved chair. It is raised higher than an ordinary chair, his feet rest on a small round stool. The acolytes kneel like black bookends on either side of the stool, what light there is—from the flickering wall-lamps and the high window slits—shining off their shaved and oiled pates.

The Agli speaks. He has a deep musical voice that he keeps soft and caressing. Not yet time for torment, it was the hour of seduction. “Who are you, child?”

She licks her lips, opens her eyes wide, looks at him, looks quickly away, hangs her head. “Susu Kernovna Deh.”

The Agli taps fingers impatiently on the chair arm, raises a brow. She wants to laugh, but forces herself to pout instead. Briefly she wonders why the drugged smoke which is again billowing up from the brazier does not affect the agli and the acolytes, then dismisses that as unimportant. After all, an Agli is a norid and can most likely do such small bits of magic as keeping the air clear about himself and whomever he wants to protect. After a minute, he speaks again. “You are not tie, child. Who are you?”

“Susu. I'm Susu Kernovna Deh.”

“Mmm. Who is your father?”

“Balbo Deh. He says.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Hansit Kern took me into his house and had me taught.” She makes herself smile a prim, soapy little smile. “Many say it is he and not Balbo who fathered me, that I've got a look of his oldest girl.” She lets a touch of boasting enter her voice.

The Agli settles into the chair. “What is your tar?”

“Kerntar. It's out on the edge of the plain, near the pehiiri uplands.” She shrugs. “I don't know exactly. It's a long way from here.” More discontent in her voice. “Eldest daughter threw me out, Soäreh wither her miserable.…” She sneaks another sly look at the Agli, lets him catch her at it, looks away in confusion and fear. She is tempted to elaborate on her tale, but has just sense enough not to. Ildas on her lap is warm and supporting, and more important, he is keeping her head and body clear of the drugs from the smoke—especially her head, giving her strength and energy to maintain her efforts at deception. She can't afford to become too complacent, though, there is always Rane who knows nothing about this story or about the names, nothing about the original Susu. Rane, if she says anything at all, if she is still alive, will tell an entirely different story. Tuli chews on her lip, her unease not wholly pretended.

“Who is the woman?”

“Woman?”

“Who is the woman?”

“Oh her. Just some wandering player. Well, you couldn't expect me to travel about alone. She was going to take me to a cousin in Oras. Stupid Delanni paid her to. I didn't want to leave the tar, don't blame me for it. But when he got sick, Kern I mean, Delanni took over running things and I was the first thing she run off.”

“Who is the woman?”

“Look, I told you, aren't you listening? Player or something. You want her name? Ask her. I forget, I mean, who cares what's the name of someone like that.”

“What were you doing at Appentar?”

“Me? I wasn't doing nothing. Eating, getting out of the cold. What do you think I was doing? Watching those two snippy twits sucking up to her.” She puts a world of venom in the last word.