I wondered how true that was, remembering the first day, and how the henchmen had grinned at his discomfort. But perhaps he had picked his guard better this time.
“I will not hurt you,” I managed to say.
He cursed.
“You know they’ll kill you for murdering the old bitch? Not a nice killing either. The women have a very high regard for their healer. I might be able to save your skin—what they’ve left you of it. But I ask myself if I should. I don’t know how you managed that trick with the copper, but I don’t take kindly to it.”
I was drowsy. I had learned to take my safety where I found it, and I knew now what must be done.
Uasti had taught me something more than the arts of eye and hand, which had already been in me, though without discipline. And I did not grieve for Uasti, for she was not one to pity or be sad over, even in murder and death. Her face had been calm and silent above the slashed throat.
And her vengeance was coming.
4
I woke early, sensing day without any smell or sight to indicate it, holed up as we were. Geret was snoring on his back, and oblivious, as I examined myself. I was healed. Only the very deepest scratches and cuts had left a faint mauve scar, but that would be gone before the day was over. The tooth was whole in my mouth. Even the soreness in my hair had vanished, and the hair-growth seemed unimpaired.
I took Geret’s jug of icy water, and sponged myself, careless of the puddles which formed on his rugs. I took one of his pig’s-bristle brushes, with which he scraped his thin curls, and brushed my own hair into silk. Next, I rummaged in his clothes chest, and found a green cloak with fastenings down the front of it, and holes for the arms to come through. It was very voluminous on me but not too long, for he was a short, squat man, this leader of the wagons.
Ready now, I went up to him and kicked him in the side.
He gave a grunting snort and woke up. His eyes fixed on me at once, bleary, angry, bulbous eyes.
“It’s you, is it? What do you want, then?”
“Get up,” I said. “Go and tell the people of the wagons that Sibbos demands justice for the crime against the healer.”
He gave an unbelieving laugh, turned over, and prepared to sleep again. I got the water jug, and tipped what was left of the icy stuff over his head and face. He came up at once, spluttering water and fury.
Another moment and he was on his feet, reeling at me, swearing, his hands ready to beat me into pulp.
But he was looking in my face. I felt my eyes widen to absorb him and his petty little consciousness, and all at once he was stopped, his mouth slack, his eyes fixed, his hands still raised to begin the beating.
“Now, Geret,” I said, “it is time you knew I am under the protection of Sibbos. You have wronged me, and must be punished for it. Oh, Sibbos!” I cried out. “Punish this man.” I waited a moment, and Geret began to whimper. I said, “The god has set light to the soles of your feet, Geret. They are burning.”
Almost at once his face contorted with agony. He yelped and screamed, hopping up and down, and clutching at his feet in vain attempts to beat out the nonexistent flames.
I watched him, and then I said, “I have Interceded for you with the god, and he has put out the fire.”
With little cries of distress, Geret sank down on the wet rugs.
“Now there is only coolness, and no pain,” I said to him, and he began to sob with relief. “But next time,”
I added, “the punishment will be greater and more lasting. My guardian, Sibbos, is angry with you. You must do what I say in the future and offer me no violence. Now wake, and do not forget.”
Then I went to him and slapped him across the face. The trance dropped from his eyes, but he remembered, and there was a look of utter terror there instead.
“You will obey me now, Geret,” I told him. “Yes, tribal woman. Yes.”
“Not tribal woman. Now I am Uasti, your healer. Go and tell the wagon people that Sibbos is angry and demands judgment. Tell them it will be a trial by fire.” He got up and pulled his robe together, and lurched out. It seemed so easy then, I was suddenly afraid I had forgotten some vital part, and the plan would not work. But it would.
I had taken her name already, and that would hold them to me by her bond. After a time, they would ignore the differences between us, and I would have been healer always. As for the trial by fire, they would love such a show. They would long to see the miscreant writhing in agony, and so they would hold off from tearing me limb from limb, because that would spoil the entertainment. Geret was away a long while, and the noises outside were confused. Finally, five of his men came, and motioned me to come out. I walked among them from the shelter of the wagons.
The crowd was there, as before, yet very different. They jostled, hating me. A few women spat curses, but, as I had judged, they did not attack me.
We got to the back of the cave, where the god still stood in his red and yellow, and his jewels. Geret stood there, too, sallow and nervous. When I came up to him, he nodded.
“I told them.”
“Good,” I said. “Now have them bring out Uasti’s body in her wooden chair, and place it before the god.”
Geret did as I said, and a great muttering went up. The women had already washed the body and bound its neck, and dressed it in black garments and all its trinkets and beads, and then stuck black round discs over the lids to keep them closed. All this was their tradition, done out of fear. They feared the spirits of the dead, particularly of the murdered dead. Now four of Geret’s men went and got the corpse, and they were uneasy going, pale-faced coming back.
The crowd hushed and drew away, and much female weeping and imprecation broke out.
Uasti was very stiff, but it gave her a certain dreadful majesty. I did not like what they had done to her face, for they paint their dead like dolls—white, with red lips and cheeks, and scarlet nails. Yet it was only revulsion at their ways which stirred in me, not anything else. This was not Uasti, only the dry stalk, broken off. The men set her down and drew back, and she sat there, staring with her black disc eyes.
I stepped forward and held up my hand, and growling broke out.
“Tell them to let me speak,” I said to Geret, and he shouted at them, and when the noise went on, his men—distributed strategically around the cavern, I saw—prodded and pushed them into silence.
“You think me guilty,” I shouted at them then, “but I am innocent of this beast’s act. You see I have no fear of the dead one, nor of the god. Yesterday the women tore my flesh. Many, I expect, remember what they did.” At once shrill cries of malicious agreement. “Look, then,” I said, and pulled open the fastenings of the robe and dropped it, and stood there naked and healed. The susurration of surprise went up. I had been badly marked but there was not a scratch on me.
Then a girl had forced her way to the front, ducked between Geret’s guards and was yelling, “You did it with your witchcraft, evil one! Don’t think to confuse us, standing there naked and shameless in your wickedness.”
It was Uasti’s girl, and at once the crowd began to bay behind her voice. Geret shouted again, without my prompting this time, the guards hustled, and quiet came once more.
“No,” I said, “the god has taken your marks from me to show you my innocence. But I will give you further proof.” The stir of anticipation. “Get them to bring an unlit torch,” I said to Geret, “and a stand for it.”
A man went and got one from a stack nearby, while another hurried away for the stand. The tension in the cave mounted, and the delay while things were fetched increased it. My nakedness confused them also; they themselves would have been ashamed to be stripped before so many, and were even a little embarrassed to look at me.