Текст книги "The Divining"
Автор книги: Barbara Wood
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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 27 страниц)
22
WHY WAS THE RIDE so rough? Could the driver not have found a smoother road? And when would they reach Babylon? The trip was becoming more and more uncomfortable. Her wrists hurt. Why would her wrists hurt?
Ulrika opened her eyes. She blinked. It was night and she didn't seem to be in a wagon at all but looking down at the ground. And it was passing beneath her.
When she realized that her hands were tied behind her back and that she was being carried on someone's shoulder, like a sack of grain, she tried to cry out, only to discover that a cloth had been tied over her mouth.
She struggled against her abductor's hold. His grip tightened. She tried to kick. He pinned her legs down. She writhed against her bonds. Another arm went over her thighs, holding her fast. But Ulrika fought, twisting this way and that, jerking her body so that her kidnapper lost his footing.
"Enough!" she heard a voice snap in Farsi. "Be still!" he then hissed in Greek.
It only made her struggle all the more until her kidnapper came to a halt and dumped her unceremoniously to the ground. Realizing that her feet were not bound, Ulrika scrambled backward over the leaf-strew forest floor, her eyes on a tall, forbidding mountain man garbed in furs. He seemed disinterested in her attempt to escape, but merely turned his back as he lowered travel packs, and Ulrika's medicine box, to the ground.
She did not get far. Her feet became entangled in her long cloak. And when her head and shoulders came against something hard, Ulrika looked up and saw in the moonlight a massive pine tree towering over her. She looked frantically to her left and right, but all was dense woodland.
As she wriggled against her bonds, she kept an eye on her abductor. He was using a long stick to dig a hole.
Her grave!
Fresh fear and determination empowered Ulrika so that she was able to push the gag from her mouth, the cloth slipping down to her chin. "Who are you?" she cried. "Why have you kidnapped me?"
In an instant he was at her side, knife unsheathed, the blade pressed to her throat. "I told you to be still," he growled. "Do you understand me?" he said in Greek.
She nodded mutely.
"Not another word," he said, "or I will silence you myself."
She watched in terror as he returned to his task, digging a hole that was wide and deep enough to hold a body, and then he sat down and proceeded to sharpen tree branches into lethal points.
Trembling beneath her cloak, Ulrika tried to twist her hands free of their bonds. She kept her eyes on the stranger, taking the measure of him in the moonlight that filtered through the canopy of leafy treetops. From his voice she judged he was young. His hair looked black. He was tall and slender, and deceptively strong. He wore a fur tunic and leather leggings. His arms were bare, despite the night coldness in the mountains, so that Ulrika saw sculpted muscles and pale skin smudged with dirt.
In as calm a tone as she could manage, she said, "What is your name?"
He didn't look up from his labor. "You do not want to know my name, and I do not want to know yours. For the last time, be silent."
She bit her lip and, watching him as he sharpened sticks, kept silent.
He sat cross-legged on the ground facing her, his head bent over his task, to look up every now and then to listen to the forest, which was alive with nocturnal sounds. He never looked at Ulrika, never spoke until finally he stood up and climbed into the freshly dug hole where, as far as Ulrika could discern in the light from the moon, he planted the sharp stakes into the ground. When he was finished and all stakes were in place, he climbed out and covered the pit with loose grass and shrubbery.
Ulrika realized he had set a trap.
As he came up to her and reached for her mouth gag, Ulrika shook her head. He studied her for a moment—in the moonlight Ulrika saw black eyes framed by black lashes and brows—then he murmured, "As long as you keep quiet."
He lifted her to her feet. He did not remove her wrist bonds but gestured that she was to walk with him. Then he picked up the travel packs and medicine box and, without another word, resumed his trek through the night.
WHEN DAWN BROKE THROUGH THE TREES, and Ulrika thought she would drop from exhaustion, the stranger came to a halt. Gesturing to her to sit, he vanished through the trees and returned with a goatskin filled with fresh, crisp water. Holding it to her lips, he let Ulrika drink her fill, then he slaked his own thirst.
"Please," Ulrika whispered. "My arms hurt ..."
He paused, looked down at her. As sunlight crept across the forest floor, illuminating mossy trees and gnarled trunks, Ulrika got a better look at her captor.
He was slender and wiry, with lanky arms and legs—a young man in his twenties, she realized. His hair was ink-black and fell to his shoulders in curls. His eyes were dark, his nose long and thin, but his lips were voluptuous, almost feminine, and his jaw was smooth and beardless. He looked, in fact, surprisingly well groomed for a wild mountain man. Stranger still was his unusually pale skin. Ulrika would have thought that a man so otherwise dark would be olive-complexioned, but he seemed to be in fact whiter than Ulrika herself, and she wondered from what strange race he had sprung.
Unsheathing his dagger, he reached behind her and cut the bonds. As Ulrika felt sensation, and then pain, return to her hands, she watched him cross to their travel packs and open one of his own. He returned and held out a small cloth bag. Ulrika saw that it contained nuts and dried berries and she discovered that she was ravenous.
"I cannot build a fire," he murmured apologetically as he walked away, and Ulrika had the odd sense that he was not addressing her.
And then he did a curious thing. While Ulrika watched, and the woodland came alive with birdsong and the whisper of a morning breeze, the mountain man gathered twigs and leaves and created kindling for a good campfire. He even brought out a flint and held it over the small mound, but did not strike a spark. He chanted as he did so, a prayer in a dialect Ulrika could not identify. And when he was done, he reached for the corded belt at his waist and removed an object that hung there.
As he placed the object next to the unlit fire, Ulrika saw that it was cornet-shaped and the color of old ivory, perhaps half a cubit long, and straight. An animal horn of some kind, she thought, with a gold seal at the wider end, as if something were contained within.
"Please tell me where you are taking me."
He ignored her as he busied himself with a long rope, which he threw over a tree branch, anchoring one end to the trunk and laying the other on the ground in a knotted coil. Ulrika realized he was creating another trap, and while he worked, once again kept lifting his head to listen, his body tense and alert.
"You would travel much faster without me," Ulrika said, guessing that he was evading someone who was in pursuit.
He said nothing as he covered the coiled rope with leaves and grass, and slowly bent the tree branch, tying it down with a string, creating a trigger that, Ulrika guessed, when touched, would spring the rope into the air.
"Leave me here," Ulrika said. "I am no use to you—"
Snap!
He spun around.
Snap!
Ulrika shot to her feet.
They listened. Heard footfall. Someone was coming.
"We must go!" he said, sheathing his dagger and scooping up their travel packs. "Quickly!"
Ulrika gathered up the bag of nuts, and then she retrieved the water-skin. As she reached for her medicine box, which the stranger had dropped near the mound of kindling, Ulrika picked up the ivory horn he had laid there and—
Her mind exploded with a vision of such brilliance and passion that she staggered back. A massive bonfire. Sparks rising to the night sky. People dancing in a frenzy, shouting, beating drums. It filled her head. It made the earth spin beneath her. Fear, anger, hope, desire. Tears drenched her. Laughter lifted her up. She was swept up into the sky, and dropped to the earth.
Ulrika felt a tug on her hand. The vision vanished. She blinked. The stranger was glaring at her. "You do not touch this!" he growled. She saw that he had snatched the horn from her.
"I'm sorry. I meant no disrespect."
He hastily reattached the ivory horn to his belt. "This is sacred. Not for unbelievers. We must go now."
He sprinted ahead of her, and Ulrika kept up with him as they heard heavy footfall behind.
They had gone only a short distance into the forest when they heard a sudden cry. Ulrika and her abductor paused briefly to look back and to listen to angry shouts and sounds of frantic chopping.
The trap had worked.
"WAIT," ULRIKA GASPED AS she stumbled over the ground. "I cannot go any farther. I must rest."
The stranger turned and grabbed her wrist, to pull her along as she staggered and protested. The sun was high now, they had stayed on the move all morning. It had been hours since they had heard their pursuers.
"Please," Ulrika said, when suddenly he came to a halt and Ulrika ran into him, nearly causing them both to fall.
"We are here," he said, and dashed ahead.
Ulrika looked around and saw only oaks and pines forming a dense forest, and dappled sunlight. She watched in amazement as her abductor disappeared into a thicket, to reappear a moment later, gesturing impatiently for her to join him.
As she neared the brush that looked too tangled for anyone to cut through, Ulrika saw an opening. She entered and found herself inside a small hut, cleverly hidden and disguised in the middle of the woods. To Ulrika's surprise, the hut had a comfortable feel to it, despite being a temporary shelter, with rugs on the floor and brass lamps suspended from the grass ceiling, little golden flames flickering to create an intimate atmosphere.
In the center of the floor, lying on a bed of animal skins, a young girl lay feverish and sleeping.
All thoughts of fatigue and hunger left Ulrika as she ran to the girl's side, dropped to her knees and immediately felt the burning forehead.
"How is she?" the mountain man asked as he knelt at Ulrika's side. "I left her a day and a half ago. I had no choice."
Ulrika lifted eyelids to look at dilated pupils. She detected a rapid pulse. The girl's breathing was shallow. "She is very sick."
"I did not want to leave her," he said. Lifting the blanket made of soft deer skin, he exposed a nasty wound. "She fell and injured herself. I tried my best to fix it, but infection set in. I knew that the only way to save her was to find help." He looked at Ulrika. "I saw you in the village. I saw how you treated a man's injury. And I recognize these symbols." He pointed to her medicine box with the Egyptian hieroglyphics and Babylonian cuneiform painted on the sides.
"Do not let her die, do you understand? You cannot let her die."
Ulrika was momentarily arrested by black eyes that seemed deeper than night, and filled with unspoken emotion. It struck her that her young kidnapper was desperate, on the run, frightened, and angry, and perhaps not as dangerous as she had initially thought.
He was also, she realized, quite handsome, and it crossed her mind that, should he ever smile, his sensuous lips would be most attractive.
Ulrika reached for her medicine kit. "I will administer Hecate's cure. It is made from willow bark, which is inhabited by a very powerful spirit."
"Are you a physician?"
"No. My mother is a healer. She taught me."
"You do not live here in Persia. This is not your home."
She kept her eyes on her own hands as she busily dispensed powder into a cup, and mixed water into it. Her abductor sat uncomfortably close. She could smell his sweat, and the wild scent of animal skins, pine, and loamy earth. "I have come to find someone," she said.
She did not look at him, but sensed his question.
"I am seeking answers to a personal question," Ulrika said as she stirred the powder until it dissolved. "And I believe there is a man, called the Magus, who can help me."
When he said nothing, Ulrika asked, "Is this girl your sister or perhaps your niece?" The girl's coloring was the same as his—an unusually white complexion framed by raven-black hair. But they were not father and daughter. The girl would be around thirteen and the young man appeared to be just a little older than Ulrika herself.
"She is from another tribe," he said, and Ulrika thought: But sharing the same Persian-Greek ancestry I would wager.
He suddenly turned toward the opening of the thicket-hut. "I will stand watch," he murmured. Removing the ivory horn from his belt, he laid it on the girl's chest and said, "The god of my people is Ahura Mazda, the Wise Lord of the sky, and this is sacred ash from his first Fire Temple. It is white and clean, and protects from evil." He stood, his midnight hair brushing the tangled weeds that made the ceiling. "Her name is Veeda," he said, and then he was gone.
BY THE TIME THE STRANGER RETURNED, Ulrika had been able to encourage the girl to take a few sips of Hecate's Cure. The medicine was famous for reducing fever, taking away pain, and conquering the evil spirits of infection. Then she had tended the wound on the girl's leg, cleaning it, washing away the dead flesh to apply fresh salves and bandages. Ulrika did not fully understand how healing worked—the greatest Greek physicians in the world could not entirely explain how a cure worked—but Ulrika had used a method so ancient and proven that, once she was done, she felt confident the girl would soon begin to recover.
"How is she?" the stranger asked, coming to Veeda's side.
"You brought me to her in time."
He nodded. "I have been praying."
Ulrika had left the ivory horn in place on the girl's chest, wondering about the ash he had said it contained. She thought of the mound of kindling he had built but had not lit, and how he had apologized for not making a fire. "I cannot light a fire," he said softly now, and once again the words did not seem directed at Ulrika. She wondered who he was speaking to. "It would draw our pursuers to us. I have to keep moving. I must survive in order for this girl to survive." He kept his eyes on Veeda's face as he said this, and once again Ulrika wondered about their relationship.
Veeda was from another tribe, he had said. Was she his bride?
"I will find food," he said abruptly. "You must rest now. There," he added, pointing to folded rugs against the grassy wall. "You can make a bed. I will let you sleep. Do not fear. I have set traps, and I will be on the lookout."
As he once again left the hut, and Ulrika suddenly found the prospect of sleep very inviting, it occurred to her that her abductor had not himself slept in a long time.
He had sacrificed his own comfort and well-being to save this girl, she thought. He had risked getting caught by men who pursued him—and for whom he set deadly traps—in order to find medical help. Who was Veeda to him, and why was her survival so important?
23
ULRIKA DREAMED OF SEBASTIANUS.
He stood on a vast, windswept landscape with a boiling ocean on one side, violent crags and tors on the other. He appeared to be building an altar of shells and fire. He wore only a loincloth, his tight muscles gleaming in the sun. Ulrika tried to call to him, but as she drew near, Sebastianus began to climb the altar, which had become a golden tower rising in tiers shot with blinding sunlight. He was trying to reach the stars, she knew, for he was seeking answers that could be found only in the celestial bodies of the cosmos.
But Ulrika saw that the top of the tower was a raging bonfire—a dreadful conflagration that she knew would devour him once he reached it. She called out, frantic, desperate to stop him.
You cannot save him, a voice whispered all around her, on the wind, in the clouds. A woman's voice. Gaia ...
Ulrika snapped her eyes open. Her heart galloped, and a fine sweat covered her body. In the dim light of the camouflaged hut, she saw that the girl continued to sleep beneath soft deerskin blankets. Ulrika tuned her ears to the forest outside and heard heavy footsteps going to and fro. Her kidnapper, pacing.
She thought of the dream she had just had. During her lonely days of journeying into Persia, Ulrika had continued her nightly ritual of speaking to Sebastianus. Every night before falling asleep, she would tenderly take the scallop shell between her hands, holding it safe and loved, and whisper words of hope and devotion to Sebastianus, closing her eyes to mentally send her message across the miles and days in the hope that they would reach him. She did so now, sending out a prayer that her beloved was alive and well and reaching his goal.
At dusk the stranger brought fish that, though it must be eaten raw, was a welcome feast to Ulrika, who could not remember ever being this hungry. But first she checked on her patient and found with relief that Veeda's fever had already begun to abate, her breathing becoming more regular.
As they quietly ate, with the stranger pausing now and again to listen to the deepening night, Ulrika asked him about the ivory horn that contained sacred ash. She had learned in her travels that encouraging someone to speak about their religious beliefs often broke down barriers.
"Fire temples are our places of worship," he said as he picked at the fish flesh with his fingers. He had delicate hands, Ulrika thought. Feminine hands, and she adjusted her impression of him once more, from brutish mountain man to someone more refined.
"We do not revere fire itself," he said in a low voice, glancing at the sleeping girl, "but rather the ritual purity that it symbolizes. Our faith was founded by the prophet Zoroaster in a fight against the image-cults brought to our land long ago by the Babylonians. We deplore imagery of any kind. We worship the open sky, ascending mounds to light our fires, so that Ahura Mazda, the Uncreated God, will see them. The prophet Zoroaster assured us that the Creator Ahura Mazda is all good, and no evil originates from Him. Good and evil are forever in conflict, and we humans must play a large part in that conflict, in making sure that evil never triumphs over good. We achieve this by living a life of good thoughts, good words, and good deeds. This keeps the chaos at bay."
His words echoed those of Sebastianus, when he had told Ulrika that only through reading the gods' messages in the stars could chaos be averted.
"Yours is an interesting faith," Ulrika commented as she lifted Veeda's wrist and counted the pulse, finding it normal.
"It is the only faith," he said. Then he fell silent, and Ulrika wondered if he was curious about her. There was a constant tension within him, and she suspected it was not completely due to the fact that he was being pursued.
She asked where he and Veeda were going, but instead of responding, he gathered up their fish bones and left the hut.
As she listened to night descend over the forest, with mountain chill stealing into the hut, Ulrika wondered if she should try to escape. Would she get far? There were the deadly traps, and the pursuers. And she was not certain which way it was to the tavern. Besides, she no longer felt threatened by the young man, and Veeda still needed her help.
The girl stirred and sighed beneath her blankets, and when Ulrika went to her side, Veeda opened her eyes and gazed at Ulrika with black irises framed by black lashes. "Who are you?" she asked.
Slipping an arm beneath the girl's shoulders, Ulrika lifted her up to drink from the water skin. "I am Ulrika. Do not worry, Veeda, I am here to help you. How do you feel?"
"I am all right, but my leg hurts."
"We will take care of that."
The girl looked around the hut. "Where is Iskander?"
"He's just outside, keeping watch. So that's his name? Iskander? Is he your uncle? A cousin?"
The girl shook her head. "He is from another tribe."
"Where is he taking you?"
"Away. To keep me safe."
Ulrika's brows arched. "Safe from what?"
"Evil men who wish to kill us. Please," a small hand reached for Ulrika's, "where is Iskander?"
Ulrika paused to feel Veeda's forehead—she was a very pretty girl, and the fever only enhanced her natural beauty—then she said, "I will be right back."
Ulrika found Iskander seated on a boulder, spear in hand. "She is awake."
He was instantly inside the hut and at Veeda's side, looking anxiously into her face. "Are you feeling better?"
"I woke up and you were gone. I was frightened."
He stroked her damp hair. "I had to go for help. I hoped you would sleep until I returned. I did not mean to frighten you."
Ulrika watched the scene in curiosity. Despite the tenderness between the two, there was a sense of formality also, as if they had not known each other for long.
"Did Ulrika save my life?" Veeda asked.
Iskander looked up and offered Ulrika a grateful smile that did indeed transform his face. "Yes," he said. "Ulrika saved your life."
That evening, Veeda was able to sit up and eat a little food, and she asked Ulrika many questions about the world beyond their mountain realm. They slept after that, but when Ulrika awoke during the night, she found Iskander gone, and once again heard him pacing outside.
The next day Iskander determined that they must resume their trek, although once again, despite her inquiries, he would not tell Ulrika where he and the girl were headed, or the identity of their pursuers. While Ulrika shouldered her own packs, Iskander took Veeda onto his back and carried her. She held onto him with her arms around his neck and they made a curious pair, for Veeda's dependence upon Iskander seemed like one of a child for a parent, while Iskander handled her with the sensitive formality of a stranger.
They made camp that evening and when Ulrika looked up at the moon and realized they had traveled yet farther east, away from her intended route, she said, "Where are you taking us?"
When he did not reply, she added, "You did not have to kidnap me. You could have asked me."
He surprised her by giving her a direct look with his black eyes, and she heard truthfulness in his voice as he said, "I am sorry for that. I was afraid Veeda was going to die. I did not want to waste a single moment getting help to her. In these mountains, we are intensely tribal. We guard our treasures and resources, we are suspicious of people from other tribes. Rivalry is our way of life. I did not know where you came from. You could very well have said no to me. And then what would I have done?"
"How long do you intend to keep me with you?"
"You can leave in the morning. I will give you food and a weapon, and directions on how to get to the City of Ghosts."
"What about you and Veeda?"
"We will go eastward."
Once again Iskander gathered twigs and leaves, and went through the motions of creating a fire, yet did not light it. He prayed over the kindling, and set the ivory horn next to it, chanting as he did so until he sat back on his heels and said, "I am searching for members of my tribe. I do not know where to go. I believe they might have fled to the east. You said you were seeking a man called the Magus, that he has answers. Do you think he might help me?"
Ulrika gave thought to her situation and circumstance and realized that, although she did not fully trust a man who had kidnapped her, she could easily get lost in these mountains and that it might be wise to keep Iskander with her.
"He lives in the City of Ghosts. Do you know where that is?"
They were dining once again on raw fish, nuts, and berries, and Iskander chewed thoughtfully before answering. "Yes, I can take us there."
Ulrika heaved a sigh of relief. Soon, now, she would be returning a favor to the prince who had helped her mother long ago. She would ask him to take her to Shalamandar where she would begin anew the intended path of her destiny, which she prayed would make her free to be with Sebastianus upon his return from China, free to love him and be with him for the rest of her life.
They heard a sound in the night. Ulrika gave a start, but Iskander laid a hand on her arm, saying, "We are safe. The traps are intact. Those men will not reach us."
She glanced over at Veeda, who slept peacefully. Her fever was gone and her wound was healing. But Iskander would not let her walk, he carried her. She was not heavy. At fourteen, Veeda had only just started filling into womanhood. Although one could see the budding breasts, her body was still slim and boyish. She wore her luxuriant black hair long and loose, but she had explained to Ulrika that when she married, she would bind her hair up under a scarf, as was her tribe's custom, and keep it hidden thereafter, only to be seen by her husband. Veeda wore a curious costume: leggings and a garment Ulrika had never seen before—tight fitting from neck to waist, with long sleeves, and secured up the front by a long row of tiny round slivers of bone slipped into slits. Veeda called the garment a "jacket" and the closure was made of "buttons." It looked like men's attire, Ulrika thought, yet it fit her very well, and seemed practical for mountain living.
Veeda expressed a lively curiosity about the world and asked Ulrika many questions. It was only when she slept, whimpering in slumber with tears streaming from her closed eyes, that Ulrika wondered what secret pain Veeda carried in her heart.
"But what if they make it past the traps?" Ulrika asked now. "What will they do?"
"They will kill all three of us. For that, for the danger I have placed you in, I am sorry. But it was necessary."
"Who are these men who pursue you?" Ulrika asked, and this time Iskander gave her a direct response.
"They are from another tribe, the enemies of my people. A feud began between our two tribes many generations ago. No one knows who or what started it, or which tribe, but revenge was exacted over an incident, and of course further retaliation was called for. Revenge is our way of life. But it is an endless cycle. When we exact revenge against that tribe, they must retaliate, creating a new reason for taking revenge upon us. And so we have fought for centuries.
"But an unforgivable act was committed five years ago. Men from my tribe, I am ashamed to say, stepped over the boundaries by raping one of their women. They declared war upon us and vowed to eradicate us from the face of the earth. They came in the night. We did not stand a chance. I was in the woods standing guard against an enemy I never saw, and returned to find my village razed to the ground, my people slaughtered. When the other tribe heard that I was still alive, they came after me. That was five years ago, and I have been running ever since."
"And Veeda?"
"I sought refuge in the village of a people whom I did not know. They were kind and took me in. I awoke to find a raid underway. My enemies had found my hiding place. They were burning the huts and slaughtering the villagers. When I saw this, I surrendered. I went outside and said, 'Here I am, take me.' They seized me. But when I saw that they were not satisfied with my capture, that they were going to continue to destroy the village as a punishment for giving me sanctuary, I broke free and I tried to fight them. But I was only one man against many. I ran to the house where I had been staying and found the family all dead. I heard a noise under the corpses and discovered Veeda. Her parents had shielded her with their own bodies to protect her. I escaped, taking Veeda with me. On a hilltop, we stopped and looked back and saw the burning huts, the dead, and we knew by the silence that the village had been wiped out."
His dark eyes seemed to look inward as he released a ragged sigh and said, "I brought those men to that innocent village. I am responsible for all those deaths."
"You were only trying to survive," Ulrika said softly, recalling a horrific battlefield in a Rhineland forest. "And you could not have known what they would do."
"Now I search for remnants of my tribe, for I believe some escaped and might have fled to the east. This is why the Magus you seek interests me. Perhaps he can tell me if any of my people are still alive. Because, you see," he said, "it is insupportable for me to believe that I, Iskander, son of Sheikh Farhad Aswari, am the last of the noble and ancient Asghar tribe."
Ulrika stared at him in disbelief. He was the prince she had been sent to help?
