Revelation (40 page)

“Do you think to find your way out of Kir’Vagonoth by the stairs, Exile? Or is it you are collecting books enough to fill a new book-room? Only one volume will do, I think.”

“One moment, madam. I’d like to find something enjoyable.” I hoped she would not take it ill that I might think some of her books were less than enjoyable, but unless I found something soon, rudeness would be the least of my offenses.

There, Kuvai script. I knew a smattering of Kuvai, though not enough to make sense of anything but the simplest book. But surely if she had Kuvai works, there would be something in one of the languages I knew well. I rounded another corner, and fell on my knees, elated to find a shelf which displayed titles in Aseol. Now to find something that looked entertaining.

Birds and Beasts of Basran.
Basran. I smiled to myself in delight at seeing a name that was familiar. I was so far from home, I had begun to doubt what little memory I possessed. But though the illustrations were fine, it didn’t seem like what the lady wanted, so I kept looking.
Astronomical Theories
,
Tribal Languages
, and
Trade Routes of the Khyb Rash
looked too dry.
The Feine and Ankient Hystory of the Lutte
was far too long, and written in archaic speech. But I found a small book bound in wine-red leather called
Ships of Fortune: Ten Stories
that looked to be tales of a Basran adventurer. I pulled out a second book entitled
Myths and Fancies
, just in case the first turned dull, and I hurried back to the waiting demons.

“I hope this will suit, madam,” I said.

Vallyne had reclined on a gray divan and waved me to a low wooden stool. “Hurry up, then.”

I propped the book between my knees as my wayward hands could not hold it still enough otherwise, and I began to read. “ ‘List, oh reader, to a story of wonders. I am a man who hath traveled far, and I have seen things which mine own father would name impossible . . .’ ”

No wonder the book had taken my fancy. Perhaps I could write such a story with my pen and brown ink.

Sarakhan was a young Basran sheepherder who had tired of his dull life at the edge of the desert and set off to find the great ocean, a myth among his people. At first, as I read, I methodically queried my memory. Had I ever seen the ocean? Had I sailed in a ship or climbed in its rigging? Had I met pirates or eaten the fruit of purple-leafed trees with strange names? Had I ever fallen in love . . . had a woman . . . a wife? Oh, gods, why could I not remember something so important? But after a while I glanced up to see how my audience received the story, and my eyes met two large green ones, flecked with demon-blue and rapt with shining wonder. In that moment all else fled from my consideration. “. . . Set sail . . . again . . .” My words faltered, and blood rushed to my face. I forced my gaze back to the pages.
Careful, Warden. There is such danger here as you have never imagined.
Ten more pages I read until Sarakhan touched the shore ending his first voyage.

“Go on.” Vallyne looked puzzled that I had stopped. My throat was dry—with more than reading. “There is more to the book, is there not? This can’t be all of it.”

“Yes, madam. And I’ll be happy to go on, but at some time, I’ll need water or wine to ease my throat.” Somehow it seemed crude to mention it.

“Yes, yes. Just tell us when it’s needed. For now, go on.” The other listeners were nodding their heads in agreement, but my attention was all for my mistress.

I read two more of Sarakhan’s stories without stopping. The green eyes dragged me on until I started coughing. Even then I tried to squeeze in the words to please her, to keep that light of wonder blazing in her eyes. Just at the point where I was going to be forced to stop, Raddoman appeared at my elbow with a cup of wine. I downed the bittersweet stuff in haste without looking up from the page, and then continued, only to find, somewhere after the hundredth page, that the following page was blank. In panic I thumbed through the rest of the leaves. All blank.
Idiot. Why didn’t you look?
Even as I said it, I knew the accusation was foolish. Who would expect such a thing?

“Why do you stop? We gave you wine.” Vallyne sat up on her couch, and the storm on her pale brow twisted my gut.

“My lady, the book”—I took the book to her, showing her the blank pages—“it seems to be defective. I didn’t know.”

The lady snatched the book and riffled the pages, then threw it hard so that it skittered along the gray floor tiles. “Next time make sure of what you choose.”

“Of course, my lady. I just didn’t—”

“Do you know the rest of the story? You read it so easily; perhaps you’ve heard it before.”

“Know it? No. I’m sorry. It was new to me. I could read something else . . .”

The other guests were rising from their couches and bundling their cloaks about themselves as if they had been asleep, and Vallyne turned her back to me in order to attend them. The heavy cold of the room came over me like a mantle, and I began to shiver, the emptiness of my mind and heart and stomach unable to stave it off. Had it been only her attention that kept me warm as I read?

I sat waiting, scarcely able to contain my impatience, until she had bade farewell to the last of her guests. When she returned to the pool of light, I jumped up from my stool. “I have another book. Perhaps I could begin it for you.”

She cocked her head to look at me, and then she smiled, which sent lightning down my spine and eased my shivering. “No more books just now. But you read very well. We will do it again. Go back to your room and rest if you wish.”

“Perhaps we could talk for a while. I came here to learn.” I didn’t like the sound of desperation in my voice. What was wrong with me?

“Alas, no. I’m expecting a visitor, and you should not be here when he comes. Later perhaps.”

I could think of no more arguments, save falling to my knees and begging. I was not so far gone as to do that, though I certainly gave it consideration. Instead, I bowed and retreated, vowing to douse my head in cold water and quench the mad fire she caused in me. I felt like I was fifteen again—awkward, obvious, and unable to control the simplest urges. And she was a demon. What was I thinking?

I found my way back to my room—no simple task since the way seemed to have changed even from my backward look upon my arrival at the book-room. But I seemed to know which way to turn, and though I peered into many doorways to see what manner of rooms I passed, I knew they were not my destination. Little interested me, and later, when I pulled my paper and pen from the silver box, I wrote,
Demons collect junk. Much of it is broken or imperfect.

Like me, I thought, as I put the writing things away. Then I stripped off the fine clothes and climbed into my makeshift bed. I could not remember anything so marvelous as the warmth and softness of my motley layers of rugs and fabric and cushions. I told myself that I if I died there in my sleep, I would be happy. But instead I dreamed of Jack-Willow and woke many hours later to a dry mouth and trembling hands.

I sat up and rested my head on my knees, folding my arms over my head and forcing my breathing to slow and my pounding heart to settle as I realized where I was.

“So have you tried to make love to her?”

I jerked backward, slamming my back against the wall, which caused something metal to topple off a stack of bowls and baskets and clatter noisily to the floor.

“You can’t, you know. Not without telling her your name.”

“Merryt!”

 

 

 

“So how do you fare?” asked the Ezzarian, as he dragged my writing table to my bedside. “I’ve brought food—breakfast, I suppose, from the look of you.” On the table was a carafe of wine and a basket containing plums, grapes, apples, hard sausage, and bread. He cut off a chunk of the sausage and tossed it to me, then cut one for himself.

To see him work so deftly despite his missing fingers was fascinating. The little finger and the one next to it were missing on his left hand, and the third finger on his right. I tried not to stare, though my own fingers were counting each other under my blanket.

“I’ve tried to get word of you these past weeks, but Vallyne does not share her pretty schemes with just anyone. Especially when they’re designed to prick Denas into fury. He went to all that trouble to get hold of you discreetly, and now she’s showing you off to everyone, making him look the fool.”

“I’m well enough,” I said. “Far better than I was. Thank you. I’ve no words to say it properly.”

Merryt was a big man, now I saw him with eyes that could focus. Leather breeches and vest, brown leggings and rust-colored shirt strained at the seams with his bulk. His long gray hair was pulled back tightly, making his broad, square face appear all the larger. But he was in no way fat. I guessed that he had kept up his Warden’s training. He swallowed a huge bite of his sausage and poured wine into two silver cups. “I’ve no doubt you’d do the same. It’s fine to see a human face—one of my own brothers.” He took a great draught of his wine and set the other cup where I could reach it. “There’s not been another of us down here for ever so long. None others still living. I wish I could promise you an easy road, but there’s no predicting with the Nevai and their unending plots. You may not thank me when all is done.”

“For getting me out of the pits, I will bless your name to my children’s children,” I said, and raised my cup to him. The Ezzarian’s eyes settled on my shaking hand. No time for pride. The man had saved my life and the dregs of my reason.

He raised his cup and drank generously. He seemed to do nothing small. “So, are you ready to tell me how you come to be here with no weapons? And this story of a Nevai and a warning . . .”

An Ezzarian among the demons. My instinct for danger was not completely buried in my mind’s wreckage. Even if I could have remembered half of what I needed to know, I wasn’t sure I would or should reveal it. “I’m sorry. Everything’s a muddle since—”

Merryt raised one hand. “No matter, lad. I won’t press. I understand a Warden’s reluctance to bare his soul to one who’s made a passing peace with rai-kirah.” He leaned back against a heavy wardrobe and popped a grape in his mouth. “But someday . . . I’ve been hearing tales of you. The wings. The Naghidda. So many battles. I’m damned curious, and I’d like to think you’ll come to trust me enough to tell.”

“Thank you for the breakfast. This Raddoman doesn’t quite approve of feeding me.” The taste of the sausage and wine made me realize how hungry I was. It wasn’t as good as it looked, but it had been enough hours since my last meal that I wolfed it down. And once I had satisfied the immediate ravening of my stomach, it was easier to pay attention to other things. Mostly at how guilty I felt about keeping secrets from the friendly Ezzarian. “I want to trust you. Of course I do. But right now I don’t trust myself far enough to spit, and I can scarcely remember my own mother. I just need a little time. Maybe if you were to tell me a little about yourself . . . this place.” The questions Merryt raised were beyond counting. And he seemed to know as much about me as I knew myself. Perhaps more.

“I’ll give you whatever you want to know. I’ve naught to lose, and a friend and ally to gain. I just can’t tarry here too long. Doesn’t do to cross your mistress. I’ve seen her change form when she’s angry—and you’ve seen naught in your demon combats to compare. It’s why she dislikes me so wicked . . . because I know what she really is.” He propped his boots on a cushion. “No, you’re wise not to trust any of us here. Don’t trust anyone ever. That’s a lesson it took me a few lifetimes to learn.”

He wore the animal confidence and easy grace that marked a man who believed in his own power. “I was forty-three when I was taken captive,” he said. “In my prime. I had fought for seventeen years and never lost a battle. My Aife—my wife—had been ill, but was well recovered, so we thought. But it seemed an easy combat—a newly possessed young girl, innocent until she was taken—and we felt guilty that others had been answering our calls. I would not partner with any other Aife . . . more the fool. So, well, there’s not much to tell. It was a hard battle, lasted a fair time, but my wife could not hold the land steady. Kept changing around me. I was on the verge of snaring the demon, but before I had a chance, the whole place starts falling to bits, and I see the portal closing down. Whatever the reason, my wife was too weak to hold. I think perhaps she died from it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and twisted his mouth into rueful resignation. “No need. It was a very long time ago.” He turned the silver wine cup around and around in his hand until it flashed in the soft light of the gray stones. “It was my good fortune—if ought of such a happening could be called good—to be taken by a Rudai. Only rarely do those of the Rudai Circle hunt. They are what we would call quite civilized, whereas . . . well, you’ve met the worst of the brutes, but the others aren’t much better. Wardens taken by Gastai are given no choice in their fates. They are judged in the Rudai Meet, questioned, examined, and given back to be done with as the captors wish. It’s how the Gastai are paid for their hunting.”

“So the others . . .” All the missing Wardens—those who never came back. Lost . . . captured. We had never known what became of them. So many mourned. Prayed for. Wardens always watched for signs of our own kind when we stepped through a portal, but had never found evidence of them.

“All dead. A few survived for a while imprisoned, a few walked free for a time, only to run afoul of some devil or other. But it’s been a number of years since the last passed on. I was lucky. My captor told me the secret to staying healthy.”

A hundred questions came crowding to my tongue at once. “Will you tell me?” First things first. If I was to accomplish whatever I’d come for, then I needed to survive.

“The she-devil held me captive for a while, letting the Gastai take what they could get of me. Unpleasant enough, as you know better than I. But eventually she asked me if I would prefer to live or die. I said I would not live a demon, and she revealed to me a most surprising thing.” He leaned forward and raised his thick eyebrows at me, opening his black eyes wide and pointing at them. “We are prizes beyond compare, and the rai-kirah will do most anything to get one of us for their own. But they’ll not force themselves into us. A Warden isn’t like other humans out in the real world. We have all these skills and protections to hold them off. If a demon forces us to take him and we keep resisting, then they can’t hold onto us tight enough. So then another devil can come along and fight him, trying to push the first one out and take us for himself. That kind of assault is very damaging to them, and worse for the poor bastard they’re fighting over. After a few changes of owner, we’re not worth much, and they get raked over by the other demons for wasting a human. I’ve seen it happen to a few of us over the years.” He shook his head grimly and rummaged in his basket for more sausage.