The Last Hour of Gann (98 page)

“See anything down there?”

He didn’t know what to tell her.

“There’s always something, Soft-Skin.”

“But no sign of them, huh?”

She thought she knew what he would say, and yet there was a hopeful tremor in her voice. She had contented herself all these days with footprints, with ashes, with dung. She could follow their shadow all the way to Xi’Matezh as long as she knew something w
as casting it. Take that away…

Uyane Meoraq, twelve years a Sword in Sheul’s service, with conscious thought and in full sight of God and Gann both, lied.

“None.”

Her hands on his flesh stilled. He felt, in exquisite detail, the fingers of one hand open and lie flat just under his shoulder. Her breath sighed onto his back, first warm from her body, then
cold in the wind. “I thought…I was so sure…”

Meoraq said nothing.

She sighed again, but resumed bathing him. “Thanks for looking, anyway.”

‘Father, forgive me,’ he thought, staring into the sky where the light of the sun stared back at him behind the clouds. ‘Truth does not care if it comforts her. But I do.’

5

I
t started raining immediately after Amber tied up the last piece of laundry to dry. As if she needed more proof that this whole planet hated her.

“Meoraq?” she called. “What
should I do? Take it down or leave it up?”

No answer. She leaned out around the tree that was serving as her laundry line, but he was still sitting there on the flattest and most hospitable rock in camp, naked, just staring into space.

He’d been very distant lately, ever since the ruins. He wouldn’t talk about it, not to her at least, but he sure prayed a lot, even for him. And when he did talk to her…

“Are we still going the right way?” she’d asked this morning, not whining or anything, just asking.

He’d rounded on her at once, flinging out one arm and shoving his face right in hers. “Do you see the mountains?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen any si
gn of Nicci and the others for—”

“And you think I have?”

“Maybe!” And because that did sound like whining, she added defensively, “If you stopped to tell me everything you saw, you’d be talking all the time! You haven’t said two words all morning, does that mean you haven’t seen anything?”

“I’ve said more than two words,
” he’d said disgustedly and stomped off.

Some days, it wasn’t even worth trying. “Have you seen anything or not!” she exploded. “Jesus!”

“I see what God gives me to see.”

She’d stopped
there before she started a real fight, but after she’d fumed long enough to make him happy, he’d said, without looking at her, “No.”

“See? That was all you had to say.”

Another long stretch of nothing but wind and the marching of their boots.

“The doors of Xi’Matezh may not open,” Meoraq had said suddenly. “
I will have to live with that…if it happens.”

“I don’t think I want to hear where you’re going with this.”

“We may never find—”

“Shut up, lizardman.”

He did, and that was pretty much it for chit-chat until they set up camp for the night. They’d talked a little then—he at his end, bathing out of the stewing pouch, and her by the fire, trying to stretch out the saoq they had left with roasted roots. Although neither one had commented on the day’s chilly silence, his bad mood was never further than arm’s length and she’d left him alone after his bath.

And now he was getting another one, it seemed. Look at him. Just sitting there. In training all his life to be God’s foot and he still didn’t know to get out of the rain.

“Meoraq?” Tucking her hands under her arms to warm them, she headed over. How in the hell he could sit there without a stitch on in this weather (or any weather) amazed her. “Meoraq, wake up.”

His spines twitched. He looked up, looked down, looked
at her. “It’s raining.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said, shivering. “I just got your clothes hung up, too.”

He shrugged his spines. “Leave them. They could use a soak.”

Right. He insisted they still smelled, even though she’d been washing them every night since they left the ruins.

Meoraq stood up and collected the clothes he hadn’t bothered to put on. He still didn’t bother. He pointed at her mat and went on into his tent without speaking.

It was going to be another fun night.

Amber dug their dinner out of the ashes before it completely turned to hot mud, packed it into her pack, rolled up her mat, and joined him.

H
e’d put on his panties at least and lit his lamp. He watched in his serious, distracted way as she arranged her bed, but closed his eyes when she asked so she could change into drier clothes. Rattier ones, but drier.

“I think I’ve reached the point where mending this is only going to make it worse,” she remarked, carefully shrugging into one of her
old shirts.

He grunted.

“But I guess nothing lasts forever.”

“God’s will is infinite, His love, eternal.”

“Okay, but nothing real lasts forever.”

His eyes opened.

“Nothing physical,” she amended, holding up her hands in surrender.

He glanced at them, then ran his gaze thoughtfully across her well-worn shirt down to her bare thighs. He frowned and looked away. “Put your clothes on.”

She rolled her eyes, but found a huge pair of jeans to step into. Her skinny jeans. “Like you haven’t been sitting around bare-ass for hours. Like you’re not—” She eyed him. “—ninety-eight percent naked right now.”

He grunted.

And did it bother her? She wasn’t sure. She told herself it didn’t, but she told herself a lot of things these days—
we’ll find them they’re fine they’re looking for us too
—she didn’t entirely believe. It was his tent and the man had every right to sleep in the nude if he wanted to. Besides which, he was so perfectly casual about his body that she felt it might be…she wasn’t sure…
impolite
to say anything.

But it
was
his body and on nights like this one, when he made her sleep beside him under his blanket, bother didn’t even come close to what he did to her. She knew he knew it; he had to know it; there was no way she could look at him or not look at him or touch him or not touch him that didn’t scream everything that had happened that night, and everything she’d wanted to happen.

But he just fell asleep.

Amber spread out her wet things so they had a chance to dry and sat down. “I hope these are done,” she said, pulling dinner out of her pack.

Meoraq watched her unwrap the mixed mess of fatty saoq and sooty roots, but didn’t reach for any. She couldn’t blame him, but she took a big bite anyway.

“Well,” she said, after she simply couldn’t chew any longer and had to swallow it. “They’re cooked enough. But I wouldn’t call it a success.”

He did not comment.

“I was hoping the fat would help flavor these godawful roots,” she explained.

“Gruu
.”

“This godawful gruu. But instead, the gruu
made the saoq taste bitter. Now they’re both incredibly nasty. Have some.”

He pinched off part of one softened, fat-smeared root and ate it.

“It’s horrible, huh?”

“I thank You,
O my Father, for food in the wildlands to sustain me when the world dies for winter.”

She rolled her eyes and took another bitter bite.

So did he. “And I thank You for the human who prepared it,” he said. “And for the life which sustains her also. Even here, in the very shadow of Gann, O Father, You have set our table and filled our cup.”

“Rub-a-dub-dub. Thanks for the grub. Yay, God.”

He looked at her.

“You pray in your way, I pray in mine.”

They ate, but not much. Prayer did not make the stuff taste any better and Meoraq’s heavy mood would have made even cheeseburgers and fries difficult to eat. Soon Amber was wrapping the remains back up in the hopes it would magically disappear before morning.

It wasn’t very late, but the rain made things darker, so Amber went ahead and put herself to bed. The sound of her blanket crinkling as she wound herself into it was all there was for several minutes. He waited until she was settled before dropping half his blanket over her. He didn’t offer first, he just did it. Like he always did.

And then he just sat there and watched her.

Well, okay. Might as well light it up, as Bo Peep would say, and see who inhaled.

“Something on your mind?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He scowled and looked at the wall. “I know what you’ll say.”

Flat spines and a narrow stare warned her not to ask, unless she wanted to see his neck light up too. Amber rolled onto her stomach, idly flapping a shadow-bat across the tent wall with the help of the lamp. Meoraq had never seen shadow-puppets before; the last two times it had rained, she’d done dogs and ducks. She didn’t have a lot more to show him, but she was saving the elephant for a finale.

He watched for a while, but not with the same interest as he had on other night
s. She wasn’t surprised at his abrupt, imperious, “Say something.”

“About what?” she asked, letting her hands drop.

“I don’t care. Talk to me.”

Amber had never been a social person, but she knew instinctively that ‘What the hell is going on with you lately?’ would have been the wrong way to begin. She said, “Is this the furthest you’ve ever been from home?”

The tense set of his shoulders relaxed slightly. His spines came up, just a little. “Yes. By far.”

“You ever think about what’s going on at home without you?”

“Sometimes.” He scratched at his snout. “I’m sure they’ve sent for my brother by now, but he might not attend until after the cold season. My father’s ministers can manage the House until I return and Nduman has…somewhere else he wants to be.”

“So if you go home—” The if was important. Home was a touchy subject for him. “—what’s the first thing you’re going to do?”

“Pray.”

“Well, duh. I meant after that.”

“Mm.” He leaned back to think about it. Slowly, his brooding scowl became a smile. “In the steward’s private chambers, there’s a full bath…You won’t know what that is, but it’s like a deep basin, twice the size of this tent, that can be filled with water and kept heated.”

“Imagine that.”

“My first meal will be held in the festival hall, or in the lord’s garden if the weather is fair. They’ll hang the lamps. My father’s ministers as well as the heads of the more important households will be there to give me their oaths, so I’ll be expected to provide entertainment. There will be music and singing and some sort of dramatics…I’ll have to find out whether or not Uyane has performers on staff, although I can’t really imagine that we don’t. I’ll have to attend as long as the guests do and they’ll be trying to impress me with their loyalty, which means we’ll all be there all night.” He thought about it, quietly laughed. “It’s going to be hell.”

“What will you eat?”

His smile became a smirk. “Calf’s head and marrow, probably.”

“Gross.”

“A feast for lords.”

“It’s still gross.”

“I’ll send down to the kitchen for something else later if you like.”

“What makes you think I’ll be there, lizardman?”

“You belong to me.”

“Think so, huh?” Her voice didn’t rise. Her smile wasn’t strained. They’d had this exchange often enough that she didn’t even consider it a fight anymore.

Amber rolled onto her back and brought out the shadow-bat again. His head turned to track its movements. On impulse, she made a tusked fist with a broad, cud-chewing thumb: a corroki.

“You want to know what I think is funny?” she asked, lumbering it across the tent
wall. “You’ve never asked what it’s like where I’m from. Never once.”

He watched the corroki and said nothing.

“Don’t you think that’s odd?”

His spines flexed and flattened a few times.

She killed the shadow-corroki and sat up. “Really? You’re not even a little curious?”

Nothing from the lizardman. He kept staring at the wall as if it were still covered in shadow-puppets. His face had lost that easy smile and gone as grim as he could make it, which was pretty damned grim.

“Well,” she said, trying to pretend nothing was wrong, that this was still a cheerful way to pass a rainy night. “The sky is different. I mean, I’m from the city, so I never saw much but smog anyway, but it’s still different.”