At absolutely nothing. The emotions all around were about as exciting as the scenery, and that included the big barbarian who held me. He was back to plotting and planning with only a small portion of his attention set to make sure I obeyed him, his awareness of my leaning against him closed away at the back of his mind. For a minute I seriously considered experimenting to pass the time, but without Len or Garth there that wasn’t a very good idea. From previous experience I knew there were less painful ways of committing suicide than tampering with involuntary volunteers, and I no longer had the depression as a goad toward permanent ending. All I had was boredom, which doesn’t produce the wish for death, only the eager hope that something that exciting might happen.
More than half the morning was gone before I realized that it wasn’t getting any colder, and we weren’t climbing higher. In point of fact we were angled downward after a short time of moving on the level, but I hadn’t noticed it sooner because I wasn’t watching the road. The thought that we were now coming down out of the pass excited me, but how long can such heart-stopping excitement last? It tends to fade at the first realization that going down is just like going up as far as interesting happenings is concerned, which is to say no different at all. Time dragged and dragged and dragged, and falling asleep was a positively uplifting experience.
I awoke to find that the cold had definitely lessened, and we were stopping by the side of the road. Once again the sun had already passed its zenith, but this time Dallan wasn’t worrying about his stomach. All three of the men were relieved that they could get rid of the furs they’d wrapped themselves in, but being big and brave and strong was their specialty, not mine. I intended keeping my fur until I had to fight for it, or until we got back to where it was really warm. And then I realized that the men were warm, which was more than annoying; how could they be warm when I wasn’t?
Tammad dismounted with the others, then came around the seetar to lift me down to the ground. He was feeling satisfied and again faintly amused, so I stuck my tongue out at him to let him know how I felt. He grinned as he put me down and his mind chuckled, showing he wasn’t feeling a single trace of regret.
“Were you pleased with the punishment you were given?” he asked very softly, his right hand holding to the saddle as he looked down at me. When I shook my head with complete ill grace, he tapped me on the nose. “Should that be so, you would have been well advised to consider your actions more carefully, then. Such a show of disrespect has now earned you more of it.”
“You can’t mean that!” I protested, horrified at the thought of more endless hours of absolutely nothing to do. As he had already turned away I discovered that I was talking to his retreating back, so I pulled my fur tighter and hurried after him. “Tammad, please, I’ll go crazy! People will start noticing if you drag a crazy woman around, and you’ll never find Aesnil. She’ll hear about us before we get anywhere near, and she’ll hide!”
The miserable barbarian stopped short and started to laugh, real, true amusement, putting his hands to his hips as he threw his head back and roared. Cinnan and Dallan smiled as they watched him, faintly amused but not really understanding what was going on. I’d spoken in Centran rather than Rimilian, unthinkingly excluding them, but they weren’t left out of it long. As soon as my sweet memabrak regained partial control of himself he explained what had happened then translated what I’d said, and then all three of them were busy laughing. The seetarr were quietly puzzled about what was going on, but I was too disgusted to care even if they went enraged. It’s always been the object of my existence to become a laughingstock.
There was a good bit of cold, unhappy-looking grass on the side of the road where we’d stopped, so I followed it back uphill away from the jolly threesome having so much fun. My thoughts were so black that they probably would have shriveled the grass if they’d been uncurtained, but I wasn’t feeling depressed. Furiously embarrassed and rebellious and mad as hell, yes; depressed, no.
I stopped to stare at a section of that rocky, widened road I hadn’t been allowed to look at on the way down, but I didn’t get to stand there staring for long. After a couple of minutes a hand appeared over my shoulder holding a piece of dimral, the standard pre-cooked trail fare for those traveling on Rimilia, and I was too hungry not to take it. Breakfast had been the same dimral warmed in a small fire, but that had been a lot of hours earlier. I looked at the chunk before starting to eat it, then found that the meal wasn’t fated to be a silent one.
“I fear, wenda, that you grow ever more detrimental to the behavior and thoughts of l’lendaa,” the barbarian said, accusingly. “I should not have laughed at your words as though I had not been shown disrespect, nor should the others have found a matching amusement. The place you stand in is not the place of a proper wenda. ”
“If you’re telling me I’m corrupting you, it serves you right,” I said around a mouthful, looking at nothing but the meat I held. “It isn’t fair punishing me again just because you can. ”
“The punishment will be for disrespect, not to exhibit ability, Terril,” he corrected, taking a bite of his own dimral. “No man need accept disrespect from his woman.”
“But a woman has to accept it from a man?” I countered, the disgust I’d felt earlier growing. “And don’t try to tell me men are usually polite to women on this world. Being polite has nothing to do with giving respect.”
“One receives respect when one is able to command it,” he said with a sigh, almost as patient as he sounded. “Also must one have the ability to give punishment when that respect is not forthcoming, with a sword or with a switch. When once that ability is yours, hama, then may you demand respect as I do.”
“You-don’t think I have the ability to punish disrespect?” I asked with sudden interest, turning slowly to look at him. “You think that not using an ability is the same as not having it?”
“Do not be foolish, wenda,” he scoffed, looking down at me with that expression that translated as stern. “How often must you pit yourself against me before learning that I shall not be bested?”
“How often?” I repeated, giving him a bright smile. “Again and again until I win—or die trying. I won’t use my abilities against you unless you agree that I can—I have learned that anything else would be dishonorable. But if you do agree, I’m free to do anything I please—and can-until it’s clear that one of us has won. If I’m the winner, you’ll give me the respect I want without my having to demand it.”
“And should I stand victorious?” he asked, trying to hide his renewed amusement as he looked down at me. “I, too, must have the fruits of victory, which will be no less than the following: the wenda who attempted to overstep herself will be taken and strapped by the man to whom she belongs, and that before the others they journey with. In their presence will she be taught humility, and then will she need to beg forgiveness from the man she wronged. Do you accept this condition?”
“But that’s totally unfair!” I protested, instantly upset to see that he fully intended collecting on his “condition” if he won. “How am I supposed to concentrate on what I’m doing with that hanging over my head?”
“One who has the ability to accomplish a thing is able to exercise that ability no matter the attempts of others to halt him,” he replied, still looking down at me with amusement. “Does a l’lenda wield his sword because he had been allowed to do so? Does he seek the permission of his wenda before switching her?”
“Why do you always have to be right?” I demanded, looking up at him with all the annoyance and exasperation I was feeling. “I won’t have real control over what I can do until I can do it against any and all opposition. You’re absolutely and perfectly right. Now all I have to do is figure out how to accomplish that.”