and what I had become since earning my freedom.
As for what I was now –well, who knows? Sword-dancer, once. Now borjuni to some people. And, others would say; others had said: messiah.
Who was, just at this moment, captive to a man wearing a vast complement of rings in his eyebrows.
Eventually we reached the top of the cliff. Gratefully I began to hoist a leg across the molah's round little rump, but Nihko fixed me with a quelling look and told me to wait.
If he thought I was preparing to leap off the molah and sprint for freedom, he was wrong. I just wanted to stand on my own two feet again-and to be certain I hadn't permanently squashed my gehetties on the way up. I contemplated dismounting anyway-it was a breath-taking drop of three whole inches-but took a look around and decided I'd better not. I was barefoot, after all, and we had just arrived in a clifftop area full of molahs (and their muck), throngs of people, yelping dogs (and their muck), a handful of chickens, and a dozen or so curly-coated goats. And their muck.
All of whom saw Nihko aboard his molah and abruptly melted away.
Well, the people did; the chickens, goats, and dogs remained pretty much as they were. They were also a lot louder, now that every person within earshot had fallen utterly silent.
I saw widened eyes, surprise-slackened mouths, and a flurry of hand gestures. About the time I opened my mouth to ask Nihko what in hoolies was going on, he spoke. A single word only, very crisp and clipped, in a language I didn't know; I assumed it was Skandic. When a stirring ran through the crowd, he repeated it, then followed up the word with a brief sentence. Quick, furtive glances were exchanged, different hand gestures were now made close to the body so they weren't as obvious. But no one spoke. That is, except for one hoarse shout issued by someone I couldn't see.
A path was instantly cleared through the crowd. A man in a thin-woven, sun-bleached tunic came toward us. He carried a stamped metal basin in both hands. Lengths of embroidered cloth were draped across his arms, and strung over his shoulders was a wax-plugged, rope-netted clay bottle glazed blue around the lip. Puzzled, I watched as he knelt there in the dirt and muck and carefully set down the basin. He unhooked the bottle, unstoppered it, poured water into the basin, murmured something that sounded like an invocation, then dipped the cloth in, meticulously careful that no portion of the fabric slipped over the side of the basin into the dirt.
All very strange-and it got stranger. He came to Nihko, bobbed his head briefly, deftly removed Nihko's shoes, and began to wash his feet.
Astounded, I stared. When finished, the man slipped the shoes back on Nihko's feet, rinsed the cloth in the basin, set it aside into a rolled-up, draining ball, then approached me with yet another embroidered length.
'Uh-' I began.
'You will allow it,' Nihko said curtly.
I considered drawing my feet away, if only to spite the first mate. I considered sliding off the molah. I considered telling the basin-man with tone if not in a language he knew that I was fine with dirty feet; he didn't need to wash them for me; I'd take care of it myself when I found a public bath.
But I was in a strange place, ignorant of customs and their potential repercussions, and self-preservation prevailed. I clamped my mouth shut and let the man wash my feet.
He said something very quietly as he worked; remarking, I thought, over the healing cuts and scrapes. His hands were unexpectedly gentle, diffident. When I didn't answer, he glanced up at me briefly, waiting expectantly; when I shook my head once, he looked away immediately and completed his task without further speech. It became clear he was perplexed by my lack of shoes.
Nihko said something to him. The man blanched, collected the balled-up, soiled cloths, basin, and clay bottle, and hastily lost himself in the crowd.
I wiggled my clean toes, shot a glance at the first mate. 'Wouldn't it make more sense to wash our feet after we get where we're going?'
Nihko smiled, but there was nothing of humor in it. 'If you touch the ground with cleansed feet, you will seal yourself as one of them.'
Them. 'And I take it that is not a good thing?'
'Not if you wish to be sealed as heir to the Stessa metri.'
I sighed. 'What, are these Stessas too good to walk the streets like everyone else?' I looked pointedly at his feet. 'Are you?'
'Oh, but I am not expected to walk anywhere,' he said casually. 'I am ioSkandic, and I am expected to fly.'
I blinked. 'Well, that would certainly save you the ride up the cliff.'
One corner of his mouth quirked, but he offered no comment.
I scowled. 'You're serious.'
'Am I?' His expression was privately amused. 'And do you know me so well that you may judge such things?'
Ah, hoolies, it wasn't worth the breath to debate. 'When exactly are we supposed to go to this infamous household?' I paused. 'And do we walk, ride, or fly?'
His mouth twitched again. 'Even in ignorance, you ridicule possibilities.'
'No, I ridicule you. There's a difference.'
'Ah. I am remiss in my comprehension.' Without glancing around to see if anyone noticed, Nihko made a slight gesture. The crowd, which had begun to speak quietly among themselves, noticed. It fell silent once again. Once again, people flowed out of the way. This time it wasn't the man with basin and embroidered cloths who came to us, but an entirely different man, a wiry man on foot leading two dust-colored molahs hitched to a kind of bench-chair on wheels.
'What in hoolies is that contraption?'
'Transportation,' Nihko answered.
'And here I thought you could fly.'
'But you can't. Good manners require me to travel as you travel.'
'Good manners? Or because I'm your prisoner?'
'Ah, but you are my prisoner only because you have not learned the ways to avoid such things.' He gestured again. The man with the molah-cart came up to us, stopped his animals, then set about collecting a rolled mat from the underside of the cart, which he unrolled and spread upon the ground. 'As my companion, you may go first.' Nihko paused. 'And do not soil your feet.'
It was clear to me that after the ritual washing, followed by the laying out of the mat, it was vital I do as Nihko said. Despite the seeming meekness of the crowd, for all I knew any transgression would earn me a quick journey over the edge of the cliff, whereupon I would descend in a faster and more painful way than on molah-back, which was bad enough. So I got off the stumpy little beastie, making certain I ended up in the center of the woven mat, and moved toward the cart. Which, from up close, looked more like a bench-chair than ever. It was woven of twisted vine limbs, bound with thin, braided rope. The bench was padded with embroidered cushions, while the back was made of knotted limbs that once must have been green and flexible, but now were dried and tough.
The ground beneath me swayed. I reached out and caught hold of the bench, gripping tightly. I didn't feel sick, but my balance was definitely off. And yet no one around me seemed to notice that the ground beneath them was moving.
Nihko swung off his molah onto the mat with the ease of familiarity. He strode past me and stepped into the cart without hesitation, beckoning me to join him.
I clung a moment longer, still unsettled by poor balance. I saw Nihko's ring-weighted brows rise, and then he smiled. 'The sea has stolen your legs,' he said briefly, 'but she will give them back.'
Ah. Neither magic nor sickness. With an inward shrug I climbed into the cart. Good thing the molahs could carry four times their weight; Nihko and I together likely weighed close to five hundred pounds.
'Akritara,' he said only, and I heard the murmuring of the crowd.
The molah-man rolled up his mat, slid it into a narrow shelf beneath the bench, and went to his animals. With a jerk and a sway the molahs began to move, and I wrapped fingers around twisted limbs. Two wheels did not make for stability; the balance was maintained by the rope-and-wood single-tree suspended between molah harness and the bench itself.
'So,' I began as we jounced along, 'just why is it we're not supposed to walk anywhere?'
