Into the Stone Land (10 page)

Tall turned his eyes to Nolhan. “You are a speaker? You speak horse?”

Nolhan nearly pulled Tall's arm out of its socket as he threw him to the stones. With a foot over Tall's throat, he said, “Speak again, and die.”

Lucky liked this even less. He whinnied and reared, coming down so close Nolhan had to step back or be trampled.

Nolhan helped Tall to his feet. “The messenger has told me to treat you kindly. Must have formed an affection for you. That can be fixed.”

Tall tried to speak. Nolhan returned the painful grip, whispered in Tall's ear, “Rider matters not. Have the good courtesy to return dead or dying from the outlands next time, will you?”

Tall nodded, turned his eyes down. He was trying to process what was happening. Though Tall's paintings had led to many questions, no one in the village, not even the smoot, knew much about the Outlanders and their customs. He knew only to fear them. They came. They took. They killed. They went. That was how it was.

Nolhan led Tall to a building with matching pairs of outsized doors. Inside, grass-covered floors with fenced pens growing out of them were lit with flaming lamps that smoked and smelled. Nolhan led Lucky to one of the pens, pointed Tall to an area above filled with dried grass.

Tall shouldered his pack, used his staff to help him make the upward leap. It was a simple leap, double a man's height, made easier by the still ground that Tall loathed. He landed in a pile of dried grass with a swoosh. Nolhan groaned at the sight of this, pointed to planking that bridged the gap from the lower level.

Nolhan gave Lucky fresh water before brushing him to a perfect black sheen. Others dressed like Nolhan came and went. Some of these were no older than Tall himself. All were Outlanders, except for a man with chains on his legs who brought water.

Tall watched, mildly interested, becoming less and less afraid and more and more sleepy as time went by. He was sure no one who cared so much for an animal could treat any other any less. How wrong he was, though, for Nolhan disproved this when he awoke Tall some time later with the points of his boots. “Told you I'd pay you back,” Tall heard Nolhan say. Then he was being doused in a liquid that stung his eyes.

“Take him,” Nolhan shouted. Nolhan wasn't alone. Several others were with him. Tall saw them as gray shadows through the confusion of the moment and the blood in his eyes.

To protect himself, Tall wrapped his arms around his face and curled into a ball, whimpering. Any ferocity that had built within him in his beloved Inlands wasn't with him in this place. He was afraid to defend himself, afraid of what Nolhan and the others would do if he did. His pain only deepened when he reached out to Lucky only to realize Lucky wasn't below.

Voices, shouting, confused him. He heard the unmistakable slap of a hand across a face, followed by more shouting—or rather one voice shouting above the din. He scooted back, to get away, but before he could burrow into the piled grass, hands were dragging and pulling him out. His left hand balled into a fist, his right gripping his staff, he was about to strike out, when the soft voice stilled him. “Where do you hurt?” the voice said. “Stop squirming. Let me see.”

Soft, cold hands, tiny hands, poked and prodded. He winced when the hands pushed on his ribs and winced when they touched his right eye. “Calm yourself,” the voice said. “If you behave as an animal, I must let them treat you as one.”

Tall didn't know what inside him loosed his tongue but he found himself screaming, “You treat animals far better. Bring Lucky back. Bring Lucky back.”

Hushed whispers followed. The soft voice spoke over the whispers. Tall heard a man's voice say, “Very well then. I will return to finish this once I've words with Lord Hravic.” He realized this was Nolhan, but a very contained Nolhan. This was followed by the sound of retreating footsteps.

A long silence followed. Tall wasn't sure whether he was alone, but that seemed to be the case. He rubbed at his eyes, tried to see through the blurry pain.

“I am Deanna,” the soft voice said. Tall turned toward the voice, saw a gray smudge where Deanna should be. “Don't rub. They've doused you in kero. Meant to burn you. The fools would've brought down the stables if I hadn't overheard and stopped them. Nolhan's been obsessing about it all day. You must have crossed him something terrible.”

That made Tall worry that the girl helped him only to stop Nolhan from burning the building. She didn't leave as he expected. She took him by the hand and helped him up. He was unsteady on his feet until she draped his arm around her shoulders.

“Stop trying to see. We'll rinse below. You've broken ribs, no doubt,” Deanna said. “You do understand me?”

Tall nodded. Deanna helped him move by giving him directions. She was patient with him. As they went down the planks into the lower level, he practically had to lay on her. He realized she must be walking backward down the plank while he walked frontward with his arms draped around her. Every step was painful, yet it was strange how the terrible pain became secondary to the feeling of himself pressed against her.

On the last step, he bowled her over onto the grassy floor. Not on purpose, but because she took an awkward step and he couldn't hold himself up on his own. He had rarely been this close to anyone except perhaps when he wrestled Keene or Isaac or Ray. Ephramme didn't much like wrestling, but most speaker's children were like that. Separating a part of themselves from everyone else seemed to go with the trade, or maybe they became a part of those they spoke for.

Delirium. Pain trumped remembrance. He felt the press of Deanna. She pulled him to his feet. Her touch was different, he decided. It wasn't like his mother's or like the time he had helped Ellie stand through tears. Deanna's little hands had a soft, caring touch. They told him she felt his pain.

He undressed at Deanna's urging. Shyness that normally would have been a problem wasn't. She helped him step into a large rectangular bowl. A trough, as she called it. It smelled of horse, of Lucky perhaps, though he couldn't be certain. She soaped and rinsed him, tried to be gentle in the places he ached.

Blackness swallowed Tall. He reached out to Lucky, found emptiness. He reached out farther and farther, hoping to connect with Hazard or Lady or one of the hatchlings.

“You stop that,” Deanna whispered. “Stop.”

“No more. No more,” Tall shouted, shrinking from her touch. He wasn't where he should be. Instead of the trough, he was in a bed. A bed coated in soft finery the likes of which he'd never experienced. He'd felt the stitched cloths of outtraders, but this was nothing like that. That might as well have been bark to this suppleness.

Tall opened his eyes, tried to see past blurred shadows. He noted his ribs were wrapped and the pain was a bit less. His head was wrapped, too. It was why he saw only shadows. He tried to remove the wraps from his eyes.

“No,” Deanna said, smacking his hands. There was immediate regret in her voice. “That was thoughtless. I didn't mean it.”

Tall grabbed at her retreating hands, found them, held them. “I'm Tall.”

“I know. You told me yesterday,” Deanna said.

Tall tried to sit. “Yesterday?”

“Stop that. A few more days sleep is what you need.”

Frustrated that he couldn't see her, Tall started pulling on the wraps around his head. This time it was Deanna who held his hands. Tall didn't dislike this, but he immediately felt guilty. He wondered what Ellie would think of such a thing.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“You're safe for now,” Deanna said. “Nolhan and his can't touch you here.”

Tall heard the sounding of a bell. But this wasn't the kind one held. It must have been much larger. “Lucky?”

“I think you're more unlucky than lucky,” Deanna said.

“The horse. The messenger. His name's Lucky.”

“You named the messenger? Nolhan was right. You've formed an attachment. This isn't good.” Deanna pulled away, stood. “I must—”

“Don't go,” Tall pleaded. “I don't understand what I've done wrong.”

“What you've done wrong is to put the messenger at risk,” Deanna said tersely. “Can't have this. Riders are to keep, shield, and protect. Nothing more, nothing less. You are an oathbreaker, as Nolhan has said. I should've let them… I must inform Braddick. The wizard's guard must know what I know, or I'll be—”

She stopped abruptly when Tall twisted around in the bed and put his feet to the floor. He took a blind step. “I've taken no oaths and broken no promises.”

“Impossible,” Deanna said. “All riders must take the oath.”

Tall took a second blind step. “I'm not a rider.”

“But of course you are.”

Tall winced, forced himself to keep straight when his body wanted to double over. “I've no idea of any of this. Please, I beg you, don't—” Throwing his hands in the air in protest was a mistake, he realized, but too late for he was already sprawled on his backside, flailing like a giant beetle.

Tall called out. No one was there to help him. Deanna was gone, having rushed away in confused tears.

Chapter 10: The Wizard's Guard

Tall tried to grope his way back to the bed. He ended up in a dark corner. He wished Keene were there. The boy might have been smaller than most, but he was smart. He'd know what to do. Then he remembered Keene was dead. Keene couldn't help anyone anymore.

Tall recoiled from the soft patter of footsteps. He put his hands up defensively.

“It is I,” Deanna's soft voice said. “I brought you what I could of my dinner.” She put a cold stone plate in his hands.

Tall sat rock still. “Nolhan? The guard?”

Deanna sat down next to Tall. He didn't see this; he heard it. “I couldn't… I…”

Tall held the plate in one hand, reached out to Deanna with the other. “Thank you,” he said. “You won't regret the decision. I swear it.”

Tall lifted the plate, inhaled. In all his life he'd never smelled such things. He reached in with his fingers. Deanna said, “Here, let me.” She took the plate, fed him something rather bland followed by something akin to pasty fire.

The spices and rich texture made Tall's mouth water even as he swallowed. The hot made his eyes water. He felt like he couldn't take a breath.

“Drink this,” Deanna said. “It'll help. There's no meat, though. I'm but a laity. Meat is reserved for those who take the robes.”

Tall drank deeply from the wooden mug. He didn't say that the thought of eating meat repulsed him or that eating meat would go against everything his people believed in. Deanna fed him several more heaping spoonfuls. He drank the sweet water in between mouthfuls. “I've never had such as this. It's very good. Do you always eat so well?”

“This? You poke fun. When I first fed this to you, you coughed and sputtered, like to die, but it was all I had to give.” Deanna was only a gray smudge before him but he heard the sadness in her voice and wondered why there were tears in her eyes.

“I'd have thought in the city you'd always have plenty to eat. You know, with all you trade and take.”

“Take, yes, you're fond of that word. Aren't you?” Deanna said. “You judge unfairly.”

Tall thought that perhaps she referred to something he'd said but didn't recall. He reached out to her. “I didn't mean it. I know only what I've seen of you Outlanders.”

“And there's that other word,” Deanna said, pulling the plate away. He heard her skirts shift, like she was about to stand. “Who's to say you're not the Outlander and I the Inderlander. I don't know why I help someone as ungrateful as you.”

Tall grabbed at the air, found her arm. Feeling the raised welts, he pulled back. “Did someone do this to you?”

“Only to show me my place,” Deanna said. “A laity should know her place. I was in the wrong. My pride showed and they whipped me so that the others may see.”

Tall could tell it wasn't an uncommon occurrence. In Nahterh'n, even the worst offenses were handled by the council elders, and even then only with words. Council decisions never resulted in violence, although violence occasionally occurred. He and Isaac had once stolen a drum from Emette's father. When they were caught, the council decided that they should spend a winter working for Isaac's father. That meant learning the oral histories, and then reciting them around the village fire. Their punishment was the humiliation of everyone knowing, and then having to stand before the village night after night.

“It'd have been better if they'd just made me work extra in the kitchens or something, but I suppose I had it coming. It's been a while since my last reminding.” Deanna scraped the plate with the spoon, fed him what must have been the last mouthful. “There may be bread left. I'll check and try to return if there is.”