Servants of the Sands, page 59
Tallisil looked up at him without apparent concern. The air warmed sharply.
“Ha’inn-nai-gana, sit down,” she said.
Idisio folded back onto his chair like a docile child. Alyea could feel sweat forming on her forehead even as a deep chill coated the back of her neck. She couldn’t move, couldn’t voice protest, could barely breathe.
“Stand up.”
Idisio rose to his feet, his eyes washing out to a pale grey.
“Sit down.”
When Idisio sat this time, the air began to cool. Tallisil looked at Alyea and Fimre, both of whom had frozen in their chairs, staring in horrified disbelief.
“You begin to understand, perhaps?” Tallisil said. “Humanity was given defenses in the original Agreement, protections from abuse by those we served. Over the centuries, humanity chose to hide those defenses from one another in exchange for political gain, and what was once a partnership has become slavery. I stand outside of that structure. I have an authority a desert lord may never touch. Ha’inn-nai-gana, I release your will back to you.”
Idisio sucked in a shivery breath, his eyes flooding with black. “How dare you,” he said, voice low and venomous. In that moment, he sounded—and looked—frighteningly like Deiq.
“Because I can, ha’ra’ha,” Tallisil said. “I did warn you about underestimating me.”
Idisio rose to his feet, golden speckles appearing in the flat darkness of his eyes. A shivering chill raked through the air; Tallisil raised a hand, and the ambient temperature eased to a comfortable warmth. Idisio gagged briefly, as though struggling for breath.
“Stop posturing as though you are my master, ha’ra’ha,” Tallisil said. “You are not, and never will be.” She lowered her hand and glanced at Alyea, adding wryly, “Ha’ra’hain never do like to hear that, do they?”
“No, they don’t,” Alyea said, unable to repress a smile as memories of her own confrontations with Deiq rose to mind. I won’t be a slave to anyone, Deiq. Not for any reason. So kill me now and get it over with for both our sakes, then go find some other damn fool desert lord to torture.
Alyea caught flickers of movement beyond the screening vines. That had to be deliberate, a reminder that they weren’t alone. She scuffed a foot lightly against the underlying gravel, drawing Fimre’s attention; silently said, her focus rigidly precise, I don’t think we’re in a position to take this into a fight right now. Is that really a law?
Yes. Unfortunately. I assumed he’d already done that. Deiq should have made sure it was handled.
Alyea glanced up to find the teyanin woman watching her with distinct amusement.
“You are not so quiet as you think, desert lord,” Tallisil remarked. “Then again, I am stronger than you are willing to comprehend.”
Alyea bit her lip, looking down at the stone table until her pulse subsided from her ears. Then she met Idisio’s gaze and said, “You’re not the first to walk through that indignity. I had to give my first-born child to the Qisani.”
Fimre dipped his head. “As did I,” he said. “It is part of the compact between human and ha’reye. Those who can share of themselves to continue the legacy must do so.” Tallisil nodded and said, “Ha’ra’ha, believe me when I tell you that should you be able to produce a child, it will make you stronger. Ha’ra’hain gain strength from this sort of exchange. By giving the nest beneath the holy place a child, desert lord—” she nodded at Alyea. “—you strengthened them greatly. Had you died as intended, they would be stronger yet.”
Alyea’s vision greyed out at the corners, her stomach lurching. “Had I—what?”
Tallisil regarded her without sympathy. “Your husband did not tell you?”
“No. I knew I’d been—injured, but I never had any idea that they’d intended—” She stopped. The words wouldn’t come. It felt like too massive a betrayal. They’d wanted her to die? The ha’reye were supposed to be partners with the desert lords. They’d tried to kill her?
She felt as though the world were tilting slightly sideways around her. Sound muted for a heartbeat, and the acrid-floral scent of weeping-vine was unpleasantly thick in her nose.
Tallisil’s expression remained austere. She said, “Your husband cares for the survival of humanity as a whole, desert lord. He does not have as much regard for individual lives. He has told you this himself, has he not? Consider other ha’ra’hain and ha’reye as greatly magnified versions of your husband, but without any care for humanity beyond what benefit we offer to them.”
“Wait,” Idisio said. “That isn’t right—”
Tallisil’s chin rose, her geniality disappearing. “Ha’ra’ha, you are still an infant in the ways of your kind. Do not contest the truth I have seen across all the days of my life.” She delivered a pointed stare down her nose until Idisio dropped his gaze to the ground, scowling. Then she said, “Time passes. You have a duty, ha’ra’ha. Get up and face it.”
Idisio straightened and glanced at Alyea, his eyes a very pale grey. Although he didn’t speak, Tallisil nodded slightly, a smile quirking her mouth. Apparently, she’d caught another one of his thoughts.
“The process will be entirely pleasant for you, ha’ra’ha. You may take comfort in that, at least.” She raised a hand, and a lithe form stepped up into the pavilion.
The girl was slightly taller than Idisio, and without much by way of curves. Alyea found herself assessing the line of hip and breast under the pale grey wrap, and shook her head dubiously. The girl didn’t even look old enough to bear children.
Her shaven head added to that impression, as did her long, gangly limbs. With large dark eyes focused on Idisio, she stood quietly at the edge of the pavilion, waiting.
“She’s not teyanain,” Idisio said, voice hoarse. “And gods, she’s young—this can’t be right!”
“She is chih-huerg,” Tallisil said. “Born of huerg, which is outsider, mixed-blood, in our language. In her case, the essence of the northern who fathered her won out over what teyanain characteristics her huerg mother possessed. Her teyanain blood allows her to live in our community, but she has little bloodline honor. If you give her a child, ha’ra’ha, she will gain considerable status. Her appearance is deceptive. I assure you she is no younger than you yourself are.”
She motioned. The girl turned in place, sinuous, graceful, entirely adult in that moment. Fimre and Idisio’s expressions brightened noticeably; Alyea’s own pulse sped up.
“She is serving of her own choice,” Tallisil said. “She chose to remain untouched in hopes of one day having just such an opportunity to raise her status. She is not a whore, ha’ra’ha.”
Idisio blinked as though startled out of a trance, shaking his head. “And I’m not a stud,” he said roughly. He put his hands on the table, spread flat, fingernails flushed with the pressure he was exerting.
“Please do not break my table, ha’ra’ha,” Tallisil said, perfectly calm. “It has done you no harm.”
Idisio closed his hands into fists and left them resting atop the table. The girl stood quietly, her back straight, gaze on Idisio as though deaf and blind to all else.
Tallisil went on, “This is not about being a stud, in the human sense. You are not human. You are ha’ra’hain, and the longer you wait, the older you grow, the more your ha’rethe side influences you, the more infertile you will become.”
“I don’t trust you,” Idisio said flatly.
Tallisil sighed, glancing up at the ceiling of the pergola as though asking the gods for patience. “I sit before a ha’ra’ha and two desert lords,” she said. “Do you think me enough of a fool to lie?” She snapped her fingers, then waved a hand in a shooing motion. “You have a duty, ha’ra’ha. Get up and face it, and stop shaming us all with your foolishness.”
A tickle of power surged along Alyea’s inner ear; it made her want to sneeze. She put a hand to her nose to stop the impulse, breathing deeply.
The girl bent forward into a limber bow, her shaven head almost touching the ground. “Ha’inn,” she said in heavily accented kaenic as she straightened. “Please come with me.”
Idisio stood, eyes hazed—whether with shock, terror, contemplation, or compulsion, Alyea couldn’t tell. “Tallisil,” he said with fierce emphasis, then turned away and followed the young girl from the pavilion.
Tallisil sighed, watching him go. “He’s thinking I chose my name well,” she said. “He’s so angry with me. And he has such a strong anger. It’s impressive. I hope he doesn’t hurt her too much.”
“As long as she can still bear his child, you don’t particularly care if he hurts her, do you?” Alyea said, knowing it for a challenge and not caring. The queasy look on Idisio’s face had drawn her own emotions into ragged conflict.
“You still know very little about the world you have stepped into,” Tallisil said, her tone sober. She pointed to the tattoos swirling across her face and arms. “I earned each of these from making far more difficult decisions than this one, desert lord. I will tell you a secret, an important piece of truth that only loremasters and teyanain truly understand: the centuries of mixing ha’ra’hain and human has decreased human fertility, especially in men. It is no accident that southerners have far fewer children than those north of the Hackerwood. If that girl can bear a ha’ra’hain child, the changes that will bring to her body means that she will be able to bear human children even to infertile men.”
The humming of insects on the flowering weeping-vine and fennel seemed very loud in the silence that followed. Alyea stared at the woman, unable to believe what she’d just heard. Fimre picked at his fingernails, studiously silent. “I did say she would gain great status from this,” Tallisil said. “Your blood trials involved ha’reye, desert lord. That is considerably more dangerous than dealing with a single young ha’ra’ha who has not even realized the extents of his power yet.”
A cold breeze swept through the pergola, stirring up a cloud of buzzing insects and bringing a strong perfume to the air. The bees swirled, then scattered, lofting into the distance like chaff on a strong wind. Tallisil raised her head, an intent, listening look on her face.
“I regret that we will not be able to finish this conversation,” she said. “We are about to have company I prefer to avoid. You may wish to flee, yourselves.”
Alyea looked around. There was nothing moving, either in the open spaces or behind the screening plants. “Flee from what And to where? I don’t even know where we are!”
Tallisil gave no answer. Alyea looked back at her, utterly unsurprised to find the woman gone.
“Bloody teyanain,” Fimre muttered. “Always games.”
Alyea sighed. “At least they’re consistently devious.” She began to stand.
“It is our nature,” a man’s voice responded. Between one blink and the next, four teyanain stood within the pavilion. A fifth, dressed in garishly bright blues, yellows, and greens, his glossy, blue-black hair loose, sat on the cushion Tallisil had recently occupied. The other teyanain wore unremarkable grey and brown tunic and trousers, and their long hair was thick masses of braids bound into heavy tails down their backs.
“I’ve seen you before,” Alyea said. “Dinas Teyantin, right?”
“You remember, yes,” Dinas said, inclining his head. He swept a hand round to indicate his companions. “These you have also met before, Lord Peysimun. They assisted with your travel to find your husband not long ago.”
Alyea offered a bow to the four teyanain around her. “I regret that I did not get the chance to thank you for that assistance,” she said. “I thank you now.”
She received not the least flicker of acknowledgement from them, but the Teyantin nodded as though pleased with the courtesy.
“Lord Peysimun, where is the ha’ra’ha you traveled with?”
“Occupied elsewhere,” Alyea said.
Dinas let out a long breath, frowning. “Have they convinced him to produce a child for them?... ah. No need to answer, desert lord. I see your eyes.” He looked around at his companions; they shut their eyes briefly, heads lifting, nostrils flaring as though scenting the air. One by one, they opened their eyes, shaking their heads regretfully. “Unfortunate. He is beyond our reach. This pushes the boundaries of our alliance, but I must leave that for another to decide. I strongly suggest that you return north. There are matters moving in the southlands that are likely to prove fatal to both yourselves and the ha’ra’ha. Better by far that you retreat and allow those with more experience to handle the situation.”
“I’m getting awfully tired of being told to back away,” Alyea said sharply. “Don’t you people know me better by now?”
Dinas’s smile faded into a more somber expression. “Yes, Lord Peysimun,” he said. “We do know you better by now. But honor demands that we give the warning. What you do with that warning places the responsibility on your shoulders, not on ours. If we did not warn you, we would be breaking our alliance.”
“It would help more if you ever bothered to tell me why, instead of just issuing vague warnings,” she retorted.
“A full answer would require years of training and scholarship, Lord Peysimun,” Dinas said. “You do not have that much time, and I do not have that much patience. However, Lord Evkit might be willing to address the most important points.” He touched the stone table with a fingertip, sketching out a symbol too quickly for Alyea to follow as he rattled off a string of harsh teyanain words. The four teyanain around them raised their hands towards the sky and let out a guttural barking sound.
“Thank you, my Teyantin,” another voice said.
Alyea startled. Fimre rose swiftly, backed up a step, staring in outright horror. Lord Evkit sat on the remaining empty cushion, perfectly placid, as though he’d been there all along. He wore all black: long sleeves and thick leggings, with soft-soled grey boots that laced up to the knee. His hair was bound back into a simple triple bound tail, revealing unusual earrings: thick silver wire twisted in a graceful spiral through at least eight holes along the curve of each ear, tipped with a small red stone at each end. Alyea stared, trying to figure out how they’d managed to put those in place without ripping Evkit’s ears apart in the process.
Dinas cleared his throat, bringing Alyea’s attention back to the moment. He was smiling, smug and making no attempt to hide it. The grey-clad teyanain had returned to stolid, arms-crossed silence.
“Please be seated, desert lords,” Lord Evkit said.
“How did you—that’s not possible!” Fimre blurted.
“Get used to that around him,” Alyea muttered.
Lord Evkit laughed. “Indeed,” he agreed. He waved a hand, dismissing the subject, then raised his voice. “Come, join us, Cuna.”
A sound like cold water hitting a hot pan split the air. The greenery all around the pavilion burst into flame. The stone of the pillars and the low table in the center radiated a rapidly climbing, searing heat. Black, choking smoke rose from underfoot; Alyea looked down to find the gravel turned into red-streaked coals.
Vines fell to ash in moments, leaving a clear view in all directions. Overriding terror drove Alyea forward, towards cooler air, toward sense, sanity, safety. She made two steps before a wall of flame replaced the destroyed vines, a scant arm’s reach away. Fimre grabbed her, hauling her back with his good arm just before she stumbled into the conflagration.
Her clothes and hair dried, crisped, itched against her skin as though a heartbeat away from bursting into flame themselves. Rock scratched at the soles of her feet as the soft leather of her shoes gave way. She turned in place helplessly, coughing, and realized that Lord Evkit hadn’t moved.
The four teyanain, and Dinas, had turned to face the flames but seemed to merely be standing still, hands outstretched as though warming themselves on a winter’s night.
“Calm yourselves, desert lords,” Lord Evkit said, raising his voice to carry over the crackling roar. “It is only my daughter trying to kill me once again. My Teyantin will handle this.”
One of the grey-clad teyanain went to his knees, coughing. The flames rippled, like still water disturbed by a rock, and twisted into impossible shapes, distorting the space around them in a way that made Alyea nauseous. The twisting turned into a gathering funnel, the flames stretching and braiding into a long, argent-orange rope. In the next moment, almost too fast to track, the rope whipped around the fallen teyanin, searing, scorching, sinking into his body—
The air filled with the scent of roasting beef, creamy with fat, irresistibly savory. Alyea’s stomach, instead of inverting, grumbled.
This is revolting, she told herself fiercely, and pinched her nose shut.
The burning teyanin arched his back, his hands out and up as though offering a silent appeal to the gods. If he was crying out, Alyea couldn’t hear it past the roaring chaos. To her horror, little by little, as the flames disappeared from his body, he crumbled into a mass of thick, erratic ash, with pieces of bone and puddles of melted fat disrupting the dark flakes in spots.
Alyea turned away and gagged. Sour acid rose in her throat but made it no further. Fimre, his expression bleak, stood with folded arms, his lips a thin line. The air cooled steadily; rock creaked and ticked, and one bench cracked with a sharp sound that made both Fimre and Alyea jump. The pieces wavered, then tipped over, crumbling into large chunks as they fell. Alyea coughed as rock dust filled the air, and shielded her face with one arm until the ash and dust settled somewhat.
“Well done, Teyantin,” Lord Evkit said. “I do not believe she expected that.”
“This was a trap,” Alyea said, the words painful in a raw, scorched throat.
“That’s absurd,” Fimre said immediately, scowling at her. “She couldn’t have known we were—”
“Of course it was a trap,” Evkit said. “My daughter has many traps in place for me, each only waiting on the correct bait. The chance that she might successfully breed a ha’ra’ha of her own served admirably for this one.” He rose. Alyea noted that the cushion he’d been sitting on didn’t have the slightest scorching. All of the other cushions had been reduced to ash. “And now—consequences. Dinas?”
