Starfire Saga, page 5
“Hah!” Kray said, delighted to be right, but Mortel John cautioned him against laughter. Now that the subject had been introduced, he wanted to deal with it solemnly. He described some of the history of the act, its political and psychological bases, its painful consequences. He talked about the Drenalion, the government’s cloned shock troops, who regarded rape as a way of letting off excess energy and accompanied one another on forays when they went to quell disorder or break up local battles. The fearsomeness of the Drenalion was in itself a great force for law and order—the threat of their deployment had on any number of occasions been enough to bring adversaries to reluctant negotiation.
“No one could ever do any of that to me!” I scoffed angrily, defiantly. “Could they?”
Mortel John reached out and gently stroked my hair. “I pray that you’ll never meet anyone who tries,” he said.
“We all do,” Coney said fiercely.
“We’d protect you,” Kray said, and I rounded on him cruelly and said, “I don’t need your protection! I don’t need any man’s. I can take care of myself.”
Mortel John lectured me at some length on ingratitude, but I barely listened to him. My own rage at being part of a group that could be considered weak, into which another group thought it could force entrance, had outraged me so that I was blinded to anything else. That day I might have been blinded to more than I knew, cut off from a womanhood I had not yet attained. Perhaps I am beginning to understand it now.
II. Among the Boru
I was vaguely, distantly aware when the wagon finally stopped, but I had retreated deep into myself and neither moved nor opened my eyes. Distantly, too, I was conscious of hearing an unfamiliar voice ask, “How is she?”
Venacrona’s voice, somewhat nearer to me, answered, “Like a laba in a snare. She’s passed through the shuddering stage now and into the numbness.”
Even through closed eyelids I could tell that more light had come into the wagon. The curtains must have been pulled back, or a torch brought closer. “She’s really something,” Gundever’s voice said. “I don’t think you made a mistake.”
The new voice was deep and level. It had drawn nearer, and now it said evenly, “Ronica, I want you to open your eyes.” The speaker waited for a time, and I neither moved nor responded. Then he repeated, “Open your eyes.”
There was no anger or force in the words, but I felt a strange compulsion to comply. I did not then think of it as obedience, and I did not attribute it to any cause beyond the strength in the controlled voice. I opened my eyes and saw his face in the flickering light of a lantern that had been hung on a wagon rib. His hair and beard were black, his eyes gray, and his mouth firm. At first I saw him only in those individual bits, and then his face came to me as a whole, and I saw a fine, strong-looking man about twice my age, contained, and somewhat weary. He also looked somehow familiar, even though I couldn’t have said how or why, and once again familiarity made me more comfortable.
And he had called me Ronica, my correct name. It brought me back a little, and he saw me return.
“Sit up,” he said.
While I didn’t feel compelled to obey any longer, I sat up. Gundever and Venacrona were standing about a meter away, both of them holding still and seeming alert. Lord Jemeret—for I assumed it was he—and the two of them were the only people in sight. I gauged it to be false dawn, and we were in an open space among a group of tents. It was very quiet, except for the restless snorting of the tivongs and a far-off staccato sound like barking.
The tent before which the wagon had stopped revealed part of its interior through a tied-back flap. I could see the edge of a table and some hangings. My head was now level with Lord Jemeret’s as he leaned on the back edge of the wagon’s side; he took a step backward, away from the wagon. “Unhook her,” he said to Gundever.
I could have reached up, pathfound the lock, and freed myself, but I hadn’t the energy and I didn’t want to give my abilities away quite so soon—not until I had rested. Gundever reached over the side of the wagon and unclasped the collar from my neck. I didn’t move.
Jemeret said quietly, “I want you to go into my tent of your own free will.”
I was relatively calm, still almost detached, and I don’t think I shook my head, but instead made no move at all—just stared at him.
He said, not unkindly, but with a peculiar kind of tension that I couldn’t identify, “I want you to think that this world is all there is for you now.”
My eyes stung, and I hid my face in the tangles of my hair. My breathing accelerated suddenly. I felt the reflexes begin to gather so that I could explode outward in flight, despite any leavening of reason I might have applied. Before I could move, Jemeret spoke. “Yes, you can run, Ronica. But this is a savage world outside the safety of guarded walls or tents, and you haven’t seen very much of it yet. I want you to think that this particular part of this strange world might not be so very bad.”
The very reasonableness of his tone seemed to blunt the edge of the reflexes, and the gathering melted away. My weariness and confusion were threatening to overwhelm me, but I still could not move, and this time I think I did shake my head.
With a wave of his hand, Jemeret sent the other two men away. Venacrona vanished quickly among the tents, and Gundever went to stand at the head of the first pair of tivongs, well out of earshot. Then Jemeret said very softly, “If you go into my tent now, I give you my word I will not touch you.”
I looked at him sharply, uncertain whether to believe he’d really do that, but it occurred to me that he had no reason to lie. As far as he was concerned, he owned me. I slowly got to my feet and climbed heavily down out of the wagon unaided. He did not reach out to help me, even though I was unsteady, and I realized he meant his promise not to touch me quite literally. It made me a little dizzy with relief and hope that when I was stronger, I could regain control. I looked up at him, and he waited, unmoving. He was as tall as Gundever, though not as broad or as heavily muscled. There was a containment about him that I had never seen before. I couldn’t call it serenity, but it was a confidence, a self-sufficiency that made him seem somehow remote. This, too, made me feel more at ease, more hopeful.
Most pressing of all, I had to rest, and rest was what he could offer me. When I awoke, I could deal with everything else. So I walked past the Chief of the Boru and into his tent.
It was a reasonably sized enclosure, larger in fact than the tower room in which I’d spent most of my time on this world. Part of the back of it was curtained off from the front, and the curtain was opened to reveal a low platform heaped with rugs and cushions. In front of the curtain was the table I’d seen from outside, containing a dish of some kind of meat and bread and a pair of goblets. There were several wooden chairs around it. Against the side walls were some closed chests, one of them piled with furs. The tent floor was another large rug, and light came from a couple of four-pronged metal stanchions set near the table. After such a long time of plain stone, it seemed a strangely luxurious place.
The tent flap hissed down behind me. I turned, but not in alarm. It was as if his reassurance about not touching me had soothed the fear and lulled the reflexes. Jemeret had come into the tent, too, and was tying the flap shut. I stood still in front of the table.
“Do you want something to eat or drink?” he asked.
I shook my head again. “I need to deep.” I didn’t notice when the word slipped out, and even more astonishing, I didn’t notice that he took it in stride.
“I know you do,” he said, “and very soon I’ll let you. Just now, sit down.” He indicated one of the chairs, and I sank into it. He leaned against one of the chests and crossed his arms, staying fully three-quarters of the width of the tent away from me. I noticed detachedly that he wore a dark blue tunic and leggings, and high black boots, and that there was a dagger at his waist.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” he said. His hands lay easily on his upper arms, but I found myself thinking that I had never seen anyone who looked so ready to act while keeping so still. “There’s no pleasure in a frightened woman.”
“Pleasure,” I repeated. Something in the tone of my voice made his eyes darken suddenly, but he didn’t move. “Is that what you expect to get from me?”
“It’s what I will get,” he said in the same quiet voice, “and so will you.”
Something harsh seemed to swell up in my throat, and the words came out without my placing any impetus in them. “They’ll come looking for me, and when they find me, I’ll tell them the things that were done to me here, and they’ll break and burn and tear this place until there’s nothing left at all.”
Jemeret listened without seeming to react, and when it was clear that I had finished, he said slowly, “It may be well for you to think one more thing. People are not sent to this world by chance. And those who are sent here never go back.” Behind his words, I heard Coney saying that these worlds were graves. And for the first time since I’d regained consciousness beside the fireball, I entertained the notion that I might have been sent here deliberately.
The tears came stinging at me again, and I had the pride to beat them back. All the while I struggled for control he watched me, his gaze neither brooding nor compassionate, just level. When I conquered the tear ducts and the damp glaze on my eyes, I looked directly at him again.
He gestured to the platform in back of the curtain. “Go to sleep,” he said. “You can wash when you wake.”
I went to the bed, pulled off my muddy boots, and crawled gratefully into the heap of cushions, pulling a rug over myself. The pallet was soft and closed around my body as I relaxed. I fell into sleep almost at once, and into deep soon after. I cannot say for certain—I have never asked him—but I fancy he sat awake and watched me for what remained of the night.
A clatter awoke me, and I snapped instantly alert from deep. It was full day, perhaps even afternoon, and a slender, lovely, bright-haired girl in a soft gold talma was pouring hot liquid into a pottery tankard. “Good day,” she said, smiling at me. “You were so asleep I hated to wake you, but my lord said I should.”
I remembered much of the night before in a rush, sat up and ran my hands backward through my hopelessly filthy and matted hair. Deeping had renewed my strength, and with it my optimism. If I was strong, there was always something I could do. The girl handed me the tankard, and I drank. The liquid was rich and sweet.
“My name is Variel,” she said, somewhat shyly, “which means ‘child of smiles,’ and I am the claim of the warrior Gundever. You met him last night.” Her smile went wider with pride, and almost without meaning to, I smiled back. Her face was impish and her gaiety was infectious.
“My name is Ronica, and I don’t have any idea if it means anything,” I said, a little amused. “Thank you for this. It’s very good. What is it?”
“It’s shilfnin,” she answered, and hurried on, “I know what your name is. We’ve been talking about you all morning. Do you know how much you look like the High Lady? It’s amazing.”
“Who is she?”
“She was the one who brought the starsong, scores of seasons ago. She was the only person who ever ruled the entire Samoth. There’s a portrait of her at Stronghome, but Lord Jemeret may have a drawing here someplace. I’m sure he’d show it to you if you asked.”
I had no intention of asking him for anything. “Was your High Lady this dirty?” I looked at the caked dirt on my arms and hands and realized that my legs and feet were worse. “Is there someplace where I can wash?” And then something else registered. “Who’s been talking about me?”
“We all have,” Variel replied. “All of the Boru. Gundever told us he and Venacrona brought you into the encampment last night, and that you became Lord Jemeret’s claim.”
I eyed her with sudden suspicion. “What does that mean?”
“What?”
“You said you were Gundever’s claim, and now you’ve said that I am—someone’s.” I didn’t want to say his name. “What does it mean?”
Variel took back the empty tankard. “It means we have gone voluntarily into a man’s tent, and we can leave it or be braceleted at Convalee if we and the man and the stars choose.” She said it as if it were obvious. Once again I didn’t understand some of the words, but the general concept of the speech seemed relatively innocuous, so for the moment I put aside other questions and got to my feet. My shift and talma were in a deplorable condition, and if I’d been in any mood to be amused, I might have laughed. The household of the Lewannees had tried to make me as beautiful as possible, and I had arrived here looking like a creature from some swamp or other.
“There is a streampool above the camp you can wash in,” Variel said. “But I have to call Venacrona before I can take you there.”
“Why?” I asked quickly. “Is he the one designated to be my keeper?”
“I don’t know,” Variel answered honestly and easily. “It’s what I was told to do.” She seemed utterly without guile.
“Do you always do what you’re told?”
She paused on the way to the tent flap and thought seriously about the question. Then, with that impish smile, she said, “Well, not always. But this time I will.”
I saw some fresh bread on a tray on the table, and I wolfed down a piece dry before Venacrona came into the tent. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said lightly. “I’m just very dirty.”
He smiled a little. “Before you leave the tent with Variel, I must ask for your word that you will not try to run away today.”
“Today?” I repeated, fastening on the incongruity.
“My Lord Jemeret has said that we will undertake to ask you only for a day at a time,” he explained. “He does not want to put you into a position to break your word, and he believes you will be more capable of honesty if you do not have to answer for more than a single day.”
Even fully prepared to hate and reject the man who had traded me for a piece of paper, I admired and grudgingly respected the strategy. “Very well,” I said, “I give you my word that I will not try to run away today.”
He studied me more minutely than I would have expected. At last he said, “I take you at your word,” and I sensed it was a formula. “Variel!”
The bright-haired girl came back carrying a basket. As Venacrona slipped out of the tent, she said, “You’d better put your boots on. We’ll be walking over rocks to get there.”
I pulled on the boots. “Couldn’t you just show me the way and let me go by myself?”
“I’m not allowed to,” she said, “and besides, everyone would be so curious about you that you’d never get there at all. And I would really like to talk with you.”
I hadn’t actually expected to be able to go by myself, even after my promise. “Talk to me about what?”
“Would you tell me your lineage?” she asked. We walked out of the tent into a circle of tents around a fair-sized fire. Of all the questions I might have expected, that was the very last.
The encampment was alive with activity, and we were noticed, but deliberately not stared at. Women in talmas or heavier robes wove cloth, banked smaller fires over which pots hung, talked with one another, watched or talked to children—all of whom seemed to be older than about ten—brushed each other’s hair, and did other such domestic tasks. But I was encouraged to see one or two sharpening shortswords or polishing harness. Men seemed to be doing wagon or weapons repairs, except for the considerable number I glimpsed beyond the tents practicing combat. Once, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a child point at us, but another pushed his arm down. I felt comfortable. I was used to being pointed out and admired, used to being singular.
To Variel I said, “I don’t know anything about my lineage.”
She seemed astounded. “But most of us can recite backward for generations!”
I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to do that, and said so.
“But how do you know who you are and where you came from?”
“I am what I have made myself to be,” I said, more truly than I had any idea of. “Where I came from can’t possibly matter.” I have only recently discovered how wrong I was. Before she could ask me anything else, I asked her to tell me about the Boru: how numerous they were, whether this was where they lived—at which she laughed—and what their life was like.
The tribe was one of the ten tribes of the Samoth, and its people numbered 612. “Thirteen,” Variel corrected herself abruptly, “if you join us.” They were not the largest tribe, but their warriors were the strongest and their lord invariably defeated the lords of other tribes in single combat if he were challenged.
We had reached a rock outcrop around one side of which the whole encampment had been established. A path led back into some tumbled boulders at its side, and we took it, climbing onto the shoulder of the rock. We passed a guard stationed where he could look out over the camp and into some of the country beyond. When we had climbed a bit beyond him, I stopped to look around. The ground sloped away from the rocks and the cliffs behind them, a great bowl of plain stretching in grasslands to the horizon, though to my right, beyond the edges of the rocks, I could see the first stray trees of the mighty forest through which we had traveled the night before.
Variel was telling me that the Boru lived in Stronghome, a valley far to the north. They had come to this plain to camp for Convalee. The other tribes would begin arriving in the next tenday. “We came early to Convalee,” she added, “because we were to get you from the stonehouses of the Honish.”
“What is Convalee?” I asked. “You keep talking about it. And do all six hundred of you come up this little path to bathe?”
Variel laughed as we rounded the crest of the rock’s shoulder and started downward toward a sheltered pool fed by a very pretty waterfall. “There are only two hundred of us here, and we mostly bathe from tubs in the encampment, but my Lord Jemeret thought you would prefer the privacy.”
