up that way. My brother and I turned back only to see if we could find anything in the city of use to us.”
“Ah.” So they were from the poor regions just south of the river. And they were cowards and looters. But they were also alive, in the same pitiable state as Saotse.
“I expect you’re right, though, auntie. Ruhasu will grow in the next few days,” Tagoa said quietly. “We’re not the only ones who got away. We’ll see who else drifts in.”
The water around the raft gurgled with their oar strokes. Saotse heard a muttered word in its movement, and she felt Oarsa’s whisper. She put her hands over her ears and hid her head in the bottom of the canoe until the Power’s presence abated, and she heard no more save the rippling of their oars.
Chapter 10
Uya
U ya had learned exactly two of their names: Keshlik and Juyut. She practiced turning Keshlik’s name into a curse, spitting it violently from her lips ask if she were expelling a fish bone. Their language had just the sound for swearing, too. It was full of short, rough sounds, like stones on the seashore grinding together.
She lay in a storeroom, just long enough for her to stretch out. Her hands were bound in leather thongs and tied to a post. The fibers chafed her wrists, red and raw from her four days of captivity. It would have been worse, except that Keshlik came four times a day to bring her food, unbind her ropes, and massage her wrists. Sometimes this seemed like kindness. Sometimes she stopped hating him. But the muscles of her back ached from the way the child sat inside her, and her feet continued to swell, and she remembered her hatred.
A Yakhat face appeared in the doorway. It was Juyut, the younger one, whom she guessed was Keshlik’s brother or nephew. He glanced in at her then left, shouting a response to someone unseen.
Keshlik appeared a moment later. He spoke a few soft words, then knelt and began to undo the ropes binding her hands.
“What’s this?” she asked. He had no tray of food, and it was too early to eat.
He grunted. In a moment, her hands were free, and she began rubbing her wrists. Keshlik stood and offered her his hand.
She looked at it and continued massaging her chafed skin. She wasn’t about to accompany him anywhere if she could help it.
He bent and grabbed her arm just below the elbow, then pulled her roughly upright. An arrow of pain stabbed through her feet, and her legs folded like reeds, unable to uphold her body. Keshlik caught her under her shoulder before she hit the ground. He propped her up so her feeble legs barely touched the ground, and he helped her limp forward from the storeroom.
Her body had discovered all sorts of new pains in her four days tied up. Her legs shrieked with the effort of holding up her pregnant body, and her spine burned and creaked as Keshlik guided her forward. The baby squirmed in her belly, protesting the movement. Uya winced at the light as the warehouse’s shadow slipped behind them, then opened her eyes.
The old market square was full of men on horses, packs brimming with plunder, clouds of yellow dust, carts creaking under their loads. The carts were pulled by stout Prasei ponies, looking dwarfish next to the tall, slender Yakhat breeds. Keshlik pulled her to a cart half-filled with furs and hemp sacks and motioned for her to sit. Were they all leaving, or just her? She heaved herself and her belly up onto the cart and took up a position she hoped she could hold for a few hours. Keshlik tied her hands to the rail of the cart.
He grunted and said something in their abrasive dialect. She spat at him and tugged at the rope. She had plenty of slack to move, but the knots themselves were tight.
She laid back against the hemp sacks of plunder that filled up the rest of the cart. Something sharp and brittle dug into her back. She shifted once or twice, unable to find a comfortable position, and heard the sack’s contents scrape together. The bag shifted in a new
“Ah.” So they were from the poor regions just south of the river. And they were cowards and looters. But they were also alive, in the same pitiable state as Saotse.
“I expect you’re right, though, auntie. Ruhasu will grow in the next few days,” Tagoa said quietly. “We’re not the only ones who got away. We’ll see who else drifts in.”
The water around the raft gurgled with their oar strokes. Saotse heard a muttered word in its movement, and she felt Oarsa’s whisper. She put her hands over her ears and hid her head in the bottom of the canoe until the Power’s presence abated, and she heard no more save the rippling of their oars.
Chapter 10
Uya
U ya had learned exactly two of their names: Keshlik and Juyut. She practiced turning Keshlik’s name into a curse, spitting it violently from her lips ask if she were expelling a fish bone. Their language had just the sound for swearing, too. It was full of short, rough sounds, like stones on the seashore grinding together.
She lay in a storeroom, just long enough for her to stretch out. Her hands were bound in leather thongs and tied to a post. The fibers chafed her wrists, red and raw from her four days of captivity. It would have been worse, except that Keshlik came four times a day to bring her food, unbind her ropes, and massage her wrists. Sometimes this seemed like kindness. Sometimes she stopped hating him. But the muscles of her back ached from the way the child sat inside her, and her feet continued to swell, and she remembered her hatred.
A Yakhat face appeared in the doorway. It was Juyut, the younger one, whom she guessed was Keshlik’s brother or nephew. He glanced in at her then left, shouting a response to someone unseen.
Keshlik appeared a moment later. He spoke a few soft words, then knelt and began to undo the ropes binding her hands.
“What’s this?” she asked. He had no tray of food, and it was too early to eat.
He grunted. In a moment, her hands were free, and she began rubbing her wrists. Keshlik stood and offered her his hand.
She looked at it and continued massaging her chafed skin. She wasn’t about to accompany him anywhere if she could help it.
He bent and grabbed her arm just below the elbow, then pulled her roughly upright. An arrow of pain stabbed through her feet, and her legs folded like reeds, unable to uphold her body. Keshlik caught her under her shoulder before she hit the ground. He propped her up so her feeble legs barely touched the ground, and he helped her limp forward from the storeroom.
Her body had discovered all sorts of new pains in her four days tied up. Her legs shrieked with the effort of holding up her pregnant body, and her spine burned and creaked as Keshlik guided her forward. The baby squirmed in her belly, protesting the movement. Uya winced at the light as the warehouse’s shadow slipped behind them, then opened her eyes.
The old market square was full of men on horses, packs brimming with plunder, clouds of yellow dust, carts creaking under their loads. The carts were pulled by stout Prasei ponies, looking dwarfish next to the tall, slender Yakhat breeds. Keshlik pulled her to a cart half-filled with furs and hemp sacks and motioned for her to sit. Were they all leaving, or just her? She heaved herself and her belly up onto the cart and took up a position she hoped she could hold for a few hours. Keshlik tied her hands to the rail of the cart.
He grunted and said something in their abrasive dialect. She spat at him and tugged at the rope. She had plenty of slack to move, but the knots themselves were tight.
She laid back against the hemp sacks of plunder that filled up the rest of the cart. Something sharp and brittle dug into her back. She shifted once or twice, unable to find a comfortable position, and heard the sack’s contents scrape together. The bag shifted in a new
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