She gasped as she felt the weight of Abeyhamal come on her.
For a moment she sat on her heels with her eyes closed, struggling to accept what was happening, strug-
gling to disengage the core of will that threatened to rebel and drive out the intruder. She forced her hands open, rested her trembling fingers on her thighs
The Possession was different; it was not sudden, but gradual as if honey trickled down her spine, slowly, slowly, filling her. And she retained control of her body.
Words thrummed through her, low, slow-she didn’t so much hear them as feel them.
She got to her feet. “I have to change my clothes.” She listened again. “I know it’s late, I know, I know. Diyo, of course most folk will be getting ready to eat. That’s why. I can’t get lost in the street crowd.” She listened again. “Verna, vema, I’ll hurry.”
There were more people than she expected in.the lane, workers trudging home, some beggars she hadn’t seen before, a number of foreign sailors wobbling from drink shop to drink shop, scattered street musicians. Mama Kubaza was outside PeRhalla’s Tavern with Tick the Pitch, a drummer, and an erhu player, she was trading zingers with sailors and merchants who lingered to watch the band setting up. Zinar the Porter and some of his friends were hanging about the metal shops, hoping to pick up work, even if it was just carrying packages. Old Utsapisha sat beside a brazier cart; while one of her granddaughters fried fishrolls and mooncakes and sold them to the sailors, other vendors, and homing workers with enough coin to buy a meal. Louok the Nimble was alternating between coin rolls, hunt-the-nut, and an inventory of sleight-of-hand tricks she remembered from the first time she’d seen him, tricks that still packed enough interest to attract a small crowd.
Down one of the walkways a clutch of streeter kids squatted against a wall, hugging a meager patch of shade; their faces were red with heat and drawn with hunger; they watched those who passed by with feral eyes, waiting for a chance to snatch and run.
The heat pressed down on everyone Ailiki ran along close to the house walls, keeping in the shade so she wouldn’t burn her paws.
Faan sweltered in the ample skirt, the long-sleeved tunic, the hooded cloak she had to wear these days. I’ll be lucky if I don’t have a heatstroke, she told herself and the god she carried.
There was no answer unless it was the tickle behind her left ear.
She paced along slow and steady, her eyes on the ground. Abeyhamal kept prodding her to hurry, but she refused to listen. Moving faster than a crawl in this heat would attract more attention than she felt like dealing with. She didn’t bother to explain that, but Abeyhamal seemed to understand after a while and let her alone.
› › ‹ ‹
There were a pair of two-wheeled carts placed between the twin pillars that marked the Approach to the Wood Bridge. Two sour, sullen Cheoshim stood watch there with crossbows, and short spears. Punishment detail? Probably. But they wouldn’t be careless, wouldn’t let her slip past however cleverly she went.
You want us to get across that Bridge anytime soon, you better come up with some way to get them out of there. She pulled the worn skirt closer about her, folded the excess cloth into a pad and eased onto her knees, then leaned forward so she could see the Bridge without being seen.
The drays were heavy and ancient; she recognized them immediately, having seen them often enough when she waited for Dossan outside the Woodman’s compound. With pairs of plodding saisai hitched to them, they carried crated furniture to the gatts and brought back loads of fine woods.
Her nose twitched. Those saisai were Winks of meat now, barreled in brine; the Woodman slaughtered them when he couldn’t buy feed or water for them. The
Cheoshim must have collected whatever Naostams were hanging about and forced them to haul the drays to the Bridge. Probably didn’t pay them so much as a moju either.
Abeyhamel spoke.
If you’re in such a hurry, you should’ve got me out earlier.
Abeyhamal spoke…
We could always cross by the Iron Bridge… nayo? Verna. Then a boat’s best. Why don’t we go for Reyna’s cat? Ladrda-vivi’s far enough on we won’t have trouble with that pair.
Abeyhamal spoke emphatically.
What can you expect if you don’t bother explaining? So have I got it right? I cross to the Low City on the Wood Bridge while someone else is coming across the Iron Bridge FROM the Low City? You going to explain why or who? Huh, I thought not. Then we’ve got ourselves a knot and not much time to untie it. Id appreciate some suggestions.
Abeyhamal repeated what she’d said before, the exact words without explanation or amplification.
Faan’s nostrils flared, but she fought down her disgust and told herself Dossan had to face this sort of thing every day-an employer was an employer, no matter hers was a god. Thick as a brick. Potz! Well, you’ll live through it, Fa. So let’s figure this out.
She scowled at the Bridge. The drays weren’t that much of a barrier, not with those huge wheels; she could slip through easily enough, she’d hardly have to bend her head. But the men…
Silvery-gray bubbles came blowing up through the dry hard. earth; some of them drifted about her, slid through the black twill cloak and rested like cool thoughts about her shoulders and neck, others flitted restlessly about her, rising and falling, curling in a lazy vortex that stayed mostly at the edge of her sight-Wild Magic in the open for the first time, drawn by her need.
She heard the popping fizz of their talk, sighed because she hadn’t a hope of understanding it.
Abeyhamal spoke.
Well, get on with it, you’re the one that’s in a hurry. Gods, she thought, Riverman was right, best to keep far away from them if you can. IF you can. Potz! Miseries miseries miseries…
She shut her eyes and gasped as Abeyhamal seized her brain, drove ghost fingers through and through it, stirring it and kneading it like sticky bread dough. Pain jagged through her she ground her teeth and culled synonyms from memory to reassure herself that her head still worked and to distance herself from what was happening to it. Agony. Affliction. Anguish. Tbrment. Tribulation. Torture.
When the pressure eased, she rubbed the gummy pain-tears from her eyes. You finished reknitting my brain?
There was no answer from Abeyhamal, just a vague sense of satisfaction.
Faan shivered. Do you hear me, FVildings?
The popping fizz grew more agitated, then the babble increased enormously and the whirl of the bubbles went faster and faster until she was the center of a silvery tornado. Strange. Uncomfortable. Sense of… something… an arbitrariness without limits… sliding, slippery contact… like touching… she couldn’t find a word for the feel she got. Except for the good will that was like a sweet smell over them, the Wildings were scary. Well, no point in being a bigot about it.
I need to draw those Cheoshim off the Bridge. Can you help me?
She heard a rush of something like giggles, then the bubble people swirled away from her and went darting off like a swarm of… what? The way they moved, flitting and swooping in graceful arcs, reminded her of a field of butterflies shining in the sun-which she couldn’t remember seeing, but the image was sharp in her head.
Abeyhamal spoke.
Vema, vema. Faan sighed and got to her feet, shook out her skirt. Fire? Might burn the Bridge down! Abeyhamal spoke.
The appearance of fire? Don’t know if I can do that. Abeyhamal spoke.
Vema, vema. If you say so. Ow! Do you have to DO THAT? She lifted her arms, narrowed her eyes, built her focus on the drays… and waited.