Part 19 (1/2)

”Brothers. Sisters.”

Heads reared up as Natha spoke. Tongues flicked out, scenting the air.

”Why are you in this place?”

Perhaps the adders answered Natha in words. Keirith experienced their replies as disjointed images and sensations.

Cold. So cold. Huddling around the heat-stone. Basking in the brief moments when sunlight touched them. Only the strong fed. Only the strongest mated. The young ones were too weak to compete, too sluggish to seek the light and the warmth.

Keirith sent back images of his own. Sun-warmed slabs of rock to bask upon, shady dens to s.h.i.+eld them when the heat grew too intense. Brush piles where they could seek mice and nestlings, muddy shallows where they could hunt frogs. Stalking the prey. Fangs sinking into flesh. Following the prey's scent as it crawled or hopped away. Patiently waiting for the venom to take effect, patiently waiting for the beautiful, tremulous convulsions of death before gorging to repletion and drowsing until the next kill.

Instead of soothing them, his images roused the adders. He saw leather-clad feet walking among them, leather-clad hands reaching for them, separating each from the others, forcing open their mouths, pus.h.i.+ng their heads down as the males pushed down the heads of their opponents when they fought for the females. Fangs sought the leather-clad hands and penetrated instead the strange, soft stone pressed into their gaping mouths.

Hatred as pervasive as the cold.

”Natha? What should I do?” His spirit guide slithered between his feet, his small body encircling a boot. ”Natha?”

And then, in the way of visions, Keirith understood.

The boy bent his head over his arm.

Xevhan leaned forward. ”Why is he chewing the glove?”

His head jerked back and bent again. He repeated this strange ritual several times before Malaq realized he was trying to unlace the glove with his teeth.

Xevhan groaned. ”This could take all morning.”

The boy's arduous progress was punctuated by such pithy observations. Finally, he tucked his hand under his armpit and tugged the glove free. He laid it carefully on the ground. The second glove took less time to remove. He placed it next to the other and went down on one knee.

”Blessed Zhe,” Eliaxa breathed. ”What is he doing?”

”He's unlacing his boot,” Malaq replied.

”I see that. But why?”

”That, of course, is the question.” As the boy tugged the heavy leather tunic over his head, Malaq beckoned the Qepo forward. ”How many strikes can he withstand?”

”They were milked this morning, great Pajhit. I did it myself. And they're sluggish because I extinguished the brazier. They may not attack at all.”

Malaq reluctantly withdrew his gaze from the pit.

The Qepo flinched. ”I've seen a man take five strikes after a milking and live.”

But this was a boy, of course, not a man.

”Shall I go down, great Pajhit?”

The boy folded his breeches neatly atop his tunic. He unwound his skimpy kharo and let it fall to the ground. Naked, he walked toward the adders.

The Qepo raced toward the stairway, moving far more quickly than Malaq would have expected for one so old.

”Wait!”

The Qepo froze. Eliaxa and Xevhan stirred restively. The boy walked slowly toward the tangle of adders.

”Wait.”

Unblinking eyes watched him as he stepped closer. Although he had shed the heavy leather garments, every movement was slow, as if the cold had seeped deep into his bones, rendering him as sluggish as the adders. He understood their hatred of the leather-clad feet and hands, but each step made his heart thud.

Every summer, someone disturbed an adder and had to be carried to his mam. In spite of the intense pain and swelling, all survived, but Keirith could still remember the screams. And that was one snake, not dozens.

He stopped just out of striking range. Natha wove in and out between his feet, calming his fear, steadying him. Naked, he stretched out on the cool earth.

Slender tongues flicked out, scenting him. Slender bodies slithered toward him. When he felt the dry brush of scales against his ankle, his mind told him to flee, but the dreamlike calm only deepened. Mist touched his cheek-Natha's touch. Natha's rea.s.suring whisper echoed inside him: ”Be calm. Be still.”

Stillness. Emptiness. Control.

With a sigh of acceptance, Keirith offered himself to them.

An adder slid over his wrist. Another wove a sinuous track across his belly. They wriggled up his legs, around his arms. Their scales drifted across his thighs and genitals. Their tongues kissed his chest, his neck, his mouth.

Fluid as water, smoother than stone, the adders danced. Their eyes were the dull fire of the dying sun. Their voices were autumn leaves, rustling in the wind. Their bodies were vines, weaving around the trunks of trees. And he was the earth beneath them, warm and comforting and alive.

The adders swarmed over him. And the boy smiled. They covered his legs, his torso, his arms. And the boy smiled. They slithered over his neck, their bodies tangled in his hair. And still, the boy smiled.

Eliaxa whispered prayers. Xevhan traced the spiral on his chest. Malaq simply watched, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure the others must hear. All his life, he had longed to see a miracle. In the pit below, it was happening.

Could it be true? Could he really be the one?

As if they heard an unspoken command, the writhing ma.s.s of adders became still. One by one, they retreated. Only then did the boy's eyes open.

His chest heaved in a sigh as he rose. He walked toward the door and removed the torch from its bracket. Moving with the same dreamlike grace, he returned to the adders. They parted before him, allowing him to step close to the clay brazier. He touched the torch to the fuel and waited for it to catch. Then he backed away, allowing the adders to seethe toward the heat.

He returned the torch to its bracket and gathered his discarded clothing. With a last, lingering look at the adders, he pulled open the door and disappeared.

The Qepo was the first to recover. He hurried toward the stairs and this time, Malaq let him go. Still lost in the miracle, he stared into the pit.

”It's impossible,” Xevhan whispered.

”He shed.” Eliaxa's voice caught on a sob. ”As the adder sheds its skin, he shed his clothing. And they blessed him. The adders blessed him.”

”It was cool in the pit,” Xevhan argued. Already, he was regaining his self-possession. ”You heard the Qepo. The adders were sluggish. They had just been milked. The danger was minimal.”

”Yes,” Malaq replied. ”But the boy didn't know that.”

”By these signs shall you know him.” Eliaxa swayed as she recited the ancient words. ”His power shall burn bright as Heart of Sky at Midsummer. His footsteps shall make Womb of Earth tremble. Speechless, he shall understand the language of the adder, and wingless, soar through the sky like the eagle.”