Vault Of Heaven 01 - The Unremembered (77 page)

Thinking of the cave, she remembered that she’d wanted to ask the boy what he’d seen in the mists of Je’holta when he’d broken the line and raced away. But it no longer seemed to matter, and she relaxed for the moment, lying by his side.

Then he opened his eyes and turned to look at her. “You sing well. We never had such a good voice on the wagons.”

Wendra smiled. Then something she’d wanted to be alone to talk to Penit about surfaced abruptly. “Don’t be fooled by Jastail, Penit. He is only playing at being your friend. He uses you to control me, because he knows I won’t do—”

“I know,” Penit interrupted with a secretive whisper. “I’ve known men like him my whole life. They’re the ones that take coins out of the hat on the wagon wheel. I’m just letting him think his little pageant is working to keep his trust. I figure sooner or later it may give us an advantage—”

The bedroom door opened with a thick, heavy crack against the wall. “You’ll need to eat,” Jastail called and returned to the outer room. Wendra and Penit shared a conspiratorial smile. Then he leapt from the bed and pulled on his boots.

“Will we make it to Recityv today?” Penit asked, following Jastail and resuming his ruse.

“Not today, lad.” Jastail put an arm around the boy and the two walked into the hall toward the kitchen.

“Maybe never,” Wendra added, alone in the sunbathed room.

Fried oats covered in honey, roasted water-root, and spring water lay on the table in a bounteous endfast. Jastail sat magnanimously at the head of the table and passed dishes to Wendra and Penit. “You’ve both worked so hard,” he said. “I wanted to treat you to a good morning meal. Have plenty.”

“And where did you learn this hospitality?” she asked.

Jastail smiled thinly. “But you already know. It is my poetry that teaches me civility. And”—he looked around the cabin—“there is a certain grace amongst highwaymen, if you must know. We do not all slop from a trough.”

Wendra forced herself to eat. The meal felt like an extra bale of hay, when calves and lambs were fatted for Harvest Bath. But she would need her strength when her moment arrived, and she ate a second helping of everything to ensure she did not faint when that moment came.

Penit slapped his lips with every bite, savoring the oats especially. He rushed through each helping, seeming to expect that they’d be back on the trail again after endfast. He gulped his spring water and sat looking at Jastail as the highwayman finished his water-root. Their captor ate in silence, suddenly less disposed to play to Penit’s worship.

Wendra thought of Master Olear taking lambs into his shed. The animals bleated and complained, sensing the awful business intended for them, until Master Olear spoke in his soft, singsong voice to reassure them. She never saw how the lambs met their end. But she could still hear the lilting phrases of reassurance muted by the wooden walls of the shed. She heard hooves on planks coming to a halt. And she still heard a final strangled cry before the silence, and with it, the grunt of Master Olear bearing down as he plunged his implement of death into the beast. She and Penit were on the boards as surely as he’d been in Galadell. They were in the silence now, the coaxing words having brought them to the cabin. She wondered what sound Jastail would make as he made victims of them.

She put trembling hands into her lap to hold them still. The terrible uncertainty of not knowing Jastail’s plan oppressed her. Wendra looked down at the fork she’d taken her meal with.
One clean movement. Take the utensil in hand and stick it into Jastail’s throat.
She could smell the tobaccom smoke on him, and hated her own fear of the apathy in his eyes. Her gorge rose, sour and rank at the very look of her captor; bile burned her throat.

“We’re going to stay here a day or two,” Jastail said, not meeting Penit’s eyes. “We could all use some rest, and I have stock here for ten days or more.”

“I thought you were taking us to Recityv?” Penit asked.

“Indeed, lad, I am.” Jastail instantly adopted the paternal look he’d mastered during their days together. “But the woman here needs some rest. It’s not fair to push her as fast as we can go.” He leaned toward Penit to make a show of solidarity.

“I am fine,” Wendra responded, still clutching her hands in her lap. “I’m not at all tired.”

Jastail flashed angry eyes at her, but regained his composure quickly. “Every woman will say such things, Penit, may the Will bless them for it. They’ll push on until they near collapse from exhaustion. But a proper man knows to take his time, attend her needs.” Jastail allowed himself a slightly lurid look. “And so we’ll rest a day or two, eat well, relax. Then on to Recityv.”

“And will you help us find the Sheason?” Penit asked, immediately looking at Wendra. His face said that he knew he’d just made a horrible mistake. It was the first look at the old Penit she’d had in many days, and despite the blunder, the face warmed her.

Jastail glared at Penit, then Wendra. He exuded anger like heat, catching her and Penit in its waves. “What business have you with Sheason?” Jastail inquired, his voice just barely restraining fury.

“None at all,” Wendra responded, her eyes still on Penit.

“Boy,” Jastail said turning toward Penit. “Tell me true. You seek one of the order. Why?” Penit looked at the highwayman and back at Wendra like a rabbit caught in a trapper’s snare.

“I won’t ask you again,” Jastail said, his voice rising as he slowly lost control.

Wendra let the highwayman grow cross with Penit, and made no immediate move to help him. She hoped it would dispel the false countenance he’d tried to show the boy. The turn of events pleased her, and she fought her own smile even as Jastail lost his temper.

“What should I say, Wendra?” Penit finally asked, pleading for help across the table of oats and water-root.

Jastail smiled. Penit’s face immediately showed regret for his mistake: He’d revealed her true name.

Wendra put a forgiving hand over Penit’s own and inclined toward him. “Tell him that it might be wise of him to take us to Recityv today. Tell him that his anger or any bruises it may cause you and me will not look good to potential buyers, if we are to fetch the price he wants for us. And tell him that the poet he adores has twisted him from a fine cook of honeyed oats to a sack of grain tainted with weevils.”

Penit stared back in confusion.

“Or tell him he smells bad and ought to take a bath.”

The table shook. Jastail rose, his fists still trembling where he’d pounded them into the tabletop. He swallowed slowly, the rise of blood to his cheeks suffusing his entire face. Then he composed himself, the callous look that Wendra dreaded returning. “You misunderstand,
Wendra,
” Jastail began, making sure she knew he’d caught her lie. He went on in his strange uninflected tone. “I only wish I might have known to raise my price on you and the child. But I’ve not been entirely in the dark. Why do you suppose I purchased my own lot?” He motioned at Penit without looking at him. “I saw what happened in you at the auction. I listened to you singing with the Ta’Opin. How ironic that it is my poet who has described such things to me and leaves their traces in my memory? The boy’s loose tongue gives my suspicions credibility. It will help me fetch the prize I seek.”

“And what is that, highwayman?” Wendra asked. “I’ve a poet, too, and he has defined the man you are.” She studied his face. “Stuffed. And as worthless as a scarecrow. So much dried hay to fill a discarded shirt and pair of trousers. For you, no prize will stir your heart. That is what I learned from Gynedo on your gambling riverboat. It is a wonder you care at all for your own safety.”

Jastail smiled then, a baleful, awful twist of his lips. “Ah, but I do.” He came around the table and bent to speak at Wendra’s ear. “One does not deal with Quietgiven alone.”

Wendra’s heart seemed to stop. She did not turn in surprise, as she thought Jastail hoped she might. But the mention of the legions from the Bourne sent chills down her back.

“They are not generally of high business principles,” Jastail went on. “You may be glad of it, too, Anais. I’ve men coming to partner with me in this trade. Safety in numbers, you see. And your womb and the child’s innocence are high market items with those out of the Bourne. Your little songs and closeness with the order are treasures I would thank the Great Fathers for, if I believed.”

Wendra smiled triumphantly. “I’ve a gift for you then. One that may inspire belief in you for a Will of mercy.”

“Indeed,” Jastail mocked. “One of your pretty songs laced with insults and hatred, perhaps.”

“Not at all.” Wendra dug into her trousers and produced the parchment she’d found in Jastail’s room at Galadell. She placed it delicately beside her plate. “A fine garnish to this meal, highwayman.” She then turned and glowered at him. “There’ll be no help coming. Your men will have no message.”

Jastail hit Wendra full force on the side of the head, sending her sprawling to the floor. “By every death I’ve seen!” he howled. “I would send you to join them!”

Licking blood from her lip, Wendra said, mocking, “And what of our price, highwayman?” Penit raced around the table to kneel beside her. “Is there still value in us if my womb is cold and the boy lies dead in his purity?” She spat the blood from her mouth. “I don’t know what use they have of us, you mongrel, but great is the Will that brings you to know what it is to be ruled by the hand of another. I’ll pray for rough hands on your most tender skin. And to know what price a highwayman will bring on his own block should the Given take a liking to you.”

Jastail swung to face her full on, savagely pointing a finger at her. “You are small-village wise, Anais, and small-village foolish. What gain is there for Quietgiven in killing or shackling a trader in human stock? Ending a steady supply from a consistent source?”

Wendra returned his glare. “And you are blinded by your own commerce, and your own need to liven a hardened soul.” She spat again, this time aiming for Jastail’s boots. “The Bar’dyn chased me out of my home at the very hour of my childbirth. Do you understand? They came especially for me. They won’t leave behind any connection to me; not even the trader who brought me to them.” She got to one knee. “Your trading days are over, unless you hold a threat that dissuades them.” She picked up the scrap of parchment. “And I have taken that advantage from you. When they come, you will join the boy and me.” She smiled, uncaring that her lips still bled. “If they don’t decide to simply kill you.”

Jastail stared at Wendra as she stood, shielding Penit behind her. His lip curled, quivering behind his finely trimmed beard, when the heavy sound of many feet announced others approaching the cabin. The emotion in Jastail’s face disappeared like smoke in the wind, and he calmly walked past Wendra and Penit toward the door. Her hands began to shake more violently. Jastail represented the worst of men, but her heart would not be still, for she realized what lay for her and Penit in the clearing beyond the door.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

Public Discipline

Tahn slept fitfully, never descending into full sleep. Sutter dreamed, muttering and calling out, but always hugging close his sword, the handle locked into the hollow of his cheek like a child’s doll.

What did he see? The mists, what were they?

In the absence of sleep, Tahn restrung his bow, grateful for a simple task to perform. He had to blink back the images of attempting to draw an unstrung weapon against Sevilla. After he tested the string, he put aside his bow and took a stance to the side of the window, testing his strength. Over the rooftop of the next building he could see the tail of the serpent stars, dipping now below the horizon. Soon the dawn would come. But what beauty the night held for now: Distant, shining stars with their stories and unending surety; the sleeping world, the peace, the quiet. Perhaps the light of day would do better to remain on the other side of the world. Would time march on if the greater light did not rise to wake men and thrust them into keening for another meal or battle for dominion?

Tahn looked away at the serpent’s tail, six stars in a gentle curve that plunged into the land, hiding its head. Gone to its earth, Tahn thought. But then he imagined he could see the morn, a gentle warming of color at the farthest end of the land. “The song of the feathered,” Balatin used to say. Let it come.

The thought exhausted him; recent days had been long and hard.

“You’re up.” Gehone’s voice came softly, but startled Tahn nonetheless. “Let your friend sleep, and join me in the kitchen.” Tahn looked at Sutter and smiled wanly.

Bright lamps gave the kitchen a cheerful look. A brick oven warmed in one corner, fired with ash logs that lay in a wood scuttle beside it. A black skillet rested on an iron grate, and the fragrance of cooking apples filled the air. Gehone took a seat at the table and poured a mellow-colored cider. He pushed one mug at Tahn. “Goes good with warm apples,” he said, and drank.

Tahn sipped and rubbed his legs, which still tingled the way they did when he’d sat cross-legged too long.

Gehone, raising a finger the way Balatin often had, looked ready to speak. But as he opened his mouth, he seemed to think better of it, and smiled sympathetically with his eyes. He said only, “Apples first.” The leagueman went to the cupboard and took down two bowls. From the skillet he scooped two large portions of sliced apples warmed in what smelled like cow cream. Gehone returned and set the dishes on the table. Before Tahn could take his first bite, Gehone spooned a brown powder over the warm, sliced fruit. Tahn ate, disappearing into the taste of cinnamon and molasses. Gehone was right; apple cider was the perfect complement. They endfasted in silence, while outside the sun blued the sky.