[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
unable to break away.
Our witch. Caressing sound in the man s voice. You re set. He won t bother
you. Maybe ask questions. Mmmh. Certainly questions. You re all right as long
as you re suspicious, Bramble, but soon as you relax, you talk too much. You
talked too much to me.
What harm would you do me?
Bed you, child.
I keep telling you .... She sighed impatiently. It wasn t a child s body
you loved. I don t know what I am any more, only that I m not Arth Slya s
Brann waiting for her eleventh birthday so she could make her Choice. Sammo, I
was going to be a potter like my father. He made a teapot and drinking bowls
for an old man s birth-day. Uncle Eornis. My birthday was his too, he was
going to make a hundred this year ... the oldest among us ...
Her voice broke. After a moment she cleared her throat and went on. That he
was killed two weeks before his hundred ... funny, that seems worse .... She
seemed to be speaking to herself. Taguiloa was caught up in them, his
imagination responding to the emotion in the soft voice, emotion that was all
the more powerful because of the quiet restraint that kept the words so slow
and easy. I saw a Temueng take my baby sister by the heels and dash her
brains out against the Oak, I saw them fire my home and walk away with my
mother, my uncles, aunts and cousins, I didn t cry, Sammo, all that time I
didn t cry. And now I weep for an old man at the end of his life. Look at me,
isn t it funny?
Brann ....
Don t worry about me, Sammo, I m not falling apart. Like aunt Frin always
said, complaining is good for the soul. A purgation of sorts.
Silence. The man began walking about, stopping and walking, stopping and
walking, no regular rhythm to his pacing. Pulled two ways, Taguiloa thought,
wants to stay, wants to go.
Three months, the Panday said, his voice stone hard with determination.
Enough time for you to learn how to go on and work out a way into Audurya
Durat, then make your way there. In three months I ll be tied up at the
wharves of Durat waiting for you.
No!
You can t stop me.
Page 82
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The Girl. What if something happens to her?
Thought about that. Plenty of inlets near the mouth of the Palachunt. Jimm
can wait there with the Girl; your gold will buy a ship I don t have to care
about, all it needs is a bottom sound enough to get us back down the river.
And the children flying guard. He chuckled. Now argue with that,
Bramble-all-thorns.
Dear friend, what about the crew? Who re you going to take with you into that
rattrap? Tik-rat? Staro the stub?
Better to ask who I can persuade to stay behind and if I m going to have to
part Jimm s hair with his war club to make him wait with the Girl. He cleared
his throat. You re part of the crew now, Bramble. You re our witch.
Soft gasping, snuffling sounds. The witch weeping. Taguiloa scowled into the
darkness, his pulses shouting danger at him, danger to stay so close to a
woman who could spin such webs. He started to creep out of the shadows, froze
as he heard the door slam, feet running down the steps. Then the Shipmaster
slowed to a deliber-ate walk. The gate creaked open, bumped shut. Taguiloa
stood, still in half-shadow, and worked the cramps out of his body. Behind him
he heard the soft murmur of voices the children and the woman. He closed his
ears to them, started cautiously for the gate, staying in the shadow of the
plantings, moving with the silent hunting glide that had served him so well
other times.
A faint giggle by his side. He looked down. The blond boy, trotting beside
him. Taga ignored him and went ghosting on until he reached the wall.
The boy caught hold of his arm. Wait, he breathed. A slight tug, then a
large horned owl was powering up from him. It sailed over the wall, circled
twice and came slanting back. Feathers soft as milkweed fluff brushed at his
arm, then the boy was standing beside him. No one out there, not even a
servant.
Why?
It s late. Only a couple hours till dawn.
You know what I mean.
The boy grinned at him, danced back a few steps, turned and ran into the
darkness. Taguiloa stared after him then turned to the gate. With a silent
prayer to Tungjii, he lifted the latch and walked through.
THE KULA PRIEST came from the house and paced round and round the pyre with
its festoons of silk flowers and painted paper chains and the paper wealth
soaked in sweet oils to make a perfumed and painted fire. He waved his incense
sticks and the sickly sweet perfume drifted on the breeze to Taguiloa. If
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]