He came to a bridge and paused to gaze longingly at the white rush of water that foamed past beneath him. Its damp breath rose to bedew his skin, teasing and soothing his face. He thought of going down to the brink, of letting his sore feet and scratched legs trail in it for just a moment or two. 'Like last time?' he asked himself sarcastically. 'Onward!' He raised his eyes to the faint damnable glow of the Limbreth. And saw the wagon.
'Ki!'
His feet forgot their lameness. The two grey horses raised their heads, and a third horse trotted a few paces uneasily. Vandien wanted to laugh aloud with relief as he skipped and cursed his way over the stretch of river gravel to the wagon. 'Ki!' he bellowed again, feeling joyous, triumphant and righteously annoyed with her. She didn't answer. Probably sleeping, while he wore his feet out chasing her. He sprang up to the cuddy seat and slammed the door open. The cuddy was dark.
He didn't need to see the empty bed; the inside of the cuddy smelled dank and abandoned. He rose on the seat to stare around in all directions. ' Ki ! ' he bellowed into the whispering rush of the river's song. But he saw no sign of her, heard no answering whistle. She was gone.
He crouched on the seat again, taking in the sight of the strange horse, Ki's casually abandoned camp, harness dropped on the ground and left there. Fear squeezed his guts slowly. None of this was like Ki. She wouldn't go off and leave her wagon like this. Vandien ran a hand through his hair; practicality asserted itself.
Dried fruit and hard bread were in the cupboards. He chewed mouthfuls as he rummaged through his corner of the cuddy. Reluctantly he pulled clean clothes on over his sweaty body. He was more determined than ever not to bathe in that mysterious rush of water. He gingerly dragged soft low boots on over his tender feet. His face was grim as he groped for the rapier on its hook and buckled its belt about himself. The weight of it was oddly reassuring. He had seen nothing in this land that he would use it on, but it gave him a sense of readiness and competence.
The food and plenty of water from the casks comforted his belly and throat, the clean light clothes were fresh against his skin, but his weary mind still whirled. Where was Ki, and why had she left the wagon? He had never known her to leave it willingly, and certainly she wouldn't have left it this way, untidy and unsecured, harness growing damp on the ground.
Sigurd and Sigmund had come to stare curiously up at him as he perched on the cuddy seat. Sigurd lipped at his boot toe and Vandien absently parceled out dry fruit to them.
'Where'd she go?' he asked them, and Sigmund flicked his ears in reply.
When Vandien leaped down from the seat, his foot caught and he fell. Cursing, he snatched at the sodden mass of cloth he had stumbled in. Ki's skirt. It slipped from his suddenly nerveless hands as ugly fears raised their hissing heads. He lifted it again gingerly. Ki's skirt, made heavy by the constant dew off the racing water; beneath it, her blouse. Slowly he spread the garments before him. No rips of blood. Ki had removed them voluntarily. He wadded them up and tossed them into the back of the wagon. Andhere was another riddle: more garments, but these were strange to him, as strange as the battle harness beneath them. He looked at the warhorse that still kept a cautious distance. 'You and me both, my friend,' he told it. 'But this time she's the one on foot and bootless. Where would she go? Not far over these river rocks barefoot; not if I know Ki. Not back to the Gate, for I would have passed her. If she went by boat, I may as well forget her. There's no way for me to follow. No, my friend horse, I think she's gone on down the road, and with your rider, if I read these signs rightly. Naked as the dawn. I'll be damned.'
He leaned back against the wagon and began to laugh. It had hit him suddenly; this was how he made Ki feel when he took off on one of his ridiculous side trips, on a moment's impulse with the explaining saved for later. But somehow it wasn't sporting for her to turn the tables on him like this. Well.
For only a few breaths longer he leaned against the wagon. Then he gave a whistle, and the greys raised their heads. Sigurd put his ears back and bared his teeth as well.
'Fine,' Vandien agreed affably. 'Then Sigmund can have all the grain when he comes to harness.' Vandien reached over the lip of the wagon and flipped open the grainbox. He stirred the contents, letting it rattle through his fingers. Sigurd's ears came forward and he gave an anxious whinny. 'I thought you might see it my way,' Vandien observed.
TEN
'Mother!' Chess shook Jace's shoulder. The woman came awake more slowly than the boy. Her maturity and stoicism helped her to substitute sleep for food. She had lain down at the coming of the light and slept deeply, although it was not a refreshing sleep. Chess had no such patience. He had tossed restlessly in the dirty smelly hovel, creeping often to the door crack, until the air flowed in cool and moist and he smelled the night. His belly had kept him awake all day; now it bade him seek food.
'Mother!' He shook her again. 'It's gone again. It's safe for us to go out.'
Jace sat up slowly and looked at Chess sadly. 'There's no hurry, child. We have all the dark before us, and only one errand: to check the Gate. I have no hopes that tonight will be any different. Vandien won't force his way in, and we shan't force our way out. It is time for us to talk, Chess; the time is upon us for setting aside of false hopes, and the accepting of what is.
'I'm thirsty,' Chess interrupted. 'And hungry. I wish we hadn't let the horse go.'
'Aren't you listening?' Jace demanded sharply. 'Chess, we have no more food. And if the horse were still with us, I should still give it back its freedom. Hunger and thirst do not change right and wrong.'
'Wrong and right do not change hunger and thirst, either,' Chess grumbled softly to himself. 'I'm listening, Mother. You are saying it is time for us to give up and die.'
Jace sighed. 'Must you put it so? Why be angry about what we have been given? Sometimes the fruit is sweet, and sometimes it is sour. It is always fruit, and we eat it. So it is with the days we are given. Some are sweet, and some are not. If the last of our days are not as sweet as some have been, they are, none the less, the days that are given to ...' 'Words! Words, words, words! You cover up our life with words, and our deaths too! Mother, I am thirsty! Those are words, too. Don't you hear them?'
But Jace didn't hear. She caught hold of Chess abruptly, pulling his face close to her own and sniffing at him. 'You have a foulness to your speech and a foulness to your breath as well!' Suspicion lit Jace's eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to voice it.
'I ate it!' Chess's voice was fiercely defiant. 'When my belly wouldn't let me sleep, my nose found it. And I ate it. It gagged me and it made me thirst, but it gave me enough in my stomach to let me sleep. And why not? Vandien ate of it, and he is not the only one I have seen. At the tavern I saw men and women eat plates full of it, steaming and hot and running with juices.'
'Ah! Ah! Ah!' The hoarse gasps frightened Chess; then her grip loosened, and for the first time in his life, Chess felt his mother push him harshly away. Shock made his knees go weak and he fell to the dirt floor. Drawing in his knees, he stared up in sudden terror at the amazing spectacle of his mother towering over him in rage.