The Limbreth Gate Page 13

  As soon as she paused before the old woman’s mat, she was fixed with eyes as bright as stream pebbles. ‘Fresh greens?’ the woman creaked hopefully. ‘Plump juicy root plants, pulled just this morning? Calms the stomach and soothes the bowels!’

  ‘I wish to trade, yes,’ Jace replied artlessly to the woman’s chant. ‘What will you give me for this?’

  She opened her hand and dangled the tiny hawk before the woman, who scowled at it. This was not honest coin! Her old eyes darted suspiciously over Jace’s strange garb and pale eyes.

  ‘Don’t need no fancy trinkets!’ the old woman declared. ‘Get along now!’

  ‘Please!’ Jace begged in confusion. ‘It’s all I have. Vandien said we could trade it for food. Please!’

  But the old woman wouldn’t even look at her. ‘Fresh greens!’ she cawed hopefully at a passing man.

  ‘Please!’ Jace begged again, proffering the tiny hawk. Both hand and voice shook. The old woman folded her lips and shifted on her mat so that Jace and Chess were out of her line of vision. Chess tugged at his mother.

  ‘May I see what you have there?’

  The soft voice fell on Jace like warm rain on a dry garden. A young girl leaned on the wooden counter of the herb and onionstring stall. She was smiling at them, her white teeth gleaming in the darkness, a slender hand extended to receive the hawk. Jace breathed out in relief and stepped quickly up to her. The girl’s dark eyes widened and then narrowed again as she held the tiny bird aloft so that it hung from its chain. Her free hand pushed thick chestnut hair back from her eyes. She touched her full lips, then pursed them speculatively. ‘It’s not very big, is it?’ she commented in a carefully neutral voice.

  Jace shook her head. ‘But it’s all I have. Please, we have come to trade for food.’

  ‘Why did not you take it to the jeweller’s stall, to see what he would give you?’

  ‘I am not familiar with the custom of coins. I would rather do my own trading in my own way.’

  ‘You do not come from this city, do you? In fact, I would wager you have come a long and weary way.’ The hawk hung heavy from its chain as it swung over the girl’s free hand.

  Jace gazed on the hawk with worried eyes, comparing its tininess to even one of the onions in the stall. ‘But it is very cunningly made, and Vandien valued it greatly,’ she countered timorously.

  The girl smiled as if accepting an apology. ‘No doubt. Well, such trinkets are valued by those who enjoy them. And it is cute. Thank you for showing it to me.’ She offered it back to Jace.

  Jace drew her hand back quickly, ignoring Chess’s tugging at her sleeve. ‘Please! It has no value to me, except what food it can bring. Will you not give us something for it?’

  ‘Well,’ the girl said reluctantly, as if caught between charity and the shrewdness of a bargain. ‘But you can see I am a simple girl, with no use for such adornments. Besides, it is not at all what a girl would wear. See, it is nothing but a plain black bird on a bit of chain.’ She shook it gently in front of Jace and set it back on the counter.

  Jace shook off Chess as he grasped frantically at her arm. ‘But see how brightly its little red eye winks! Can’t you give me something for it?’

  ‘Well.’ Again the pursed mouth and the sigh. ‘I am a soft-hearted fool, but I can’t let a child as sweet as that one go hungry. But mind! and don’t go telling it about that Verna at the herb stall will take such gewgaws for her wares, or I’ll be besieged by an army of folk who would cheat me out of my living.’ Swiftly Verna’s hand swooped and fell on the tiny hawk; it vanished into a fold of her skirt. ‘What would you like for it?’

  ‘Only whatever you think is right?’ Jace offered humbly.

  Chess had ceased to grab at her. He stood beside his mother with a downcast face, his hands clinging helplessly to each other. He watched as Verna gathered together a small bundle of the limpest roots and driest herbs. She freed a few onions from a string and added them to the pile. It was enough to sustain them for a day, at most two. He bit hard on his lip as Jace caught them up in a fold of her sleeve, giving the woman repeated and grateful thanks. And then he was following his mother down the dusty street.

  Night was deep now, and the crowd was thinning. Wheels creaked and boards clapped as merchants folded their stalls and hauled goods away. The evening trade was done. Only a few stalls, mostly dealing in weapons, potions and semi-legal merchandise, would remain open now to garner the trade of those folk that lived by night. Jace felt the air of furtiveness that seeped through the night market now. She hurried gratefully into the darkened streets, away from the blowing torches that lighted what remained of the market. Now they passed doors closed and dark. A few inns and alehouses still lifted their voices in the night, but Jace rushed Chess past these, keeping him to the safety of the shadows.

  ‘That woman cheated you,’ Chess said suddenly.

  ‘Shush!’ Then, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I have seen it in the tavern where I worked. It is the custom of this world. You offer what you have to trade, then you belittle the other’s goods. Each seeks to get as much as possible for what he offers. She expected you to say that her roots were withered, her herbs without potency, her onions gone to rot.’

  ‘As they are,’ Jace conceded. ‘But I would not be so ill-bred as to mention it. You must realize that what we gave her had little value to her. We must not complain that she gave us the least of her wares; to her, it was as if we wanted to give her a stone in exchange.’

  ‘Mother!’ Chess’s voice rose a notch. ‘That is how they barter here! She only wished you to believe she had no use for the necklace. In that way, she could give you as little as possible and you would feel grateful.’

  ‘So swiftly you have grown hard and suspicious in this place. You would turn a cold eye on the food she gave us, food that will keep us for a day or so, in return for a trinket that was not even appropriate for her to wear.’

  ‘Yet it was a good enough trinket that it was the only one Vandien wore!’

  Jace hesitated, uncertainly considering what he said. But her faith in her own years and experience won out. One hand was gripping the sleeve that held the vegetables. But she caught Chess’s hand in her other hand and held it tightly.

  ‘Let us go to the Gate,’ she said softly, letting the wind blow away their previous words. ‘Maybe Vandien will be there. Maybe he has made a way for us to go through. Think of that, Chess! We might be home safely tonight. Come.’ Privately Jace resolved that if Vandien had found a way for one to pass the Gate, that one would be Chess.

  They came to the street that followed the city wall. With a quick glance to be sure all was clear, they darted into its shadow. Like mice they scurried along the base of it. When they sighted the dull red glow of the Gate, they slowed to more cautious steps. If Vandien had indeed won through to the other side, the Keeper would be looking angrily on all comers tonight.

  Jace halted them completely at the low mumble of voices. A few more silent steps and the words came clear to her, but she paid them no heed. For at the same instant a breeze, so fresh and pure that it seemed a living creature, rushed up to her and enveloped her in its embrace. The clean scents of her home filled her nostrils, and she tasted the peace of the meadows and streams. It was like nourishing broth to starving children. Its moist kiss was no kin at all to the sterile dry wind that swept through the city streets and stirred the yellow dust.

  Only gradually did the voices penetrate her mind. Jace had closed her eyes in the breeze’s caress. Now she opened them and peered hopefully into the Gate.

  But no Vandien watched to beckon her on. Instead she saw the grey-draped figure of the Keeper, his robes fluttering in the breeze. The hood had blown back from his face. Dark hair streamed from his flattened skull. An eyeless band of wrinkled flesh writhed above his nose ridge. But that which stood talking to him was no odder. ‘Windsinger,’ she breathed to herself, remembering old legends. For there was the long blue robe, the my
sterious tall cowl and the scaled skin. Worry and frustration emanated from the Keeper, but anger alone lined the Windsingers face. Their voices came to Jace in broken snatches, their words blown away by the wind.

  ‘How could he get through?’ the Windsinger demanded. ‘Of all the mortals on this side, why did you have to permit him?’

  ‘Permit!’ The Keeper spat out the word. His arms moved and his long fingers gripped at the night itself, striving to heal it. ‘He was violent! You made no mention of any attempt like that! The Limbreth was totally disgusted. He broke contact with me to avoid the contamination! You gave no warning about any such as he! He ripped through! Do you understand what that means? Can you begin to grasp it? The balance is gone, our world bleeds into yours. The Gatherers have but to look and they’ll know what we have done here! You fret about this man, but when the Gatherers come for you, will you even remember him? They can feel it. A breach like this cannot be hidden.’

  Jace watched them silently. The anger was gone from the Windsingers face, replaced by fear and wonder. The blowing wind came from beyond the Gate. It fluttered the Windsingers torch to a red glow and a streamer of straggling yellow. The Keeper leaned against the wind as he worked, but Jace could not see what he struggled with. His actions were strangely difficult to follow as he was alternately hidden and revealed by flapping rags and tatters as scarlet as the torch and as black as the night. His hands and bared arms were thrust aloft, his muscles straining against invisibility.

  ‘Do the Gatherers really care?’ asked the Windsinger. ‘Do they really take an interest in such as we?’

  ‘They do,’ the Keeper grunted out as he wove up the night.

  ‘How long do we have before they discover us, then?’ The Windsingers voice was hushed.

  ‘Who knows?’ the Keeper growled. ‘While the Gate is here, it shouts aloud to them.’

  ‘But if it should close? You said it would, but it seems no smaller than last night.’ There was more than disappointment in the Windsingers voice; there was dread.

  ‘We don’t know if it can close. The Limbreth doubts that it can heal against such an imbalance.’ The Keeper’s voice held no sympathy. He was too immersed in his own misery and fear. ‘Our world bleeds into yours. Who knows what damage it does us? Your day is stained with our blessed darkness, our winds of peace waste themselves in your streets.’

  ‘You are the one that let Vandien through!’ The Windsingers voice denied his accusing tone. She changed her tack. ‘What about Ki? Does the Limbreth have her yet? If they are satisfied with her, I should like to at least settle the rest of our bargain. A calling gem was promised to me …’

  ‘Is it not enough that my Master has taken her from your hands? Our Gate is torn, and a rogue loosed in our world, and you come begging and whining for that which you could scarcely use properly. If I had the voice of the Limbreth! But I do not, and he bids me now to be respectful to you.’ The Keeper paused, lapsing into a listening stance. The Windsinger shifted impatiently but waited. At last the Keeper turned his eyeless face back to her. ‘Ki has not reached the Limbreth yet. The one you insisted we admit before her to test the Gate has slowed her progress. This is your own doing, so you must wait until it is settled. Once Ki is before the Limbreth and is proven to be suitable, all bargains shall be fulfilled. Does that suit you?’

  ‘It sounds to me as if you hope that the Gate will close before then! Tell your master to be wary of cheating a Windsinger. I shall be back tomorrow. I want the gem then. Tomorrow will be the last time I speak gently.’

  The rest of her words were gusted away by a blast of wind that drove the Keeper to his knees. He fought it as it rolled him onto his back and his grey legs waved bare and skinny as a stork’s. The street grew suddenly darker, more fragrant, cooler. Behind her, Jace heard Chess snuffling in long breaths of it, gulping the air down as if he could drink it.

  ‘… do about the dark seeping into this world?’ demanded the Windsinger into a catch of silence. The Keeper shot her a venomous look that was no answer but a denial of culpability. Jace watched as the Keeper battled his way back to the center of the Gate, to once more lift his arms overhead and begin his incomprehensible weaving motions.

  ‘Vandien isn’t here,’ Chess pointed out hoarsely.

  ‘I know. Hush.’

  ‘But I’m hungry,’ he protested. ‘Can’t we go home now?’

  ‘Home?’ It took a moment for Jace to realize Chess was referring to the hovel they hid in. She felt a moment of panic. The boy was dangling over an abyss and slipping inexorably away from her. She took her son’s hand, but knew she could not hold him. Not long. Not here. She gazed with longing at the Gate, but something obscured her vision. Even a glimpse of her own land was denied her.

  ‘Come along,’ Jace whispered, and they slipped away, moving from shadow to shadow as they wound their way through dusty streets back to the alley. They stopped only once, to drink water from a public well. Jace cringed at drinking the flat lukewarm stuff, but Chess drank deeply of it. After he had finished, he drew up another bucketful and laved his dusty face and arms. Those thin arms gave Jace a pang. The sun blisters had pocked them and privation had thinned them to bone and tendon and skin. Jace remembered them as round and plump, a little boy’s arm. Now he looked like the few other street children she had glimpsed tonight, down to the ragged brown garment. When she touched the coarse cloth of it, he glanced up at her inquiringly. It was almost as if he didn’t know that he suffered. His eyes went to the sky and he frowned.

  ‘It will be coming back soon,’ he warned her. And it was Chess who took Jace’s hand to draw her down the street and into the alley, to the safety of the tumbled-down coop.

  NINE

  Vandien wakened to the growling of his stomach. Uncurling only stretched its emptiness. He thought back to the nibble of bread and dried fish he had eaten in the chicken coop. That had been his last meal, and it had been little enough. He unstoppered the waterskin and took a small swallow. The water was flat and cool and lonely in his stomach.

  Habit made him glance to the sky to see how long he’d slept, but the night and the overcast were unreadable. It didn’t matter. When he had trotted as far as he could without rest, he had slept. Now he was awake, and it was time to head down the road again. Yawning, he rubbed a hand over his bristly face. Back to the road, he commanded himself sternly. He took up his endless trot, staring ahead down the black ribbon of road. It was endless, he realized as he dropped suddenly into a walk. His feet and legs ached, his stomach flopped inside him and the whole quest was stupid. He strode along berating himself for the futility of it. Walking and hungry, he could never hope to catch up with Ki. He had found no signs of her stopping and camping. Unappealing as it was, he had to accept Jace’s premise, that Ki was under some kind of Limbreth madness and was already making her best time for those far hills. Vandien imagined her standing on the seat, the greys whipped to a gallop, the wagon wheels rumbling as they spun along this smooth and perfect road. And here he came, footsore and empty-bellied behind her. It was pathetic. But he kept walking.

  He wished for his boots, for his horse, for a package of traveling food. He wished for clean clothes and a hot cup of tea. He wished for a chance to grab Ki by the shoulders and rattle her silly for not waiting for him. He grinned stiffly to himself as he imagined the aftermath of that action. He’d probably be wishing for teeth.

  As his mind chewed, his eyes wandered and his legs carried him on. There were cultivated fields to either side of the road now. The cottages on the far sides of them were humpy little shelters barely distinguishable from the rolling hills that rose beyond them. His belly grumbled again and Vandien swallowed. Crazy to go on walking hungry until he dropped. He began to scan the rows of crops as he passed them, but saw nothing he recognized. It would take him too long to walk to one of the cottages and beg for food. Besides, from what Jace had told him of her world, no one would begrudge him food. A neat row of bushes lined the road. He scanned
them eagerly for fruit, but saw only long narrow leaves hanging from twiggy branches. Well, perhaps it was a root crop or bearing time was past. He strained his eyes, peering ahead through the dimness.

  He kept walking. A gentle breeze stirred the crops, and the earth breathed a rich fertile smell in the darkness. The black road was smooth under his weary feet. Ki was probably making excellent time over it, he reflected sourly. Another and separate hunger began to stir in him, harmonizing with the one in his belly. Why the hell couldn’t he be on the wagon seat beside Ki, swaying gently to the rhythm of the turning yellow wheels? There had been a few balmy nights like this, cool traveling weather through hot lands, when the wagon seat was a place to share companionable silence and wedges of cheese and apples. Those were the best times, he reflected, when errands were done, or deadlines not yet pressing, the long days of unhurried and shared solitude. They were rare days, never strung so closely together that they became boring. A hundred times more frequent were the hot days of choking dust, the blustery days when the icy rain slapped at them and the team’s great hooves skidded in the mud, or the days when Ki drove them all from daylight to past dusk, cursing herself as she harried her weary horses on to meet some delivery date. And now there was this rare evening of fine weather and excellent road through a mysterious and fascinating countryside, and Vandien was padding along on bare sore feet like an abandoned cur.

  Vandien stopped and looked down over the fields. The road bed was elevated slightly, just enough at this point for him to see past the line of twiggy trees into the fields beyond. The trees were only a border: beyond them vines lay untidily along the ground. Vandien thought he could see dark shapes like melons resting on the ground beside the big leaves.