Part 36 (1/2)
”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.”