Diadem from the Stars (10 page)

Aleytys sighed. She felt a weary admiration as she looked at the slim plain woman with her strong, honest face and her quiet integrity. She spread out her hands helplessly and sought for words to express what she felt, but had to fall back on formality. Touching her head and lips in the formal shalikk, she bowed deeply. “I understand, abruya Suja. I honor your courage.”

Suja nodded stiffly and moved away, pushing the bewildered Twanit ahead of her.

Aleytys looked around. The hall was empty except for Zavar. She took a step toward her door, then turned. “Still here, Vari? You better get out of here too, might catch something bad for you.”

Tears gathered in Zavar's soft brown eyes. She flung her arms around Aleytys and hugged her so impetuously that she knocked the breath out of both of them. “Leyta,” she gasped, tumbling the words out one over the other, “Twanit can have my bed and I'll move in with you. Just think, we could have so much fun.” She danced back, her face glowing with sudden excitement. “I like you so much better than Misha; she's a giggling idiot.”

Aleytys smiled reluctantly, but shook her head. “Your mother would have twenty fits, Vari.”

“Mama?” Zavar giggled at the thought of dignified Suja throwing a fit. Then she sobered and peered anxiously at Aleytys past tumbling curls. “Don't you want me, Leyta?”

Aleytys reached out and stroked her fingers down the girl's soft cheek. “Dear Vari. I'd love having you with me, chuchik. But …” She sighed. “You're better off where you are. And …” She rested her hand on Zavar's shoulder for just a minute. “You know it's better for me to keep my head down so it won't be chopped off. Just let it be. Give me a little time.” She turned away and stepped to the door, wondering what horrible mess waited for her. When she looked inside she froze.

“Ugh! How sick-making.” Vari's voice seemed to come from miles away, struggling through thick fog.

Blood Streaked and dribbled around the room. A sickly sweet stench. Her eyes returned to … flinched away … returned to … to the small corpse … Mooli. Ah, Madar. Mooli. And blood. Red-brown crusts dribbled in a crossed circle on the immaculate whiteness of her pillowcase. Mooli. Curse her … curse her, damn jealous bitch.

The gurb was spread-eagled stiffly in the center of the obscene mandala with her belly slit open and her throat torn as if something had worried her with its teeth.… And around her, five tiny unborn kits, wrenched from the womb and arranged in a stiff-legged wreath.… Mooli.… Aleytys put her hand against the door to steady herself.

“Ugh.” Zavar wriggled past and went over to the bed. She touched the mutilated body. “Who could?” She wrinkled her snub nose and shuddered.

“Mooli,” Aleytys whispered and the name seemed to release something hard and cold inside her. “Poor little gurb, it should have better been me,” she said bitterly.

7

She stormed up the ramp and through the partly open door into the dim interior of the stable. At the far end of the long narrow room Azdar examined a black stallion that was backing around skittishly, discussing his points with Chalak, Mavas, Yurrish, and three o'amalehha from the fields.

“Azdar!”

He whipped around at the sound of her voice. She saw his face whiten, met his astonished stare with her own hot blue-green eyes. Chalak stepped around him, mouth tightening. He started toward her.

Aleytys tossed the hair back out of her face and glared at her father. “Just leave me alone,” she spit at Chalak, thrusting out a hand to fend him off. “I won't contaminate the precious old maimun.”

Chalak sighed and shook his head. “Aleytys …”

She ignored him. “Azdar!”

Her father didn't answer; as she watched he seemed to shrink. With a low growl he turned his back on her. The three o'amalehha stepped in between them like a chunky wall, protecting the Azdar and defying the daughter. They were wide stocky men with deep-set fanatical yellow-brown eyes and straggly moustaches that covered their mouths. Twisted bast fibers ran in triple circles around their heads, pinning the sweat-stained headcloths close to the round skulls. Their abbas were made of heavy pan cloth and swung loosely about their bodies, emphasizing their width and compounding the impression of massive strength. They glanced repeatedly at her out of the corners of their eyes—eyes that glittered with a mixture of lust and fear that sickened her and at the same time heated even more the rage that boiled inside her. She took another step forward, angrily conscious that somehow she'd lost her momentum.

“Aleytys, go back to the house.” Chalak's voice sounded weary. She jerked her head around to look at him. His face was somber, frowning—but not hostile.
Not hostile,
she thought, with a flash of pleasure.

“No,” she said quietly. “Not this time.”

Mavas and Yurrish lumbered toward her, angry scowls twisting their round lumpish faces. Chalak checked them with a quiet gesture. Yurrish glanced uncertainly over his shoulder, waiting for a signal from Azdar to tell him what to do. Mavas stared at Aleytys, his face red, his small eyes filled with fear-born hate.

Aleytys laughed shrilly, an ugly sound slicing through the tense silence, laughed as much at her own stupidity as at them, but only Chalak guessed that. Mavas hissed the breath out of his nose, simmering on the verge of explosion. Aleytys sneered at him. “You af'iha touch me and I'll make you sorry.”

“Aleytys …” Chalak's low voice held a warning that she ignored.

“Mavas,” Azdar said suddenly. “Get her out of here.”

“No!” she screamed. “
No!
I want to talk to you, that's all. Qumri is …”

They brushed past Chalak and seized her arms roughly, strong thick fingers bruising to the bone. As they began shoving her back toward the door, she screamed angrily, helplessly, “Azdar! you kamdil! You fathered me. Af'i! Keep that bitch off my back. I'll make you sorry, I'll … oooohh.”

The two men pushed her savagely through the door and down the ramp, not caring how they hurt her in the process. As they reached the bottom she calmed down a little and managed to get her feet back under her. “Muttahid, muttahid, come on, let loose.” She tried to free her arms. “I'll go. I won't bother you anymore. You don't have to …” She wriggled in their grasp, trying to pull away. “I said I give up. Come on, be reasonable.”

Mavas's fingers bit into her shoulder and he shoved harder, forcing her to stumble and run along between him and Yurrish. She began to get angry again. With a grunt of effort she swung her feet out suddenly and thrust her weight down hard, breaking herself free. She sat down hard on the grass, knocking the wind out of herself.

Mavas reached down and wrapped his fingers in her long hair. A tight grin on his face, he jerked hard, swinging her around till her arms flapped like a jointed doll. He laughed.

With a scream of outrage and pain Aleytys scrambled onto her feet. Anger became a wild river of rage so strong it was almost tangible. She could feel the burning hot flow sweeping down her arms into her fingers. Without thinking she flung her hands out and slapped the faces of her captors. The rage tore through her palms.

Mavas roared with pain and stumbled away from her. At the same time Yurrish shrilled a fervent curse and backed off, holding trembling hands in front of his seared face.

Considerably startled, Aleytys stood frozen, mouth dropping stupidly as she watched the two hulking males who had been manhandling her so brutally just a moment before run away from her like terrified mikhmikhs. She lifted her hands and examined the palms. No change. They should be charred black, she thought. Her hands tingled like they usually did on a winter morning. That was all. Licking her lips, she stared after the fleeing men, then, with a soft frightened gasp, she wheeled and fled into the house.

8

Long shadows danced across the common—shadows of strange men and strange beasts, crossing and recrossing the trampled grass. The caravan was here. Aleytys pressed her nose to the window. No sound trickled through the heavy double glass, but she could imagine the mosaic of cheerful shouts and animal noises and hammers and creaking wheels, all the things she remembered, happening the way they always happened.

Restlessly she twisted around on the bed and leaned back against the headboard, lifting her hot heavy hair into a knot on top of her head. “Ai-Jahann, I'll be climbing the walls in a minute.” She let her hair fall and swung off the bed. The clock said sa'at nudham plus twenty. She stretched and glared at the door. “I won't! Let them chew on Aschla's toes, I'm tired to the bone with watching out for their delicate feelings.” She tugged the door open and flounced out into the hall.

Some minutes later, after striding head high past asiri who averted their eyes and made the horn sign to ward off the bad luck she carried with her, she wriggled through the bushes at the far side of the charidan and stepped onto the river path. As soon as she was in deep enough shade she tossed the hood back and let the river breezes play in her damp, sweaty hair. Butterflies danced in the air around her and the cool air slid like silk along her body. Slowly the hard knot of resentment burning in her midsection dissolved under the soothing influence of the afternoon's beauty and peace.

She wandered down the path, enjoying the smells and sounds carried on the gentle breeze. A flat rock thrust out into the river sending the water dancing whitely around it. She slipped onto the cool granite, kneeling so that her fingertips rested inches from the spattering drops of ice-cold water. For a brief moment an almost unbearable sadness filled her eyes with tears. The thought of leaving this valley, this place that made up all of her life, tore at her heart. She dipped her fingertips in the water and flicked a few drops in the air. “Damn, I won't cry.” She scooped up a double handful of the water and splashed it onto her face.

Jumping to her feet, she walked on down the path, immersed in unhappy thoughts. She felt restless, uneasy, her body the center of a chaotic whirl of emotions compounding regret and anticipation, anger and excitement, and, above all, a deep abiding ache that worsened each time she thought of leaving her gentle, warm, and deeply wise dream-singer.

A low stone wall filled in an eroding section of the river bank. Aleytys sank on her knees and rested her aching head on her hands, elbows propped on the wall. An old horan cast thick shade so she left the hood back and let her hair fall around her face. The gentle music of the water slowly soothed her troubled spirit and calmed her throbbing heart until her body was relaxed and receptive. She bent further until she was lying across the stone, looking deep into the river. Water—green shadows altering, bubbling cloud-white foam, fugitive fire glints from Horli sliding along the top, cool green depths darting into sapphire-blue points. Down. Down. Spirit … mind … soul … dissolving … floating … out … out … like mist to comprehend … cherish.… I/not-I … one … not-one … not same … one … one … time … time stretching out till time no longer had meaning … I drifting … up like a leaf on the wings of air … I was/was-not … Aleytys … fish … snapper … mavufiq … yehma … mikhmikh … insectfishanimalplant … all … awareness … drifting down on the wings of air.… I-to-Aleytys … and she was aware of a richly patterned tapestry of life around and underneath her. She looked out of her own eyes, but this time the tie didn't break. Threads as numberless as stars dusting the night sky spun out away from her, spun out to life, life shared and cherished. Aleytys stood up very carefully, glowing with a breathless wonder. Slowly, very slowly, she turned her head, delight bubbling in her at the throbbing vitality that made up the vast web of life spun from ground to sky.

Then she touched something alien to the web. Like a leaping tongue of fire, it glowed a pale yellow cat's-eye among the feral rubies and cool emeralds of the other lives. Warmth flashed out from her to encircle the other. She gathered up the abba and sped down the path.

Just below the waterfall she saw him—a man of the caravan sitting on the bench, eyes closed, head back resting against the smooth bark of a young horan. His eyes opened—round, black, dreamy. He smiled at her.

An almost audible click inside her head marked the end of her union with the all, but curiosity damped the sharp loss and she walked cautiously forward, stopping just beyond the scuffed toes of his black boots. He didn't move, but his round brilliant eyes followed her.

She examined him curiously.
How strange black eyes look,
she thought.
Funny skin, too, so pale.
She glanced down at the warm gold of her own skin.
How really strange. Ugly.
She blinked as his face altered.
Is he reading my thoughts?
she wondered.
Madar! I hope not.

His smile faded and his eyes went blank while his mouth dropped at the corners and trembled slightly. He pulled his feet up and wrapped his arms around them. Somehow they became a barricade between him and her. “Takhiyyeh, Caravaner,” she said. A puff of air blew a lock of hair across her eyes and she brushed it back with a smile. “Have you seen many rivers as lovely as our Raqsidan?” She nodded at the falls, where a rainbow hovered in the mist.

“Takhiyyeh, zaujeha. It is indeed lovely. Will you sit?” He pulled his legs tighter against his chest and stared at her over his knees.

With an amused chuckle Aleytys sat down. “I suppose a merchant has to be tactful.” She stretched out her arm and tentatively touched first the leather of his boots, then the coarse red material of his baggy trousers. “There's one thing I always wanted to know,” she said.

“What's that?” It seemed to her that his wariness intensified. She frowned, then waved away impatiently his attempt to speak.

“How do you wear all those tight clothes? Don't you about die in high heat?”