Waterborne Exile (12 page)

He was alone there in the dark, his will somehow set apart from the corruption that surrounded him. Did that corruption stir? Might it respond to his thoughts in the way his body ought to have done? Had it turned to gaze at him with sightless eyes and to examine him with un-scenting nose? A shudder ran the length of his body, involuntary; then another shudder, more powerful than the first, set his leg muscles cramping. Another shudder, even stronger and he felt his body twist and spasm. A dreadful half-grunt, half-moan issued from his mouth as his whole torso jerked upwards and new pain found him, firing every nerve end simultaneously and racking him until he cried out, even though he feared that terrible evil would hear him and turn upon him. And air crept into his lungs, every bit as fetid and dank as he’d expected. A rank taste swam into his mouth as he gasped on the slab like a dying fish. Except he was not dying, somehow he understood that. This pain, this torment – this was living. And if this now was living, what had he been before? Walking through some dream, some nightmare? And if he had, and living was new, where had the words come from to give form to the shapeless fears that flitted through his mind? Worst thought of all, had that unnatural corruption supplied him with the words, and the thoughts, and the pain? And if it had, why? And what evil would it visit upon him next?

A fresh spasm racked his body and Drew woke with a start, crying out, some inarticulate moan of fear. He was sitting up in bed, a soft mattress beneath him, the warmth of Jervin’s body beside him. The air was fresh and sweet. The scent of jasmine carried in from Jervin’s courtyard garden through unshuttered windows. That gentle breeze, benevolent though it was, was enough to raise goosebumps on Drew’s flesh. He shuddered, trying to shake away the shadow of the nightmare, but the foul taste of corruption lingered in his mouth.

Jervin stirred next to him. “You’ve been restless these past nights. What ails you?” He sounded more peevish than concerned.

Drew ran his hands through his hair; it was down to his shoulders now, the tonsure of Vorrahan long since grown out. And it somehow felt wrong and alien at that moment. He shivered. “Just some nightmare.”

“Then you’ve been having a lot of those lately.” Jervin sat up, leaning over to study his face. “You sure you’re not trying to keep some secret from me?” He ran a lazy fingertip over Drew’s forehead, pushing back the unruly hair.

“No, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t, you know that.”

Jarvin huffed with laughter. “Some wife and children hidden away in Highground that you’ve forgotten to tell me about? Inappropriate thoughts about those traders from Ellisquay?” The fingertip strayed down the side of Drew’s face, down his neck. Drew’s pulse quickened and he caught his breath with anticipation as Jervin’s hand moved to his chest.

“Goddess, you’re sweating like a horse.”

Drew’s face heated with embarrassment. “I– I’m sorry. Just let me go and wash–”

“Did I say I didn’t like it?” Jervin reached beneath the tangled bedcovers, leaning over to kiss Drew hungrily, pressing against him, hard and eager and guaranteed to chase away any nightmare. Drew abandoned any attempt to think and lost himself in their lovemaking. There were moments when Jervin’s sense of humour confused him, when Drew didn’t trust him at all, but here, like this, in the bed they shared, Jervin became Drew’s entire world. Whatever those dreams meant, they had no place here in the waking world. Jervin’s eager body next to him was all that mattered.

Alwenna woke. She was shaking from the horror of her nightmare. It was still dark, probably hours before dawn. On the cot at the other side of the chamber, Erin slept soundly, her breathing steady, untroubled by any night fears. Alwenna knew a moment’s envy – at times the girl’s outlook was so prosaic it bewildered her, but the former servant had weathered the same storms alongside her and come out of the experience apparently whole and unbowed. Alwenna knew a mixture of envy and respect.

She was tempted to wake her and ask her what she thought of the dream, but that would be unfair. All she wanted was to hear another voice to banish the terrible dread of that dank corruption. Instead Alwenna pulled a gown on over her shift and slipped quietly out of the cave and into the desert night. The sky was clear and the half-moon not far off setting, but it gave enough light for her to see by once her eyes had adjusted. She walked some distance along the foot of the escarpment, climbing the slope away from the other dwellings. The night air was still, and almost perfect. If only there’d been a whiff of jasmine to leaven the air, something softer than the scents of sand and rock and scrubby vegetation. Her skin prickled with a strange awareness – had there been a dream within her nightmare? Something kinder? She couldn’t recall it if there had been. It had been that way of late, dreams crowding one another out. Some effect of her pregnancy, perhaps. The wisewoman Jenna had left Scarrow’s Deep, saying she would return soon; Alwenna hoped she would, so she might ask–

“My Lady Alwenna. You, too, are abroad this fine night.”

“Marten? You startled me.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady. It was not my intention.” Marten was perched on a boulder protruding from the cliff face some ten feet above where she stood, his long legs doubled up with forearms resting about them. He must have been watching her walk up the slope since she emerged from her cave. She had to crane her neck to see his face, although it was lost in shadow so the effort yielded little information.

“I must suppose you are comfortable up there, surveying your domain?”

“Yes, I believe I am. It is a favourite place. Why don’t you join me up here?”

The face of the boulder was undercut, and it butted up against a sheer blank rock wall. “I think you overestimate my agility.”

“As you do mine – it’s an easy scramble from the other side.” He gestured with his left hand. Unsure whether to believe him, Alwenna moved round the foot of the boulder to see that it was indeed the case. This facet of the boulder sloped gently and, even hampered by skirts, it was an easy matter to clamber up the ramp where it adjoined the rock. Marten reached out a hand to assist her, but she declined, choosing a sitting place beyond arm’s length. Marten shrugged.

“I am not yet forgiven?”

“There is nothing to forgive – the elders are not yours to command, after all.”

“I had hoped they would be of more substantive use than proved to be the case, however.”

There he was, speaking like a courtier again. Yet what passed for court in these parts was several days’ ride away – assuming it hadn’t burned entirely to the ground. “You must know, Marten, when you don the guise of a courtier I cannot trust you.”

“How so?”

“You need to ask? You sold me entirely to Tresilian at the summer palace, even though you claimed to be my friend. That is the cause of my anger towards you. It has nothing to do with the elders.”

“Appearances can be deceptive, my lady.”

“As can you, freemerchant.” Whether it was the night’s camouflage that made it easier to speak her mind, or the shadow of the nightmare that impelled her to seek the truth, she didn’t know. “You have as many answers as there are days in the year. For once, tell me the simple truth.”

“Truth – now we have discussed that before, have we not?”

“Have we, indeed? I cannot recall.” Weaver had spoken of truth once, long ago on the road to Vorrahan. What was it he’d said? Something about death being the ultimate truth? His certainty then had been absolute. And she’d not doubted him, either. Those had been simpler times…

“The truth is what has happened, my lady, but it is so much more than a simple event. The way each of us sees the same events can differ. What matters to my eyes may not matter to yours, yet we both see the same thing.”

Alwenna shrugged, scarcely listening to the freemerchant. He annoyed her when he went off on these flights of fancy. And that was all too often of late.

“Of course, right now, my lady, the truth I perceive is that you are troubled.” He moved closer so he could set a hand on her forearm. “It is perhaps better to speak of such things. And for once there are none nearby to overhear.”

Alwenna twisted her head to look at him. “Can you be so sure? I am not. And I believe some things are better not spoken.” She glanced pointedly at the hand on her arm and he removed it with a self-deprecating gesture of apology.

“Does the sight still trouble you, my lady?”

Well, he didn’t need the sight to guess that much, did he? Wandering alone beneath the night sky when most sensible souls were asleep was an easy enough portent to divine. “Yes, it does. It has been less of late, but…” What did one say? She had been dreaming of a dark place, where all was corruption and tainted. Where the whole world was pain, without remit. And there was something familiar about it all, yet she couldn’t quite place it. Her dreams of the lovers… they had been sharper, clearer. These visions – if she chose to call them that – they were nebulous, shifting, as insubstantial as night fears became by daylight. “Do you have the sight, Marten? I’ve heard often enough that freemerchants do.”

“A fair question. It deserves a fair answer.” He paused.

“Am I to assume a fair answer is not forthcoming? Some freemerchant secret that you are forbidden to reveal, no doubt.”

“Not at all, my lady, but I fear my answer may disappoint you. We do not have the sight as I believe you would understand it. I’ve been told our senses are somewhat sharper than the average but I cannot divine your thoughts. It would make my life a great deal easier if I could.”

Ought she believe him? Not that it mattered. She’d cast herself upon his protection. And still she didn’t fully understand why. She’d run to help him at the summer palace when it looked as if Tresilian would have overwhelmed him – that she couldn’t explain, either. Only that it had seemed paramount that she should save the freemerchant. But how much of that had been driven by distaste for what Tresilian had become?

“You doubt me still, my lady?”

“I doubt you still.”

Marten spread his hands wide. “I cannot blame you for that. As it is I remain in your debt for saving my life. Do not forget that. You may call on me when you have need.”

“I shall, never doubt it.” Yet she sensed that day would not come soon. “Marten, I fear I ought not remain here.”

“You are safe here, my lady. Of course you should remain here.”

She worried with her thumbnail at a patch of dry skin on the side of her finger. “It isn’t a question of my safety, Marten, but of yours. And your people. If I remain, I fear they will no longer be safe.”

“You are letting the elders colour your thinking, my lady.”

“No, Marten. I’ve had this conviction for some time now. A great evil stirs in the east. I ought not remain here, for your sakes.”

“And what about the child you carry? Here, you are both safe. What else can you do? You would not return to Vasic, I think?”

“I doubt he’d make me any more welcome than your wife has.” Alwenna could picture the horror on Vasic’s face if she should ever return to Highkell.

“No one from your world knows you are here. You are safe.”

“But how long will that last? And I am useless here, I can do nothing to help and I do not belong here. The very earth tells me so.”

“Come now, this is not what you believe; this is the prompting of nightmares, of the fears that haunt us all through the dark night. Let the daylight bring reason: you will feel differently then. I invited you here and you are welcome as long as you need to remain. I say so, and that is enough for my people.”

“It will not always be so.” Alwenna spread one hand over the rock on which they sat. It was nothing but an inert lump of rock, yet she knew that strange moment of stillness, of certainty. “It will not always be so. If I leave now it will be the better for you.”

“If you leave now I will hold no advantage against Vasic.” His voice was low, suddenly intense.

“Honesty at last, Marten? Your friendship is far from selfless. I have always known that, even before you gave us such proof at the summer palace.”

“I will never hand you over to him.” Again that intensity.

“No? Before you even know what price he might offer? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Marten. You would do anything for the sake of your people, and woe betide any landbound who get in your way.”

“You cannot leave now. You have the child to think of.”

The first light of the sun was creeping up the sky, casting a pink hue on the undersides of the clouds. He was right, of course. Right now there was nowhere else she could go. She set an uneasy hand on her belly, fuller and firmer than it had been. Her life had become like wading through deep water, every achievement seemed to require so much more effort than it ought.

“I will not sell you to Vasic. I will swear any oath you care to ask to prove my loyalty.”

Alwenna shuddered, remembering the proof of loyalty Tresilian had demanded of Weaver. Marten’s words had cast an uneasy shadow over the place where they sat. She’d once demanded an oath of loyalty from Weaver, and look where that had got him. “I will demand no oath of you. Such things seldom end well. Besides, I doubt Vasic would have me at any price now.”

“Perhaps not.” His voice was flat.

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t agree.” Marten hesitated. “The blood in your veins, and the child you carry – both could be used to further his own cause, just as Tresilian tried to use it. Don’t waste time denying it – you know it is true.”

Once again she had the sense Marten knew rather more about everything than he chose to tell her. But she also knew his words were true. “Some day, Marten, you will tell me all you know. And I pray to the Goddess that day will not arrive too late.”

“My lady, I swear, you are safe here. No one knows you even survived the fire. Even now freemerchants are spreading word that you have not been seen since that day, and that we mourn our sister.”

“Easily a dozen people saw us leave the palace.”

“Did they have time to study your face? They were all busy carrying water, or recovering goods from buildings. They just saw two servant girls riding hell for leather away on stolen horses. And probably envied them their escape.”