Racing the Dark (40 page)

She wondered if she should just try to get rid of the baby, but she had seen enough disasters back in her village to make her wary. After all, who could she trust? She was the Mo'i's first wife, and if she entrusted her need to anyone, she could never be sure if the potion she drank was to eliminate the baby or them both. Many women desperately envied her position, and wouldn't hesitate to get rid of her if given the chance.

Malie plopped down beside her on the bench, her face flushed from dancing.

"Are you tired, my lady?" she asked. "Would you like me to take you back upstairs?"

Nahoa forced a smile and shook her head. "No, I'd like to stay here. I'm not a very good dancer, that's all."

Malie looked at her critically. "Maybe it wasn't wise for you to come, in your condition. You should sleep for the-"

Nahoa's knuckles went white as she gripped the table, but she was spared hearing the end of Malie's sentence. Two drunk, laughing men careened into the bench, sending something fluttering into her lap. As Malie stood up to berate them for their bad manners, Nahoa looked down.

It was some sort of pamphlet, printed on cheap, rough paper and bound with twine. "The left hand of freedom," she read on the cover. "A reasonable and incontrovertible argument for the ruling of this great city by its own people through direct and unbiased elections." Elections? Could this writer possibly be arguing for the elimination of the Mo'i? But didn't they know that it would be impossible to control the fire spirit and Nui'ahi without the trials? She flipped to the first page.

"As the disappearances continue without any effort made by authorities to track down those responsible, the argument that they are in some sinister manner connected with our tyrannous Mo'i, Kohaku One-hand, grows more plausible daily. How can this brazen violation of our laws be tolerated? Because the Mo'i-he whom the law ought to first govern-is considered above the law. Let us be free of these centuries-old superstitions. Let us cease our fear of the fire god and the sleeping Nui'ahi! Who of my readers truly believes the sleeping giant will awaken without a Mo'i? Who truly believes-"

Malie snatched the pamphlet from her lap and handed it to the taller of the two men with a sharply reproving look. He smiled awkwardly at Nahoa before tucking it into his pocket. Nahoa couldn't help but notice the crusted dirt beneath his fingernails and his dirt-smeared breeches. A gardener?

"Deepest apologies, my lady," he said. Under his thin veneer of friendliness, she thought she heard deep unease. "That was just a bit of rubbish I'd been meaning to throw out. Hope I didn't offend ..."

Nahoa shook her head. It was obvious the man was lying, but she didn't know what to make of the situation. "Of course not," she said.

"So go on, then," Malie said angrily at the two men. "You've imposed on my lady enough already."

They backed away awkwardly. It occurred to her that four months ago she would have been one of them-there would have been no awkward gulf of status. They would have willingly shown her that pamphlet and perhaps even explained what it meant. By marrying Kohaku, she had irrevocably separated herself from her old life.

A part of the wall by the massive stoves began to detach itself, a movement that made the musicians suddenly stop playing and everyone else grow still. The wall slid into the piece above it and a teenaged boy with lopsided ears emerged.

The boy grinned a little. "One-hand has returned. No more disappearances for a few days, at least."

The tall man with dirt-crusted fingernails took a few long strides toward the boy and hauled him the rest of the way out of the hole. "We have a guest," he said softly, pointing to Nahoa. "You see? Our friend Malie saw fit to bring her to our small get-together."

It sounded like an accusation.

"Come, my lady," Malie said, standing up. "You should get some rest. I think you've been through more than enough."

For all her exalted position, Nahoa had never felt more powerless. They didn't want her here. She nodded silently and avoided the hundred eyes that followed her as she walked from the room.

She knew that Kohaku was in their rooms even though she couldn't see him anywhere. He was probably up in the aerie-he spent a lot of time there recently, especially after his nightmares. She slowly climbed the circular stairs that began in the middle of the front parlor, traveling through a dark hole before emerging into the delicate glassed-in bubble that formed the aerie. Kohaku was there, as she had suspected, looking out over the city.

"You again?" he said, his voice so bleak it shocked her. Before, at least, he had always been happy to see her. Nahoa's heart squeezed.

"I ... I'm sorry-"

Kohaku abruptly turned around. He looked surprised. "Oh, Nahoa. I didn't know it was you."

He smiled a little and walked over to embrace her. Who else did he think would come up here? The same person he spoke to at night, when he thought she was asleep? She kissed his chin, breathing in his smell of fresh rosemary-scented soap. His hair hung damply down his neck. She wondered why he had bathed before he saw her-had he needed to wash off someone else's blood?

"I missed you," he said softly.

"Where the hell were you? I didn't know what to do, I was so lonely..."

He kissed her, moving his hand slowly under her shirt. She had known he wouldn't answer. She abandoned her confusion and sense of betrayal and surrendered herself to him, allowing him to apologize in the only way he was able. Their lovemaking no longer contained the innocent joy of the first few weeks after their marriage, but they still had passion ... they still had love. She didn't understand why, but she knew that she loved him more than reason. If whatever horror he had become involved with eventually overcame him, she wondered whether she would be dragged down too. Would she destroy herself for the sake of his love?

With a muffled groan, he exploded inside of her, gripping her waist like a man about to fall from a cliff.

"I'm pregnant," she said as they lay in bed together. "I think ... I think it would be better if I got rid of it, but I don't know-"

No!

His strangled bark made her words stop unformed in her throat. She looked over at him, surprised to see his expression of horrified misery.

"Not you too," he said, more softly this time, gripping her hand. Two tears fell from his eyes onto her neck. "I couldn't live ... not if it happened to you too."

"If what happened? Kohaku, what the hell ... ?"

He lay back down beside her, staying silent for so long she was actually startled when he began to speak again. "I haven't told you much of my past, have I? I'm sorry for that-I just never wanted to burden you with it. I ... I once had a sister. She was beautiful and pure and utterly selfless-but she was naive, and I didn't watch her closely enough. If I had ... maybe if I had..." He gulped air like he was fighting back tears. After a brief moment, he continued. "For years, without my knowledge, she had been carrying on an affair with a man named Nahe, one of the most senior professors in the Kulanui. She was in love with him, but he was only using her. One day, she got pregnant. Instead of taking responsibility for the child, he gave her something he said would get rid of it. She was dead the next morning. Afterwards, just to cover his own tracks, he had me thrown out of the Kulanui ... so I wandered the streets, and then I decided to sacrifice myself to the fire spirit and just end it all. You know the rest, I think."

Nahoa caressed his cheek with a trembling hand and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. "It's okay," she whispered through her tight throat, "I won't do anything. I'll keep the baby, I promise."

She fell asleep curled up against him, his hand on her belly.

The next day, after heaving a good portion of her dinner into the chamber pot, she discovered that Kohaku was gone-not on some mysterious errand, but apparently inspecting a section of the southeastern docks that had flooded after a storm two weeks ago. Kohaku's confession last night had made her see his recent actions in an entirely different light. He was tortured by far more than she had realized. And yet, she sensed that he had gained a sense of catharsis by telling her about his past. Perhaps if she could learn more about what he had been doing so secretly, she would be able to ease his pain even more. She could not help but think that his desire not to burden her with his problems had led to all of the confusion between them. She idly stuffed herself on the overwhelming portions heaped on her breakfast tray while she thought of what to do. In fact, she was so busy thinking that she ended up polishing everything off, even though she could hardly countenance it. Her stomach felt full, but twenty minutes later she suddenly had a desperate, uncontrollable craving for rice and pickled carrots. She was wondering if she should send down to the kitchen for some when the obvious solution to their troubles hit her. Of course! She remembered how the boy had emerged from that strange hidden door in the kitchen the night before, saying that Kohaku had "returned." If there was any information to be had about what her husband was doing, she would probably find it in there. Of course, she could hardly go exploring with so many eyes on her, so she called down to the kitchen anyway. She would wait until night, after the kitchen had shut down and she could (she hoped) sneak around unnoticed.

She whiled away the time eating and reading the basic history texts that Kohaku had given her a month before. Kohaku was still an academic at heart, and he wouldn't hear of his wife not increasing her knowledge of the world. Malie interrupted her later that evening with a pot of hot tea and a steaming dinner. The cook had thoughtfully included an extra helping of pickled carrots-along with pickled beets, mushrooms, and loquats. She gestured for Malie to sit with her and share some of the food.

"I suppose the kitchen is closed now, right?" she said when she had finished.

Malie looked surprised. "You're still hungry, my lady? I could probably go down and fetch something myself ..."

Nahoa shook her head. "Oh no, I was just wondering. Don't worry." So now would be a good time to leave. She looked at Malie's maid uniform-plain purple five-button shirt and pants, cut shorter than fashionable to make it easier to do dirty jobs. She would look a lot less conspicuous wearing something like that rather than her own clothes.

"Malie, would you mind if I borrowed your uniform for the evening? I can give you something of mine ... I'll return it soon, I promise."

Her maid raised her eyebrows. "Why would you want this old thing, my lady?"

"For some private business." Nahoa usually avoided putting on airs, especially around the servants, but she didn't want Malie asking more questions. "Would you allow me?"

"Of course. Whenever you're done with it, just call me again." Her tones were perfectly respectful, but her eyes looked like they were laughing. Nahoa ignored the hint of mockery and gratefully exchanged clothes with the maid. Since Nahoa was at least three inches taller, the sleeves and pants looked ludicrously short, but at least she wouldn't look so conspicuous. In fact, Malie looked far better suited to her clothes than Nahoa herself. She helped Nahoa pull out the pins that held together the elaborate bun on the top of her head and then brushed out her long hair. They would have to leave the room together, and when Nahoa was finished, she would find the maid so they could exchange clothes before returning. If all went smoothly, no one else would know she had left at all. When they were ready, they opened the doors and walked quickly down the hall, Malie leading the way down unfamiliar servant corridors until she judged them safe.

"Just go further down this hall and take the second set of stairs to your right. That will take you to the kitchens," she said.

Nahoa stared at her, about to stammer some confused denial, but Malie put her finger to her lips and walked in the other direction before she could say anything. Nahoa bit her tongue. How did her maid always seem to know so much? Three flights down the staircase Malie had directed her to, Nahoa emerged in a corner of the dark kitchen. There were only a few lamps still lit on the walls-probably to help guide servants searching for a midnight snack. She searched near the stoves until she reached the place where the boy had emerged. She felt all along for a seam and finally found it, roughly four feet above the ground. After a brief struggle, she managed to slide the panel up with her palms. She peered inside the now-revealed hole, seeing nothing but darkness. Well, something obviously had to be on the other side. Since she hadn't brought a light with her, she would have to trust it. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed herself inside the hole and slid the panel shut behind her. She crawled on her belly for about ten minutes in the sharply downward-sloping tunnel before emerging into a wider hallway that was scarcely brighter lit than the kitchen. There was a door at the end of the corridor and some light spilling beneath it. Not quite knowing what she had expected to find, she walked forward. Her trepidation increased tenfold as she got closer-what would Kohaku do if he found out that she had done this? What if she found out something she didn't want to know? From behind the door she heard the sound of harsh, labored breathing. Her heart pounded loudly, but before she could let sudden fear drown her resolve, she cracked open the door.

There were two lamps on the walls, and she squinted in the unexpected light. The room was very small-perhaps five by five feet with ancient stone walls and a damp floor. There was someone inside the room-the breathing had grown harsher and faster when she opened the door, interspersed with panicked whimpers. She opened the door all the way and stepped inside.

A man was suspended from the ceiling by ropes wrapped around his shoulders and waist. His clothes and the floor below him were saturated with blood, some slick and fresh, but most crusted and dry. It stank like he was rotting alive, and perhaps he was. His feet had been cut off-but only one stump had been bandaged, very crudely. His left hand was also gone, though his right gesticulated frantically at her. She wondered at first why the only noises that came from his mouth were strangled, inarticulate gasps, before she noticed the blood that pooled with the spit rolling down his chin. His tongue had been cut out as well.