The Blood-Rage (20)
CHAPTER 20 Some humans hide their fear behind a wall of anger. What happens if their adversaries climb that wall? -From the Thoughts of Night Mist- At suns-zenith, the five riders stopped to give their mu- lynxes a rest. The earlier ground-fog had dissipated at mid- morning, and the present lower humidity made them more comfortable. Their bodies no longer glistened with sweat as a gentle breeze brought welcomed coolness. The sky was clear overhead, the suns-light brilliant. There were smooth clouds on the far anti-spinward horizon. If they lasted, Patra knew that there would be a beautiful suns-set that evening. She sat beside her mu-lynx, fixing a snack of deer jerky for herself and Darkcian. Without looking up from the task, she spoke to her student. "Notice the trees around us that we're using for shade. Seven turns ago they were just waist-high shrubs." Darkcian squatted beside her. "They're growing about a foot a day then?" he asked. "Yes. The more vigorous among them perhaps even a foot and a half." "All things on Agon seem to grow fast." She bit off a chunk of jerky and gave a strip to him. "For the plants of Fleeing-Winter, yes. They've only ninety turns to mature and bear fruit or seed, because The-Long-Day kills all growing things." She gestured toward a tree that Rasp was leaning against. "We call the trees of Fleeing-Winter spurt-trees. They differ greatly from the plants that grow after the Long-Day. Those later ones take more time in maturing because they have a longer time to live. Most last through Ardent's-Time and into Fleeing-Summer." "Will the later trees have big leaves like these?" "No, smaller. But the trees themselves will grow taller, maybe sixty feet or so." Suddenly the tree next to them reverberated with the impact of a sword smashing into it. Patra's dagger flashed into her hand as she stood quickly and looked up. Rasp was prying his sword out of the tree trunk. A dead vampire-spider, chopped into two, three-inch hemispheres, was splattered against the tree, its black blood dripping down the rough bark. "What are you doing?" Rasp interjected. "You teach him as if he were going to live a hundred orbits. You know better. Give him what he needs to survive now, no more. Anything else is a waste of your time and his. Damn it, dagger, wake up. You're drifting into a dream that will never come true." Patra was unaffected by the outburst. She sheathed her dagger, took another bite of jerky, and said calmly around the chewing, "My time is my own to waste as I see fit. He's not an animal but a human. I'll teach him as long as he lives. You may deny him--" "Someone approaches," Gravestone interrupted. Darkcian rose to his feet beside her and looked anti- poleward with the rest. "A lone rider," Rasp observed with a gleam in his eye. "It's the diode-clothed bitch!" Erendria exclaimed. "See how she glistens in the suns-light?" "You have good eyes, daughter," Gravestone said. "Look. She swerves and heads toward us." Patra looked sideways at her daughter, noting the excitement grow on the face of her younger dagger. The older woman thought: Someone will die if these two meet. At about one hundred feet from the others, the diode-clothed rider slowed her mu-lynx to a walk. Look at her, Patra observed mentally. Even though she's totally covered by a diode-cloth, one can see that she's relaxed and ready. She doesn't fear us. Such confidence probably means that the rumors are true; she is a dagger-master. The rider stopped before them, turned her mu-lynx sideways, and looked down at the five tense rationals. Patra watched as the rider's ice-blue eyes scanned each of them slowly. How strange, the older woman thought. She still has no fear of us. Ah, but what was that? Her eyes widened when they reached the stranger? She watched further as the rider took a deep breath and switched her masked gaze to Gravestone. The blue-eyed woman spoke. "I come to you as neither friend nor foe. Yet I come to you with a warning. Remember the little man whose brother your daughter killed?" "I didn't kill him; he sword-tossed," Erendria said in short, angry words. The masked rider slowly turned her gaze to the other young dagger. "You killed him. You shamed him to his death. No warrior could live with a defeat that stripped him of honor." "You call me liar," Erendria asked in a tone Patra recognized as the beginning of her daughter's blood-rage. "I call upon you to admit to the reality of the way it was," the rider answered calmly. Gravestone interjected quickly, "What about the healer? What warning?" The rider returned her attention to Gravestone. "He gathers warriors to avenge his brother's death. Even now, he and ten others await in ambush, there." She pointed her glove-covered hand toward a grouping of trees about three miles poleward. All except Erendria turned to study the area. Gravestone grunted, then turned back to her. "Why do you give us this information? You've already declared that you aren't a friend." "I owe you blood. You have killed the band that pursued me earlier. There's a blood-debt between us." Patra nodded, thinking: A true Agonian, this one. "I see," Gravestone said. "May we have the name of our new ally?" "You misunderstand. I'm here to warn, not to ally myself with your cause." "And what cause is that?" Rasp asked softly. His eyes glowed dangerously with his own blood-rage. The rider nodded toward Darkcian. "I've watched all of you closely. You search for his past." Erendria growled, "She has spied upon us. I'll kill this deformed bitch." Her hand closed around her dagger. Ah, Patra thought. Look at the contempt in this rider's blue eyes. She'll be a match for Erendria, a dangerous match. She said aloud, "You'll do nothing of the kind, daughter. Her warning places a blood-debt on us now." "We shouldn't have to tell you that, Erendria," Gravestone barked. "Where's you honor-sense?" Erendria continued to glare upward but remained silent. Gravestone said in an apologetic tone, "I ask for your pardon and, again, your name. We're the clan of Kalt." He then gestured in turn, saying, "My weapon's-complement, Patra; my daughter and second-dagger, Erendria." He turned toward his old friend, continuing, "Rasp and Darkcian." He then thumped his own chest. "Gravestone of the Kalt clan." The rider nodded to each in turn, finally resting her gaze on Darkcian, her gloved hand touching over her heart. "Sulamith," she said softly. There was a long silence. She turned to Gravestone and added, "Just Sulamith." "You have no clan?" Gravestone asked, incredulous. "That's correct. You object?" She raised her head slightly. "No, no," he returned quickly. "It's just that only healers name themselves so." "I'm not a healer." "Yes, yes. I can see that. You must excuse me. With all that I've seen recently, I should be used to hearing the unusual by now. I must be getting old." "I hate unusual things," Rasp said, a twisted grin splitting his young face, his old eyes glowing. The blue-eyed woman faced him. "That seems to be a common sickness of the old." Patra gasped. Rasp blinked his red eyes a few times, and his grin got wider. Between chuckles he said, "There's not a drop of fear within you. I like that." Patra let out a long sigh. Was that a wink she gave him? Sulamith scanned the faces of the others. "I've given the warning that a blood-debt warrants. May the luck of Agon shine upon you." She backed her mu-lynx away, her gaze locked with Darkcian's. Gravestone stepped forward and held up his hand. "Wait. Join us." She paused and then shook her head. "I'm surprised that you would consider, however briefly, an alliance with ugliness. But I must decline. I join no one. I'm lonely and have pledged to remain so. If you want a more positive reason, then consider that I would probably have to kill your daughter if I was around her for any length of time. She has a love for battle that I find irritating." Gravestone blocked the forward movement of Erendria by extending his muscular arm in her path. "You're more wise than I. Go with my thanks." She turned and rode away quickly, heading for the next grouping of trees in the opposite direction of the ambush area. A few minutes later she was among the cover of these trees, and her legs started to tremble. Oh, damn, she thought, I had no idea he looked that way. I wasn't prepared for the true sight of him in daylight. She bent over and rested her head on the neck fur of her mu-lynx. I'm a fool, a fool. Now I must stop picturing him. I must get him out of my mind . . . now! I should know better than to even continue to think about him. He's too handsome . . . too . . .too . . . She twisted her head from side to side, feeling the coarseness of the beast's fur and fearing the strange sensation that was spreading throughout her body. How can anyone look that way? she wondered and then gasped as her stomach contracted. Oh, no, no. This mustn't happen, she screamed silently. Stop seeing him with my mind. Stop picturing him making love to me. She jerked erect and then fell from her mu-lynx. She hit the ground on her stomach, hard, and the breath was driven from her lungs. She dug her fingers into the earth and arced her back, the tendons in her neck staining taunt. She tried to scream but couldn't. Her abdomen contracted again, and she doubled-up into a fetal position. No, NO! she screamed again silently, hugging her knees against her breasts. Stop thinking about him! Stop seeing his face! Don't love him . . . DON'T! With a supreme effort, she straightened her body and rolled over onto her back, digging her fingers into the earth again. Her legs jerked involuntarily. She gave into it then, gave into the forbidden vision. Suddenly, she arced her body upward, every muscle tight with strain. She screamed aloud, a long, drawn-out sound of a trial too great to bear.
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