The Wild Road (28 page)

Two women did not go. Two women stood waiting.

“Do you want my blessing?” he asked mildly. “I suspect you are able to carry stones, are you not? That is the only qualification I require.”

One of the women, he did not know. She was dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a muted swarthiness to her complexion. The other he recognized as a woman who had come to Mikal's tent. A tall, tawny woman who named herself Naiya.

“This is nothing we did not expect,” Naiya said. “In fact, it is quite commonplace. But they are not accustomed to being forced to consort with us.” She made a belaying gesture. “Well, they won't
consort
with us, even under these circumstances. Not yet. But gathering rocks suitable for cairn markers makes us the same, I believe. Kitri and I will be as dirty-handed as they, with clothing every bit as muddy when we are done. No one will know wife from Sister.”

The dark-haired woman, Kitri, drawled, “Except for the wives.”

Rhuan grinned. “That is true. As far as I am concerned, you are most welcome.”

Naiya touched the other Sister's elbow briefly. “Shall we begin? Rather than force anything, we will hunt rocks in a different direction.”

Kitri displayed two buckets, handing one to Naiya.

On the brink of departing, Naiya looked Rhuan up and down appraisingly. “You're with the hand-reader.”

He grinned. “I am.”

She met his grin—and dimples—with a seductive smile. “Pity.”

As they walked away, all Rhuan could do was laugh.

Chapter 25

I
T WAS THE
vision Karadath had given her. Scales instead of flesh, claws instead of nails, fangs instead of teeth. The pupils of her eyes were slitted, not round. Most of her hair was missing; what remained were thin, tangled strands, not enough to cover the gray-mottled skin over her skull. Even her nose had altered, forming serpent-like nostrils. From her mouth ran saliva but also blood.

She had eaten. She had eaten well.

Of Meggie.

Audrun opened her mouth to cry out but could not. The sickness was upon her again. This time hands helped her, hands grasped her shoulders and lifted her from the mattress, eased her onto her side, and held her head as she vomited into a bucket.

But nothing came up. She was empty.

Again she heaved, leaning over the side of the cot. Again, nothing. Her body simply didn't realize there was nothing left to be rid of.

She had eaten. Eaten well.

This time Audrun was not trapped in silence by Karadath. This time she was able to emit a strangled wail, but of no coherency; it was not communication in words, only of sound, of desperation. Eyes open or closed, she saw the vision Karadath had conjured.

A shudder ran through her body.
Mother, blessed Mother, make this vision stop
. She forced her mouth to form a word. “Meggie—”

“Safe. Safe. Whole. In your Mother's name, I swear it.”

It was a voice she did not know. The hands, she did not know.

“Meggie—”

“Safe. I promise you. Whole.”

It was difficult even to keep her eyes open, though it wasn't sleep she wished for. She had never felt so weak in her life. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst.

“Here,” he said. She heard the sound of a cloth being squeezed of water. Still bending over the edge, she allowed him to clean her mouth before aiding her back onto the cot.

“You have been ill for some days. But you will mend.”

“Who—?” She peered up at him. But focusing hurt. “Oh. You.” She closed her eyes. It was easier. “Where are my children?”

“Safe. Well. Unharmed.”

“But
where
?” She enunciated as clearly as was possible, opening her eyes again.

Omri smiled. “Wait.” He rose, left her.

Audrun tried to blink away grittiness. Her eyes ached from the pressure of vomiting. Abdominal muscles already sore from childbirth were even more painful now. Everything ached. Everything complained.

Another petition.
Blessed Mother
— But she got no farther. Omri was back. Meggie was in his arms. The others came in behind him.

“You see—” Omri began, but a piercing shriek cut him off.

Audrun's throat was so tight it hurt. “Meggie,
please
—”

Meggie screamed. Meggie tried in all ways to climb out of Omri's arms. When she could not do so, she turned her head away and pressed it into his shoulder, her mewling sounds muted. From beneath tattered tunic and skirt, urine ran down her legs.

Torvic shouted, “She wants you to stop! She wants away from here! She wants to be somewhere Mam isn't, because . . . because she knows Mam will eat her!”

“No,” Audrun cried, horrified. She braced an elbow and levered herself up. “No, Meggie, I promise. I will not. I
promise
you. I will not! Blessed Mother, child, I bore you in my own womb! I wouldn't harm you—”

But Meggie screamed again. Again. Again. Omri, this time, set her down. She ran stumbling from the chamber with Torvic behind her, urgently calling her name.

Omri leaned over Audrun, resettled the coverlet. “I will care for her. I will see her clean, calm. She will be unharmed.”

Audrun had no strength to protest.

As he exited, she pressed hands across her mouth and cheeks so Gillan and Ellica would not see how badly she wanted to cry out, how her mouth opened to do so. Thoughts circled, chasing down other thoughts. But of none could she make sense. It couldn't be. It wasn't. She rejected it utterly.
Not real not real not real
. No, none of it was real. Omri was not real. Karadath was not real. Alisanos was not real.

But it was. All of it.

A wave of helplessness washed through her.
Oh Mother . . . oh, Mother, please . . . make this no more than a bad dream
.

She wished it very strongly, did Audrun, yet knew no such dream existed. It was real, all of it. Alisanos. Omri. Karadath.

The latter who, with a single conjured vision, had nearly destroyed her daughter. Meggie was so frightened of her mother, so utterly terrified, that she could not hold her urine.

Audrun looked at her two remaining children, her eldest. Her most sensible. Overwhelmed, she reached a hand out to Gillan and Ellica. She needed to touch them, to feel their very human warmth, the flesh and bone that she and Davyn had made.

Ellica said, “I must go to my tree.”

“
Ellica
—” It was part astonishment, part command. All Audrun could summon of strength, she put into that tone.

Ellica looked at her. “I have to.”

“Ellica, please—”

But no. Ellica was gone. Now only Gillan was left.

He came forward and knelt close beside the cot. She saw the worry, the weariness in his eyes. She reached out a trembling hand and touched his hair. Felt the texture, the tangles, the stiffness of dirt and sap.

She swallowed hard. “Don't leave me.”
I can't do this
—
can't do this by myself
.

“No,” Gillan said. “I won't.”

That brought fresh tears from aching, stinging eyes. “It's just a vision,” she said unevenly. “A
false
vision. Not the truth. Not real. I would never,
never
, harm Meggie—”

“Mam, I know. I know, Mam.”

“Never, Gillan!”

“Mam, I know.”

Everything within her cried out, “But
Meggie
doesn't know! She sees it, too!
And she believes it
!”

He nodded. “She will know. She will, Mam. I make that my task. Here, let me sit.” Gillan turned and set his back against the cot, arranging his body carefully, as if he hurt. And she remembered that he did.

Fear. So much fear. By itself, the fear in her was overwhelming, but not for herself. For her children, yes.

So much wished of the Mother. Audrun, mute, again begged for aid. For peace.

But she didn't know if any such thing as peace existed in Alisanos. Nor whether the Mother of Moons existed in Alisanos, to hear her.

DAVYN SQUINTED AGAINST
the sun as he walked. Too bright. Too bright for his head. He wanted to go somewhere and sit quietly in the shade, but instead he was walking across the settlement. Ahead he saw two outfitted supply wagons. Both four-horse teams were hitched and waiting in place, attached to the earth by no more than a rope and modest weight.

The woman courier was already there, bent low in her saddle to stretch out along the horse's neck as if in conversation. Even as Davyn headed for the wagons, two of her fellow couriers rode past him to join her. Neither man appeared to be feeling particularly good, or any better than Davyn, come to that. He had a hazy memory of the two men spending a great deal of time in Mikal's tent, drinking a great deal of spirits as they entertained two of the Sisters.

As the men reined in at the wagons, the woman's smile grew to a grin. She waggled a minatory forefinger at them, clicking her tongue as she did it. “You know better. You know you know better. You know you know better every time you do this.”

One of the men squinted at her. “Bethid, don't expect me to parse that. Not this morning.”

“Because you know it's true,” the woman said smugly. She glanced at Davyn as if seeking agreement. But the smile died out of her eyes as she stared at him. “You, too? Did none of you remember last night that we're due to leave for Cardatha this morning?”

“I'm not sure,” Davyn began, “exactly when I forgot.”

Bethid shook her head. “You know Jorda will not coddle you.” Looking at Davyn, she tilted her head in the direction of the two male couriers. “They at least know that. But you—”

Davyn raised his voice. “I won't shirk my responsibility.”

“Hah,” the woman said briefly, then looked beyond him. “Here's Darmuth. And Jorda.” She glanced around. “Where's Brodhi?” Then she waved a hand as if to dismiss her question. “Never mind. He'll arrive when he feels like it.” She smoothed a hand down the neck of her horse. “Of course he had a woman last night, so who knows when he might trouble himself to join us?”

The other couriers were astonished. “Brodhi—” one began.

“—has a woman?” the other finished, the final word sliding up his register.

Darmuth arrived on his horse. Davyn noted again the shaven skull, the length of silver braid doubled under into a club of hair and wrapped with crimson-dyed leather strapping. Davyn, who had seen him during the karavan's ill-fated departure, had forgotten the guide's eyes: pale as ice, with something lurking just behind the surface.

Demon. Davyn knew that now. He knew also that Darmuth was very much aware that he, Davyn, knew. The guide grinned, displaying perfectly normal human canines. The emerald set in one tooth glinted in the morning sun.

Jorda briefly assessed each individual. Then climbed up into the lead wagon, retrieved something, jumped down. He tossed the something to Bethid, who caught it. A leather-wrapped tin flask.

“Not me,” she said. “My fellow couriers, yes—
and
the farmsteader. Alorn, catch.” She tossed the flask a short distance to the courier.

Alorn uncorked the flask, drank, handed it to the other male courier. “Timmon?”

Timmon drank. Then he tossed the flask to Davyn, who caught it akwardly. “What is it?”

“A stirrup cup,” Bethid answered. “Tradition.”

“Tradition if you drink too much the night before,” Jorda growled. “Drink it, farmsteader. They say it helps.”

Davyn blinked, brows rising. “You don't know?”

The karavan-master unhooked the rope and weight from the front wheel-horse's bridle. “
I
,” he said, winding the rope, “have never needed a stirrup cup.”

That surprised Davyn. “You don't drink?”

“Oh, I drink.” Jorda put the coiled rope and weight into the lead wagon. “But not to excess and certainly not the night before I'm to drive a wagon over terrain that has never, to my knowledge, seen a wagon wheel.” He gestured. “I'm lead wagon. Drink your share, put away your weight, and climb aboard. We're wasting daylight.”

Davyn observed the flask a moment. Spirits. After he'd sworn to himself he would not imbibe again. But a glance at Jorda showed him a man not much used to people delaying the execution of his orders. Davyn raised the flask to his mouth and tipped it, swallowing a goodly gulp.

Jorda grunted satisfaction and gestured for Davyn to toss him the stoppered flask. He climbed up onto the high bench seat, tucked the flask away, unwrapped the reins from their hook. Ruddy brows ran up. “Daylight?”

“Sorry,” Davyn muttered. He gathered up rope and weight, put them away, then climbed aboard. “What about Brodhi?”

“He's there,” Bethid said, gesturing with a thumb. “Waiting for us.”

So he was. Out in front of the party at some distance.

“Oh,” Davyn said. “I drank off the last of the spirits.”

“Don't worry about him,” Bethid drawled. “The last thing
he
needs is spirits.”

Jorda set his team into motion with reins and voice. The lead wagon creaked as its wheels slowly began to revolve. Davyn hastily unwrapped his reins, sorted them out, and urged the team to fall in behind Jorda's wagon.

It was true. The stirrup cup had indeed settled his headache to some extent. He found it amazing.