A sense of weary well-being carried Ash along as he followed Kieran down the beach. He could barely remember what had happened after the men with the guns had grabbed him. Later, he'd think about it.
For now, he'd think about how Kieran seemed to like him better today. That was a little odd, not at all what he would have expected. He would have thought going catatonic would be the worst thing he could do. It was exactly the kind of thing Kieran had been afraid of when he'd tried to make Ash head east. He should have awakened in the clutches of the mob or the police or worse, or never woken up at all. Instead, he'd been drawn up by Kieran's heartbeat in his ear, the smell of gunsmoke and leather, and the kind of soft, sweet words he'd never imagined hearing from Kieran's lips, even in his most self-indulgent fantasies.
They still echoed in his head: those pretty blue eyes of yours... didn't I tell you I'd keep you safe? And then for all his grumpiness and bantering, Kieran had treated him gently. His reaction to Ash's sudden embrace had contained no anger, no disgust. Just a mild alarm, and perhaps a flicker of desire.
Ash felt light, floating, as if nothing were quite real. A little bit head-blind on his left side; the effect of the river? Kieran was leading him along the riverbank, picking a path through tumbled slabs of building stone and fragments of rusted oil barrel. It wasn't at all clear where they were going, except that it was upriver. Ash remembered reading that the town of Burn River was the point where the river became navigable, that upstream of the town the water was shallow and fraught with hazards. Maybe it would be cleaner there too, maybe that was why Kieran was taking him this way -- no, what was he thinking, the river was full of chaotic charge even before the factories dumped their phosphors and coal by-products into it. That was why it was called Burn River.
In fact, now that he was looking, he could see that the vegetation along the bank was a little strange. He didn't recognize most of it, so he couldn't be sure whether it was right, but there were a few plants he knew were wrong. He stepped carefully around a clump of daisies that were bowed over by the too-long petals of their flowers, avoided a cottonwood sapling with white growths on its trunk.
"How can anyone live here?" he murmured.
"Hm?" Kieran turned back to look at him. "Quit dawdling. Look -- here." He stopped to let Ash catch up, and while he waited he dug in the pockets of his coat. "Got a present for you."
"You're kidding."
"Nope. This is for you." He tugged something free of the pocket and held it out.
Ash froze. It was a gun. A fat-bodied revolver. It looked big, even in Kieran's hand. "I -- ah --"
"Take it, you baby. And put your coat on, it's about to get cold."
Glancing at the sky, Ash saw that it was later than he'd thought. The yellowing of the light had just seemed part of his mood, but it was nearly evening. Shrugging into his sheepskin jacket, he gingerly reached out and took the revolver. It was heavy, the metal warm from being in Kieran's pocket. He began to put it in his own pocket, but Kieran stopped him.
"Hang on, it's not loaded."
"I don't want it loaded."
"Tough. I want you to be able to defend yourself. This takes forty standard, same as mine, it's a pretty common caliber. Here's where you break it, see? Just pop 'em in like this -- hold it steady, idiot!"
"Kieran, the only firearm I've ever touched was a bird gun, years ago. I don't know how to use one of these."
"Neither do half the homicidal dumbshits running around out here. Pay attention. Pop it back in like that and it locks. You wanna fire it, you have to cock it first. It's single-action. That means you gotta cock it each time. Just pull it -- no, you do it." He used both his hands to wrap Ash's fingers around the grip, put Ash's thumb on the hammer. "Pull back. Yeah, it's hard."
"It's going to go off."
"Not by itself. What, you think it's an animal, it's gonna bite you? It's a machine, Ashes. Be the boss."
Wincing, ready for the noise of a shot, Ash pulled back the hammer. It hurt his thumb. When it clicked into place, he prayed he was done. Kieran wouldn't risk alerting people that they were down here, would he?
No such luck. Shifting behind Ash, he reached his long arms around and moved Ash's hand, making him aim the gun at the middle of the river. "Get your finger on that trigger, now. You need to feel what it's like, or you'll drop it when there's a fight on. Just squeeze down on it."
Breathless both from fear of the gun and from Kieran's voice in his ear, Ash tried to pull away. "Someone's going to hear it and come --"
"No they ain't. People are always shooting off their guns for the hell of it, around here. You're not getting out of this."
Ash took a deep breath. "What am I aiming at?"
"Nothing. Just the water. I just want you to feel it kick, once."
"It's going to hurt, isn't it?"
"Not if you don't tighten up your wrist. Keep it loose. Not limp, dumbass, just loose." His hands wrapped Ash's wrist, giving it a shake. "That's better. Now don't jerk the trigger. Just haul down on it real slow."
Ash felt the weight of the gun, the heat of Kieran's body at his back, his own anxiety and arousal, the chemical reek of the river, the last rays of sun on his cheek; it all melded into one thing. Frighteningly real and beautiful. I always pick the strangest times to be happy, he thought, and tightened his finger.
The gun roared, sending a shock up his arm, more like a sound than a sensation. He realized he'd closed his eyes, and opened them. He couldn't see where his shot had gone, and Kieran was letting go of him. He wanted to start over and do it again, wanted to ask Kieran to show him again, to whisper in his ear the finer points of marksmanship -- is this why people become so irrational when they get hold of guns? Or am I sick, that it turns me on? Frightened of his reaction, Ash held still and didn't try to stop Kieran from moving away.
"Still scared?" said Kieran.
"Yeah." It came out a whisper. Ash gulped and tried again. "More scared than I was before. I'm afraid I'm going to fire it again."
Kieran gave a satisfied nod. "Good. You respect it. Put it away now. It won't go off if you don't cock it. Later on I'll show you how to clean it, maybe have you shoot some targets."
"Okay."
"You still think it's gonna bite you, don't you?"
"I think it already did."
Kieran laughed, slapping Ash's shoulder. "You're an outlaw, kid. Did you forget that? We're outlaws. Now let's get the hell out of town before somebody finds us."
"This came off a dead man, didn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Someone you shot."
"You have a problem with that?" Kieran watched his face, as if his answer mattered.
Ash gave it some thought, for that reason. At last he said, "No." He took one last look at the gun, then set it carefully in his pocket. "It seems appropriate, somehow. I'm just wondering how long I can travel with you before I end up killing someone. Or getting shot because I won't kill someone. You saw what it did to me, just having people die near me."
"Guess we'll cross that one when we come to it."
"It was just -- they were so scared of you. I wanted to tell you that, when they had me --" He pantomimed the gun to his throat.
"Wouldn't have changed anything." Kieran set off down the beach again.
"I suppose you're right," he said, trying to match Kieran's pace. "And it's not as if I'd never felt anyone die before. I lived in Ladygate. People dying and being born all the time. I just didn't know what it was I was feeling. It's worse, knowing. There's this, this blinding fog of fear, and then it just pops, and there's nothing."
"You figure it was you being scared, or them getting mixed up with you?"
"I'm not sure I can tell the difference. Just like now, I feel full of butterflies, like something good's about to happen, and I don't know if it's me or you."
Kieran turned his head, but his smile was apparent in his voice. "That's me, I guess. Sorry 'bout that."
"Why --?"
"You know damn well. Quit trying to make me say pretty things to you."
Ash smiled to himself, and managed not to answer.
Gradually, the riverbank became less cluttered and less steep. There began to be shacks perched on the shore, sad little things made of sheet metal and scrap wood. Thin, hard-eyed Iavaians in dull-colored clothes watched them pass. Even the children looked wary. Smells of cooking mixed with smells of rot, smoke, and human waste. Ash tried not to stare. Kieran didn't even bother looking.
"It's sad," Ash whispered. "I knew, intellectually, that people lived like this. But I never understood. I wish there was something I could do."
"Pick one."
Ash frowned in puzzlement. "What?"
"Pick one. One family." Kieran swung his coat back to get at his trouser pocket.
"But -- I get it. You can't pick one."
"I'm not being a wiseass. Just point."
"Um. All right." Not certain what Kieran meant to do, Ash peered into the shantytown, intending to choose the nearest house. If you could call them houses. But the nearest one seemed deserted. Just past it, though, was one in front of which two little girls stared at him, frozen in the act of digging a hole with sticks. Their mother, enormously pregnant, stood half-hidden in the doorway of the shack, glaring. The mother looked younger than Ash was. She couldn't have been more than four and a half feet tall, and there was something wrong with her face; her cheeks and chin looked red. She was far enough away to be a blurred to his imperfect sight, so he couldn't tell what exactly was wrong, but it wasn't nice. "That one," said Ash quietly, feeling sick.
"All right. I'm going to teach you some Iavaian. Say it after me: nahia aberu inamat."
"Na -- nay --"
"Nahia."
"Nahia --"
"Nahia. Aberu. Inamat."
"Nahia aberu inamat."
"Good. Means 'well water please.' See how she's got a jug by the door? Here." He pressed a bank note into Ash's hand and gave him a little shove. "I'll be right behind you."
"Uh -- okay --" Ash's feeling of floating intensified with everything Kieran did, and he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever wake up. The pregnant girl and the two kids watched him approach. They didn't move. He smiled at the children as he passed them, but they didn't smile back. He stopped in front of the girl and cleared his throat. Now he could see that the skin of her face was flaking off in pink, shiny patches, some disease of the river. "Ah -- um. Nahisa -- I mean -- nahia aberu ina, inam --"
The girl's mouth opened and closed once. Then she burst out laughing.
Ash felt his ears getting red. He turned to see if Kieran was right behind, as he'd said he would be, but he was too far away to help. Taking his time strolling up to the shack. Smiling sheepishly, Ash tried again. "Nahia aberu inamat." He pointed at the jug. "Inamat."
This only made the girl laugh harder. Now the children were joining in, and a couple neighbors were wandering over to see what was so funny. Ash sent Kieran a pleading look. "Kieran, help! I think I said it wrong!"
"No, no." That was the pregnant girl talking. Her accent was strong, but her Eskaran was understandable. "You say right. But that --" she pointed to the jug -- "is wizgi. You see? You ask water. Point to wizgi."
"Oh." Ash chuckled a little. "Sorry. Yeah, that's funny."
"I give water, okay. You tell me, kinatta, what you want with talk Iavai'ai. You white."
He pointed at Kieran. "He's teaching me."
"Why?"
Ash shrugged. "Because he feels like it? I was just doing what he told me."
The girl narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but there was an amused glint in them. "So who is he, eh, get a white man do what he say?"
It was Kieran who answered, with a rapid-fire string of Iavaian that made all the gathered natives burst out laughing. Then he grinned at Ash. "You should see yourself, Ashes. You're bright red."
"That's not fair! What did you say?"
"I just said not all whites are too dumb to take good advice."
Ash turned to the girl. "Is that all he said?"
"Oh, he say so all right." She giggled. "You want water? Pay for bottle."
"Right. Here." He pushed the bank note at her.
She examined it, eyes widening. "Too much!"
"Really? How much is it?"
"Too much." She made it disappear anyway. "Rich man, eh?"
Kieran said something else in Iavaian and made them laugh again. The girl ignored Ash's queries this time, ducking into the shack to emerge with a green glass jug mostly full. She thrust it into his arms.
"Thank you, miss. Um -- Kieran?"
"Inai ou kii an'na," Kieran prompted.
"Oh ki anna," Ash repeated dutifully. He wasn't much surprised when they burst into laughter again.
Grinning broadly, the pregnant girl, babbling in her own language, gave Ash a series of short shoves until he moved away, back to Kieran's side. Kieran gave him an unreadable smile, taking him briefly by the back of the neck and giving him a little shake before leading him away again. Ash looked back once, to see that most of the shantytown neighbors were clustered round the girl who'd given him the water, but the little ones were smiling at him. One waved her muddy stick. He waggled his fingers at her.
"Here." Ash offered Kieran the jug. Kieran took it, still smiling, and drank a little, then gave it back. Ash drank as well. It was clean water, with only a slight mineral taste. "So what was all that about?"
"You did good."
"I see. You were testing me."
"Nope."
"Yes, you were. You were seeing how I'd act with them."
"Okay, I was a bit curious about that. But mostly we needed the jug. I gotta teach you more of the language -- the farther west we go, the less people are gonna speak Eskaran."
"Sure, and speaking of languages, what was all that about? What did you say to make them laugh so much?"
Kieran grinned. "Nothing."
"Oh, come on. What did you tell them?"
"Nothing."
"I want to know!"
"What I told you I said."
"And when she said I was rich?"
"I said you were just a rich man's friend."
"And what did she say?"
"She told you to get back to your husband."
"What?" Ash gaped. "She did not."
"That's what she said."
"What the hell made her think -- Kieran, what did you really say?"
"Well, we Iavaians have a lot of words for friend." He looked at Ash, and his grin turned into a laugh. "You look like a fish."
"I -- uh -- well. I'm glad I could amuse you."
"Oh, come on. It's funny."
Ash tried for a little longer to be mad, but it was no use, he just couldn't be angry. He turned away to hide his smile. "When will it be your turn to be the source of humor?"
"Never. That's your job."
There wasn't anything to say, after that, but Ash didn't mind. Had Kieran really told those people that Ash was his boyfriend? His lover? It was undignified, a shade belittling, to have it made into a joke like that, and yet -- visions of the possible future filled his head, and despite the chill of impending night his face felt far too warm. Don't count on it, he told himself. He's changed his mind before. It's not safe to assume, with him. But that was part of Kieran's -- well, charm was a very wrong word. His draw, the truth of him, a component of the thing that made him the only possible destination. All right, I'm not expecting anything. But I'm not giving up, either.
They climbed the bank in blue twilight, and found a gravel road at the top, running beside a set of railroad tracks. Kieran led the way parallel to the tracks, back toward the river, where Ash could make out a bridge. It looked like the bridge was just rails and ties over open water, with no road bed to walk on; Ash didn't look forward to crossing it in the dark. But when Kieran stepped onto the tracks, he caught Ash's arm and turned him the other way, away from the water, walking between the rails this time.
Obscuring our trail. I get it. It was a deeper layer of thinking than Ash had expected from Kieran: knowing that Watch trackers would expect them to hide their trace in rail interference, Kieran was making the trail disappear in such a way that the trackers would think they'd crossed the river. Why can't I get used to how smart he is? I keep thinking he's not quite as intelligent as I am. Is it just the way he talks? In the present circumstances, he's effectively much smarter than I. The thought made him a little dizzy, a kind of awe. God, I'm really crazy about him, aren't' I?
"Hey. Kieran."
"Yep."
"What you told those people, I mean, which of these many words for friend did you use?"
"Tiv'haan."
"What's it mean exactly?"
"Kinda like 'little brother.' Guess that woman assumed I wouldn't call a white boy that unless I was getting some."
"Oh." Disappointed, Ash was prepared to drop the subject.
Kieran wasn't. "The word you're looking for is ediya'haan. Unless we're not a couple but we have sex for ritual purposes, and then it's kaitinan. Or if one of us was pretending to be female, then it would be chikeru, but that's an insult."
"What was the first one again?"
"Ediya'haan."
"Which means, exactly?"
"Dear friend. Beloved friend." Kieran shrugged, as if to make it sound less important.
"Beloved friend."
"Yeah."
"Are we?"
"Hell, you're my only friend, Ashes. Now you're trying to make me say pretty things again. You know I'm not gonna do that."
"I'm just trying to figure out..." He trailed off, realizing he was digging a hole. Making Kieran uncomfortable and annoyed. "Sorry. I shouldn't push you."
"Yeah. Look, I know I'm jerking you around. Not doing it on purpose. I'm just not... good at this."
"At what?" Ash asked softly.
"At... at being... you know. I don't know. It's just. Whatever."
Of all the possible responses, getting incoherent was the last thing Ash had expected Kieran to do. He dared to ask, "Is it because of Shan Dyer?"
A sharp headshake. "I'm not being faithful to his memory or any maudlin shit like that, if that's what you're asking. We weren't like that. We were just good friends who screwed a lot."
"But you liked him."
"Is this going somewhere?"
"I gather you haven't had a lot of people that you've cared about, and so far they've all died horribly."
"Two for two," Kieran said with a nod. "Okay, you might have a point. You do have a point. Hope you don't think talking is gonna fix it."
"Not talking, no." He slipped his hand into Kieran's, meaning it as a gesture of support, reassurance.
Kieran jumped and jerked away as if it had been an attack. "Fucking empath. Leave my head alone."
Ash stumbled on a rotted tie and stubbed his toe. "Ow. Shit." He was glad of the excuse to swear, because he couldn't quite bring himself to direct it at Kieran. Not yet. Any minute, though. At least he's being more honest with me. "So do you still think I'm deluded for -- for liking you?"
"Yep. Just walk for a while, all right? I'm tired of talking."
"Sorry."
"And quit apologizing."
"Oh -- fuck you."
Kieran laughed. "There you go. You're getting it."
"Getting what, for god's sake?"
"Another week and I'll have you drinking corn liquor wizgi and smoking cheap cigars."
"And then I'll be bad enough for you? Is that it?"
"Shit, don't get so worked up. It was a joke."
"Go to hell."
"Working on it." He flashed Ash a smile, and all Ash's irritation melted into a little puddle of soppy longing.
I'm such a sucker. He's playing me like an automatic piano. Just push the button and watch it spin. I bet he thinks it's funny. No, it is funny. I wonder where we're sleeping tonight. I hope it's somewhere cold, so he'll have to let me hold him.
Soon, though, desire was drowned by exhaustion. The tracks seemed to go on forever. There was a pair of them, and once Kieran pulled Ash across to the other set to let a freight go by, making sure they didn't leave the railbed. Ash didn't like to think what would happen if two trains happened to come at once.
Ash was plodding in a daze of weariness when Kieran finally called a halt. The city's lights had been left behind long ago. Now the stars were blocked on either side by walls of rippled stone. Ash could barely see, but Kieran seemed to have no trouble. He took Ash's hands to help him down a slope of loose gravel, but Ash lost his footing anyway and knocked them both down. Kieran didn't say anything; just helped him up again and led him away.
Kieran seemed to know where he was going, as he hauled Ash through a twisting channel between the stone walls, sometimes so narrow that they had to flatten themselves sideways. It was so dark now that they were navigating by Talent sight alone. Ash just wanted to lean against the wall and rest. But Kieran pulled him onward. The channel widened out, and then they were climbing rounded steps of water-cut stone to a darker shadow in the cliff wall. When they reached the place, so dark Ash couldn't tell if it was a cave or just a dip, Kieran stopped him with a hand on his chest. Rooting in his pockets, Kieran snatched up something from the ground, then made a sudden sharp noise and a blinding light. Ash was so tired it took him a long moment to realize Kieran had struck a match.
Wincing against the light, Ash watched while Kieran lit a handful of dry weeds and used this makeshift torch to explore what seemed to be a shallow cave or deep overhang, not quite high enough for him to stand upright. Kieran bent to peer into a crevice, waved his burning weeds at it, stomped and made a crunching sound. Scraped something off his boot and kicked the befouled sand into the crevice. Then he dropped the torch, which had burned down to his fingers, and stepped on it.
Now doubly blinded, Ash flinched when Kieran's hand brushed his arm and crawled down to his hand. Relaxed and let himself be led. He groped in front of his face to avoid hitting his head on the overhang. When Kieran pulled him down, he folded.
Kieran's voice was something between a rumble and a whisper, and ran over his skin like steam. "Don't bother taking your boots off. We won't sleep long."
Unable to see even where Kieran's face was, Ash used the one hand he held as a reference. Explored up the arm, across the chest; found throat and jaw and mouth; holding his breath. Lips rough with dryness curved under his fingers, and a wave of weakness ran through him at the idea that his touch made Kieran smile. Then a large hand caught his and pushed it away.
"I'm tired," Kieran said. He placed Ash's hand on his side, and both his own hands went around Ash's waist under the jacket. There was some awkward shifting and accidental shin-kicking until they lay pressed together, arms inside each other's coats. "Warm enough?" Kieran whispered.
Ash tried to explain that he wasn't sleepy at all, it would be impossible to sleep with all the marvelous country of Kieran's body yet to be explored, but it came out as: "Mn." His last waking thought was that it wasn't fair that he should feel so safe, when he couldn't make Kieran feel safe in return.
--==*==--
Before the sun was up, they were moving again. They found a place to fill their water jug, a thin trickle sheening a rock face, but they had nothing to eat. They walked the tracks until midmorning, when Kieran chose a dry streambed and followed it to the river. Without explaining himself, he started stripping off his clothes. When he stood stark-naked, he turned to see Ash still clothed and staring, and he laughed.
"We're going across," he said.
"Oh." Ash shook himself, looking away. You've seen it all before in the bath, haven't you? You're acting like a child. "Right." Face flaming, he stripped as well, and rolled everything into a bundle. Holding their clothes atop their heads, they forged in. Ash expected the charged river to feel different, but it was just warmish slow-flowing water. He slipped a little, ducking himself, and got part of his bundle wet.
On the other side, Kieran set his bundle down, then glanced back. He flashed a grin: "What the hell." He ran back toward the river, hopped up on a bit of flat stone, and took a flying leap. For a split second he was silhouetted against the sun, wet hair splayed behind, long legs curled up and arms outstretched, like some crazy bird. Then he hit the water with a gigantic splash.
Ash had to do the same thing, of course. And of course he botched it, slipping on Kieran's wet footprints on the stone, hitting the water hands-first where it was only about a foot deep. He came up yelping, and popped a scraped finger into his mouth. Kieran, damn him, laughed. Then he turned thoughtful.
"Hey Ash. Does a river count?"
"What?"
"Remember what you said once? How when we got out we should find a lake and swim around until we get pruney?"
"Oh. Yeah, I guess this counts."
Kieran gathered up his hair behind his head, stretching, twisting to look downstream. Rivulets ran glittering down his skin, spattered off him in showers of diamonds. Ash aborted his motion to get out of the shallows, and knew he was staring saucer-eyed. The rushing in his ears prevented him from hearing the words when Kieran's mouth moved, though he fully appreciated the glint of teeth behind finely shaped lips. Kieran glanced at him, arching an eyebrow.
"Um. What?"
"I said, we don't have time to make raisins of ourselves. Which means we don't have time for what you're thinking about, either."
Ash gulped and tore his eyes away. "You're cruel."
Kieran laughed. "I'm cruel? You're the one reclining with your ass half out of the water. Get in deeper, get cooled off, it'll revive you. Then we gotta go."
Ash obeyed, hoping it would also cool the embarrassment, disappointment, relief, and blind searing horniness that were warring right beneath his skin. And that bastard Kieran was just laughing and splashing like it didn't matter. Infuriating, and lovable. He was really enjoying himself. Was this the real Kieran, this whirl of energy and sparkling eyes and flashing teeth? Had the dour killer he'd first known been as much a mask as his own meekness? Probably exactly like that, he decided. He had that meekness in him, could play the mouse when threatened because it was part of him; similarly, Kieran had made a wall of the cruelty that was already in his soul, but could play in the river like an overgrown otter when he didn't need to defend.
Ash was warmed by the understanding. Kieran trusted him enough to cut loose. That was wonderful. But it didn't make it much easier to put his clothes on and leave the river behind, only a few minutes later.
Up another twisting path through the rocks, they reached a dirt road, and started walking roughly west. Northwest, Ash thought, but he wasn't sure. The terrain was so confusing. They were really in the badlands now, and nothing was flat or straight.
"Where are we going?"
"There." Kieran pointed at a space between melting castles of sandstone which looked much like every other direction.
"I don't see anything."
"You don't see that smoke?"
"Nearsighted, remember?"
"Oh, yeah. I forgot. You'll see soon enough, I guess."
About an hour later, they rounded a bend to see a dozen buildings clustered around a shallow creek. The road went right through the creek, without even a bridge. Two of the buildings were large, square, and wooden, with signs over their doors. Most of the others were those little adobe beehives the natives built. At the end of the village, on higher ground, stood a small temple in very poor repair. Beside the road where it crossed the creek was a fenced area with horses in it. They looked tired. The whole town looked tired. Kieran led Ash down the road as if they weren't wanted men. He hopped the creek as lightly as if they hadn't been walking all morning.
Kieran stopped to lean on the fence, looking at the horses. Just past the corral was a shack built against the side of the stable, and on the side of the shack was a misspelled sign indicating that these horses could be rented.
"Can you ride, Ash?"
"Yes, please."
Kieran considered for a moment, then slapped the fence post. "Okay. Riding it is."
"Thank you," said Ash as they made for the shack. "I was afraid we'd have to walk the whole way. To wherever."
"Doubt you could," Kieran said, and pushed the door open. Inside was dark and surprisingly cool. The only furnishings were a small table and a chair; an old white man sat in the latter with his feet up on the former, head back, asleep. The rest of the single room was crowded with stacked barrels; one near the door was open, revealing dry oats and a scoop. A sign proclaimed it eight moons a bag.
Kieran knocked on the table. The man continued to snore. With a nasty smile, Kieran grasped the table by a leg and yanked it out from under the fellow's feet. Coming awake with a snort, the man flailed and fell off his chair.
"Ouch! Dammit!" Scowling and rubbing his backside, the man climbed to his feet. "You didn't have to do that."
"We did try knocking," Ash said sheepishly.
Kieran replaced the table with a businesslike thump. "Two horses and feed for a week."
"Right. Um." The man fumbled in his shirt pocket, producing a pair of spectacles. "Two. A week, you say?"
"Now."
"No manners, you natives." He continued to fiddle with his glasses, putting them on and adjusting their fit meticulously. Kieran reached across and plucked them off his face, startling an indignant "Hey!" from the old man.
"Ash, try these on."
Half guilty and half amused, Ash put the glasses on. He blinked a bit as things struggled into focus. He'd nearly forgotten what it was like to be able to see fine details. He peered out the open door, checking his long sight. "Better than without. Not as good as the ones that got broken."
"Fine. We'll take those too."
"The hell you will, you thieving --" The man stopped with a gulp as he found himself talking up the barrel of Kieran's gun.
"We'll pay for them, of course," Kieran smiled.
"Um." The old man swallowed hard. "Yes. Thank you. I appreciate that." Afraid to take his eyes off the gun, he scrambled blindly for a pencil and ledger book perched on a barrel behind him. "Um. Two horses. One week. Standard fee is one throne, plus one-five a week, five throne deposit or kind, that's per horse, and you'll need feed, two sacks per horse, that comes to, um --"
"Fifteen three and two," Ash finished for him. "And a throne for the specs."
In a moment of insane and pointless courage, the man drew himself up and said, "They cost me one-nine."
"You got ripped off," Kieran said. He put his gun away and pulled out a wad of paper money, thrusting it into Ash's hands. "Ash, pay the man. I'll pick out the animals." He shouldered through the side door into the corral.
Shaking his head and smiling, Ash peeled off banknotes. A ten-throne note, six ones, four signets. When he looked up, it was down the length of a rifle. Where had the old man had that hiding?
While his mind froze, his body went on moving. He put the counted money down on the table, and slipped the rest into his pocket. The one that had the revolver in it. He saw a speck of rust on the end of the rifle barrel, saw his own left hand coming up to catch the rifle's end and thrust it upwards. He thumped it against the low ceiling of the shack, locking his arm straight, while his right hand seemed to remember how to cock the pistol without his intervention. He stopped short of aiming it at the old man.
"I believe my change is eight moons," he said, and the calm in his own voice astonished him.
"You're those escapees," the old man said. "The ones the Watch was asking about."
"We've done you no harm. Let's not start, okay? Let go of the rifle. Let go. Thank you." Ash slung the rifle over his shoulder on its grimy strap.
"You're not bringing my horses back, I'll bet."
"Probably not. I think you should get that feed ready." Ash looked at his pistol and sighed. He took his finger off the trigger and eased the hammer up. "Hell, I'm not going to shoot you. But my friend gets impatient." When the man still hesitated, Ash added, "He kills people. In batches, to save time."
Nodding so his jowls shook, the old man snatched a stack of bags off a shelf.
When Kieran came back in, he looked from the sacks of feed on the table to the cowering proprietor to the rifle that had appeared across Ash's back. "What happened?"
With a wry smile, Ash unslung the rifle. "This kind gentleman gave us a present."
Kieran took it, examined it, tossed it at the old man's feet. "Rusted out piece of shit's more likely to blow up in your hands than shoot straight. We'll get you a better one in Canyon." He pointed at the old man. "We were never here, understand?"
The man nodded, looking down at his rifle as if it were a poisonous snake.
Outside, two horses were saddled and waiting. There was a dark-gray gelding who danced and nodded in excitement, and a bay mare who regarded the gray's antics with cool scorn.
"You get the bay," Kieran said.
"Why am I not surprised?" Ash patted the mare's neck, let her whuffle his hair, getting to know him. "I'm going to have the last laugh, you know. Look at this lady's big feet. Look at her big fat butt. We hit a patch of soft ground and she'll leave your jumpy gray way behind."
Kieran smiled. "Could be."
"The old man said the Watch had been 'asking about' us, by the way. Which doesn't sound like some printed notice. They were here."
"Already? That's not so good." Taking the gray's bridle, Kieran set off toward one of the two large buildings, the one with a sign that read 'Hengist's Dry Goods.' "You hungry?"
"Yeah, but shouldn't we get out of town? That old man --"
"Won't do anything. I know him. Course, he doesn't remember me 'cause he's a racist dipshit and we all look alike to him, but I pulled that once on him already. Pay for a week, they can't report the horses stolen until the week's up. By which time you're in West Mauraine for all he knows."
"But he knew who we are. He said 'You're those escapees.' What if he --"
"Suddenly decides to risk his life to do his civic duty? He'll wait until we're gone."
"Immediately after we're gone. So why pay for the horses?"
"I didn't know the Watch was here," Kieran said patiently. "You want to go take the money back?" He threw the gray's reins over the rail in front of the store, looping them in a one-handed half-knot as if he'd done it a thousand times. Which he probably had. Ash was a little slower about tying up his own horse; he'd never owned one, and it had been a couple years since he'd ridden.
Kieran waited for him, with no sign of impatience. It's like he doesn't want to risk letting me out of his sight. Does he even know he's doing it? Ash hurried to join him, not wanting to test this new attitude too far.
A plump middle-aged woman behind the counter glared at them suspiciously as they came in. Her suspicion only deepened when Ash handed Kieran what was left of the money. She leaned back when Kieran came and put his hands flat on the counter.
"Hafta wait outside," she belched out.
Kieran tilted his head. "What was that?"
The woman found a bit more space behind her, and occupied it. She pointed at Kieran and spoke with exaggerated slowness. "You. Hafta wait. Outside. No darkie, see? No wizgi."
Ash darted forward just in time to catch Kieran's hand before he could draw his weapon. "Let me talk to her, okay? Please?"
"Like hell I'm gonna let some pea-brained sow push me around. What happened to the old lady used to run this place? How do you expect to make any money around here if --"
"You ain't nothing but trouble, you people. Now git outta my store."
"Kieran, please. Please. Just take a step back, okay?"
Kieran turned his glare on Ash; if he'd been giving the shopkeeper that look this whole time, Ash was surprised she was still standing. His green eyes were like glowing pools of poison. But Ash stared him down, and after a long breath, he relaxed into a bitter smile. "Sure. Since you asked so nicely." He put his hands up in surrender and stepped back.
Ash turned to the shopkeeper. "Ma'am, you've offended us both by talking to my friend that way. We'd really like an apology from you."
"Like hell. You can both get outta my store, you and your sand-rat pal."
"I see." Ash shrugged and put his hand in his pocket. I can't believe I'm doing this. He drew his gun and aimed it at the woman's face, deliberately cocked it. "Open your till, please."
Behind him, he heard Kieran give a small, surprised laugh. "Oh, Ashes."
"Well, she wouldn't apologize. The till, ma'am."
The woman stared at him a moment longer. Then, with shaking fingers, she got a key from her pocket and unlocked the drawer. She stood back, hands up by her ears.
"Very good," Ash said soothingly. "Thank you. Now I'd like you to pack us some picnic lunches. How about, what, ten pounds of flour? Couple pounds of coffee, couple pounds of sugar -- what else, Kieran?"
With a smile in his voice, Kieran rattled off a long list as if reading it from a page. While the woman got what Kieran asked for, including a pair of prospector's knapsacks and some saddlebags to load it all in, Ash moved around behind the counter and cleaned out the till. There wasn't much in it, maybe twenty thrones in paper and coin. All the time, the thought kept going through his head: I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe I'm doing this.
"Thank you so much," Kieran drawled as he slung a pack over each shoulder. "You've been a great help to us, ma'am."
"And so polite and friendly," Ash added. "We'll be sure to visit again, next time we're in town."
Still with her hands raised, the woman spat. "The Watch'll get you. They know where you are."
"Oh? And do you know where they are?" Ash smiled sweetly.
Too quickly: "No, no."
"Please don't lie to us, ma'am. It makes us sad."
"I -- I ain't --"
Ash leveled the revolver, wondering if he was about to pull the trigger. The heel of his hand was already anticipating the kick. Lying to an empath; she was too stupid to live.
"They're next door!" the woman blurted, eyes going round. "They're at Bee's, asleep! They came in this morning, asked around, then got rooms! I have three children, please don't, please don't kill me." Her fear so intense it was like a kind of amazement, around her in a cloud, blinding her.
Kieran chuckled. "Don't kill the lady, Ash. Don't want to deprive those poor kiddies of the chance to grow up bigoted and rude, right?"
"It would sure be a shame." Grinning, Ash saluted her with his gun and backed out of the store.
Outside, he put the gun away and took one of the packs from Kieran, tried to hide the way his hands shook as he untied his horse. Kieran was already in the saddle by the time he got the loop undone. The Iavaian was staring up the street at the building marked 'Bee's Tavern -- Rooms to Let.'
"I'm tempted to go see if they're really in there."
"For god's sake, Kieran, can we get out of here?"
"Lost your nerve?"
"I'm about to lose my lunch." Ash was thankful for the placid temper of the mare, because his pack nearly overbalanced him as he mounted. "I just robbed someone. At gunpoint!"
"And it was beautiful." Kieran grinned. He bent over the gray's neck and kicked its flanks hard. "Yah!"
"Wait! Oh, hell." Ash tried to follow, but the mare wouldn't do better than trot. He left the nameless village in a cloud of Kieran's dust.
All the way out of town, he kept feeling eyes on his back. Each time he turned, though, the road was empty. The feeling persisted even after he was out of sight of the village. At the top of a rising loop where the eroded ground opened out into a high plain, he found Kieran waiting for him, still looking delighted. Only then did the sensation of being watched go away.
"Please stop looking so happy," Ash said as they began riding side by side at a calmer pace.
"What, you don't want me to be happy?"
"Be happy, yes, but --"
"But don't look happy? Maybe I'm prettier when I sulk?" Kieran pulled a long face, sticking out his lip and batting his eyes comically.
Shaking his head, trying to clear it, Ash rubbed his dust-stung eyes. "Be serious. I didn't mean -- I like to see you smile, Kieran, you have the most beautiful smile in the world, but --"
"Don't get sappy on me."
"-- but that's the problem, don't you see? It makes me proud of what I did, and that's not something I want to be proud of."
Kieran raised an eyebrow at him, and said nothing for a while. The silence stretched long enough that Ash was startled when Kieran reached out and flicked his sleeve. "Tell you what, Ashes. You go ahead and feel bad for what you did. But be proud of how well you did it. That was one of the sweetest robberies I've ever been in. Just calm and clear, you told the bitch what to do and gave her room to do it, enough threat to get the job done and not enough that she freaked out and did something desperate. And you have to admit she deserved it."
"Kieran --"
"Go on. Admit it."
Ash found a smile on his face, wiped it off, felt it come back. "Okay. She deserved it."
"How much did you get?"
"Chump change. About twenty thrones."
"Hang onto it. Just in case we get separated."
The bay sidled and snorted as Ash tensed in alarm. "Separated? You're planning something that could split us up? Kieran --"
"No. I said I wouldn't ditch you." Annoyed. "I'm just covering all the angles. Let's pick it up now -- wouldn't be surprised if those Watchmen are half an hour behind us." Kieran sighed at the way Ash twisted in the saddle to look behind. "On tired horses. And I took the only decent ones at the livery. Plus they'll be lazy, 'cause they can track us."
"Oh god. They can. Horses can't walk on the rails, Kieran, they'll lame themselves."
"I know. It's covered. Trust me. You trust me?"
"Yes."
"Shit, I was afraid you'd say that." Kieran grinned, and nudged his mount to a faster walk.
The road swung between north and west, paralleling the river in long, slow sweeps, though usually so far from the water that hills blocked the view. To the left, the broken land ran raggedly alongside, sometimes so far that the golden stone had a gray tint, sometimes so close that the road had been blasted through a cliff. As the sun began to sink before them, they came to a crossroads.
Back was Smith 12 and Burn River 28. Ahead were the Carver, Blackrock, and Harden mines, 21, 40, and 86 respectively, making Ash wonder if anyone bothered to take the road that far when there must be rails laid to those places to get the ore out. To the right, a small track was labeled Leyden Farm. To the left, the sign said Canyon Township was 24 miles away. Kieran turned left.
"Wait a second," Ash said, and Kieran obligingly reined in.
"Problem?"
"We're actually going to Canyon? I thought you were saying that in front of that old man as a kind of misdirection."
"What good would that do? They can track us, remember?" Kieran started down the Canyon road. "Never leave a live enemy behind you. I know this area better than just about anybody. Me and Shan had a shack upstairs of Canyon, up on Blind Horse Hill. I wonder if it's still there." He shook his head, frowning. "What am I thinking? It hasn't been half a year since I saw it last. Of course it's still there."
Ash sensed the sadness behind the words, and decided to do Kieran a favor by ignoring the digression. "So you're planning an ambush."
"Yep. There's a great place for it, up this way a stretch. Used it a few times before. Nice high rock, good campsite behind it, and you can see about a mile back down the road. We'll just pick them off. Wish I had a decent rifle, I can't do anything at range with a short barrel."
"Do we have to kill them?"
"How long do you want to be running?" Kieran retorted.
"I don't think I can help. I won't try to stop you, but you'll have to do it by yourself."
"You were about to shoot that stupid woman, I could tell by her reaction. She saw it in your face."
Ashamed, Ash looked away. "Maybe. I don't know. Just -- don't plan on me killing anyone."
"Your conscience is going to land us back in Churchrock."
"Would you rather I let you count on me, and then found I couldn't pull the trigger? Is that a good plan?"
Kieran's lips thinned, and he didn't answer for so long that Ash thought he wasn't going to. After several minutes, though, he said suddenly, "I'm an unforgivable asshole for making it sound like I'm mad you don't want to kill folks. I wouldn't even ask if I didn't think two shooters would near double our chances. But you're right about not planning on it. Fact is, I hope you don't have to kill anybody. I hope to -- fuck it, I can't 'hope to god' like people do, I don't believe in that shit. I hope to the old gods, they were right bastards but I know they were real. Be a damn shame for you to get twisted like me. That's part of why I didn't want you to come with me. I guess it's pretty unlikely we'll survive without doing some nasty shit."
He turned his green gaze on Ash, who was staring in surprise at this uncharacteristically long speech, and for once he didn't smile even a little at Ash's expression. Shortly he looked away again and continued. "That little robbery was a tiny tykes' birthday party compared to pretty much everything we'll have to do from here on in. We barely inconvenienced that bigoted old twat, and the fact is if you hadn't taken the lead, I would've just shot her. Just shot her in the face without giving a damn one way or another.
"I know I'm warped as all hell. Didn't feel nice getting this way. To keep that from happening to you, I'd have done anything, even send you away and let you think I was okay with it. Too late for that. Now I ask you to shoot somebody. Fucked in the head, me. Look, Ash, do you have the faintest concept what the hell kind of disgusting heartless broke-brained thug I am?"
Fighting the urge to smother Kieran with stupid reassurance, Ash forced himself to answer honestly. "You're a criminal, yes, a murderer, and that doesn't go away. You're badly damaged. Sometimes I'm a little frightened of what you might do. But heartless? Listen to yourself. And I'm sad, but not disgusted."
Kieran chewed his lip and watched the road for a while. A sad smile slowly grew across his face. "You're really a good guy, Ash. I mean really a stand-up guy. There aren't enough apologies or thanks, and that shit never changes anything, but I want you to know I'm glad you're around."
"Thank you," Ash said, a little stunned. "That matters."
"Yeah, it does, doesn't it?" Smile going bright, Kieran reached out and ruffled Ash's hair. He sat straighter in the saddle for hours after that.
The sky was still light when Kieran turned off the road into a narrow wash, but the sun had been behind the mountains for an hour. It was a rotten path, so choked with brush and boulders that they had to dismount and coax the horses along. After about half a mile, though, it opened up, curving back the way they'd come, and ended at a bit of sandy, gently sloping ground surrounded by flat-topped rocks the size of four-story tenements. Kieran handed Ash his reins.
"Should be water down there, you might have to dig for it. Don't make a fire unless you're sure it won't smoke." Before Ash could reply, Kieran was halfway up one of the cliffs, climbing a nearly vertical face of broken stone as if it were a hotel staircase.
Being busy keeps you from worrying -- Ash had heard that lots of times. It didn't seem to work very well, though. He gave the horses and camp chores his full attention, but he was still sick to his stomach.
Building a good fire was easy. He found quite a bit of wood caught in a dry jam in a narrow tributary canyon, and it was all completely desiccated. A single match, a brief flare of high flame, and it was burning quietly and steadily, giving off no more smoke than a cigar. Where Kieran had pointed him for water, he was pleased to find a tiny stream. Just a thin trickle, like something poured out of a teacup, but clear and steady.
He reorganized the packs and saddlebags. There was a shaving kit among the items from the dry goods store, including a little round mirror; he propped it against a stone and cleaned up his face. He didn't really need it yet, only started to get obviously scruffy after four or five days, but he had the time so he guessed he might as well. Then he stared up for a while at the rock that had swallowed Kieran. Waiting for shots.
There were fat felted blankets rolled up and tied to the packs, and an oilcloth, so he made a bed. There were also a skillet and a saucepan. Using the saucepan as a mixing bowl, he had a go at flatbread, certain that Kieran would laugh at him for it. Then he put some water in the floury saucepan and boiled it until it thickened. Handful of beans, some rice -- there wasn't much of either -- and the contents of a can of stewed tomatoes. It took some doing to find the can opener, but in the process he located a string of chilies and a box of salt. Amazing that all this food had been crammed into their packs.
And what if they didn't live to eat it? And what if the Watchmen had snuck up on Kieran and used some quiet magic to abduct him? The thought made Ash's chest tighten up so he couldn't breathe. Night's chill seemed more severe suddenly. He thought of Kieran up there on that rock alone, in the dark, waiting for his chance to do murder. It wasn't right. He didn't know what he could do to change it, but it wasn't right. Leaving the stew simmering at the edge of the fire, he went to the place where Kieran had climbed up.
There was a scuffing sound above, and a shower of dust. "You want me to fall on your head?" said Kieran's voice. "Get back from there."
Feeling foolish, Ash went back to the fire. Kieran descended in a patter of gravel, slapped dust from his pants. Ash said, "You don't think they're coming?"
"They won't move in the dark. They're not in a hurry. Besides, I couldn't hit jack shit -- it's pitch black down on the road. What are you making? Smells almost like real food."
"I'm not sure. I just sort of threw together some stuff I found. I wasn't really paying attention when you said what you were getting -- thanks for the shaving kit, by the way."
"Don't need your chin wearing a hole in my shirt at night." He picked up a slab of bread, took a thoughtful bite. "You made flatbread?"
"Is it okay?"
"It's just like my mom made."
"Thanks."
"She made shitty flatbread. She was a terrible cook." Nevertheless he went on eating it, tearing off big bites and gulping them down, barely chewing. Then he reached for another. Ash had to grab his own and hold it, for fear Kieran would eat his share too. After a while, he tasted the stew, and was surprised how good it was. He set it between them, and they ate out of the pot with tin spoons. Kieran made sounds of approval. "Stick to this stuff. This is good."
"Total accident, I swear."
"Nah, you have an instinct for it. I think you have a cooking talent."
Ash beamed. "Thank you!"
"Yeah." Kieran gave a wry grin. "You'll make someone a wonderful wife someday."
"Oh, go to hell. See if I ever do anything nice for you again."
"You will. I have no idea why, but I bet you'll go on being nice to me until it lands you in a pine box."
"You want me to tell you why?"
Kieran's smile faltered, came back forced. "Hell no."
Ash dropped his spoon into the empty pan. "You get to wash up."
After a moment's dismay, Kieran laughed. "I guess that's fair. Even if the flatbread was pretty bad."
"If you'd pretended it was good, I would have washed up as well," Ash retorted. He stood and stretched, with a jaw-popping yawn. He went and lay down on the bed he'd made. Got up, moved a rock he'd missed, lay down again.
He wanted to be sleepy and content, listening to Kieran moving around the camp. Sleep was lurking; all his muscles ached with tiredness. But something in him was too tense. Knowing that there would be a fight tomorrow, knowing almost for sure that someone would die, it was different from the vague knowlege that their chances weren't so good. He lay on his side and watched the last red embers of the fire collapse on themselves, seeing Kieran as a mobile shadow beyond.
He was jolted out of a doze by his glasses shifting on his face. He'd forgotten he was wearing them. Now Kieran gently removed them and set them aside. Ash could see his smile by golden light; he'd built the fire up. "You gonna sleep with your boots on?" said Kieran quietly.
"Should I?"
"I'm not."
Ash groaned a little as he sat up, stretching muscles that had begun to tighten up from being at rest. His fingers were clumsy on his bootlaces. Meanwhile, Kieran flipped the buckles of his own boots one after another as if he weren't tired at all.
"You just made the one bed," Kieran said accusingly. "You're trying to get into my pants again."
"What do you mean, again? I've never been there."
"I mean you're trying again."
"But --" Ash finally got his boots off. "But we always..."
"You figure everybody always sleeps all cuddled up, around here? Now we have blankets, we don't have to do that anymore."
"Oh." We're back to this stage again? I could kick him, the tease. Or am I being selfish? "Well then. I guess I should, um, I'll just..."
"You'll take your damn coat off in bed, you rude bastard. Were you raised in a barn? Give it here."
Ash saw the glint of teeth, and realized Kieran was just playing with him again. He relinquished his coat, shivering, the fire's warmth just a stripe down his side. Wished he hadn't lost that blue sweater. Kieran draped Ash's jacket across their feet and spread his own long coat atop the blankets. Then he lay down in such a way that there was nowhere for Ash's head but on his shoulder.
Gratitude robbed Ash of all his strength. He took the offered embrace, and the sweetness of it made his eyes sting; he didn't trust himself to speak for a long time. And when he was finally about to talk, Kieran's hand began stroking his hair, and that stripped him of words again. In the end, he wasn't the one who broke the quiet.
"You remember once, you asked me about my real name?"
"Yes," Ash whispered.
"It's Kai."
"That's beautiful."
"It's a plain word. Spirit, courage, ghost, soul. Not sure which one my mother meant when she named me. She never said, I never asked."
"Can I call you Kai?"
"Not in front of people."
"I understand." Gathering his courage, Ash raised himself on one elbow, resting his other hand on Kieran's heartbeat, searching for clues in eyes that the firelight had turned black. He found only mild worry and calm affection. Now he couldn't remember how he'd meant to say it, and the sound of Kieran's real name closed his throat. "Kai."
"Now, don't you get sentimental on me." There was a smile in Kieran's voice.
"It's not sentiment, really. I just -- knowing that tomorrow --"
"I'm going to win, you idiot. Don't start talking like this is the last time you'll see me. I'm going to drag you across half this desert before I'm through."
"Promise?"
A low laugh. "I don't like to make promises. But that's the plan."
"When you say things like that, I believe you really like me. But sometimes you act like I'm a bother. And I -- I just really need to know. How you feel about me."
"Oh hell." Kieran's brow furrowed, and he bit his lip. The warmth between them passed on his sudden anxiety. "Ashes, I do like you. I do." The hovering 'but' was louder for being unsaid.
So it's my turn to be reasonable. I suppose it's about time. "I won't get mad or whiny if you don't say what want to hear. I'm asking so we can be clear with each other. I think we can do that."
"You can't just -- empath it out of my head, then."
"No. I can feel that you're discouraged, that's all."
"Discouraged? I'm scared shitless. You probably think I'm just gun-shy."
"You have reason."
"But holding you off won't change our chance of surviving."
"True."
Kieran reached up and tucked a strand of Ash's hair back, watching his eyes. "The way you trust me, and how you act small and young, and you need me, and then I see the steel under all that cream and sugar -- it's confusing. And scary. And sexy as dammitall. I don't know what to do about it."
Ash swallowed down a reply that he knew he would have phrased wrong, not sure he could find a line between crude and stilted. Instead, going slowly to give Kieran time to refuse, he bent close enough that he could feel Kieran's breath on his lips. Their noses bumped, and Kieran gave a whisper of a laugh but didn't push him away. Kieran's hand found the gap between shirt and trousers and wrapped warm around Ash's side, the other hand still in his hair, not pressing. Waiting. Delicious agony. By tiny fractions of inches, Ash followed the trail of Kieran's breath. Lips brushed, dry, tentative, touched again and stayed. Kieran's hand slid suddenly up his back, between his shoulderblades, and pulled him down hard.
With a groan in his throat, Ash melted like wax, forgot himself in the realness of Kieran's body all along the length of him. And this time Kieran was making sounds too, crushing him, bruising his lips, and it was better than anything, worth anything.
The first time they'd kissed, back in the prison cell, it had been tainted with hopelessness and fear, a tiny flame of comfort in smothering darkness. Now, though tomorrow promised danger, they were free, alone under stars thick as paint. Nothing to distract or interrupt. Ash gave his whole attention, knew nothing but this kiss, the heat and strength of Kieran's arms around him, the unbearable sweetness of his mouth, heavy coolness of his hair falling down around them when he rolled Ash under him.
Their legs twined together, and Ash was unprepared for the lightning jitters caused by Kieran's thigh grinding into his crotch. He couldn't get enough air, had to break the kiss to gasp, groan out his need, fumbling at the buttons of Kieran's trousers, biting at Kieran's neck and ear, tasting salt. He could feel Kieran's arousal, both by empathy and by the obvious and rather frighteningly large erection just one thin layer of leather away from his hand. He didn't know what he was going to do once he got these pants undone, only that he needed them the hell out of the way. Quick, before Kieran changed his mind.
Suddenly Kieran's arms tightened so he couldn't breathe, making his ribs creak. The sand-and-syrup voice that was his greatest weakness murmured his private nickname into his ear: "Oh Ashes, my Ashes." There was no bearing that; he was whimpering, arching against Kieran's hip, pulling his hair; gone.
As he subsided into himself among whirling sparks and warm dizziness, he realized what he had done, and was horrified. Kieran drew back to look down at him, expression unreadable. "I'm sorry," Ash whispered.
"It's all right."
"Are you... mad at me?"
Kieran suddenly grinned, chuckling low in his throat. "Mad? Because you're so hot for me that you lost it just because I said your name? Hell no, I'm not mad." He moved aside. "You might want to go clean up, though."
Though Ash was still embarrassed as he went to the stream to wash, he began to be able to see the humor in it. He heard Kieran rustling around, probably smoothing the bedding disrupted by their rolling. Without turning, he said, "This raises an ambiguity."
"Yeah?"
"Am I still a virgin?"
"Huh. Hard question. Is it coming in company or actual boning that trips the virgin meter?" From the laugh in his voice, he was more amused than Ash was by this turn of events.
Finished, Ash got up to come back -- then stopped, and stood swaying beside the fire in shock. That rustling had been Kieran disrobing. He was sitting up, his hair spilling over his bare chest, the blanket riding low enough on his hips to prove that it was the only thing covering him. He gave Ash a wicked grin.
"Figure we better make sure," Kieran said.
Ash trembled as he knelt on the edge of the bedroll. He picked at his shirt buttons, unable to take his eyes off Kieran. Kieran laughed and pushed his hands away, began methodically undressing him. Not a speck of embarrassment.
Of course he hasn't any shame. He's done this for money. I might fear it meant as little now, if not for the way he said my name -- the way he's looking at me -- Ash swallowed hard as Kieran pushed the shirt from his shoulders with warm, scratchy hands. "When you say -- make sure -- do you mean --?" Ash gulped, unable to finish.
"Do I mean what, treasure?"
Nearly undone by this new term of endearment, Ash could hardly force himself to speak. "Do you mean, um. You know. Intercourse."
Kieran looked startled, then flashed a grin. "Only if you want to."
"It sounds rather unhygienic."
"It isn't really. But it's up to you."
"And possibly painful."
The laughter stopped. Kieran blinked at him, hands frozen on the second button of his trousers.
Terrified that he'd ruined everything, Ash begged, "Forgive me if I said something wrong. What did I say?"
Thoughtfully, Kieran let go and sat back, watched him with tilted head, eyes clear and mild under thick black lashes. For a long, still moment he stared. Then his lips quirked in an ironic smile. "It never occurred to me that you might want me to fuck you. No one -- they all -- I guess they wanted to see me on my knees. Pretend they tamed me."
"It would be a lie."
"Yeah. It would."
"I'm not everyone."
"Ashes, I will do whatever you want, or if you want to stop we can, I just want your first time to be what you hoped for. Damn it, I sound fucking moronic. What I'm trying to say is, this is for you, okay?"
"What I hoped for," Ash echoed. He set a hand on Kieran's chest, felt the pounding of his heart. Made a decision: he was afraid, but he needed to be connected. "It doesn't sound crude when you say it, but it feels... weird... in my mind. In my voice in my head." He sighed as Kieran's arms scooped him in closer, then took a sharp breath at what he felt beneath the covers.
"Go ahead and be weird then," Kieran murmured.
His voice came out as a tiny whisper, but he said it: "Please fuck me."
Kieran replied by drowning him in a kiss. Finished stripping him with a few efficient movements. Rolled them both in the blanket, nothing between them, skin on skin, amazing -- all tenderness now -- long slow kisses, warm dry friction of hands exploring. After sweet ages of this, when Ash was gasping hoarse breaths and could hardly see for the spinning in his head, Kieran let go and rolled away to dig in one of the packs. Came back with the tin of cooking oil. Chuckled at the look on Ash's face.
"You look like you're changing your mind."
"No," Ash said, though his voice was shaky. "Still want it."
And he did, he knew he did, but he still wasn't quite ready for the sensation of oiled fingers teasing at him. He felt his eyes go big as saucers, locked onto Kieran's steady gaze and slight smile. Kieran didn't seem to think this was disgusting, or in any way shameful. It felt weird, definitely, but not bad, and it didn't hurt. Ash began to think he might rather enjoy the physical part of this connection -- and then Kieran touched something inside him that sent a scalding wave through him, and his cry was as much shock as pleasure.
Kieran whispered against his cheek: "You didn't think it would feel this good, did you?"
"Ah god -- no, I didn't expect it to -- to feel good at all."
The whisper moved to his ear. "You thought you were making a sacrifice?" Teeth in his earlobe, steely arm around his waist, and the red wave came again, forcing a wild groan out of him. He couldn't answer. Words were gone. When the fingers were withdrawn, he whimpered a protest, distantly shocked at how wanton he sounded. As Kieran lifted his knees, a tiny remnant of his civilized sensibilities chattered at him in horror, just for a moment, knowing the disgust society had for this. But the rest of him was unanimous: This is exactly right. It's everyone else that's wrong.
More whispers. "Relax as much as you can. This might sting a little." Breath from the words vibrated his skin, and he couldn't explain that he didn't give half a damn for 'sting a little', he wanted it now dammit, every atom in his body was hungry for it. When Kieran pushed at him, too tentative, too careful, he pushed back. Grabbed handfuls of Kieran's yard-long hair and pulled. He felt Kieran's pleased surprise. Then a shudder of hot sweetness, a hundred times better than before. He felt stretched, but that small twinge couldn't compete. Kieran overwhelmed him. His empathy opened to a new level, all at once, and he could no longer tell which feelings were Kieran's and which his own, marvelous confusion, a flood of fire and diamonds.
Holding him tightly, Kieran began a tide-slow rhythm, shaking from the effort of being so gentle. Ash's incoherent cries begged him to stop holding back, just go, harder faster, pound me to powder, I can't take this -- but Kieran refused. Almost-kissing, lips just touching, he breathed shudderingly into Ash's mouth, eyes half open, feasting on Ash's desperation.
Ash finally managed to sob out his name. "Kai, ah Kai please --"
"My Ashes, treasure, precious, wonder -- ediyana, kii aveh, kini, inai --"
The string of endearments was too much, and when Kieran lapsed into Iavaian, Ash could no longer bear it. This time was far more intense; started deeper, peaked higher, blew every nerve like a blasting charge, destroyed him utterly. And just as the white fire began to recede, Kieran let go restraint and thumped hard into him with a groaning cry, which brought Ash, impossibly, to a second peak. Mind ended. Self was gone.
The world slowly reassembled. They moved apart a little to lie side by side, only half embracing, heads leaning together with foreheads touching, as if they could pass thoughts back and forth that way. Damp skin cooled. Kieran pulled up the blanket with clumsy movements. Ash finally found a word:
"Sticky. Ek."
A breathless chuckle from Kieran. "Yeah, that happens." Several seconds later, he went on, "Was that what you wanted?"
"How could I have known to want that?" Squirming closer, Ash pushed his fingers into the heavy mass of Kieran's hair, scratching lightly. This brought a happy noise from Kieran, so he went on doing it. "I had no idea anything could be so good."
"Mm. Glad."
"I just wanted to be as close to you as possible."
"Heh. That was about it."
"Yeah." There didn't seem to be much else to say. Despite stickiness, Ash was nodding off. He was too happy to move. He just barely managed to keep his hand going through Kieran's hair, since he could feel how much Kieran liked that. Just before he lost even that volition, he remembered one more thing he wanted to say. "I love you. I love you so much."
Kieran's answer was a faint snore. He hadn't heard.
That's all right, Ash thought. Next time I'll say it before he falls asleep. Content in this resolution, he let go of consciousness as well.
His temple was in a deep cave from which a spring ran, and there the leaders of the people came to dream prophetic dreams. They brought sacrifice of smoke and song; or, if their need was great, blood and bone. Sometimes he gave them oracles. Sometimes he ignored them. They were his to do with as he pleased.
Ka'an, they called to him, Dreamer, king of storm and darkness, bright-eyed, keeper of secrets, hear us, answer our prayers.
They brought forth the offering. The sacrifice stumbled dazed to the spring and lay himself down, staring, eyes like circles of blue paper. Drugged, or drunk with lust. His cheeks were flushed, breath shallow, and when the knife went in his cry was one of ecstasy.
And the prophecy came, and it was this:
All we know is a lie, and the time of liars is ending.
All we know is fear, and the time for cruelty has come.
All we know is a dream, and it is time to wake.
They backed away, shaking their heads. They did not want this oracle. But the eyes of the sacrifice shone, and his blood-filled mouth moved with words:
"Kieran, wake up now."
Colors smeared; meaning fled.
"Kieran. Come on. I'm not going to shake you, you'd probably punch me, but I really don't fancy the idea of those Watch bastards sneaking up on us while you snore."
The images sank into the darkness behind his eyes; he opened them to predawn indigo. Ash was squatting a few feet away, dressed, hands dangling over his knees, talking in a near-whisper.
"Yes, it's early, but for all we know they're early risers, and we probably want the camp packed up just in case, right? I made coffee. Do I need to wave it under your nose?"
"I'm awake," Kieran said, which made Ash start a bit. "Didn't you see my eyes are open?"
"I can't see a damn thing," Ash admitted.
Kieran sat up, knuckling his eyes. "Since when do you get up before me?"
"Since I slept like a stone for maybe four hours and then popped awake. I feel pretty rested, actually. Found a snake in my boot."
"Really? I didn't hear you screaming." Kieran grinned as he got the sand out of his clothes and himself into them.
"Jackass," Ash said affectionately.
"Oh, before you put it on." Yawning, Kieran shook out his own boots, but discovered no interesting creatures. "Did you say I was snoring?"
"Like a sawmill."
"You're a big fat liar." Joking around. Suddenly wondered if Ash maybe couldn't tell, would be offended; but the redhead -- sweet boy, edeime to him now and oh it was good to remember -- gave an easy laugh.
"There was a sound coming out of you. For lack of a better word --"
"Do I always do that?"
"No, just sometimes. It's cute."
Kieran chuckled as he finished buckling his boots. "I've been called a lot of things, but -- I can't believe you said cute."
"It is. You are. I have the courage to speak the truth."
"Well, imagine that. All these years folks been shitting their britches 'cause I looked at 'em funny, and the whole time I was cute as a bug. They just failed to recognize it." He snapped his coat like a flag, dislodging a large spider and several beetles, and put it on. "Where's my scarf thing? Thanks." Not bothering with a comb, though he knew he'd pay for it in matted tangles later, he tied his hair back under the kerchief. He was too nervous now to spend time combing his hair, knowing what was coming. "You coming upstairs with me? You can wait here if you want. Safer down here."
Ash had begun rolling up the blankets, but now he sat back on his heels and shoved his hands through his hair. Looked like he'd combed his. The blood-ochre mop was brushing his shoulders, Kieran noticed, long enough to tie back. "No, I'll come with you. I don't really feel like wondering what's going on."
"Suit yourself." Trying not to show his relief.
By the time they'd eaten breakfast and packed up camp, the sky was flushed yellow-white with dawn. Kieran insisted on leaving the horses saddled and loaded, just in case. Then he pointed Ash at the cliff. "You go first."
"Ha ha very funny."
"Fine. You want rocks falling on your head and nobody to catch you, that's your business."
"Hang on. Okay, I'll go first. But no laughing." Ash went to the rock wall and craned his neck up at it, rubbing his hands together. "Right. Climbing."
"You got up that wall at Churchrock."
"I have no clue how I did that."
"Time's a-wasting, kid."
"Keep your knickers on, I'm going." Ash picked a handhold low enough that Kieran wouldn't have bothered with it, spidered his pale fingers around it, and began hauling himself up. Kieran watched with arms crossed, biting back unhelpful comments. When Ash was about fifteen feet up, Kieran started his own climb. It was a chore to go slow enough that he didn't end up climbing right past Ash. He wasn't sure he could be any use if Ash fell; pebbles bounced off his head.
Halfway up, he realized he was in a better mood than he'd been in for just about as long as he could remember.
Above him, Ash had stalled out. Kieran moved up beside him to point out a hold. Ash smiled thanks before moving on, and Kieran smiled back without reservation. You're not enjoying yourself, are you? his inner voice mocked. If you're not careful, he's going to make you happy. Quick, find something to be bitter about!
Well, he answered himself, there's the fact that I'm probably not good enough to keep him alive much longer. I dreamed him dead again, even if it wasn't me who killed him this time. If we hit serious trouble, and he can't fight, I'm going to have a hard time protecting him.
What happened to 'I'm not going to stick my neck out for you,' then? Oh, you're a hardass all right, Trevarde. You just can't wait for a chance to play big strong hero. Has it crossed your mind that picking these guys off from cover might not impress him? Maybe you should go down and stand in the road, give them a little morality speech before you kill them.
Even this only made him grin at himself. He was just plain happy, and he couldn't wreck it for trying.
At the top, Ash was sitting around picking pebbles out of his palms, but he jumped up gamely enough when Kieran beckoned. It was about a quarter mile to the place Kieran was thinking of. The way was rough; ground that looked flat from a distance but up close turned out to be made up of cracks, wobbly rocks, and ankle-twisting holes full of deceptively solid-looking sand. Ash started to crouch as they neared the edge, but Kieran walked upright and stood looking down on the road.
"No need to sneak," he said. "We'll see their dust half an hour before we see them."
"What if they don't come?"
"What else are they going to do? Go home and say they had a lead but didn't feel like following it?"
"No, I mean, what if they're doing something different? Took a train to Canyon to wait for us, maybe. Or maybe they have some other options. I'm just trying not to get stuck on the one plan."
"Huh." Kieran sat crosslegged near the edge, still looking down the road toward where he expected the enemy to come from. "Well, you think about it. But I don't think they're scared of us. We might have Talents, but mine's untrained and yours is useless in a fight, so I don't see the Watch being real nervous about us. Them knowing pattern magic and so forth. I'm betting they'll come straight at us."
Ash didn't speak for a while; he made himself comfortable on a bit of hard-packed dirt, watching Kieran set out boxes of bullets and begin loading magazines. After a few minutes, he picked up a loaded clip and examined it, popped the top bullet out and pushed it back in. "You have strong thumbs," he commented as he put the clip down.
"You got your gun?"
"You realize I probably couldn't hit the broad side of a barn. For one thing, these glasses are a bit weak." Nevertheless he produced the revolver Kieran had given him, acting a lot less nervous about it than before he'd robbed someone with it. He turned it over thoughtfully in his hands, then surprised Kieran by taking a bullet from the box and loading it into the cylinder's one empty slot almost as smoothly as Kieran would have.
"Hey. You've been practicing while I was sleeping."
"Nope."
"Day before yesterday you were all --" Kieran dangled his own gun from two fingers, pretending to be afraid of it. "Oh help me, it's a deadly weapon!"
"I've been thinking about what you said. It's a machine. I get machines. Hell, I've studied diagrams of various different types of guns, I know how to make gunpowder, so it's --"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah."
"You know how to make gunpowder?"
"Black powder's not difficult. The modern stuff, what's in these, you need some chemicals that are hard to get legally. But yeah."
"I'm impressed."
Ash glowed. "Well, thank you. But I was saying -- if I know how something works, there's no point me being scared of it. Right?"
"There are probably exceptions."
"This isn't one of them." Ash stripped off his coat and folded it into a pillow. He put his gun close to his right hand when he lay down. "I can't promise I won't black out when the fight starts," he said with his eyes closed. "I'll try not to, though."
"Well, if you do, I know how to wake you up."
Ash opened one eye. "You do? How?"
"I'll just roll you off the cliff. That should get your attention."
"Bastard." Ash smiled. A few moments later, the smile faded into the slack face of sleep.
Kieran sat watching him for a time. He looked like he had in the dream. When he was dead in the dream. Something about the shape of his wrist and hand where it rested across his flat stomach, the length and paleness of his neck, the bit of collarbone and freckled shoulder visible where his shirt was pulled askew. Fragile. Yet Kieran remembered the surprising strength of those slender arms; hanging on for dear life as Kieran banged him into oblivion. Not at all what Kieran had expected, that request. Nor the unflinching eagerness with which Ash had taken it, or the abandon with which he'd enjoyed it.
A new experience for both of them; Kieran had only been on the giving side once before, when he'd pestered Shan to let him try it, and Shan hadn't liked it much. Had wanted him to get done and get out, had not come that way, and certainly hadn't begged for it with writhings and groanings and snapping teeth. Ash's reaction made him feel like a god. Addictive. He was hooked.
It was an effort to pull his eyes away to watch the road. Mind on your business, Trevarde. You're gonna look like an idiot if you let the Watch sneak up on you while you're supposed to be ambushing them.
So he scanned the distance, the way he'd learned to do when he and Shan were highwaymen: don't stare, don't strain your eyes, just let 'em wander around in that direction and catch on anything interesting. It felt strange to be using those habits again. How everything was changing, but some of it was familiar. He was different now from how he'd been the last time he'd used this ambush spot, but somehow more like that person than like the one he'd been a couple weeks ago, in prison. Had it only been days? It felt like months. And years since he'd last been the way he was today.
He couldn't go back to who he'd been before. Time had marked him. But apparently some of him was still salvageable. He could still feel things beginning, still be glad about it, even if he didn't trust beginnings at all.
So what was it that was starting? Not just the fact that he was now properly edeimos with Ash, nothing so simple or immediate. Something was lurking just under the horizon of the future, sending out rays, hints, pretending to be all bright and perfect, but the future always lied. It was something bigger than running and fighting, something that had his dreams in it, and something maybe about his Talent, a partial answer to the big question that had been hovering over him all his life, the question that was too big to put into words.
Which was ridiculous. Everyone had that same question, he was sure, and he'd long ago decided there was no answer to it. But the thought put an idea in his head, of where to go next.
He had hiding places all over the western part of the province. Some he'd found with Shan, but Shan had never wanted to go too far from the roads that brought them their money or the towns they spent it in. Shan hadn't seen the point of wandering, hadn't liked solitude. The best spots were the ones Kieran had found alone. As a child, when he'd felt himself dug too deep into the hustler's life, crowded by pains and needs, sometimes he'd launched out into the desert to wander. Mostly he'd gone just far enough to get some solitude, a day or two, but in his early teens he'd started taking weeks and months of silence and sun to earn his sanity back. After he'd learned well enough how to find water and what he could eat, he'd gone out several times with the intention of living out there and never going back, or dying out there if that was his fate. He'd always thought he could defeat loneliness. In the end, loneliness had always won.
But if he had Ash with him...
He shook his head ruefully. No way was Ash going to want to live off the land, fifty miles from the nearest plumbing. And even if he were crazy about the idea, it wouldn't change the fact that they were cornered, in purely reactive mode. But the idea of having Ash around pretty much indefinitely was looking better every day. And more plausible as well, so that he felt like a self-defeating idiot for assuming there was no chance Ash would survive. Ash had guts, he'd make it. How come I'm getting optimistic all of a sudden? Did I just need to get laid?
Before he could examine it too deeply, a drifting twist of dust to the northeast caught his attention.
Relieved to have something simple to deal with, even if it might kill him, he studied it to see if it could just be a dust devil. After a few seconds he was sure it was not. He gathered up his loaded clips and stretched out a leg to kick Ash's foot. "Wake up. They're coming."
Ash tensed and snorted in confusion as he woke. His hand went immediately to the revolver beside him. Without sitting up, he scooted back from the edge, wriggling into his jacket as he went. He whispered, "What do you want me to do?"
"First, come here."
Too slowly, as if his reluctance could postpone the fight, Ash obeyed. His response to Kieran's kiss was lukewarm at first, so that Kieran began to worry that he'd misjudged everything, but after a moment's hesitation Ash grabbed him tightly and kissed back hard. Then released him with decisive suddenness. "And now what do I do?"
"Hide." Kieran stretched out on the rock, forcing his attention back to the dust plume. He aimed his thumb over his shoulder. "There's some brush and stuff back there, right? Get behind it and stay down. And if something goes wrong, you run. Get to the horses and go."
Ash gave an incredulous snort. "Go where, Kieran?"
"Anywhere." He waited, but got no answer, heard no movement. "You hear me? If I buy it you better run like hell."
"Somehow I don't see that doing any good. Just concentrate on your shooting." Ash slapped the side of Kieran's boot as he went past.
"Ash -- Ash -- Ashleigh Trine, I'm talking to you!" He twisted around to see that Ash had stopped in a half-kneeling crouch, looking back at him with a sad little smile.
"Be serious," Ash said. "If they beat you, I don't have a chance. But don't worry, I'm not going back to Churchrock." He pressed the revolver's muzzle under his chin briefly, then put it away. "So if you, um, buy it, hold up a minute on the other side and wait for me." He turned and dashed off toward the clump of brush, and Kieran couldn't yell after him for fear of the enemy hearing it.
Fuming, Kieran scowled out at the gray-brown plume growing nearer. Thanks a lot, Ash, like I needed more pressure. But something warm and sweetly painful snaked through his guts and made him feel more awake than he'd ever been before. He was irrationally certain, all of a sudden, that he couldn't possibly lose, because Ash was counting on him.
These few minutes of waiting were always the worst. Knowing that if he'd overlooked anything it was too late now. And these were White Watch, they could have any Talents and god-knows-what else prepped by ritual beforehand. It was a relief when he actually saw them come around the bend, small pale figures on dark horses, so that he could begin judging range and taking aim. He wished he could've gotten a rifle somehow. The Hart was a nice gun, but a short barrel just couldn't do what he needed right now.
A breath of wind stirred the dust that cloaked the Watchmen, and Kieran caught his breath in dismay. There was a third rider coming around the curve. He had his rifle over his arm, not slung across his back like the other two, and he was far enough behind them that they'd be past Kieran's position before he came into good range. As if they were anticipating an ambush.
"Shit," Kieran whispered. All right, if they wanted to play clever bastards, let them. He'd take the last man first. He shifted slightly, covering a piece of ground behind the two lead men. Here we go, he thought. It was as close to a prayer as he was willing to get.
The first two were almost under the rock.
The third rode into Kieran's sights.
Three shots smashed the silence, echoing, clattering like a rockfall. The third man began to raise his rifle, but he was falling from his horse at the same time. Kieran, ears still ringing, thrust himself half over the edge to empty the rest of the clip at the startled faces below. Everything was in motion down there, and the angle was bad; he heard ricochets and a horse's scream, saw one man starting to raise his hand in a looping gesture, flung himself back and rolled away.
Not fast enough. Something invisible punched him in the left arm, jarring his elbow so that he threw his full clip up in the air instead of getting it into the gun. Chunks of rock and earth sprayed up, then pattered down around him where he lay sprawled on his back, knocked breathless.
There were a few words from below, but he was too deafened and suffocated to make sense of them. He forced his left hand to get another clip into the gun, despite the buzzing numbness spreading up from his elbow. His fingers wouldn't grip hard enough to pull the slide back. He switched hands, managed to get a bullet into the chamber just as a tingle rushed across his skin. The air's temperature dropped sharply, his stomach lurched; instinctively, he lashed out at nothing with his heart's hand, and felt it turn away some kind of groping energy.
A figure in dusty white suddenly rose above the lip of the cliff, as if jerked by strings. He had a rifle aimed in Kieran's general vicinity.
Kieran was faster, but the Watchman was more ready. They fired at the same time. Kieran felt his right shoulder slammed against the ground, felt his fingers open and loose his gun, while the Watchman's head snapped back and then rocked forward in a cloud of scarlet. The rifle dropped from his flopping hands, but the corpse continued to hang in air. It was a second or two before he fell out of sight.
So the last man was the Kinetic. He could pop up anywhere. Kieran tried to lift his pistol, but his hand wouldn't close. He sent the orders, but his body ignored them. Goosebumps ran over his skin. Under the hot morning sun, he started to shiver. The only warmth on him came in the form of trickles that ran into his armpit and pooled in the hollows of his collarbone.
"Oh, fuck, I'm shot," he said quietly. His words were mushy, drunken-mouthed. His back felt wet now too.
It's only shock. You aren't hit anywhere vital. Just broke your shoulder, is all. Pick up that gun. His silent railing at himself didn't do any good. He still hadn't managed to get his finger on the trigger when a pale shape appeared beside him.
The man had come up somewhere other than the front of the rock. Kieran hadn't seen him, hadn't heard his footsteps. Still couldn't hear properly; the man's mouth moved, but it was just noise. He understood the smile that came next, though. They'd won. Kieran had lost.
Kieran's eyes jammed shut for a moment, against a sudden sting. Ash is going to watch me get caught, and then he's going to blow his head off. The fatalism in his thoughts sickened him. He forced his eyes open to the too-bright sky again. Not fucking acceptable. I will do something, somehow.
The Watchman spoke again, and this time his words made a sort of sense. "Where's the other one? I was told there were two of you."
Kieran tried to answer, but had to spit out something metallic before he could talk. Great. It hit my lung. How many sucking chest wounds is a man entitled to in one lifetime? "He's dead," Kieran gurgled. "I killed him and ate him." As he spoke, he began to feel his gun's grip resting on his fingers, and sent all his strength into that hand. But as he finally got a proper hold on it, the Watchman casually stepped on his wrist.
Pain ripped up his arm and across his chest; bile rose in his throat, and the world went all red and white. A helpless, broken animal noise came out of him. He hated the whimpering even as he couldn't stop. The man was doing it some more, grinding with his heel, trying to break Kieran's wrist. He felt the pain loosening the weld between mind and body, knew he was about to leap free -- and for the first time in his life, he fought it. He would not leave Ash behind.
Clenching his teeth, Kieran raised his head, sweeping with his left hand for a rock or a chunk of wood or anything, finding nothing, his only clear thought sent in Ash's direction: Don't do yourself in yet, I'm not done.
Then came the bellow of the revolver. He recognized it, cried out in dismay, his determination burst like a bubble -- until he saw the red rose that had opened in the Watchman's thigh.
"Get off him! Fucker, get the fuck off him!"
Another boom of thunder called a fine, dark spray from the man's gut, a slop of almost black blood drooling down the front of his white uniform. Only then did the man recall himself enough to raise his rifle. Too late. The third shot removed his face and sent him tumbling off the cliff's edge.
Kieran whispered, "Ash. Oh god. Thank you."
Scrambling footsteps, and Ash flung himself into Kieran's field of view, dropping to his knees. He was white as chalk, eyes too wide, but he held his gun as if ready to destroy anything that came near. "Is that all of them? Kieran, was that all of them? I can't feel anything, I think I blinded myself."
"That's all." Kieran's voice was thick, and he had to spit again. "I was so scared you'd -- thank you."
Ash forced a smile. The light tone of his words sounded a little strained: "Since I can't live without you, call it self-defense. Let's have a look at this." With infinite gentleness, he began unbuttoning Kieran's shirt, peeling it back from the wound. He was taking deep breaths to calm himself. It looked like it was only half working.
"How's it look?"
"Ugly. I can see bone. You'll have that arm in a sling for a while. There's a lot of blood, too, but I'm pretty sure you won't bleed to death. It's not spurting or anything, just trickling. The bullet went in just above the top of your ribs."
"Come out the back?"
"I can't tell yet. I'm going to cut your shirt off, I don't think we can get it off the normal way."
"With what? You have a knife?"
"Oh. Damn. Okay, look, I'll be back in two seconds, all right? God, I hate to leave you here."
"I'll live." Kieran mustered a grin. "Glad I left my coat off. Can't patch leather."
Ash stayed a moment longer, biting his lip. Blinking fast, he bent to drop a kiss on Kieran's forehead. Then he dashed away.
"Wait," Kieran croaked, but not loud enough and too late. He was glad Ash hadn't heard; it had been a reflex. He closed his eyes again; the sky was too bright. Waves of needing to cough ran through his chest, but the least tension of his diaphragm pulled so painfully on his shoulder that he couldn't complete the motion. He could feel the blood trickling in, tickling him inside, imagined it filling him up until he drowned. Suffocation was a hell of a way to go.
He rescued me. There's one for the books. That was some damn fine shooting, too, for a beginner. A nearsighted beginner. I wonder what the range was? See if I can stay alive long enough to ask.
Something cold touched his hand, and he flinched, eyes popping open to the blinding sky.
"Damn it! Hold still, Kieran, I'm using the razor."
Kieran chuckled. "Trying to save me and you slit my wrists. How dumb would that be." Talking broke his resolution not to cough; he managed to croak out "Wait," before he convulsed. He couldn't quite spit right this time. It drooled down his chin. "Aw, yuck."
"Oh dear," Ash said in a small voice. His eyes were anguished as he tenderly mopped the blood from Kieran's lips with his sleeve. Then he went back to work with the razor.
Time broke down, after that. Events occurred with no connection to each other. Kieran felt horrible and fine by turns; sometimes there was no pain, sometimes it was overwhelming. Sometimes he babbled, and sometimes Ash checked to make sure he was still alive. It was forever before he had to sit up so Ash could look at his back and inform him that there was an exit wound just above his shoulderblade, but then the world flickered and he was under a blanket while Ash made him drink water, and his arm was bound tightly to his side, and Ash was shirtless and starting to sunburn.
"Where'd your shirt go?" Kieran mumbled.
"I used it for bandages," Ash answered patiently, as if he'd said it a number of times before.
"You have a lot of freckles."
"I think you're right that we can't stay up here, but I'm still not letting you climb down, considering the state you're in."
"Did I say that?"
Ash put his hands in his face. "Oh god. I don't know what to do."
Alarmed, Kieran walked his good hand out from under the blanket to touch Ash's knee. "Hey. Ashes. Don't cry."
"I'm not." Ash lifted his head to show a fake smile. "At least you stopped spitting blood. It stopped bubbling even before I got the bandage on. Maybe that part of your lung collapsed. Which would normally not be good, but in this case... hell, what am I talking about, I don't know anything about this. I didn't even study anatomy in school, I just read a couple books my aunt had. Kieran, we really need to get you down to the horses. Just hang on a bit and I'll think of something."
There was a lull during which Ash held Kieran's hand and periodically kissed the knuckles, even though they were smeared with dried blood. Kieran thought for a while that he might be falling asleep, but as the tickling in his lungs settled down to a dull feeling of stiffness, unreality began to fade. The blanket was way too warm, and his shoulder hurt like hellfire, and his thoughts began to string together properly.
"Tell you what," he said, and something in his voice made Ash look up suddenly with an expression of relief. "You climb next to me, and we'll sort of leapfrog it. I mean, you find a hold, grab on good, and then kind of push on my back while I move my hand."
"It's a long climb. Do you have the strength for it?"
"Think so. If I rest once we get there, before we start down."
"Maybe you should rest here a while longer first."
"Won't help." Wincing and groaning, Kieran sat up and pushed the blanket aside. When he tried to get his legs under him, Ash grabbed his left arm and helped. He leaned on Ash while dizziness coursed through him and then faded. "God damn that hurts. Okay, let's do this."
Ash ducked under Kieran's arm, and together they wobbled across the broken ground. The walk made him tired, but it didn't exhaust him; he rested sitting, didn't have to lie down. While he rested, Ash ran back and got the blanket and canteen, scooted down the cliff like a lizard to get more water, came back up nearly as fast as Kieran would have. Between them, they drained the canteen. Ash tossed it down to the spot where they'd slept last night. The mark of the bedroll was clear on the dust. Kieran wished fiercely he could turn the clock back and be there again, live last night again a few more times before coming to this. He wasn't afraid of dying, but leaving Ash -- You'll live, you bastard, because if you break that boy's heart by croaking, that's your only chance at redemption down the shitter. Your next life, you'll be a damn rattlesnake or something. He wasn't sure where that thought came from -- he'd never been much of a believer -- but it still gave him strength.
"You ready?"
"Ashes, listen, I'm really sorry about -- you know. Everything."
"No, no, no. You say that kind of thing when you're dying. And even then it's kind of trite. Tell you what, if you ever get a good chance for last words, how about you just tell a long joke and leave off the punchline?"
"Okay." His smile was thin, but genuine.
"You really think you can handle this right now? We could camp up here tonight."
"Nah. We have to get moving. You can bet those whitecoats' officers know they're dead. No, I got it. It's not really vertical here, so if I slip I'll just kind of bounce and roll."
"And break your head open. Let's try to avoid that." Ash backed over the edge, then beckoned.
What followed was the hardest half hour of Kieran's life, at least in a physical sense. Going up and down had tired Ash out, so he sometimes couldn't quite hold Kieran up while he shifted holds; they both had near-misses, flailing and scrabbling one-armed at the rocks. With one hand having to do all the work, they tore up their fingers something awful. Kieran's left arm started shaking almost immediately, followed by his legs, and then his whole body was quivering like custard. Sweat poured off him. The wound hurt, of course, and his broken collarbone sometimes jarred and made him want to puke. Despite the water he'd had before starting, his head was pounding with dehydration before they were halfway down.
But Ash kept murmuring encouragement, even when his fingers were bleeding. The boy who'd been unsure whether he could climb at all now did the whole thing with one hand, hanging on less-than-certain bits of the slope to leave Kieran the easy path, and all the time he was saying, "I've got you, you're doing fine, left foot about six inches farther down, ready? you're doing great, we're almost there." Eyes so calm and kind that they seemed to numb away the pain like a pipe of poppy.
When Kieran finally reached the bottom and sank to his knees, Ash left him there and wobbled away. It was an effort not to call after him. Weariness warred with frustration in Kieran's mind; he hated being so helpless. His exhaustion kept him from expressing his anger, while the anger kept him from collapsing, but it was something else that snuck up and won the war: So much for fragile. I didn't think he had it in him, not any of this, killing a man or dealing with a messy wound or climbing like that -- but he does have it, in spades. There's no telling how tough he really is. Steel under the meringue and cherries -- enough steel to arm a battalion.
"This is going to seem stupid," Ash said behind him, "but it makes sense when you think about it. Are you all right sitting like that?"
"Yeah. What's going to be stupid?"
As an answer, cool hands gathered up his sweat-damp hair and pulled his kerchief off his head. It felt nice, but he was puzzled when it felt like Ash was combing his hair.
"I'm thinking about it, and it's still stupid."
It sounded like Ash had something in his teeth when he replied. "Just a second... I had the damnedest time keeping your hair out of the bandages, so..." The sensation of tugging changed from combing to braiding. "Otherwise we'll maybe end up having to cut it off. And I get the feeling you wouldn't enjoy that." Another minute, and the rope of a braid slapped against his spine. Then a damp cloth spread blessed coolness across his neck and back, washing off the itchy grit.
Kieran sighed happily. "Okay. Good idea after all."
"Still feeling all right?"
"Little tired. Sore. But the shock's over. I'm coping."
"Good. I think it would be easier if you rode and I led the horse. I mean, through that twisty little path. You want help getting up?"
"No." Kieran started, wobbled, stopped. "Yes."
Getting into the mare's saddle was easier than he'd expected. It was staying there that was hard. He was starting to be really sick to his stomach, very dizzy and tired. He nearly fell asleep while Ash attached the gray's lead to the mare's saddle, though it couldn't have taken more than a moment. It seemed to take forever to get back to the road.
When they reached it, Ash tried to turn back the way they'd come. Kieran said, "Whoa, where are you going?"
"You really need medical attention."
"I'm not going to get it in Smith. Not after we robbed the store."
"Smith? You mean that place had a name? Look, never mind, at least we can find some shelter. It can't be good for you to be out in the sun like this, and when night comes --"
"No no. Go the other way. That way."
"To Canyon? Kieran, we can't -- ohshit." This last was because Kieran had begun to topple off the horse. Ash managed to catch him in time, and prop him back up, but he couldn't sit up straight anymore. He clutched the saddle horn in a white-knuckled grip, shivering. Some time went away; Ash moved around and did things, and Kieran studied the mare's brown mane. Light in the coarse hairs made strange shapes, pulled him in and lost him, and whenever the horse impatiently shook her head, he felt as if he'd been thrown across a room.
When Ash pried his foot from the stirrup, he thought at first he was supposed to get down, and voiced an incoherent protest. But instead, Ash climbed up behind him.
"Lucky we're both skinny," Ash said as his arm circled Kieran's waist. "No way would this work if we were fat. You can lean back, I've got you -- ow! Careful!"
"What? What'd I do?"
"Smacked me in the nose with your head, is all. Just relax and try to rest. I won't let you fall."
A pale hand reached past to pick up the reins. White fingers, pink knuckles, all spattered with freckles. As if someone had dipped a brush in liquid bronze and flicked a spray across silk. Kieran sagged back; their skin immediately stuck together with sweat where it touched, and his shoulder was aching even more now. But it felt good to rest. Good to know he was being supported and wouldn't pitch out of the saddle.
"Now." Ash's voice was soft in his ear. "You wanted to go to Canyon? Why?"
"No. Just before it. There's a crossing. Unmarked. It's hard to see... first flat place you come to, big open space... sometimes you can't see the road, it gets washed out. West. From there."
"And what's down that road? Shelter? A healer? You need a healer, or at least a doctor."
"Yeah. Show you when we get there. M gonna sleep now."
A kiss landed on the side of his neck. "Okay. You sleep."
Kieran's eyes were falling shut as the horse began to walk. He wanted to say: Keep talking, it helps when you talk. But his mouth wouldn't move. He sank into a strange, paralyzed state between sleep and waking, suspended between pain and comfort.
After a stretch of time he couldn't measure, full of whirling thoughts and windy silences, Ash's voice started up again. The sound was so near it vibrated his skin; the meaning so distant it took ages to filter down.
"I should have shot sooner. I guess I froze up -- not that that's an excuse. If I'd been helping all along, from the start, then maybe that, that fucker wouldn't have got you. Does it ever scare you how good it feels to shoot someone? No, I don't suppose it does; you're not afraid of anything. Except maybe me, sometimes. I suppose because I'm a thing that can be taken away from you, and you're scared that if one more scrap of happiness is stolen from you, you'll break. So the more you like me, the more I scare you. Maybe I shouldn't have said that, though." A slight shifting, as if Ash tried to see Kieran's face. Kieran could feel a smile lurking in his throat, but it didn't reach his lips, and Ash went on talking.
"You know what's funny? I felt the death when I killed that guy, but it didn't hit as hard as when you were shooting people at Shou-Shou's. It just numbed me. Sort of blinded me, like looking at the sun. That's fading now. Enough that I can tell you're sleeping better because I'm here. Don't worry. You couldn't get rid of me if you tried. I'm not going to leave you alone.
"I love you, Kieran. I'm not deluded, and I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. I'm not going to give up on you. You can't even get rid of me by dying, I'd follow you. Kai. My beautiful Kai. I'd follow you."
Kieran didn't like the implication of that, but was too far down to protest. Eventually, the meaning of the words Ash was murmuring fled entirely, leaving only a tenor lullaby to assure him that someone was watching over him while he slept.
He'd run out of things to talk about and was mumbling nonsense by the time he found the turnoff Kieran had told him to look for. He babbled about that for a while, then recited some poetry he'd had to memorize in grammar school. It was terrible, stupid, self-righteous poetry, but it was all he could think of right now. And he had to keep talking, because whenever he fell silent, Kieran started to have nightmares. He could feel them through the place where their skin touched.
Throat-sore and thirsty, he could barely keep Kieran in the saddle. He rode straight at the setting sun now. From her plodding pace, the mare was just as tired as he was. The skin of his face felt tight with sunburn. Even Kieran was a little burned, despite his dark skin; some red was showing under the brown in places. They'd left the canyonlands behind, or at least that particular stretch of them. This faint track crossed a flat pan of featureless yellow-gray dirt. He prayed they reached something before dark, because it would be easy to get lost here, and they were almost out of water.
As the sun went behind the mountains, chill descended like a wall. He stopped long enough to get their coats from the bundle behind the gray's saddle, but he did it without dismounting; he was fairly sure he wouldn't be able to get up again. Careful not to let Kieran fall, he put on his sheepskin jacket, wincing as the dirty fleece scraped his sunburn. Then he arranged Kieran's leather coat like a blanket, before coaxing the mare to walk again.
All this should have made Kieran wake up, at least a little. It didn't.
Now that the sun's heat was gone, Ash could tell that the warmth he was feeling from Kieran's skin was too much. Fever. Between that and the stupor in which Kieran seemed caught, which was even now pitching toward nightmare again, Ash began to worry that things were rather more severe than he'd thought.
But what could he do about it? Stop and make camp? Here, where there was no water he could find, and Kieran unable to perform his near-magical water-finding act? The horses were exhausted, Ash was exhausted, and Kieran was more passed out than sleeping, spiraling down into a fever dream.
"It's all right," Ash tried to say, but his voice scraped out like rusty nails. He couldn't talk anymore. So he tightened his arm around Kieran's waist and thought at him. I'm here, I have you, I love you, I won't ever let you fall. Everything is going to be all right. Lean on me, stay with me, I'll take care of you.
And the rising spin of fear broke; Kieran relaxed into more restful slumber as if Ash had spoken.
What was that? No one ever told me empathy goes both ways. Well, no one ever told me anything useful about it, I guess. But if it can give Kieran any comfort... For the first time since he'd learned he was an empath, Ash was glad of his Talent. He went on sending love and calm, while the light faded.
Just when it had become so dark that he thought he would have to stop, he made out a yellow speck of light in the distance.
So there was something out here, after all. He rode toward it, expecting more lights to join it at any moment, but none did. If it wasn't a town, what was it? A lone farmhouse? That might be easier to deal with, though he might have to sit awake and guard Kieran all night if it looked like the occupants might be going to inform on them. Or god forbid, try to capture them. His weariness spiked at the thought, reminding him that he hadn't slept enough last night. Then up before dawn, a fight, lots of climbing, then riding all day -- on an empty stomach, he realized. He'd forgotten to eat. Kieran hadn't eaten either. Nor had the horses.
But there was this light. Coming closer. A window, a lamp in a window. A shape moving in front of it, alerted by the sound of the horses; window in a pale wall, square building, shaped funny on top... a dome. It had a dome. It was a temple. Of all the rotten luck. But there was no choice. What was a temple doing way out here?
A rectangle of dim brownish gold opened in the middle of the wall. There was a man-shape silhouetted in it, black against the light spilling from another room. A moment's hesitation, and the man came out into the night, head forward as if he were squinting, trying to see in the dark. He was wearing the long robe of a priest, open over more normal clothing.
"Hello?" A soft voice, uncertain. "Do you need shelter?"
Ash stopped the mare. The gelding tugged at the lead a bit, then stopped as well. Ash croaked, "Help?"
"Oh my. Miyan! Miyan, come quick!" The priest rushed to Ash's side, reaching up as if to take Kieran.
"No," Ash croaked. "Other side. Left... left side." He moved the coat they'd been using as a blanket, so the priest could see the way Kieran's right side was all bandaged up.
Another shape came out of the door, a smaller one in a skirt. There was a feminine gasp, then a burst of Iavaian.
The priest, to Ash's astonishment, replied in the same language.
Working together, the priest and the native girl managed to take Kieran's weight as Ash eased him down. He didn't wake. Then Ash dismounted, and immediately crumbled to his knees.
"Are you hurt as well, son?" said the priest.
"No. Just tired. Take care of him, please, please. Do you have any medicine? Bandages? Even clean water --"
The girl reached out to pat Ash's hand. "You no worry. We fix. You good man, bring him to help. We help." She bent over Kieran, examining the bandages. "What happen? You shoot him?"
"No!" Ash struggled to his feet. He tried to pick Kieran up, but his shaking arms couldn't even begin to lift the tall Iavaian. The priest motioned him away and, with a grunt of effort, picked Kieran up all by himself.
"Oh god -- careful --" Ash followed, reaching helplessly, but the girl caught his arm.
"He strong. You no worry. You worry?"
"Yes."
"Why? He good servant?"
"Servant?" Ash gasped. Then he flung up a hand to shade his face as they went inside; the lamplight was blinding after the dark outside. The girl tugged his other hand, leading him after the priest who staggered under Kieran's weight.
"Not servant?"
"Not even close," Ash said absently, far more interested in following Kieran than answering the child's questions. Squinting against the light, he saw that they'd gone through the temple part of the building and into a smaller room that contained a bed and table.
The priest set Kieran on the bed, then stood up with his hands to his back. "Whew. That is one large young man. Now, you --" The priest stopped, staring at Ash in sudden recognition.
Not knowing what else to do, Ash stared back, trying to show all the pleading he felt. He didn't say what he was thinking, for fear that he was misinterpreting the priest's look, but it was only a small doubt. Their descriptions had made it here ahead of them. The Watch must have spread the word to every tiny town and outpost as soon as the jailbreak occurred.
"You stay here," the priest finished. "I'll get the medical kit. I have a medical kit." He rushed away.
Sick with helplessness, Ash knelt beside the bed and took up Kieran's hand. Bowed his forehead to it. "It's going to be all right," he whispered. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see the girl peering curiously at Kieran's tattoos. She was probably about fourteen years old, round-faced, wearing a modest Eskaran dress of dark gray enlivened by a yellow sash. He wondered if he ought to take her hostage, in case the priest came back with a rifle. He couldn't bring himself to seriously consider it.
"Kai'adiin," the girl breathed.
Confused, Ash studied her face. "You said Kai. What was the other word?"
"One word. Holy man." She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back with a conspiratorial smile. "You no tell priest. Okay? Here, look. Auanit." She reached as if to poke the big tattoo on Kieran's chest, but found herself blocked by Ash's hand.
"Please don't touch him."
"I no hurt. Not servant, eh? You all --" she made a strange flapping gesture. "Like mother. Good friend, eh?"
Now it was Ash's turn to make sure the priest was out of earshot. "Ediya'haan," he said.
The girl's eyes went round. "Oh!" She glanced between the prone Iavaian and the white boy clutching his hand. "Too bad. I hope maybe marry him. Have big huge babies. Joke! No be mad. Iavai'ai sheishu?"
"No, I don't speak Iavaian. Sorry."
"Okay. Hungry?"
"Um. Sure, yeah. Thank you."
She dashed away, leaving Ash to wonder if she was simpleminded, or if it was just the language barrier that made her sound that way. The thought was drowned by a wave of anxiety from Kieran. Ash bent to soothing him, brushing back the wisps that had escaped his braid, forcing down the nightmare. He was deep enough in this that he forgot to watch for the priest's return. It was a metallic click that got his attention.
He turned to see the priest standing in the doorway, aiming a shotgun at him.
Ash was too tired to be angry. The only emotion he could muster was sadness. "Don't do this," he murmured.
"I'm terribly sorry," the priest said. He looked tired as well, though it was probably how he looked all the time. Deep creases worn by sun and dry air made his face look older than he probably was; his bald head was sunburned. His eyes were as dark as a native's, and looked gentle despite the shotgun. "It's just that the notice said you two are violent, and I have my little Miyan to think about."
"You think I'd hurt her? What did they say we did? No, it doesn't matter." Ash let his head sag, made no attempt to stop his eyes from spilling over. "I suppose if I make a wrong move you'll shoot me."
"That seems to be the way it's done."
"Then all I can do is beg." He looked up, facing the uncertainty and dawning guilt in the priest's heart. "Save him. He's got a high fever, he won't wake up, his collarbone's broken and I think the wound might be infected, he won't survive without proper care." His vision, already blurry, unfocused entirely, and he sagged against the edge of the bed. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I wish I could offer a trade, save him and you can take me out back and shoot me, but what good would that do you?"
"Well, you see, my duty to the Church means I have to assist the Watch however I can. Granted, you don't seem dangerous, but that's not for me to judge, is it?"
"You're the one with the shotgun."
"I suppose you're armed? The notice said you were armed."
Ash groaned. "Yes, look, I'm taking off my coat, both our guns are in my coat." He threw the jacket on the floor and shoved it away. "And money and everything, take it, just stop dithering and either help or fire!"
The priest stood there a few seconds longer. Then, with a sigh, he put up the shotgun, scooped up Ash's jacket, and walked away. A moment later he came back carrying a wooden crate. The girl, Miyan, was right behind with a kettle and a bowl.
"Thank you," Ash whispered.
"Yes, well, I still haven't decided what to do with you. But I can't very well let this young man die, can I?" Rooting around in his crate, the priest produced a roll of gauze and a cork full of needles. "How did this happen? Was he shot?"
"Yes. A rifle at close range. The bullet went through, but it broke some bones on the way, and it hit his lung a little. I don't think he's bleeding into his lungs anymore, though."
"How long ago was this?"
"Early this morning."
"Well, if he were going to die from a punctured lung, he would have done it already. Why don't you have a seat? Stay out of my light."
Ash stood, wobbled as dizziness overcame him. Looked at the chair the priest had indicated, and realized that he didn't dare be out of contact with Kieran. As if the only thing keeping Kieran alive was Ash's presence -- self-centered thought, that, but he couldn't shake it. So he moved around to the head of the bed and rested his hand on Kieran's brow.
"What's this? You think I'm going to make him vanish if you don't keep an eye on me?"
"He needs me," Ash said simply.
He tried to watch as the priest undid the makeshift bandages. It was getting harder and harder to hold his head up, though. He rested it on the pillow beside Kieran's, just for a moment. Just to catch his breath.
The next thing he knew, Miyan was tugging at him, chattering in his ear. Groggily raising his head, he saw that the crusted shreds of his and Kieran's shirts that he'd used for bandages were gone, replaced by clean white gauze. There were only a few flecks of blood spotting over the wound. Kieran looked cleaner, too, and his feet were bare. The girl was babbling something about eating.
"I'm not -- I'm not hungry, I'm too tired -- thank you, stop pulling."
"Up, up! Silly boy, you sleep on floor?"
He managed to get upright, but resisted when she tried to move him away, even when he saw bread and cheese and water set out on the table she was shoving him towards. "He needs me, he'll have nightmares if I'm not there."
"Eat!" she insisted.
With a last glance to Kieran, he surrendered. His stomach demanded it. While he was wolfing down the food, the priest returned, holding a lantern and wearing a nightshirt.
"When you're finished, son, let me show you where you'll be sleeping."
"Thank you, no." Ash washed the last of the bread down with the last of the water, pushed himself up on the edge of the table. He nearly knocked it over.
"I'm afraid I can't let you leave."
"Huh?" Ash blinked at him. "Leave?" He staggered back to the bed and sat down beside Kieran.
Miyan bustled around picking up the dishes, then pushed them at the priest, chattering. They had a little exchange in Iavaian. The priest cleared his throat. "You do realize," he said stiffly, "that what you boys do is a sin against God."
Of course he shouldn't have blurted ediya'haan at the girl, she was just a child, and had no reason to keep his secrets anyway. Ash gave the priest a weary smile. "Can we discuss that later? I just need to know if he's going to be all right. Is there anything I can do for him?"
"Let him rest. It's in God's hands now."
"God owes him a lot of favors; let's hope He decides to pay up."
The priest made a hand sign against blasphemy. Ash lay down along the edge of the bed, wrapping his hands around Kieran's good arm. Miyan rushed over and slapped at his leg, crying, "Boots! Boots!"
"Sorry," Ash mumbled. He couldn't move. He barely felt the girl taking his boots off. By the time a thin blanket settled over him, he was too sleepy even to thank her. He reached for Kieran's dream, twined himself around it, and let go of the world.
--==*==--
They rose slowly out of sleep together, simultaneously losing the thread of the same dream; Ash realized that just before he came awake. He opened his eyes just in time to see Kieran open his. They looked at each other for a while, gradually becoming separate, becoming real. Kieran glanced around, lost, frowning, then looked back to Ash and smiled.
"I dreamed you were here," he rasped.
"Every moment," Ash answered in a voice almost as ruined. His arm had gone numb; he'd slept in the same position all night. He sat up and tried to rub some feeling back into it.
"Where are we?"
"A little temple in the middle of nowhere. I took the road you told me to, and this was all I found. I'm afraid the priest wants to turn us over to the Watch, but I had to do something. You were in bad shape."
"I feel like shit. How do I look?"
"Better than last night." He felt Kieran's forehead. "And your fever went down. I'll see if I can find you some water."
Kieran's hand moved to catch Ash's wrist. "Not yet."
"Aren't you thirsty?"
"I'm -- yeah. But I'm just a little lost, still. Let me wake up. I'll come with you."
Ash tried not to show his concern. This was downright clingy by Kieran standards, and Ash wasn't sure how to interpret it. "I don't know if you should get up yet."
"I'm tired of being helpless. What if this priest..."
"He's got our guns. I don't know yet whether I could take them back; you're in no shape to try. I don't think he'll do us any harm, though, not after he patched you up so nicely. And there's this girl, seems to be a kind of foster daughter or something, and she's quite taken with you. She won't let him do anything wrong."
Kieran held his wrist for a moment longer, then let go with a sigh. "Yeah. Okay. I don't know why I'm being such a chickenshit."
"I guess being tough for so long wears you out. Take a vacation. I'll be the mean one for a couple days, all right? Just until you're back on your feet."
As he'd hoped, that made Kieran smile.
His boots were gone. No doubt the priest had hidden them, intending to keep the fugitives from leaving. That was all right, if the Watch wasn't too close behind them. As long as they had a couple days, Ash guessed that he could manage. At the worst, he could clobber the priest with a chair or something and search the premises.
In daylight, the temple looked shabby. He stood in the sanctuary for a moment, noting that the benches had all been stacked against the wall, and the altar was dusty. There was a wooden eye-of-Dalan hanging on the wall above it, the gilding mostly flaked off, and a rank of candles that were so furred with dust he guessed they hadn't been lit in a year. What the hell kind of temple was this, anyway?
There were two other doors off the sanctuary. The first one he checked was locked. The other led into a kitchen, where the priest sat at a roughly made table with a book in front of him, half-round spectacles perched on his nose. He looked blankly at Ash, eyes bloodshot. A door stood open to the outside, showing a yard with a well, where the horses were tied near a trough. With a start of guilt, Ash realized he'd forgotten all about them. Fortunately someone had unloaded them, and they looked happy enough. Beyond the horses, all he could see was flat desert, all the way to the purple-gray line of the mountains.
"Good morning," Ash said.
"Um. Good morning. How is, uh, Mr. Trevarde? Still alive?"
"Awake and thirsty."
"Good, good. There's the water barrel. Cups on the hook there. We have nothing to drink but water, before you ask."
"No coffee?"
"Oh. Coffee. A little. I meant, uh, we don't..."
"Have any liquor. Wouldn't expect it. This is a temple, after all. Can I take this pitcher?"
"That's a vase."
"Can I take it?"
"Well, yes, I suppose. As for this being a temple, it's a mission actually." The priest marked his place in the book and closed it. "A failed mission. At least so far. I'm making a little progress with Miyan, I think. The rest of them, well, I was too late."
Ash turned with water dripping off his chin. "What are you talking about?"
As a reply, the priest got up and opened a shuttered window behind him. Ash went to look through it, and froze halfway through wiping his mouth. In that direction, there was a village, or the remains of one. The rounded huts were fallen in on themselves, like broken eggs. Some still showed scorch marks.
"What happened?"
The priest gave a weary shrug. "They refused to convert. I hid Miyan, but the rest, well, I couldn't do anything about it."
"The Watch did this?"
"Yes, they did. It's the law, you see, there's really no alternative."
"And how did the Watch learn that this village refused to convert?" He met the priest's eyes for a moment; then the priest looked away. For a long moment, Ash fought the urge to slug the man in the face. In the end he just went back to the water barrel, then back to Kieran.
He found the room full of Miyan. She was fluttering around, chattering like a squirrel while she did things that looked vaguely like cleaning. Kieran gave Ash a grin, then croaked a reply to the girl in Iavaian.
"Miyan," Ash said, "don't wear him out."
"She's entertaining me, Ashes. Let her stay. Damn, I'm thirsty, gimme that."
Ash sat on the edge of the bed while Kieran worked his way through the large tin pitcher that was actually a vase. "So what are you two talking about?"
"Tattoos. She likes my wind knot. Says there's a big one, back in the hills a ways. Wants to show it to me."
"So pretty," Miyan put in, with a large hand gesture that scattered a cloud of dust from the rag she was using. "Big cave, so big auanit made all -- haya? -- all little rocks."
"A mosaic?" Ash said.
"All little rocks," Miyan repeated, and went back to her dusting.
Kieran finished the water and gave the pitcher back. He let his head fall back on the pillow as if raising it to drink had exhausted him. "I kinda heard you talking in the other room. What was that about?"
"I don't know. Nothing. There used to be a village here but the Watch burned it out. I think we should leave as soon as you can ride. The priest hid our boots, but I can probably find them."
"No no." Miyan gestured with the rag again. "Miyan hide boots. Hide coat, hide all guns. Miyan keep one gun, okay?"
"Like hell," Kieran said, but Ash contradicted him.
"You can have one of the rifles, if you want. We have a spare."
"Rifles?" Kieran raised an eyebrow.
"You didn't notice me taking them? No point letting the Watch have them. We don't have a lot of ammunition for them, though."
Kieran gave a laugh that was half cough. "You're all right."
"I bet you're hungry."
"Starving."
"Back in a minute." He stood to go, but found his way blocked by a suddenly stern-looking Miyan.
"You no get food. Miyan get food. Man no cook."
"Why not?"
"Man no cook. Dalan say. Woman cook."
"Yes, well, I happen to be quite good at cooking, thank you very much."
Miyan put a fist on her hip, looking skeptical. "Dalan say. Man no cook."
"Kieran, would you tell her to let me through?"
"What makes you think I can change her mind? She's just as opinionated in her native language."
Ash sighed. "Look -- Miyan -- you can help me. Okay? Show me where you put our food supply. We have a big bag of coffee, you want some coffee?"
The girl blocked his way a moment longer before breaking into giggles. She punched his arm. "Joke. You cook. Come on."
In the kitchen, the priest watched sourly while Miyan and Ash ran in and out, stoking up the stove, fetching water. When Ash rolled up his sleeves and started chopping garlic, the priest cleared his throat.
"You do realize that the scriptures say that the work of the home is woman's. 'It is hers to make bread, and to see that the mouths of her family are not hungry.' You're going to corrupt my little girl with your invert ways."
"You're insane." Ash scooped the garlic into the pot and started in on some dried peppers. "Bachelors are supposed to starve?"
"Bachelor is a very kind word for what you are."
"Your moral high ground is pretty shaky, priest. I'd say your 'duty to the church' has probably killed more people than we ever did. Were there children in that village?"
Miyan blurted something in her own language and stormed out the door.
"I was wrong about you," the priest told Ash. "You're a demon." Then he followed Miyan.
"I'm sorry," Ash said, too late. He felt awful. He didn't have a lot of sympathy for the priest, but he hadn't wanted to hurt the girl. He went and looked out the window, and saw the two of them talking among the remains of the village. He turned his attention to the book the priest had left on the table. It didn't have a title printed on the cover; when he opened it, he saw why. It was a journal, and written in some kind of code. Interesting. He flipped to the front, then the back, and laughed when he saw that the last page had been ripped out. So the fellow had developed his cipher in the back of the book, and got rid of it once he memorized it. That implied a fairly simple code, maybe even a straight substitution cipher, if he could keep it in his head. What was he writing about, that he had to keep it in code?
Another glance out the window assured him that the conversation was nowhere near over. Ash snatched up the book and took it to the room where Kieran lay.
Kieran was asleep. He jerked and gasped when Ash woke him, staring in momentary alarm.
"I'm sorry," Ash said.
"What? What is it?"
"Calm down. Nothing really urgent, I just want to hide this."
Kieran frowned at the book. "Why?"
"Might be able to trade it for our stuff, I don't know." He lifted the blanket and slid the book under Kieran's knees. "I'll think of a better place later."
"You better. That feels weird."
"I will. Go back to sleep now. Food's going to be about half an hour."
"Sleep. Hell. Fuck sleep. I was having nightmares. Don't leave me here, I'm bored, I think I'm gonna puke and what if I choke on it --"
"Okay," he agreed immediately, feeling as if he were sliced open by the fear in Kieran's eyes. It didn't look right there.
But as Ash started to sit down, Kieran scowled and waved him off. "No, don't listen to me. I don't know what my fucking problem is."
"If you're sure... I'll just be in the next room."
"Go. Get out of here."
The priest still wasn't back when he returned to the kitchen. He could no longer see either of them out the window or the door. After a quick check of the cupboards, just in case Miyan had hidden their things there, he went back to work.
If I ever manage to stop being a fugitive, I think I'll be a cook. It's the only thing I'm halfway decent at besides writing inflammatory prose, and a lot less likely to get me in trouble. Wonder if there's a market for Yelorrean food in Prandhar?
A shadow crossed the doorway, paused a moment before the priest came slouching in. He avoided Ash's eyes. When he saw the empty table, he stood still for a long time. Ash just went on working as if nothing was unusual.
"What did you do with it?" the priest said at last.
"What did you do with our boots and guns?"
"It won't do you any good. It's not a fair trade. If the Watch find out I had you and let you go --"
"What I find myself wondering," Ash interrupted, "is what they'd think of the contents of that book. Wouldn't take them long to crack a simple substitution cipher. I'm guessing I could do it myself in under four hours." The look of shocked dismay on the priest's face confirmed his guess. Ash grinned and went on, "Didn't the notice say? I was a bit of an encryption expert when I was with the Resistance. Kieran's got sort of a talent for it, too. Hell, he cracked one of my ciphers, which is damn near impossible. Granted he just guessed the key, but -- oh, were we done talking?" This to the priest's back as the man dashed into the sanctuary.
Ash followed and watched as the poor bastard upended his bench pile, looked behind the altar, growing more and more frantic.
"Damn you!" The priest rounded on him. "I should have let you have both barrels, you sneaky godless faggot! You're going to bring them down on us, and poor Miyan -- after everything I did to save her --"
"They're going to get you anyway. That hadn't occurred to you?"
The priest stomped into the room with the bed, aiming a scowl at Kieran before beginning his search. "If I turn you two in, they'll take you and go. But you'll tell them I have a book in code, won't you? Just for spite! And they'll take my little girl away and wreck her beautiful mind!"
"Why would -- her mind?" Understanding dawned. "Oh, you poor stupid trusting son of a bitch."
From the bed, Kieran made a sound of annoyance. "Ash, would you just break this fucker's neck for me? He's making way too much noise."
"Only if he doesn't settle down." Ash cracked his knuckles, which got the priest to stop searching. "Look, I don't know what kind of happy world you've been living in, but in the real one, the Watch don't give a damn for you or anyone. They have no respect. What did you think, you were going to get a medal? They'll rape your mind to find out if we told you anything interesting -- which is not fun, believe me, they did it to us a bunch of times. Then they'll probably kill you for knowing too much. And I'm guessing from what you said that you suspect Miyan's got a Talent, and you've been putting off giving her up to have it burned out. That's big trouble for you right there. You're screwed either way. So much for your duty to the Church."
"I wish you'd never come here," the priest said tightly.
"I'd be sorry, but I saw the village."
"Miyan's done nothing to deserve any of this."
"You're right, we owe her an apology. You, though... well, I just don't like you. Come on back to the kitchen, priest. We've kept Kieran awake long enough."
With a final glare, the priest stomped out of the room. Kieran chuckled and said, "You're gonna be the mean one, huh?"
"How am I doing?"
"Not half bad."
"I better go keep the pressure on."
He went back into the kitchen, just in time to meet the priest coming in from the yard, shotgun at the ready. The end of it was shaking a little, but at this range he couldn't miss. Sweat beaded on the priest's forehead as he nerved himself to shoot.
"That's one solution," Ash said, his voice level even as his stomach dropped through the floor. "Going to make Miyan help clean my intestines off the wall?"
Slowly, by inches, the priest lowered the gun. "God help me, I can't." He leaned in the doorway, weariness dragging down every line of his frame. "You can't understand. Life is cheap for you, you outlaws. You kill and leave. And I have to live with the evidence every day... it's like having a corpse in your bed. You just don't understand. I had to send reports, I had to report my progress, I never thought it would condemn them..."
Ash sighed, bowing his head. He was suddenly very sorry for everything he'd said to this man. "I shouldn't have thrown it in your face. You have no excuse to be naive again, though. If I were you, I'd watch for riders, and if you see dust on the horizon, take Miyan and run like hell. Or if you can stand our company, we could all leave together before they come for us. I don't agree with that 'life is cheap' comment, but we can defend you two better than you can defend yourselves."
"Oh, certainly, I give you those guns and you immediately murder us."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You killed women, why not a child and a priest?"
"Women?" Ash shook his head slightly. "Can I see that notice you mentioned?"
"I -- I suppose." Warily, keeping a close grip on the shotgun, the priest edged past. He went to the locked room, and came out a moment later, locking it behind him. He'd exchanged his weapon for a sheet of cheap cardstock, which he held out to Ash at arm's length.
Ash's first reaction was a smile at the portraits. There must have been a sketch artist at the prison, because whoever drew these had obviously seen them in person. The pictures made them look much meaner than Ash thought they did in real life, and showed Ash with his old squarish specs instead of the round ones he had on now. Nevertheless they were quite recognizable.
Then he read the text. No charge of practicing unlicensed magic was listed, nor was concealing a Talent. The Watch were apparently keeping a lid on that one, which meant the priest didn't know. But they were wanted for the murder of eight people. Eight. Six of the names were male, and looked like the names of city-bred natives -- names like Addy Tallgrass and Laine Breakrocks. Probably the gangsters Kieran had shot in Shou-Shou's yard. But two were female: Jinnie Harkes and Amica Welard. His teeth creaked, and he had to force himself to stop grinding them. "Those -- those liars, those unimaginable shits!"
Despite a flinch, the priest said bravely, "You expect me to believe you didn't kill those people?"
"Not the girls! Those men attacked us, Kieran shot them, but not the girls! The Watch must have taken them or killed them in questioning. Oh god. Amica Welard; I think that's Ami. She lent me her bathrobe. Oh god."
"I see. You killed those women simply by existing. Now you know how I feel."
Ash stared at him in astonishment. "Are you going to stand there and feel sorry for yourself? I pity Miyan for having to live with you. Look, there's only one way out of this. Go find her, get our weapons, and let's all get the hell out of here. The sooner we go, the colder our trail gets."
"If I do -- imagine for a moment that I do -- is your... friend in any shape to ride?"
"I don't know. We can ride double again, or rig a litter."
The priest dragged his hands down his face. Then he nodded. "I'm afraid you're right."
Ash folded the notice and put it in his pants pocket; Kieran might want to see it, later. "Hurry, now. We should go right after we eat."
"It's very strange to be taking orders from a boy half my age."
"Oh for -- would you climb out of your rut already? Get moving!"
He cried out as he woke, and was immediately ashamed. Pain surged in waves, through his arm and neck and back, a tight feeling in his lungs, a headache, shivers. The sound of Ash's voice made him angry; the smell of food nauseated him.
No stranger to pain, he knew he could conquer it if he could only concentrate. If he could only find that place in his mind again, the one where he stood alone on top of things and looked down on his own suffering from a great height. This was Ash's fault. No, it was Kieran's own. He'd let himself sink for a while into dependance, and now he had to fight with himself to win back his heart's solitude. Because no one else could ride this pain for him. No one else could still his shivers and relax the tenseness they brought, keep from breaking his stitches, hold his rising stomach down when bone ends grated. Comfort was an illusion; but it had looked so real yesterday.
"Get that away from me," he growled, slapping at the bowl Ash thrust at him. "I can't eat. I feel sick."
"You feel sick because you haven't eaten."
"I feel sick because I am sick, you idiot."
"And you'll get sicker, if you don't get something in your stomach." The patience in Ash's eyes was infuriating.
"Piss off, will you? Why can't you let me sleep? I need sleep."
"You can't, I'm afraid. We're leaving as soon as you've eaten. I persuaded the priest to give our things back and leave with us."
Scowling, Kieran tried to see if Ash was serious, if he was bragging, if he was still wearing that sappy expression of forbearance, but all he could see were the owl-like circles of reflected light on Ash's glasses. "You persuaded him?"
"He's resistant to logic, but not fully immune. Unlike a certain someone, whom I will have to force-feed if he doesn't cooperate."
"The hell you will."
"I will. I said I'd be the mean one and I meant it. I'm going to keep you alive whether you help or not, you overgrown adolescent, so stop wasting time."
The effort to keep frowning was too much. Kieran closed his eyes with a sigh. "Fine. It'll come right back up, but fine."
"Fine." A hand that felt chill by contrast wrapped the back of Kieran's neck, lifting his head so something could be placed behind it. Rougher and stiffer than a pillow, maybe a rolled rug. The sound of metal against crockery. Something touched Kieran's lips; he allowed the spoon, swallowed something warm and salty with chunks in it, coughed. There was pain. Once his face relaxed from grimacing, the spoon came back.
It tasted wrong. Too salty, not salty enough, metallic, he wasn't sure. There was a slight burn of peppers growing in the back of his throat as he ate. Good for the head, bad for the stomach. Whatever it was had a canned taste to it. He remembered taking a stack of tinned goods at the store in Smith without looking what was on the labels. For all he knew he was eating dog food.
"What's in this?" he asked between swallows.
"Rice, corn, sausage, stuff like that. We have one can of beans left and a couple cans of olives. Why'd you get olives?"
"Dunno. Wait..." He turned his head away from the spoon and coughed again. A gob of something thick and nasty-tasting came up, and he swallowed it rather than make Ash deal with it. "Stuff doesn't taste right."
"That's because your fever's back, but you won't get over it if you don't eat. Come on now, you're halfway through."
After a few more bites, he heard light footsteps, the rustle of Miyan's skirt. "All ready. You come now."
"We'll be a few more minutes," Ash said. "Did you and the priest eat the rest?"
"Yes, all gone." Then she added in Iavaian, to Kieran, "You don't look in any shape to ride. What are you going to do?"
Kieran opened his eyes. That damn silly cheerful girl was gawking at him while he let himself be fed like an infant. He was gearing up for an angry reply when the humor of the situation struck him. "Whatever my nursemaid tells me to, I guess."
"That's good. He's strong, for all he looks like a baby chickenhawk. He made Father Ilder agree to run away before the white coats come."
"What are you two talking about?" Ash asked.
Kieran ignored him. "Any idea where we're going? I doubt I can make it very far. It might be better to stay and get my strength back so I can fight."
Miyan shook her head, serious-faced for once. "Your edeime is a smart man, and the only thing in the world he cares about is you. If you don't listen to someone like that, everything will go wrong."
"I'm very sorry to interrupt," Ash said, "but this is the last hot meal he'll get for I don't know how long, and I'd like him to eat it while it is hot."
"Okay," Miyan chirped, and dashed off.
Resigned, Kieran looked to Ash, waiting for the next spoon of wrong-tasting glop, and noticed something he hadn't before. "Where'd you get a shirt?"
"Bummed it from the priest. I have one for you too, but first you have to finish eating."
"I want my gun."
"I'm going to smack you in a second here. Then I'm going to hold your nose and pour this down your throat."
Kieran gave up and let himself be fed.
When he'd swallowed the last spoonful, and washed it down with warm water, he let himself be pulled to a sitting position, though the pain of it nearly brought all that corn and rice back up, and he managed to stay sitting while Ash helped him dress. Because of the sling, the shirt had to be draped around his right shoulder, he couldn't put his arm in the sleeve. His leather trousers smelled of horse and stale Kieran, so he didn't want to wear them, but was just cogent enough to stop himself from complaining.
Ash took the book he'd hidden earlier and slipped it into a pack already full of food and ammunition. Then he knelt and started stuffing Kieran's feet into his boots. "My god, you have enormous feet. I've never seen such gigantic feet in my life. How on earth did Shou-Shou ever find boots to fit you?"
"She's a clever woman. And you have a big nose," he added in a surly tone.
"I didn't mean it as an insult. I was just observing."
"So was I. You just have a big nose. Maybe it looks bigger because it's red."
"You think my face is red, you should see my back. It's coming off in patches."
"Oh, that's attractive."
"Yeah, I'm thinking I'll start a new fashion. The flayed look. Tell me if I'm buckling these too tight."
"Pull it all the way, they're a bit loose."
"Better?" Ash finished fastening the last buckle. He stood and put his pack on his back. Then he bent to lift Kieran's left arm around his neck.
"What, now?" Kieran froze in alarm, then made himself relax. Of course it was going to hurt. Fearing the pain just made it worse. "Okay. Let's go."
It hurt. It hurt enough to make his head spin. But he got his legs under him somehow, and walked, albeit with a drunkard's slithering gait.
They went outside. The priest and Miyan waited with the horses. There were bundles tied behind each saddle, and rifles tied to the bundles. Three rifles and a shotgun.
"Where's my gun? I want my gun."
"Hold onto the saddle then." Ash left Kieran leaning against the bay mare, and rummaged in his pack. He produced the Hart and offered it. "I didn't reload it or anything; you only used one round out of that magazine, right?"
"Wish I'd got hold of a holster somehow." In the process of putting the gun in his waistband left-handed, he nearly fell, but recovered. "Where's yours?"
As an answer, Ash pulled up the back of his shirt. He'd stuck the revolver down along the furrow of his spine, the way Kieran carried his. "Holsters would be nice," he agreed. "This chafes. Ready to mount up?"
"Hell no, but I'm gonna do it anyway."
While Kieran was struggling into the saddle, the priest got up on the gray, then bent to lift Miyan up in front of himself. So both horses would be carrying double, then. It would be slow going. Ash got up behind him. This time there was no fascination in Ash's hand on the reins, no comfort in the practical embrace that would keep him from falling. It was just business.
"Where are we going?" That was the priest. "Have you given any thought to where we're going? I hope it's somewhere suitable for a young lady, and not some bandit's encampment or something."
"Thought we'd start off with a little tour of historic sites," Ash answered. "Miyan, would you like to show us where you found that mosaic?"
She didn't understand. "Show what?"
"Auanit ikarae'ena sadi," Kieran clarified.
"Oh! Yes." She pointed; due south, toward a shade of darker color on the horizon that implied hills.
"Is there water on the way? Take us by a route that passes somewhere we can get water."
"Yes." She slapped at her guardian's leg and flapped her bare heels against the horse's sides. "Go, go now." As they began moving, she lifted her face with a smile. She was glad to be leaving.
Well, considering what Ash had said about the Watch burning out the village, it must have worn on her living beside its ruins. Kieran sure wasn't feeling broken-hearted about leaving that mission. Probably the priest wasn't too happy about it, though. Which reminded him -- if they were going to be traveling with the guy, it might be better to be on good terms. "Hey, priest." What had the girl called him? "Ilder."
"Yes?" He sounded wary.
"Thanks for stitching me up. I owe you one."
The priest sniffed. "You owe us more than that. If you hadn't come, we wouldn't have to leave our home."
Ash said, "Isn't there something in the scriptures about God moving you where he wants you? Maybe it was time for you to leave."
"In the company of a pair of murderous perverts? Somehow I doubt that's the divine plan."
"Perverts?" Kieran said dryly.
"He's got that on the brain," Ash said with a laugh in his voice. "We're really very nice once you get to know us. Aren't we, Kieran?"
"No."
"No, I guess you're right. We're jerks. Well, I like us, anyway." He chuckled in Kieran's ear, and no more was said for a long time.
As the day progressed, Kieran began to feel less sick, though he got more tired at the same time. Mid-afternoon, he dozed off leaning back against Ash. This time, though, he didn't feel quite so safe doing it as he had right after he'd been hurt. Then, he'd been a rope's end snapping in the wind, grateful for any touch that might still his helpless whirling. Now he was only himself, weakened.
There was still plenty of light in the sky when they reached water, a tiny trickle of a stream that could be dammed with one hand, but Ash declared that they would camp beside it. Cold camp, since this plain was so open that someone might see a campfire from the road, though they must have gone ten miles today. When Kieran touched the ground, his legs went out from under him, and he couldn't stand even to move to the bed Ash made for him. So Ash moved the bed, and lifted him onto it by bits; feet, hips, shoulders. Moving hurt so much that he couldn't keep from making noises, and the sounds of his pain called a flood of soothing talk from Ash, which was annoying.
The especially irritating part was that it worked; the pain backed off a few steps, and he fell asleep. Woke long enough to drink some water, and again later to force down some food he didn't remember taking from the store: anise biscuits, raisins, and dried apples. Maybe supplies from the mission. Then he drifted in an aching stupor that wasn't sleep, shivering, listening to the others talking but unable to understand their words. Half-dreams came, twisting bitter dreams in which Father Ilder lectured him about Dalan's holy law against carnal contact between man and man, while dropping his pants and waving a five-throne note. Kieran tried to explain that he wasn't a whore anymore, he was big enough that he didn't need to do this, but realized all his life had been a dream and he was still a scrawny twelve-year-old on his knees in an alley behind the transients' hotel.
When something touched him, he came awake with a start.
"Hush, it's all right." Ash's hand over his hammering heart; blankets shifted.
Relief; he'd only dreamed that he'd dreamed growing up. He measured himself by Ash as the redhead climbed under the blankets with him, noting that their faces were side by side but Ash's toes were nudging his ankles. "I'm about four inches taller than you," he said happily.
"And about six degrees hotter. If your fever gets any higher, maybe I should be trying to cool you down instead of keeping you warm. I wish I'd paid more attention to this kind of thing. I'm sure I read a book about it somewhere."
"You and your books." Kieran smiled. A cough tightened his chest, but didn't make it out his throat. "Say, we're the tallest people we know. We're tall."
A sigh. "Yes, Kieran, we're tall. Go back to sleep now."
"Can't. Bad dreams."
"I'll make sure you don't have bad dreams."
"How?"
"I'll dream with you."
"You don't want my dreams."
A murmur in his ear. "Sleep, my Kai."
"Ki edei ou'ena ki," he commanded; "Ou'ena minoun," then remembered that Ash couldn't understand. He had closed his eyes, at some point, and when he tried to translate, his voice wouldn't cooperate. Tell me you love me. Say it again. That would have helped. His awareness of Ash beside him followed him into sleep, and in his dreams he was strong. Lost and confused, but strong.
--==*==--
Morning hit him between the eyes like a hammer. His headache astonished him. He couldn't move, it was so bad. Had to open his eyes by tiny increments; he could feel his irises struggling to contract. His nose was numb. Summer night's cold; the humidity of spring that kept the nights tolerable had ended.
I have a birthday coming up, he thought, and remembered when he'd been certain he wouldn't live to see twenty. Well, maybe he would and maybe he wouldn't.
There was a repetitive scraping sound happening near his head. It would go scratcha-scratcha-scratch for a while and then pause. Some kind of rodent? Digging? When he got his eyes opened, he rolled them without turning his head, and saw Ash sitting crosslegged beside him, bent over a pad of paper, writing things and then crossing them out. His shoulders were hunched high; he was in his shirtsleeves, neck and wrists rough with goosebumps. Both their coats were piled on top of the blankets that were tucked up around Kieran's chin.
When Kieran swallowed, preparatory to speaking, Ash instantly looked to him in concern. It was a pain to have to reassure him, but Kieran forced a smile to forestall questions about how he felt. "Whatcha doing?" he whispered.
"Breaking code. Thirsty?"
"Some."
Reaching behind him, Ash brought out a canteen. The chill water made Kieran's headache spike. "Rest a little longer. Those lazy people are still fast asleep. I want to get this before that priest wakes up; I don't have any excuse to keep it anymore. He'll get up his nerve to ask about it pretty soon."
"So tell him to fuck off."
"Well, it's his journal. It's really none of my business. I just took it to get some leverage. Turns out I didn't need it."
"Maybe it helped."
"Maybe." Ash bent over his notebook again; Kieran wondered where he'd got it. The book he'd stolen from the priest was laid out flat on the ground in front of him, and every few seconds he'd lean over to squint at it, lips moving. Then he'd scribble some more.
Several minutes later, Kieran gave a quiet groan of exasperation. "I have to piss like a racehorse. No," he added when Ash started to set his book aside, "let me see if I can..." He threw the blankets and coats aside, grimacing as the chill struck him.
"Stop," Ash snapped. He pointed between Kieran's feet.
Raising his head, Kieran saw that there was a snake coiled there, tasting the air in sluggish alarm. It was just a cricket snake, though. "Harmless," he said.
"Not poisonous?"
"No."
"Okay." Ash matter-of-factly grabbed the snake and tossed it away. "Want some help?"
"I think I'm all right." By aching stages, he got to his feet, rode out the rush of dizziness that resulted, and stumbled away.
Dealing with his pants one-handed took a long time. Getting them undone was hard; doing them up again was impossible. He dreaded asking Ash to do it for him, but in the end had to come back holding them closed with his hand.
"Um..."
Ash glanced up. "Oh." Without a hint of embarrassment, he held his pencil in his teeth, did up the buttons, then went back to his scribbling. He was no longer crossing things out. Now he was just writing, glancing back and forth between notebook and journal.
Easing back down into what was left of his warmth, Kieran pulled the blanket over himself. "Looks like you got it. What's it say?"
"It's fascinating."
"And?"
"It took me longer than I thought. I'd hoped he was using a straight rotation, but he's a little smarter than that, and I had to do some trial-and-error. But he didn't make any effort to disguise the length of words, so --"
"Ash, what's it say?"
"Oh." Ash looked up, blinking as if coming awake. "He's been making a study of the native religion and spiritual system. This is a collection of legends and stories he got out of the villagers before the Watch came. No wonder they wouldn't convert; he was reminding them of their own faith while he was pushing the new one. But as an anthropological record, this thing is priceless."
"Nah, I bet I have all that same old-religion bullshit in my head."
"Bullshit? Kieran, this is your heritage."
"Huh. I don't have a heritage."
"Well, if you don't have a heritage, then why have you got a wind knot tattooed on your chest? What were you and Miyan calling it -- auanit? It says here that that's the symbol of a rather scary god called Kan."
"Ka'an," Kieran corrected. "Yeah. He's a real asshole of a god. Kind you don't want to meet in a dark alley, you know?" He crawled his left hand up under his shirt to touch the tattoo, feeling the slight ridge of the inked skin there. "It's a Tama'ankan thing. My mom had a little one on her ankle, but her pimp burned it off. I guess I got this one to kind of spit on that guy's grave."
"So your tribe worshipped this god?"
"You don't worship Ka'an. You try to get on his good side, or you stay the hell out of his way. Not my whole tribe, anyway, just the Ankan. The Suneater clan. He's supposed to like us specially, I guess because we're all nuts."
"Do you believe that Ka'an actually exists? I mean you personally?" Ash didn't seem concerned by the possibility; he asked with scholarly detachment.
"Not really. I have dreams about him sometimes, but that doesn't mean anything." He remembered the bums back in Burn River identifying him with Ka'an, and smiled. "We do kinda need a god like him, though. We Iavaians. Dalan's just not doing the trick for us."
Ash studied the book some more. "Let's see -- 'This god was considered responsible for certain types of dreams, especially true or prophetic dreams. Iyula claims that several times this god has mated with her in her visions, but as she is an inveterate opium-eater I did not bother recording her statements. He was also thought to bring storms, being the deity responsible for the severe thunderstorms of spring. Most of all, however, he was the god of violent death, and thus not to be invoked lightly.' And this is your clan's special friend?"
Kieran grinned. "You bet."
"Hey, what tribe is Miyan?"
"Beats me. I didn't ask. Miyan's a fairly common name; means cornflower."
"When she first saw that tattoo, she called you a holy man. At first I thought she must know you from somewhere, because the word had 'Kai' in it."
"Oh, kai'adiin. Yeah. Literally, that would be 'spirit horse'. Not really a priest, more like a medium."
"Why would she think that, if the wind knot is just a Suneater thing?"
"Dunno."
"I think I'll keep this book for a while after all." He put it and his writing materials away, his movements neat and precise, reminding Kieran of the way he'd been when they'd first met. He'd been so careful, then. So polite and nervous. He'd relaxed a lot, but some things were intrinsic, apparently. The way his pale fingers flicked through the contents of his pack to make room, worked the pack's buckle, tucked his pencil in his shirt pocket; the same tidy efficiency with which he'd handled his revolver when he'd surprised Kieran by reloading it on his own.
Kieran wanted to see more of that. Wanted to watch Ash repair clockwork or do surgery or something. The way Ash's hands worked soothed his eyes. In this moment the bird-boned narrowness of Ash's body didn't seem fragile; it was part of the design, streamlined, modern, a state-of-the-art machine. A very clever automaton powered by something quieter than steam, you could see the gas flames in his eyes...
"Damn," Kieran muttered. "I'm going delirious again."
Ash checked Kieran's temperature, made an unhappy face. "I don't know what it means when the fever keeps breaking and then rising again. I think it's better than if it's constant, though. You don't have to do anything, so just rest. You want your coat?"
"Yeah."
Ash arranged Kieran's coat around him, then packed up the bed. Kieran sat crosslegged and watched him put away the camp. He'd only done it once or twice before, but he was now doing it faster than Kieran would have. Quick learner. He woke Miyan and Ilder with sharp taps on their shoulders, made them get up before they were quite awake, had their blankets packed up before they'd finished blinking and scratching. While they drank water and ate handfuls of dried fruit, Ash saddled the horses. Kieran calculated that from the time Ash put the book away to the time when they were ready to leave took ten minutes at most.
He doesn't repeat his mistakes; now that I think about it, he's never had to be taught anything twice. I admire him. This is what it means to admire someone.
"Come on now, people," Ash was saying, gently but insistently. "You don't have to be coherent, just vertical. Mount up now, go on." He came back to get Kieran, helped him onto the horse, and got the mare moving before the others were quite ready.
"You needn't be in such a hurry all the time," the priest complained.
"Imagine that the White Watch are after us," Ash retorted. "Because they are."
--==*==--
They entered the hills a few hours later, and Kieran recognized where they were. The place he'd intended to go to was northwest of here, so they were sort of heading away from it, but he knew a route that followed the curve of these hills around and would probably be a better path than the road. Much slower and more difficult, but no one who didn't know this area better than his own face would ever be able to find it.
For now, though, they followed Miyan's instructions. Feeling a little better now that the day's heat had replaced night's cold, Kieran chatted with her a bit. The priest joined in sometimes, mostly to instruct or chastise her. His accent was pretty good, and his grasp of the grammar excellent. His attitude stank, though. He was always monitoring Miyan for unladylike language or concepts, and wouldn't let her talk too much about what had happened to the village. He seemed to think it would distress her. Since she shuttled off immediately to other things, as if the subject couldn't hold her, Kieran didn't try to interfere.
Ash didn't demand a translation; he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Kieran told him a few of the things that seemed to matter most: that Miyan's village had been composed of Tallgrass people, mostly a clan called Dogtooth that Kieran had never heard of, with a few families that were Valley Blue-Eye. That latter name referred to a flower, not the coloring of the inhabitants; Highland Blue-Eye came from south of Canyon, and had been moved into town after the Assimilation to work the mines. There was a silver mine in that area called Dogtooth, so maybe that was the other clan's original turf. It was a little odd to find a village of Tallgrass down here, when Tallgrass were mostly sheep-farming hill people, but Miyan lost interest before explaining it, and went on to talk about how she wanted a dress made out of a yellow calico she'd seen on a trip to Trestre. The priest didn't like that idea; he considered bright colors immodest. Kieran laughed at him, then had a coughing fit and brought up something so nasty he expected it to wilt the sawgrass where he spit it.
He was feeling pretty foul when they reached their destination. Nevertheless a sense of homecoming eased his mood a little when he saw it. He'd been here before.
At the end of a shallow-sloped canyon, a slab of yellow sandstone made a porch in front of a natural cave mouth that had been widened at the bottom by human hands. It was a sort of bottle shape, maybe twenty feet high.
"I camped out here once," Kieran said, ignoring the gurgle in his voice. "Maybe five, six years ago? I don't remember any auanit, though."
"It's in the floor," Miyan answered. "I found it when I swept out the dirt. I bet you didn't clean it at all, even though it's a shrine. Boys are so dirty."
The priest leapt in, speaking Iavaian as well. "I'm not comfortable with this. Evil gods were worshipped here, and I won't have you treating it as a holy place, Miyan. Remember, Dalan is the True God."
"Okay," she agreed easily, and hopped down off the horse before Ilder reined in. "I'll make it all nice for us. Be good to the horses!" She dashed into the cave.
Ash, left out of the conversation, said, "I take it this is the place she mentioned."
"Yeah. It's an okay place to camp, I guess, but --" Kieran broke off to clamp his teeth together against a cry of pain as he dismounted. It felt like a red-hot awl was being jammed into his right lung. Ash held him upright while he took short breaths through his nose until the feeling subsided. Then he did his best to resume as if nothing had happened, though his voice was weaker. "I'm not sure why you wanted to come here. You know something I don't?"
"Just a hunch. Father Ilder, would you please see to the horses? I'll be back shortly to help you carry things inside." Supporting Kieran with one arm, he picked apart knots behind the mare's saddle, letting everything fall on the ground except the blanket he was trying to get. "I'm going to let you set your pace. Take your time. I've got you."
Inside the shrine, the cool, still air smelled of water. That was why Kieran had camped here when he'd come this way, years ago, and he supposed why the shrine was here at all. Springs in caves tended to end up being revered as holy places. This one was just a tiny drip, barely enough to make a puddle in the basin that had been carved out around it. Lime deposits on the floor below the basin's lip testified to the times when the spring ran faster than evaporation, but at the moment its flow was nearly lost among the clots of minerals it had coated the basin with.
Miyan was using a handful of weeds to sweep the floor. There wasn't enough dust to hide the mosaic, though. Rounded stones ranging in color from dark jade to pale sage were set into channels cut in the floor, making a mottled green wind knot the length of a man. It was on one side of the spring; on the other was a scooped out area of floor, as if another symbol had been there and someone had tried to erase it.
Kieran wanted to go look at the scoured floor, try to see what had been there, but couldn't even stand up on his own. He had to let Ash lay him down on the blanket, had to lie there helpless and wait.
When Ash went outside, Miyan glanced out the door and then gave Kieran a conspiratorial smile. "Don't tell them, okay?" She dipped her bundle of weeds in the spring and scattered water across the wind knot. "Don't be angry with us, Ka'an. We're only little, and we're not hurting anything." Then she dipped it again and spattered Kieran. "Watch over this man, your heriye, and send misfortune to his enemies."
At her ritual, a strange feeling rose in Kieran, a pressure behind his eyes, a charge over his skin. There was power here. Yet he felt no awe; instead, he almost laughed at the futility of her action. If Ka'an really existed, he was weak, beaten back by the Dalanists. And what a silly thing she was, to call Kieran a heriye, when that term was supposed to apply only to the noblest and most upright warriors of the people. Kieran wasn't even a warrior of the people at all, just a criminal. And -- "Since when does Ka'an have heriye, Miyan? You're gonna piss him off, getting him confused with Viha and Urotu and those guys."
"I wasn't," she said indignantly. "Anyway, Sun and Bear are dead. Ka'an's the only one who's still alive."
He decided to humor her instead of arguing with her. "How do you know that? Priestess, are you?"
"I have to be, since the rest of my folks are dead. Somebody has to do the rites here. But don't tell Father Ilder, please, he'd make me stop. Anyway, I know it because the good gods couldn't stand the way things are now. They must have died in battle, or they would be helping us. The only one who helps us is the Dreamer, because he doesn't care who has power, only who has guts. I bet he likes you a lot, Kieran."
Smiling, he didn't answer. He liked the idea she'd come up with, and wondered if it were her own invention, or something she'd heard from her people before they'd died. Kieran had heard old folks bemoaning the fact that there were no heriye left, but it would sure be interesting if the term could be applied to a different kind of person. It wasn't that Iavaians had lost their fighting spirit. They'd just been soiled by circumstance, gone hard and bitter, used their strength however they could to survive. And if any god was going to give power to that sort of coyote soul, it would be the Prince of Pain.
Maybe that was why he kept dreaming he was Ka'an. A little message to tell him the road he was on had a patron. That there was a power in tune with him.
What the hell good that would do, he had no idea.