“I want to tell you how my cousin Arissa was murdered,” he said. “We don’t usually talk about it. It’s a terrible story…”
It was—tragic, appalling, filling the mind, leaving no room for thoughts of the Watchers, or what might lie beyond Zara’s cell. The strange, menacing buzz lost its intensity and died away. When the story ended they sat in silence, letting it find its place in their minds, unforgettable.
“You can never tell what people will do,” said Saranja at last, “however well you think you know them. One of my warlord’s other women…”
The story wasn’t tragic, just extremely strange, with a sad ending. Maja found herself on the edge of tears for two people she would never know, but who were probably still alive, somewhere on the other side of the great desert.
“Better, Maja?” said Ribek when the story ended.
Maja probed cautiously southward, and withdrew the moment she felt the buzzy sensation starting to wake.
“I think so,” she said. “It’s like…my uncle’s old dog. She’d be lying in her kennel, fast asleep, not taking any notice of anything, but the moment she heard a stranger’s footstep she’d be up and barking.”
“Is it just what we were talking about?” said Saranja. “I mean can we talk about where we’re going, and what we’re hoping to find there?”
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, I suppose so, if we’re careful. But not now, not here.”
Ribek chuckled.
“So we continue to pass the time,” he said. “Lighter fare, do you think? This might be a good moment to tell you about the miller’s daughter,” he said. “There was a young mill hand whose wife bore him a son. Being an honest and thoughtful man, he determined to toil night and day at his craft until he had enough put aside to buy the mill he worked in, in order that he could leave it to his son. But a year had barely gone by before his wife bore him a second son.
“‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I must buy or build another mill.’
“But another year brought another son, a fourth year a fourth, until he had six sons…”
This wasn’t one of the stories her mother told, so Maja hadn’t heard it before and was already enthralled. Despite that her head began to droop. She was cross about it. She wanted to listen to the story. It struck her that she fell asleep far too easily these days, but it was hot, and the night had been endless and her stomach was full of good food. She half woke a couple of times and heard another snatch of the adventure, but by the next time it was over and Ribek and Saranja were sitting on the far side of the gully talking in low voices. It wasn’t about Larg, or anything magical. But it was something that mattered, something serious.
When she finally woke Ribek was gone. No, there he was, standing at the other end of the gully, silhouetted against the sunset glare beyond him. The tribespeople were laughing at him as he swung something vertically beside him. He turned, laughing too, and offered the object to them. Now Maja could see that it was a little triangular charm made of three sticks like the one the old woman had used to summon the water-spirit, but a bit smaller. Of course he’d wanted to try her water-magic, so he’d made himself a charm.
Someone took it and passed it to the old woman, who bent over it, then rose and hobbled forward. Her spidery arm reached up and plucked at his beard. He didn’t back away or resist. She bent over the charm, peering at it and fiddling with it, then took his hand and pushed it close to his mouth. She spat into her palm to show what she wanted. Obediently he spat, and waited while she smeared his spittle carefully into the corners of the triangle and then handed it back to him. He turned to the desert and tried again.
This time Maja sensed the flow of the magic and the snarl of the water-spirit’s response. Ribek let the swinging slow and cease, and the spirit subsided. The old woman clapped her hands together and hooted and the others responded with a rhythmic outburst of clapping and hooting. One by one they rose and touched Ribek on the cheek and returned to their places and fell silent. Ribek bowed to them, making a wide gesture with his arms to tell them how deeply he was honored. One of the men rose and made signs to him, pointing at the old woman and a boy who shyly held up his own water-charm, and then at Ribek, and finally made a sweeping, dismissive gesture at the rest of the group. They murmured quietly for a little while, then rose and began to gather up their things.
Maja was still sulky with sleep when Ribek lifted her onto Levanter’s rump.
“I want to know what happened in the story,” she said. “It wasn’t my fault I fell asleep.”
“You were tired, and no wonder, all you’ve been doing. My turn for a nap now. You’ll have to take the reins.”
He knotted the reins and laid them on Levanter’s neck, bowed his head and in a very few strides was asleep, swaying gently in the saddle to Levanter’s movement. He started to snore, rather more musically than he sang. Maja huddled against him, arms round his waist, enjoying the pleasant fantasy that she was protecting him, holding him steady, keeping him from falling, while he sat there helpless and vulnerable.
Sometimes she wondered what he thought about her. She was fairly sure he was fond of her, loved her, even, but it wasn’t the same kind of love that she felt for him. Not that she really understood her own feelings for him. They were love all right, but they weren’t the sort of consuming, world-altering passion you hear about in stories. Dimly she could feel stirrings of that kind of love, the love whose language was glance and caress and close embrace, but she pushed them away. Not yet, she told herself, not yet. Not until he can feel the same about me. Till then she wasn’t going to think about it. It would be a nuisance, coming between them, an embarrassment to them both. They were much more comfortable as they were. Why spoil it?
Ribek woke when they stopped at midnight to rest and eat and water the horses. The old woman summoned another underground stream to the surface, while Ribek watched and listened, fascinated.
“Are you still all right?” he said as he lifted her back into the saddle.
“I’m fine. I’ve been getting a story ready to tell you. It’s going to be better than yours.”
He didn’t answer until they were on their way, and he had, deliberately, she thought, dropped Levanter back behind Rocky.
“Can we leave the story for another time, Maja? I’d rather you told me about ‘Cherry Pits.’ It’s something that happened at Woodbourne, isn’t it? Saranja’s told me a bit about Woodbourne. You’ve never said a word. No, Maja, tell me. I’ve told you almost everything I know about Northbeck. It’s your turn now. Come on, Maja. You need to tell someone. Please.”
She shook her head. He waited. Levanter plodded on. As if from a long way off she saw a girl standing in an empty room. No, only one corner of a room and part of the two walls that made it. The scene was lit by moonlight and starlight, and the floor was desert. A door shaped itself in the corner, but the girl had lost the key. Now Ribek’s figure—Maja would know it anywhere—appeared beside her and put something into her hand. A key. The girl stepped forward.
He’s right, she thought. I can tell him because I love him.
“My uncle…,” she began. “My aunt…”
She stopped. It was too difficult. Even those five syllables.
“I know about them,” said Ribek quietly. “Saranja’s told me. She told me roughly what happened. Your uncle had had one of his rages and stormed out, and after a bit your aunt sent you out to fetch him in….”
“Yes. He was in the barn. I’d done it before. I never knew if he’d just snarl at me, or be nice to me. It was all right that morning. He told me to come and sit beside him and he’d teach me a song called ‘Cherry Pits.’ He put his arm round me and I put mine round him and we started. I was comfortable, happy…”