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opaque, like riverstone. "You see much, Daughter of Kosimarra. You ask even
more."
How it happened, she could not tell, but Ythrae found herself talking about
the singing of the stars, the things she felt in salis wands and linden bark.
"If you were a boy but you are not. I cannot give you this thing you ask."
Her father, Ishtotuch-chieftain, had made clear his desire for her to prove
herself in a battle, marry, and raise lots of grandchildren. These were good
things, proper things. Things she should want. Most of the time, and
especially when she galloped her pony through the tall plainsgrass with
Tenoshinakh at her side, she did want them.
Most of the time. But sometimes, when the stars sang their wordless songs,
she wanted more. She had even thought of pleading with the enaree to teach
her, or spying on him if he trained anyone else. But now, with the confusion
of the night fresh in her mind, she was not sure the way of linden bark and
orienna smoke, of reading the guilt of men and the entrails of animals, was
what she wanted after all.
Gathering what was left of her dignity, Ythrae turned her back with
deliberate rudeness and left the tent.
The next morning, Ythrae startled awake, momentarily confused. One of her
nephews, her older sister's child, tugged at her sleeve and whispered.
"What?" she said with some gentleness, for she genuinely liked the boy. He
was barely six, and the light which shone in his black eyes always had the
power to soften her.
"Gran'da wants you. Mum says he's pish-ted."
Mum would probably have a word or two about that expression.
Ythrae slept in shirt and riding breeches, although she permitted herself a
pallet on the carpeted floor of her mother's tent. She pulled on her boots and
her long sleeveless vest, made of camelhair felt and embroidered with a
stylized black-winged hawk.
The door flap to her father's tent was drawn half open,
not exactly an invitation. Within his tent, attended by his young men
warriors, he lay in his low sling-frame bed, the wood black with age, its angles
softened with furs. He saw her and struggled to rise, coughing. Tenoshinakh
glared at her and bent over Ishtotuch, murmuring calming words.
There was only one reason Ishtotuch would summon her at this hour, in this
manner.
That sexless, faithless enaree! He'd gone running to her father with a tale of
how his only daughter wanted to become a eunuch!
Ythrae closed her eyes and prayed to Tabilit, to the father-god, to the spirits
of the Geloni and the demons of Meklavar, to any celestial power that would
listen. "I want grandchildren." Ishtotuch's words were hoarse with effort.
You already have them. You don't need them from me. "Yes, Father-chief."
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"It is time you proved yourself in battle so that you can marry."
"Yes, Father-chief."
"Tenoshinakh go with her. The clan of the Wild Boar two tens of years
ago raided our herds "
"I know the story, Father!" You have been waiting to use it as an excuse for
another raid ever since I was born!
"Hush, all will be well," Tenoshinakh murmured. "We will fight side by side,
your warrior-daughter and I. Together we will drink the blood of the enemy at
our wedding feast."
Ythrae opened her mouth, but no words came. Tenoshinakh took her arm
and guided her out of the tent, respectfully facing the chief.
The camp already bustled with the morning's activity heating water for
barley porridge, milking the she-camels, making the day's fresh cheese,
covering the pits of night-soil and digging new ones for today. A pack of
puppies and barebottomed toddlers raced shrieking through the camp.
Tenoshinakh said, "We'll go together, just as we always said we would."
Ythrae, Tenoshinakh and three of their companions, young hotheads seized
by glory-lust, headed toward to the country of the Boar clan. Gazelle bounded
before them, and once they glimpsed a herd of snowbeasts moving
ponderously across the rolling hills, their horns catching the sunlight. Dry
winds brought the mixed aromas of late-blooming curlgrass, starflower, and
shy convivial. Ahead, a stand of water-loving salis marked a spring. The
ponies mouthed their bits, scenting water.
At the edge of the grove, prickles ran along Ythrae's scalp. She hauled on the
reins to draw the pony to a walk, searching with her eyes and ears.
Tenoshinakh glanced at her, puzzled, and motioned the others to halt.
They approached the spring, a circle of sparkling water. The scent, sweet and
moist, swept through Ythrae. A breeze gusted and she caught another odor,
acrid.
"What is it?" Tenoshinakh asked her.
"Can you smell it?" she said, frowning. "Something . . . bad."
He shrugged, and she saw that he could not sense as she did. All he knew was
what his eyes and ears, his hunt-lore told him.
"Look!" One of the others pointed.
In the dappled shadows of the salis lay the half-mummified remains of two
dogs and a pony.
Ythrae slipped from her pony's back and handed the reins to Tenoshinakh.
One of the men muttered a protection against evil and another glanced at
Ythrae with wide eyes.
No bones appeared to be broken. The ligaments had shortened as they dried,
distorting the position of the bodies. Someone had removed the pony's gear,
all except a noose of faded starflowers.
Someone else had died here, although he had been taken away, leaving no
visible trace.
A child . . . a little boy . . .
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r r [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]