No Return (15 page)

Berun considered. The idea possessed a certain appeal. He had always wanted to see the Steps. “How far out of the way is your route?” he asked.

She licked her lips. “About five hundred miles.”

“Out of the question,” Vedas said. He appeared to calculate quickly. “That will put us in Danoor with less than a week to spare. It’s possible we’d miss the entire tournament. We need time to settle in. There are training sessions, events in preparation for the tournament that I’ve promised to attend. My order must be properly represented.” He looked at Berun. “Why didn’t you tell me we were going the wrong way?”

Berun shrugged. “She’s our guide. I trust her.”

Vedas’s expression did not change. “You trust her? Your master and mine gave us the route. Instead of heeding them, you’re going to simply trust her?” He turned away. “I agreed to her company. I’ll listen to her advice. I won’t agree to this.”

“Is that how you operate then, Vedas?” Churls asked, eyes fixed on the fire. “They tell you to jump and you jump? Well, their route is fucked. Neither of you have been in this area before. Nor, I doubt, have your masters, otherwise they wouldn’t have told you to travel through the middle of Stol. The ground is fertile, and there are people everywhere. We couldn’t avoid them. You’re lucky I’m here to set you off course.”

She kicked at the fire. Sparks flew and streaked away with the wind. “Listen, I want to get to Danoor as badly as you do. I have money riding there—money I need. My route is your—our—best chance to get there in one piece. So you’ll miss the events leading up to the tournament. At least you’ll be alive to fight!”

She shook her head. “I admit that I need you. The journey would be too dangerous for me alone. All I need you to do is trust that I know best.”

The wind howled over them. Vedas grimaced and stretched out on his bedroll.

How easy it would be to leave him
, Berun reasoned.

The thought lingered in his mind. As one recalls a forgotten dream, he realized he had been playing with the idea of abandoning Vedas for quite some time. With less than a gallon of water and no navigation skills, being caught in this corner of the world would have been the man’s death.

In lockstep, a series of other memories came to Berun.

Yes, he had pictured Vedas Tezul’s death, on many occasions. He had enjoyed it. The recognition of this fact horrified him. To have one’s body bent to the task of murder was a horrible crime—to have one’s mind bent to hate, yet another.

He waited for Vedas’s breathing to change, signaling sleep.

“We’ll do what he says,” Berun rumbled softly. “He’ll see that this route is best. Still, I was wrong to keep this from him.”

Churls closed her eyes. “Fine.”

The fire died down to coals. “Why?” she finally asked.

“I’m not sure,” Berun answered. “There’s something about him. I think you see it, too.”

Churls scooped dirt and doused the coals. “No. I don’t see anything.”

THE 17
^th
TO 19
^th
OF THE MONTH OF CLERGYMEN, 12499 MD
THE STEPS OF STOL, KINGDOM OF STOL

T
he Steps began in the fertile southern plains of Stol, extending some seventy miles to the coast and more than four hundred along it. From a hundred miles away in southern Casta, the Steps had looked to Churls like nothing more than a smooth mountain slope. Closer, the scale was even harder to conceive. Ascending to a height of twelve thousand feet in seventeen evenly spaced, gently sloping rises, the Steps stopped abruptly at the ocean, shorn clean by a giant knife blade.

The elders had carved the Steps from the continent’s longest mountain chain, it was said. For what purpose, no one knew. Along with the Dras Alas Citadel in northern Casta, the crystal dome over the island of Osa, The Inverted Bowl in the central valley of the Aspa Mountains, and the Glass Plain in northeastern Knos Min, the Steps of Stol displayed the enigmatic power of the elders. Many believed spirits and enchanted men inhabited such places. Immortal black magic practitioners and corpse miners.

As a result, the Steps were largely uninhabited. One of Gorum’s friends, a scholar, had traveled southern Stol extensively. He claimed small, long-lived men lived upon the highest and most fertile steps, where unusually warm winds brought moisture in from the ocean. According to him, these men lived in a state of peace and primitive prosperity, knowing neither marriage nor jealousy. They shared their men and women, and Adrash smiled upon them. Even the rare Anadrashi who came through their lands was treated with respect.

Churls took the story with a grain of salt, for many of the tales she had heard differed markedly from the scholar’s account. Nonetheless, she had been to the central valleys of Stol. Gorum was right: better to take her chances with tall tales and wishful thinking than violent reality. At the very least, fewer men lived on the Steps. Churls believed in odds above all else.

It was said a man could stand at the edge of the highest step and stare down at the glass-smooth face of the cliff, counting the geological layers of the world. It was also said a man must be careful at the edge, for sudden gusts could take hold of him and carry him far out over the ocean. Capricious, the demon winds sometimes returned him unharmed, but most often spun him in the sky, toying with him as a child does a rag doll. Bored, eventually the wind dropped him into the ocean or dashed his body against the wall.

Churls considered such tales bullshit. Wind was wind, and only an idiot stood up on a precipice when the gusts were strong.

Many years ago, she had shared bread with an acolyte of the Placci, a small elder-worshipping cult in Anlala. She claimed the elders had created the walls as permanent testament to their power. “They will stand immutable until the elders return to claim their kingdoms,” she had told Churls.

Calves and thighs warm from walking uphill, she listened to Vedas tell a similar tale, and tried not to roll her eyes. Living in the city had filled his mind with so many ridiculous things. They walked a mere hundred feet from the edge. He could see for himself that the cliff face was not evenly cut. Shrubs took root in its crevices and huge sections had crumbled completely. Twice, they had to veer around immense rockslides. Though she never doubted some magical process had carved the Steps, she rejected the idea of their ensorcelment.

She had seen the Citadel at Dras Alas, and it too was crumbling away, eroded by wind and time.

So much for permanency
, Churls thought.

‡

Each step consisted of a three-mile slope ascending seven hundred feet, topped by a two-mile stretch of grassy plain. Halfway through the first day, the clouds broke above them and warm winds blew in from the ocean, buoying their spirits and feet. By the time they stopped for the night, they had reached the base of the fifth step. Vedas, almost fully recovered from his illness, glowed with health and high spirits. For the first time in two weeks, he appeared to forget his anger over their course change.

His course change
, Churls reminded herself. Berun had given Vedas the choice, after all. Thankfully, the man had seen the sense of her position. Not that being right had endeared her to him. Clearly, he was not the kind of man who forgave easily.

Churls observed him as they prepared dinner, and worried his good mood would dissolve when he woke to sore calves and thighs. Up until the Steps, they had traveled on relatively flat land. Climbing for so many miles, even at such a shallow grade, could take its toll on the fittest man.

The following morning, this proved true. Though he did not complain, Vedas looked like someone who had been run through a gauntlet. Exertion revived a slight cough, which he worked hard to conceal. The weather improved over the course of the day, blowing dry and warm, yet they still fell a mile short of the ninth step. After dinner, Churls read weariness and frustration on Vedas’s features. She noted how he grunted as he stood to relieve himself.

He was a beautiful man, she admitted—but this alone did not explain her attraction. He had stubborn pride, but none of the ingrained arrogance that made so many men insufferable around women. He had little experience beyond that of fighting, but he learned quickly. Her short bow had become a formidable weapon in his hands, and he was patient enough to hunt with it. His navigation skills grew every day. On several occasions, he had noticed the signs of dangerous beasts before she did.

Certainly, she grew tired of his superstitions and his prejudices, though they did not surprise her. She had never considered Anadrashi any less prone to the irrational than their devout opponents.

What was the difference between a man who believed in God’s love and a man who did not?

Nothing, as far as she could tell.

Why, then, did it feel as if there was something more to him? Why did he loom so large in her mind? She had seen beautiful men before. She had met talented, even genius men. It rankled her, being drawn as if by physical force to Vedas Tezul.

Who was he to warrant so much attention?

Berun believed in Vedas’s uniqueness, surely. He had not tried to convince her that this was the case—had only mentioned it the once—but his feelings were increasingly obvious. He watched Vedas whenever the man was not looking, and Churls wondered what the constructed man saw beyond the graceful flow of muscle under the slick skin of Vedas’s suit—the way the material clung to him, revealing more than it hid, emphasizing the rise and fall of his buttocks, the tensing of his broad shoulders.

She wondered what Berun saw in Vedas’s restrained smile. Thick, sensuous lips framing straight white teeth made whiter against the darkness of his skin? Or merely a smile?

She had to shake off her arousal several times a day. It was pathetic and moreover worthless, feeling that way. Beyond the occasional glance at her backside or chest—a meaningless gesture, yet another male’s inability to control his eyes—Vedas had never given any sign of returning her desire. Besides, she could not keep her big mouth shut. Each night, though she tried to keep the conversation neutral, she managed to offend him. He was so easily affronted, and she so easily discouraged.

If Berun were not there to interject now and then, the two would have parted ways out of frustration long ago.

Vedas returned to the fire.

“No Dull Sword tonight?” she asked. She had been teaching him the technique intermittently as they traveled. Though humorless, he was a good student. Of course he was.

He met her eyes briefly as he sat. “No.”

“You’ll feel better tomorrow,” she said. “You’re still breaking in your travel muscles.”

He smiled tightly, little more than a grimace. “I had no idea there were so many muscles in the leg. I thought the hills of Golna were enough to prepare any man for simply walking uphill. And then there’s my training. In the abbey, we use weighted gloves and staffs. We lift barrels of sand over our heads.” He stretched his legs out and grabbed his ankles. He groaned. “I think I’d rather do that for twelve hours than repeat today.”

The wind picked up. Berun shifted to the right and slowly made his torso flatter to shield the fire. “I wonder what it feels like to get tired,” he said. “I notice when a task becomes more difficult, but I don’t understand pain or tiredness. They’re just words.”

Vedas grunted and released his ankles. “You’re not missing much.” He angled his head to the sky. The Needle had not fully risen, and so he did not curse Adrash by touching the horns of his suit. Instead, he breathed in deeply, his taut belly inflating like a drum. “I smell pine trees.”

“Me, too,” Churls said. She frowned, deepening the lines around her mouth. “Wait a minute. There are no pine trees east of Anlala that I know of, certainly none in Dareth Hlum—it’s too far east. How would you recognize the smell? You don’t look like the kind of man who frequents perfumeries.”

He grimaced. Once again, she had said the wrong thing.

“I may not look it,” he said, “but I have on occasion. There are plenty of Knosi in Golna, but I wasn’t born there. My parents came to the city when I was just a boy. I barely remember Grass, the city of my birth, but I do remember the smell of sagoli pines. The stunted trees lined our street like little old women in frocks. On the way across the continent, I smelled other types of pine. Slightly different smells, but mostly the same. Sometimes, I buy pine oil. I don’t care what kind. Having the smell in my room reminds me of something... Something I might forget if I don’t remind myself.”

Berun shifted, but had nothing to add. He spun two rocks in his hands like Churls had seen monks do in Fali. They were nearly perfect spheres, diminishing in size every day. In a month, he had ground four pairs into marbles.

Churls simply nodded, and then retrieved her sword from beside her pack. With bonedust and spit, she started polishing, in truth to keep from confronting the silence. She could not name the emotion Vedas’s words aroused in her. Sadness, certainly, but this was too general. Longing?

Yes. Longing.

Did longing make Vedas different from any other person she had known? Or was it that he chose to voice it when so many others would rather keep it buried? He did not have to say such things. He could just as easily lie, keep his secrets.

‡

Maybe he can’t keep a secret
, a voice said.
Maybe he’s an honest man
. Churls opened her eyes and growled softly.

She had not been sleeping soundly. Sometimes it felt as if she could predict when her daughter’s ghost would appear, as though she had been drifting toward the meeting all day long. It felt disconcertingly similar to when she wandered in search of water, knowing in the back of her mind that it was close. She had always been a good tracker, a good hunter, and wondered if close communion with spirits was responsible.

Not one to indulge in such speculation by nature, Churls was forced by circumstances to consider the possibility. Five years ago, the ghost of her daughter had appeared, changing the structure of her world. The dead lingered in doorways and sat around campfires, just out of sight. The dead were real.