Moonscatter (42 page)

“Don't be a fool, Dom.”

“Fool. Your fool. Want to see me caper?”

Pain, anger, jealousy, need—they struggled in him and battered at her until they became too much for her to bear. She stretched her hand to him but before she could touch him, he jerked away. “Healer,” he whispered, his mouth working as if the word had a foul taste. They stood frozen a moment, his shoulders jammed against the wall, her hands half-raised, reaching for him.

She sighed and lowered her hands.

“I thought things had changed between us,” he said. “That there was more than … that we were friends as well as lovers. Lovers! Damn you, Serroi. As soon as they come, you leave me, run to them eagerly. Eagerly, Serroi. If you could have seen your face.…” He closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, let it explode out. “Forget it.” He swung around, pulled the door open and stepped through it, slammed it in her face as she started after him.

“Ah-zhag,” she breathed. She reached for the latch, pulled her hand back. “Not the time. Not the place.” Shaking her head she moved quickly along the hall and started down the stairs. “Why do people have to be so damn difficult? Nothing's simple, nothing's ever simple.” Her booted feet clicked on the stair tiles, the small sound cutting through the muted roar coming from the taproom below. “Always making mistakes. Me. I'm always wrong about something. So easy to make mistakes. Hurt and get hurt. Hunh!” She eased the door open, winced at the noise; stepped out into the smoke and smell.
Hern
, she thought,
Ser Noris. Both of them. Touchy as a girl in the throes of her first crush. Who'd have thought it? Hern! With all the women he's had. Maiden bless, what does he think I am?
Perhaps because she was small enough to be a child and because the light was too dim to show her other peculiarities, no one bothered her as she crossed the room. She pushed through the swinging door and stepped into the street. The fog-laden air was cool on her face, then cold.
Possessive bastard. Wants to own me. No, that's not right, no, maybe a touch right. Old habits die hard. His defenses melted with the fat. Yes, that's right, the fat was a defense, yes that too, poor Hern, a crab without his shell. Ai-ye, Maiden help its, I'm as bad, no shell for him no shell for me. How we going to spend a tenday
—
more
—
cooped up on a small boat?
Pulling the hood up over her head and clutching it together under her chin to keep the brisk wind from blowing it off again, she crossed the street, her bootsoles slipping on the worn cobbles.
He's certainly old enough to know how to deal with his weaknessess. I hope he is. Don't be stupid, Serroi, of course he is. You threw him off balance a moment. He's intelligent, you know that. You're belittling him again. Woman, act your age. You're as bad as him
.

A number of broad-beamed riverboats were snugged against the stone wharves, rocking with the wind that whipped the nameflags about and plastered Serroi's heavy linen robe against her back. It cut through the cloth as if nothing were there and made her think wistfully of the heavy wool cloak the Sleykynin had taken from her on the far side of the plateau. The winter that was bypassing Valley and mijloc was putting its foot down here. It was a bit far south for snow, but unless she was much mistaken, there'd be frost on the ground by morning. She shivered and walked faster.

The wide-bellied boats were much alike, deliberately so, it seemed to her, to confuse the Shinki ductors. She watched the flags as she walked along; color was hard to make out, some of the patterns impossible to discern. Then she laughed. Olambaro's flag was twice the size of the others and stiffened with wooden battens at top and bottom so it wouldn't twist or droop. A storm lantern hung from the mainmast but the boat seemed deserted. She knew it couldn't be, no one but a fool would leave a fire lit aboard a wooden boat with a strong wind blowing. She walked around some boxes piled on the wharf and saw two figures sitting on the end of the dock, legs dangling over the side. She made no effort to walk quietly, she knew they heard her in spite of the noise of the river and the keening of the wind. She detoured around a solitary bale and found herself looking down at inky fog-wreathed water. She let the hood blow back and slid her hands up inside her sleeves, hugged her arms tight against her ribs. “Vapro. Nurii.”

Vapro swung her legs, smiled up at her. “Serroi.”

Nurii leaned out to look past Vapro. “Sit down and talk to us.”

Serroi eased herself down beside Vapro. “You got the Call-in?”

Vapro: “Uh-huh. Finally.”

Nurii: “Gila and Jankatt. They went on North after they left us.”

Serroi: “How's Marnhidda Vos?”

Vapro: “Mad. Ward had another year to run, you know.”

Nurii: “Yah. Says we're the only ones she trusts not to steal her back teeth and now this. She wants her money's worth.”

Vapro: “Yah. Says she paid for a full ward and a full ward is what she's going to get. If our wars are over come spring, we damn well better shove ass out her way or she'll show us what war really is.”

Serroi: “She hasn't changed.”

Nurii: “Not a hair.”

Vapro dropped a hand on Serroi's shoulder, squeezed lightly, took her hand away. “Chak-may stopped in Govaritil on her way north to the Sharr. Told us about Tayyan. Zhag's curse on all Nor.”

They wanted to ask her what she was doing so far from the Valley, what she was doing in healer's white not meien leather, Serroi knew that and knew also that they would not. Agemates and friends, willing to take what she could give and let the rest go. “Southport's closed,” she said. “Kry thick as sandfleas and twice as mean. And don't try getting through Skup. I ran into a mess there and made it worse.”

Vapro snorted. “I take it Oras is a bad idea too.”

“Last we heard, Floarin's collecting an army there.” She kicked her feet, watching the heavy cloth pouch out. “Try the passes south of Sankoy. The Creasta Shurin are still free and willing to help.”

Vapro frowned. “It's Decadra passage already. The passes should be closed till spring.”

Serroi shook her head. “The Nearga-nor have cancelled winter. The Valley will be turning on a spit by now, the mijloc not much better.” Her mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. “No snow.”

“Oh zhag, and I hate the heat.” Nurii sighed. “Sitting around and toasting slowly.”

“Not much sitting around with Yael-mri running things.” Vapro sighed. “Ah for the halcyon days when all we had to look out for was Marnhidda Vos.”

“I'm on quest,” Serroi said.

“Thought you might be. Ser Noris making a nuisance of himself?”

“Yah. Dom Hern's along with me. I tell you so you can forget it.”

“Forgotten already.”

“Right.”

“Maiden bless the both of you.”

“But you'll tell us the tale when we're old and grey, won't you?” Vapro chuckled. “Something to pass the long hours.”

Nurii pinched her nose. “Or conjure ghosts by the Gorduufest fires.”

Serroi laughed. “When we're old and grey,” she said.

A bedroom on the third floor of the tavern. Serroi stands with arms crossed, shoulders pressed against the door. Hern is looking out the unglazed window at the fog dripping from the eaves.

“Talk to me,” Serroi said, breaking into the painful silence.

“Why?”

“Afraid?”

“Bored.”

“Liar.”

“You got something to say, say it.”

“You don't trust me enough to listen.”

“Give me one reason why I should.”

“Poor little man, got his feelings hurt.”

He crossed the room with two long strides, reached for her to shove her away from the door.

“No!” She caught hold of his arm with both hands, held on when he tried to pull free. “Fight this out here. Now.”

He swept his arm in a short vicious arc, whipping her away from him, breaking her hold and sending her tottering back until she came up against the bed.

“Run away then,” she shouted. “Run, little man.”

He swung round to glare at her.

“I'm not your mother, Hern. Look at me. I'm not Lobori or Floarin. Look at me. I'm stupid sometimes about people, but I don't lie, I'm honest, give me that.”

“Honest?” His stiff face softened. “Better a little tactful hypocrisy.” He opened hands clenched into fists. “Dammit, Serroi.”

“Yah. I know.”

He leaned against the door, folded his arms across his chest. “No guarantees?”

“No. Take it as it comes.” She sank down on the bed, held out her hand. “Always friends. Nothing changes that. The other.…” She shrugged.

“Back to that, eh, Serroi?” He took her hand, turned it over, brushed his lips across her palm.

“Dammit, Hern.”

“Yah, I know.”

CHAPTER XIII:

THE MIJLOC (AT THE BISERICA)

Tuli and Rane descended into heat. Tuli's eyes blurred and smarted. It was hard to see. Her lungs burned. It was difficult to breathe. The macain whined with every step as heat from the near-molten earth and rock struck up through their fibrous pads. There were no small lives rustling through the brush. There was no brush, only a few bits of twisted charred wood sitting in the ash of its one-time foliage. A wind blew down behind them, marginally cooler and denser air from the mountains creeping downhill into the oven blast. Now and then she glanced at Rane from the corners of watering blurring eyes.
How can anyone, anything, endure to live here?

The morning passed with a stingy reluctance as they wound down the mountain and across the stretch of wasteland before the North Wall. When they finally reached it, they found the Great Gate standing open a crack, wide enough for a single rider to pass through. Rane pulled her macai to a complaining stop, cupped her hands about her mouth and shouted her name into the burning rustling silence. Without waiting for any answer, she rode through the gap. Bemused, Tuli followed her, wondering more and more if there was anything at all left alive in the Biserica Valley.

Rane let her catch up, her dark green eyes amused. “Only a little more,” she said, her voice hoarse but cheerful.

Tuli grunted, unwilling to say what she was thinking.

A moment later they broke through a shimmer of heat haze into coolness.

Tuli straightened her back, stared at the bewildering confusion of large structures ahead, rising behind a moderately high wall with corbel-supported walkways extending out from the top. Windows winked cheerfully at her. She blinked. The only other building she'd seen with so much glass in the windows was the Plaz in Oras. She turned to Rane. “Glass?”

Rane shook her head. “Not such a luxury as you might think. We make glass, Moth. We can't tax like Floarin so we have to find things to sell or trade. We get a good price for our glass objects.” She looked up at the swollen sun, visible through the bubble of coolness as a vague glow. “Used to get. I doubt the furnaces are lit right now.”

Tuli giggled. “Yah, I bet they aren't.” The first shock of coolness was passing; it wasn't really cold in here, only less hot to a degree that made living possible.

They rode through a pointed archway and around the end of the baffle wall, threaded through narrow ways between the lower walls of the inner courts. In a corral attached to a long low stable an old woman and a gaggle of young girls were sponging down a few wilted-looking macain. Rane edged her mount to the corral fence, leaned over the top pole and called, “Pria Melit.”

The old woman looked up, grinned. She handed her sponge to a girl working beside her, gave her a few low-voiced instructions then came across the dry manure with an easy swinging stride that belied the age and suffering carved deep in her hardwood face. As she came up to them, a broad smile sank pale blue stenda eyes in nests of wrinkles. “Eh-you, Rane. Back so soon?” She looked past Rane at Tuli. “A new candidate?”

“Could be, could be not.” Rane nodded at the dejected macain. “Those all you got now?”

“Yah. Took the others up into the Teeth couple days after you last left. Least there's water up there, And browse.” She reached through the poles and scratched the nose of Rane's mount. “Those two look well enough. Mijloc suffering much?”

“Some. Starting to need rain. Winter planting's going slow, if it goes at all. Floarin's not helping much with her tithe.”

“Silly idiot, cutting her own throat. Leave your gear here, I'll see it's sent over to Yael-mri's varou.”

“Maiden bless, Melit.” Rane swung down and waited as Tuli dismounted more stiffly, stamped her feet to get feeling back in her legs.

Tuli followed Rane for a few steps, looked back. A girl with long black braids and a honey-colored face was climbing over the poles. The girl saw her watching, grinned and waved, then jumped down and started leading the tired macain into the stable.

The little gesture stayed with Tuli as she followed Rane, warmed her. She felt like laughing, really laughing, almost like she'd felt sometimes at night, running with Teras, when the air was silk against her skin and all the night smells invaded her and she laughed aloud with joy at being alive. It was not quite that yet here, but she felt the promise of it in the air. She hugged the feeling to her. A glance at Rane told her she couldn't speak of it to her.
Memories
, she thought.
I wonder what it's like to love someone a quarter of a century
. She rolled the words on her tongue.
Quarter of a century
. It sounded like forever. Twice as long, almost, as she'd been alive. She glanced at Rane again.
I wonder if it was worth it
.

They moved into a covered way that led into one of the courts of the many-courted building. There was a space of silence around Rane that kept Tuli from talking to her or touching her, a hard transparency between them like the unexpected glass in all the windows. She brushed a hand along the tight-fitted stone of the way. She hadn't really thought of it before, but there had to be somebody to cut stone, somebody to spin and weave and cook and work in the fields and do all the things ties did on the tars.
I could work in the fields here and no one would yell at me
, she thought.
Or tell me it's not women's work
. She suppressed a giggle, her hand pressed over her mouth, her eyes flicking to Rane and away.