The Book of Forbidden Wisdom (8 page)

 

T
he thing is this. If an arrow pierces your heart, or a horse stomps on your head, you're dead.

Sometimes, though, with drowning, a person has a second chance.

When I became conscious again, the only thing I could think about was being sick. Then I turned to my side and
was
sick. Copiously. A figure that had been hovering over me sat back. It was Trey; he had been holding my hand. Silky was holding my other hand. I didn't feel well at all.

“I let him touch you,” said Trey in a voice of anguish. “He said he might be able to make you breathe again. I wanted you to breathe again.”

“Well,” I croaked. “I'm breathing.”

I felt as if I were waking into a dream. We were on the far shore of the flooded river Wys, and, as I sat up and looked around, I saw that the bank we were on was, in fact, part of the Great North Way. It stretched on and on before me. This road was meant for us to take. Or, rather, I meant for us to take this road.

Bran and Squab and Jasmine were cropping the grass, and the sun was quickly drying them. Nearby was the horse I had seen as I was being swept away. It was a scraggy beast with a notched ear—­color: undistinguished. The question of where the rider had acquired the horse probably didn't bear much scrutiny.

I knew the rider at once, of course.

“He pulled you out of the water,” said Trey. “I couldn't get to you. Silky tried too, but I had to keep her from being swept away.”

“Then that man,” said Silky, “took you to the bank and squished the water
right out
of you. Trey was going to punch him for touching you, but
I
wouldn't
let
him.”

“My chest hurts,” I said.

My rescuer spoke.

“Your heart didn't start right away. I had to pound on your breastbone.”

Silky wiped away her tears with the dripping hem of her riding skirt. “He hit you really hard,” she said. “Until he got you
alive
again.”

“I'm grateful,” I said. He seemed surprised at my words.

He knew me, too, of course.

Silky lowered her voice as she spoke to me. “I'm
certain
he's landless,” she said. “Look at his clothes. Maybe he's even a
vagabond
.”

I looked at her, my head tilted to one side.

“Don't be silly, Silky,” I said. “He's the Bard who sang at my wedding.”

There was a pause.

“The one who barged in and needed to get
paid
?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. For a moment I searched my memory. “The bard who was passing through and sang when Bard Cal couldn't. The Bard.”

It was as if, at that moment, I had Named him. We all referred to him as the Bard from then on. I eventually learned that his name was Renn, but it made no difference. To us, he was the Bard.

“You sound as though you're feeling better,” said Trey.

“Actually,” I said, “I feel horrible.”

“You sound a
lot
better,” said Silky. “For a while you were
dead
.”

I laughed weakly and tried to get to my feet. Silky started to lean down to help me. Trey just looked at me, distressed. All his training was keeping him from doing what I knew he wanted to do—­put his arm under my shoulders and help me to my feet and support me as I stood. But there were too many taboos—­my hair was as unkempt as if I'd come from bed, and I realized, with deep embarrassment, that my dress was clinging to me in a way that left little to the imagination.

I wished I could tell Trey to go ahead and help me, but I knew better. It changed nothing that I was cold and that I wanted his warmth.

I stayed silent—­

—­and the Bard left his crop-­eared horse, came over to us and pulled me to my feet.

His grip was firm, and his arm was warm, and the act was done before I could protest.

Trey was immediately angry with the Bard, and I didn't blame him.

“The Lady Angel didn't say you could touch her,” he said. “And you can move on now instead of following us.”

The Bard released me. I was wobbly on my feet, but Silky was there to help me stay upright.

“I wasn't following,” said the Bard. “I was going the same way. That's all. I found the shallow grave a day back. Who's in it?”

“A man who asked too many questions,” said Trey.

“I assume the Lady's running away,” said the Bard. “Most exciting wedding I've ever been at. But now I'll go if that's what you want—­I'm certainly no company for those from Great Houses.”

I looked at him more closely. There was mockery in his tone and defiance in his blue eyes and a whole world of experience in his classically beautiful face. I remembered trying to calculate his age at the wedding. He was older than I. Older than Trey. Maybe he was twenty-­five. And—­bad timing is all—­I was suddenly, strangely and irrevocably drawn to him.

I didn't like any of it. I didn't like the way I had felt when he had helped me up. His arm had been comforting and strong, but I didn't want his comfort or strength. I didn't want those feelings.

But what I liked or what I didn't like no longer mattered. The Bard had saved my life. Our ways, I knew, were forever intertwined.

Two chance meetings are not chance.

“What are you doing on the Great North Way?” asked Trey. “Surely you're not going to Shibbeth.”

“When the pickings are lean here,” said the Bard, “yes, I sometimes go to Shibbeth. I know the country. But I wouldn't worry about me if I were you. You have a lot more to think about. These woods are full of ­people, and I presume they're hunting you.”

“It's not your business,” said Trey.

“Then it's none of my business that I'm not the only one who saw that grave.”

“What do you mean?” Trey demanded.

The Bard shrugged. “Horsemen came and dug the fellow up. I felt sorry for the landless who handled the body—­they're all tainted now. That's the only reason they're so far behind you. The purification rituals. The long ones, that use no water.”

“I didn't think they'd go on the Great North Way,” I said. “Ghosts.”

“Oh, they seem superstitious enough,” said the Bard. “But they're trailing you along both sides of the road. There's only one place you'll be safe.”

“Where would that be?” asked Trey.

“You need to pass the Cairns of Shibbeth. They won't dare follow you into Shibbeth. Unless they have land there—­and permits to come and go.”

“My brother knows Shibbeth,” I said. “And he has land there.”

Trey looked thoughtful. “I don't think Kalo's with Leth,” he said. “And Leth won't pass into Shibbeth if there's the chance that a border patrol will pick up him and his riders. The ‘Lidans don't like strangers. And they show it.”

“What if a border patrol picks
us
up?” asked Silky.

“You're probably safe way out here,” said the Bard. “But I doubt your almost-­groom knows that.”

Suddenly I knew we would end up roading together. We needed someone who knew Shibbeth. Besides, I wasn't ready to leave this Bard behind, prickly though he was, with his deep mocking eyes and the bold way he had reached down and helped me.

It may have been true that bards were like vagabonds, one step above outlaws, really, a caste so low it almost didn't count as a caste, a caste forbidden from marriage to the landed, from carrying weapons, from fraternizing with nobility. These things were so.

But it occurred to me, too, that these things were true not because bards were below us but because they were beyond us. We wouldn't know how to include them even if they had wished to be included.

“I suppose you want to come with us,” said Trey to the Bard. “I suppose you want the job of guide.”

I thought Trey was being rude.

“I wouldn't call you very safe company,” said the Bard. “Not given your pursuers. But what does the Lady Angel say?”

I reddened. But I spoke clearly. “You know Shibbeth,” I said. “If you keep us safe, we can pay you on our return to Arcadia. We can pay you well then.”

The Bard laughed. “So you don't have the money now,” he said. “And I can't help but wonder under what circumstances you would ever be able to return to Arcadia. But I suspect we'll end up roading together nonetheless.”

Trey looked angry.

“The Lady Angel is offering you her company,” he said at his stiffest. “And that's something more valuable than anything you own.”

But that wasn't true. The Bard had held my life in his hands, and he had given it back to me. His action was above the value of things.

And I realized then that I would never be able to thank this Bard by paying him off with jewels or giving him the freedom of my lands. I would never be able to thank him enough: the debt ran deep, more deep than any I had ever known. And then, as it sometimes was, the future was there, and I reached out for it, and it was as if I could touch it, and somewhere there, in the darkness of time, were my thanks.

The great wheel turns.

 

PART II

 

T
he Bard joined us, but not before further infuriating Trey.

“I'll get you through Shibbeth,” the Bard said. “The roads are easy enough to traverse, but you might need some help with the customs.”

“That's kind,” I said.

“We're paying him, Angel,” said Silky.

Trey gave a snort.

“I notice there's nothing to put in my purse just yet,” said the Bard. “But having saved the Lady Angel, I feel I have some sort of obligation to keep her alive.”

I almost smiled, until I saw Trey's face. For his sake, I spoke.

“You go beyond the bounds,” I said, and I saw Trey relax.

“I do that sometimes,” said the Bard. “But nobody complained when you came back to life.”

“Bard,” said Silky, “you're being
fresh
.”

“Enough,” I said, but I couldn't help one tiny smile, just to myself. And then I saw that the Bard was looking at me, and he was smiling back.

We mounted. The Bard made a move to help me, but Trey forestalled him; nor would he let the Bard so much as touch Silky's foot to help her up.

Then we were on the Great North Way, and Shibbeth lay ahead.

Leth may have been trailing us, but there was no sign of him. We moved at a good pace—­the Bard's crop-­eared horse had stamina—­and soon we had left the river Wys far behind us. It grew hot. I hoped that Leth's horses were as tired as ours—­and that it would take his troops some time to ford the river Wys.

We kept going.

My breastbone hurt as we rode, and I had to keep wiping my nose as the water of the river Wys leaked out of it in a small, continuous stream. In the heat Silky drooped like a flower plucked too long ago. Trey and the Bard were silent; I could see the marks of fatigue on both of them.

Then, as we went over a rise, I saw something shimmering in the heat waves on the horizon. At first I thought I was seeing small hills.

After an hour, we seemed no closer to the forms. Whether it was through some trick of the eye or because of the midday glare, it was only when we were considerably closer to them that I realized that these were no hills. These were the work of ‘Lidan land slaves.

We had reached the great Cairns that marked the borders of Shibbeth.

The ‘Lidan Cairns were frightening in their size. They loomed over the desolate landscape, and they cast inky shadows onto the flat brown ground. I knew from legend that one couldn't climb them; they were solid things of mortar and stone smoothed to a flat surface by those who had built them. No one could take or add a pebble, as one could with the small welcoming Arcadian Cairns that were at most crossroads, and no one would mistake them for guides to the lost or signs of hospitality.

In both directions, they just went on and on and on.

“Shibbeth,” said the Bard.

“Can we go back?” asked Silky. Trey sighed, and I shook my head. There was no going back. There could be no patched wedding to Leth to save my reputation, my standing, my wealth. The sole ceremony Leth and Kalo were interested in was that of execution.

Our only hope of return lay in finding
The Book of Forbidden Wisdom
. Kalo had probably thought for a long time of the land deeds it contained—­deeds to thousands and thousands of hectares of unclaimed Arcadian land. The contents of
The
Book
might just be enough to satiate even Kalo's voracious land greed. And once rich beyond his dreams, Kalo would, in the end, call off Leth. Leth might feel betrayed, dishonored and even jealous, but ­people tended to listen to Kalo.

I would let Kalo have his happy avaricious ending, and I would marry Trey and so give Silky a home and have a patched up sort of honor again.

Perhaps the Bard could sing at our wedding.

I liked thinking about the Bard.

I couldn't seem to help it. I thought about his bringing me back to life—­my chest continued to hurt where he had pounded on it. I turned in the saddle to look at him, and his deep-­colored eyes immediately met mine. His mouth turned up into an almost smile, and the thought came into my mind:
This is a man who might prove dangerous to me.

“Angel.” Trey's voice was sharp, and I realized I had been about to guide Jasmine into a gorse bush.

“Sorry,” I said.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Clearly I'm not,” I said.

“Why are you
blushing
?” asked Silky.

“It's hot, Silky,” I said. “My face is red. It means nothing. I'm tired and hot and exhausted.” I looked at the Bard. “And I just drowned,” I added.

“Do you want to stop and rest?” Trey was obviously concerned. I wanted to hit him.

“No,” I said. “I don't need to rest.”

We were in a scrubby, lightly wooded area, but ahead of us, about a mile between us and the Cairns, the land had been cleared—­and obviously kept clear—­of all brush. The purpose was obvious to me: it would be easy to spot anyone trying to go from Arcadia to Shibbeth.

We were going to have to cross that flat open land. There would be no way to hide from Leth if he were behind us.

“Is this
safe
?” asked Silky, also seeing what I saw. “It seems so wide open.”

“It's safe enough,” said Trey.

“No,” said the Bard. “It's not.”

“We don't have a lot of alternatives,” said Trey.

He and the Bard glared at each other. Silky looked puzzled.

“Well,” she said, “it can't be safe
and
unsafe.”

The Bard began to speak, but I gestured for silence.

I could hear something. And I saw something, too. The birds were rising, rank by rank, from the trees far behind us. Closer now, they wheeled into the sky, stirred up by something below.

“They're coming,” I said.

The wide, clear area between the looming Cairns and us now looked terribly exposed. There wasn't even grass covering the dirt; it had been burned back; I could see charring on the earth. We hesitated at the edge. Jasmine could feel the conflict within me, and she began shaking her head, pulling at the bit, backing up and then moving forward.

“You and Silky,” said Trey. He was trying to get Bran to turn away from the scorched earth, away from Shibbeth. “Go. Now. I'll keep them busy.”

“We all go,” I said to Trey. “We're not losing anyone to them. Not here. Not now. We ride together, or I'm not going to go.”

Trey paused, but then nodded his head. Yes. He knew me.

“But,” he said, “the packhorse won't make it.” He dismounted and hauled saddlebags from the animal's back. A moment later, he put one of the bags across Jasmine's withers. The Bard's Crop Ear got two saddlebags, as did Bran. Trey left the rest on the ground—­Squab would be hampered by an extra burden—­and, after stripping the packhorse of saddle and bridle, he released it.

The animal stood there, ears pricked forward. Waiting.

“When they find the horse,” I said, “they'll know we're here.”

“They already know we're here,” said Trey. He remounted. “Let's go.”

“Come
on,
” said Silky, but still I hesitated.

“This is your chance to leave,” I said to the Bard. He turned his strange eyes on me.

“Time and chance have thrown our lots together,” he said.

“That's poetic,” I said, “but you'd better get out of here now.”

“No,” he said. “I haven't engaged in a last-­chance gallop in a while. In fact, not ever.”

“Come on, Angel,” said Trey.

“Yes,” said Silky. “I can
hear
something.” She was hearing the wild clamor of the birds taking flight. And possibly my heart beating against my ribs.

“You can hide,” I said to the Bard. “They'll only be looking for us.”

“They'd find me, Lady Angel,” the Bard said. “And they'd make me talk.”

He was right. Our futures apparently lay together, and I knew then that we were tangled in some intricate design that I didn't understand.

Birds continued to rise from the trees in flocks—­we must have been near some venerable nesting place. The sky grew black with them, and their cries were raucous. They were terrified by something below.

I gathered Jasmine.

“All right,” I said. “Let's go.” I gave Jasmine her head. Trey, Silky and the Bard were only moments behind me. Together we rode for it.

By the time we had all crossed onto the barren ground, we were at a hard gallop. The birds wheeled overhead.

We pounded across the open land. Silky was keeping up with me on Squab. Trey and the Bard were slightly behind us. Chivalry. I wanted to be chivalrous and heroic, too, but I had to get Silky across the border. I had to keep her safe.

And then the rising birds flew out of the last bit of cover.

I turned my head as men on horseback burst out of the trees on either side of the ancient road. I saw Leth, who, in a kind of fury, seemed to have given up on superstition and was in a flat-­out gallop down the
middle
of the Great North Way. He whipped his horse cruelly. I realized that all along his fair face had concealed a deeply embedded brutality. I should have watched the way he treated animals. I should have found out if he gave charity to vagabonds. I should have taken notice of how he spoke to his servants.

Those shallow eyes had kept me focused on his shallow courtesy.

I could not bear the sight of him. And, indeed, I didn't have time to stare at him; I could only hope we could stay ahead and that we were all moving too fast for crossbows to be effective.

We were going flat out. I fixed my eyes on the Cairns in front of us, and I despaired. They seemed to come no closer. They shimmered in the heat; they were no longer something forbidden and foreboding; they beckoned, offering safety.

I focused on Jasmine's stride. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I could see Squab beginning to lag. I was swept with fear. I wouldn't let Silky be taken alone.

“Stop them,” screamed Leth. I could hear the pounding of hooves, the jingle of bridles, even the squeaking of leather as they gained on us. Above, the birds called and cried as if to mock us.

The Cairns looked closer now.

But maybe not close enough.

We were really going all out now. For a moment Silky fell no further behind, and we rode as one. And then Squab lost more momentum. I turned my head and screamed at her.

“Hit him,” I yelled. Silky shook her head. I was frantic. “Hit him! Now.”

And Silky, her face as pale as milk, pulled her crop from her boot and smacked Squab on the rump. In a second, he was up with us again. As I had turned to Silky, I had seen arrows in the air, but they all seemed to be falling short.

And then the Cairns were no longer a shimmer in the distance; they were in front of us. We galloped without looking behind; my breathing was labored, and Jasmine was slathered with foam.

At last we surged forward between two of the great standing Cairns of Shibbeth.

Into the land of the ‘Lidans.

Leth and his men had to pull up hard not to cross the boundary—­so hard that two of the horses went down. I felt elated, but I knew that this was not the end. Leth—­and Kalo—­would find another way to get at me. But for now Leth didn't dare enter. He didn't have enough at stake to risk being taken by the ‘Lidans.

We did.

“Harlot!” Leth screamed at me. “Harlot! Whore!”

We kept riding hard until we could no longer make out what he was saying, and the Cairns were well to our backs.

And I thought,
So this is Shibbeth. This is the forbidden country.

“W
e can give the horses a breather now,” said Trey.

I dismounted, but Trey remained in the saddle, and I realized he had the reins in the wrong hand.

“Let me see your arm,” I said, and he turned so that I could.

“Oh,
Trey,
” said Silky.

A bolt from a crossbow had pierced the flesh of his upper arm; it had opened the muscle in a wide gash. Trey swayed in the saddle. In a moment, the Bard was at his side, helping him down, and I felt a great relief.

To help Trey dismount, I would have had to take his whole weight on me.

I tried to turn my mind elsewhere. I focused on the injury.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“It looks
bad,
” said Silky.

“I'll be fine,” said Trey. The Bard eased him to the ground. The two of them spoke in low voices. The Bard ripped Trey's sleeve open and examined the gash.

“We set up camp here,” the Bard said to Silky and me, and he began taking the saddlebags off Bran and then Jasmine. “Do your skills stretch to making a fire, Lady Silky?” he asked.

“Not really,” she said. “
Sorry
.”

“Then you get to handle the horses,” said the Bard. “I'll get the fire.”

“What about Trey?” I asked.

“I thought that would be your job,” said the Bard. “Squeamish?”

“No.”

I wasn't squeamish, but examining a wound, touching hurt flesh, would have been too intimate an act even if I'd had a sanctioned chaperone at hand. The Bard should have known that.

“Come,” the Bard said to me. Silky had stopped unsaddling the horses and was watching us.

“Why don't you just leave her be,” said Trey wearily. “I'm fine.”

“He's not fine,” said the Bard and reached out and took my hand. I snatched it back.

“If I wanted to hold hands with you,” he said, “I would try charm.” The Bard sounded annoyed. He looked closely at my hand again, although this time he didn't attempt to touch me.

“You have small fingers,” he observed.

The horses were left standing as Silky trailed over to us.