[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
bodies.ö
ôIn my own family.ö Zanja rubbed the side of her head, where the rough
terrain
of a scar crossed her scalp. Until this moment, she had forgotten that,
bleeding, dazed, scarcely even conscious, she had walked through the burning
village hoping and failing to save just one life from the disaster, a single
child.
ôYour family?ö The farmer said. ôAre you from Rees?ö
ôIÆm from the northern borderlands. We have Sainnites there, too.ö Zanja
dried
her face with a corner of her headcloth. ôWhat are you and your brother going
to
do?ö
ôWell, as for me, I canÆt endure to see this good crop go to waste. But my
brother wants to cry for justice at the gates of the garrison.ö
ôJustice? Does he think this crime was done by a civilized people?ö
The brother said angrily, ôThe Paladins are much too busy to occupy
themselves
with something so trivial as justice. So there is no law left in South Hill,
except the law of the Sainnites.ö
ôLaw? You are at war!ö
Zanja parted from the farmers with cold civility, and traveled through the
woods
towards the powder cave. Her anger at the manÆs stupidity burned itself out,
Page 110
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
and
ashes remained: a fire-gutted village, a corpse-scattered, charred cornfield,
the coarse laughter of the Sainnite butchers halfway across the valley.
Zanja,
weaving through the mists, falling over the bodies of her friends, seeking
Ransel among the dead, so that she could lie down beside him, and cut loose
her
soul from its bindings.
The AshawalaÆi also had never realized they were at war.
Chapter Fourteen
At least one keg of gunpowder was missing from the powder cave. Zanja waited
there until a summer downpour had lightened to a mist, then she traveled east
in
dead of night and slipped into the river valley under cover of darkness. She
lay
in a copse until dawn. Every time she closed her eyes, pain blossomed in her
healed skull, her heart began to pound, and she saw flames.
With her weapons and gear tied in a bundle on her shoulder, Zanja joined a
group
of farmers headed for Wilton Market. They tolerated her presence as a herd of
horses tolerates a donkey in their midst.
In Wilton, Sainnite soldiers lounged in the sun like lizards on rocks. Zanja
concealed her alien face behind the bundle on her shoulder. The tide carried
her
into and out of a crush of market stalls, where baskets of beans in a dozen
different colors, and round, flat, and finger-shaped potatoes crowded up
against
caged chickens, squalling babies, vendors of steamed dumplings and roast nuts
and honey candy, and the occasional seller of fine goods: silken scarves and
ribbons, handmade lace, silver jewelry. A couple of Sainnite officers rode
down
the crowded street on their jumpy war horses, and Zanja found herself crushed
up
against one of these rickety stalls, along with a man carrying a basket of
mewing kittens and a woman with a sack of potatoes. Unable to move, close
enough
to the stallÆs baubles that she could have stolen one in her mouth if she had
wanted, she had no choice but to examine them closely, while the stall man
shored up the fragile structure by bracing it with his own body. The
Sainnites
passed and the pressure eased, but before Zanja moved on she bought one of
the
baubles, a simple pendant like a miniature plumb bob made of deep green
stone.
What would Emil think of how she was spending the money heÆd given her? The
thought sank like a rock into still water. She moved on until she saw a sign
depicting a flame rising out of stone.
Transformation, of course, is the business of chemists, but the
flame-and-stone
also was a traditional call to revolution. Nevertheless, no one except her
stood
in the street outside the chemistÆs shop, mesmerized by the audacity of the
weather-worn sign. Someone bumped into her and snapped at her for blocking
the
Page 111
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
way. She stepped into the dim shop, and bowed briefly to the chemist, the
shopÆs
only occupant, who used a pestle to grind a mess of odd ingredients into a
fine
powder. A thin, vigorous woman with her gray hair braided and tied with a red
ribbon, the chemist nodded but didnÆt leave off her work until the grinding
was
completed. Then she came over to the counter, wiping her hands upon her apron.
ôYes,ö she said, ôdo you have a receipt for me to fill?ö
ôThereÆs nothing wrong with me.ö
ôGood, then. I hate to see healthy people dose themselves. So you need a
potion
for someone else?ö
ôFor a friend. She needs something to calm her heart. SheÆs wild with grief,
and
itÆs making her ill.ö
The chemist tutted absently. ôLost a child?ö
ôHer whole family is gone. The Sainnites burned her farm. HavenÆt you heard
about it? Her name is Annis.ö
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]