To the High Redoubt (12 page)

“Now what?” He resented her for all she had done to him. It was bad enough that she knew of his desire, but that she would now refuse what she had seemed to offer was intolerable. “I can get up on my own.” As he got to his feet, she gave him a companionable embrace. “Stop that.”

She stepped back a little way. “Arkady-champion, listen to me.” She waited until he faced her. “I will refuse you nothing but your haste. I promise you that tonight you will have what you want, with the time to enjoy your desires.”

He regarded her skeptically. “And there will be another reason to hold off then. I'll take you to fight the Bundhi without this, Surata. You don't have to…buy me.” It was the cruelest thing he could think to say to her and he was rewarded when he saw her flinch.

“You may say that to me in the morning, Arkady-champion, if you believe then that I deserve it.” She brought her chin up, but not in defiance. “Let's wash away all the dirt.”

“Purify ourselves, is that it?” Even as he strove to hurt her, he wanted to give her comfort for his own harshness.

“Yes. So that you may be fulfilled.” She hesitated. “Your desires are not…sullied, Arkady-champion. They are your strength.” As she shook her head, she moved a little away from him. “We will wash.”

He shrugged, annoyed that she was unable to see this. “Follow me.” He did not to touch her again, not yet. “This way. There are two steps down.” The door was heavy and he held it for her.

She stopped in the doorway, her milky eyes on his. “I am still your slave, Arkady-immai. You bought me.”

“And the Devil alone knows why,” he complained, pulling the door closed behind them. “Stay there. The tubs are just in front of you.” With a sigh he put his hands on her shoulders and directed her toward one of the large barrels. “I'll help you step in.”

“Let me wash you, since I am your slave,” she said.

“Stop teasing me,” he ordered her.

“I am not teasing.” She sank into the water, smiling. “There is great force in water, if you have the skill to know it.” As she took his hand, she added in her most practical tone, “Give me the soap and the brush, and I will tend to you as a slave should.”

He was about to object but could find no reason to refuse. “Here's the soap, and here's the brush. See that you scrub hard.”

“As you wish,” she said, sniffing the soap suspiciously. “It is unfortunate that they do not use perfumes here.”

By the time she was through with him, his body was rosy from the vigor of her ministrations, and his mood had lightened. He still viewed her with apprehension but was convinced her foreign teaching had confused her. He sat in the stable with her, eating a dinner of millet bread stuffed with spiced vegetables and a lentil stew. The three old women had provided a skin of wine and made it plain that if Arkady or Surata wanted pork, it would cost more.

“Do not eat it,” Surata said to Arkady. “It is not good to eat pork now.”

“There's money enough,” he reminded her.

“I did not say this because of money.” She wiped her fingers on the rough square of cloth the three old women had provided. “Arkady-immai,” she said, smiling tentatively, “you are not to be afraid. You have no reason to fear me or anything about me.”

“I'm not afraid,” he said, taking another of the stuffed millet breads. “This is good.”

She would not be distracted. “Arkady-immai, you are…” She reached over and put her hand on his arm, just above the scar, letting her fingers rest there. “You heard me call to you once; answer me again.”

Though his skin was tanned and roughened by weather, he knew it darkened as he blushed. “I've got enough control now.”

“But I don't
want
your denial. I want you.” She said it gently. “Who knows when we will have so much time again, and it is necessary that we learn to…go to the other places where the Bundhi hides.”

He brushed her hand away. “Don't start again, Surata.”

“You no longer desire me?” Her question was calm, without a trace of accusation in it, but he reacted as if he had been rebuked and challenged.

“Listen, Surata, I won't add to my dishonor by making you a whore as well as a slave. I've lost too much as it is.” He turned away from her and rolled far enough from her to be out of reach. The soft, new hay tickled his neck as he lay back. “I'm tired.”

“Then I will rub your feet for you.” She set two wooden bowls that had contained their food aside and found her way to him. “You would not mind that, would you?”

“Um,” he grunted, letting her make of it what she would, smiling to himself as she began to pull off his leggings. He had to give her full credit for her talent for massage. The stiffness in his ankles and calves gave way under her capable hands. “That's wonderful,” he said when she gave her attention to his knees.

“Good,” she whispered, continuing her work.

Arkady was drifting into that luxurious half-sleep when he felt her pull his tunic off. He almost protested, then decided to let her continue. The sensations were too pleasant to stop them, and he would soon doze. It was too much bother to tell her to stop. His languor lulled him, the smell of horses and hay was friendly and familiar. When the first, soft drops of rain began to fall, its whisper on the roof was more soothing than a lullaby.

Precisely when it was that his contentment flickered into desire, Arkady did not know. One moment he was hovering on the edge of sleep; in the next, there was a stirring in his flesh that roused him only enough to remind him of his need. “Surata…”

“Hush, Arkady-champion.” There was such serenity in her words that Arkady sighed deeply. She went on, kneading first his back, then his buttocks. When she was done, she rolled him from prone to supine. There she began with his face and neck, then moved down to his chest.

“It's raining harder,” Arkady murmured.

“Yes,” she replied, moving lower.

“Oh, God,” he breathed, no longer wanting to object to how she touched him, or where. Her hands, the curve of her breast and waist and thigh were ineffably sweet, more gratifying than the swing of a perfectly balanced sword. When her lips opened to his, he forgot all his questions and doubts. He pulled her into his arms.

“Slowly, Arkady-champion,” she whispered. “There is no hurry, Arkady-champion.”

“Please,” he moaned.

“It will be better this way, I promise you.” She lay next to him from shoulder to toe. “The Lotus opens slowly.”

“Now, Surata,” he urged her.

“You will ride the wave with me,” she said so softly that the gentle fall of the rain seemed louder.

He had never experienced such excitement before. There were sensations in his body that were new, thrilling and disturbing at once. As she pressed against him, even his breathing changed, growing slower and deeper. His senses were flooded with her nearness, and the only thing he felt was the magic of her flesh. Then she embraced his legs with her own and he rose into her.

Chapter 7

There was light around him, constantly shifting, more brilliant than stars and rainbows. Arkady stared in disbelief and awe at the splendor of it, gasping as the colors fluctuated and pulsed with every motion of his body. His body was without weight, suspended in the radiance as if he himself were a star. He longed for Surata to see what he saw, and heard her voice, so near that they might have been touching. “I see, Arkady, my champion
.”

As he watched, the colors became shapes, taking on the form of flowers and jewels, answering his whim. The most marvellous fragrances surrounded him, bringing him memories of everything pleasant he had known from his earliest youth. He wanted to laugh or to sing for the utter joy of it
.

Like a butterfly, a cloud, a bird, he soared over the beauty, admiring it and feeling it stretch far beyond him. His arms stretched out to become enormous, brilliant wings, more glorious than any he had ever seen, even on the glass angels in the cathedral in Warsaw. He spiraled on vast rivers of light, high in the effulgent clouds, with flower petals falling all around him. His wings glistened
.

Mountains rose up into the shining sky, magnificent as bishops in purple and white. They were as luminous as they were solid, alive with majesty. Arkady spiraled toward them, glorying in his freedom as much as he admired their great tenacity. How fine a part of the earth they were, how well they ornamented the world! He wished he had the means to tell Surata how it appeared to him, being free in the sky where he could romp with the sagacious mountains
.

“I know this, Arkady, my champion. I am with you.”

And to his amazement, she was, as close to him as his skin, or closer. He saw her face more clearly than he ever had, and saw who it was she was. He had never before noticed how black her hair was, or how young she must be. And her eyes! They were not the strange, frosted blankness he had known from the first, but a clear, deep, lustrous and glowing brown, warm and subtle. He stared into her eyes, aware that he had never seen anyone with eyes like hers
.

“Surata,” he said, without speaking, or if he spoke, it was in words and with a tongue he had not used before. “Surata.”

Her answer was more stirring that any he had heard. It was like music, or the stillness before waking. He let those sounds go through him, kindling his soul
.

Far below the mountains rolled the sea, vaster and more alive than water had ever been. Patterns of light played over its surface, shifting and changing with more variety than rainbows or the lights of the winter sky. Where the ocean met the mountains, spray and sand kissed
.

How very far it was to the ocean, to the crags of the mountains! Arkady was caught up in fascination, thrilled and aghast at how far he had come. He turned to where he expected Surata to be, and could not see her. His vision was disoriented, for the mountains seemed to lose their shapes, growing fluid, melting, sinking toward the enormity of the sea. Around him, the light was obscured by roiling clouds, dark and sulphurous, threatening to lose him forever in the black clouds
.

Abruptly he decided he must land, must not be at the mercy of the enveloping clouds. He was distantly aware that his body was changing, and that he had to protect it. Enormous, unexpected winds buffetted him through the darkness, battering at him, ready to dash him against one of the mountains that might be looming, unseen, with merciless rocks waiting for him. His arms—for they were no longer wings, but arms—flailed, and he plummeted
back into the hay, in the barn that smelled of horses.

Surata pressed her hand to his forehead. “You did this well, Arkady-champion. You surprised me.” She smiled at him.

Arkady blinked, trying to regain a sense of where he was and what had happened. “There were mountains,” he said slowly, shaking his head.

“Yes,” she agreed as she pulled his blanket up over them both. “And the ocean and the air.”

“But they were not the same,” he said after a little silence.

“No,” Surata said. She snuggled against him, one arm across his chest, her head on his shoulder. “Thank you, Arkady-champion, for all you have done.”

Arkady blushed deeply as he remembered her body. Perhaps that, too, had been a part of his peculiar dream. It had been so real, while he thought he flew above mountains. If that had been his imagination, then she might have been, as well. Tentatively he spoke to her. “Surata, about…”

“You did well. It is possible, now.” Her voice was relaxed and sleepy, and it was with a shock that Arkady realized they both were naked under the blanket.

“Ah…” He tried to draw away from her, but she would not release him.

“Arkady-champion, don't move away. It's cold, and after what we have done, it is lonely to lie away from you.” She nuzzled his chest. “Most men who are not trained for this take much longer to have…separation. It is one thing to ride the wave, but it is not the same as transcending.” She kissed his chest and shoulder.

“What are you saying?” he asked, already on the edge of sleep.

“Tomorrow I'll tell you, Arkady-champion. I promise you I'll tell you.” She sighed, shifted her position so that it was more comfortable for them both, and slept.

Arkady wanted to wake her, to demand what it was she had told him, how it was that she knew what he had imagined. But the movement was too much, and his mind was already drifting. He was just able to mutter two half-remembered prayers before sleep claimed him.

In the morning, they bargained for more supplies and haggled over the price of an ass with a bridle and pack saddle, and then spent the better part of an hour haggling over sausages, cheese and grain. Arkady could sense that the three old women were enjoying themselves enormously. Their only expression of disappointment came when Arkady finally gave them three gold pieces and the last of his copper coins, then went to help one of the men bridle and saddle the ass before loading the pack saddle with their provisions.

“See if they will give us another blanket, as well,” Surata suggested. “If there is more rain, we may need it.”

Arkady nodded. He indicated his blanket and mimed that he wanted another. All three women laughed aloud and nudged one another, winking up at Surata while Arkady cursed them softly. Finally one silver coin bought two blankets and it was time to go. Arkady smiled and bowed from his saddle as he took the ass's lead from the farmhand who had helped him load the pack saddle. Behind him, Surata took a firmer hold of the cantel, and then they were out of the yard, going back down the track toward the wide swath of dust that was the merchants' road.

They had gone some distance in silence before Arkady said, “All right, you said last night you would explain.”

“I will,” she answered softly. “I'm sorry if I'll distress you.” Her head rested against his shoulder and one arm went around his waist. “You will have to reserve your judgment until I'm through.”