The conversation lagged a bit at this point. Haplo glanced about with a nervousness that was not all feigned.
“Don’t worry,” said Kari. “The tiger-men are not following us.”
“It wasn’t that,” Haplo answered. “Before we met them, we saw flames. I was afraid that perhaps a dragon was attacking a village nearby—”
Kari was amused. “You don’t know much about dragons, do you, Haplo?”
Haplo smiled and shrugged. It had been a nice try. “All right, so it isn’t dragon-fire—”
“It is our fire,” Kari said. “We built it.”
Haplo shook his head. “Then apparently you’re the
ones who don’t know much about dragons. The blaze can be seen a long way off—”
“Of course.” Kari continued to be amused. “It is meant to be seen. That’s why we light it on the tower. It is a welcome fire.”
Haplo frowned. “Forgive me for saying this, Kari, but if your headman has made this decision, it seems to me that he must suffer from the sickness.
1
I’m surprised you haven’t been attacked before now.”
“We have been,” Kari said nonchalantly. “Many, many times. Far more in past generations than these days, of course. Very few things in the Labyrinth are strong enough or daring enough to attack us now.”
“Past generations?” Haplo’s jaw sagged.
Who in the Labyrinth could speak of past generations? Few children knew their own parents. Oh, occasionally some large Squatter tribe might date itself back to a headman’s father, but that was rare. Generally the tribes were either wiped out or scattered. Survivors joined up with, were absorbed into other tribes.
The past, in the Labyrinth, went back no further than yesterday. And one never spoke of a future.
Haplo opened his mouth, shut it again. To ask any more would be insulting. He’d already overstepped the bounds as it was. But he was uneasy. He glanced more than once at the telltale sigla on his skin. None of this made sense. Were they being lured into some sort of elaborate trap?
We are, he reminded himself, in the very heart, at the very beginning of the Labyrinth.
“Come, speak freely, Haplo,” Kari said, sensing his discomfort, perhaps his suspicion. “What question is in your mind?”
“I’ve come here for a purpose,” he said to her. “I’m looking for someone. A little girl. Her age would be seven, maybe eight gates. She is called Rue.”
Kari nodded calmly.
“You know her?” Haplo’s pulse quickened with hope. He couldn’t believe it. He had found her already …
“I know several,” Kari answered.
“Several! But how—”
“Rue is not an uncommon name in the Labyrinth,” Kari said with a wry smile.
“I … I suppose not,” Haplo mumbled.
To be honest, he’d never thought about it, never considered the possibility that there might be more than one child in the Labyrinth named Rue. He was not used to thinking of people in terms of names. He couldn’t recall his parents’ names. Or the name of the headman in the tribe that had raised him. Even Marit. She had been “the woman” to him, when he thought about her. The Lord of the Nexus was just that—his lord.
Haplo looked down at the dog trotting along next to him. The animal had saved his life—and he’d never bothered to give it a name. It wasn’t until he had passed through Death’s Gate, wasn’t until he had entered the worlds of mensch, that he’d really become conscious of names, come to think of people as separate beings—important beings, distinct and individual.
And he wasn’t the only one who had a problem with names. Haplo slid a glance back at Alfred—traipsing down the path, stumbling over any obstacle that presented itself, tripping over smooth ground if nothing else was available.
What’s your true name, Sartan? Haplo wondered suddenly. And why haven’t you ever told anyone?
The Patryns had covered a long distance. Haplo’s leg was giving him increasing trouble, causing him increasing pain before Kari finally called a halt. The gray gloom was darkening; night was coming. It was dangerous to travel through the Labyrinth at any time, but far more dangerous after dark.
They had reached a clearing in the forest, near a stream. Kari examined it, consulted with her party, then announced that they would camp here for the night.
“Heal yourselves,” she told Haplo. “We have food for you. Then sleep in peace. We will keep watch.”
The Patryns brought them hot food, cooking it over a small fire that they built in a clearing. Haplo was astounded
at their boldness, but said nothing. To have registered any sort of protest would have been to question Kari’s authority, something that—as a stranger and one who’d been rescued by her—he had no right to do. He was relieved to note that they were at least sensible enough not to allow the blaze to smoke.
Once her guests were served, Kari asked courteously if there were other comforts she could provide for them.
“Your two friends do not speak our language,” she said, with a glance at Hugh and Alfred. “Are their needs different from ours? Is there anything special we can bring them?”
“No,” Haplo replied. “Thank you.”
He had to give her credit. That, too, had been a nice try.
Kari nodded and left. She set the watch, posting lookouts on the ground and in the trees. Then she and the rest of her people sat down to eat. She did not ask Haplo and the others to join her circle. This could be taken for a bad sign—one didn’t share food with one’s enemy. Or again, it might be courtesy, an assumption that since the two strangers did not speak the language they would be more comfortable alone with their companions.
Marit returned, silently joined them. She kept her eyes on her meal—a mixture of dried meat and fruit wrapped and cooked in grape leaves. The dog shared Haplo’s meal, then flopped over on its side and, with a tired sigh, fell sound asleep.
“What’s going on, Haplo?” Hugh the Hand questioned, keeping his voice low. “These people may have saved our lives, but they don’t seem overfriendly. Are we their prisoners now? Why are we hanging around with them?”
Haplo smiled. “It’s nothing like that. They’re uncertain of us. They’ve never seen people like you two and they don’t understand. No, we’re not their prisoners. We could leave anytime we wanted and they’d never say a word. But it’s dangerous traveling in the Labyrinth—as you’ve seen. We need to rest, heal our wounds, build up our strength. They’ll escort us to their village—”
“How do you know you can trust them?” the Hand demanded.
“Because they’re my people,” Haplo returned quietly.
Hugh the Hand grunted. “That little murderer Bane was one of
my
people. So was that accursed father of his.”
“It’s different with us,” said Haplo. “It’s this place, this prison. For generations, ever since we were sent here, we’ve had to work together to simply survive. From the moment we’re born, our lives are in someone else’s keeping—either father or mother, or maybe complete strangers. It doesn’t matter. And it continues like that throughout our lives. No Patryn would ever hurt or kill or … or …”
“Betray his lord?” Marit asked.
She flung her food to the ground. Jumping to her feet—startling the sleeping dog to wakefulness—she stalked off.
Haplo started to call her back, faltered, and fell silent. What could he say?
The other Patryns had stopped talking to stare at her, wondering what was wrong, where she was going. Marit grabbed a water skin and walked down to the small stream, where she made a pretense of filling it. There were no stars or moon in the Labyrinth, but the firelight reflected off the leaves of the trees, glanced off the surface of the stream, providing enough light to see by. She took care to keep within the light—to do otherwise was to invite trouble.
The other Patryns went back to the meal and their talk. Kari followed Marit with her eyes, then turned a cool, thoughtful gaze on Haplo.
He was cursing himself for a fool. What had he been thinking about? My people—so superior. He was beginning to sound like a Sartan. Well, the late Samah, at least. Certainly not Alfred—a Sartan who had difficulty feeling superior to dirt worms.
“So what’s your point?” Hugh the Hand asked, filling in the awkward silence.
“Nothing,” Haplo muttered. “Never mind.” Maybe they did in fact have to worry about these Patryns.
We were sent to find you.
The tiger-men had been sent to find them, too. And Haplo was lying to his people, deceiving them, bringing the ancient enemy into their midst.
A Patryn male, who had accompanied Marit during the day, went to the stream, started to sit down beside her. She
turned her shoulder to him, averted her face. Shrugging, the Patryn walked off.
Haplo stood up painfully, limped down to the stream. Marit was sitting alone, shoulders hunched, knees drawn up, her chin resting on her knees.
Rolling herself into a ball
, Haplo had once teasingly described this position.
Hearing his footsteps, she glanced up, frowning, ready to repel any intrusion. Seeing that it was him, she relaxed somewhat, did not drive him away, as he had more than half-expected.
“I came for some water,” he said stupidly.
She made no comment. The inane remark certainly didn’t deserve one. He bent down, cupped his hand, drank, though he wasn’t really thirsty. He sat down beside her. She did not look at him, but stared into the water, which was clear and cold and fast-running.
“I asked about our daughter,” he said. “There are several girls in the village about her age named Rue. I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect that.”
She said nothing, stared at the water. Picking up a stick, she thrust it into the stream. The water altered course, swirled around it in whorls and ripples, kept going.
“I hate this place,” she said abruptly. “I loathe it, fear it. I left it. But I never really left it. I dream of it, always. And when I came back, I was frightened, but a part of me … a part of me …” She swallowed, frowned, shook her head angrily.
“—felt as if you’d come home,” he finished for her.
Her eyes blinked rapidly. “But I haven’t,” she said in a low voice. “I can’t.” She glanced over her hunched shoulder at the Patryns, gathered together. “I’m different.” Another moment’s silence, then she said, “That’s what you meant, wasn’t it?”
“About Hugh and me being alike?” Haplo knew exactly what she was thinking, feeling. “Now I’m beginning to understand how the Sartan came to name Death’s Gate. When we passed through Death’s Gate, you and I both died, in a way. When we try to come back here, come back to our old life, it isn’t possible. We’ve both changed. We’ve both
been
changed.”
Haplo knew what had changed him. He wondered very much what had happened to change Marit.
“But I didn’t feel like this when I was in the Nexus,” Marit protested.
“That’s because being in the Nexus isn’t truly leaving the Labyrinth. You can see the Final Gate. Everyone’s thoughts are centered in the Labyrinth. You dream about it, as you said. You feel the fear. But now, you dream about other things, other places …”
Did Hugh the Hand dream? Did he dream about that haven of peace and light he’d described? Was that what made it so hard, so very hard to come back?
And what did Marit dream?
Whatever it was, she obviously wasn’t going to tell him.
“In the Labyrinth, the circle of my being encompassed only myself,” Haplo went on. “It never really included anyone else, not even you.”
She looked over at him.
“Just as yours never really included me,” he added quietly.
She looked away again.
“No names,” Haplo continued. “Only faces. Circles touched, but never joined—”
She shivered, made a sound, and he stopped talking, waited for her to say something.
She kept silent.
Haplo had hit some vital part of her, but he couldn’t tell what. He went on talking, hoping to draw her out. “In the Labyrinth, my circle was a shell protecting me from feeling anything. I planned to keep it that way, but first the dog broke the circle, and after that, when I went beyond Death’s Gate, other people just sort of seeped inside. My circle grew, expanded.
“I didn’t intend it. I didn’t want it. But what choice did I have? It was either that or die. I’ve known fear out there, worse than any fear in the Labyrinth. I healed a young man—an elf. I was healed by Alfred—my enemy. I’ve seen wonders and horrors. I’ve known happiness, hurt, sorrow. I’ve come to know myself.
“What changed me? I’d like to blame it on that chamber. That Chamber of the Damned. Alfred’s Seventh Gate. A brush with the ‘higher power’ or whatever it was. But I don’t think that was the cause. It was Limbeck and his speeches and Jarre calling him a druz. It was the dwarf
maid Grundle and the human girl, Alake, who died in my arms.”
Haplo smiled, shook his head. “It was even those four irritating, quarreling mensch on Pryan: Paithan, Rega, Roland, and Aleatha. I think about them, wonder if they’ve managed to survive.”
Haplo touched the skin of his forearm; the tattoos were glowing faintly, indicating danger, but a danger that was far away. “You should have seen how the mensch stared when they first saw my skin start to glow. I thought Grundle’s eyes were going to roll out of her head. Now, among my own people, I feel the way I did among the mensch—I’m different. My journeys have left their mark on me and I know that they must be able to see it. I can never be one of them again.”
He waited for Marit to say something, but she didn’t. She jabbed the stick into the water and huddled away from him. Obviously she wanted to be alone.
Standing up, he limped back to his bed, to heal himself—as far as possible—and try to sleep.
“Xar,” Marit pleaded silently after Haplo had gone. “Husband, Lord, please help me, guide me. I’m so afraid, so desperately afraid. And alone. I don’t know my own people anymore. I’m not one of them.”
“Do you blame me for that?” Xar questioned mildly.
“No,” Marit answered, poking the stick into the stream. “I blame Haplo. He brought the mensch here, and the Sartan. Their presence puts us all in danger.”
“Yes, but it may work for us in the end. You say you are at the very beginning of the Labyrinth. This village, from what you describe, must be an incredibly large one, larger by far than any I ever knew existed. This suits me well. I have formed a plan.”