Beneath an Opal Moon (24 page)

“Then, for many seasons, life went on and I forgot all about Hellsturm. I became pregnant and I had Aufeya. Both Milhos and I were delighted. She grew up. Time seems to accelerate when you have a child. Then, inexplicably, Hellsturm returned as if from the mists beyond time itself and it all began again. Except this time there was Aufeya.” She put her hands against her face, her fingers slender and lovely, her long nails gleaming. When she took them away, her eyes seemed haunted, the green dulled. “She was at an age when—everything seems difficult. She is an extraordinarily beautiful girl, my Aufeya, and at that time she was just ripening. She was wild and never more so than at that age. She longed to be a woman and thus delighted in keeping around as many men as she could manage. It was a goodly number. I objected to this most strenuously, sending them away. And she was furious. But I did not think it right. I, too, was wild when I was her age and I begrudged her no wildness of her own. But I had had no benefit of parents in my youth and had gotten into so much trouble that at times later I would wonder how I lived to become a woman. This danger I could not allow to touch Aufeya. Yet my restrictions only served to make her more contrary and we argued ceaselessly.” She shook her head and he watched her eyes.

“Into this came Hellsturm, wanting the same thing. This time I refused him utterly; it was out of the question, I told him. I had thought, I suppose foolishly, that one night would get rid of him forever.” She ran her fingers through her hair, her head lifted, and now he saw the motes in her eyes, as bright as flecks of gold. “He got to Aufeya. At school, at the mercado, at a taverna; there were any number of places. He told her many things—some, I imagine, based on the truth. But he has a way of twisting everything, even the truth, so that it serves his purpose. He has a tongue of gold, that one.” She took his hand, palm upward, traced the lines of his thumb and fingers. “Easy enough to guess what happened next. He seduced her as he had seduced me so many seasons before. But in the process he poisoned her mind against me. She went off with him, Dihos only knows where. And that was the last I saw of her.”

“What about the Senhor.” Said it very softly.

He felt her shudder. “I had to tell him, then, naturally. His temper was, at times, uncontrollable and, as I said, he was a terribly proud man. He challenged Hellsturm to a duel.”

Now Moichi recalled in full Armazón's words and wondered, Could he be right? Could the Senhora have been in league with Hellsturm against Milhos Seguillas? But for what reason? There was one possible answer: The Senhora had loved her husband but perhaps she loved her daughter more.

“Dihos, I was terrified! I knew from experience what Hellsturm was like and I knew that despite his prowess Milhos had little chance of surviving against him. So I pleaded with him. I cried, I screamed, I threatened. But it was no good. I am not Daluzan, you see. I am not of the blood. I had no clear idea, then, just how sacred was the Daluzan duel. Once the challenge had been given, there was no way to rescind it, even if Milhos had wanted to, which he certainly did not. There was no turning him away.” She stopped abruptly, as if she had come to the end of her tale.

“Go on,” he prompted.

“There is nothing much left to tell, really. Milhos met Hellsturm and died.”

There was silence for a time and he listened to the quietude of the night interrupted, only briefly, by a soft clatter of wings. He wondered if a storm was on the way. Inside this room, he had no way of telling if the wind had shifted.

“I had heard about the duel before, I must confess.”

Her hand moved back and forth over the turned-back coverlet, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.

“Aboard the lorcha,” he continued, trying to get her attention. “But then it had a somewhat different ending.”

“Oh?” She did not even turn around.

“It was said—that the duel had not been fair.”

She laughed without humor. “Would that it were so, Moichi. For then Hellsturm would be fair game for me to hunt down and kill. I hate him with all my heart and soul.”

“But he's taken your daughter.”

“She went with him willingly.”

“Then tell me why, when I met her, she was terrified of him. ‘He has pursued me for ten thousand kilometers,' she said to me.”

“People change. Perhaps she has grown up. She knows now just how evil people can be.”

He felt the need to return to the other question. “There was talk of you poisoning your husband in order to let Hellsturm win the duel.”

Her head turned. “What? Who told you such a lie?”

“Armazón.”

“Ah. I might have known.”

“It makes no sense.”

“Oh, yes, Moichi. It makes perfect sense.”

“Because he was devoted to the Senhor?”

She nodded. “Yes. And hopelessly in love with me.”

Chameleon. That was the basis of it.

The Bujun were masters at observing nature and learning from it. The chameleon was a harmless creature. It was nonaggressive and it could be outrun by many predators. What nature had given it was the remarkable ability of camouflage so that it could blend in with any surrounding.

The Bujun had taken this and adapted it as the basis of their surveillance techniques.

Now she knew that it was not going to work.

Because there was something missing.

In order to be able to blend in with one's surroundings, one first needs those surroundings. In Sha'angh'sei or in her own native Eido, there would be no problem. But this was Corruña.

She needed people and there just weren't any.

So it was not going to work.

Because the only way that wounded Tudescan would lead her to his base was if he believed that no one was following him. Had he even suspected her presence, he would lead her on a roundabout and, if she was going to sightsee, she preferred to do it on her own.

Naturally, the density of people during the daylight hours is much higher than at night. But cities such as Sha'angh'sei or Eido never sleep and even in the dead of night there are a sufficient number of people about.

Not in Corruña.

By sound alone she was liable to be given away, and the moment he suspected, she would have to call it off because of the roundabout. Now each moment she delayed increased the chances of his spotting her.

She did the only thing she could do.

She went off the streets.

He rolled off the bed, went across the room to the windows, stuck his head outside and sniffed. A red-winged blackbird, disturbed by the intrusion, clattered away in alarm. A storm was indeed coming; from the west. Back inside the room he kept his back to the huge painting; it still gave him chills.

“Perhaps they had a fight,” he said. “A falling out.” He meant Aufeya and Hellsturm.

“I hope so. Knowing them both, it seems likely.”

He turned on her. “You are certainly taking this calmly.”

Her dark eyes watched him intently for a moment. “You do not know my daughter at all well, Moichi. She precipitates fights like clouds release rain.”

“Fights are one thing,” he said patiently. “But she was obviously terrified of the man. He tortured Cascaras, then murdered him. Cascaras was a friend of Aufeya's.”

“Ah, well, there you have it then. Hellsturm is a jealous man when it comes to his women.”

“She said to me, ‘Only I am left to stand against him.' I know what I heard. In any case, Cascaras was old enough to be her father.”

“That would certainly not deter her.”

“By God, senhora, I do not understand you!” he thundered.

“Quite right, my darling, you don't.” She reached up for him. “Now come here.”

“What do you want?”

“What do you think?”

He knelt atop the bed and she drew him toward her. He kissed her opened lips, his mouth sliding down the smooth column of her neck. She was quite irresistible. Apart from the lushness of her body. Moichi had been with women who were as finely formed. But she had an aura that was palpable; a kind of sexual intensity which spoke directly to the very core of his being.

Downward to her hanging, shivering breasts.

“Mmmm,” she moaned.

Afterward, the first thing she said was, “You are in love with Aufeya.”

His head snapped up and he stared into her eyes.

“What makes you say that?”

“A mother knows.” She laughed, not unkindly.

He pulled away from her embrace. “This is fun for you.”

She smiled. “And why not? I haven't had much fun lately.” Her fingers reached for him. “Can you tell me honestly that you did not enjoy it yourself?”

“No. But you know very well what I mean.”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes flashing, “I know only too well. But you must take my word for it. Aufeya is in no danger. Hellsturm will not harm her.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because,” she said softly, “I have promised to return to him.”

The major problem now was the inconstant moon.

Clouds had begun moving in from the northwest, riding past the face of the horned moon; its silver light played in and out.

Because of the night's monochrome illumination, perspectives and distances were difficult enough to judge under normal circumstances.

These were far from normal circumstances. Distances were, of course, increased and motion was a constant. But cerebration was continuing all the time.

The only real danger was at the edges.

Chiisai raced across a flat rooftop, slowing only just before the low tile parapet. Now the moon had gone in once more and the dense shadows leapt upward, distorting the space between the buildings. Corrections had to be made on the run.

She sprang across the narrow abyss, hit a small stone on landing and tumbled, immediately drawing herself up into a compact ball. Rolling dissipated much of the momentum and she was on her feet again, silently flitting amid the flock of bats hovering about the rooftop.

The Tudescan had never left her sight and now, though he checked behind him at odd intervals and was quite thorough in other ways, using shadows and doorways where he could, he was totally unaware of her.

Across the maze of Corruña they fled, the hunter and the hunted.

“It's part of the bargain we made,” she said. “He cannot touch her now.”

“But I tell you that he already has.”

“That is quite impossible.”

“Then something has changed. Perhaps there is an element you know nothing about.”

“He would not put in jeopardy what he desires above all else.”

Restless, he went back to the window, searching for the moon. It was only a wan glow now, behind small and puffy cumulus driving in from the northwest.

A storm for certain, he thought.

It was nearing midnight.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Will you come back?” Her voice seemed suddenly small in the huge room with the cathedral ceiling and the fearful painting.

“Yes,” he answered. “How could I not? But perhaps not again tonight.”

“In the morning, then.”

“All right.”

She turned on him abruptly and he saw a fear shining in her jade eyes. He started slightly, seeing Aufeya there.

“Promise me you'll come, Moichi.” Her fingers gripped him with a fierce pressure. “There is only you now in all the world.”

“I—”

“Are you not my friend, Moichi?” she asked desperately. “Has this evening meant so little to you?”

“It has meant a great deal to me,” he said, thinking that perhaps he did understand her now. He had been given a gift, something quite precious, something she withheld from almost everyone. Save Hellsturm, now. It was ironic. Almost amusing, if it had not been so utterly, desolately tragic. This woman's love for her daughter transcended everything else. Now it was his turn. He could accept or refuse. “It means a great deal to me. It always will.”

“We are friends.”

“You do me a great honor.” It was formal, even seeming somewhat stilted after their previous intimacy. Yet, he knew full well, one was of the flesh and the other—Well, it was quite easy to make the body perform. Drawing the spirit in was quite another thing. There was no known coercion for that; only corruption.

As if on cue, they came together, kissing each other chastely on the lips. Inside, he felt her spirit swirling toward him, felt his emerging. They danced.

The room was quite still.

Presently, they drew apart, she to draw on her robe, he to dress for the street.

Before he left, he asked her one question. “Why do you have that painting in this room?”

“It is of the diablura. Do you know of it? No? In the Daluzan religion the diablura is the Ancient of Night, the Emperor of Evil.”

“The Devil.”

“The Devil, yes.”

“Why is it here?”

“To remind me, always.”

“Come and sit next to me, little one,” the Dai-San had said. ‘Little one' was what Chiisai meant.

They were in the palace of the Kunshin, just outside of Eido, the capitol of Ama-no-mori.

“Have you any idea what you wish to do with your life?”

She looked at him. He had been in Ama-no-mori for some time now but she never tired of searching the seemingly endless configurations of his strange visage. Every time she thought she had committed it to memory she would look again and find it different than she had remembered it, though she might have seen him just the day before. Sometimes there was only some subtle change; at other times, the differences were great.

He might appear frightening to others, like a god embodied and come to earth—for, more than anything else, this was perhaps what he was. Yet to her, he was much more. He was a brother. A brother she had never had, but had always yearned for.

“Are you playing my father's role now?” she asked him, only half serious.