Idol of Blood (8 page)

Seven: Acquiescence

The waves on the lake looked like white whales breaching as the crests broke offshore. Ume turned away from the window, shuddering at the idea of Cree out there somewhere being buffeted by the waves and the wind. The last job Cree had taken was on a long-haul fishing crew. On such trips, the boat sailed far out on the lake's open water in pursuit of a prime catch, and the expedition took as long as it took to find it. There was no predicting when the boat would return, and Cree had been gone nearly a month, while spring rains had been falling steadily on the choppy surface of the lake for the past week. The idea that Cree would prefer to endure such hardship rather than spend time with Ume was almost as upsetting as the uncertainty and worry.

She knew she had to let Cree work this out for herself, but understanding it with her head and her heart were two entirely separate things. Ume tried to keep her fears at bay by keeping busy with her sewing as Cree had suggested, taking more orders than she would have under ordinary circumstances. But work couldn't keep her mind from the spiral of gloom that engulfed her when she went to bed without Cree beside her for the first time since they'd left the Delta more than a decade ago. At least Pearl was safe with Azhra. On that much, Ume's mind could be at ease. Though she couldn't help wondering how Azhra—or Ahr, Cree had said he called himself these days—was faring with him.

Nesre had told Ume the boy couldn't speak, that he'd trained him from birth not to, never allowing anyone to speak in front of him. What was Pearl's life like now that he was free and with someone who cared for him? It ate at her that she and Cree couldn't be the ones to do it. She'd amassed an embarrassing amount of little outfits for him, as if building her layette for a half-grown child. She'd had to hide them from Cree, but Cree wasn't here now, so too bad for her; Ume would do as she pleased. She could sew all night when the swirling thoughts wouldn't give her any peace.

The rain let up at last in the early afternoon, and Ume put aside her sewing to get some fresh air. Being cooped up inside had magnified her anxiety a hundredfold, and she was beginning to go stir crazy. She took the hooded damask cloak she'd just finished in a lovely misty green silk and set out along the wooded path that followed the shoreline of the lake. It was as close as she could get to Cree.

In place of the rain, a fog had risen, shrouding the trees and obscuring the lake itself. As Ume walked, it was as if she'd stepped into another world. Only the softly clanging bell of a buoy in the distance seemed to pierce the unearthly quiet, a wistful but comforting sound.

Ume paused as she realized she'd stopped hearing it. What did that mean? Was the lake calm? Or had she turned inland without noticing it? She couldn't see far enough to tell or to make out any landmarks. The idea that she might be lost gripped her, but that was foolish. She was on the path. Or was she?

“Greetings, Ume Sky.”

The voice nearly made Ume jump out of her skin, whirling to find an indistinct figure standing in the mist. The thick air in front of the figure cleared as the bank of fog drifted past them, and with relief, she recognized the pale, almost colorless appearance of the Caretaker.

“It was not my intent to startle you.” The Caretaker spoke in the same formal, toneless way all the Hidden Folk seemed to. “My apologies, Ume Sky.”

Ume acknowledged the apology with a nodding half bow, courtesan etiquette kicking in. “What brings you to Stórströnd Township, Madame Caretaker?”

The Caretaker's signature patronizing smile briefly animated the blank face. “The more accurate question would be to ask us what brings you under the hill.”

“Under the hill?” Ume glanced about at the same woods she'd been in a moment ago.

“Your expectations of our realm are limited by your understanding of your own. You thought to see a gilded hall?” As the Caretaker spoke, the fog shifted and seemed to form around them the very hall she spoke of, faintly glowing with a tinge of gold like a dandelion held beneath one's chin on a summer's day, the woods still visible through it as though the golden hall weren't quite tangible.

Ume drew her cloak about her like a courtesan's gown, the soft drape of the hood standing in for the veil, irritated that the Caretaker managed to disarm her every time they met. She wasn't used to losing her poise. It reminded her a bit of her first meetings with Alya, and the association made her touchy.

“So why is it you've brought me under the hill, then?” Her heart lurched as the words left her lips, remembering it was Cree's death that had brought them under the first time. “Has something happened to Cree?”

“Cree Silva is not important right now.”

“Not important?” Ume bristled, fear pushed aside by anger. “To you, perhaps, but she is very important to me.”

“Not important to the purpose for which you've been brought under the hill,” the Caretaker explained patiently. “We wish to speak to you, and you alone.”

Ume was baffled. “Why? Why on earth would you want to speak to me without Cree here?”

The Caretaker spread her hands as if the reason were obvious. “We have seen that you have an affinity for the child.”

“And you think Cree doesn't?” It stung all the more because Ume herself had thought along similar lines. “You know nothing about Cree,” she insisted. “Or me, for that matter. She'd make a wonderful mother if only she would let herself.”

The Caretaker gave her the slightest of shrugs. “That is irrelevant. It is Pearl with whom we are concerned, and circumstances have arisen which require your assistance.”

“My assistance?” Ume's eyes narrowed. “What do you want me to do now?”

“Something prevents us from hearing Pearl within the flow,” said the Caretaker. “It is as if he has consciously closed himself off from his visions. But that which does come to us from his subconscious unsettles us.”

Ume didn't dare speculate about what might unsettle the Hidden Folk. “I thought you said he was happy and safe with Azhra—the mother of MeerRaNa.”

“That is what we wish to discern. Pearl's gift seems to be manifesting in ways that do not come from within. We fear it has been stolen.”

“
Stolen?
” Ume gaped at the Caretaker. “By whom? Azhra would never hurt him. I don't believe it.”

“As I said, we are unable to hear his blood clearly, but we know that that mother of MeerRaNa is in Rhyman.”

It was beginning to come clear at last. “And you want me to go to Rhyman. To check up on him for you.” Were it not for the hopeful prospect of seeing Pearl, Ume might have been more offended at the audacity.

The Caretaker gave Ume her own version of the condescending half bow. “Just as you say.”

The damp chill seemed to seep through to Ume's bones as she pondered the idea. She rubbed her arms beneath the cloak. “As soon as Cree returns—”

“There is no time to delay,” the Caretaker interrupted sharply, the only hint of emotion—other than mild irritation and condescension—that Ume had ever received from one of the Hidden folk. “You must go immediately to ascertain what trouble has befallen him, and we will be in contact to advise you on how to proceed once you have.”

“Why do you care so much, anyway?”

“You do not trust our motives, Ume Sky. We understand this. The ways of the Hidden Folk are not the ways of the Ephemera.”

“I'm sorry,” Ume interrupted tersely. “The who?”

“That is what we call the short-lived.” The Caretaker actually managed to look a bit embarrassed at the apparent slip. “Pearl is the result of our failure to heed the trouble our gift had wrought beyond the hill as time slipped away from us. It is our duty now to ensure that his ability is not used to create more ill.”

Ume doubted this was all there was to their “concern”, but Pearl mattered a great deal to her. She wasn't about to argue with the Hidden Folk over his need to be protected. But the idea of leaving without telling Cree didn't sit well with her. They ought to be going together. Pearl was Cree's child. Something told her, however, that if Cree were here to consult, she would find a way to dissuade Ume from going. Pearl was with Azhra. It was almost a meditative refrain with Cree. She would convince herself that nothing bad could befall him in Azhra's care, and they would fight—something they had rarely done since emigrating from the Delta, but which had become increasingly less rare in recent weeks.

“Cree Silva is not yet ready to see what you see, and the time it would take you to convince her is time Pearl cannot afford.” The Caretaker seemed to have read her mind. “We feel it is in the best interests of Pearl for you to go alone, and at once. Will you accept this undertaking? Will you go to Rhyman?”

It didn't seem to Ume that she had any choice. Pearl needed her. She'd go.

Making arrangements with her clients to finish up what she could in the next few days, and referring those whose deadlines she would miss to a competent seamstress, was difficult enough. Leaving the note for Cree to find in an empty room when she returned from her trip felt like cruelty.

Ume tried to make sure she worded the note so Cree wouldn't think she'd gone off on her own to spite her for leaving Ume alone. But no matter how carefully she worded it, or how lovingly she tried to express her conviction that she must go, she knew it would be a stinging blow. The last thing Cree would have wanted Ume to do right now was to go chasing after Pearl on the whim of the Hidden Folk. Which was precisely why the Hidden Folk had chosen now, while Cree was away, to approach her. The Caretaker was no fool. And neither was Ume. She wasn't about to tell Cree that the Hidden Folk were the reason she was going. Instead, she told her she hadn't been able to get Pearl off her mind, having disturbing dreams of someone trying to harm him that she could no longer ignore, and she'd gone to Rhyman in search of Azhra.

She took one last visit to the lakeshore before heading out on her journey, willing Cree to be safe, and silently sending her love across the mist-shrouded waves. The lake was more accurately an inland sea, deep and vast, and Cree might be anywhere in it.

There were no longer any gods to pray to, so she prayed to the elements from which all divinity came, kneeling down as though she knelt before MeerAlya. With cupped hands, she scooped water from the lake and drank. The water that surrounded Cree, that sprayed up over the prow of the fishing boat from the waves to baptize her as she worked, was now part of Ume. She sprinkled the last of it over her head, thanked the elements of which they were both part, and rose. It was time to seek Cree's child.

Cool water dripped against his lips. Pearl opened his mouth instinctively, and the life-giving element hit his parched tongue like a
vetma
handed down to a grateful supplicant from a Meer through the proxy of a templar priest. That the Meerhunter Pike stood in for the priest was of little consequence in the joyous partaking of the benediction. The water dripped in little drabs, squeezed from a rag, and Pearl opened his eyes, reaching for it to wring the water from it faster.

“Careful, now, boy.” Pike withheld the rag. “You'll want to sit up. Don't need you choking on it.” He helped Pearl to a sitting position and propped him up while he gave him a full glass of water and let Pearl drink to his heart's content, even allowing him another glass when he'd emptied it. “No sense letting you get into a state where I end up having to carry you. From the peek I stole at old Nesre's journals, I had the impression you didn't need food and water like an ordinary child. Seems you need water. Was he wrong about the food as well?”

Pearl glanced up at him as he began to feel less lightheaded. He wasn't certain what the true answer was to that. What constituted “need”?

The Meerhunter rephrased the question. “Do you hunger when you go without food?”

Pearl nodded emphatically. The smells of the Meerhunter's breakfast were still hauntingly present in the room.

“But you can go without for several days without ill effects.”

The bit of hope he'd had at the mention of food died, and Pearl sighed and nodded once more.

Pike nodded to himself in response and straightened. “I've no wish to torment you needlessly, though make no mistake, I do not consider you a human child worth my sympathy at the prospect of a bit of hardship. Let's say you'll earn your food as a reward for good behavior.” He snapped his fingers at Pearl. “Get up, boy.” When Pearl scrambled to his feet, Pike gave him a nod of approval. “Not as if you can disobey me after your promise, but I appreciate the swift and non-defiant compliance. Unfortunately, I've nothing to feed you at the moment, so you'll have to wait until we hit the road.”

Pearl's bag lay forgotten in the corner of the room. He still had an envelope of dried papaya left.

Pike noticed his longing glance and strode across the room to take up the bag. “Got yourself some food in here, do you?” He rifled through Pearl's belongings and found the paper packet. “I'll just keep these for you for a bit.” He pocketed them, to Pearl's disappointment—and to the disappointment of his stomach, which growled audibly. Pike smiled. “By the time we get everything settled at the dock, I think you'll be most appreciative of a bite to eat. Give you a chance to prove yourself to me in the meantime, to be certain I can trust in your prompt, if not eager, obedience.”

The Meerhunter examined the rest of what Pearl had brought with him, holding up the paper-wrapped garment Ra had conjured for him when she'd first set him free from Nesre's cage. She'd rendered the kaftan in a lovely pale blue silk, embroidered in threads of real silver and gold. The Great One, MeerShiva, had advised Ra not to dress him so ostentatiously. His hair alone, she said, might give him away as Meer.

Pearl's hair had been long and braided then, the weight of it and its silvery platinum hue as it draped forward over his shoulder somehow comforting as he drew his pictures in Nesre's cage. Merit had instructed his household barber to cut it just above chin length to avoid bringing attention to Pearl at
Ludtaht
Ra, leaving only enough to tuck behind his ears. Pearl missed it, as an ordinary child might miss a favorite blanket that had been with him since infancy.