Bloodstone Part 32

"Perhaps I could confer with the Pajhit and the Motixa. Determine if they would permit an exception to the law."

"Thank you, yes."

"And in return, you might teach me the trick of vision."

"Yes. There is much we can learn together. But how can we meet? Without the Pajhit knowing?"

"We can find a way."

Keirith's confidence soared. Of course, they could find a way. The Pajhit was busy. Guards could be bought. It all seemed so easy now. He wondered why he had never realized it before. He laughed, enjoying the unexpected euphoria of feeling in control again. How could he have ever doubted his gift of vision? He would seek Natha. He would find his father-perhaps see his entire family.

He jumped to his feet, eager to return to his room and try. A wave of dizziness overwhelmed him; he must have gotten up too quickly. Or perhaps he was simply light-headed with relief. He found himself clinging to Xevhan, laughing at his giddiness.

Xevhan smiled, too, but his eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you should lie down."

"Nay, I'm fine." He realized he'd spoken the tribal tongue and giggled. "I am sorry. I mean to say that I am well. Wonderful, really. I'm liking caja better and better all the time." He'd slipped into the tribal tongue again. Babbling like an idiot. What was wrong with him?

Nothing. For the first time since arriving in Pilozhat he felt strong and whole. He could fight ten men and emerge unscathed. He could scale Kelazhat without pausing for breath. He could raise his arms and fly like an eagle. He was just having a little trouble staying on his feet.

He reeled and clung to Xevhan. Good old Xevhan. Always there when you needed him. A girl for your pleasure? A friendly cup of caja? Xevhan could provide both.

So helpful, too. Steadying him when he tripped on the rug that rose up like a red and gold wave. Walking him down a hallway that seemed a mile long. Sitting him down on the sleeping shelf. The blankets were soft against his cheek. Lamb's wool. Had to be. Nothing rough that might scratch the Zheron's smooth skin. Only the softest wool from the softest little lambs.

Keirith baaed.

"Be still," someone hissed.

But Natha wasn't there. Perhaps Xevhan was his spirit guide now. But why did he need him? Oh, aye. The vision. He wanted to seek a vision. But he was suddenly tired. The giddy rush of euphoria was fading, leaving a comfortable glow that warmed him like a fire on a winter night.

He reached for his bag of charms. The scrying stone would help him concentrate. If only he could loosen the drawstrings.

"What? What do you want?"

"The bloodstone," he mumbled. "To help me See."

Xevhan slapped his hands aside and fumbled inside the bag.

His body felt as if it had turned to water, his flesh liquid, his bones limp as lakeweed. Yet his senses felt more alive than ever. How else could he hear the slow and steady drumming of his heart? Or feel every thread in the weave of the blanket? Or see every red speckle on the face of the dark disk that suddenly loomed before him.

"Look at the stone," someone whispered.

It seemed as large as the sun. It filled his vision, wobbling a little as it hung there. The wobbling made him dizzy and he closed his eyes.

"Look at the stone, Kheridh."

Obediently, he opened his eyes. Surely the pale things around the edge of the sun were fingernails. Or were they moons? Four little waxing moons and one waning moon circling the dark sun.

"Look into its heart."

He couldn't see the sun's heart, but its face was covered with freckles. Great swatches of them. Faelia's were nothing compared to the sun's. Perhaps that's where freckles came from. Perhaps the sun sweated freckles. Or shed them. That must be what The Shedding was all about. The sun shedding freckles like an adder shed its skin. Or weeping them.

Bloodred tears spattered the face of the sun. Droplets of blood spattered his father's lips.

"Father!"

"Speak Zherosi," the voice demanded. "Tell me what you see."

b.l.o.o.d.y tears oozed down the dark face and were caught in a swirling spiral.

"Come back! Please, Fa, come back."

The sun retreated from him. Or perhaps the spiral was growing. He was falling into it, but floating up at the same time. Rising to the ceiling. Scattering the flocks of painted birds. Bursting through stone and into sunlight. Flying like the eagle.

"Like Zhe."

"What about Zhe? Do you see him? Is he speaking to you now?"

"Father? Where are you?"

"Are you the Son of Zhe? Are you? Answer me!"

The sun was blood, dripping gore onto the slopes of Kelazhat. The sun was fire, shimmering on the altar, gleaming on Malaq's bald head, shining on the bronze dagger that appeared over his shoulder. The sun was death, colder than the ring on the priest's forefinger, swifter than the dagger that plunged downward, stooping like a hawk on a pigeon.

"Behind you!"

The sun smiled in benediction and promise. Or was that Malaq?

"What do you see? Tell me!"

The sun shattered and screamed. The blood gushed down the steps of the altar, flowing like a river, flowing like the adders that surged across the sacrificial ground, flowing like earth, a cataract of earth that groaned like a dying man and swept everything away in its path until only Malaq's eyes remained, twin pools of agony.

"You have murdered me."

He lay in the shadowland between dreaming and wakefulness. Once, he heard the sound of voices raised in argument. Later, he felt something cool and damp on his forehead. Still later, a gentle hand raised his head and a cup swam toward him.

"Nay!"

"It's only tea."

After he smelled the mint, he took a cautious sip.

"A little more," the voice urged.

He managed another swallow.

"Good. Rest now."

The next thing he saw was Malaq. His eyes were as dark as they had appeared in his vision, but held no trace of agony.

"Can you manage a little broth?"

Keirith nodded. He pushed himself into a sitting position, but he had to allow Malaq to spoon the broth into his mouth. It was then he realized he was in Malaq's bedchamber.

"How did I get here?"

"The guards brought you. You collapsed in Xevhan's chamber. That was this morning."

Judging from the flickering oil lamps, it must be evening. A whole day-lost.

"I've been asleep?"

"Yes."

"You've been here with me?"

"Yes. Finish your broth."

"The whole time?"

"Stop talking. You're making a mess."

"You sound like my mam."

Malaq lowered the spoon. "Did you dribble broth on her, too?"

"I meant the scolding."

"I should do more than scold you. I should beat you. I may yet decide to do so. But not until you finish your broth."

Keirith obeyed, swallowing one spoonful after another. And when he had finished, he said, "I went to Xevhan because of something I saw at the sacrifice."

By the time he finished describing his vision at the temple, he was shivering uncontrollably. Malaq opened a wooden chest-the only piece of furniture in the chamber-removed a blanket, and draped it around his shoulders. The scratchy wool comforted him.

"I had to find out if my father was safe."

Malaq didn't ask why he had waited until now to tell him. He simply nodded.

"I tried to find my father-through vision-but I couldn't. So I went to Xevhan."

He frowned, recalling his euphoria. Xevhan must have slipped the qiij into his drink. What a fool not to have realized.

"I asked him to give me qiij."

"I know."

"He told you?"

"He didn't have to. I know the signs."

No questions, no recriminations, just a great weariness in his voice that added to Keirith's guilt. He told Malaq how Xevhan had drugged him. It was hard to describe the vision with those sad, dark eyes watching him, but he did. When he finished, Malaq nodded again.

"It was Xevhan," Keirith blurted out. Although they were speaking the tribal tongue, he instinctively lowered his voice. "I recognized the ring on his finger."

"I see."

"Nay, you don't. It was Xevhan who struck you down."

"I understand."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

"But you have to. He's dangerous. He wants you dead."

"I doubt it. He would derive much more satisfaction from my disgrace than my death. The fact that I died in your vision is probably due more to your concern about your father than to any actual threat I face. Even the words were the same, were they not?"

Keirith nodded, unconvinced.

"The end of the vision interests me. With the adders streaming across the ground and the earth collapsing. Did you know there was another tremor today?"

Keirith searched his memory, but everything was jumbled up in his mind.

"You cried out in your sleep. Something about the adders. A few moments later, the Qepo rushed in to tell me they were restless. And then the earth shook. A small tremor. It did no damage. But I wondered if you felt it-or felt the adders' fear as you did that first time."

"I don't remember. I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter." The Pajhit smiled, his expression so similar to the one in the vision that Keirith winced. "You should rest. We'll talk more in the morning."

"But Xevhan . . ."

"Let me worry about Xevhan."

"But you won't!"

"Of more concern to me is the danger you may be in. You'll have to explain the vision to Xevhan. Not the part about him killing me. Make up something else. Don't let him know you told me about it. Tell him I was furious at you for taking the qiij. Stick to the story Xevhan planned, that you took it without his permission. It's a flimsy excuse, but it will have to do. Pretend to be worried that your behavior has compromised further opportunities to meet. Play the innocent. You can do that, can't you?"

Keirith felt himself flushing under that keen-eyed gaze. "He won't believe me."

"But he'll wonder. If he believes you're eager to learn from him-that you'll teach him instead of me-he might not move against you. And that will buy us a little more time."

"Us." As many times as he had disobeyed, Malaq had forgiven and protected him. He had given up his bed, nursed him as tenderly as a mother. Keirith wanted to believe it was just an act, a ploy to keep his loyalty, but instinct told him he could trust this man.

"Why are you protecting me?"

"I'm beginning to wonder that myself," Malaq replied with a rueful smile. "Get some sleep."

"But where will you sleep?"