Tales of Neveryon (30 page)

Juni vaulted over, then turned back to give Norema a hand. Norema grabbed among the leaves either side of the fissure – one hand closed on stone, the other, just on leaves – and pulled herself through.

They stood at the edge of a brambley field in moonlight. There were only one, two – no, three trees. One leaned almost to the ground, half its branches bare as pikes.

On the other side of the field, looking like a small mountain, parts of which had been quarried vertical, other parts of which sloped irregularly, was a castle.

Norema said: ‘This orchard – or park – doesn’t seem to be in use right now.’

Juni looked at Raven and said: ‘You’re right. She doesn’t know.’

Raven said: ‘All the grounds within the walls look like this. Or worse.’

‘Then perhaps the orchards that give the sap that makes the balls are outside the walled grounds –’ She frowned. ‘Raven, are you trying to tell me there
aren’t
any orchards?’

‘Come. Let’s go across into the castle.’

Norema frowned again: ‘Won’t some of the guards or servants … ’

Raven said: ‘They didn’t when I was here earlier today.’

Juni said: ‘There are no guards. Or servants,’ then looked quickly back and forth between the two women.

‘Come,’ Raven said again and started through the brush.

Once Norema nearly tripped over some fallen piece of statuary, then again over a plow-head on cracked shafts.
A ditch wormed through the meadow with silver trickling its bottom. Norema, Juni, then Raven leaped it, Norema’s sandals and Raven’s and Juni’s bare feet sinking in the soft black bank.

A balustrade rose, cleaving the moon.

‘That door’s open.’ Juni pointed.

‘How do you know?’ Norema squinted at shadowed stone.

Juni said: ‘My cousin says it’s been open since before I was born. I live with my cousin up on the hill,’ said this ragged little thing who had to be at least twelve. Again they were both off after Raven.

It was attached only by the top hinge and leaned askew, its gray planks scratched and carved at. The steps behind it were a-crunch with leaves; and the crunches echoed ahead of them up the stone corridor.

‘Won’t somebody …
hear
us?’ Norema asked once more with failing conviction.

Neither Raven nor Juni answered. Norema hurried up behind them. They ducked through another arch: more moonlight, leaves, stone. They stood in some roofless hall, its pavings webbed with grass. Here and there the flooring was pushed aside by some growing bush. Broad steps near them went up to what may once have been – yes, that was certainly some ivy-grown dragon, carved and coiled about some giant seat.

‘Now,’ said Raven, ‘doesn’t this look exactly like what you’d expect of the castle of a great southern lord who had just taken a trip south only three days ago on an unexpected mission?’

‘No one has stayed in this castle for years!’ Norema said.

‘My cousin stayed here once. For a night. With two of his friends – five years ago. They dared each other to sleep
here. Only just before sunrise, they got scared and all ran away, back to their homes. That was when they were as old as I am now. But nobody lives in Lord Aldamir’s castle.’

‘You mean there
is
no Lord Aldamir?’ Norema asked. ‘But what’s happened to him? And how did he send Bayle’s master a message to come?’

Raven’s laughter cackled in the hall. ‘The balance between the various aristocratic factions in your strange and terrible country is far too complex for the likes of me or you ever to unravel. Clearly it suits someone to have various factions in Kolharia – probably factions beneath the Eagle – think that there is still some heat left to the dragon in the south. Perhaps they pay our little feyers there to dispatch the occasional messenger to Nevèrÿon with an invitation to join in some profitable scheme with the great southern Lord. A naïve child like Bayle journeys down to the Garth, and here is told that his Lordship was unexpectedly called away; and the youngster returns by the next boat with tales of the absent Lord’s might, given over to him throughout a day of entertainment by a host of drunken, garrulous priests.’

‘But they
didn’t
expect me,’ said Norema.

‘Nor me,’ said Raven. ‘Unless, as the lady said, Lord Aldamir expects everyone.’

‘Now Bayle will carry the tale of Lord Aldamir back to Kolhari –’

‘– where no doubt,’ said Raven, ‘rumor will wind its way, up from the ports to the High Court of Eagles itself, that various business operations have been briefly delayed between Lord Aldamir and a waterfront potter. And for business relations to be delayed, there must be businessmen to begin with. The one thing that the rumor will not make them doubt is Lord Aldamir’s existence.’

‘But what do we do with this information now we have it?’ Norema asked. ‘Wouldn’t it be dangerous to carry it back to Kolhari?’

‘Ours is a very strange kind of information.’ Raven went over to the wall, folded her arms, and leaned there. ‘It is far easier to argue that something nobody believes in actually exists than it is to argue that something everybody believes in is unreal. And the general consensus in Nevèrÿon
is
that there is a Lord Aldamir.
I
would not want to be the one to have to return to Lord Krodar and tell him that the man he sent me to assassinate is a figment of his imagination. And if you tell your mistress that, you just see what happens: first, she will say you had the wrong castle, then the wrong seaport, or even the wrong boat. I’d say, rather, stick to the tale we were told to tell – that Lord Aldamir was suddenly called away and we could gain no audience. Now come and let us wander these deserted halls, these abandoned stairs, these cramped and damp cells and high chambers where history has left off happening. I want to explore this absent aristocrat from every side – in case I ever
do
meet him and need to jab a blade into his absent gut.’ Raven uncrossed her arms and started off across the littered floor.

Juni and Norema looked at each other. The little girl darted forward after the masked assassin. Norema, chills prickling thigh and shoulder, followed.

For the next several hours they wandered into this room and that one, nearly silent the time. In one cell Juni accidentally kicked up an old tinder box; in another, Norema recognized an oil jar, still sealed with wax. So they made brands and carried them, flickering and smoking, through the darker chains of chambers.

In a kitchen midden they saw old pots and knives. Minutes later, Raven, standing in the small kitchen garden
(a few vegetables were still recognizable in the moonlight despite the weeds), announced she was hungry, pulled out her sword, and turned to hack the head from a rather large hare that had leaped on to the stone wall to watch them.

‘Juni,’ Norema said, astonishing herself with the authority she mustered, ‘run back inside and get that pan I was just examining. Here, no, give me your torch,’ and, with two torches in one hand, she bent to yank up some tubers whose taste she knew. ‘Those rocks will make a fireplace – and Juni, bring back a jar for water. I’m sure that stream down there is fresh … ’

Raven sat down on a flat rock to watch, her hands on her knees, while Norema, in a panic of relief, now that she had something to take charge of, to organize, to
do
, began concocting an ersatz meal of rabbit, parsnips, and kale.

‘Throw me the guts,’ Raven said suddenly, while Norema, with a knife whose handle was as ornate as the feyer’s cups that afternoon, was busy sawing joints.

Juni, returning with the water jar on her hip, asked: ‘Can you read the future in the guts of hares?’ Water sloshed from the brim, wetting the girl’s thin, knobby wrist in moonlight.

Raven said: ‘I am going to make a length of cord. There’s no need in letting such things waste in this strange and terrible land,’ and she fell to work over the bloody offal, milking out chyme, plucking away vein-webbed peritoneum, and stretching out the wet intestinal tract, thinner and thinner – which made Norema busy herself the more intently with the stew.

Juni, after watching Raven and ignoring Norema for fifteen minutes, said: ‘You have hands like a man.’

Raven’s bloody knuckles slipped one on another as she stretched and flexed and stretched. ‘No. In this strange and terrible land, most men have hands like women.’ A
masked monkey, she squatted, pulling and pulling, the thinned gut growing in a coil on the stone between her feet.

In Norema’s pan, oil sputtered and frothed as handfuls of cubed meat went in; bubbles sped to the copper rim and burst. Norema put in a handful each of white and green vegetables that had been cut up on the flat rock by the fire, which left a large spot of darker gray than the rock around, irregular as a mapped island.

Grayed in moonlight, with a few orange tongues chattering over the pan’s edge, the food went golden.

Raven laid one stained hand on her cabled thigh; with the other she picked up the coil to examine it.

Juni said: ‘My mother, when she was alive, said girl children were a curse and a burden to a poor widow.’ Then she asked; ‘Did your mother weep and curse at your birth because she wanted a boy?’

The dark lips and chin – all that was visible under the fraying rag – turned to the girl, looking far more serious than eyes alone. The nostril edges, with threads hanging beside them, flared; the lips pulled back from stained teeth, and laughter suddenly barked. ‘My mother, when I was born and she saw I was a woman-child, got up still dangling the bloody rope between her legs – which could not have been easy, as I am supposed to have come out sideways – took up her ceremonial plow blade (and those things are heavy) and beat twelve times on the bronze gong that hangs on the wall. (We only beat it once if it’s a boy.) Then she went back to her pallet, cooing and cuddling and proud as a tiger. Outside in the hall, her men ceased their chanting and gave a yowl of joy, and for the next three days walked around clicking their long nails on every pot and pan in the place. They’d yowl for a boy, too. But they
wouldn’t
click their nails!’

‘Then why,’ asked Juni, as if it followed logically, ‘do you wear that mask?’

‘Oh.’ Raven turned the coil of string in her hands, then put it down. ‘I suppose because I grew up short and scrawny, like the smallest and thinnest of my mother’s men. Ah, yes. I remember that man, too. He was a shy, tiny, beautiful man. He tried to teach me to be an acrobat. Almost succeeded, too. Oh, I loved him, and he was always kind to me. Sideways … that’s probably why I’ve never wanted a baby. It’s a hard way to do it and they say such things are passed down among women.’

‘They are not,’ said Norema, stirring faster. ‘Don’t fill the child’s head with nonsense.’ Then she asked Juni: ‘Did your mother weep and curse over you?’

‘I don’t have a mother,’ Juni said patly. ‘I told you, I live with my cousin. But she has two girls of her own. That’s what she says,’ and then back to Raven: ‘How do you keep from having children?’

Raven laughed. ‘When do you pass your blood? At the full moon, like me?’ She glanced up (Norema noticed the ivory orb was gibbous): ‘Well, then, you count off from the eleventh to the sixteenth day after that: and during those five days you refrain from tackling little boys in the fields and bringing them down in the furrows. Besides, despite what we are always saying in the women’s barracks, little boys actually appreciate being left alone from time to time.’

‘What about,’ said Norema, prying up something from the bottom of the pan that had started to stick, ‘the big boys here who tackle you?’

‘Well, yes, this part of the world has some very strange men in it who do things like that. I suppose a quick –’ and here Raven rose in a single motion and brought her knee sharply up. ‘If you do that to them, right to the tender
scars of Eif’h, they’ll think twice, believe me, before tackling again. Really, this strange and terrible land is quite unbelievable to me.’ Once more she sat.

‘Why do women pass blood?’ the little girl asked.

Norema pushed the pan to a slightly cooler spot and wondered if they would get a recounting of Jevim’s perils. But Raven said:

‘The three or four days you pass blood are to get rid of the nonsense one picks up in the five days of heavy responsibility between moons.’

Norema, at the fire, laughed. ‘There are times, Raven, you make me wonder if the women in this country don’t have an awful lot of nonsense to get rid of.’

‘We always used to say, in the barracks,’ said Raven, a perfectly incomprehensible leer beneath her mask: ‘Save that blood for the boys. They can only take it in. They can never give it out. And that’s why ’men have so much more nonsense about them than women.’

Which made Norema open her mouth, nearly drop her knife into her stew, then close it again. ‘And do you have to repeat your … barrack-room talk in front of a child! Really …’ She took a breath; and then found herself smiling behind and through the frown. ‘I’ve noticed something about you, Raven. Whenever you talk and there aren’t men around, you get down to the body very quickly. I think that’s because you are a kind of barbarian.’

‘But you are the barbarian. Besides, in your country here, barbarians come from even further south than we are. At any rate, there
is
no civilization where the men cannot grow their nails. I am the civilized one.’ And brought her hand up to her mouth to bite at one of hers.