The Constant Tower. Carole McDonnell
Читать онлайн книгу.
the room was flooded with torch-light. Strong hands grabbed both her and Ouis and dragged them into their gathering room. There, the bloodied bodies of her slain clansmen lay, dying or dead. Her grandfather’s nearly headless body lay crumpled near their useless keening room. Gidea and the Iden women stood weeping. Janda and Delo as well. Maharai searched the faces of her sister. Her mother’s face: not seen.
The king didn’t look at her long. He was speaking in the language of the Wheel Clan to the studiers who seemed to be defending something, someone, themselves—Maharai didn’t know. A loud blow across Psal’s face needed no translation. Psal stumbled backward and fell to the ground as the king, with bloody hands, beckoned to Netophah at the entrance. Flanked by two warriors, Netophah approached and pushed Ouis to the ground. The king shook the pain of hitting Psal out of his hand, and turned to Maharai.
“Where’s your mother?” He asked her in her own tongue. He looked down the hallway to the room where Maharai had been found. “Ktwala is here in this longhouse, is she not? In one of the secret compartments you Peacock people are so adept at creating?”
Maharai trembled as children do when they’re afraid or cold, and shook her head so vigorously only a fool would have believed her.
The king signaled the torch-bearers, spoke words the girl did not understand, then spoke to her again. “Don’t worry, I won’t burn the longhouse over your mother. But I will find her. Do you understand me?” He beckoned to Lan who immediately drew near, then he faced Maharai again. “Girlie, I asked this warrior to separate you and your brother from the male little ones. Why did you not listen to him?”
She could not speak.
“Your brother’s death is your own fault, do you understand? Sparing the life of a male enemy is something we Wheel clan warriors never do. I have appointed death to all Iden men found in your longhouse, yet I was willing to spare him. You understand that now I cannot allow your brother to live?”
She flung herself at his feet. The king pushed her away and Lan held her firmly by the shoulder.
“If you kill him, Nahas,” she shouted. “I will kill you.”
The king gestured to Netophah. How gently Netophah had touched her in the cave! But no such gentleness was found now when the golden-haired, crescent-eyed prince pushed Ouis to the ground. At this, many of the Peacock women turned their faces, weeping. But Gidea, beautiful and fierce, did not turn away. Nor did the old and broken Nunu, or the beautiful and passionate Tolika. And not Maharai. Gidea kicked hard against the two warriors who held her tight. Nunu wept, her gaze set on the bodies of her sons, grandsons, nephews, and her brother Iden.
King Nahas lifted his bloodied dagger, aimed to strike Ouis. But Psal grasped his father’s hand, shouting words Maharai didn’t understand. Raging at first, then kneeling and begging, he stood between Nahas and Ouis, his arms outstretched. Then Ephan also approached the king, pleading as well. Nahas listened in silence. Alternating or simultaneously, the studiers spoke.
When King Nahas answered them, he seemed to argue, question, challenge, defend.
Maharai and the Iden women watched the verbal battle intently, the third moon rising. Then the king spoke a word and Ephan stepped backward, suddenly silent.
Psal, however, continued pleading, his voice growing shrill and shaky and echoing through the Iden longhouse. Even when the king raised his hand and two tall warriors pushed him aside, Psal would not be quiet. Shouting, the king pushed Psal and he turned on his bad leg and fell to the ground. King Nahas uttered another word. Psal grew silent.
The lame prince looked helplessly at Ephan, then at Maharai, then at the Iden women. He didn’t look at Ouis. The king spoke again and Prince Psal raised himself from the bloody floor and opened the Iden doors. Maharai knew then that all was lost.
How beautiful the Wheel Clan language! The king’s words were bright as light, tinkling like water, but Maharai knew them to be heavy, dark, blood-filled words. The king then called Ephan. Ephan bowed to the king then raced toward the granaries where her mother hid unseen.
Now to Ouis’ death.
Sharp blades can slit a throat clean through with one stroke. Ouis did not die quickly, as storytellers who sing praises to swift blades and to pale-skinned warriors would have you believe. Not for me such songs of so-called glorious battles. I’ve seen too much of dark death, and the death of dark peoples to sing songs that praise war. Let white-skinned storytellers exult in blood-letting.
Ouis lay on the ground, his hand clutching his neck, his mouth seeking breath, his pleading eyes turned to his sister. Netophah’s dagger hacked at him as butchers hack at livestock. When he died, he was like meat drained of blood. Lan’s strong hands held Maharai tight. She grasped them and bit deep. Lan winced, slapped her hard across the face, and she felt herself flying toward the bloody longhouse wall. There, fallen, her face and back aching, she watched helpless as Netophah kicked her brother’s hand from the bleeding gashed neck. Then the Wheel Clan heir knelt beside Ouis and took his own blood-stained dagger and cleanly ripped the boy’s throat open.
In her annals, Maharai said she must have shrieked to see this murder, because Tolika later told her she had done just that. However, Maharai writes that if sound or shriek escaped her mouth she did not know, because death had touched her before it touched her brother. It must have, for she had grown numb as she watched his death throes and could neither speak nor breathe.
* * * *
Through the plaited bamboo lid in the little inner storeroom, Ktwala peered. Through the latticework of the barrel’s cover, she saw: the red daubed ceiling of her destroyed longhouse. She heard: the death agonies of her betrayed clansmen—their horror echoed from its walls. Around her, the smell of spices mixed with blood. Her body trembled, she stilled herself. Inside the barley container, tears washed her face. She stopped the sob from rising from her throat.
Loving words, she thought, deceiving words. And yet…his heart seemed true.
In the near distance: booted footsteps trampled the floors of the Peacock longhouse; her brothers’ voices fading, surprised to find themselves suddenly outside of life; the quick rip of human flesh.
In Ktwala’s mind: Ancient stories of prevailing warriors. Triumphant tales told by Peacock Clan studiers of worlds: Blood-soaked enemies their braided hair split from their split skulls. In her heart: Nahas loving words, deceiving caresses. Your children will be as my children. Ktwala’s mind reeled.
Near the barrel, a Wheel Clan warrior was speaking in her language. She drew her breath slowly, quelled her body’s inner trembling. A carved wooden club lay between her cramped legs. She thought: Why do I sit here safely hidden? But sense stayed her hands; she did not rise. Barley fell from between her fingers. I must live and avenge my destroyed clan.
In the gathering room, Nahas shouted in the tongue of the Peacock Clan: “Iden women, you did not know we warred against your Peacock Clans. Nevertheless, your brothers must die. And you cannot go free. Iden women, tell where Chief Iden’s daughter hides.”
Ktwala’s heart pleaded: “My sisters, my aunts, my daughters, do not betray me.” The Peacock women heard her heart and remained silent.
And Gidea said, “Ktwala raced toward the large cliff. She jumped into the river.”
Nahas’ voice: “We will anchor here tonight. If her body is in the river, it will rise up again.”
Away, fading: the weeping voices, the commanding voices. Away, drifting: dying voices within the longhouse. Yet, nearing: footsteps. And soon someone leaned against the locked container, blocked light.
Ktwala heard: two voices speaking in the Wheel Clan tongue. Through the latticework of the barrel’s cover, Ktwala saw: pale hands touching the top of the container, twisting.
She held her breath; the cover lifted, light broke in. From above, the face of the pretty pale studier looked down upon her, his eyes and mouth wide open, surprise in his eyes.
A male voice called him from behind: “Ephan!”