SummerDanse (7 page)

The folding spell took a lot from Anazian now, and we had to stop twice each day, instead of once as previously, for him to meditate.

The third day from the forest, during one of these stops, I heard the distant sound of hoofbeats. I debated whether I should interrupt Anazian’s meditation or not. He could no longer use the privacy that had been afforded by the trees, but he typically walked quite a way away. That hadn’t bothered me until now, when the approach of horses brought back sharply the memory of what had happened last time we’d been overtaken in a similar situation.

Whether it was a coincidence or he, too, heard them coming, he strode up to the wagon just as the riders came into view. My heart leapt in its first fearful reaction in days when I recognized the purple and scarlet uniforms of the Royal Guard.

They reined in and, much to my surprise, greeted Anazian as if he were a friend. There were three of them, all officers with plumes in their helms. One asked how his mission went, and they all laughed when he made a motion toward me. I flinched from their glances. After all, I’d spent months on the run from them, and having them looking at me now made me feel exposed and vulnerable, as if I were naked.

Anazian offered them food for themselves and grain for their horses—as recompense for his troubles, he’d taken extra supplies from the thieves, so we had some to spare—but they declined, saying they expected to reach their station before nightfall.

“See you in Penwick, you old magician, you,” one of them called after they’d said their goodbyes. Then they spurred their horses into a gallop and were gone even faster than they’d come.

Once they were well beyond hearing, Anazian muttered, “I’m neither old nor a magician, you fool,” and the venom in his voice surprised me.

That evening as I cooked our meal, I remembered my resolve to try to get information out of the mage, a resolve forgotten after the episode with the thieves.

Trying to make it sound like inconsequential chatter, I asked, “So those Royal Guardsmen were friends of yours?”

That roused Anazian from his lethargy a little. “Friends? I hardly think so.”

“Oh.” I waited a bit, then went on. “They seemed to know a lot about your business, so I thought they must be friends.”

He laughed lightly. “If you must know, my ‘business,’ as you call it, had to be made known to the Royal Guard to ensure safe passage on the king’s roads. I would prefer it had been kept secret, but the decision wasn’t mine.”

I let it drop at this point. Although tired, Anazian wasn’t as weak as he’d typically been the first evenings of our journey. Perhaps he was getting used to the routine; perhaps four meditation sessions a day kept him from being too weak to think straight at the end of the day. Whatever the reason, I thought it prudent not to push my luck too far. Besides, with two short questions, I’d received enough answer to give me something to ponder: the Royal Guard knew what was going on.

Or, on further thought, perhaps they didn’t. I could well imagine they’d been told a lie. Still, the fact that they knew who Anazian was didn’t bode well. After all, less than three months ago, he’d been in hiding with the mages. How could he have become so well-known in such a short time? Then I chided myself. He hadn’t suddenly turned traitor overnight. It was something that had probably been in the works for years.

Early the next morning we came to a crossroads. Three large bundles lay in the middle of the junction. Anazian stopped the horses and went to examine the bundles. With a laugh, he dragged one to the side of the road, and now I could discern the shape of a human body. One dressed in purple and scarlet. Twice more he dragged a body aside and, when the roadway was clear, turned back to the wagon.

A bird flew up just then, and Anazian removed a message from a tube tied to its ankle. It came over and perched on one of the bars across the top of my cage while the mage read the message. He stood still for a long time afterward, staring off into the distance.

After awhile, he stirred himself and walked over to the cage. He beckoned me to come closer. I did, and he reached through the bars, grabbed the wood collar, and pulled me toward him, forcing my face to press against the branches.

“Let that be a lesson to you,” he said. “Do not think to mock me. Do you understand?”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but assent seemed the wisest course. Unable to nod, I had to speak. “Yes, yes. I understand,” I squeaked.

“Very good.” He pushed me away so hard that my head struck the other side of the cage, making my ears ring.

All day, I pondered this sudden change in his mood. I had done nothing, said nothing out of the ordinary. What had that message contained to make him so angry? From that moment on, he became completely unpredictable.

“I am taking you to join the circus,” Anazian said. I stared at him in disbelief.

It was the day after the incident at the crossroads. He’d let me out of the cage that morning only long enough to relieve myself. Then he’d given me just a single cup of water before we got under way. It was now afternoon, and we were stopped in the roadway about a mile from the first village we’d come across. I felt sick. My muscles ached and my head swam. I could hardly see or think straight.

So when Anazian said something abut the circus, I thought I must be hearing things. When I didn’t react, he reached through the bars of the cage, which gave enough that his upper body came through, too. He grabbed the wood collar and pulled me toward him; had he jerked it any harder, he might have broken my neck. That thought seemed to occur to him, too, and he stood for a moment breathing heavily but not letting go.

When he seemed to have got himself under control, he took a leather strap and tied one end of it to the collar and the other to the upper frame of the cage. My heart sank. With only two feet of lead, I wouldn’t be able to sit, much less lie down.

“Now,” he said, “the story is that you are a wild girl, raised by wolves. You can’t even talk. I’ve captured you and am taking you to Penwick to join the circus. Play your part well, or there shall be ... consequences. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“Do you understand?” he repeated through clenched teeth.

“Yes, I understand.” I was never sure anymore when he wanted me to speak and when to stay silent. He’d struck me across the face this morning when I’d answered a question aloud, and my lower lip was split and swollen. Well, at least that would help me look wild.

I got through the next humiliating hour by pretending the whole thing was an elaborate game dreamed up by my brother, the practical jokester. It was actually just the sort of thing he would’ve come up with, and I imagined one day laughing with him over the story. That hopeful thought sustained me.

Since he wouldn’t fold the land as we passed through the populated area, Anazian sat on the wagon and drove it. As we entered the village, people stopped what they were doing and stared. I could well believe that a person in a cage wasn’t a sight they saw every day.

Children gathered round and followed. A large, mean-looking boy threw a stone at me. It hit one of the branches and bounced harmlessly away, but when Anazian ignored him, others picked up stones to throw, too. Some made it through and hit me, one striking me hard in the eye.

I snarled and growled at the children, and not all of it was an act. I yipped when the rocks hit me, which made the children laugh and try even harder. Anazian’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

It took fifteen minutes to get to the village square. By this time, adults had joined the throng.

To my horror, Anazian stopped the wagon at the square. How long did he think I could do this? Why couldn’t he just keep going?

A man stepped out of the small crowd. “Beg pardon, sir, but what’s this about?”

Anazian leapt from the wagon. He dug into one of the crates and pulled out a club, then stepped close to the cage. “Well, good sir, I’m glad you asked.” His voice took on the quality of a circus barker’s. “Come closer, those who dare, and see a sight you’re not likely to see again. This here is Wolf-Girl. Never until three days ago had she seen the sight of a man.” He struck at the bars of the cage with the club. My cue. I played my part, putting my heart and soul into it—a performance that would’ve made Breyard proud.

A few of the braver boys stepped nearer, and I reached out at them, fingers poised to scratch if they came close enough. A few of the women screamed, and one grabbed one of the smaller boys and pulled him back to safety.

Anazian explained to the villagers that he was taking me to the circus, and they nodded in agreement that that was the best thing for a freak like me. He baited me with the club again, and again I responded with a volley of barks, howls, and grunts, straining at my lead until my neck really did hurt.

When the crowd felt they’d been sufficiently entertained to contribute a few copper coins in exchange, Anazian struck the bars one last time, then climbed back into the driver’s seat and clucked the horses into action.

Once we were well clear of the village and the children who’d followed us were left far behind, Anazian stopped the wagon.

“That was well done,” he said as he untied the lead. “You’re going to have a black eye.”

As if I didn’t know. It had swollen shut already and added its pain to everything else. I just wanted to sleep, but that, of course, was denied me as the wagon trundled along.

I lost track of the passing days after that. I did what Anazian told me to do when he told me to do it. I played at being Wolf-Girl. I ate when given food, which was seldom enough. I drank when given water, which was only enough to keep me alive. I answered Anazian silently or aloud as he seemed to wish, and on the occasions he chose to strike me, I reacted with suitable submission.

I began to think my memories of my family and friends, of magic and maejic and red dragons, were all a fevered dream. My only reality became this grey, torturous existence.

One night, Rennirt found me. He had been a lord on Stychs, corrupted by magic power. He stood before me now, dark-skinned and handsome, his green eyes boring into mine. Then the image blurred, and instead of Rennirt, a small man stood before me, a silver blade glittering in his hand as he sliced fine lines into my face. I screamed in agony as blood dripped down. Hadn’t once been enough? Why did I have to relive it again?

I awoke in a panic. My breath came in uneven gasps, and my heart pounded loudly. Something trickled down my neck. Then I remembered that I wasn’t in the black of Rennirt’s underground cell. And the dampness wasn’t blood but only tears.