The fey was long and chafing, nearly driving me mad with triple confinement. The linked chain upon my ankle allowed no movement from the lenga pelt, and even had I been free of the chain, the frenzied rain beat ceaselessly from without, warning all who heard it of its savagery. Again, had I been free of the chain and uncaring of the strength of the cold, unnatural rain, still would I have been unable to leave the confines of the dwelling. Tarla had questioned Lialt upon the whereabouts of my covering and leg-furs—she, unlike me, having noticed their disappearance—and Lialt had replied that they lay in Ceralt’s possession, a further assurance that the cold, if not the chain, would keep Jalav from the woods of freedom. Hearing such a thing had caused me to hurl the wooden comb from me in fury, wishing Ceralt’s head might be that which was struck rather than the wall. Lialt laughed at my fury, he having taken seat upon a lenga pelt which had been spread not far from the fire, yet Tarla had lowered her head in upset, keeping her eyes from me. She had not again approached me since Lialt’s entrance, a thing which surprised me not at all. The male, helpless, like all males, required her service, and she, true slave, could not refuse.
Through most of the fey, Lialt drank pot after pot of that which he had called rangi. Deep black was the liquid, served with steam curling from the heated body of it, its aroma filling the dwelling with a strength difficult to conceive of. My nose wrinkled with the first onslaught of its presence, yet Lialt took it eagerly to him, sipping with a great deal of pleasure. At first, I had thought the drink somewhat like daru or renth, yet there was no hint of fermentation in its smell, and Tarla, too, sipped at a pot of the liquid, her pursed lips blowing cooling breath on the roiling steam. None of the liquid was offered me till Lialt saw my eyes upon him, then he rose from his place and came to hold his pot out before me. I wished none of the offerings of males, yet curiosity held me too firmly in its grip for me to spurn the offer. The aroma coming from the pot seemed to beckon to those it reached, and I wished to know the taste of the thing which drew one so. I took the pot from Lialt’s hands and put it to my lips, drawing a swallow from it into my mouth, yet nearly was I unable to down the stuff! So strong and bitter that my tongue nearly curled, the liquid burned its way to my throat and stomach, leaving no doubt as to its previous presence. I drew in a gasp of air as I coughed, and Lialt took the pot from my unresisting hands.
“What do you think of the rangi?” he asked, crouching before me so that he might peer into my face. I saw him drink from the pot as he awaited an answer, and did not allow my revulsion to show.
“The liquid is clearly made for city males,” I husked, wiping the sweat from my forehead. “A warrior does better with daru.”
“I do not know the drink,” he said, rising from his crouch, “yet it is undoubtedly more suitable for wenches. Not many women other than Tarla are able to drink rangi unless it is sweetened with wild honey. Does this daru of yours require sweetening?”
“Daru requires no sweetening,” said I, moving the lenga fur lower. The single swallow I had taken seemed to have brought the heat of the fire to all of my insides, causing the dwelling itself to seem warmer. Lialt stood before me, sipping from the pot of rangi, his gaze, for some reason, caught upon me. The dimness disallowed the clear seeing of his light eyes, yet the gaze brought me discomfort without bringing a reason for the feeling. No more than a moment did Lialt stand so, and then he shook himself and turned from me to return to his seat by the fire. Once he again sat cross-legged upon the pelt, Tarla crept to him so that he might put his arm about her. The male did so, yet there was a distraction about him which lasted for more than a hin. I cared little for Lialt’s distraction, and stretched myself out upon the lenga pelt to think about daru. I would have given much for the taste of it, yet it was not to be found in the land of males. Such a thing was wise of daru, a wisdom I would gladly have shared.
The mid meal brought a cut of meat cooked by Tarla, and also brought the attention of Lialt when I left the cut where Tarla had placed it, upon its wooden board, beside my lenga pelt. The passing hind had succeeded in forcing me deep within the caves of despair, a place even Mida’s light has no power to warm. I lay upon my back, the lenga pelt covering me from waist to thighs, my right leg bent, my left leg held fast by the links of metal. It had become impossible not to feel the clasp of the metal, not to know that free movement had been denied me, not to feel a frantic, unreasoning urge to escape. I clenched my fists where they lay by my sides, fighting to keep from showing weakness before my enemies. I wished to scream and pull madly at the chain, I wished to bite and tear at any who came within reach. Almost did I also wish to bite at my own leg in order to free myself, and the taste of this need was sharp and sour in my throat. The timbers of the dwelling’s roof lay far above me, in dimness, gazing down uncaring on all beneath, and then Lialt stood above me as well, disapproval strong on his face. He spoke words to me, words which I refused to hear, and in anguish I turned from him, burying my desperate need in the pelt I lay upon. I could no longer see the dwelling, and in the darkness I had made for myself, there was somewhat of a lessening of shame for the tremors which shook me. To be free! To be free! The words rang in my ears without sound, taking all else from my perception. Even when the furs were drawn more closely about me, I knew not whose hands had done the deed. With all my strength, I begged Mida to free me from the metal, for I could not free myself, yet naught came of the aid I had begged for. Weariness came then to add weight to the despair already too heavy upon me, and at last sleep came, to conquer them all.
I awoke to a knocking upon the door of the dwelling, opening my eyes to see Lialt cross to the door. Without were two males in leather, muffled close in furs which blew with the wind. The strange, hard rain had apparently ceased, and I moved lower in my lenga pelts as Lialt took a pile of leather and fur from one of the males, spoke quiet words to them, then closed the door. Tarla stood not far from me, and it was to her that he brought what had been given him.
“You may now dress her,” said he, handing to Tarla the leather and furs. “I will wait with the others.”
He then withdrew from his silvered belt a small bit of metal, that which I had learned was a thing called a key. Use of a key releases one from the grasp of chains, and in no more than a moment the metal fell from my ankle, to torture me no more. I sat up quickly in the furs, drawing my leg to me so that I might rub it, and again found Lialt’s eyes upon me.
“So much like a hadat released from a trap,” he murmured, his dark-shadowed face without expression. He then rose from his crouch and went to the wall where his furs hung, donned them, and left the dwelling. Tarla waited till the door had closed behind him, then she knelt and placed the leather and furs upon the floor.
“There is very little time, Jalav,” said she, handing to me my leather covering. “Lialt will see you to the cleansing halyar, and thence to the meeting hall. I would accompany you if it were possible, but I would not be allowed within the hall.” Her large, dark eyes, filled with sadness, were upon my face, and then her arms were about me in a brief embrace before she knelt again as she had done previously. “This should be an occasion filled with gladness,” she whispered, brushing at her eyes. “Why must I echo your pain rather than you echo my happiness?”