Trago nodded and went around the house, climbed the corral fence and walked the top rail; when he reached the shed, he jumped down and went inside. Part of the floor was torn up. Toma had a plank on a pair of sawhorses; he was laying a measuring line along it. Trago stood watching, hands clasped behind him, as his cousin positioned a t-square and drew an awl along the straight edge, cutting a line into the wood; when he finished that, he looked up. “Tre. What you doing here?”
“Come to see you. I’m over to Far Meadow, doing my month, ‘n I got something I need to say to you.”
“So?” Toma reached for the saw, set it to the mark, then waited for Trago to speak.
“It’s important, Toma.”
Muscles moved in the older boy’s face, his body tensed, then he got hold of himself and drove the saw down. He focused grimly on his hands and the wood for the next several minutes, sweat coursing down his face and arms, the rasping of the teeth against the wood drowning Trago’s first attempts to argue with him. The effort he put into the sawing drained down his anger, turning it from hot seethe to a low simmer. When the cut was nearly through and the unsupported end was about to splinter loose, peeling off the edge of the plank as it fell, he straightened, drew his arm across his face, waved Trago round to hold up the end as he finished sawing it off. “Put it over by the wall,” he told Trago. “I think it’ll come close to fitting that short bit.”
“Toma…” Trago saw his cousin’s face shut again, sighed and moved off with his awkward load. When he came back, he swung up onto the plank before his cousin could lift it. “Listen to me,” he said. “This isn’t one of my fancies. I don’t want to talk to you here. Please, stop for a little, you don’t have to finish this today. I NEED to talk to you.”
Toma opened his mouth, snapped it shut. He wheeled, walked over to stare down into the dark hole where he’d taken up the rotted boards. “If it’s about down there…” His voice dripped vitriol when he said the last words, “I don’t want to hear.”
Trago looked nervously around; he knew about ariels, knew he couldn’t see them unless they chanced to drift through a dusty sunbeam, but he couldn’t help trying. He didn’t want to say anything here, but if he kept fussing that would be almost as bad; AuntNurse always knew when he was making noise to hide something, he suspected the Sorceror was as knowing as her if not worse. He slid off the plank, trotted to Toma, took him by the hand and tugged him toward the door.
Toma pulled free, stood looking tired and unhappy, finally he nodded. “I’ll come, Tre. And I’ll listen. Five minutes. If you don’t convince me by then, you’re going to hurt for it.”
Trago managed a grin. “Come on then.”
He led his cousin away from the meadow into the heart of an oak grove.
Kori stepped from behind a tree. “‘Lo, Toma.”
“Kori?” Toma stepped back, scowled from one to the other. “What’s going on here?”
“Show him your shoulder, Tit”
Trago unlaced the neck opening of his shirt, pushed it back so Toma could see the hollow starburst.
Kori dropped onto a root as Toma bent, touched the mark. “Sit down, cousin. We’ve got a lot of talking to do.”
“… so, that’s what we want you to do.” She touched the packet resting on her thigh. “Take this to the Drinker of Souls and remind her of her promise. It’ll be dangerous. HE’ll be looking for anyone acting different. Voice told us HE’s got his ariels out, that’s why Tre didn’t want to say much in the shed, he wanted to be where oaksprites were because they don’t like ariels much and chase them whenever they come around. Um, Re got gold from the Chained God’s Place because we knew you’d need it. Um, We’d kinda like you to go as fast as you could, Tre’s got less’n three months before the Signs start popping up. Will you do it?”
Toma rubbed his face with both hands, his breathing hoarse and unsteady. Without speaking, he rested his forearms on his thighs and let his hands dangle as he stared at the ground. Kori watched him, worried. She’d written the message on the parchment, folded it around half the medal, used sewing thread to tie it shut and smeared slathers of sealing wax over it, then she’d knotted a bag about it and made a neck cord for it out of the same thread, and she had the gold in a pouch tied to her belt. Everything was ready, all they needed was Toma. She watched, trying to decide what he was thinking. If she’d been a few years older, if she’d been a boy, with all the things boys were taught that she’d never had a chance to learn, she wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for Toma to make up his mind. She moved her hands impatiently, but said nothing. Either he went or he didn’t and if he went, best it was his own doing so he’d put his heart in it.
A shudder shook him head to toe, he sighed, lifted his head. His eyes had a glassy animal sheen, he was still looking inward, seeing only the images in his head.
He blinked, began to cry, silently, without effort, the tears spilling down his face. “I…” he cleared his throat, “You don’t know… Yes, I’ll go. Yes.” He rolled a sleeve down, scrubbed it across his face, blew his nose into his fingers, wiped them on his pants. “Was Ontari down below? I’ll go for Forkker Vale first, see if I can get on with a smuggler. He knows them.” He tried a grin and when it worked, laughed with excitement and pleasure. “I don’t want to end up like Harra did.”
Kori looked at Trago. Trago nodded. “I was talking to him the day before we come up here. He was working on a saddle, he won’t be going anywhere ‘fore he finishes that.”
Toma nodded. “I’ll go down tonight. He still sleeping in Kalathin’s stable?”
“Uh huh. There’s usually a couple soldiers riding the House Round, but they aren’t too hard to avoid, more often than not they’re drunk, at least that’s what Ontari said.”
“Wouldn’t be you were flitting about when you shouldn’t?”
Trago giggled and didn’t bother denying it.
Kori got to her feet. “We have to be back in time to milk the cows or xera Chittar will skin us. Here.” She tossed the packet to Toma, began untying the gold pouch. “Be careful, cousin.” She held out the pouch. “Oaks are safe, I don’t know what else, maybe you can sneak out, I’m afraid…”
He laughed and hugged her hard, took the pouch, hugged Trago. “You get back to your cows, cousins. I’ll see you when.”
“… Crimpa, Sparrow, White Eye. Chain it, Pre, TWo Spot has run off again. You see any sign of her?”
Trago snorted, capered in a circle. “Un… huh! Un… huh! Slippy Two Spot. Lemme see…” He trotted off.
“Mmf.” Kori tapped Crimpa cow with her switch and started her moving toward the corral; the others fell in around her and plodded placidly across the grass as if they’d never ever had a contrary thought between their horns. A whoop behind her, an indignant mmmoooaaauhh. Two Spot came running from under the trees, head jerking, udder swinging; she slowed, trotted with stiff dignity over to the herd and pushed into the middle of it. Trago came up beside Kori, walked along with her. “She was just wandering around. I don’t know what she thought she was doing.” He yawned extravagantly, rubbed at his eyes, started whistling. He broke off when they reached the corral, slanted a glance up at her. “So we wait.”
“So we wait.”
3 Another Meadow, The Shaynamoshu Pottery On The River Wansheeri, At The Massacre.
SCENE: Late. The Wounded Moon a fat broken crescent rising in the east. A horse streaked with dried foam, trying to graze, having difficulty with the bit. A black-clad youth dead in a pool of blood. Another figure, a woman, crumpled across him. A pale translucent wraithlike figure lying upon her, a second squatting beside them.
An icy wind touched her neck.
Something heavy, metallic slammed into her back. Cold fire flashed up through her.
Heavy breathing, broken in the middle. Faint popping sound.
Her knees folded under her, she saw herself toppling toward the boy’s body, saw the hilt of the knife in his back, saw an exploding flower of blood, saw nothing more.