Serroi stepped inside and looked around. This room was a twin to the other. “She’ll make a good meie, if that's the path she chooses.”
“A lot of passion in her.”
Serroi chuckled softly. “We don’t vow chastity, you know that well enough, my friend. Only childlessness.”
He touched her cheek lightly, then moved past her and lit the lamp sitting in the middle of a dusty table. He looked down at the chair, frowned, crossed to the bed and pulled off the old tattered sheets. He flicked the ends over the chair and table, then came back to her to stand looking down into her face. He dropped the sheets, kicked them to one side as he lifted a hand and brushed its back very gently along the side of her face. “Now that the girl’s not here, how are you really, little meie?”
“Hanging on.” She dropped cap and rucksack to the floor, smiled tentatively then leaned forward, her head resting in the hollow beneath his collarbone. “I’ve got a job to do,” She murmured. “That helps.”
His fingers played in the small tight curls at the base of her skull. “What about tonight?”
She pushed back, looked up at him. A smallish man, he didn’t tower over her; without the wariness he seemed a gentle, affectionate man entirely different from the cynical manipulator of the bar. She tried to smile. “You offer?”
“Comfort for both of us. A shared solitude. More, if you’re willing.”
“Comfort, ahhh…” Her knees sagged and she began to cry, hard painful sobs that wracked her body. Sobs she couldn’t stop. Tears finally for the lost shieldmate.
Muttering under his breath, he steered her to the chair and got her seated. Then he slapped new sheets onto the bed, tucked the ragged quilt back in. Finished, he marched back to Serroi. “Stand up.”
Hiccupping and gasping, she stood swaying in front of him. He stripped off her vest and tunic, folded them over the back of the chair. The weaponbelt landed in a broken circle on the table; he pushed her to the bed and sat her down, pulled off her boots, untied the lacings of her trousers, then eased them off and tossed them aside. He sat beside her on the bed, bending over her, smoothing a hand along her shoulders, working on the tight hard muscles there for several moments until she began to relax. He touched her nipple lightly, smiled as he heard her breathing quicken. “More than comfort?” he murmured.
“More, oh yes,” she whispered huskily, pressing her hand over the hand cupping her breast.
He swung his legs up onto the bed, then jerked upright. “Shit,” he muttered. “Forgot, little meie. Not yet, not yet.” He swung back off the bed and tugged her onto her feet, taking her stumbling and unwilling to the door. “Bar it after me, then get back into bed. I’ve got to close up downstairs and get food for the girl. Bar the door. You hear?”
She yawned, then suddenly twisted around and pressed herself against him, locking her hands behind his neck. “I need you,” she whispered. She pulled his head down and kissed him with a kind of desperation.
“Maiden’s tits,” he breathed, then pulled her hands loose. “Bar the door, meie.”
Twisting restlessly about on the bed; she heard sounds in the hall, then a knocking. She sat up, then realized that the knocking was on the door across the hall. Coperic bringing food to Dinafar. She got out of bed and padded to the door, leaned against it, waiting. When a knock sounded by her ear, she deepened her voice. “Who is it?”
“Uncle.” Coperic’s voice.
As he stepped inside, she went back to the bed and sat on its edge, wiping the soles of her feet with the end of the quilt.
He pulled the door shut and barred it. “Far as I know, Haqtar’s the only Plaz spy downstairs; the rest are thieves, a pimp or two, one smuggler…” He dropped into the rickety chair and unlaced his sandals.
“A friend of yours?” She inspected her feet, then slipped into bed.
“Now, little one, is that a friendly thing to say?” He pulled off his tunic and draped it over hers. “Haqtar’s a fool, no danger to you or anyone. Still it's best to be careful.” He finished undressing and moved to stand by the bed, frowning thoughtfully down at her. “You should get as much sleep as you can.”
“Cold feet?” She grinned, up at him, reached up a hand to him. “Don’t think I could bear nightmares tonight.”
He lifted the covers and slipped in beside her. His body was slight but strong, warm and intensely alive. She snuggled against him, letting that warmth flow through her. The healing contact with other flesh began easing the wounds in her spirit. His hands curved around her shoulders. “Been a long time,” he murmured.
“Mmmmh?”
“Never mind.” He began stroking her brow, caressing the softly quivering eyespot.
“Don’t.” She tried to pull away.
“Hush. Be still.”
She pressed her face against the hard flat muscles of his chest and let the tears come again, gentle healing tears this time, weeping silently until the touch of his hands and her body’s response made her forget why she wept.
The Child: 10
For three nights Serroi trudged across the desolation. The stony ground gave way to rolling sand which took an even greater toll on her failing strength. She ate the last of her food early in the morning of the third day, choking down the dried-out meat and rotting fruit. When she tried to sleep, her rest was broken by nightmares so that she woke almost as tired as when her eyes first closed.
Toward the end of the fourth night she stumbled along, her tongue swollen, her mouth leather-dry, her head unsteady on her neck. As the sun climbed clear of the horizon, she found herself at the top of a slope in the middle of emptiness with no shelter anywhere. Eyes blurring, head burning, she started down, fell, rolled to the bottom of the slope and lay there, dazed.
It seemed to her that she sat up and lay curled on the sand simultaneously as if she’d split into two parts. A vinat came tiptoeing over the sand, nosed at her-on-the-sand, then stood over her-who-knelt, large luminous eyes staring out over the dark-bright sands. The sands stirred, opened up. She was kneeling/lying in masses of blue and crimson flowers. Everything was bright and tranquil. A fire began burning in front of her. A crystal pot came from nowhere and settled on the flames and the liquid inside began boiling. A strange woman veiled in grey stepped out of the pot and moved to her-on-the-sand. With a long bright knife, almost a sword, she cut the crouching body into small sections and threw them into the crystal pot that grew larger in order to accommodate the bits of flesh and bone. They boiled and boiled. It seemed to her that days passed, years passed. The bones were boiled clean, churning round and round in the crystal pot until the fire entered into them, burned through into the marrow, glowed red-gold. Then the grey woman fished them out of the water, slipping her slim white hand into the bubbling, steaming liquid as if it were no more than spring water. She lay the bones back into the shape of a girl child. In the skull-holes she placed two pebbles. The skeleton glowed hot, like lines of fire; the blue flowers nodded their bright heads against the bones, the crimson flowers brushed their bright heads against the bones. Flesh grew back over the bones, the stones turned into eyes. The grey woman bent over the one-who-lay-on-the-sand, watching the bones grow flesh around themselves; the head beneath the veil turned. She-who-knelt quivered as that dark secret gaze passed over her. The grey woman held out a hand. Her fingers were, cool, and filled with life; they closed over the hand of her-who-knelt, lifted her, flew with her, the spirit-her.
Spirit-Serroi looked down, saw a hole in the earth. “What is that hole in the earth?” she said.
The grey woman said nothing, but took her down and down, spiraling into the hole. It grew larger and larger until they were skimming over a river that divided into two parts, one flowing south, the other north. The south-flowing river gleamed bright as gold; the north-flowing river ran dark and smoky. The grey woman pointed at the dark river and spirit-Serroi saw bones floating in the murk; the grey woman pointed at the bright river, then flew with spirit-Serroi over the shining water. She opened her hand and spirit-Serroi drifted gently downward, still calm, even tranquil, though she fell toward the earth. She slid into the water and it flowed into her; she felt the life-force energizing her; she turned over and over in the flood. Then the white hand dipped into the water and drew her up again.
Where the glowing river fell over a cliff into a second hole there were two trees, a bright tree and a dark tree, round fruits hanging on each, ripe round fruits bursting with juice. The grey woman took her down to the trees. This time she settled spirit-Serroi beside the dark tree. When she took her hand away, Serroi drifted toward the bright tree. She reached for a glowing fruit; but the grey woman slapped her hand away, took her back to the dark tree. The fruits were purple and fleshy, dripping crimson juice. Spirit-Serroi plucked one and ate it, then screamed as pain jagged through her, her spirit body stretched and twisted, near torn apart by the pain. The grey woman watched, silent and impassive. Though she said nothing, Serroi perceived the pain as a test. She fought to control it, to force it into a small dark knot and expel it from her while she fought also to maintain the integrity of her spirit body. At the end of a struggle more intense than any she’d known, more intense even than the struggle with her Noris, she cast out the pain. The grey woman took another fruit from the dark tree and extended it to Serroi. She drew back. The grey woman forced her to take it. Shivering with fear she bit into the crimson flesh. She felt nothing. Joy bubbled in her; she swallowed the rest of the fruit then laughed and danced around the tree.
The grey woman waved a hand at the shining tree. Serroi darted to the glowing fruit and ate eagerly. Fire burned in her, seared her, consumed her; again she fought to control the burning. Again she won the fight. She thrust the fire from her, handled it, let it burst into the air over her head.
They flew on, the grey woman taking her many places, showing her many things, testing her again and again, speaking no word, simply guiding her, letting her do and be.
Then they were back with her-who-lay-on-the-sand, the vinat standing silent guard over the body. The flesh was on the bones, the eyes plump under closed eyelids. She looked worn and hungry, the girl curled up on the sand, lips cracking, feet wrapped in bloody rags, a ragged brown robe half covering a soiled white shift. The veiled woman bent over her, touched her cheek with cool fingers, then she looked back, her unseen eyes fixed on the spirit-Serroi as she spoke for the first time, her voice low and rich. “Cherish all things that live,” she said, then she was gone, fading into the clear hard air of the desert night.
The body pulled spirit-Serroi. Wriggling about, pushing, shoving, she fitted herself back into her flesh.
When she woke, the moons were rising. She tried to sit up, fell back as her arms collapsed under her, tried again and trembled upright. She rubbed at her eyes, vaguely surprised to see no vinat, no blue and crimson flowers. A dream, just a fever dream. She pushed up onto her knees, rested a moment, then got to her feet and stood swaying as she brushed feebly at the sand crusting her clothing. Abandoning this, she straightened and turned slowly while she desired water. When the tug came, it came far stronger than before; through her weariness and pain she knew a flash of hope. From somewhere strength came into her; like a river of fire it flowed into her. She could feel her bones glowing. With trembling fingers she tied the cloth around her neck and began walking in the direction her eye-spot pulled her. The fire slowly died but while it was there the desert was eerily beautiful for her, a continually changing pattern of black, grey and silver.
Nijilic TheDom led the long ragged scatter of moons waxing to half across the starfields, its milky light shimmering through the air and touching surfaces into brightness.
As the night progressed, her dream-fire left her and, she began drifting in and out of consciousness, sometimes coming to herself with her face in the sand and no idea of how she got there. Sand under her feet changed and hardened, was covered with small stones that struck sharply into the soles of her dragging feet. She stumbled along half conscious weaving around larger and larger boulders until she lost all idea of direction.
Suddenly her eye-spot began throbbing frantically. She leaned against a boulder, resting and listening, holding her breath as she waited. She heard a thready tinkle, a faint bubbling. She pushed away from the stone, walked half a dozen steps and fell to her knees beside a small, shining pool at the base of a sharp rise. She dipped a trembling hand into the pool and stared at the water quicksilvering out of her palm. Dark and secret, the pool caught the starshine and shimmered the broken light back to her. She dipped her hand again, not quite believing that she could come back to life.
She stretched out flat and buried her face, in the coolness, drank and drank until she could hold no more. The water was joy, in her and on her. Then, as in the dream, her, stomach cramped. She, gasped and rose to her knees, clutching at her middle, groaning and throwing herself about as the pain pulsed through her. After a few moments, though, the teaching of the dream reached into her and she brought her body under control. She stretched out, gasping, on the sand until the sun threw up fans of light on the eastern horizon, warning her that she needed to find shelter. She dragged herself onto her feet and looked around. A pile of large boulders leaned against a cliff about twice her height, forming a shallow hollow that looked big enough to hold her. She stripped off her outer robe, dipped it in the water, then settled herself in the hollow, the dripping robe spread over her.
She slept the morning through, slept better than she had in days, dreamed a little without the vivid awareness of the previous day. She woke at a scurrying sound, a tickling over her leg. A small grey-green lizard was running up the side of the boulder by her knee. She watched as it ran in and out of shadow and finally scurried toward her head. Choking down her reluctance, she snatched the lizard from the rock and killed it.
Using a sharp-edged flake of stone, she skinned the lizard, ate the meat raw off the small bones, then braved the sun to wash hands and face at the pool. She took only a few mouthfuls of water, having learned a hard lesson, wet her robe again, and went back to try sleeping the rest of the day away.
She stayed at the tiny spring the next night, continuing to rest and rebuild her strength. She ate more lizards and some of the bitter herbs growing in cracks of the rock. When the sun went down again, she drank as much as she could hold, soaked all her clothing in the water of the pool, then wrapped it around her. As soon as she had her direction, she scrambled up the boulders, dragged herself over the steep rise, and set out for the next water.
The hard earth was littered with small sharp bits of rock that could cut to the bone if her foot came down wrong on one of them. This slowed her, put a strain on her strength; she felt her bones beginning to glow again as if they sucked heat and energy from the stones that threatened her. The fire upheld her for a long time, draining slowly away as she made detours around cracks in the earth too wide to leap over and too steep-sometimes even undercut-to climb.
The sun came up before she found the second water. She wound the spare cloth around her head and walked on until she found a crack with negotiable walls. She spent the day there, dozing and enduring. It was both easier and harder to endure, now that she knew there’d be an end to thirst and pain, now that she was wholly sure she’d get out of this desert alive. She was more impatient than ever to cross the last miles of stone and sand. The day went on and on, seemed never to end.