The Novels of the Jaran (274 page)

A light danced in front of her, and she saw the knife with which she had stabbed Mikhailov. No, it was Leotich she had stabbed. That was a long time ago.

Why was Mother Orzhekov cutting up herbs with that knife in the flickering lantern light of the tent? What had happened? Why did everyone look so worried? How had she gotten here from the stream? Where were the clothes she had been washing? Someone was crying, but she couldn’t tell who it was. Finally she lifted her head. Oh, gods. Yuri was crying, gulping down sobs in one corner, and Natalia had a grim look on her face, far too unchildlike, while she wrung out a damp cloth to give to Cara Hierakis, who put them on her mother’s forehead. On
Tess’s
forehead. Tess shifted, pushing herself up on one elbow, and at once Natalia pressed up against her.

“Mama?” she asked, seeking comfort.

Tess pressed the heel of her left hand against her forehead. Spots flashed and faded in front of her eyes. She felt nauseated. Her neck hurt.

“They burned down the monastery,” said Sonia, who stood by the entrance talking to someone outside. Lights shone in on her face, the only thing in the chamber that was not shadowed. “And killed every man they found. Though it was a just reward for their treachery, it will not bring Ilya or my daughter back.”

The gift of memory.

Now Tess remembered what the messenger had told her. Now she wished that her mind had been scoured clean.

Ilya was dead. Killed in an ambush, and half his jahar with him, and Katya and Vasha and Niko’s gentle grandson Stefan.

“No.” Sitting up, she almost vomited, her head reeled so wildly. She groped for her boots. “I must ride south. I’ll have to find him. They mistook it. It wasn’t really his jahar. He escaped. Someone must have escaped. They just need better guidance. I mean, what proof do they have?”

“Tess.” Mother Orzhekov grabbed her wrists. “Lie down.”

“Let me go!” Tess screamed. Natalia began to cry, and Yuri had dissolved into great hiccoughing sobs, but Tess was so furious at Mother Orzhekov that she could not get her wrists free and she began to pound her hands against the floor over and over again. “Let me go, let me go.” Except Mother Orzhekov had already let her go, but she couldn’t stop hitting the floor, beating it until she was dimly aware that her hands hurt but she kept on, she had to keep on because somehow she knew it was her fault, if only she had told him before. “I did this to him! I did this to him!”

Sonia, then Cara, tried to grab hold of her arms, but Tess flailed on and on and finally they had to bring in Stassia’s husband Pavel, whose blacksmith arms could curb even her wild fury.

She panted and struggled and gave up, and after a few moments of her stillness he let go of her, staying close by.

“I
will
ride south tomorrow,” said Tess stubbornly. Belatedly, she remembered her children. She looked around for them, and as soon as she found them with her gaze, they threw themselves across the room and into her arms.

“You have been raving all morning, my daughter,” said Mother Orzhekov in a colorless voice like that of a Chapalii nobleman. Dried tears streaked her face. “You will sleep. If I and the Dokhtor judge you well enough, then you will ride south.” She tipped a cup up to Tess’s lips. Tess knew better than to fight, and anyway, her arms were full with her two children. Ilya’s children, who would never see their father again. Who could not die so young, because she had made Cara give him the drink of youth. Oh, gods.

“I will ride south,” she insisted even as the herbs took hold. She sank down into sleep, Yuri and Natalia crushed against her, but one last thought chased after her, nagging her, tormenting her: This was her punishment for telling Sonia the truth.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Lord Shiva Dances

T
HINGS BEGAN TO FALL
apart when Yomi found out that Valentin was living in the ruins.

“I really can’t just stand by and let him live like an animal,” Yomi said to Karolla. Because she was wise, Yomi had come alone to talk to the other woman; Nipper had taken Anton and Evdokia away, and Ilyana sat next to her mother with the infant sitting on her lap. Still nameless, the child could now sit up by herself, chubby arms reaching for anything bright, and everyone called her Little Rose for the birthmark on her cheek.

“He has chosen to leave my tent,” replied Karolla. “He can return when he is ready to apologize to his father.”

“Karolla. I understand that by jaran law you have certain ways in which you live.” Yomi took in a big breath and, letting it out, went on. “But we have other laws. I would be criminally negligent to allow this to go on. He’s only thirteen.”

“He’s almost fourteen,” interposed Ilyana.

“And if it comes to that,” added Yomi as if Ilyana had not spoken, “since it’s come to light that Valentin has run away, I’ve heard some other disturbing rumors… but if we can resolve this to everyone’s satisfaction, perhaps—”

“Are you threatening me?” Karolla demanded.

“I am speaking as one etsana would to another. I am concerned. Others are concerned. People are aware that this is going on and they are talking about it. It’s simply unacceptable that Valentin lives out there in those catacombs. Let him come in and live in the caravansary. Let him stay with some of the actors. Diana and Yassir have both offered—” She broke off abruptly, looking embarrassed for no reason Ilyana could discern, then continued. “Diana has offered to shelter him for the time being.”

“I will speak with my husband.”

With that Yomi had to be content. She left, but she did not look happy.

“How dare you speak of this to khaja!” Karolla hissed as soon as the other woman was out of earshot.

Ilyana started as if she had been hit. “I said nothing! Don’t think that just because they’re khaja they don’t have eyes. People go out there all the time to—” She swallowed the word she had been going to say, but it was too late.

“And the child remains unnamed because of your stubbornness. I am disappointed in you, Yana.”

Stung, Ilyana sniffed back angry tears. “It isn’t fair that you be angry with me!
I
didn’t argue with Valentin. I didn’t make him run away. He ran away because no one tries to understand him here. He ran away because—” But words failed her. She could not bring herself to incriminate her father.

“Here comes your father,” said Karolla, like the knell of death. “He looks angry. See what your friendships with the khaja have brought us.”

He did look angry. Ilyana pulled the baby against her as if the child could shield her; and the baby did, in a way, because Vasil had an aversion to the little one, with her unsightly blemish, so unlike his other, more perfect children.

“What is going on?” Vasil demanded of his wife as he came to a halt underneath the awning. “Why is everyone in the company interesting themselves in our personal affairs? I was taken aside by—” He looked so angry that for an instant Ilyana thought he was going to spit. “—by Hyacinth, that meddling—” Ilyana didn’t recognize the khush word he used, but Karolla flinched. “Then Gwyn Jones mentioned that he’d caught a glimpse of Valentin! I don’t want my family to be the common gossip of every lowly tech and giggling inconsequential actor in this company!”

“Mother Yomi just came by to speak with me.”

Vasil threw up his hands in a theatrical gesture.

“It’s your own fault,” Ilyana blurted out. “You shouldn’t have fought with him.”

Vasil turned a stare on her that froze her. She felt like the most insignificant worm underneath his harsh gaze. He had never ever looked at her like this before. “Can this be my daughter?” he asked in a whisper that nevertheless resounded like a shout.

“But it’s true,” she stammered, determined to go on. “He’s addicted to nesh. He’ll never get cured if you don’t try to get help for him.”

Vasil’s expression did not change, nor did he look away from her.

“A child who will not live by the law of the tribes becomes an outcast,” said Karolla sternly. “It has always been thus, and it will remain so. Khaja may have their own laws, but they do not apply to us.”

“Of course they apply to us! We don’t live with the tribes anymore. Oh, why can’t you see?”

“Apologize to your mother, Yana.”

Infuriated by their obstinacy, Ilyana lost her temper. “I won’t! I have nothing to apologize for. Oh, gods, you just won’t listen.”

“Yana!”

“And you never call me by my full name! Never! Are you afraid to say it?”

Karolla slapped her, hard.

Vasil’s face whitened with rage.

Ilyana realized she had gone too far. Only she didn’t really understand how, or why. The baby hiccoughed with fear and began to wail. Looking at her father’s face, Ilyana was suddenly terrified. Pressing Little Rose against her, she scrambled to her feet, dodged him—he grabbed for her but missed—and ran, the baby screaming the whole time, for the safety of the caravansary. He wouldn’t make a scene in there. He just wouldn’t.

He didn’t follow her. Not yet, at any rate. She sat down, panting, on a bench in the courtyard, and endured a few curious glances from passersby by pretending not to notice them. She bounced the baby on her knee until the little one quieted and fell asleep. After a while, David came out, deep in conversation with the tech Wingtuck. Seeing Ilyana, he broke off and excused himself.

“What is it?” he asked in a low voice, coming up beside her.

“Nothing. Just sitting here.”

“Don’t lie to me, Yana.”

“Why won’t they call me Ilyana?”

“Who?”

“Anyone. My parents.”

“Well…” Like most adults, he had a way of rubbing his face with a hand and hesitating when he hoped you would get sidetracked by the pause and let the conversation move on to safer topics.

“My father loved him. You think I don’t remember him, but I do. He loved him more than he loved my mother or even me or any of us, his children, I mean. But not in a good way, like Hyacinth loves Yevgeni. So why did he name me after him? Why won’t he call me by that name?”

There was a long silence. Wingtuck, standing in the corner of the courtyard watching them, shrugged, lifted one hand in a wave, and walked away, out through the gate.

“Ilyana,” said David finally in his solemn adult voice.

“Don’t treat me like a child! I’m sixteen! I’m not a baby.”

“Did you just argue with your parents? Everyone is talking about Valentin. I stopped a couple of the actors from setting out to capture him.”

“That would be really stupid,” said Ilyana, alarmed. That would only drive Valentin further away.

“I know. I told them so. Don’t worry, they’re not going. And he’s barely eating any of the food you take out to him. Ilyana. Ha!” He sat down beside her, a half smile on his face. “Did I ever tell you about the time I thought that Ilya Bakhtiian was going to kill me? Tess got dead drunk and I let her sleep it off in my tent, only in the morning when I went to get her, Bakhtiian saw her and me coming out of the tent together. Goddess, I thought he was going to kill me on the spot.”

“Why would he? Women can take lovers if they wish to.”

“I didn’t know that then.”

The baby breathed softly in the silence. Outside, by the flower garden, some of the actors and techs were playing soccer. She could hear their shouting and laughter. “What was he like? They never talk about him.”

“Oh, Yana, he’s not someone you can explain in a few words. How do you know about him if they don’t talk about him?”

“I told you I remember him. I remember what he looked like. What he felt like, I mean, to be near. He didn’t scare me, but he was like…like standing outside to watch a storm come in.” Sitting there, her feet in sunshine and her face in the shade, she realized something else. “In a way it’s like he’s always with us, even though he isn’t here. Can that be?”

“Some people always remain with you, even when they’re a long way away. Even if you never see them again.”

“Do you have someone like that?”

His mouth tugged up, but he didn’t quite smile. He looked sad, but not bitter. “Yes.”

“Sometimes,” said Ilyana so low that she could hardly hear herself, “I think my father wishes that I was his child by Bakhtiian. I mean, if they could do that kind of thing, if they could have done it there. I think that’s why he treats me better than the others. But I don’t think I’m his favorite any more.” To her horror, she felt tears sliding down. She wiped her free hand fiercely over her cheeks.

“You did have an argument.”

She nodded, unable to trust her voice.

“I don’t know what to tell you about your father. I argued with mine often enough when I was about your age. But maybe we can do something to help Valentin. I don’t know how long he can survive with that little food, but I do know that he must be going through nasty withdrawal symptoms from nesh. By your own account it’s been—what—ten days since he ran away? Sooner or later he’s got to come out, if he hasn’t already. He’ll come here, at night, to get onto the nesh. I don’t know where else he could find a link.”

“So we set a trap to catch him? Then what do we do with him?”

“I don’t know. Feed him. He’s always been so damned thin it hurts me to look at him. Now that everyone knows, I think—well, you know we are allowed to send a message out every five days, to Maggie, who’s monitoring us for Charles. I could put in a query about nesh addiction, how to treat it.”

“I don’t know. I just feel like it would be a bad idea.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t see how doing nothing is going to help him now that it’s gone this far. You have to accept that your parents won’t or can’t help him. If they can’t, if they won’t, if it’s gotten this bad, then someone else has to. He’s ill, Yana. I remember that the company took responsibility for you, for your family, when you left Rhui. I’m sure that is partly what motivates Yomi now, that sense of responsibility.”

“But he won’t want any of you.”

“Damn it! It doesn’t matter what
he
wants. Hell, ask Genji for a ship to get him off planet. We can ship him off after Sakhalin. He’ll listen to Anatoly.”