Bloodsongs, page 2
“I’m so proud of you, son,” she told him suddenly, clutching his arm. Then she tilted her head and forced a little smile. “Do you know what day this is?”
He nodded. “The Spider.”
“The day of the Spider, the month and year of the Spider,” she affirmed. “When this night is passed, I shall have seen forty-three birthdays. Such a special triune occurs only once every twelve years. Let’s hope it heralds good things for us.”
Kirigi licked his lower lip. “But you told me the spider was sacred to Gath, the chaos-bringer.”
Samidar began to walk again. “I’ve told you too many old tales from my past. Couldn’t you have had the good sense not to listen? This is Keled-Zaram, and the gods of this country are not the gods of the West. Here, the spider is a symbol for artistry, not chaos. And am I not an artist?” She danced a few steps for him and laughed.
“Forty-three,” she said once more with a note of awe. “I’ll be too old for this, soon.” She danced a few more steps and shook her hair. “See,” she said, pointing among the strands. “You can see the streaks of gray.”
But Kirigi was not listening. He stared off into the hills again. No, she realized. Not into the hills, but beyond them. She studied the strong, high-boned features that seemed almost a sculpted setting for the precious sapphires that were his eyes. She bit her lip “When will you go?” she asked suddenly.
Kirigi started, and his gaze jerked back to her face. “Huh?” Then he blushed. “I’ll never leave you, Mother.” His arm went around her shoulder. The corners of his mouth twisted in a grin. “We’re a team.”
She leaned her head on his biceps. The blueness of the sky swirled overhead as they walked along. “Do you long for adventure, Kirigi?” She couldn’t hide the worry in her voice. “Do you find Dashrani and the inn so dull?”
The hesitation that preceded his answer told more than any words. But finally he said, “You keep me too busy to dream about adventure, and between you and old Tamen things are never dull.”
She closed her eyes, suddenly tired, ready to sleep, once more fully aware of that strange sense of impending—what?
“It’s never so wonderful as we believe when we’re young,” she told her son as he guided her down the road. “Kimon and I learned the hard way.” She stopped suddenly and peered back the way they had come. The dusty road seemed an appropriate metaphor for her life.
“We wandered most of the known nations and several lands marked on no map ever drawn by men,” she said softly. “Lots of places, lots of adventures.” She put her arms around Kirigi and hugged him, then leaned her head on his bronzed chest. “But after a while we discovered that the quiet times we spent together were far more meaningful and fulfilling than all the battles and exotic wonders. Then we began to worry and fear for each other. Adventure meant danger; the two go hand in hand like lovers. And danger meant that one of us could end up all alone again. We’d had too much of being alone.”
“So you bought the inn and settled down,” Kirigi interrupted.
“It wasn’t easy at first. At least not for me, though I think it was what Kimon really wanted all along. I looked out the door every morning, just like I do now, and I saw this very road. It tormented me. Strangers came and went, afoot or on horseback, in carts and caravans. Gods! I thought. What cities had they seen that I hadn’t heard about? What places were they going that I would never see?”
She drew a deep breath and kicked dust with her toe. “Gradually, though, we became part of Dashrani. And we found that all those times on the road paled beside the good times we discovered here.” She folded her arms about herself, looked up, and surveyed the sky. It was purest azure except for the line of clouds in the north. They made a creeping advance. She rubbed the back of her neck as she watched them, reminded yet again of a nagging trepidation.
“It wasn’t enough for Kel,” Kirigi said abruptly.
Samidar bit her lip and turned away so he couldn’t see her face. Suddenly the sun didn’t seem as warm or the breeze as friendly. The birdsongs of morning became a harsh, irritating noise. “Let’s go back,” she urged. “I’m worn out.”
He touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” she answered shortly. “I’m just tired. We’ll grab some sleep. Then there’s a lot to do this afternoon before we open.”
“If you’re thinking about the cheese, don’t. Khasta came in for a hasty drink last night. I talked with him, and he promised to drive out today with a wagon full of his best.”
Actually, she’d forgotten about the cheese. All she wanted was to sleep and for the increasing throb in her head to go away. She scraped her nails over the back of one hand and frowned. The grease on her skin made white half-moons under the nails. She could use a bath, too.
“Any other tasks can wait,” Kirigi continued. “It’s your birthday, and you deserve a respite. Our customers will understand. They have wives to clean their houses, but do they stay home? No, they come to us for their pleasure. They’ll survive a little dirt tonight.”
“Maybe I should hire a few girls,” she joked halfheartedly.
“I wouldn’t object,” he admitted with a leer. “There’s a discouraging lack of anonymous young ladies around here.”
“What’s wrong with the girls of Dashrani?” she prodded. “Go court them. You have enough to offer any female.” Indeed he had, she noted with a sidewise glance.
“When I have to face their fathers every night?” He moaned, rolled his eyes in mock alarm. “Fathers deep in their cups? I’ve little taste for that kind of adventure.”
She smacked his bare rump playfully. Then, arms linked, they headed back toward the inn. The sun was warm on her shoulders and neck, and it glinted off the spires of Dashrani. It wouldn’t last, though. The northern clouds grew steadily darker and they made swift advance.
“If it rains, Khasta may not come,” Kirigi said.
“If it rains, he won’t need to,” she answered. “Those look bad. A big storm’s coming.” She ran a hand through her long hair and frowned. Why did she feel so tense, suddenly so full of unknown fright? “Bad for business,” she muttered, staring at the sky, hugging herself.
They went the rest of the way in silence. The smell of leaves and new grass floated in the air. Within Dashrani’s wall, the townsfolk would be awake and about their early chores. Farmers would be heading for the fields. Samidar gazed down the road. It ran right into the city through the gate and beyond. In her memory the gate had never been closed. It was one of the things about the city that had convinced her to settle here. Everyone was welcome. There had been a garrison once, but little crime to justify it. Dashrani was a fat, lazy town, and its people were friendly. There was a saying known all over Keled-Zaram: “There are no strangers in Dashrani.”
It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the inn’s gloom. Coming behind, Kirigi bumped into her when she stopped abruptly.
They hadn’t closed the door when they’d left. One of Riothamus’s soldiers leaned on the farthest table, his back to them, drinking from an earthenware mug.
“We’re closed,” she said stonily. “Come back later, but be sure you lay down a coin for what you’ve helped yourself to.”
The soldier rose to his feet, turned slowly around.
Samidar’s jaw dropped. She blinked, stared. Kirigi’s face split in a big grin, and he rushed forward to embrace the intruder exuberantly. Then he stood aside. The rapt look on his young face told Samidar he was as surprised as she.
A mixture of emotions trembled through her, rooting her to the spot where she stood.
Finally, the soldier extended a hand and spoke. The voice was almost exactly as she remembered it, a little deeper, but otherwise unchanged, tinged, as always, with mockery.
He said, “Dance for me, Mother!”
Chapter Two
His eyes were greener than a stormy sea, more striking even than her own, mysterious eyes full of secrets. They seemed to drink her spirit and her vitality. She studied his face, so young yet so rugged and weathered, beardless. He regarded her over the rim of his mug, sipping his beer, waiting for her to speak. She felt clumsy and tongue-tied, wanting to hold her son, but afraid to hold him.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, leaning on his elbows, bringing his face a little closer to hers across the rough table.
She squirmed uneasily on the hard bench. There was a faint foulness to his breath, but it wasn’t quite unpersonable. She forced the barest smile in response to his lie. Had he missed her, he would have found opportunity in the past five years to visit or, at least, to let her know he lived. So young when he ran away, just Kirigi’s age, without money or weapon or farewell.
Her lower lip trembled with a mixed anger and joy. “I didn’t know if you were alive or dead.” She swallowed hard and looked away to the inn’s farthest corner, cursing an inward chill. “Why have you come back, Kel?”
He blinked, set down his mug. “To see you, Mother, of course.”
Her eyes sought all the dark corners and distant places. “Just me?” she said. “Not your father and your brother?”
“Father, yes, I want to see him, too!” He took another drink of his beer. “Kirigi’s not my brother.”
She avoided his eyes no longer but sought them out, fixed him with a hard look. “He is your brother!” she hissed under her breath. “As much a brother as you’ll ever have!”
“We’re not the same flesh!” he answered sharply, glancing around to be sure Kirigi was still out of earshot.
“Your father and I loved him!” She was nearly on her feet, bending over the table, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge for support. “There could be no more babies after you. We thought you were the last and the only until Kimon found Kirigi.”
He slammed the mug down, sloshing the contents. “Wasn’t I enough? Didn’t I love you enough? Couldn’t you love me?”
She ran a hand through her hair as she shook her head. “Oh, Kel, we did love you with all our hearts. Taking in Kirigi didn’t lessen that love. He was a little boy left behind by one of the caravans. There was more than enough room in our lives for two sons.”
Kel got up and walked to an unshuttered window. “You didn’t need me around. He took my place.”
“No, he never.” She went to him, put her hands on his shoulders, laid her cheek on his broad back. “He never took your place, son. He made his own place.”
He turned. Their arms went around each other, and sudden tears streamed soundlessly down her face. “I’m so sorry,” she managed, looking up, stroking his cheek with one shivering hand. “I spoke too harshly. I know how hurt you were; that was why you left.” She stepped back and wiped her eyes. “But let’s be kind now. We won’t talk about it anymore.”
She hugged him again, glad at last to hold her son after so many long years.
The back door opened, closed. Kirigi bounced in, exuberant and grinning, smelling faintly of the stables. He’d taken time to dress in short pants and a belted tunic. A few pieces of straw and manure clung to the soles of his boots. “A beautiful mare!” he exclaimed to Samidar. “White as the mountain snows!”
Kel forced a grin and said to his mother, “When did he ever see snow in the mountains?”
She shrugged, matching his grin.
Kirigi disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with a platter of cold meats left from the previous night’s roasts, some slices of bread, and a pitcher of cool water. He placed it all on the table and beckoned them to breakfast.
“What’s it like in the army?” he asked Kel, stuffing a chunk of beef into his mouth, sputtering as he added, “I’ll bet it’s great. We didn’t know you were still in the country. Are you stationed close? Can you come home more often?”
Kel’s grin widened. He looked tolerantly at his mother and helped himself to bread. He chewed quietly until a glance from Samidar warned Kirigi to silence. “Give your brother a chance to answer,” she chided.
Kel leaned back, chewed a mouthful, and washed it down with beer. “Riothamus is a madman,” he said at last, “a butcher. He suppresses the people. Keled-Zaram trembles under his hard rule, and his soldiers commit horrors in his name.”
Kirigi leaned forward. “What are you talking about? You serve in his army. What suppression?”
Samidar touched her younger son’s shoulder, and he fell quiet once again. “You wear Riothamus’s uniform,” she pointed out.
“A man must eat.” There was harshness in his words. “I’ve known hunger, Mother, and felt its claws rake my empty belly. The king pays his men well. That’s why we obey him.” He took another drink and set the empty mug aside.
“We’re seldom touched by affairs in the capital,” she told him. “Dashrani is a quiet town, and for the most part ignored by Riothamus. There’s no longer even a garrison in the city. The gates stand open and no sentries walk the walls.” She looked down at her hands, then into his eyes. “Still, we’ve heard rumors, and there’ve been soldiers prowling around lately.”
“Searching for the rebels.” he confided. “Their leader is reported to be in this area, a sorcerer called Oroladian.”
Her brow furrowed. “A sorcerer?”
Kel filled his mug with water from the pitcher. “Not much is known about the leader. We don’t even know what he looks like.” He shrugged. “Riothamus hunts him anyway. It’s all madness.”
“Why don’t you quit?” Kirigi asked innocently, reaching for another slice of meat.
Kel regarded him through narrowed slits. “Maybe I will soon,” he said, then drank deeply.
“Mother?” Kirigi’s hand halted before the meat reached his mouth. “You’re pale! What’s wrong?”
Samidar got up, crossed the room to the door, and gazed into the distant hills now crowned with the glory of the full sun. “You said a sorcerer?”
Kel turned on the bench. “Kirigi’s right. You look like you’ve just caught a new glimpse of hell.”
She wrapped her arms about herself and leaned against the jamb, her eyes squeezed tightly shut against a very private dread. “I’ve seen hell before,” she said, “and it didn’t frighten me nearly as much as your news.” She opened her eyes and stared through a teary moisture at her son. “You haven’t asked about your father.”
Kirigi rose slowly. “I assumed you told him,” he said gently. “That’s why I left you two alone for so long.”
“Told me what?” Kel asked. “Where is Father?”
Time had healed the pain, but there was still a scar, hard and swollen and tender. She thumped a fist against the wall. “Dead. Kirigi and I buried him out there.” She pointed toward the hills. “He used to wander there or hunt. He said it was the most peaceful place he’d ever known. When he was troubled he’d go there to be by himself. He always came back in a better mood.” She turned and met Kel’s gaze. There was ice in her voice. “He won’t be coming back anymore.”
“He was murdered,” Kirigi said, taking up the tale. “Mother and I had taken the wagon to town. A metal rim had broken free from one of the wheels and needed repair.” He got up, walked to the center of the room, and stood between a couple of tables. “We found him right here on this spot. See how smooth the floorboards are? I sanded for days to get rid of the stains.” He stared fixedly at the place he indicated, then suddenly he seized up a small bench. His muscles rippled as he heaved it through the air. The wall shivered at the impact.
“Kirigi!” Samidar cried.
The bench lay broken on the floor. A deep gouge mark on the wall showed how forcefully it had struck. Kirigi trembled all over, veins and muscles bulging with tension. “I thought I was over it,” he said harshly.
Samidar went to him, took him by the arm, but he shook her off and returned to his seat at the breakfast table. He stared morosely into his mug and said no more.
“I didn’t know,” Kel said lamely.
“You weren’t here.” She bit her tongue. She hadn’t meant that to be an accusation, but it had come out that way. She went to stand by an open window and looked out. A caravan was just leaving through the gates of Dashrani. It would pass her inn, so she went to shut the door. That was sufficient to tell them she was closed.
“You mentioned a sorcerer,” she said, turning again.
“Oroladian,” Kel said with mild irritation. “You keep coming back to him.”
“There was more to your father’s murder,” she explained, steely voiced. “He was mutilated. The four fingers of his right hand were cut off. The murderer must have taken them, for they were never found.”
“By all the dark gods!” Kel covered his face with his hands.
“Perhaps,” she hissed, “it was the dark gods. Or more likely, one of their servants. I wondered then, but this land was supposed to be free of sorcerers and wizards. So I told myself it must have been some madman, because nothing of value was taken.” She paced among the tables and benches. “Now you tell me there is a sorcerer, after all.”
“But why would he do it?” Kel persisted as he stared at his own fingers. “Why would any man do such a thing?”
“There are rites,” she answered coldly, “that require parts of a human corpse. The art is called necromancy, but I didn’t know there were such practitioners in Keled-Zaram. This land’s people know little of magic.”
“What rites?” Kel said. “How do you know about them?”
She looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “You know I’m Esgarian. You know what that means.”
“But you haven’t any powers,” he pressed. “You told me you lost them long ago.”
“Still, I was taught!” She glared at him. “I have the knowledge. I remember!”
“I’ll kill him,” Kirigi muttered, interrupting them, his voice chilly and bitter. “This Oroladian, whoever he is, must be mine.”
“Kirigi . . .” Samidar began, but the youth did not listen. He arose and stalked out the rear door without another word.
Kel watched him leave. “You’ve raised him outtempered,” he said when the door slammed shut.
