Bloodstone Part 36

"A club foot, now. That might work. With the proper footwear . . ." Olinio's eyes narrowed. "An added expense, of course. Along with the cost of costumes." He hesitated a moment longer, then clapped his hands. "Three serpents for both of you. That's my final offer."

In the sudden hush, Olinio's voice rang out loudly. Darak's gaze followed those of the other patrons to the doorway.

"G.o.ds save us," Olinio whispered.

In disbelief, Darak stared at the apparition he had first glimpsed through the portal in Chaos.

Olinio's fingers dug into his forearm. "For mercy's sake, lower your eyes."

But he could only gaze at the doorway, transfixed. Impossible that she-he?-could have remained unchanged after fifteen years. But every detail was as he remembered. The right half of the head shaved while on the left, glossy black hair fell to its waist. The left side of the face painted, the dusky cheek and swollen lips reddened.

The innkeeper rushed forward, bowing, stammering. The men at the tree trunk slid off their seats and retreated to the far corners of the room. The patrons at the closest table shoved their neighbors aside in an effort to make s.p.a.ce. Those on the far end vacated their spots to stand shoulder to shoulder against the mud-brick wall.

The stranger observed all this with a placid smile. Elegant fingers-nails painted blood red-languidly brushed something from the folds of the long robe. One half was crimson, the other, brown.

"The Supplicant of the G.o.d with Two Faces," Olinio said in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "I've only seen her once. What could she be doing in Oexiak? And in this cesspit? Oh, merciful G.o.ds, she approaches."

And still he couldn't look away. It was as if she'd bespelled him.

She glanced over her shoulder to nod at the innkeeper. When Darak spied the bronze snake dangling from her left earlobe, his hand convulsively clutched his bag of charms. The movement caught her gaze. Her steps slowed and Olinio squeaked in terror. Then she pa.s.sed them, trailed by the innkeeper who hurried forward with a bronze goblet.

Olinio darted a quick glance behind him.

"What is she doing?" Darak asked.

"Stroking the hair of the spit boy. Oh, G.o.ds, if she should speak to Hakkon . . ."

"Why?"

"He's a mute. How will I ever find another bodyguard?"

The innkeeper broke in with a long stream of Zherosi. The Supplicant answered in a low murmur. Even with his back to her, Darak could feel those eyes. It took all his control to keep from hunching his shoulders against that penetrating gaze.

Suddenly, the innkeeper was standing next to him, shouting something. Olinio squeaked again. "Move. Now. Quickly."

Darak rose from his place, only to be stopped by the gentle pressure of fingers on his shoulder. As the innkeeper backed away, the fingers traced a lingering path down his back. The Supplicant took one step toward the doorway. Unaccountably, she stumbled. Unthinking, he grasped her arm to steady her.

Every person in the room drew breath in a collective gasp. Darak looked into eyes as dark and bottomless as that portal to Chaos. You could fall into those eyes, he thought. Fall into them and be lost forever.

She broke the spell by looking down at his hand. When he started to pull away, she clasped it with a strong grip. The nails on her right hand were clipped and free of paint. Even the fingers seemed shorter, but surely that was impossible. As impossible as her presence in this room, looking exactly as she had fifteen years ago.

"I thank you for your kindness."

Her voice was low and husky and she spoke the tribal tongue as if she'd grown up in his village.

"You're welcome. Forgive me if I . . . if my touch offended you."

"If the touch offended, would I seek to prolong it?" Her thumb caressed the jagged scar on the back of his hand and he felt the blood rush to his face. "May I return a kindness for a kindness?"

"I . . . that is . . . of course."

She leaned toward him, close enough for him to smell the faint hint of wine on her breath and the sweet scent that perfumed her body. "Keep my token safe, Darak. Your son might need it."

Stunned, he could only stare as she glided toward the door. Although he reached it only a few steps after her, he found the street deserted-as if she had simply vanished. And that was as impossible as everything else about her.

Chapter 29.

IT TOOK KEIRITH three days before he managed to catch Xevhan returning from the morning sacrifice. This time, he merely bowed and whispered, "Meet me in the courtyard," before continuing along the corridor.

Priests drifted in and out of the courtyard all morning. A few stood before the rock garden in silent contemplation. Others chatted together. Despite the covert glances in his direction, none approached him.

They all bowed when Xevhan entered. He wandered from group to group, exchanging pleasantries, discussing plans for The Shedding, commiserating with one about a particularly difficult Zhiisto and with another about a death in his family. For each, he had a quick grin or a sympathetic nod. And each brightened visibly at receiving his attention.

With every evidence of surprise, Xevhan finally noticed him. "Ah, the Pajhit's little slave boy."

"Good morning, great Zheron."

"How are your lessons faring?"

"Not good. The Pajhit is displeased."

Xevhan glanced casually at the other priests. "Really?"

Noticing that the last priest had finally given up his contemplation of the rock garden, Keirith said, "Please to explain to me the meaning of the rocks."

Together, they wandered toward it.

"The spiral in the center represents our sacred adders."

"He knows about the qiij," Keirith whispered.

"The crystals represent Heart of Sky."

"I told him I took it from you. Not that you gave."

"The red stones represent Zhe."

"I said I do not remember my vision."

"And the black . . ."

"But I do."

". . . the black stones are Womb of Earth."

"I saw Malaq. Struck down by Zhe."

"And those . . . the ones placed at random . . . they represent the G.o.d with Two Faces."

"The G.o.d of changing fortune?"

"Yes." Xevhan gave him a hard look, then bowed his head as if in prayer. "We cannot talk here. Come to my chamber."

"He forbids me to see you alone again."

"Lose the guards."

"They follow me always."

Xevhan glanced up, noting the guards who loitered just outside the courtyard. These two had been a.s.signed to him the morning after he recovered from the qiij. Keirith doubted Xevhan was the sort of man who noticed the faces of guards, but if he did, it would support his tale of Malaq's displeasure.

"I'm hosting an entertainment," Xevhan whispered. "After The Shedding. Find a way to attend."

"But the Pajhit-"

"Find a way to attend."

Out of the corner of his eye, Keirith noticed another priest approaching and bowed to Xevhan. "Thank you, great Zheron, for your teaching."

Xevhan nodded absently and left the courtyard with the other priest without a backward glance. At least, he was intrigued. Whether or not he could keep him intrigued was another matter. Now for the second part of his plan.

"I wish to speak with Khonsel Vazh do Havi," he told his guards.

The older one shook his head. "You don't want to be bothering the Khonsel."

"Yes. Please. I do. Does the Pajhit forbid that I speak with him?"

"No, but-"

"Then please to take me there."

The guards exchanged glances. The younger one shrugged. The older one frowned, but finally said, "All right. But if you try anything foolish, I'll knock you flat, Son of Zhe or not."

"That is fairness. Thank you."

The guards led him up the narrow stairway built into the corner of the palace. He'd never been on this floor. Scribes carrying clay tablets edged past harried-looking men in khirtas who argued vociferously as they strode through the windowless corridor. Rectangles of light from the doorways stretched across the floor. Most of the small rooms held only fleece pallets, lined up with typical Zherosi precision on the floor. A few contained collections of spears and swords. Although there were guards posted outside, he noted their location all the same.

His guards paused outside a chamber where a line of men waited for admittance. Two men complained about the confusion. Another reminded them it was always this way right before The Shedding. Talk turned to the upcoming ceremony, but the men spoke too softly for Keirith to catch much of what they were saying. Clearly, they longed to witness the formal presentation after the rite, but that, apparently, was reserved for those with n.o.ble blood or a great deal of money.

When they finally made it to the doorway, Keirith saw the Khonsel bending over a wooden table. Half a dozen men were gathered around him, making the chamber seem even smaller than it was. All were staring with apparent fascination at the hide that lay stretched out on the table. The men wore amulets on their chests and bands of bronze around their biceps. Some bands were wider than others-a symbol of power, perhaps. Certainly, the two with the widest bands talked more than the others.

At one point, the Khonsel looked up. When their eyes met, he frowned and immediately returned to his examination of the hide. He jabbed his blunt finger at several places, talked briefly about "a coordinated a.s.sault" and "an overland sweep," which made Keirith wonder if they were planning more raids on his people. Finally, the Khonsel rolled up the hide and thrust it at one of the wide-banded men. They all thumped their chests and bowed. Keirith dodged aside as they marched toward the doorway.

The older of his two guards bowed very low. "Forgive this interruption, Khonsel, but the boy asked to speak with you."

The Khonsel methodically cracked his knuckles. "Leave us," he said at last.

"Forgive me, great Khonsel, but the Pajhit has given us orders never to leave the boy unattended."

"He won't be unattended. He'll be with me."

"Great Khonsel-"

"Zhe's coils, he's not going to fly out the window. Wait outside."

The guards bowed and backed away. The Khonsel nodded to a young man with a patch over his left eye. "That's all, Geriv. Tell the Stuavo what we'll require."

Bundling up the remaining hides that lay strewn across the table, Geriv quickly departed.

"Khonsel do Havi. Please to be listening-"

"Not here."

Keirith followed him into the adjoining chamber. A well-worn rug lay in front of the sleeping shelf. A stool sat in one corner. The small window admitted little light at this time of day. The severity of the whitewashed walls was relieved only by a niche containing a vase with purple flowers. They seemed incongruous in the spartan setting-even more incongruous given what he knew of Vazh do Havi.

The Khonsel seated himself on the sleeping shelf. "All right. Tell me. But keep your voice down."

Keirith took a deep breath, praying his grasp of the Zherosi tongue would be adequate. He told the Khonsel what he had seen at the sacrifice. He told him about the qiij and the vision. He told him about his conversation with Malaq and his subsequent conversation with Xevhan. With such a man, he thought it unwise to try and hide anything.

Years of squinting into the sun had etched deep creases at the corners of the Khonsel's eyes and the heavy lids made him look half asleep, but there was nothing sleepy about the dark eyes boring into his as if they would pierce his spirit.

When he was finished, the Khonsel said, "Tell me again. From the beginning."

This time, when he completed his story, the Khonsel asked, "Why did you come to me with this tale?"

"You are Malaq's-the Pajhit's-friend."

"How would you know?"

"He does not eat with others. Only you. And you speak to him . . . it is different than others. Without the pretending."

The Khonsel grunted. "Did Malaq send you?"

"No. He says there is no danger."

"Stubborn old fool."

"Yes. No. I mean-"

"Why should you care if Malaq is in danger?"

"He is . . . kind to me."