My heart seemed to labor within me as my ears listened ID the faint scrabbling sounds those stirring fingers madewithin the wicker hollow. A pressure began within my head, as though a thundering sound awoke, just outside (lie range of my ears—there, distinct, and yet not there at all. I felt that I must stop what was happening, must cry must, must—
Nidu withdrew her hand, her lips stretching into a triumphant smile. Deliberately the Shaman unfolded the strip she had drawn, but her eyes remained fixed on the assembled Kioga.
“Guret is the Drummer of Shadows, under the law of the Council. Guret, son of Anga, son of Cleon.”
“No! My lips moved soundlessly. It was as if a wind of the Shadow had lightly scored my cheek. There was a babble surrounding me, some of it relieved, some excited, some upset.
Numb, I felt Joisan’s hand on my arm, her fingers trembling. “Come, Kerovan. There is nothing we can do about this tonight. Tomorrow we will talk with Jonka, see what can be done.”
Shaken, I let her lead me away from the firelight, back into the shadows. “I must see Guret—talk with him. There is a way to change what has happened… there must be!”
“There is.” At my quick glance, she nodded. I could barely see her face, pale against the darkness of the tents surrounding us, but her voice held conviction. “Terlys told me this afternoon that if a candidate chooses not to accept the selection, another is made by lot.”
“But?” I asked, for her tone also made me sure such a decision carried its own penalty.
“It is considered a shameful thing to refuse. If he does so, Guret could well be shunned by his people for a long time.”
“Better that, than Nidu’s service—I mislike that woman. She witched the drawing!” I was positive I spoke truth.
“I agree. Tomorrow we can talk with Jonka and the boy.”
“Yes.” An idea was beginning to shape itself in my mind, curling tantalizingly just out of reach… I yawned suddenly, feeling fatigue settle upon my shoulders like the weight of mail after battle. Tomorrow… tomorrow I would be able to think clearly once more.
Once inside our tent, I made haste to seek the sleeping pallet. I must have dozed, but awoke when Joisan also lay down. My hand went out in the moonlight to brush her cheek, just as hers had done mine earlier. “I am glad to be home, Joisan. I missed you… very much.” As always, my words came awkwardly. Why could I never use with my lady the endearments other husbands voiced? Few indeed had been the times I had been able to even think—much lest say—“I love you,” for always it had seemed to me that every time I acknowledged any feeling for another—Riwal, Jago, my father—that person vanished from my life as irrevocably as though my words doomed them…
“I thought of you every day, every hour.” Her whisper came softly in the night. “I asked Gunnora to let you come back to me, and the Amber Lady has answered my plea, for which I give all the thanks that are in me.”
The moon, waxing three-quarters-full, shone through the open tent flap above us, revealing her face, the dark rumble of her hair, the lacings of the nightshirt she wore. Shadows touched her, as revealing in their way as the silver moonglow, bringing to life the slight hollowing of her cheek, the fullness of her breasts beneath the shift… a fullness that seemed new to me, arousing…
My hand trembled slightly as I touched her cheek again, and I cast about for words to answer her. “Perhaps it was the Harvest Lady, then, who helped me in the river, or with the well. But Joisan, you said that things had also happened to you while I was gone. What passed?”
She hesitated for a long moment, then, as I gently moved my hand upon her shoulder, she spoke, her voice a little breathless. “We agreed, my lord. No problems from the outside world tonight. Tonight shall be ours alone.”
“But—
“Just we two, this night. Not Guret, nor Nidu, nor… any other…”
Her lips were soft on mine, gentle with a promise that routed any further arguments, any further thoughts… leaving only room for touches, for feelings…
At length I slept, dreamlessly, sinking into a vault of sleep so deep it had seemed I lay buried beneath a mountain that was nothing but my heavy, slumbering body.
I dreamed not, yet even as I slept, I felt something creeping upon me, insidious yet known, possessing me… It was like the aching of one’s head after too much wine or an injury, a dull pain that one is conscious of even as one slumbers, yet the sleeper is too tired to rouse and experience that discomfort fully…
Sunlight lay warm upon my face, rousing me to complete awareness. I lay partly off the pallet, sword in hand, the blade half-drawn from the sheath, the time- and palm-worn grip smooth beneath my hand. A groan I could not suppress forced itself from my lips as I recognized the measure of that ache within me.
Why now? Why? Bitterness surged, bringing an acid dryness to my mouth. My body was sluggish, yet that force drove it as a man may drive a floundering horse by his strength and will. I rose, stiff, anguished, began hunting out my breeches, my mail. Joisan slept still, and I needs must fight that force, marshal myself to touch her shoulder, rouse her. I could not, no matter how urgent the summons driving me, leave her behind—I would not!
She mumbled sleepily, then, as she saw me dressed, sat up, her eyes widening with puzzlement. Then, before I could speak, I saw understanding replace her confusion. Understanding… and horror.
“Kerovan, no!” She put out a hand to me, hastily pulled her shift back up around her shoulders. “My lord, no, it cannot be—”
“Hurry, Joisan.” It was difficult to stand in one place, more difficult still to force speech between my stiff lips. “I know not how long I can resist even by so much.”
“Great Mother, help us!” Her voice broke, then she hastily controlled herself, began searching out her traveling clothes. Her voice reached me faintly.
“When did the drawing start, Kerovan? Is it the same as before?”
“Stronger,” I gritted, my body trembling, my breath coming rapidly as the pull clawed me sharply—this time the demanding lure of the mountains was physical pain, torment so great sweat started on my brow, stung my eyes as it trickled.
“Perhaps I can call up protections once more, hold it again at bay—”
“No.” I could not force more than the single word but tried to put into that monosyllable all the resolution I was feeling. She touched my arm, mindsharing. and I shaped thoughts through the agony. I will run no more, Joisan. I am done with running. One cannot run forever! I am a man, not something to be lured and tracked, as a hunter tracks prey… I must face this now. No more running.
7
Joisan
Fear was my only close companion as I rode. Far ahead of me I could see Kerovan, but his face, as it had been since we had awakened this morning, was set to the northeast; he did not look back.
I sighed, feeling hunger pinch my middle. Soon I must call to him, demand that we rest, eat. When circumstances concerned me alone, I might push to the point of exhaustion and beyond, but not now. My child—our child, I corrected myself fiercely—required that I take greater care than I might otherwise have done. The sun lay warm to my left, for noon had come and gone, yet still I shivered, thinking of the morning past. I stroked the neck of the mare I bestrode, biting my lip. I would not—would not weep.
The Kioga had gathered around as we walked through the heart of the camp, dressed for the trail, our packs slung upon our backs. Jonka had been the first to question me—for the closed look upon my lord’s face had warned her away from any inquiries aimed at him.
“Cera Joisan, what chances? You are leaving?”