God grant that we never forget it, he thought grimly. As he coiled the last rope and fitted it into Tarrant’s pack. As he hoisted the black leather up on his shoulder, preparing to hike onward once more.
“Come on,” he muttered, as he urged his party forward. “Let’s get there.”
Jenseny tried hard not to be afraid.
Maybe if it was still night she could have managed it. She had gotten used to the night. When the Core was up, it meant that the whole world gleamed with golden highlights, as if some giant lamp had been lit, and the shadows were warm and gentle. The Core didn’t make noise like the sun did, and its light wasn’t nearly as piercing; if she closed her eyes and tried hard, she could almost imagine that she was back in her own rooms, the steady flame of an oil lamp her only illumination. And when the Core went away, it was even better. The night enfolded her with its darkness, making her feel that she was not out in the open but in some small enclosed space, safe and comfortable. Sometimes the moons would rise and they had their own sounds—a faint clatter from Domina, a dull buzz from Prima, a bare whisper of a hum from Casca—but their light didn’t fill the heavens like the sunlight did, and still she felt safe.
And then it was day.
And they came to the city.
It was a terrible place, a fearsome place, a place that made her feel dizzy and weak and terrified all at once. The houses were thick and tall and set so close together that as they walked down the street it seemed she was back in Devil’s Chasm, wending her way over rubble and across pits while praying that the earth wouldn’t suddenly shift beneath her feet. The houses had voices, too loud voices—and though she tried not to hear them she couldn’t shut them out. Sometimes she would brush up against a wall accidentally and then the voices would become a scream, as if the whole history of the house had been compressed into one noisy instant. Contractor squabbles and rent wars and once the forcible eviction of a man who took up a sword and started hacking at his neighbors . . . it was terrible, too terrible, and she couldn’t even stand before the force of it, much less hope to contain it. Once the passing crowd pressed her against the pillar of a butcher’s shop, and the sense of raw animal pain was so overwhelming that she fell sobbing to her knees, unable to go on. Damien picked her up then and carried her for a while, and she was content to lay huddled in his arms and drink in the comfort he was offering. Trying to shut out the terrible voices, and all the pain they embodied.
She had to be brave for them, she knew that. Though she didn’t understand the details of their journey she knew that these people had come here for a vital mission, and that her presence among them might threaten their success. She tried hard not to be a burden. But the crowds! The voices! The narrow streets seemed to focus the sunlight, magnifying its light and its sound until she almost couldn’t stand it. Sometimes she just couldn’t seem to make her legs move at all, but froze up in the middle of the street and shook while the hurrying crowds parted like a river around her. Then Hesseth would come and whisper words to her, rakhene words she couldn’t understand, but she knew that they were meant for children, that back in the rakhene homeland young girls like herself would be comforted with just such sounds. She loved those sounds. Sometimes when the Light was strong she would stop and just listen to them, not even try to go on walking, and it took the priest’s gentle touch on her shoulder to get her moving again. And even then the sounds stayed with her, like a whisper of rakh-children playing in the high grass. A comfort to both her fear and her loneliness. If she could have curled up in Hesseth’s arms forever, she would have been happy, just listening to those sounds. Shutting out the horror of the city that surrounded.
At last, on Damien’s cue, they approached a stocky building and stopped. It was an old building, and though its owners had dressed it up in bright, gaudy colors, its paint was now chipping from its pillars and its front steps were sagging. She huddled close to Hesseth, trying hard not to hear the voices that were resident in that wood.
“You think?” the rakh-woman asked.
The priest nodded grimly. “Unpleasant enough, that’s for sure.” Then he raised up one hand and quickly sketched a shape in the air in front of him; Jenseny felt a shock, as if thousands of needles had all pricked her at the same time. Hesseth looked at her in concern.
“They’ll keep secrets,” Damien muttered. And he led them inside.
The big room inside the building was as worn and weathered as the outside. The rugs were painful to walk on, but though she would have preferred to go around them Jenseny didn’t want to leave the rakh-woman’s side. Once she stepped on a dark brown stain and was nearly overcome by a stabbing pain in her side; Hesseth’s arm held her upright. “Kasst,” the rakh-woman whispered, and she drank in comfort from the sound. One step after another, forced and hesitant. And then she was beyond the rugs and the floor was much better, it didn’t hold the pain so badly. She shivered as she stood, waiting while the priest negotiated with a stocky man. At last a few precious treasures changed hands: from the priest, a small handful of coins. From the other man, a pair of tarnished keys. The stocky man turned to go then, but Damien put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“No questions,” the priest said quietly, and Jenseny felt the needles prick her again. For a moment the man looked dazed, and then he nodded.
Worked, she thought. Tasting the alien word, struggling to understand it. He Worked him.
They went upstairs.
The hallways were grimy and narrow and close, but for Jenseny they were a welcome change. She huddled in the center of the corridor while Damien fumbled with the keys, testing them both. At last the door before him swung open, and he waved his companions inside.
Hesseth sighed as she let the heavy pack slide off her back. “Assst! I miss the horses.”
“Ditto,” he grumbled, as he did the same. “But there’s no way around it.”
Jenseny looked up at him. “Isn’t it bad for you to control people like that?”
For a moment there was silence. She heard him draw in a deep breath, slowly, and then he asked—ever so quietly—“What do you mean?”
She struggled to find words for what she wanted to say. The concepts were alien, and defied definition. “You told me that your God doesn’t want you to use the fae to control people, only . . . to heal and such. But didn’t you control that man down there?” When he didn’t answer, she added in explanation, “When you told him no questions.”
For a moment he said nothing. But she could hear the words, as clearly as if he had spoken them. They were in his eyes, and his body, and the breath that he exhaled.
How did you know that?
After a moment he came to her, and crouched down before her so that he was at her level. It was good to look directly into his eyes like that. Brown eyes, so very warm. She could feel their heat on her face.