Lamarchos (6 page)

“What?” She felt her heart speed up while a familiar ache spread through her body.

“Come for a walk with me.” He moved his hand slowly a few inches up her calf, then slid it back to her ankle. “Away from the fire. And them.”

She reached down and closed her hand over his. “I will not after tonight.”

“Take the days as they come. Tomorrow—who knows what that brings?” He stood up, pulling her up with him. “Right now,” he murmured. “Tonight, you're curious about me and I'm taking advantage of that curiosity. Pushing hard as I can.”

As they stumbled down the swell to the thicker grass in the depression between the hills, she said dryly, “At least you're honest about it.”

“You said it, Lahela gikena. Who can lie to you?”

Chapter V

“My father had a horse run by Lake Po. We never got along. I told you that. He had the sensitivity of a brick wall, and not a nerve in his body.”

“I know the kind.” Aleytys ran her fingers through her hair. “Damn these burrs.”

“Let me.” Loahn sat up and began picking the leaves and burrs out of her long, tangled hair.

“Go on.”

“Mmmm … no, we never got on. I was a disappointment to him, a scrawny, screaming brat. Far back as I can remember I resented the way he treated my mother. Everything she did was wrong. In the first place, she was fair-haired, daughter of a gypsy horse trader, not one of the black-haired local beauties. He married her because she was graceful and gentle and loving and then once they were wed he resented all these things in her. He'd cut her to pieces in front of anyone around to listen. He didn't care how she suffered. I think he didn't even realize she suffered. Sometimes he beat her. I remember once I heard her crying late at night. My father was out with a foaling mare. I tried to comfort her. She sent me away.” He stopped talking to ease a burr out of a complicated knot of hair.

“Careful. That hurts.”

“I'm trying not to pull.” With a grunt of satisfaction and a few tiny snapping sounds he worked the burr loose and tossed it to one side.

“I never knew my mother.” Aleytys spread her fingers out and watched the moonlight shine off the nails.

“She died?”

“No. She went away. I'm on my way to find her.”

“Your mother is Lamarchan?”

“No. This is … this is a waystop. It's a long and complicated story. Go on.”

His hands moved absently over her hair. “When I was five, my mother died. She grew quieter and quieter. Simply faded away. She needed the open spaces and he … he kept her in strictest purdah. He was a jealous man. He kept closer ties on her than even the customs dictate, locked her behind the walls of the house until a glimpse of the sky tormented her.” She felt his fingers moving with careful gentleness over her back, brushing away the debris that clung to her. “During that time and a few years after I scuttled around full of hate and too stubborn to do anything my father told me without a tussle of wills. I always lost, but we both ended up exhausted.” He pulled her back against him, cupping his hands over her breasts. “You're getting cold.”

“Never mind. Finish your story.” She stretched and yawned, gently freeing herself. “Are all the burrs out of my hair?”

“Think so. But.…”

“I'm not too cold. Finish the tale.”

“When the mourning time was over and my mother's spirit safe on its trek to Ma-e-Uhane, my father married again. This one was a strong, passionate woman. Jealous in her own way as my father was. She hated me. Why not? In three years she had three sons and none of them could take heir-right. Because of me. First wife's only son. She couldn't get around that. So of course she hated me.”

“Hated.” Aleytys touched his knee. “My dear.”

“You needn't pity me. I returned the feeling full strength. Not the healthiest of atmospheres for a growing boy. She was jealous of my mother too. Sometimes when the moon was very bright and the air was still and clear, my father would go out of the house as if it burned him. He'd climb the promontory by the lake and sit there all night, I swear, remembering my mother. In the morning he'd ride off on the run and stay away for three or four days. My stepmother was a fury those times. I learned early that the best thing for me was to disappear.”

“I know that jealousy,” Aleytys said softly. “An aunt of mine. I kept out of her way soon as I could walk.”

“Then you know. As my brothers and I grew older, she hated me even more. You see, none of my half-brothers could match me with the horses. My mother's blood showing in me. After a while my father noticed this and my life was both easier and harder.”

“I see. What about your brothers?”

“Not so bad. I can't say they liked me much but they weren't malicious about it.” He chuckled. “You need a few brains to be malicious.”

“Meow. Pull the claws back, boy.”

“Boy! Tchah!”

“Go on with the story.” She held his hands away from her. “No distractions.”

He shrugged. “So. My father began training me as heir. I was out of the house five days in six. A kind of unmentioned truce held between us. I even managed to feel a brief glow of pride when I heard him bragging about one of my exploits to some neighbors. I think eventually we might have come to a kind of peace. But he died. One minute he was roaring with rage at a failing of the men. The next he was falling, blood gushing from his nose and mouth.”

“And your stepmother kicked you out.”

“Of course not. She couldn't. I was heir. The pyre was raised on the promontory by the lake. My orders. She hated that because she knew why I did it, why I built his pyre where my mother's had been raised, where he used to go to dream of her. In the house my father lay on his bed wrapped in the grave windings waiting for sunrise and the torch.”

“I don't understand. How …?”

“At sunrise, when our neighbors were there with the kauna of elders from Wahi-Po, she came staggering out of the house, screaming, tearing at her hair, thighs covered with blood. She swore I had raped her. She swore I had laughed and spat on my father's corpse.”

“And they believed her?”

“They believed her.”

“But where were you? Didn't they listen to you at all?”

“I was lying in a drunken stupor on the floor of my father's bedroom.”

“She drugged you.”

“Right. I was a fool. They found me naked and snoring like a pig, my own thighs and groin covered with blood, deep scratches on my face and arms. She pointed them out triumphantly, as evidence of how she'd struggled against me.”

“Not a fool. How could you expect such a thing?”

“I knew how she hated me. I should have been alert for some such action.”

“And they all believed her.”

He laughed, a mirthless bitter sound. “Why not. I'd been going over a lot of house walls into women's quarters for the past year, leaving angry and suspicious husbands scattered along my trail. To speak bluntly, my reputation stank.”

“Stupid.”

“How was I to know?” He protested mournfully. “My lady friends were very willing. No cries of rape followed me. But …” He sighed. “I admit all this lent color to her tale. And then there were the years when I made no secret of how I hated my father.”

“I see.” Aleytys stood up and fastened the batik around her. “Is there much more?”

“Not much.” He jumped to his feet and stood pinning his borrowed batik around his skinny hips. “I can finish as we walk back to the wagons.”

Aleytys nodded and started up the slope.

“The kauna pronounced me pariah. Then they took me out, threw me in a horsetrough to wake me, shaved me bald top and bottom, slapped me on the back of that ramshackle pensioner of a horse and drove me out, still dazed and not quite comprehending what had happened to me.” He yawned. “And here I am.”

“How'd you get the wound?”

“I needed water.” He shrugged. “Took a while to learn how to sneak it. I got the wound first week. Had to live with it.” His square teeth gleamed whitely as a grin nearly split his face in half. “Or die with it except for you happening along.”

“I doubt there was much chance to our meeting.” She stopped him, hand on his arm. “How far is Lake Po from here?”

“There's a crossroad ahead some hours. On that, a two, two and a half day trip north by caravan.”

“You want your father's land back?”

“Damn right I do.”

“And your half-brothers?”

“I've nothing against them. Remember, I'll be serving you for what time you choose, gikena. They can take care of the place for me.” He glanced at the lowering moon. “The dew's coming down and it's cold out here.”

“A minute more. Will my being gikena really be enough to get the curse lifted and put you back in your place?”

“Yes.”

“And the kauna will listen to me?”

“Lahela, the gikena speaks for the Lakoe-heai. Would they want their mares to die in foaling, their crops to turn black dust in the earth, their water to go foul, their dreams be filled with horror, the very air they breathe turn poison in their lungs?”

“They believe that?”

Loahn grunted. “It happened once in another place. That's not a thing to be forgotten.”

“Ahai!” Aleytys shivered. “I hadn't realized. Come on, I'll get you a quilt.”

“A quilt?” Hairless eyeridges arched in unspoken question.

“My bed is taken,” she said firmly.

They trudged to the top of the swell then began sliding downslope to the dark, silent caravans. Aleytys jerked to a halt. “Loahn.”

“Change your mind?”

“My god, is that all you ever think of?”

“Can you think of better?” He grinned. “What is it, then?”

“The other woman. Leyilli. She's a killer. And she doesn't like men. I'm going to have enough trouble convincing her to turn aside without your making it more difficult. Don't play your tricks with her.”

“Jealous.”

“Idiot! There's another thing you ought to know, my naive young native. Leyilli's the leader of this mismatched group of thieves.”

“A woman?” He sounded skeptical.

“A woman. Don't underestimate her. Barehanded that dainty little creature could kill you so fast you wouldn't even know you were dead.”

“Nice company. Thieves and killers.”

“We're all here for our private reasons, Loahn.” She shrugged and moved away from him. “Remember what I said.”

“Si'a gikena. Tell me what you want and I'll do it.”

“Then I say this. Treat Leyilli as if she's a cocked crossbow aimed at your heart.”

“With respect and caution.”

“Yes.”

He nodded at the caravan looming black before them. Stavver sat on the back steps watching them pick their way downhill. “What are you going to tell him?”

“The truth.” She bit her lip and frowned unhappily. “He'd not believe anything else. Why waste my time and his?”

“How'll he take it?”

“I don't know. I don't know yet how I take this.”

He looked skeptical. “You're no innocent.”

“But my experience has been limited. I've never had to face this kind of thing before. My lovers till now have been strictly sequential.”

“You're a strange one.”

“You ought to see me from the inside, you'd go dizzy trying to figure out the twists and turns.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Hello, Keon. Can't sleep?”

He nodded briefly acknowledging the name change. “Good evening, Lahela. Did you enjoy your walk?” His voice changed on the last word, turning harsh.

“It was educational.”

“Educational?” His eyebrows arched, tangling with the thatch of hair falling forward over his brow.

“Loahn told me the story of his life.” She nodded at the caravan. “Would you get me one of the spare quilts for our new recruit?”

“Recruit?” As he stood, holding the curtains parted, he looked startled. “Have you talked to Leyilli about that?”

“In the morning.”

He nodded and vanished inside.

Aleytys turned to Loahn. “I suggest you sleep under the other caravan. It'll keep the dew off you.”

Stavver stepped out and handed the folded quilt down to Aleytys. “You sure you want it this way, Lahela?” He nodded at the other man. “Or should we change places?”

“Don't be silly. He knows better, so should you.”

Loahn took the quilt and walked off, humming cheerfully, to the other caravan.

Chapter VI

“Well, Aleytys?” Stavver leaned back against the side wall, face somber, hands clasped behind his head.

“I should ask you that.” Nervously she settled on the other bunk, careful not to disturb the baby. “I don't know.” She tucked her legs into lotus position then rested trembling hands on her knees. “It's up to you how we go on from here.”

“Me?”

“We're friends. At least, I thought we were.” She tapped her fingers rapidly over the firm flesh of her thighs.

“So?”

“I like you, Miks.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“I mean it. You don't need to sound like that.”

“So how should I sound?”

“You're not helping.” She struggled to see his face in the gloom inside the caravan. “I never.…”

He slid off the bunk and stood in the back doorway staring outside.

She rubbed her thumb across her palm, chewed on her lip. His face, silvered by the moonlight, was drawn and cruel. She felt anger and amusement in him. Amusement! Pulling wings off flies. An odd satisfaction in seeing her squirm. A tinge of self-disgust. A harsh desire to punish her, to flog her with his silence.

“We're loners, Miks. You and me,” she said abruptly. “And I'm half Vryhh. Mother left me a letter, explaining—warning me—no lasting ties … ever … it's not in me to give that much.” Her voice trailed off. She shook herself and straightened her back. After a difficult silence she began talking again, as much to herself as to his unresponsive back.