No One's Chosen (49 page)

"Dyeing? I've recently become curious about it,"
Óraithe said plainly. "Do you, perchance, have a bleach?"

"We do!" the shop girl said cheerily. "If you wish to
learn the art proper, I am sure my mother would be happy to let you
sit on my lessons. She is unduly passionate about her dyes." The
girl tossed the pouch onto the counter and walked around to the
shelves behind the counter. She plucked up a small bottle and put
it on the counter next to the dye. "There. That ought to pull the
color from most anything. Mix it with just enough water to cover
the garment. Same with the dye." She smiled. "Ah! Hold on! There's
something I want you to see!" The girl jumped up and ran from the
room.

Óraithe felt the pang strike at her again. "I'm
sorry," she said to the girl, though not loud enough to hear. She
grabbed the bottle and the pouch and ran for the door. She shoved
it open and the cool air of the street hit her. She wanted to cry
and, for some reason, she prayed to the Sisters that the girl would
not see her. She wanted nothing more than to come again and learn
the art the shop girl's mother was so passionate for.

She shut her eyes tight and ran around a corner. She
did not see who she had hit for a second but her nose had rammed
fully into their ribs. It took a moment for the pain to recede
enough for Óraithe to open her eyes. When she finally did she saw a
tall woman in the garb of the city guard. Her heart shot into
motion and she held her breath.

The woman looked down at the thing that had run into
her. "In an awful hurry, aren't you girl?" Before Óraithe could
muster a response, the woman noticed the items she held. The
guard's tone changed. "You paid for this, I expect?"

Óraithe did not bother looking for an answer, she
simply turned and fled. She had always been faster than the city
guards and there was a spot to hide not far, she knew. Luck was
with her as the guard stood in a bit of a stupor. She had not
expected Óraithe to run. The lead would be enough, Óraithe told
herself.

She rounded a corner and dug in, running as fast as
she could manage. The bottle made a full clip difficult. It
threatened to slip at every pounded step. The guard had rounded the
corner not terribly far behind, but it was enough. She had her lead
and she would make good on it.

The end of the alleyway came quickly and she pushed
her foot down, shooting to the side as she crossed a thoroughfare.
She could not afford to look behind. The next alley had a split at
the halfway mark and she would need to make it as quickly as she
could. Óraithe's feet were sure and she was thankful for that. She
made the cut and afforded herself a glance over her shoulder. The
guard was nowhere to be seen. She cut into the alley's halfway
mark. It was a short break between buildings and led in a line to
the next alley up. In the next alley there was a cutout at the
bottom of the row house wall. Óraithe had imagined it was meant to
be a window like the one at their den but the underside had never
been built. It did not matter now. All that mattered was that the
hole was still there.

Óraithe stopped in front of the small rectangle and
fell onto her stomach. It was just long enough to slide into. It
had seemed so much larger when she was a child but it would serve
her even now. She inched under as fast as she could manage. The
rough stone pulled at the skin of her stomach and elbows and she
could feel them go raw and then wet. When she was hidden, she
waited. And waited. The pound of footsteps did not come. She
wanted, desperately, to believe that the guard had passed her but
she could not convince herself of it. Had the woman seen her? Was
she simply waiting? "If she is there, she will have to drag me
out," Óraithe thought, the pain from her torn skin turning to a
nagging itch.

The shadows outside the hole had shifted direction
when she finally decided to slide her way out. The movement brought
strong protest from her wounds. At the edge of the hole she looked
around cautiously. There was no one to be seen at all. She slid
free and stood. Óraithe did not want to believe it. She looked up
and down the alleyway. It was empty. She was free for now, but she
was not home. Not yet.

Her return to the den took her along a roundabout
way, south of the main square. She moved slowly and carefully. If a
guard passed, she changed direction. The caution took its time and
the sky was beginning to show shades of orange when she finally
stood before the door of the den. She looked down at the dye and
bleach with a feeling of minor triumph. No doubt the others had
done well.

She descended the stair and pushed free the door to
home. Inside Scaa and Bonn sat at the table. Bonn looked up,
excited, when the door opened but his face dropped when he saw it
was not Teas. "Teas," Óraithe thought.

"Where is Teas?" There was panic in her voice and she
knew it. Her task should have taken the least time of the lot.
"Where?"

The question was wasted. She knew where Teas was. Or
rather, where Teas had been.

Rianaire knew that she was not awaiting the gallows
or any fate that meant the end of her life, but she imagined it
must feel something similar. The thought of leaving the city to
Spárálaí made her angry and sick and angry again. Spárálaí was one
side of things, but there were surely those among the guards who
felt closer to Armire than they had ever felt to Rianaire. Even one
among their number would be enough to lead Spárálaí and his camp to
her and any supporters she might gather. She'd gone over every
method she could conceive and they were all more dangerous than she
could afford with no fighters at her back. Whores and bards made
wonderful, intoxicated playmates but they made for poor defenders
in a fight of sword and spear.

Lunch and dinner came and went. Wonderful spreads of
the finest ingredients and cooked to perfection but as the day wore
on, Rianaire found she did not have the stomach for any of it. At
dinner, she had hardly eaten a thing. A bite of pheasant and half a
boiled potato. There was much to plan and much to understand.
Surely, Mion would do his part within the city, and subtly at that,
but what would she do? Waiting in some wiled away cabin would not
do. It tugged at her but there was little she could think of.
Aerach, perhaps. But she had few ways of getting to him and there
were many people between the marmar she would send and the person
for whom it was meant.

The knock finally came at the wooden door. Though
there were no windows, Mion was in possession of a very rare device
which used water to judge the passing of time. By the count of the
device, it was after midnight. Síocháin was the one to open the
door. On the other side was the red-haired girl, Taise. She stood
smiling politely, covered in a heavy cloak, and entered when
Síocháin stepped aside and closed the door behind her.

"Greetings again, Treorai. I trust you are as well as
is possible in this unfortunate circumstance." The words sounded
genuine but Rianaire could not imagine the girl truly caring. She
continued. "We will head south. There is a secluded cabin there
that belongs to Mion. It is near enough to a town that maintaining
comfort should not be an issue."

"When do we depart?" Rianaire asked, standing.

"Now, if it please you, Treorai."

"Very little pleases me these few days. But yes, I
should like to go as soon as we are able."

"It pains me to hear that." The girl smiled wide and
moved to the steel door. "There are items packed in the wagon we
mean to take." She unbarred the steel door and headed down the
stairs beyond without waiting for Rianaire.

The Treorai and her handmaid followed. At the bottom
of the stair sat the large elf from before. Rianaire said nothing
but looked around the room. It occurred to her that she did not
understand how the man came and went. Or if he did. Had he gone
through their bedroom? Did he leave the bottom steel door unlocked?
It was a puzzle she wanted to solve but the door was opened for
Taise and she had no choice but to follow.

The alleyway outside seemed entirely alien though it
had scarcely been a day since she had stood in it. Somehow, though,
it seemed safer and she felt more assured that things could be
salvaged. The smell of the Outer Crescent emboldened her. "There
are those here who have love for me," she told herself. "They will
rise when I return."

The street was dark and silent around the waiting
horse and the short wagon to which it was hitched. There was the
slightest distant murmur of alehouses but other than that and the
breath of the gathered three and the animal, it was silent. The
red-haired elf walked to the rear of the wagon and lifted the
burlap covering.

She looked to the highborn women apologetically. "It
does not suit you, but it is necessary to get you out with the
goods we require."

"I am not troubled by discomfort, Taise. But I do not
care to be fussed over and apologized to. Be whoever it is that you
truly are and I will appreciate you all the more."

The girl smiled politely and nodded. Síocháin climbed
into the rear of the wagon first with Rianaire just behind. There
was not room enough to sit down properly and they would have to
lay. Rianaire laid on her stomach, reasoning that she may need to
manage a hasty exit. Síocháin did the same. Outside, Taise tied the
covering onto the wagon and moved to the front to set off.

It was a smooth enough ride and the bottom of the
wagon had been lined with hay covered in a rough linen. As the
wagon had set off, Rianaire had noticed the slats of the wagon had
not been entirely covered by the items lining the thing. She
doubted it was enough to allow a clear view in, but she could see a
narrow view of the passing streets under the light of the eyes and
the occasional torch.

The Outer Crescent was such a colorful place, she
thought as the place passed by. There was truly no place like it
that she had seen or heard of. She had paid a small visit to the
other Bastions when she was raised to Treorai, but Fásachbaile had
been so dirty and disorderly in the outer rim that it did not
warrant comparison. Abhainnbaile was not so obviously split. There
were walls around the Bastion and the small set of houses that
attended it, but otherwise it was a terribly open place. Even the
gates to the Bastion remained open during the daylight hours,
though travel through them was restricted. The city was clean,
though. It felt devoid of character to Rianaire. They had passed an
inn, a small tomato farm, and a pottery shop all in quick
succession. She sighed again to be leaving the place.

They had been along a road that seemed familiar to
Rianaire for a time, moving along slowly. Why was the area so
familiar she wondered? Just as the thought passed her mind she
caught the slight view of charred wood where a small house had
been.

"Stop," she said, quiet at first and then in an angry
bark. "Stop!" She slapped the wood of the wagon and got to her
knees. The wagon pulled to a stop and Rianaire moved to force
herself through the slit between the edge of the wagon and its
covering. She had a leg out and the other coming when her foot
slipped. She clattered to the ground, wet with dew and mud, and
ruined the dress she had been given by Mion. Her shoulder had taken
the brunt of the fall and it ached as she rose, but she did not
seem to notice it.

Rianaire stood, transfixed, before the remains of a
house that had been consumed by fire. She stood staring silently at
the house. She had been in this house. She knew the people who
owned it. Where were they now? Had they been forced out?

She stepped forward, Taise and Síocháin behind her
watching silently. The gate stood as it had that night not so long
ago. She pushed it open. There on the path ahead of her were the
charred bodies of two elves. One that had been so nervous and true.
The other, bold and colorful.

Rianaire felt her knees give and fall to the stones
of the walk up to the house. She reached out but stopped. She
should not touch them. She should not scream out or cry. It was not
wise. But she did. She wailed and screamed as fiercely as she could
and made to throw herself over the corpses.

Síocháin's hand took her first by the shoulder and
then covered her mouth. Rianaire gritted her teeth and a wedge of
air pushed the two apart, sending Síocháin stumbling back.

"It is not the time for this." Síocháin's voice was
unwavering and it served only to dig deeper into Rianaire's
heart.

The Treorai whipped around. "Isn't it?" she screamed.
"Who will cry for them then? Who will make this right?"

Síocháin did not attempt to approach her. "Would you
avenge them now?"

Rianaire stared a long moment at Síocháin. The woman
was her right mind. She needed the words, now more than ever, but
she struggled to convince her brain of it. Rianaire stepped forward
to leave the yard. As she passed Síocháin, Rianaire gently brushed
the back of her hand across her friend's. She could not apologize,
it was not in her to do so.

Síocháin turned and followed her Treorai back to the
cart where Taise was waiting for them. She had untied the edge of
the wagon's flap and was waiting on the ground beside it. She
smiled as politely as ever.

"I am sorry for your friends. I will pray that the
Sisters watch over them."

Rianaire grabbed the girl by the face and pulled her
close. She kissed the girl hard, pushing her tongue into the small
elf's mouth. It surprised her when the girl's tongue welcomed her
own. Rianaire lingered in the moment and then pulled back.

"I have decided," she said, breathlessly. "I will not
go to Mion's cabin."

"I am yours to do with as you wish." The girl's smile
was wide and more genuine than it had been. Not polite, but
devilish. "Where are we bound?"