“You’ve done well. You deserve a reward. You want her for the night?”
He gulped. He realized he had been staring at the girl. She was certainly pretty. He was very tired, but a man had to look out for his reputation.
“I would enjoy that, Aunt.”
She beckoned the girl over to her, pulled her head down close, and stared very hard into her eyes. She mumbled something.
“I don’t think she understands Vigaelian,” Chies said uneasily.
Saltaja released the girl. “Doesn’t matter. I spoke to the Mother, not her. Take her. She’ll do whatever you want.”
The girl was staring at Chies. He nodded. She blushed furiously and beckoned for him to follow.
The room was tiny and the sleeping platform was a narrow frame full of sand. He closed the door, wishing it had a bolt, which it did not. Ignoring the girl, he examined the window, but it was fitted with stout bars of bamboo, which he could not budge. The night was cloudy, anyway, and the farmer had dogs out there. So no escape tonight.
The girl slid her arms around him. She was not merely willing, she was eager. She had no clothes on. But…
But Saltaja was going to get caught sooner or later, probably sooner.
He could not help doing what she told him when she was there, fixing him with the evil eye. She had made a flankleader murder his own men, so a boy like Chies could not be expected to refuse her orders when she was there. But if he refused this girl, that would show he wasn’t really cooperating with the Chosen the rest of the time, wouldn’t it? If it came to a trial, that would save him, wouldn’t it?
The girl had a hand at his crotch already, so he had better decide this quickly.
She whispered “Love me!” in his ear and tried to kiss him.
Fortunately, she had very bad breath, which made the decision easier.
He said, “No!” He squirmed loose. “Don’t touch me. You sleep on the floor. Lie down!”
She obeyed. He couldn’t see her face in the dark. He heard her snivel. “But I want…”
“Be quiet! Don’t speak. And don’t come near me.”
He stretched out on the sand, wriggled a hollow for his hip, and turned his back on her. It wasn’t as hard as he expected. In fact, the thought of what they did to rapists was quite enough to dissuade him. Big softie! he thought. Little softie, in fact. He went to sleep.
He had worried that his aunt might not leave any witnesses behind when they departed in the morning. She didn’t, but not the way he had feared. She hexed the farmer and his family to forget that they had entertained visitors-also to forget that they had owned a chariot and two guanacos. The car was very cramped with three on board, but they soon met a man driving another one. They left him sitting by the wayside in a daze. Sesto handled the second team.
Three days, two nights, and two more women later, they saw the spire of a temple that Sesto claimed marked Montegola. Sesto was almost imbecilic-drooling constantly and barely able to drive a team. When Saltaja said to stop, Chies had to yell at the top of his lungs to make him understand. He would chew food only when ordered to and forget to swallow.
“Why are we stopping here, Aunt?” Chies could see nothing of interest in the farmland, just the distant temple, stubbled fields, a few hedges, and a forlorn clump of trees. They looked somehow ominous, drooping and stark against the sunset. It was to those that she pointed.
“Why don’t they plow there?”
“I… have no idea, Aunt.”
“It’s probably accursed ground. If it isn’t, it will have to do. You ready?”
Finding his throat suddenly dry, Chies just nodded. He had trouble finding enough spit to order Sesto to follow, suspecting that the dolt would just stand there in his chariot on the track until he died of thirst. They drove slowly across the stubbled field to the copse. Chies lifted Saltaja down again, told Sesto to follow. The weeds were long and unkempt between the rain-wet trunks. He kept stumbling on the uneven ground, and Sesto fell several times.
“Old battlefield, I think,” Saltaja said. “Smells of evil.” But when they reached the center, she peered around and frowned at a group of four or five cottages in the distance. “It’s not as private as I had hoped. We had best be quick. You are ready?”
He was shaking like a palm frond in a sea storm. He said, “Of course,” but it came out as a croak. He didn’t have any choice, did he? She would never trust him otherwise, never release him. No, she’d mush his mind and turn him into a pudding like Sesto.
She leered, knowing what he was thinking. “It has to be of your own free will.”
“Oh yes. I really want to do this, Aunt.” Didn’t he? Power? Girls?
“Well, I told you what to do. You brought the knife?”
He nodded and started taking his clothes off. He told Sesto to do the same and kneel down. He thought for a horrible moment that something like fear showed in the man’s eyes, but he obeyed Chies without argument. Soon everybody would!
Chies stepped behind him, and whispered the words of the oath she had taught him, all the terrible promises by blood and birth, death and the cold earth. He pricked his own arm, shed a few drops of his own blood on the cold earth and a few more on the sacrifice to mark it as coming from him. Then he took Sesto by the hair and put the knife to his throat.
Sesto moaned and reached up to stop him.
“Let go!” Chies said in sudden panic. The strong fingers opened for him. “Now keep still!”
The knife was not as sharp as he would have liked. He had to saw with it. When he reached the artery, he was amazed at how far the blood spurted. He closed his eyes and was taken by surprise when Sesto collapsed at his feet. So it was done, and Chies felt no different, just very shaky and a little ill.
He turned to look at his aunt.
She cackled. “Well done, my little man. You made a wise choice.”
He did not ask what his alternatives had been. He forced himself to go to her and give her a kiss. “Thank you.” He wondered if he could kill her too, now. The Old One- Xaran! He could say the name now-Xaran might like two sacrifices. Chies could go home and claim that he had escaped from her, and who would be the wiser?
On the other hand, he had a lot to learn and Saltaja could teach him.
“Time to go, Aunt,” he said, throwing down the knife and wiping his bloody hands on the grass.
He unharnessed the two unneeded guanacos and released them to gladden the heart of some fortunate peasant. He lifted his fellow Chosen back into the chariot and drove off with her in search of Flankleader Eligio and his llamoid ranch.
ORLAD CELEBRE
and Waels Borkson ate again as the sun was setting, although their host told them to eat sparingly. Then he led them out to the pasture.
“North.” He pointed, although few stars were visible yet and much of the sky was shrouded in clouds. “That’s Hrada’s spire in Montegola, very nearly due north, see? We’re going this way.”
“Got it,” Waels said. “A tenth west.”
They plodded off over the rain-slick fields and came to a wide river, flowing surprisingly fast for such flat country.
“This is the Puisa.” Eligio pointed upstream. “See that bridge? That’s your landmark. It’s the fourth bridge up from the city.”
Counting up to four in battleform would be tricky, Orlad thought.
“Then we come back to you?”
“Two-fifths east. Follow the guanaco smell.”
“We can backtrack,” Waels said. “Nothing in the world smells like Orlad’s feet.” He added a faint Oof! sound
