At first Thia had been afraid that the old man had unworthy motives in rescuing her, but her fears abated when the Shekk immediately summoned his two daughters to tend her, bathing her numb white feet in warm water, giving her
some of their own clothing, and burning her habit. When Thia finally recovered her wits enough to ask why the Shekk and his family had risked so much for her, his eldest daughter, Joyana, had regarded her steadily, her eyes sad.
“Our father hates the priests, and he spits when he hears Boq’urak’s name,” she replied, struggling to keep her voice steady. “It’s because of our brother. When he was only seventeen, he and some other boys in Verang stole some trinkets and sweetmeats in the marketplace. It wasn’t the first time Doren had been in trouble with the law. The priests … they decreed that the only way he could expiate his sin was …
was—” Joyana’s voice broke and she began to sob.
Her sister, Loisa, finished the grim tale. “They said he must go to the god at sunrise. They took him, and they did it.
Cut out his living heart, as though he were a common criminal. Our little brother! Father cursed them, and cursed Boq’urak and His worship on that day. Fear not, Thia. We will hide you. If you have turned your back on that evil god, you are our friend.”
Since then, Thia had remained in the Shekk’s house, accustoming herself to wearing a thick modesty veil—as be-hooved a woman of marriageable age—letting her hair grow, and waiting until the search for the runaway novice had died down. Shekk Marzet had treated her as a third daughter; she was intensely grateful to the old merchant, and extremely pleased to be of use to him in his business.
Thia realized that her eyelids were drooping again, and gave herself a vicious pinch.
Wake up! Time for you to be
alert!
The company had just finished a huge meal, and belches and other sounds of digestive activity erupted.
Marzet clapped his plump, ringed hands. “My friends, we have had our dinner and friendly conversation. Time now for business, by your leave.”
The two thin, pale-faced gem merchants nodded. Marzet gestured, and servants hastily cleared a space in the center of the tent, taking away the low table and replacing it with several thick Severian rugs and large, tassled cushions. With surprising ease for one so old and pudgy, the Shekk dropped down onto a crimson cushion and sat cross-legged. “My esteemed guests, I am eager to see your wares.”
With a flourish, Dantol, the taller of the two gem merchants, spread a midnight-colored swath of velvet before the Shekk. “We bring only the best for our generous host,” he said with a bow, then nodded at Gervej.
Gervej reached into a pouch and brought out a large stone that flashed green fire. “An emerald, Lord Shekk.
Nearly flawless, and …” he held it out on his palm, “but see the size! As big as a woman’s thumbnail, and the color,”
he made a kissing noise, “it is as vivid as any I have ever encountered.”
“Ah …” Marzet took the gem, turned it over thoughtfully, then produced a thick lens and peered at it. “The color is indeed vivid. Natural? Or enhanced by magic?”
Gervej shook his head, his expression pained. “Shekk, how can you imply that I would offer you an enhanced stone? Of course not!”
Marzet nodded, then held the stone and lens up to study it in the light of the lantern that hung on a pole to his right. In doing so, his eyes slid sideways to Thia, who was busily adjusting her modesty veil over her left ear.
“Ah, well, a lovely piece, a lovely, lovely piece,” Marzet said heartily. “How much?”
Gervej named a sum that was merely exorbitant. The gem merchant smiled, obviously anticipating a good bargaining session.
“No, I regret, too rich for my blood,” Marzet said, putting the emerald back onto the cloth. “Next?”
Gervej glanced sharply at his associate, Dantol. “You are not interested?”
Marzet smiled with his mouth only. “Next?” he repeated.
Thia sat watching, now fully alert, as Marzet examined the gem merchant’s wares. Thanks to her ability to sense truth from lies, the Shekk acquired two flawless and genuine flame-gems, an opal, and a dozen faceted blue topazes that would be ideal for a necklace or bracelet.
Finally, when the mystified gem dealers had gathered up their rejected wares and were bowing themselves out of the tent, Thia caught the Shekk’s eye. Marzat gave her a wink and a grin of thanks.
Quietly, Thia gathered up her skirts and slipped out of the tent. The chill was bracing after the stuffiness of the tent, and she stood gazing up at the night sky, thinking how few days were left until they reached their destination, the crossroads city of Q’Kal. This trade city, larger even than Verang, lay in the northernmost reaches of Kata.
Dropping her modesty veil, she inhaled a breath of cold, dry mountain air. The caravan was traversing the last of the high steppes that came down from the range that bisected Amavav. Within a tenday’s journey they would be crossing a narrow stretch of territory claimed by Galrai, then they’d have to journey across Severez before reaching Q’Kal, which lay nearly on the Katan and Severez border.
Hugging her heavy shawl around her shoulders, Thia turned and gazed back at the mountains, which she could only see as dim black shapes, since there was no moon tonight to illuminate their jagged, white-capped peaks. She could trace their outlines only by the way they blocked out the profusion of stars. This far from any city, the stars seemed almost close enough to touch, and they glittered more vibrantly than any gem merchant’s wares.
Marzet’s party was traveling with a large caravan bound for Q’Kal. The old merchant had explained to Thia that he always traveled with a caravan, never alone. There were bands of fierce robbers in the steppes, and there was safety in numbers.
Thia realized that for the first time in her life she couldn’t see the mountains that surrounded Verang. The range behind her divided Amavav from Amaran; these were not the mountains of her birth.
I’m on my way to being free!
she thought with a surge of exultation.
The moment of excitement faded quickly, however, to be replaced with apprehension. Thia frowned as she stared into the darkness. The caravan would reach Q’Kal in only two tendays.
And what shall I do then? Stay with the Shekk, who
has been so kind? Or go off on my own?
Thia had never been alone for more than a few hours, had never earned her own living. For a moment she was tempted to remain with the Shekk and his family. They spoke her language, they were decent people. The Shekk treated her like another daughter.
Even as she thought longingly of remaining part of their family, realization coalesced in her mind.
No. I must leave
them.
The decision was as inescapable as the snow and ice shrouding the mountains in winter—only if she left behind every trace of her former life, could she ever hope to be free of the twin ziggurats. As long as she traveled with the Shekk, she would be under suspicion from anyone sent by the priests to track her. Any priest or priestess who left the temple voluntarily was considered the worst kind of heretic, and would be hunted and recaptured if at all possible. And if she were recaptured, Thia had no doubt she would meet Narda’s fate, or one equally harsh.
And … worse … Thia knew she was endangering Marzet and his family. If they were discovered to be sheltering a runaway from the temple, they would be judged criminals, and given to the god at sunrise. It was the law.
I can’t repay their kindness to me by putting them in danger,
Thia thought. Her heart felt leaden, sick with fear.
I must
leave them. I must find the courage. When we reach Q’Kal, I
must slip away, without a word of farewell, so if they are
ever questioned, they will honestly be able to say they have
no idea where I have gone.
Thia tried to picture herself wandering the streets of a strange city, filled with foreigners speaking a different tongue. She’d begun learning Pelanese, the language spoken in Severez and Kata, but she was far from fluent.
I can’t
bring attention to myself. I’ll have to … adapt. Fit in. But I
will be alone, totally alone!
She forced back panic.
You’ll manage. You can do lots of
things.
Her truth-telling ability had proven useful to one
merchant. Perhaps she could find employment with another one. Q’Kal was, by all reports, teeming with merchants.
Or perhaps someone needed a clark. She could read, write, and cypher, and not everyone could do that well. She could cook simple fare, which she’d learned from her days serving in the temple kitchens. She looked down at her hands, pale blurs in the starlight. She could always scrub and clean. Oh yes, every postulant learned that skill.
She heard a soft hail from behind her. “Thia?”
The glow of an oil lamp illumined the night, its yellow light bobbing up and down in time to the quick strides of the woman carrying it. Thia knew that voice, so she did not trouble to raise her veil before turning to face Marzet’s eldest, Joyana. “I am here, Joy.”
Joyana was carrying a large basket over her arm. “It is time to take the watch their supper,” she said. “Can you take care of that again? Father is weary after his bargaining, and has asked me to play my hand-harp for him until he falls asleep.”
Thia nodded and reached out for the basket and lamp. “I will,” she promised. “Tell the Shekk I said to sleep well.”
“Oh, he will,” Joyana assured her. “Nothing puts Father in a better mood than making good bargains—and, thanks to you, he made many tonight.”
Thia smiled. “It is good to be of service to those who have been so kind to me.”
“Nonsense, you paid us back long ago, Thia. We are in your debt.”
“You are the one who speaks nonsense, Joy,” Thia replied.
“I am more grateful for your kindness than I can ever say.”
She tried to put every bit of conviction she could into her voice, hoping that Joyana would remember her words after she was gone.
The two young women exchanged another smile, then Joyana turned back toward her father’s tent.
After raising her veil, Thia went the other way, the light of her lamp providing a small puddle of gold in a vast black sea of night. She trod carefully over the winter-blasted turf, avoiding the prickle-bushes that could deliver a painful sting. One by one she sought out each of the guards at his post and delivered the food. She did not speak, only doled out each meal and a measure of watered honey-ale, receiving each guard’s thanks with a dignified nod.
Her heart quickened as she headed for the last guard post.
Is he on duty tonight
? she wondered. She had no way of knowing.
You are acting foolish,
she chided herself.
What is
wrong with you? He’s just a guard with a beautiful horse;
the two of you have barely exchanged a handful of words,
because his Pelanese is no better than yours. What ails you?
Still, as she approached the last guard post, she realized she was holding her breath. He was stationed at the farthest perimeter of the camp, near a large rock outcropping. When her lamplight revealed the swish of a silver tail and she heard a soft whicker of welcome, she smiled, grateful for the anonymity of her modesty veil.
She hesitated, lamp held high, searching for a glimpse of him, but saw nothing. She already knew he could move as silently as a mountain cat. Thia peered into the darkness.
“Where are you?” she whispered in Pelanese. She was still not fluent, but she had learned much since leaving the temple.
“Here, lady,” came a voice from behind her. Thia started so violently she nearly dropped the lamp. She whirled around, to find him standing scarcely two paces from her.
“I am sorry—I did not … have fear not …” In his distress, his command of the foreign tongue was slipping. Thia held the lamp higher.
The guard was taller than she, with brown hair pulled back and fastened with a leather thong. He was clad in a horseman’s buckskin breeches, high boots, and a leather corselet studded with metal rings. Thia could not see the color of his eyes, and wondered whether they were dark, like her own. Slowly, carefully, he held out his empty hands, palms up, plainly hoping to allay her fears.
“You move too quietly,” Thia said finally. She held out the last package of food and the flask from her basket. This
guard drank only water, never ale. “Here is your supper. You must be hungry.”
“Many thanks, lady,” he said.
She knew from experience that he would not sit to eat, nor remain in the lamplight. She gently stroked the gray mare’s neck and shoulder while he took the bread, meat, cheese, and dried fruit over to his guard post. He stood there, eating without relaxing, all the while scanning the darkness and listening for any signs of intruders.
When he was finished, the guard came back to stand beside her as she petted his mare, humming softly in a way that seemed to please the animal. “You know horses?” he asked.
“Not much,” Thia replied. “Where I was raised, we did not travel, nor did we ride for pleasure. But I like them. She is beautiful, this one. So gentle.”
She caught the flash of his teeth in the lantern light as he smiled. “Gentle, not to enemies, no. Falar is battle-trained.”
“ ‘Falar’? Is that her name?”
“On her pedigree, it is Chotak Falar-azeen. In my tongue it means ‘Chotak’s Silver Blade.’ ”
“Greetings, Falar,” Thia murmured, and laughed a little to see the mare’s ears flick back and forth in response to her name.
The guard motioned to her. “Time for my round. You will stay until I return?”
Thia hesitated, then nodded.
She spent the minutes petting the horse, wondering what it would be like to ride such a splendid steed. While traveling with the caravan, she’d occasionally ridden a plodding mule, but never a horse.
The guard materialized out of the darkness suddenly, with no warning. Again Thia jumped, startled. “You move so quietly!”
Again that slight smile touched his normally stern mouth.