Serpent's Silver (10 page)

Lonny jumped away—but in so doing, she came up against the serpent. She felt a strange sensation. Could the serpent that had come to devour her body be ready to devour her spirit? Kian had killed it, but now it seemed that his spirit was being used to reanimate it. If it took in her spirit, too, she would be with him. Alive with the man she loved.

“Go, Lonny!” Kian cried. “She’ll capture you as she did me. Go tell the others back at camp.”

It made sense, but she hesitated. To return and give warning, or to be with him? What was the meaning of her vision? To leave him—or join him?

Then she saw Gerta extend the chime again with a crafty expression on her face. Gerta would have her in the chime instead of Kian.

It was not right! She would not stand for it! She would be with Kian! Now!

She was abruptly in the serpent’s body, looking through its single eye. With her, she sensed, was Kian.

“Lonny, why, why?”

“To be with you,” she said.

“It will be for eternity. Or until we both forget.”

“Not eternity, Kian. Mouvar said you’d leave for another world.”

“This
is
another world—the astral realm. But—”

“Mouvar said it need not be the end if I did right. So I joined you.”

“Lonny, what are you talking about? Mouvar? Have you seen him?”

“Once, long ago. He said what would be. He told me and then I forgot. Or tried to.”

“Lonny, are you mad? You’re not making sense.”

“You have part of an eternity to decide that. During that time all that must be said will be said.”

“But you are young and beautiful. You have a good life to live. It is crazy to throw it away like this!”

“It would be an empty life without you, Kian. I want only to be with you. Now I am.”

“They’re both in the ancestor,” Herzig said. “Good work, Gerta. That is as good as having one in the chime. The ancestor has been much weakened, and two spirits will help it recover better than one would.” Climbing down from the platform, he put his head out the door and called: “Tripsic, Synplax, Uternaynie—come!”

Three flopears came running from a stone wall they had been constructing. They stood obediently before Herzig, awaiting his instructions.

“Ancestor ready,” Herzig said. “Clear way.”

Tripsic, Synplax, and Uternaynie ran out, waving their arms and shouting to busily working flopears to clear a path. Gerta stepped outside the door and back inside carrying a freshly picked blue-and-pink blossom. She touched the blossom lightly to the tip of the serpent’s snout.

Lonny had the sensation of a lovely perfume in her nostrils, but they weren’t really her nostrils or Kian’s. They belonged to the serpent, and the smell was rousing it.

The great body began to undulate. It flexed along its length. Then it crawled from the shed, following Gerta, sniffing the blossom she held.

“Kian, are you doing this? Are you moving us?”

“No, I have no control,” Kian said. There was no sound from the serpent; it was a mental signal that came across as speech. “I’m here. You’re here. I don’t think either of us can do more than we can in our spirit bodies. Worse than that, we’re trapped. We’re in this thing forever.”

“No, not forever, I told you.”

Neat stone cottages, stone walls, and patches of carefully tended ground slipped by. She was seeing it through the serpent’s one good eye. She saw it but could not affect it; she had no control over the serpent’s motions.

“Oh, Kian, isn’t this fun!”

“FUN!” he responded indignantly.

“Yes, the thrill of being a part of this. Oh, my goodness, I never thought of this, never dreamed of it!”

“Yes, it’s a nightmare.”

“But look at how beautiful everything is! We’re a part of this creature, and we’re conscious. We’re alive, both of us!”

“I wonder for how long.”

“For hundreds of years, they were saying. Much longer than our regular bodies would last.”

“How long as
us,”
he clarified darkly.

How depressing, she thought. She wanted to snap him out of it. Just being alive, just being with someone you truly cared about, that was after all what life was mainly about. She did not quite dare express this. Kian didn’t know that she loved him. She was able to read this in him now, and it did not cause her grief, because she saw his side of it. He had come to rescue her because he believed it was the right thing to do. He—he did not think that he had any future with a woman of this world, when he was only going to leave it soon. So he—he liked her, he found her beautiful, but he did not think more of it than that. He did not understand that she had loved him the moment he came to her rescue, because of the prophecy. He did not understand how important it was to her, just being alive, just being with the person she truly cared about, fulfilling the prophecy. But there would be time, plenty of time. She would at the proper moment acquaint him with her love, and she was sure that then he would love her back. It would be wonderful. It was already wonderful, for her, then it would be wonderful for him, too.

They followed Gerta through the flopears’ valley and on into Serpent Valley. Here there were a few serpents shedding their skins in the bright morning sunshine. They wriggled on, into the higher hills and then into the mountain.

Here Gerta stopped. She stroked the monster’s snout with the flower, talking to it, telling it what a beautiful ancestor it was. Then she said, “Return, Ancestor. Return, live, thrive.”

Lonny noticed that Gerta was gone from the serpent’s sight. Going back home, she suspected. That left the two of them alone in the serpent, as it were.

Light from the eye ceased and all seemed black. The serpent was tunneling, its teeth crushing rock, boring into the mountain. “Oh, Kian!” Lonny cried out. “Isn’t this exciting!”

“Isn’t it, though.” He did not seem pleased with her. She would have to curb her enthusiasm until he understood.

“We’re together now!” she continued, though she knew she should wait for him to get better adjusted. But in her spirit form, or her serpent-residency form, she lacked the controls that her natural body had. She tended just to express herself without thinking. “We’re together, and—”

She began tasting what the serpent was tasting: a rich, sharp tang that her—its—instincts knew was silver. The serpent was dissolving the metal ore, digesting it with its acid. And she and Kian could taste it.

“Oh, Kian, oh—”

“It won’t last forever,” Kian said. It was grim the way he saw it; she felt the aura of his concept. “Even this enormous body can only hold so much.”

Behind them, the serpent’s digestive processes functioned, and wastes squirted. They had killed this creature, and now they had brought it back to life, their spirits replacing the one it had lost when it died. This notion would have horrified her before, but now she was part of the serpent’s new life, and it was all quite natural and even grand.

Oh, but she enjoyed the taste of silver. She loved the shivery feel of the scales sliding along the forming tunnel, the mighty body undulating, even the casting of wastes. She knew that Kian didn’t. Was it that all men were unappreciative, or was it just him? Yet she loved him just as she had when he had first come to her rescue. Her ignorance was being displaced by knowledge, but her emotion remained intact. Someday, when it was right, he would know and share.

“Gods, I hate that taste!”

Lonny sighed, nonphysically. Being with Kian in the interim might not be quite as much joy as she had imagined. It was said that those who got married soon enough discovered things in each other they didn’t like. She did not believe that, but she was beginning to wonder. Still, this was far better than having him leave her for another world.

But suppose, she thought uncomfortably, he somehow left her
here.
All alone in the serpent, shut away from all human contact, becoming daily more and more serpent, less and less human. She had come here to be eternally with him; without him, it might not be fun at all. She shivered, and it seemed to her that her shiver went out through the body they were in.

Unheeding, the great serpent tunneled on in the dark. It seemed that though their spirits might lend it strength for its recovery, it was not aware of their presence. It was an animal, however remarkable it might be.

*

Heeto stepped into the tent and looked down without surprise at their bodies. The girl had taken the berries, he feared, and now both of them were dead. Unless, of course, through some means he could not know about, they could wake again and live.

A fly buzzed. He swatted at it with his hand. He touched their faces: cold.

How long should he wait? A body would deteriorate if not alive. They would start to spoil and stink and then they would have to be buried. But until then, he’d wait.

Sighing regretfully, Heeto sank down by the bodies and prepared to wait out the entire day.

Chapter 10

Taken

JON HAD BROUGHT DOWN a goouck with what she knew was a lucky stone but what she pretended was only the skill that had saved her brother and the king from the evil sorcerer. Lester, shaking his head admiringly, had ridden across the river and fetched the big bird back. Mor had stood stroking his chin and pulling at his one-half ear and his full ear alternately, saying over and over, “I don’t believe it! Nobody’s that good with a sling! Nobody! A girl especially!” Now, somewhat later, the bird was a mouth-watering brown on the spit and the chauvinists and heroine alike watched as Heln, so unexpectedly expert at culinary skills, turned it, pausing now and then to savor the aroma.

Mor was there first with the big knife he had carried into war. He cut off a generous slice of the bread Yokes had brought them. He took a big sniff through his big nose, tried to bite into his repast, and burned his tongue. He moved back a way with his meal, and took up the bottle of rasple wine he had hidden from St. Helens. He took a swig, made a face, and then passed the bottle on to his son. Lester followed suit, though waiting just a bit on the bird. Jon sawed off another two hunks of bread from the generous-size loaf and joined Heln.

“He really should have waited,” Heln said, watching the juices trickle into the fire and make loud spats and tiny curls of steam. “It was bound to be hot.”

“Men!” Jon said, as though not a dedicated liberationist. “All they think about is their bellies and their—”

“JON!”

“Eh, horses.”

“Yes, horses.” Heln smiled. Jon was going to be a tomboy until she became a mother. Considering the way Lester and she doted on each other, that might not be such a long time. It was hard to think of Jon ever being a mother to anyone, but then she had proved herself to be an unusually gentle and caring nurse, a fact that must have gone a long way to winning a grateful Lester.

“Well, I’m going to try a slice.”

“Just don’t put it in your mouth too fast.”

“I won’t.”

Jon cut a slice of the white leg meat, preferring that to the dark meat of the breast. In that preference, at least, she was typically female.

Heln watched her march away to join the men where they were laughing over some joke and passing the wine back and forth. It was such a warm night that no one actually needed the fire to keep warm.

Heln fixed her own meal, scooped a few ashes onto the fire with the board she had for that purpose, and looked toward the rest of her party. They were laughing it up now, and Mor’s heehaw competed with his son’s more gentle laughter and Jon’s unfeminine thigh-slapping accompanied by giggles. Why couldn’t she enjoy this sort of camaraderie? Heln wondered. Somehow she couldn’t. Perhaps it had something to do with that Female Liberation her natural father had explained. Too many of the jokes people laughed at seemed to her to be demeaning rather than amusing. Sometimes she thought people laughed out of nervousness and embarrassment. Certainly she could never see humor in a supposed joke that centered on someone’s debasement. She suspected that having been brutally raped in the notorious Franklin Girl Mart and almost destroyed as a consequence affected her outlook.

Musing on how Kelvin had saved her in more than just a physical sense, Heln took her sandwich, dripping with hot goouck grease, along to the bank of the river. Such a nice night. So good to get out and just breathe. She appreciated the spicy smell of the pinruse trees and the water roslies growing pink and beautiful in the backwaters. There was the splashing of a raccossum in the shallows searching for crasters and other succulent water creatures. A fish popped out of the water with a splash, and a small wolok splashed eagerly after it. Night birds sang away in the woods, putting the calls and whistles of their daytime cousins to shame with their natural symphonies.

As she walked now, danger was the farthest thing from her mind. The war was over, unless of course her natural father could persuade enough Rudians to start it up with Aratex. In her heart Heln believed he would not prevail; people had had enough of war. Even Kelvin’s old comrades-in-arms, the Crumbs included, would not want to go through again what they had suffered for their homeland. Jon possibly, but then Jon seemed to have put all the agony of her torment by the sorcerer and the dwarf out of her mind. Jon, to hear her tell it, had spent the entire war rescuing her clumsy brother and insisting that he be brave and fulfill the prophecy. Jon was really something, and Heln quite understood when Kelvin, sometimes exasperated, would say with the hint of a sour growl, “But so what?”

Perhaps it was thinking about Jon and her boyish ways that made Heln assume that the stealthy footfalls were hers. It would be just like Jon to sneak up on her, she thought, though Jon knew Heln didn’t enjoy that sort of thing. Any moment there would be a bloodcurdling screech and Jon would leap out of concealment and grab her.

But there were two sets of footfalls. Two people behind? Something moved in the bushes ahead. Bearver? At night? Possibly, and if so, she should not just walk up to it.

Heln slowed her feet. Should she go back? Should she call out, hoping to scare the animal and alert her stalkers? And how could there be two, anyway? Lester wouldn’t participate in his wife’s foolishness, and neither would Mor. Besides, Mor was much too big and clumsy to sneak.

A shiver started at the base of Heln’s spine and traveled all the way up her back. Bandits? Within hiking distance of the capital?

A sudden hand around her mouth cut off her thought. She twisted half around and saw a face covered with a dark hood. The hood resembled a torturer’s in that it covered all but the eyes. Another arm was around her waist. Breath, redolent of onlic, puffed into her face.

“Be quiet and nothing will happen to you.”

She tried to believe this, but all she could think of was the physical and mental agony of rape. She had to scream out, she had to.

But there was no chance.

Back in the bushes, out of sight of the camp, a light appeared in the form of a shaded candle. Another dark figure stared into her face, again breathing onlic.

“Where is he?” the face demanded.

“Where’s—who?”

“St. Helens.”

“St. Helens? You want my father?” Heln was bewildered. She would not have imagined them after him.

The man looked close at her, moving the candle. “It
is
his daughter. Look at those ears!”

Someone moved nearer, looked, and nodded a hooded head.

“He left with my husband for—” Something warned her. “Some place.”

“Ah. And St. Helens will listen to reason if we have you.”

“No!” Had she made a mistake? Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that.

“Corry! Bemode! We’re taking her with us back to Aratex!”

The two men moved near. Both wore the dark hoods and dark clothing. Corry was tall; Bemode, wide. Corry took her by her left arm, Bemode by the right. The other man, the one who gave orders, walked ahead carrying the shaded candle.

They walked through the woods on a path probably pounded out by meer. The night birds still sang, as they did in nearly every forest. The moon and stars shone down through overlaps in the branches. As the trees thinned out along the path, the man walking ahead paused, raised the lantern, lifted its shade, and blew out the candle. Now it was only the natural light that showed their path.

“It’s not much farther now,” Corry whispered to her. “We’ll cross the river and then we’ll be in Aratex.”

“Shut up, Corry!” Bemode snapped.

They walked on in silence, except for the crunch of their footsteps and the sounds of the birds. They came out of the forest and paused long enough for the men to sweep the moonlighted banks with their eyes. No one was in sight as they stepped down into the water, and it swirled up cold around her ankles. She wished now that she had her boots. There was already a thorn in her right foot, picked up on the path.

The man carrying the dark lantern splashed ahead. Water rose up around his knees and then his waist. Still he splashed on, confident that he knew the river here and that no unseen ledge was about to trap him. Moving just behind him, propelled partially by the hands of the men on either side, Heln was thankful that she wore greenbriar pantaloons instead of skirts.

The man at the head of their procession reached the opposite shore and climbed up on the bank. As Heln started to follow she tripped and almost fell. Corry let go of her left hand, and she planted a knee and hand firmly in the mud before Bemode yanked her back to her feet. Well, at least she had left a sign, she thought, not bothering to comment.

The man with the lantern pushed back his hood, revealing dark hair and eyes in a stern face. Corry and Bemode pushed theirs back as well. Each of them seemed to be just a man. That was a certain relief, though not a great one; men were not as bad as supernatural creatures, but men were more apt to rape a woman. How well she knew!

Still unspeaking, the leader led the way up a bank and to four horses tethered in a small clearing. He made motions, and Corry and Bemode saddled and bridled the mounts while he stood watching her. She thought to run, but knew it would do no good. Even if she could outrun the men, she could never outrun a horse. If they had to chase her down and catch her, they would surely bind her and perhaps do much worse. Her best course for the moment was grudging cooperation.

Corry finished his work and led her to a mare. He helped her up and into the saddle, retaining his hold on the reins. The others joined them. All mounted. All rode.

They followed a road, well lighted by the moonlight, through towering cliffs that loomed up like tall bright sentinels. Past a huge rock with a road winding to its top. On through the night, no one speaking, and then they were approaching a palace with high gates. The gates were opened by guards wearing armor and swords, looking horribly formidable. Heln knew that her chance for escape was gone.

They rode to a stable and stopped while liveried attendants took charge of the horses and led the people inside.

“Well, Major?”

The tall man with the dark eyebrows had appeared so suddenly as to startle her despite her worn, frightened state. He looked her up and down. “This is his daughter?”

“Yes, General Ashcroft.” The major saluted; so did Corry and Bemode.

“Very well. At ease. I’ll take over now.” The general motioned for Heln to walk ahead of him, into the palace. She obeyed him, not certain whether this was normal procedure for the handling of prisoners. The sun was just coming up, lighting the palace and its grounds with the first pearly rays of day. They had traveled all night.

Inside, an aged servant escorted them across carpets and down a hall and into a bedchamber. There, sitting upright, eyes very wide, was the dark young man with the pimply face she knew to be His Royal Majesty King Phillip Blastmore.

“Your Majesty,” the general said. “Pardon the intrusion so early in the day. This is the daughter of your former companion, St. Helens of the round ears. She is also the wife of the upstart who destroyed Rud’s sorcerer and defeated Rud’s queen and ended her reign. He is known as Kelvin, the Roundear of Prophecy.”

The young king drew in a long, shaky breath. “Thank you, General Ashcroft. You have done well to bring her to me.”

Heln could feel Phillip’s eyes on her, and she did not like the feeling or his rosy blush. He was not a man grown, but he was of an age where his glands were telling him things. She distrusted this young monarch’s sly, almost timid expression, and the way his hands whitened where they gripped the bedclothing.

“Perhaps you would like me to leave her alone with you?”

“No! No, General Ashcroft.” Now the boy’s face was as red as a sunrise. “That won’t be necessary. Yet.”

“But you like her?”

“Yes.”

Heln knew herself to be a complete mess. Her legs were steeped in drying mud, her hair was in tangled disorder, and she was sure there was dirt all over her face. But she also knew that any man could see through such superficialities when he wanted to, and recognize her beauty. If the king liked her now, that meant real trouble the moment she got cleaned up—or before.

“Perhaps she would make a nice toy,” the general said. “A man your age needs toys, Your Majesty.”

“P-perhaps a queen? I need a queen.”

“Perhaps, Your Majesty.”

Heln jerked. She had been listening to their soft voices, watching their strange eyes, and now there could be no doubt of what they were discussing.

“But I’m married!” she exclaimed. “I have my husband!” Which was one way of reminding them that she was no virgin, though she feared that would not turn off this stripling king. Men cared a lot about virginity when they chose to, and not at all when they chose not.

“Husbands die,” Ashcroft purred. “Girls are widowed.”

So much for that feeble ploy. She knew already that she would do far better to pretend to forget all about her husband, no matter what that entailed. But she couldn’t.

She looked from one face to the other. She took a step back from the bed and then another step. She tried to move a third step, but General Ashcroft fixed her with his deep yellow eyes, and it was as if she were shackled to the floor.

“I suggest putting her in the guest chamber for now, Your Majesty. She can be watched there, and if you wish to visit her and play—”

“No, no. Not until after the royal wedding.”

Ashcroft’s heavy eyebrows drew down. It was evident that he thought of Heln as a hostage and a potential plaything for the king, not as a potential bride. “As Your Majesty wishes. And, of course, Melbah can prepare her some wine. She can forget the roundear in Rud, and even her father.”

Enchanted drink! That would ruin any chance at all for her to escape, assuming any existed. “No! No!” she shrieked, terrified.

“Yes, that will be fine, General. For now, she is my guest.”

“I don’t want to be your guest! I want to go home! I’m a roundear, can’t you understand? A
roundear!”
She yanked back her hair and showed her ears, making her status quite plain. Her ears had made her almost valueless at the Girl Mart.