Tanequil

Twenty–eight

Grianne Ohmsford lay with her face pressed against the stone floor of her cell, her eyes closed. She was trying to escape, even though there was nowhere to run. Torchlight from the hallway beyond intruded on the darkness in which she wished to hide. Low voices and the soft shuffling of boots nudged her out of her hiding places. Water dripped and the earth rumbled deep within its core, reminders of where she was. Like hungry predators from the black holes into which she had tried to banish them, memories emerged and made her skin crawl.

But it was the mewling cries of the Furies, triggers to a mix of horror and madness from which there was no escape, that chased her down and found her out no matter how far inside herself she retreated. She cringed from them, drawing up into a ball, becoming as small and still as possible, willing herself to disappear. But nothing helped. She had used her magic to become one of them, and she could not change back again. She mewled with them. She hissed and snarled with them. She spit with poisonous intent. She flexed her claws and drew back her muzzle. She rose to greet them, responding to their summoning, a response she loathed but could not prevent.

She squeezed her eyes so tightly shut they hurt. She would have cried had there been tears to do so. Her world was a room six feet by ten feet, but it might as well have been the size of a coffin.

They had returned her to her cell from the arena in the same way they had brought her, in a cage and in chains, Goblins and demon–wolves surrounding her, Hobstull directing them. Back through the crowds and the blasted countryside. Back through the gloom and mist. Time had stopped, and her sense of herself and her place had disappeared. She was a captured beast. She was a lifetime removed from her role as Ard Rhys, and the Druids and Paranor were a dim memory. All the way back, she fought to regain her identity, but the rolling and the jouncing seemed only to exacerbate her confusion. It was easier to disappear into the role she had adopted than to try to follow the threads that might lead her out. It was simpler to embrace the primal creature she had awakened than to cast it aside.

They stripped and bathed her on her return, and she did not try to stop them. She stood naked and exposed and uncaring, gone so deep inside herself that she felt nothing of what they did to her. Cat sounds issued from her lips and her fingers flexed, but she did not see the way her captors drew back. She did not see them at all. She did not know they were there.

I am lost,she thought at one point.I am destroyed, and I have done it to myself.

Time passed, but little seemed to change. Guards came and went, the light dimmed and brightened as torches sputtered and were replaced, food was delivered and taken away uneaten, and the demons that haunted her kept edging closer. She wanted to break their spell, to banish them along with the hissing and mewling of her Fury memories, but she could not gather together the will to do so.

One time only did she sleep. She did not know for how long, only that she did, and that when her dreams took the shape of her memories, she woke screaming.

The Straken Lord did not reappear. Hobstull stayed away. She did not know what they intended, but the longer she was left alone, the more certain she became that they had lost interest in her entirely. There was no use for such as her, for a woman who was willing to take the form of a monster, to assume the persona of a raver.

There was no place, even in the world of demons, for something that lacked any moral center or recognizable purpose. She saw herself as they did, a damaged and conflicted creature, a chameleon that could not distinguish between reality and fantasy, able to be either or both, but unable to tell the difference.

She felt herself sliding over the edge of sanity. It was happening gradually, just a few inches at a time, but there was no mistaking it. Each day, she felt her Ard Rhys self fall just a little farther away and her Fury self close about her just a little bit tighter. It grew easier to embrace the latter and reject the former. It grew more attractive to see herself as inhuman. If she was no better than one of the Furies, her life became less complicated. The madness seemed to ease and the conflict to diminish. As a Fury, she did not have to worry about where she was or how she had gotten there. She did not need to concern herself with the increasingly fuzzy distinctions between different worlds and lives. As a Fury, the world flattened and smoothed, and there was only killing and food and the lure of life with her cat kind.

She began seeing herself as an imprisoned animal. She began making cat sounds all the time, finding comfort in the soft mewling. She flexed her fingers and arched her back. She bit her cheek and tasted her own blood.

But she did not rise or eat. She did not move from where she lay. She refused to come out of the dark refuge of her delusions. She stayed safe and protected in her mind.

Then, as if from a dream, she heard someone calling to her. At first she thought she must have imagined it. No one would call to her, not here or anywhere else. No one would want to have anything to do with someone as terrible as she was.

But she heard the voice again, hushed and insistent. She heard it speak her name. Surprised, she stirred from her self–induced lethargy to listen for it, and heard it again.

«Grianne of the trees! Can you hear me? Why do you make those cat noises? Do you dream? Wake up!»

Her mind sharpened and her concentration coalesced, until the words became distinct and the voice recognizable. She knew the one who called to her, remembered him from another time and place.

She felt the pull of that familiarity, as if she were coming back from a long journey to someone she had left behind.

«Wake up, Straken! Stop squirming! What is wrong with you? Don't you hear me?»

Her breathing quickened, and a bit of the sluggishness fell away. She knew that voice. She knew it well. Something about it gave her fresh energy and a sense of renewed possibility. She tried to speak, choked on words that wouldn't come, and made unintelligible sounds instead.

«What are you doing, little cat thing? Have I wasted my time coming here? Are you not able to speak? Look at me!»

She did so, opening her eyes for the first time in days, breaking the crust of tears that had dried and sealed her lids, squinting against the unfamiliar brightness, reaching up to rub away the sleep and confusion. She stirred slowly, raised herself on one elbow, and looked toward the light that spilled from the hallway into her cell.

A Goblin sentry stood pressed against the cell bars, peering in at her. The torchlight cast his shadow across her like a shroud. She stared in confusion, feeling the lethargy and hopelessness return almost at once. This was no one. She was deceived. Her head lowered once more, and her eyes began to close.

«No! What are you doing? Straken! It's me!»

She looked up in time to see the Goblin pushing back the hood of his cloak to reveal his face. She peered at it out of a fog of exhaustion and uncertainty, watched it take shape, and struggled to make sense of what she was seeing.

«Weka Dart," she whispered.

She stared at him, not quite believing he was actually there. She had all but forgotten about the little Ulk Bog. Once he had abandoned her and she had fallen into the hands of the Straken Lord, she had not expected ever to see him again. That he was standing there was almost incomprehensible.

«You should have listened to me!» he hissed. «Didn't I tell you? Didn't I warn you not to go on without me?»

His sharp features were scrunched into a knot, giving him the look of a demented beast. His hair was standing straight out from his head and neck, bristling and stiff. His sharp teeth flashed from behind his lips as he tried to smile and failed, and his fingers knotted on the bars.

Her mind cleared a bit further, and she pushed back against the urge to mewl and spit. «How did you find me?»

He stared at her as if she were mad. «You still don't know anything, do you? What kind of Straken are you?»

She shook her head. 'The worst kind.»

«You certainly look it.» Weka Dart laughed. «I found you by paying attention to the world around me, something you seem to have failed to master. But this isn't your world, is it? This isn't even remotely like it. So maybe you aren't to blame for anything more than bad judgment.»

He was telling her something, but she couldn't make sense of it. «Was it good judgment that brought you here, then?»

The Ulk Bog spit. «I am not sure what it was. I heard in my travels what had happened to you, and I admit that I thought it best to leave you to your fate. But then chance and inspiration intervened, so here I am.»

«Chance and inspiration?»

«I was crossing the Pashanon on my way to Huka Flats, the route I had chosen for myself and advised you to take as well. As I traveled, word reached me of your capture. Such things do not go unreported in this land, and I keep my eyes and ears open. It was easy enough to determine what had happened to you. The difficulty was in deciding what I should do about it.»

He puffed out his chest. «I will admit that at first I thought it best simply to go on. You had dismissed me, after all. What did it matter what became of you? You were rude to me. You insulted me. In the end, you ignored my good advice and brought disaster on yourself. I owed you nothing. No one could fault me if I chose to leave you to your fate.

«But then, I reconsidered. After all, it wasn't your fault that you were a stranger to this country, one lacking in good judgment and common sense. You were to be pitied. I felt an obligation toward you. I thought it over and made up my mind. I would come find you. I would see how you were. If you were nice to me, I would decide whether you deserved a second chance.»

Even in her confused and debilitated state, of being not all of one thing or the other, she recognized that his words were lies. She could hear it in the way he spoke; she could see it in the rapid shifting of his eyes and body. As always, he was after something, but she had no idea what it was.

«How did you get down here?» she asked.

He gave a casual shrug. «I have my ways.»

«Ways that allow you to get past the demonwolves and the Goblins that serve the Straken Lord?»

He sniffed. «I am not without skills.»

She pulled herself into a sitting position and became aware for the first time in days how stiff and sore she was. She looked down at herself, first at the bruises and cuts on her arms and legs, then at the white shift she wore. She was much better dressed than when she had been taken to the arena. She glanced around. Her cell was cleaner, too.

Her focus narrowed sharply. Was she mistaken about the intentions of the Straken Lord? What was going on?

She looked at Weka Dart. «If you don't stop lying to me and tell me the truth," she said softly, «I might have to use my Straken magic on you, Ulk Bog.»

He grinned, showing all his sharp teeth. «That might be a little difficult, since you wear a conjure collar.»

He seemed to realize his mistake almost immediately, a change coming into his eyes and the self–satisfied look fading as his lips compressed in silent reprimand. «Conjure collars are not unknown to me," he said quickly. «I've seen them before.»

In truth, she had forgotten about the collar until he reminded her of it, but he didn't know that and she wasn't about to tell him so. She held herself very still and continued to stare at him.

«I don't know who you are or what you want, Weka Dart," she said finally, «but you haven't told me one word of truth since we met.

This has all been a game for you, a game in which you seem to know all the rules while I know none. If you know what a conjure collar is, you know too much to be just a simple village creature traveling to a new part of the country. If you know how to bypass the Straken Lord's guards, you have skills and knowledge that suggest you are something more than you pretend. I have had enough of you. Either tell me the truth or leave me here to rot.»

She held up one finger as he started to speak. «Be careful. If you are about to tell me another lie, think twice. I don't have much left to call my own, but I do have my sense of what is true and what isn't. You don't want to try to take that from me.»

The Ulk Bog stared at her. Wary eyes studied her uncertainly; deep creases etched his wizened face.

He shook his head. «I don't know how much I should tell you," he said finally.

She sighed. «Why not tell me everything? What possible difference can it make now?»

«More than you think. Difference enough that I must consider carefully. You are right about me. You are right about my story. But you are in a stronger position than you believe. You have something I want. All I have to offer in exchange is the truth—and perhaps a way out of here. I can give you the one for the other. But 1 am afraid you will refuse me when you hear what I have to say. I am afraid you will hate me.»

He spoke with such sincerity that for the first time since she had met him she was inclined to believe what he said. She did not understand how all that could be, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that he had said he might be able to help her escape. At that point, she would do anything, — make any bargain, agree to any conditions to gain her freedom. Because if she remained where she was, she knew she was lost.

But she couldn't let him know that. She couldn't let him see her desperation. Giving Weka Dart that sort of power over her was too dangerous. He would take advantage of her as quickly as Tael Riverine had.

She took a deep breath. «Listen to me. You came here with the intention of trading or you wouldn't have come here at all. My word is good, Weka Dart. I keep my promises. So I will give you one now. If you tell me the truth about yourself, I will tell you if I can forgive you for your lies. Then you can decide if you still think it's worth it to try to trade what you want for my freedom.»

She hauled herself to her feet and with some effort stumbled over to where he stood. «What's it to be, little Ulk Bog? A bargain or a good–bye? I don't really care anymore.»

He stared at her some more, his yellow eyes nicking left and right, up and down, scanning the whole of her face, but never settling on any one part. She could see a glimmer of doubt and fear mirrored there. But she could also see hope.

He nodded. «Very well, Grianne of the many promises. I will tell you, even though I think all Strakens lie.» He spit again and shook his head. «I know who you are and where you come from. I always did. I know because I was Catcher for Tael Riverine before Hobstull was. I would be Catcher still if the Straken Lord hadn't decided I had lost my skills. He was wrong, but there is no arguing with a Straken. So he replaced me. But not before he humiliated me in ways I will never discuss, so don't ask it of me.»

He swallowed hard. «He took me in when I was driven from my tribe for eating my young. He cared nothing for any of that, only for what I could do for him. He recognized my skills and offered me a place at Kraal Reach as his Catcher. He knew that I would accept, that I had to because I could not survive alone and unprotected in the world of the Jarka Ruus. He gave me what I needed, but then he took everything back when he cast me out. So I vowed that I would take everything from him in turn.»

His voice grew fierce. «The plans to bring you here have been in place for some time. Tael Riverine would swap you for his changeling creature, the Moric. Easy enough for a Straken of his power. I decided to disrupt his plans by getting to you first, which I did. I intended to take you away from him, to steal you out from under his nose. I intended to embarrass Hobstull and reveal him to the Straken Lord as a failure! Then I would produce you and regain my rightful place!»

He was breathing hard, his eyes become narrow slits, his throat working rapidly as he sought to gauge her reaction. She gave him nothing, listening blank–faced and empty–eyed, her talent as the Use Witch resurfacing from where she had kept it buried for twenty years. Soeasy to call it up again, she thought. Soeasy to go back to being what I was.

«My plan failed when you refused to come with me," Weka Dart continued. «Failed completely. I tried everything. But you were so insistent on going your own way! And I couldn't change your mind without giving myself away!» He shook his head. «So I let you go. I said,If that is what she wants, then give it to her! See bow well she does without you! Walk away from the Straken and nothing is lost! I wasn't going to risk my life following after you when I knew what would happen. Hob–stull was looking, and it was only a matter of time until he found you. He didn't know exactly where you would appear, only that you would. But I knew! I knew, because I have always been better able to read the signs of such things! I have always been the better Catcher!»

He spit the words out and flung himself away from the cell bars, dropping to the floor in a crouch, refusing to look at her. She watched him for a moment, her mind working through the choices his revelations had given her.

«Weka Dart," she said.

He stayed where he was.

«Look at me.»

He refused, turned away, and hunched down.

«Look at me. Tell me what you see in my eyes.»

Finally, he turned just enough to glance over his shoulder and make momentary eye contact, then looked away again.

«I am not angry with you," she said. «You did what I would have done if our positions had been reversed. In fact, once upon a time, when I was a different person living a different life, 1 did things much worse to others than what you have done to me.»

He looked back at her once more.

«I don't hate you," she told him.

«You should.» His teeth clicked as his jaws snapped shut.

«My hate is reserved for others more deserving and less forthcoming about their efforts to see me dead and gone.» She gestured for him to come back. 'Tell me the rest of what you know.»

He stayed where he was a moment longer, then sighed, rose, and came back to stand in front of her. «You don't hate me? If you were free, you wouldn't try to kill me?»

She shook her head. «I don't hate you. Even if I had the chance to do so, I wouldn't try to kill you. Now tell me the rest. Do you know the Straken Lord's plans?»

The Ulk Bog nodded. «I was here at Kraal Reach when he was making them.» He looked closely at her. «You still don't know what he intends? You haven't seen the way he looks at you?»

She went cold all the way to her bones, the little man's words conjuring up an image that froze her blood. «Tell me.»

«He has been testing you to see if you are a suitable vessel to bear his children. He wishes to mate with you.»

For the first time, she was really afraid. The demon was anathema to her. She could think of no worse fate than to be the mother of its children, the mother of demonkind, a bearer of monsters. She had never considered the possibility. She had never recognized that the Straken Lord had any interest in her beyond keeping her imprisoned and alive until its creature, the Moric, could do whatever it had been sent to do in her own world.

«This was the reason for bringing me here?» she managed to ask, working hard to keep her voice steady.

Weka Dart shook his head, his gimlet eyes glittering. «No. The idea must have occurred to him after you were his prisoner. His plans are much grander than that.»

«How much grander?»

The Ulk Bog leaned close. «He has been searching for a way to send the Moric into your world for some time. But for that to happen, it was necessary to find someone in your world willing to help. He found those people, and he used them as his tool. Whoever they were had no idea what the Straken Lord intended, but were only interested in disposing of you. That was what your betrayer knew that using the magic would banish you to the world of the Jarka Ruus. That, and nothing more. Your betrayers knew nothing of the exchange, nothing of the way the magic really worked, nothing of the trade that was necessary to bring you here. The Straken Lord was careful to keep that secret hidden.»

Aswell it should have been, she thought. But she wasn't sure that knowing a trade was required would have stopped whoever was desperate enough to send her into the Forbidding.

«But why was I brought here if not to mate with Tael Riverine?» she pressed.

«You miss the point, Straken!» Weka Dart snapped. «Bringing you here was never what mattered! What mattered was sending the Moric into your world!»

She shook her head. «Why?»

«So that it could destroy the barrier that keeps us locked away! So that it could free the Jarka Ruus!»

Now she understood. The Moric had been sent to complete the task that the Dagda Mor had failed to accomplish more than five hundred years earlier—to break down the walls of the prison behind which the dark things of Faerie had been shut since before the dawn of Man.

Her mind raced. To do that, it would have to destroy the Ellcrys, the magic–born Elven tree that had been created to ward the Forbidding. How would it manage that, when the tree was always so closely guarded?

More important, how could she stop it from happening?

«Does the Moric have a way to destroy the barrier?» she asked Weka Dart.

He shook his head. «It was to find one once it crossed over into your world. It is very talented and very smart. It will have done so by now.»

She ignored the fear that rushed through her at the thought that the Ulk Bog might be right. «Do you have a way to get me out of here?» she asked quickly.

On the landing above them, at the top of the stairway, a door opened and closed with a thud. Footsteps sounded on the stone steps, coming down.

«On the floor!» he hissed at her, and darted away.

She threw herself back down, sprawling in the same position in which he had found her, her heart pounding, her muscles tensed.Don't move, she told herself. Don't do anything.

The steps approached her cell and came to a stop. A silence settled in like morning mist. Eyes closed, body still, she waited.