Shadows Return (45 page)

The rhekaro immediately shrank back from him, eyes fixed on the long pointed blade.

“What are you playing at?” the man demanded, reaching for a cudgel on the floor beside him.

Alec came in and went to Sebrahn. “Let me do it.”

The woman peered at them from the folds of her shawl and let out a trembling cry. She uncovered her head and turned her face to the firelight.

“You’re Aurлnfaie,” Seregil said, in that language. Worn and hollow-eyed from hard living, she still had the fine features of his kind. She also had a large bruise under one eye.

“I was,” she whispered. “I thought you must be, and now I see the boy.” She held out her right forearm, showing them an elaborate, flower-shaped brand mark there, as well as bruises left by rough, large fingers. “I’m a freedwoman. This is my man, Karstus. I’m Tiel. Please, can you really help my girl?”

“I hope so.” Alec pricked the rhekaro’s finger and let several drops fall into the bowl. Two dark blue flowers floated up. When Sebrahn placed them on the affected foot, they both disappeared as soon as they touched the hot, discolored flesh. He held his finger over the bowl again and made another. This one he placed on her mouth, where the same thing happened, but this time her eyes opened and she looked up at him in sleepy confusion. “Where’s Mama?”

Her mother let out a happy sob and crawled over to take her daughter’s hand.

But Sebrahn was still busy, making more flowers and putting them on the girl’s foot and leg.

A sweet fragrance filled the air as, one by one, they disappeared.

Ilar crept in and knelt just inside the door, making the husband a humble bow.

“How many of you are there?” Karstus growled, suspicious again.

“That’s all of us,” Seregil replied, shooting Ilar a dark look.

“Oh, look!” Tiel exclaimed, with no eyes for anyone but her daughter. The swelling was already noticeably lessened, and the angry red streaks that had extended up her shin were fading.

“Oh, thank Aura.”

“Don’t cry, Mama. It doesn’t hurt so much now,” the girl said.

“By the Flame,” her father grunted, gripping the cudgel in both hands now. “What sort of sorcery is this?”

“What’s he saying? Why is he still angry?” Alec whispered.

“Stay calm,” Seregil told him quietly. Then, to the man, “It’s a healing, that’s all. See? Your girl is better. She’ll be up tending the goats for you before the next full moon.”

“That may be, but I still don’t like the look of your little one, there. I’ve never seen a natural child do such things, or look like that. He’s a demon, sure enough. How do I know you’re not a pack of necromancers, come for my soul?”

Seregil held up his hands in a gesture of peace. “No, we’re not. I swear it by Sakor.”

“What does it matter what they are? He healed our Saria!” his wife cried, clinging to her daughter’s hand. The younger girls had retreated to a corner and were clinging to each other there, watching Seregil and their father with wide, frightened eyes.

“What now?” Alec murmured, staying close to Sebrahn; he didn’t have to understand the words being spoken to tell that the situation was going sour.

“Let me handle it,” Seregil muttered back in Skalan. “Master Karstus, we’ve done you a good turn tonight, and we ask nothing in return but a scrap of food and some directions. We’re making for the coast.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “So that’s how it is, is it? If I was to look at your right arm, what would I see, eh?”

Seregil glanced at the bruised and fearful wife. “You were a slaver yourself?”

“Never!” Karstus pushed back his right sleeve and showed Seregil a large double brand, gone white with age. Then he shifted on his pallet and stuck out his left leg. It was just a stump. “I was born to slavery, me, and kept until I was no use anymore. I found my woman starving on the road after her kind master freed her and turned her out with nothing.” He pushed himself up on his good leg with the help of the cudgel. “Do you think you’re the first escaped slaves to break for the Strait?”

Seregil looked sharply over his shoulder at Ilar. “Did you know?”

“No, I swear it.”

“For what that’s worth,” Alec muttered.

“How far is it to the coast?” Seregil asked the man.

“Two or three days, maybe.”

“Any towns?”

“Just steadings like this one, far as I know. Goats are the only things that thrive out here.

Goats and freedmen.”

Seregil retrieved his bundle from Ilar and took out a few pieces of the silver jewelry he’d found in the attic, and one of the little gold lockets. “If slavers come by here, will this be enough to make certain you never saw us?”

“That sword of yours is enough,” Karstus replied, scowling.

Seregil tossed the trinkets on the closest pallet. “For your girls, then. And any advice you’d give.”

“Due south should bring you to the coast. There’s a little port along there somewhere, called Vostaz. Slave takers’ll be thickest there. South and west will get you to the ocean in three days or four, maybe. There are some fishing villages ’round there. If you’re handy at stealing and sailing, you might get off. The takers’ll be watching there, too, but there’s less of ’em.”

“Is there no better way?” Ilar demanded.

“Not for any purebloods like you two, or that yellow-haired boy. Or that.” He made another sign at Sebrahn.

Seregil held out his branded arm. “Do you know anyone who can fix this?”

Karstus shook his head. “There ain’t enough money in that pack of yours to buy that of anyone in this part of the world. We’ve seen too many drawn and quartered who tried.”

His wife leaned close and whispered in his ear. He scowled at her, then shook his head. “Do what you will, woman!”

Tiel went to the makeshift kitchen at the back of the room and placed a loaf of coarse bread and some sausages into a clean rag.

Alec went to her and held out the cheese they’d stolen. “I’m sorry we took this without asking.”

But she only raised an eyebrow at him, then cut half and added it to the bundle. Knotting it, she put it in Alec’s hands. “We’ve enough to spare, brothers. Thank you for saving my daughter.

I’ll always be grateful, and so will she.”

“What clan are you, sister?” asked Seregil.

“Akhendi.”

“I know the khirnari there. Can I bring any word to your people?”

She gave him a sad smile and shook her head. “Tell them that Tiel д Elasi is dead.”

Her words haunted them as they set out again.

“They’re so poor. I feel guilty, taking their food,” Alec said, though the smoky aroma of the goat sausage in Seregil’s bundle was already making all of them hungry.

“We gave them back their daughter,” Seregil said with a shrug.

“And you think that will make any difference if the slave takers come pounding on their door?” Ilar scoffed. “There’s always a bounty, you know, as well as swift retribution for those who aid runaways.”

“Then it would be better for them to keep their mouths shut, wouldn’t it?” said Alec.

Seregil looked over at Sebrahn, riding placidly on Alec’s back again. “This rhekaro scared them both, even after he healed the girl, and he’s too strange to forget. That might make it worth their while.”

“You should have killed them, then,” Ilar muttered.

“Aren’t you the bloodthirsty one, these days?”

“Oh, how that wounds me, coming from you!”

“I only kill when I have to. I don’t enjoy it.” He gave Ilar a dark look. “Well, not usually. As for killing those poor starvelings, it’s no different than stealing Yhakobin’s horses.”

“You could have burned the house.”

“You want to go back and paint an arrow on the wall to make sure they know we came this way?” Alec snapped.

Ilar shut his mouth and kept his distance.

They hurried on, Alec leading them east to confound any trackers who talked to the goatherd.

Suddenly Seregil-who’d been uncommonly quiet-reached out and ruffled Sebrahn’s hair. “You surely aren’t human or ’faie, but you’re not just a thing, either, I guess.”

“No, he’s not,” Ilar agreed, much to Alec’s surprise. “As great an alchemist as Il-as Yhakobin is, I don’t think he understood what he created.”

Alec spared him a mocking grin. “Because of my mongrel blood.”

“That may be exactly it,” Seregil mused, still studying Sebrahn. “We don’t know what a rhekaro is supposed to look like.”

“I saw a few drawings in the old tomes Yhakobin used,” Ilar told him. “They showed something with a human shape, apart from the wings.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. So, he has teeth but doesn’t eat. He moves and bleeds whatever that white juice is but has no heart. He appears to have some sort of mind-”

“And he can feel pain,” Alec reminded him. “But not cold.”

“When Yhakobin finished with the first one he made…” Ilar began.

Alec stopped dead, a dangerous look in his eyes. “You were there? You helped butcher it?”

Seregil gripped Alec’s arm, holding him back. “What did you see, Ilar?”

Ilar looked rather ill. “It didn’t die easily. He had to keep cutting it up.”

Alec sank to the ground and pulled Sebrahn into his arms, holding him tight.

“What did he find?” Seregil asked.

“Something like bones and organs, but they were all colorless, and he could not guess their function.”

“I see.” Seregil squeezed Alec’s shoulder. “Let’s keep going.”

Alec settled Sebrahn in his sling again and took the lead without a word, but Seregil could feel the rage boiling in his lover’s heart. It coursed along the talimenios bond like molten lead.

He had to keep cutting it up…

Seregil glanced over at Sebrahn and felt sick at the thought.

When they stopped in a dry gully, just before dawn, Seregil’s thoughts had turned to other things.

They settled as comfortably as they could, sheltered by a few wind-twisted cedars that overhung the bank. Seregil sat down beside Sebrahn and stroked the rhekaro’s hair. “You’re a fine healer, little one, with those flowers of yours.”

That got a wan smile from Alec. “He is, isn’t he? Maybe if Yhakobin had figured that out, he wouldn’t have hurt them so much.”

“The fact that he didn’t know makes me wonder what he was after.” Seregil paused, working up the nerve to broach the idea that had come to him during the night’s march. “Alec, I’m going to need your help with something. Is your knife still good and sharp?”

“Yes. Why?”

Seregil pushed back his right sleeve and ran a thumb over the slave mark.

“Oh, no! Are you insane?”

Seregil grinned. “Probably, but that’s beside the point at the moment. I’m going to need your help.”

“What are you talking about?” Ilar demanded.

“You said it yourself,” Seregil replied. “These marks are nothing I want to wear for the rest of my life. And if we’re caught with them here, then there’s no talking our way out of anything.”

“And I told you that the first thing the slave takers look for is a new wound where the brand should be.”

Seregil nodded at Sebrahn. “But what if there isn’t one to find?”

He unbuckled his belt and folded the end over, then clenched it between his front teeth. “That should do. Let’s do the leg brand first, Alec. That’s less likely to be noticed in passing, if this doesn’t work.”

“Why not try it on Ilar first?” asked Alec.

Ilar was halfway to his feet already, and looked ready to bolt.

“That’s why,” said Seregil. “He’ll fight and scream and we could end up hamstringing him.

And it can’t be you, either. You’re the only one Sebrahn listens to, and if he sees me come at you with a knife, he might not be very cooperative.” He grinned and ruffled Alec’s hair. “Don’t worry, talí. I’ve been through worse.”

True. But not for a long time.

It took a little more convincing, but finally he talked them both into it. Ilar stood with Sebrahn, holding the cup of water. Seregil stretched out in the dirt on his belly, clutching the folded belt.

Alec knelt over him with the knife and pulled up his trouser leg to expose the brand.

He gripped Seregil’s leg, and Seregil was glad that hand was steady. “Be quick, Alec, and try not to cut too deep. Just the skin.”

“I know.”

Seregil put the folded leather between his teeth and bit down. He felt Alec pinch up the skin on the back of his calf, then bit down hard on the belt as Alec started cutting.

Seregil probably had been through worse, and Alec probably was working as quickly as he could, but it certainly didn’t seem like it as white-hot pain shot up Seregil’s leg. Having the brand flayed off hurt worse than having it burned on. Panting around the folded belt, he was only dimly aware when Alec stopped and said something to the others.

An agonizing moment later, hands gripped his calf and he snarled and jerked in their grip as something cold and wet touched his raw flesh.

“Lie still!” Alec ordered.

The cold sensation came back, but this time the pain subsided considerably. He tried to look over his shoulder, but Alec pushed him down again. “Stay still, please. It’s going to take a few more.”

After the second flower the pain was bearable. After the third he spit out the belt and buried his head in his folded arms, covered in cold sweat and overwhelmed by the heavy perfume of the healing flowers.

Alec used one more, and the last of the pain was gone. “It worked!”

Seregil rolled over and stuck out his arm. “Do the other.”

“Maybe we should wait.”

Seregil let out a shaky laugh. “If we do that, you’ll have to run me down and catch me. Just do it!” He jammed the belt back in his mouth and locked his left arm across his eyes.

Either he had more feeling in the underside of his arm or Alec had to cut deeper. Seregil was fighting back wheezing little screams before Alec stopped and applied the flowers.

When it was over he let his left arm fall and lay staring up at the dawn sky, willing himself not to throw up.

Alec bent over him, concerned. “Does it still hurt?”

“No,” Seregil gasped, “but that was less fun than I thought it would be.”

Vomiting less imminent now, he sat up and examined his forearm. The brand was gone. The skin where it had been was smooth and thin, but whole. There was some lingering pain, actually, but nothing he couldn’t stand. He looked up at the others. Alec was pale, and the fingers holding the knife were bloody but still steady. Ilar looked sick as he knelt beside Sebrahn with the cup.