19. Long Wait Over
19
LONG WAIT OVER
Gesthel turned out to be a town set amid rolling grassland starred with occasional streams and dark copses—or more properly a village, Ari decided, since it wasn’t even big enough for a stop sign, let alone a light. Given that this world looked pre-electricity as well as pre-industrial it was a moot point, but her brain simply wouldn’t stop zigzagging around, staggering drunkenly from one terrible, outlandish implication to the next.
She couldn’t even recite the list of most important foreign words to brood over. They jumbled together inside her head, hopelessly tangled, and each time the wind shushed over rippling grass she had to suppress a shudder. The sun swelled still further as it approached horizon, sinking rapidly through thin indigo cloud-veils into a fury of orange, crimson, and ruddy gold.
She couldn’t even be glad of figuring out the word for west —more properly, place where the sun dies —in their rolling tongue.
Thatched roofs over white-plastered walls decked with black trim, the houses huddled around the road. Smaller paved arteries now branched off on either side, as if her recognizing the lack of intersections had summoned them into existence. The houses had window-boxes holding riots of cascading green vines and orange blossom. Windows were all shuttered fast, heavy dark wooden doors tightly sealed. Faint noises wandered between buildings as if the place remembered being inhabited, but not a soul was in sight save small wildlife. Fenced garden plots were overgrown and deserted; small brown and white birds twittered under thatched eaves, hopping along flagstone paths. Something that looked like a bluejay swooped from one roof, wheeling past the group and streaking between two houses. Ari also glimpsed a pair of wide golden eyes and a flash of grey fur, probably another not-possum.
The animal life was reassuringly near-normal—maybe all the creatures shaped like the Breach bridge-thing were extinct? Still, the rest of the surroundings were so creepy she preferred the forest. Except that was crawling with armored robots. Maybe the castle would be better?
No good, the guys said there were shattered robot corpses inside now. Nowhere to rest, not even a closet with someone yelling outside.
The group stopped, all the guys rapidly dismounting before one of the last houses on the left—a structure larger than the others, its garden not overgrown but trim and well-weeded behind a low white-painted wooden fence. An arch covered with blue flowers on thick, ropy vines held a white gate. A thin thread of smoke rose from the cottage’s chimney, and Ari was now faced with the problem of how to get down from the horselike thing with her legs numb and the rest of her not too happy either.
The chained man lifted his arms, clearly expecting her to know what the hell. She decided it would be least awkward to attempt mounting in reverse, since falling on her ass was more embarrassing but less painful than on her silly head.
Getting her knee up enough to hitch one leg awkwardly over the beast’s massive rump was a problem, and letting go of the saddle to trust-fall on the way down was even worse. But her waist was caught and she was lowered, slowly and carefully, until her boots touched the road.
Her knees buckled, but he didn’t let go. Ari found herself facing the warm living bulk of the equine with its faint scent of fur and fresh air, the chained man behind her, equally warm despite his metal sheathing. His chin dropped, breath touching her hair, and under the smell of sun-warmed iron was a tinge of spice and musk mixed with the odor of a big, clean male animal.
Oh, no . Panicked retreat wasn’t possible. The thought of what Mike would do if he found out she’d been this close to another man swam through her, retreated on a wave of hot acid-blue fear.
“A day’s easy jaunt,” he said softly. “Though perhaps not for one who is unused to such things. Tell me, do mortals still ride?”
“It’s my first time.” Trying to explain cars to this guy probably wouldn’t get them anywhere, though the distinct implication that others from Ari’s particular world had stumbled into this one was enough to check off a mental box next to that item on her question-list. Would her hair start turning a vivid Kool-Aid shade if she survived long enough?
Ari took a deep breath, willing her lower half to shape up and do its job. As soon as she tensed he retreated a bit and she could turn, unsteady on wobbly knees.
But he was still far too close, looming over her. She froze, staring at the chains crisscrossing his broad, armored chest.
“Ah.” Did he sound faintly amused again? How did someone so big, scary, and metal-clad manage that trick? “Shall I carry you, my lady? It would be an honour.”
Oh, hell . Now he was mocking her. Ari shook her head, and to prove it she sidled toward the horse-beast’s front end. That made her back brush against the animal’s shoulder, but it didn’t seem to mind.
The chained man stepped away, almost reluctantly. His gaze locked with hers, though, and the stupid flush was back, rising in her cheeks.
Maybe it was a side effect of the pondwater. She could do with another shot right about now, but that was probably out of the question.
A new voice broke the village’s murmuring quiet. “And what is this? Visitors, at such an hour.”
A tall, dark-haired man appeared in the largest cottage’s now-open door, a pale streak glowing at his right temple. He wore a version of the other guys’ Robin Hood getup, but in grey cloth and likewise indeterminate leather, no hat, and his boots taller than theirs though clearly just as functional. Shadows moved behind him, along with warm yellow lamplight rendered pale by rubescent sunset; his grey gaze was cool and direct, his thin mouth set as if he didn’t like what he saw.
The chained man half-turned, glancing absently at the house, and Ari peered under the equine’s head, suddenly finding her balance. The sensation was very much like being plonked on dry land after a long ferry ride, and she edged from behind the big black creature, thinking a little distance from both something with those sharp teeth and the chained man’s razor edges might be a good idea.
“My lord Fox,” Jazarl called. “We come bearing good news, for once.”
The pale-eyed man might have replied, but the motion behind him turned into the first woman Ari had seen in this place.
She was slim and short, only reaching the grey-clad man’s shoulder, and pushed past him with no visible fear. At first Ari thought she was elderly, since her hair was a wildly curling ashen mass, small braids on either side of her heart-shaped face to hold it back, the rest falling past her hips. Her dress was ash-colored as well, low-waisted in a V, double sleeves with the underlayer close to her wrist and the outer falling free, a hint of décolletage showing at the square neckline. Her eyes were wide and dark, the lids swollen and reddened as if she’d just finished crying, and her pretty, aristocratic nose was pink.
This had to be the Grey Lady, Ari decided, and watched curiously as the woman hopped down two wide, whitewashed stone steps. The man followed closely, every line expressing protectiveness; his palm rested easily on a plain, functional rapier hilt at his low-slung leather belt.
The woman’s hands raised to her mouth, her shoulders hunching. Her gaze was locked on Ari as she nearly staggered down the flagstone path, past well-trimmed mounds of greenery and red trumpet-shaped flowers. Other plants bloomed riotously on either side—blue, purple, white, and pale green like some species of hellebore—and one high-arched, succulent bush held spiny fruit looking amazingly like cactus.
Jazarl and the others moved aside, Sarle chirruping gently to his equine.
“Careful, Hannixe.” The grey-clad man tried to get in front of the woman, but she was too quick and the gate under the arch squeaked slightly as she blundered through. Her skirts made a sweet silken sound, and heavily embroidered slippers—black thread on grey material—peeked from under the hem as she reeled.
Is she okay? Ari glanced nervously over her shoulder. The chained man did not move, his gauntleted hands held carefully at his sides.
The woman’s pace quickened. She made a beeline for Ari, and there was nowhere to go except ducking behind the equine again. But the Grey Lady didn’t look angry, just distressed, so Ari’s hands moved on their own, lifting and spreading, an instinctive move to offer comfort.
“My lord prince.” The man in grey made a perfunctory bow in the chained man’s general direction, but his gaze never left the woman who let out an inarticulate sobbing noise and flung her arms around Ari, hugging tightly.
She was taller than Ari—everyone was, in this place—and her chin touched Ari’s cheek; she smelled of a light floral perfume and sweet health, a lingering touch of green sap. Her breath sobbed in, out, and she held on like she was drowning. Ari hugged back, confused and wondering if the other woman needed some kind of rescue. Eight armed men, the odds were bad, but maybe?—
“Oh, m-my queen,” the Grey Lady stammered in a husky, broken voice, each word cracked and halting. “Oh, b-by silver, it is you, you have f-finally…” A huge, shuddering inhale, and her grip tightened again. “Finally. You have r-returned. Oh, blessed day, blessed d-day.”
The grey-clad man’s jaw dropped; he recovered quickly, and his next bow was not cursory at all but deep, respectful, and aimed at Ari. “Blessed indeed,” he echoed. “The long wait is over.”
The thatched house’s interior was pure medieval cottagecore except for large metallic globes held in branching wooden stands or jutting from the walls, providing steady golden light. Ari half expected to see antique switches and outlets, but none were apparent; a prosaic wood-fueled blaze crackled merrily in the big stone fireplace. Three chunky wooden chairs with heavy overstuffed cushions sat nearby, accompanied by mismatched ottomans; long benches crouched on either side of the front door, the left with a row of pegs over it and the right under a heavily shuttered window with a thick wooden bar. An honest-to-gosh spinning wheel stood in one corner; a butcherblock table laden with bunches of herbs, a black iron cauldron, alembics and other paraphernalia lingered along the back wall, and every window, not just the front, was shuttered as well as barred.
Except for that little detail, it could have been a Pre-Raphaelite stage set. Especially with the inhabitant’s graceful skirts and sweet heart-shaped face. Rosetti would have loved her, though she didn’t have Siddons’s lush mouth.
“’Tis homelike, at l-least.” The Grey Lady coughed delicately, the back of one hand held to her lips; her cheeks glistened with fresh tears. “Oh, pay no m-mind to my weeping; joy is difficult after s-so much sorrow. Let me…” She threw her arms around Ari again, squeezing hard, and it wasn’t so bad to have the shakes if someone else was trembling too.
“It’s all right,” Ari repeated, faintly. Why couldn’t she have met this woman first? The relief of another female creature was almost as overwhelming as the fear. “I, uh… I don’t know…”
“You must be so c-confused.” She cleared her throat, and only let go of Ari to hold her at arm’s length, stepping back and examining her from head to toe with swift thoroughness. “Recently mortal, our lord prince said? And arrived but a few nights ago. Come, this way.”
The guys evidently had no problem having this lady deal with the problem Ari represented. A hot shameful burst of gratitude almost made her stupid knees buckle again.
A staircase reared behind a thick fall of heavy dark-blue cloth. The Grey Lady beckoned her along, and Ari found herself obeying with the dazed feeling of a good dream instead of nightmare. “I woke up in a pond.” It didn’t sound completely outlandish, which was great; still, if this woman didn’t believe her, what would she do? “And I don’t know anything. Mortal, Underdark, faithless accursed—they keep saying these things, and I don’t… I don’t…”
“Men.” The other woman held her skirts with one hand as she climbed, an easy natural movement. Her voice was far less hoarse now, an instrument regaining flexibility after much-needed tuning up. “Once they s-stable the equines they will r-return, and Keners will bar the door. He is quite—but forgive me, I was never so ch-chattersome before. Come, come. You are d-dressed most oddly; we shall remedy that.”
Oh, great . Ari had to keep a hand on the plastered wall since there was no banister, and she climbed slowly, getting both boots on a step before attempting the next one. “You’re very kind,” she began, diplomatically. “But I was thinking, maybe I should just?—”
“And your accent is so charming! S-so quaint.” The Grey Lady reached the head of the stairs and turned, almost hopping on slippered feet as she made balletic hurrying movements with her pretty hands. She coughed again, dryly, and Ari thought maybe she needed some magic pondwater. “We will have long ch-chats, just as w-we used to.”
Used to? “I’m very sorry.” Ari halted on the next stair, bracing herself against the wall. “But I’m not what you think.”
For Chrissake, just play along, the voice of self-preservation howled inside her head. But she couldn’t lie to this very nice woman, and if she was going to make any sort of move on her own instead of being dragged along in a fucked-up fairytale the time was probably now.
Like what? Come on, Ari. Just like her hazy fantasies of escaping the mansion on Hardison Hill, any attempt to improv against the script these people operated from was doomed to failure.
The scenery was different, but she was still trapped.
“You don’t r-remember.” The Grey Lady became somber, her big dark eyes glistening. The red rims of her eyelids looked as if she’d sobbed so hard something was permanently damaged, and a sharp thin pang speared Ari’s chest. “That is n-natural. But you are our lady Moon. He would not b-be here otherwise.” Funny, how the stress on a pronoun could make the subject so clear.
“All I did was get his sword,” Ari mumbled, and immediately wanted to kick herself. She’d been so careful not to breathe a word of finding the chained man in the Keep—although it seemed faintly ridiculous now, since he could very much tell the guys himself.
Had he? The thought made her feel vaguely unsteady. Not so much as the horrible bone-bridge over the canyon, though. Her knees, not to mention her stomach, were still unhappy about that—and what else was lurking on this terrible planet?
She should be counting her blessings, really. What if the landslide had knocked her somewhere there wasn’t breathable air instead of this terrifying, beautiful place?
“And do you think any but the Moon herself could have freed that blade?” The Grey Lady shook her head. “Come, m-my queen. A few more steps, a bath, and then we shall have you in some more c-comfortable cloth. We are friends of old, and you will remember soon enough.”
Will I? When was the last time she’d had a female friend? She and Mom had moved so often, then graduation and Mike had separated her from college roommates. Women weren’t automatically trustworthy, of course—look at Wanda, for example. But still…
Ari hesitated, and the Grey Lady stepped down once, twice. She reached for Ari’s free hand, cradling it in both of hers, and had to hunch slightly to do so, slim shoulders curving inward.
“I am Hannixe,” she said, in that husky, broken little voice, gazing into Ari’s eyes. “I have n-not spoken since you left. Do you think I would now, if I did not r-recognize what you are?”
Ari’s mouth crumpled. Oh, crap. Don’t cry, don’t you dare cry .
But it was no use. The tears came anyway, and she let the other woman draw her up the final few steps.