Moongather (15 page)

Serroi knelt beside the great chair, struggling to hold back her grief so she could speak calmly, persuasively. “Please, Ser Noris.” She sucked in a breath, fighting for that elusive calm. “Haven't you got enough things to work with? Can't you leave the rest of them, let them go, let me stop. Let me stop. Please. They're my friends, Ser. Noris. Let me stop.” She sucked in another breath, waited tensely for his answer.

“Look at me.” His voice was crisp and hard. When she looked up, she saw that he was coldly angry, so angry his hands were trembling. “You are the gate.” He leaned forward suddenly and caught her head between his hands. He held her gently enough but she couldn't move. “They're only animals, Serroi. I'm doing what I told you pushing back limits, learning things I never knew before. You have to understand that, child.” To her surprise he was almost pleading with her. “Remember the mirror, the books, the tests we did together? You like to learn, Serroi. We share the same need to learn. They're just animals, most of them would be dead already by predator or disease. We give meaning to that death.”

Her head locked in place by those steel and silk fingers, she was forced to look up at him. “They're my friends,” she said. “And you're making me hurt them.”

He held her a moment longer, then pulled his hands away and leaned back in the chair, his eyes closed. After a moment he waved her away from him with a quick impatient gesture of a slim white hand. “Leave,” he said harshly. When she was at the door, he spoke again. “Be here tomorrow after the noon meal.”

She began to fight him, trying to keep from looking into his eyes. She failed. She tried to wall him out of her body. She failed. She tried to push him out once he was in. She failed. She exhausted herself struggling against him and lost every time, but she never quit. She could no longer endure sharing in the destruction of the beasts and birds she loved. As she struggled, she felt herself growing stronger; he had to exert more of his power each time he called her to that room. Still she lost. One by one the cages were emptied.

The courtyard grew silent. She couldn't go near the animals anymore, those few that were left. They wouldn't let her. She kept away from the court. She couldn't bear to look at the empty cages—or at the occupied ones, knowing their dwellers would soon be tormented to death.

She suffered. Having given the Noris her love fully and freely, she hurt when she had to defy him, hurt more when she sensed his own hurt, when she had to face his anger, his accusations of betrayal.

Spring faded into summer. She ate and slept when she could, lay awake more hours trying to find a way out of her dilemma. One day she tried climbing the cages, but the highest were too far below the top of the court walls and set too solidly in place. She tried loosening one cage, but only bruised and tore her fingers. Without tools she could do nothing. She went through her books and searched the mirror to find out everything she could about the island chain of the Nearga-nor, but she found little that comforted her. The islands were miles out to sea. She knew nothing about boats, nothing about swimming either, and she could remember all too well the power the Noris had over wind and water. There was no way she could run from him.

The sessions continued. She settled into a numb grief and let him use her as he wished. She withdrew from him, no longer sat with him in the evenings. Most of the time she lay in heavy nightmare-ridden sleep, retreating into sleep to avoid the pain her waking hours brought her—then the walls began closing in on her.

She went finally from apathy to a shrieking rage, plunged from the room and refused to go back, prowled about the court like a tiny predator, ready to claw at anything that moved. The Noris found her there early in the morning, sitting huddled by the water pipe.

“You spent the night there.”

“Yes.” Shivering, miserable, she glared up at him.

“Come inside, Serroi. Wash yourself. Eat something.”

“No.”

He bent to touch her head. She jerked back. “Serroi.…”

“No.”

His face a mask in ivory and ebony except for the glitter of the pendant ruby, he straightened quickly, almost as if she'd slapped him. For a moment he said nothing. When he spoke, his voice was harsh and cold. “That is your choice.” He turned away, turned back as abruptly, flung out an arm to point at a rough wooden door in the towerside. “Live there if you must.” Walking heavily, deliberately, without sign of hurry, he crossed the flags and disappeared inside.

Summer passed and the rains began. Day after day the rain dripped down. When the rain stopped, the fog moved in and more moisture dripped endlessly from the cage roofs and the walls and settled on everything. The cages were all empty, their straw and other contents rattling forlornly in the winds that sometimes crept in to blow the veils of fog about. Serroi stayed in the cell-like room in the tower wall and the stone radiated a gentle warmth that kept her alive. The invisible hands brought her food and fresh clothing. Sometimes days went by before she saw the sun and even when it came out, she couldn't endure going into the silent court to see the empty cages. She stayed in the small dark hole and brooded.

THE WOMAN: VI

Hands were pulling at her. Dinafar muttered and pushed at them, unwilling to wake. She was still tired, her body ached, even moving her hands quickened the soreness in her muscles. The pulling continued. She opened her eyes, blinked, then cried out as she looked up into a man's grinning face. He twisted his hand in the front of her ragged blouse and ripped it away, baring her chest and the slight swell of her new breasts. She kicked at him, but her legs were trapped in the folds of her skirt. She tried to wriggle away, biting and scratching as his hands fumbled over her nipples. She rolled away from him, scrambled onto her knees. Cursing good-naturedly, he grabbed her wrist and jerked her back. A man she hadn't seen before caught her other wrist. “Wild one,” he said. “Hurry up, Lere.” He wrapped his hand in her hair and jerked her head back.

The pain brought tears to her eyes. She bucked her body about but the two men were far too strong. The first man, Lere, the other had called him, sat on her feet and began working the tumbled folds of her skirt up past her knees.

A roar from behind her head brought a muffled curse from Lere. He sat back, his face blank. “Ay, Tercel,” he said with a forced respect.

“Sten, Lere, off that tita. Tie her wrists. Got no time for that now.”

“Ay, Tercel.” Lere glanced at the other two and muttered, “Ay, ay, ay, not a bit o' stinkin' fun. Hunh! Hang onto her, Sten. I'll get a bit o' stinkin' rope.”

Hands tied in front of her, Dinafar sat up in time to see the Tercel clamp one thick-fingered hand tight around the meie's wrists, holding her out from him like a strangled bereg he'd taken from a poacher's snare. Her face masklike, she hung limply as if his strength had drained all fight from her. Dinafar was puzzled. The meie had never just given up. Not like that. The Tercel was a giant of a man, dressed in a leather tunic and black wool trousers, his barrel chest covered by a black and green tabard with the sigil of Oras appliquéed on the center panel. All the clothing was worn and dusty. He had several days' stubble on his face, a greasy shine to his skin, a gaunted look from days of hard riding and little sleep. When the erratic breeze blew her way, she could smell his stale sweat. Beyond him, she saw the meie's mount and hers, saddled and ready, standing with three others. The Tercel started moving toward the beasts, the meie still dangling at arm's length. His strength was phenomenal.
His vanity too
, Dinafar thought.
He's showing off for his men
.

Without warning the meie twisted her body up and around. Before the Tercel could move, she slammed her small boot into his groin.

Bellowing with pain and rage, he dropped into a crouch, clutching at himself with his free hand. His other arm dropped until the meie was crouched beside him, her wrists still prisoned. She fought desperately to free herself, twisting and kicking, but she wasn't strong enough. He held her. His meaty face still a grey-purple and shiny with sweat, his eyes glassy, he straightened a little and flung her away from him. She landed close to Dinafar, hitting hard enough for Dinafar to wince in sympathy. She hit and rolled to her feet in a single fluid movement—and stopped quite still, a saber-point in her face.

“Sten, slit the bitch's throat if she move.” The Tercel lowered himself to the grass and sat hunched over, glaring at the meie. He passed the back of his hand over his face. “Lere, tie her hands good. She get away, I have your skin.”

Sweating, eyes narrowed, he watched closely as Sten made the meie sit while Lere tied her. When her hands were secured, he grunted onto his feet, stood swaying a minute, then waddled over to her.

The meie lifted her head and stared at him out of a blank face. “How'd you find me?”

He jerked a thumb up. Dinafar followed the movement and saw six black birds circling over the clearing. “Traxim saw the fire, bought us. Funny, though.” He scowled, nudged her leg with the toe of his boot. “Speaker-trax said there was just one here.” He ran his eyes over her, his tongue sliding over his fleshy lips. “Lybor and her Nor want you bad, bitch. You gonna be sorry your ma whelp you. I'm gonna watch that Nor make you talk. I'm gonna hear you scream, bitch. I'm gonna hear you beg him kill you and let be.”

The meie smiled.

The Tercel shook his head. “No, you get no chance to kill yourself. We take good care of you, not like you crazy friend.” The meie's gasp brought a grunting laugh out of him. “Didn't know? After you run off, t'other, she see the Nor coming at her, she pull out.…” His thumb jabbed at the grace blade still sheathed on the meie's weaponbelt. “And …” He slapped his hand against the side of his neck. “Good-bye, meie. The Nor he kick her a couple times, mad as hell. Told us haul her outside the city and dump her.” He bent down, grunting an oath at the pain, jerked back on her hair, forcing her to look up. “See them? You gonna end up in them bellies like t'other one.” He straightened, wiped his hand on his dusty trousers, watching her intently, savoring her distress. Dinafar ached for her, angry at the guards because she was helpless, disgusted with herself because of her avid curiosity about the meie, but when the Tercel went on with his punish-tale, she cursed the meagerness of the information in his words. “We hauled that skinny tita out and left her by the place where they run the macai. Before we get back to the gates, the traxim are crawling over her, getting themselves a fine fresh meal.” He laughed at the anguish on the meie's face, the moan these words tore from her. “When ol' Nor's done with you, bitch, I'm gonna stake you out there. Same spot. I'm gonna sit and watch them.…” He stabbed a forefinger at the sky. “Watch them chew on you, eat you alive.”

The meie dropped her head onto her arms, her small body shuddering under the impact of emotions Dinafar could only guess at. The Tercel watched her with satisfaction, then beckoned to Sten and Lere. “Get titam in the saddle. Time we was going.”

The meie was quiet as Sten threw her onto her macai. She caught hold of the saddle ledge with her bound hands and fumbled her feet into the stirrups. Dinafar could see that her eyes were closed and tears were slipping down her face. Then Lere's hands moved over Dinafar's body, tweaking her nipples, thrusting between her thighs. She stood quite still, wondering what he'd do if she vomited over him. At a roar from the Tercel, he hoisted her into the saddle, then pulled her skirt down. She refused to look at him. He left her after a final pat on the thigh and mounted the animal standing behind her.

They moved out of the clearing, riding in single file, the Tercel first, hunched over in the saddle, cursing in a low steady monotone, then the meie, then Dinafar, then Lere, with Sten coming last. The ride rapidly turned to torment for Dinafar; she felt every overworked muscle from last night's terrible effort. She hurt. All over. She hurt. It wasn't like a Wound that concentrated the pain at a single spot. She was bone-deep sore everywhere. Riding downhill all the time didn't help, though the slope was moderate. She glared at the Tercel's broad back and hoped his pain was worse than hers.

Awhile later, though, she'd warmed up and exercise had loosened much of her stiffness. Feeling better, her curiosity roused, she looked around. They were passing through a small clearing in the trees. Overhead the great black birds sailed in lazy circles. As they rode on, she kept looking up. Whenever she could see a bit of the sky, the birds were there, following them. Dinafar shivered.
Traxim. They ate the other meie. She warned me she was going into danger. What's this all about? I wish I knew what's going on
. She scanned the little meie's back, wondering how she was taking the presence of the birds.
They mightn't be the same ones; I hope they aren't
. She clamped her teeth into her lower lip, swallowed, swallowed again, until the urge to vomit went away.

There was a slight breeze winding through the trees. Dinafar felt it lifting a few straying hairs, letting them fall, passing over her skin, cooling her. The meie's sorrel curls flipped about under its tugging. Her head was up, turning a little from side to side. She looked back. Dinafar could see a faint pulsing in the green spot on the meie's brow as she stared over her shoulder at the two guards behind Dinafar. Then she was looking ahead again. Dinafar swallowed.
She's getting ready to do something
. Apprehensive and upset, she clutched at the saddle ledge waiting for the world to fall in on the guards. Nothing happened. They rode on and on and nothing happened.

They wound through thick-standing brellim, the two-fingered leaves of the squat trees whispering in the wind over their heads, so many leaves that they shut out most of the sunlight until the procession was winding in heavy silence and humid twilight along a beast-run beaten deep in the spongy soil by years of trampling hooves.
Here
, Dinafar thought.
Do something, meie. They can't get at us here, those birds. Do something
. Still nothing happened. She began to wonder if the meie had given up trying.