Diadem from the Stars (26 page)

“Ahai ay-mi,” she breathed. “What a … what an experience!” She touched the diadem. “It seems to have turned itself off.” An odd feel in the air made her sweep her eyes over the faces of the nomad women. The Shemqyatwe, all but Khateyat, had backed off beyond reach and were looking at her with peculiar expressions. “What's wrong?” she demanded.

Khateyat said slowly, “What happened to you, Sezet Ayeh?”

Aleytys's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “How do you speak the mountain tongue so well now?”

With a quick flash of a smile, Khateyat reached out and touched Aleytys on the shoulder. “We haven't changed, daughter. Listen to yourself. You speak the medwey.”

“Ahai!” She gave a startled little laugh and touched her head again. “It must have popped some of my mother's gifts awake.” Her eyes sparkled in her thin brown-amber face. She stroked the blooms of the diadem, smiling as a small shower of clear pure notes sang to her. “What else does this thing do?”

Khateyat shook her head. “We did not want to know and did not ask.” She glanced rapidly at Raqat and away, mouth twisting unhappily. “It had power,” She shut her mouth firmly.

Aleytys sighed. Looking down at her stained and dirty hands with a grimace of disgust, she said briskly, “Have you soap and a towel I can borrow? I need a bath.”

Khateyat laughed, the sound undoing the tension that had crept into the air. “Come, daughter, we have food and fresh clothing for you.” She flicked a finger at N'frat.

The young witch jumped up and scrambled over to her mount. She lifted a thick leather roll from behind the padded leather that served as a saddle, then trotted back to the river bank. Untying the thongs, she slipped the leather free and began piling boots, trousers, tunic, headcloth, cords, gloves, and some plain underclothes. Finally she took a soft thinnish square of material and a lump of soap and handed them to Aleytys.

Aleytys grinned. “I'm not sure I don't hold this”—she held up the soap—“more precious than the diadem.”

Khateyat chuckled. “While you bathe yourself, daughter, we'll set out the food. I'm sure you'll find that equally welcome once you're clean.”

Aleytys was aching and tired. Less than an hour ago she had been more or less resigned to suffering whatever Tarnsian had in mind for her, while now her emotion fluctuated unpredictably with the unexpected advent of a trace of hope. She took a deep breath and rubbed her hands across her eyes. “Bath first. Ay-mi, I need one.”

She pulled loose the cord that gathered the neck of her blouse, slid off the rock, landing on the sand, ankle-deep in the cold water. Tearing the ragged, filthy garment over her head, she threw it into the water, laughing as it slowly disappeared downstream. Then she sobered and turned to face Khateyat. “I haven't felt him for a while now, but he won't give up. He could be here any time.”

“One man.” Khateyat smiled comfortingly.

“He's insane. And powerful. Terribly powerful. It'll be much worse when he's close.”

“Don't worry, daughter. You're not alone now.” Khateyat's smile opened into a silent chuckle. “Take your bath, my dear. Please.”

Aleytys gave a low gurgle of delight and kicked at the water. Unbuttoning her trousers, she kicked them off and sent them floating after the blouse, then patted her side where her pregnancy still made little show. “Vajdson,” she whispered. “We've made it, I think we've really made it.”

Humming cheerfully, she scooped up the soap and began rubbing it over her arms.

Khateyat's voice broke into her happy abstraction. “Haven't you forgotten something, daughter?” As Aleytys turned back to her with a puzzled look on her face, Khateyat touched her head.

Aleytys's hands flew up. “Oh,” she said, feeling foolish. Flipping the soap onto the grass, she waded back to the shore, reaching up to pull the diadem off her head as she moved. It resisted. She pulled harder. Fiery needles stabbed deep into her head and forced a cry of pain from her as she sank to her knees.

With the river slipping smoothly past her body, she stared at Khateyat, horror cold inside her. “I can't take it off,” she whispered. “It won't come off.”

Khateyat waded out to her. Once more she tried to touch the diadem but gasped in pain and drew back a seared and shaking hand. “It defends itself,” she said unhappily. “I can do nothing.”

Aleytys clutched at her leather trousers, panic flooding her. “What did you do to me? Get it off me. Get that thing off me!”

Khateyats strong face compressed with pain. “I can't, daughter.”

Aleytys pushed at her and splashed back, ugly with fear. “They warned me about you medwey, they warned me. Ayaai-Aschla, you've killed me!”

“Please, my child, believe me. I did not know.” Khateyat pulled herself to her full height and frowned at Aleytys. “This was not by my wish. The R'nenawatalawa command us. My word, Ayeh.”

Aleytys clenched her fists and fought her panic down. Eyes closed, breasts heaving, she forced herself to accept the Shemqya's words, feeling them most intensely to be the truth. “Yes,” she said after a while. “You speak truth.” Then, absurdly, her face crumpled. “How can I wash my hair?”

Khateyat gasped. “Aleytys!” she cried. “Look!”

Aleytys felt an odd lightness on her head. She stood still until the water smoothed. Her wavering reflection showed red hair straggling around a twisted face. And nothing more. Cautiously she touched her head. She was free of the incubus. It was gone, sublimated into the air like evaporating dew. Bewildered, resentment and fear-born anger chased out of her by astonishment, she turned to Khateyat once again. “What happened? What did you do?”

“Nothing.” The older woman was still grim-faced. “Forgive me, I did nothing. You will have to work out your own relationship with the diadem, I fear. Because of the R'nenawatalawa interest I know there must be purpose behind this pain. Perhaps that will make the pain easier for you to bear.”

Aleytys splashed a handful of water over her hot, tired face. She sat down and let the water coil around her aching body. “You've been kind, Khateyat,” she said tiredly. “I'm sorry I … I said what I did. It's just that … well, things are going up and down too fast for me to keep my balance.” She spread out her hands and let the water run shallow over them while the cool flow coiled around her spirit and soothed her as it always did. River on river on river—Raqsidan, Kard, Massafat, Mulukaneh Rud—the water magic touched her. With a shiver, she abandoned her future difficulties. “I have to wash my awful hair.”

Khateyat smiled tiredly and tossed her the soap.

Later, clean, tired, and comfortably full, she swallowed a mouthful of the spicy daz and smiled at the witches. “I feel a person again. Thanks to you.”

N'frat grinned back at her. “A full belly usually leads to a rosy view of the world.”

Aleytys looked around at the others, holding the mug cupped against her breasts with her two hands. She sucked in a deep breath, firmed her determination, and said, “I need your help. I have to cross the Wazael Wer. Will you take me with you?”

The six women looked uneasily at her, then fluttered glances around the circle of faces.

Eyes burning, face distorted with anger, Raqat burst out, “No!” She frowned around at the others. “We don't want outsiders.”

N'frat bounced around on her heels and glared at her. “I wouldn't send a feeble sept back to that man.” She shuddered. “Didn't you feel him? What's wrong with you, Qati! It's not like she wanted to live with us or came from some other clan.” She snorted. “You didn't object to that man. No indeed, you didn't.”

“N'frats right,” R'prat said shyly. “And the R'nenawatalawa said to protect her.” She turned to Khateyat, soft appeal in her big eyes. “Isn't that right?”

Aleytys bent forward intently. “Please. Will you at least ask … ask
them
?” She felt strange saying the name, so didn't “Ask if
they
desire you to escort …” She broke off and stared back up the hillside. “Tarnsian. He's coming.” Twisting back, she faced the women. “I can't go back,” she said flatly.

“I understand. I—” Khateyat broke off as Aleytys crumpled over until her head was turning back and forth on the ground in front of her knees.

With a soft cry, Khateyat stirred and started toward her with N'frat and R'prat just behind. Together they made a circle around Aleytys and held her.

Raqat tugged at Khateyat's shoulder. “No,” she hissed. “Let her fight her own battle. Who's she we should help her? An outsider. A troublemaker.”

N'frat lifted her head. “What are you doing? Help us.”

“You don't understand, baby.” Raqat took hold of Khateyat's shoulder and shook her. “This is wrong, Khateyat. It's wrong.”

N'frat snorted angrily, her young face filled with contempt “Oh, I understand,” she said fiercely. “I understand. You're jealous of this one. You're afraid she's stronger than you.” She nodded at Khateyat and R'prat, who bent over the straining figure, their eyes shut and their bodies tense with the effort they were putting out. “Look at them. They didn't ask who she was. Get away. We don't need you.” She rejoined the circle and held Aleytys's pained face between her strong young hands. Staring into the blank dead eyes, she whispered intensely, “Fight, Aleytys. Fight. You're stronger than he is. Fight.” She shut her eyes and let her strength pour out through her fingers.

Raqat stared at. Aleytys; who was blinking and working her lips feebly as she fought off Tarnsian's clawing attack. Flouncing around with an angry exclamation, she stared a moment at the cold expressions of Kheprat and Shanat, then ran off under the trees.

Skin flushing hot under the three sets of hands, Aleytys gave a twitching, trembling smile. “He quit,” she said weakly. “For a while …” She gasped and the taut muscles standing out under the skin like hard ropes jerked to softness until she was hanging heavily on their hands. “Help me up, please.”

Leaning on N'frat, she stumbled to her feet. Then she straightened and faced the line of trees that marked the river road. Black wings fluttered around her, blotting out everything else, an attack not in actual force but by threat to wear her down.

Tarnsian rode out from the shadow under the trees. She saw him as a looming black silhouette coming closer. Then a weight came back on her head, a pain like fire burning a circle around her temples. Slowly, reluctantly, she slid her hands over her ears. A single note broke on the air. The diadem. Behind her, she heard an exclamation that deepened into a slow basso groan.

The air around her took on a strange hard brightness and the absolute stillness frightened her more than Tarnsian's tangible presence. Absolute stillness. Not a sound. Not a sound at all. She sucked in a breath, moaned, and clutched at her breast. She couldn't hear her own breathing.…

Tarnsian was riding toward her. His mount's strides were long, long, taking minutes to lift and fall. She saw Tarnsian turn his head—slow, slow, inching around—and see her. Saw him float down from the horse, taking forever and ever to touch the ground, floating down like a wind-tossed leaf. She saw him stand and stare at her, his face muscles flowing slowly into a grimace of hatred. Saw him reach slowly to his belt for his knife. Saw him take long, long minutes to complete the movement and long, long moments to pull the knife out and up. Saw him run and dive at her, diving slowly, slowly, slowly straight at her. Diving slowly straight at her, as if the air were thick as water. Diving toward her, the knife thrust out, blade shining redly in the light of the suns.

And then her body moved. She gasped. Without her willing it, her hands moved up and out. She hung somewhere behind them, watching in bewilderment, not understanding what was happening with her own body. One leg came up and she pushed off the ground with the other, and the extended foot caught the arm that held the knife, sending the weapon spinning slowly, slowly spinning, turning in a slow adagio spiral.

She landed, knees bent, and sprang aside, easily avoiding his slow, twisting reach for her. Then her hands clasped themselves together, and as Tarnsian fell past her, slammed themselves against the back of his neck.

Abruptly his body speeded up. She heard a low cracking like a twig breaking underfoot. Sprawled out, arms and legs tumbling haphazardly, he hit the ground and collapsed in on himself, bounced slightly, and settled back, oddly flattened.

Aleytys stared down at him, horror growing sick in her stomach. Ignoring the startled exclamations from the Shemqyatwe, she dropped to her knees beside him and tried to lift him. His head dangled loosely. She touched his neck and shuddered as she felt the bones move under her fingers. His eyes were half closed, mouth slack and smeared with dirt. “I didn't mean …” She tried to brush the dirt off his face. “Tarnsian …” He was thinner, his face relaxed and quiet at last. He looked absurdly young, all the evil washed away. “He never had a chance.…” Helplessly she let the body drop.

Then she reached up and touched the diadem. Nausea surged through her at the ripple of pure notes incredibly lovely in the hush. She seized the flowers with both hands, trying to rip them from her head while the notes grew louder and louder and pain drove burning needles into her head. She screamed, then dropped a thousand miles into blackness.

When she woke, her head was in Khateyat's lap and N'frat was bathing her face with cold water from the river. She pushed their hands away and sat up, looking around her with a cold sickness in her stomach. “Where is he?” She stood and turned in a circle.

“We gave him to the river.” Khateyat came to stand beside her.

Together they walked to the bank and looked down the serenely flowing water. “His spirit is returned to the keeping of the R'nenawatalawa,” Khateyat said quietly, her troubled eyes on Aleytys's still shocked face. “When he is reborn may his life be happier.”