Exile from Azuray

When pyramids rose in Egypt’s sand and silk was worn in Eastern courts, small communities of farmers, wandering herdsmen, tribes of hunter-gatherers and marauding bands peopled the rest of the large land mass between the two great oceans where the world ended & all the trade routes met not far from Azuray.

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Attention publishers, agents and editors:
The following is a novel, "Exile From Azuray" (89,000 words). Set in 1400 BC, the novel is about a courageous young woman who flees her village rather than marry a stranger, forced upon her by her clan's law. This adventure continues in the sequel, RETURN TO AZURAY. Below you will find the complete synopsis and the first three chapters of EXILE FROM AZURAY. You also will find a synopsis for the sequel, RETURN TO AZURAY.

My father was a home builder and my mother loved the English language. Perhaps that is why I wanted to write. I raised eight children. Perhaps that is why it took me so long.

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1400 BC
Larka, raised to lead her clan, flees her copper mining village when the birth of a brother requires that she marry Tabar, a stranger. In the forest she finds a group of women exiled by the clan’s mating taboo. They offer her haven. Larka fears for their punishment if discovered. She vows to return and work for their release.

As she nears safety, Larka discovers an unconscious, injured man. Even if she were aware that he had murdered and raped, she would not have left him to die. Tabar feels duty bound to go after Larka, but he wishes for her pretty sister whom he had expected as a bride. Following Larka’s trail he has reason to think Larka has been seriously injured. He softens and begins to admire her courage. When he finds her competently caring for the injured man, Tabar assumes the man is her lover. He feels betrayed and angry. Ashamed, Tabar offers to help Larka take the man to a healer. Tabar leaves camp to hunt.

The man had exaggerated his injuries. He beats Larka and forces her to help his escape. She weakens on the trail. Desperate for herself and Tabar, who will track them, she uses her wits to kill the man. Tabar finds Larka unconscious and feverish. He revives her and takes her to shelter in a cave. There they discover their love, but before they pledge to one another, an avalanche closes the entry of the cave. Digging a way out, Tabar disappears when his tunnel collapses. Larka searches the cave underground, survives the dangers there and finally escapes from another exit. She locates the site of the avalanche. A frozen hand protrudes from the snow. Frantic for Tabar, she scrapes away the snow. What she finds is the body of the man she had killed swept down by the avalanche.

Meanwhile Tabar, badly battered and with a broken leg, manages to set the leg and crawl back to the cave. Larka finds him there. Together they return to Azuray where Larka fulfils her vow to the exiled women. Amid ceremony and celebration, Larka and Tabar marry and look forward to a happy life forever together.

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Synopsis: RETURN TO AZURAY (the sequel)

Doll-like Carm, the second daughter of Azuray, has bouncing black curls, glowing skin and long dark lashes. As she mounts a silky white mare decorated with golden coins Carm, for the first time in her life, feels completely satisfied. Her older sister, Larka, has stolen the man Carm wanted but now she would have much more. Krel, the Holder of a vast area of iron rich land had asked for her. She hasn’t seen him yet. He is 48, but she has no doubt of her desirability. Except for an unexpected twinge when she catches sight of Teb, a childhood friend, she leaves with no regrets.

Carm first sees Krel in front of a large group of richly dressed people. His broad face is neither handsome nor ugly and his body squat and muscular. Carm greets him with a shy smile then lowers her eyes. Soon though she peeks from under her lids to judge how she looks to the welcoming party. She does not notice that Krel has little emotion in his eyes.

After the wedding celebration, Krel lifts her in his arms and carries her to a silk draped room. No one follows them. They disrobe. Krel runs his eyes down her body, lays her on the bed and in a few moments breaks her maiden head and fills her. He rolls off and turns away. Carm is shocked then delighted. The little pain he has inflicted is all she’ll have to bear for all the riches that she’ll enjoy.

She makes no friends, but the power she has over her attendants is gratifying.

Each day she spends hours rearranging her jewels and clothing. By the time 18 moons had passed she begins spending more and more time on her needlework. A few moons later two messengers come with the news that Anfer, the Holder of Azuray and father of Carm, has died.

Krel sends the messengers back with a message of condolence and the promise that Krel and Carm would mount a diplomatic visit of thirty seven men.

Preparations begin immediately. Carm realizes that way too many supplies are accumulating. She listens to the gossip of her attendants. Carm is greedy, but she is also intelligent and well trained in diplomacy. Krel is taking them to war against Azuray.

She feels a crushing weight on her back. She does not want anyone in Azuray hurt. She does not want anything in Azuray hurt.

Azuray is devastated by Anfer’s death. Innis, a toddler is now the Holder of

Azuray. His guardians are Elama, third daughter of Azuray, and Arc, third son of Jollamy. Betroth they plan to marry quickly. Tabar, heir to Jollamy, and Larka (four moons pregnant with her first child) will live in and manage the affairs of Azuray.

In three moons Krel starts for Azuray with Carm and his 37 selected men. Three carts of supplies and six servants follow. And ten days behind the carts 257 of Krel’s armored soldiers keep to the same pace.

Carm looks among the men for any unusual behavior. In a few days she settles on a young servant, thin and barefooted, the target of his companions’ cruelty. But several times she had watched him disappear among the trees with a packet in his hand and occasionally he pushes a packet to the bottom of a supply cart. He is the first person to assist her. There will be many more. Teb, who has loved her since their childhood, becomes the greatest help.

The last battle for Azuray is over. A young soldier’s blade trembles a finger’s length from Krel. Krel raises his arms to his sides in a gesture of surrender. He braces his legs and leaps forward. His extended arms wrap around the youth pulling him closer and closer as the blade twists its way to Krel’s heart.

Azuray slowly heals. But children play and their mothers smile, and lovers’ love can change the world. Carm and Teb will prove this so.

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Chapter One: EXILE FROM AZURAY

Tabar crushed the note in his hand. If the man before him were not his father, Gamash, he would have shouted. As it was, he struggled a moment to regain control of his voice, strangling his fury. His father and he had been working in the Holding's office, made gloomy by the cool overcast day, when a messenger had interrupted. After scanning the message, Gamash had handed it to Tabar, dismissing the messenger.

Calmer now, Tabar spoke, "What do they think they're doing? Everything's been arranged for over a year. It's too late for them to change now!"

Only the slight twitch of Gamash's iron-gray beard betrayed his own anger. "They're within their rights. The agreement was for your marriage to a daughter of Anfer's. And they're sending a daughter of Anfer's. We always knew the chance of a boy was there, but who would have imagined after all these years when Magena should be past her fruitfulness, that she'd have a child? And one that lived?"

"Father, have you seen the oldest daughter? She looks half boy with drooping eyelids, straggly hair and a prominent red nose. Carm and the little girl at least showed a promise of beauty."

"I'm as unhappy about this change as you are. A woman who has been raised to be Heir will be nothing but trouble. She’ll want to run everything, probably is half boy, the way she was raised." Gamash noticed Tabar's stricken expression. "Well, maybe she won't be so bad. Who knows? Look at your mother. Her finger's in everything and only to the good. Anyway, nothing can be done. Our honor went on that line with our seal. If she comes, she comes."

The anger showed now in Tabar's voice, "I'll keep the bargain if I must, but I'm going to try to stop it. I don't know why, but that girl hates me. Perhaps together we can persuade Anfer. With your permission, I'll go to Azuray."

"I'll not deny you the chance to try. But, for the Unknowable Ones' sake, be careful how you go about it. An insult could be as bad as a refusal."

"Thank you, father, I'll leave in the morning. You've trained me well. You know I'll not dishonor Jollamy. With your blessings then?"

They embraced. Two big handsome men, who stood eye to eye, they bore a strong resemblance, tall, muscular, deeply tanned. Twenty-three and fifty-two, one looked at his youth, the other his future. Tabar's auburn hair curled at the nape of his neck. His trimmed beard was a shade darker. Gamash was graying, but they both had an effervescence about them. Active men, self confident, secure and happy with what fate had given them.

"Take two of your brothers with you. I'll need Mezert here to finish the harvesting. Diamite and Arc will do. Go in safety."

At dawn, the three brothers set off, dressed in drab shades of brown and green, warped with linen, wefted with wool, and worn leather boots. Even though the fall leaves made it unlikely that their clothing would show beyond the weathered underbrush, the fiery feather tucked in Tabar's cap might not go unnoticed. The feather was an award from his father when at the age of ten he had slain his first deer. Tabar had been so proud that he replaced the feather whenever it was lost or broken. Now the habit was so strong, he felt uncomfortable without the feather fluttering above him.

The brothers faced two hard days, down the side of Mt. Jollamy, up the side of Mt. Azuray. Mid-day tomorrow would be time enough to change to the copper and scarlet garments of diplomacy. They traveled light, all their supplies behind the saddles, only their dogs and their own skills for protection. The mountains themselves were a protection they had learned to use since childhood.

With no sense of danger and long miles to cover, Tabar took time for introspection, not something he did very often. Action was the answer ordinarily, but action hung suspended in the swaying canter of the horses.

He wanted marriage. His body demanded consummation. He was late to marry by the customs in this region of Ebalar. Most men his age were already married and had fathered children. The women married at seventeen or eighteen, almost all virgins.

An unusually strong incest taboo had developed when the mountains were first settled. A small population and rare visitors produced a high rate of infant deaths and deformities. Mating was soon forbidden until the keepers of relationship records gave their approval. Even with these precautions the rates, though reduced, still remained higher than the record keepers wished. To survive, the clans needed strong, healthy children. In the case of Landholders, the problems of finding a suitable mate were compounded with the desire to match status and training.

The three sister settlements on the mountains, Azuray, Jollemy and Negety, were much alike. These related clans had arrived with the same myths, taboos and customs. They saw the wisdom of a permanent settlement with a solid communal home while their numbers were so few. When they were well fortified and had trained men and dogs, a small contingent traveled to where the River Arod emptied into Lake Si. They signaled each trading boat that came near. Within a few moons, their copper drew enough traders that Port Si was established by some of the trader groups. More and more goods became available to the clans of the mountain settlements. The most desired among these items were strong, healthy animals.

Before long with the infusion of new seed from trade animals, their herds improved. They began to keep records and controlled the breeding of the animals.

One of the record keepers had many female relatives, five daughters, several sisters, and numerous nieces. He, also, had a sacred place that held the infant bones of sons, grandsons, brothers and nephews. Would new seed, he wondered, change this problem? He approached a few healthy traders on their next visit. They were the first strangers ever to enter the village gate. When the following year he played with two healthy grandsons, the record keeper visited his brothers-in-law and his three sons-in-law and passed along his advice. Several of them listened. In the next year two more healthy boys survived and five new girls.

Word quickly reached the Holders and the few who lasted long enough in those days to become Old Ones. They called a council and sent for the record keeper. Could he help other families who were plagued by frailties? The record keeper tried to explain how the records helped, but he couldn't make it as clear to them as it was to him.

He left the council as the official record keeper for the people. Families were left intact, but it became his duty to approve all future joinings. Luckily, he was an honest man who understood well what he did. In time he trained others to his standards. More babies survived with less defects. Thus a new mating taboo became a part of the tradition.

Over the centuries though, his benign enforcement measures seemed insufficient to others who sought to eliminate all defects and infant deaths. Since there never was full compliance, the punishments grew harsher and harsher until they stopped just short of death.

The traders brought more than new seed with them. They brought information. They brought new tools. They brought new ideas. They brought their families with their skills to the safe haven of the three well protected villages.

Since the advantages of these innovations came to all the mountains at the same time, the settlements--with some minor variations--progressed along similar paths.

Individuals, however, varied as they always had.

When Tabar was an apprentice, frequently one or another of the girls would roll with him in the grass. Playing with each other's bodies, they would laugh for the pure joy of it. He remembered the lure of erect nipples and naked thighs, but the taboo was too strong, and the punishment too horrible.

A few examples of the ghastly retribution existed in Jollemy when Tabar was young. An incestuous couple had conceived. The young man was castrated. The young woman, only fifteen, had a caustic substance poured through a hollow bone into her womb. Forced to marry, willing or not, they were given twelve goats and a small cottage on the mountain. They were forbidden the Cinyet. They lived frugally, shunned by the villagers. At the end of three years, they were found dead, hanging from a rafter in the dreadful cottage.

An older woman deserted by her lover, and left alone on the mountain, survived with her womb burned away. Grateful that enough of her vagina remained to entice men to her, she bartered her body for the supplies they brought, but it was their companionship she craved.

Although the taboo was rarely broken, in the majority of cases the young man involved, when threatened by imminent discovery, slipped away during the night. Occasionally, the young woman barely past her first bleeding braved the forest alone.

Some of the couples eloped. But where could they go

No related clan would take them in. Usually, even the memory of them disappeared in the mountain mists.

Was it any wonder that the apprentices always parted with the tormented edges of virginity intact? Too old now for the apprentices' innocent pleasures, Tabar was weary of taking care of his own needs.

He would marry in two weeks. If he had to take the older girl, he would take her. Cross-eyed, buck-toothed, bow-legged, and bossy he would take her. Oh, but to be unloved. He didn't think he could survive unloved.

He tried to recall their meeting at the gates of Azuray. He had glanced at the group of returning mud-splattered soldiers and noticed what he thought a slim, red-faced, beardless lad slumped in his saddle. The eyes, as brown as a young deer’s, which glared from under sagging lids, screened with surprisingly long, thick, dark lashes released a fiery hatred in his direction. Disconcerted Tabar asked Diamite, who had ridden with him that day, who the boy was.

"That’s not a boy. That’s the Living Heir, Larka. What have you done too her? She’s certainly angry with you for something."

"This is the first time I’ve seen her. What could I have done?" He had turned in his saddle, but couldn’t find the slender figure among the cluster of uniforms. Tabar recalled the surge of pleasure he had felt when he had learned that the soldier whose eyes had challenged him was not a lad. Strange that he had forgotten. Maybe, just maybe, something there deserved another look. Beauty in women always stirred his groin, but often a bright, brave spirit and keen intelligence did the same.

Wed in an arranged marriage Tabar's father, Gamash, and his mother, Nessa, had found on the night of their wedding that their spirits meshed into one and each had become whole. And in that early passion when their eyes saw only each other, the growing, kicking life in Nessa's womb seemed the manifestation of that love. So Tabar, although he had been born in a Cinyet and announced Heir as Larka had been, lived in very different circumstances. His parents adored him and his designation as Heir could never be challenged.

He grew up confident of place, secure in the knowledge he was loved.

Within five years three brothers, all with auburn hair, but none with the unusual gold flecked eyes that set Tabar apart, joined him. Mezert came next, followed by Diamite and then Arc. The four boys became an inseparable group with Tabar leading, the others pulled along almost before they were ready.

In their early years, they explored the barn, found a rope hanging from a beam and swung out to land in stacks of hay. Tabar always carried the youngest in one arm as he grasped the rope with the other. A good deal of this rough play ended when Mezert sprained his ankle in an unsupervised visit to the stable. Then again when an untrained colt nipped hard on Diamite's hand. And again in the kennels, when Arc hugged a puppy too tightly which greatly upset the mother. Fields, trails and caves, which only produced skinned knees and elbows, bloody noses and splinters which hardly counted as injuries, brought no restrictions. Everything that could be climbed over, under or through, the brothers climbed over, under and through. One restriction went unchallenged; they stayed inside Jollemy's walls.

At the age of fifteen, Tabar caught up with the size of his hands and feet. He topped eight hand-spans and had broadened through the shoulders. Mezert was a scant inch behind him. The other two displayed the large hands and feet that showed they would soon catch up.

During free time from chores and study, they evaded - as much as possible - the adults, who might have called them back. Tabar and Mezert, now full apprentices, wore their long knives and each had a well trained dog at his heels. One day as though it were a lifetime habit, they turned to a narrow opening and left the protection of the Holding.

Five years before this time, Nessa had borne them a sister, Kimley. The auburn of her brothers' hair had brightened on her to a flashing orange. The entire family treated her as though she were extremely fragile and should not find it necessary to soil her pretty hands and feet--the tiniest the family had ever seen. They believed this in

spite of the behavior they had witnessed every day since Nessa first put Kimley on the floor and she humped her little rump across the room to pull a slobbery strip of knotted leather from the mouth of an old dog.

Now that Kimley was five, she had an uncanny ability to appear the moment her brothers sighed in relief because their escape had succeeded. When they tried to send her back, she refused to go. If they pretended to walk away, she ran to keep up. Soon, Tabar or Mezert would swing her onto his shoulders and she had her way. She ruled them all with a vagrant tear.

Once, after a full cycle of thirteen moons, a pelting rain caught the five of them climbing upward on a path where soil had filled in the declivities between rocks. Mezert was in the lead, Tabar, at the rear. Their two dogs ran almost parallel on a track of their own making. All stopped and looked around for shelter yet nothing offered itself in the vicinity. Small pellets of hail began to fall with the rain. They were all dressed in well worn deerskin but their heads were bare. In the same instant that the first hail stung, two or three voices called out, "The cave. We passed a cave back a way."

The three younger children scrambled to turn around. Tabar had to raise his voice to be heard above the slam of the rain. "Be quiet. Stay still," he said. His siblings had learned long before to listen to his voice and obeyed immediately. The soil at their feet already ran rivulets.

"Move slowly. Place you're feet carefully. Keep one foot on the ground until the other is well settled. Mezert, move forward and take hold of Diamite's belt with two hands. Then both of you move forward. Diamite will take Kimley's belt. And so on until we're all together," Tabar said.

He waited until everyone formed the type of line he wanted. When Arc, who was then eleven, grasped Tabar’s belt Tabar spoke softly to him, "If I fall let go of my belt immediately."

"No," Arc protested, "I can hold you."

"You probably can," Tabar said, "but your main concern is Kimley. She might lose her hold on you when you're wrestling with me. Anyway, I'm not planning on falling anywhere I might get hurt."

Arc laughed, "Sure, I'll take care of Kimley for you. So don't worry as you go flying over."

Tabar stepped forward cautiously. The ground yielded beneath his foot, but the weedy growth provided enough traction. Another few steps and mud sucked at his boots. He took a few more steps then as he raised his right foot to move on, his left foot slid a few inches before he regained his balance.

He stopped and shouted back, "Everyone down on their knees. Look at the dogs. They're doing great with four feet."

All of them felt safer. They laughed as they crawled. Mud seeped between their fingers and their hair was soaked, but it no longer mattered. Crawling in the mud turned a fright into an adventure. Then the hail seemed larger and stung even through the protection of their hide covering. When something heavy struck Tabar's cheek splitting the skin, he glanced up to see pebbles and small rocks released by the pouring water falling with the hail.

"Hurry," he called to his brothers and sister.

They hurried half sliding on their bellies, half pushing with the toes of their boots and still laughing. Tabar reached the entry to the low, shallow cave they had been seeking. He stood, pulled Arc forward and pushed him in. He lifted Kimley, kissed her cheek, said she was very brave, and pushed her in too. He reached over to help Diamite. Suddenly something smashed against Tabar's shoulder, spun him around, and flung him down the steep stony mountain side.

He slid across the mud. Scraped over jagged rocks. His tunic caught on something he couldn't see which ripped open the garment’s entire front and cut a deep gash into his chest. His body slammed into a tree. His spirit pulled aside and the pain went away.

Mezert's voice floated around Tabar, but he wished it gone because an unwelcome awareness of pain came with it. He slipped away briefly then woke to darkness and fire on his chest. He screamed then bit his lip. Light blinded him as Mezert snatched away whatever had covered Tabar. Mezert, bare-chested, leaned over him.

"Well, brother, you've certainly been enjoying yourself. Sliding down mountains and taking naps until the nasty old rain went away. And as usual leaving all the responsibility to me."

Tabar tried to laugh, but what came from his throat sounded nothing like laughter. When he gained control he asked, "Is everyone all right?"

"No one's been hurt since I took over. Of course, you have a little scratch that gave me a good look at a couple of ribs. The ribs were fine. Nothing to worry about," Mezert said. This time Tabar managed a crooked smile.

Rewarded Mezert continued, "Diamite's on his way home. Arc and Kimley are still in the cave yelling for me to let them go down."

"Thanks," Tabar said as his eyes closed.

Someone was adding coals to the fire in his chest. Again he woke screaming. A cup of cool liquid touched his lips. "Here, boy, drink this. It will help some." He sipped a little and opened his eyes. The senior healer knelt beside him. "Drink the rest, boy." And Tabar obeyed.

"Tabar." It was his mother's voice at the other side. He let his head roll over. Gamash knelt beside Nessa. Tears were in both their eyes. Tabar moved his hand awkwardly trying to reach them. Gamash clasped his hand. Nessa leaned forward and kissed her son’s forehead then his cheek.

"Sweet Tabar, the healer has to sew your injury shut," his mother said, "It will hurt terribly. No one will mind how much noise you make."

"Mother, I'm so glad you're here." Tabar managed.

He turned to his father, "I'm sorry."

Gamash bent forward and kissed his forehead. "No need, my boy. We've known all along that you left the walls. What kind of timid leader would you have made, if you hadn't by this age? And only the Unknowable Ones can guess why you thought it so easy to fool us."

Tabar attempted his lopsided smile again. "Yes, I should have known."

The healer interrupted, "This is not a time to discuss children's behavior. My patient needs treatment. If anyone is looking for something to do break off a slender branch, peel it and put it between his teeth. Maybe no one else will mind noise, but I have to concentrate."

A few suns and Tabar was healthy and active. Although he did not rest as long as the healer would have liked, he was as strong as ever. In a sense this event marked the end of the freedoms of childhood. For a few months everyone treated him, to his annoyance, like an invalid. Then soon after, he began his military training. This dawn to dusk work left little time for anything else.

All of Gamash's sons spent one more year with the troops than the other bachelors did. Tabar because he was Heir. The others because they would be candidates to marry into clans where the Heir was a woman. In fact, Nessa and Gamash had long hoped that one of their younger sons would make a match with Larka of Azuray and stay close to home.

During the next few years after Tabar finished with military training, he spent most of his time with his father learning myriad tasks. A year later Mezert joined them, then Diamite, then Arc. Tabar took over supervising and expenditures and deciding the more routine disputes between clan members. The tasks Gamash liked least. Each year Tabar’s responsibilities would increase. Mezert chose forest cutting and construction. Diamite and Arc trained further in estate management. All adults now, their paths were set.

When the time came to go to Azuray and sign a marriage contract, Tabar was delighted. He had been too long alone, unmated. The trip was a formality only. Gamash and Anfer had made a sport of negotiating outrageous terms even before some of the children were born, but then had kept the children apart so an immature judgment would not spoil their plans.

On the night Tabar, his father and Diamite camped out on the way to sign the betrothal contract at Azuray, Tabar lay on his back staring at the stars and tracking the moon's slow crawl across the sky. He brought to mind the women he thought beautiful, the ones he respected, those he admired, those who made him laugh. He also thought of the child rearing abilities of his mother, and the mischief in Kimley. With these images he built a composite of the wife for whom he longed. Would he be able to tell when he met her the following day? In his frustration, and knowing his active mind would not allow sleep, he turned his thoughts to what he could control. Among the shapes of the stars, he drew with his eyes the plans for the home he would build, innocent of the fact that any new bride might have ideas of her own.

In trepidation, Tabar entered Anfer’s great Hall at Azuray. The room without the pink-stone walls and grand fireplace would have been severe. Straight backed chairs and benches sat against the walls or around unadorned tables. The Holder and his wife greeted Anfer warmly. Their nods to Tabar and Diamite seemed merely polite.

Two girls sat side by side on one of the benches. Carm, the older, still looked disappointingly young. But she shook her black ringlets, smiled and flirted. And she was very pretty. He realized she was trying to impress him and thought that might mean she was inclined to like him. That in itself would be important to him. He reminded himself that developing young girls could change quite a bit in a year. He had no heart for taking a child to his bed.

Carm and her little sister stayed in the room for a few minutes, only to be seen, then their mother took them out.

Tabar found as the next year passed the memory of the visit faded and he could barely recall anything about Carm except the dark ringlets. But a fantasy had evolved of a more mature young woman with soft eyes who loved him to distraction and liked everything he liked, hated everything he hated. So the shock of the message just two weeks before his dream was to become reality cut through him as the rock had once cut through his chest.

His protests would come to nothing.

When the brothers arrived at Azuray late in the afternoon of the second day, they handed the reins of their horses to an apprentice and strode into Anfer's spacious Hall. Bright wool weavings worked in red triangles, green squares and blue oblongs hung across the windows to keep out the chill. He had thought the room lacked warmth when he had been there before. Then he recalled the cheerful little aunt. Her work he would guess. Perhaps Larka took after the aunt. At least he could hope.

Anfer entered wearing a blue and white ceremonial robe. He greeted his guests courteously. Tabar realized when he saw the splendid costume that his visit had been expected.

He would not have the advantage of surprise.

"Holder," Tabar said, "Gamash sends his greetings and congratulations on the birth of your Heir. All Jollemy celebrates with you."

"How very kind of him." Gesturing to the apprentice on duty to bring some cool wine, Anfer sat in one of the two wood backed chairs. Indicating the other to Tabar, he said, "Please, sit down," Although several benches were conveniently near, Diamite and Arc stood a little distance away to allow the negotiators privacy.

Apparently not patient with diplomatic fencing, Anfer immediately mentioned that he knew the real reason for this visit made without prior notification. "I assume you received my message before you left."

"Yes, we did." Tabar, also, hated wasting time on empty talk. "It was somewhat of a surprise, coming so close to the wedding date."

"It couldn't be helped, the date. A surprise to us, too. The child wasn't due until the moon of the longest dark. No, it couldn't be helped. But I'm sure you'll find Larka very well trained and a great help to you in running the Holding. She comes better prepared than most women."

Tabar flinched, but caught himself and smiled. "None of your daughters could be anything except well-trained, gracious young ladies. But, you see, your older daughter and I have never met. She was away at the time of my last visit. She may find me objectionable. With your kind permission, I'd like the opportunity to speak with her."

"Certainly, I can understand that. But you're in for a long climb. She left yesterday to visit a friend further up Azuray. Come, I'll show you."

Outside Anfer pointed to a small hut recklessly situated on a shelf of rock.

Night star! Was that girl born to annoy him? He smiled. "Please, show me where the path begins. I'll go on foot. I've inflicted enough on my horse the last two days, and that trail looks too steep and narrow to attempt on an unfamiliar animal. I'll leave my brothers to dine with you, if that's satisfactory."

Diamite and Arc grinned wickedly when they saw the climb he faced. In their younger days, he would have trounced them for that grin. Tabar noticed Anfer watching the interplay and thought the wily old man was enjoying himself, knowing Tabar was trying to get out of the new arrangement, knowing Tabar could wiggle and twist, but the contract would hold.

Tabar stamped up the rapidly rising path. A foolish thing to do he knew, especially in the thin-soled ceremonial boots he wore. But it tramped out some of his frustration. Stupid girl! Had he really thought she might have some redeeming qualities? Anyone with any sense at all would not go flittering away their time when they had only a few days to prepare for a wedding. He forgot, in his annoyance, that he was doing everything possible to stop that very wedding.

Not able to keep up the pounding pace very long, he settled into a steady cadence that measured out, "Stupid girl. Stupid girl."

The path was not quite as narrow as it had looked from the Hall, though a mounted man would have little room to spare. Loose rock had been pushed aside for safety and Tabar, mountain raised, found it an easy climb. However, when he reached the shelf, twilight already threw long spidery shadows across the small space separating the wooden hut from eternity.

Tabar called out before approaching. "Greetings, Raga.

I’m Tabar, son of Gamash, sent by Anfer.

The tip of an arrow slid out of a slot in the closed shutters. "Step a little closer--not too close." The arrow held steady.

Judging the safest distance, Tabar placed himself in front of the window.

"You look enough like Gamash, I guess, to be his son, even in that fancy outfit. Come around front. I'll unbolt the door."

The door was opened by a stern faced old woman. Very old, Tabar thought, but awe inspiring. He was sure she would have shot him if she doubted his word. She wore a floor length knitted garment the burnt orange shade of autumn leaves. Standing aside to permit him entry, Raga closed the door behind him and slid the bolt into its copper bracket.

Stepping from the long shadows of twilight into the night of Raga's crowded room, Tabar at first saw only the ashy glow of near-dead embers. They covered the rough stone hearth and gave barely enough heat to keep warm the minted tea that scented the air. The smoke hole above appeared as a hand-span of slightly lighter black.

Gradually shapes emerged from the darkness. A rocker to the right of the dim fireplace, a work table and a straight backed chair to the left. Raga leaned forward and with a branch no thicker than her bony forearm stirred the ashes to flame then dropped the piece of wood among them. The flare of light made the impenetrable shadows even darker against the suddenly brightened edges of a loom and stretched cloth, of baskets and jars, of hanging herbs and dyed yarn. Amid the clutter, the only undisturbed surface was the coverlet on a bed wide enough to have once held a man close to his wife.

Surveying the small room, Tabar found no other door than the one he had entered.

"Old One," he addressed Raga for she was aged enough to deserve the courtesy. "I’ve come to speak to Anfer’s daughter."

"Which one?"

"Why the oldest, Larka. I was told I’d find her here."

"Not here. I've not seen her for a couple of months. Who told you she'd be here?"

"Her father, Anfer....Storm spare us! Could she have...."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're talking about Larka aren't you? Larka would never be so careless as to fall off the path. Since she isn't here, she didn't come.

"Think back, son of Gamash. She would never come without Kro and Red Berry.

"Did you see any sign where a young woman, a horse, and a dog could have disappeared? Now, sit down and tell me what's going on."

When Tabar gave Raga a brief summary of the last three days, she said, "Well, that explains it. She's run off, of course."

"What!" The word was a shout. "Forgive me, Old One, but why would she run off?"

"She doesn’t want to marry you. Why else?"

"What reason would she have not to want to marry me...so much that she'd run off?"

"You should be able to answer that better than I. But no sense worrying about reasons, Anfer must be notified."

"Of course, you're correct. I'll start immediately. May I take a torch? I’d make better time."

The flickering torch-cast shadows jumping from rock to rock were almost worse than no light at all. Tabar ran as far from the edge as he could manage, his feet beating out again, "Stupid girl. Stupid girl."

Gradually the rhythm changed to, "Is she all right? Is she all right?" Young and alone, she had run. Run from him! What terrible rumors had she heard about him that made her so desperate to get away? If she lay somewhere hurt or dead, it would be his fault. "Your fault. Your fault." Each step accused him.

Diamite and Arc met him part way up the path. "Tabar, what's going on. We saw that torch flying down the mountain. Did she throw you out? What's wrong?"

Pausing to gasp for air, Tabar answered, "She's not up there. She's run away. I'll have to find her. No telling what trouble she's in."

"It's Azuray's problem. Let them find her," Diamite said.

"You don't understand. She ran from me. She doesn't want to marry me. I have to go. And even if I weren't her reason for leaving, I'd still have to go. She's officially my betrothed, my obligation. Honor demands I go. I feel responsible. I want to go."

"We’ll go with you then," Arc said.

"Thank you, but no. You know a man alone has to deal with only one set of problems and can make better time. You could lend me West Wind, though, since he's fastest."

"Thank you," Tabar said to Arc's nod. "Ride back to Jollemy, explain to Gamash. He'll need your help with the rest of the harvest. He knew how hopeless this trip would be so was particularly generous to spare us even this length of time."

While they talked, they had continued toward the Hall. Anfer waited for them at the entry. Tabar, hastily, told him about discovering Larka’s absence and Raga's theory.

"I'm sure Raga's correct. When you have a very good leader like Larka, she's not likely to submit easily to a major change in which she had no input. I should have guessed myself when she only committed to leaving, not to obeying."

Leaning his head on his hand, Anfer closed his eyes. "We forget they're no longer children. We always think we'll have time. Because those who read the stars can predict when to plant and when to harvest, we think time is constant. Instead, it speeds through joy, crawls through sorrow. But, why do I waste more of it when speed is important? I'll send Ashe, he is the best..."

"Forgive me, Holder, but Larka is my betrothed. It's my responsibility." Tabar knew these words sealed the unsuitable contract. Honor seemed always to claim a sacrifice.

"Yes, of course. But take my captain, Ashe, with you. He knows the land."

"Respectfully, Holder, there isn't a hill, a cave, or a stream in the Arod River valley that my brothers and I haven't explored. My brother has loaned me an exceptionally fast horse and my father's best tracker trained me since boyhood. Larka's had a two day start. If you'll supply the provisions, I'll leave at first light. Do you know where she may have gone? Perhaps your man, Ashe, can help us with that."

After sending one apprentice to fetch Ashe and another for the supplies Tabar requested, Anfer took the three brothers to his workroom and brought out a crude map. Ashe arrived, bringing additional oil lamps. As the five men puzzled together the route Larka was most likely to follow, the door curtain billowed open.

"Tabar?"

Tabar swung around. A beautiful dark-haired young woman dressed in violet linen stared back at him. "Carm?"

Anfer's fist hit the table. "Carm, go to your room."

"Father!"

"At once!"

Anfer sought the eyes of those around the table, almost daring a comment. Then pulling the map closer, he ignored the interruption.

The fact that Larka had to avoid being seen eliminated many of the most obvious routes. A short distance from the path to Raga's hut, a narrow passage carved its way through a cleft in the rock. Wide enough to allow the passage of a loaded mule, its location passed from generation to generation of children, but was somehow forgotten as they matured. The exit outside the village walls, camouflaged by brush and shale, had never been sealed. From there she could have crossed a small stream, a tributary of the Arod River, and been in the shelter of the woods east of the river with very little chance of being noticed. Even from further up Mt. Azuray, she could go undiscovered since the autumn leaves still clung from weary branches trying to protect what roamed beneath them. Then feeling safer, she might have taken the faster way across the foothills. The men chose this as the most likely route.

Ashe would follow the second possibility, from the passage by Raga's path, around the side of the mountain and then north. Hidden by the thick clouds of yellow smoke, from the eyes of the smelters working there she could have passed without notice, but that seemed less likely. Lake Si lay south. Only if she reached the lake could she put real distance between herself and Azuray.

If either man failed to find any signs of Larka or the animals within three days, he was to return. If the other had not returned, or if both returned within seven days, other trackers would be sent out either to find the missing man or search new routes. The two routes being covered, though, seemed the only viable possibilities.

Anfer placed his hand on Tabar’s arm, "Don't look for her on the timid trails. Larka is competent and brave. It is a soldier you hunt, not a frightened girl. And thank you. You'll be a better guardian to my daughter than I've been."

Their training for guard duty, as for all men in the clans, allowed Ashe, Tabar and his brothers to sink into sleep for what was left of the night. But in the morning, Anfer looked as though he had walked the paths of the haunted.

The three brothers saddled their horses before first light and led them to the main gate. When the dim line of dawn silhouetted the shadowy mountains to the east, the brothers said their farewells and parted. Riding West Wind, a stallion so near to black he could just barely be called gray, Tabar urged his dog, Grouch, from following the other dogs back to Jollemy. Then Tabar turned West Wind down the path to the bottom of Mt. Azuray. Grouch hurried after him whining his complaints.

"You don't impress me, old boy," Tabar said, "I'd rather go home, too."

The vision of Carm standing in the half draped doorway, drifted in front of him. He moaned. This beauty was what he had lost. Now, he was setting out to bring back, at best, a plain woman, who disliked him so much she had run to an unknown, perhaps, deadly future. With the arrogant behavior she exhibited taking this course, Larka would surely make his life a misery.

Suddenly, a small figure in fluttering clothing stepped into the path, causing West Wind to dance for balance and Grouch to take a reluctant half-step aside. As a pale hand pulled away a head scarf, Tabar recognized Carm.

She wrapped her arms around his leg and looked up pleading, "Don't go. Don't find Larka. If she comes back, she'll spoil everything."

"Carm, I have to go. It's my duty, besides..."

"Duty! That's all men think about. What about love. I love you. Really, I do. And you'll love me, I know you will. I'll make you love me."

"Carm..."

"Carm." Tabar's word was echoed behind him. A tousle-haired boy, just shy of a man’s stature, stood in the path. "Your Aunt Bit sent me to find you. You're to come right home."

Releasing Tabar's leg, Carm shouted at the sleepy-eyed trainee, "Go back, Teb. It's none of her business."

Teb grinned. "She said to wait." He sat on a boulder at the side of the path, swinging his legs, laughing when she tried to drive him away with a hostile stare.

She turned back to Tabar. She whispered, "I'll have to go, but don't find her. It will be easy not to find her."

"She may be in danger."

"Oh, you don't have to worry about Larka. She can take care of herself."

"Come on, Carm," Teb said. "I'm hungry. Bit caught me before breakfast."

"All right, I'm coming."

And a final word to Tabar, "Remember."

Carm tried to step in front of Teb, but his legs were much longer and he stayed at her side. When she slowed, he slowed. She looked up at him her deep blue eyes and black lashes still glistening with moisture.

"Go home."

He grinned at her. "Aunt Bit said I wasn’t to leave your side."

"Please, Teb. She doesn’t know my life has been ruined. She’d understand if you gave me some time alone."

"Oh, I think not," he said. "Besides you have nothing to cry about. Just because Tabar went after Larka doesn’t mean no one will ever take you. I’ll tell you what. If no one’s willing to marry you before you’re 25, I’ll do it myself and see that you’re cared for in your old age."

"And why would I marry you? You’re the meanest person I know."

Wrapping her doeskin cloak tightly around herself, she took a side step as far from Teb as she could on the narrow path. Her black ringlets bounced as they did in anger, her ruined life forgotten for the moment. And from the side where Teb walked, she heard a low chuckle.

Tabar clicked his tongue at West Wind. With Grouch resigned to going in the wrong direction, they continued along the path. A group of workers on the way to harvest grain soon followed, coming close to West Wind’s back hoofs. Tabar gladly hastened the horse's pace to stay ahead.

Since Tabar did not have to worry about being seen, he cut at an angle across the open fields. The relatively unobstructed ride and the strength and speed of the horse he straddled should, by the end of the day, bring him near to where they had estimated Larka would be.

Riding in the cool early morning sun, Tabar thought of the twinkle of dimples, tangles of black ringlets and the feel of warm arms around his thigh when Carm had looked up at him. His thigh, where she had touched him, and his groin heated. "Don't find Larka." It was a temptation. Not only would he not have to solve the problem of Larka, but he would have that little beauty in his bed.

Suddenly, he felt laughter bubble up in his throat. "You fool," he said aloud as he spoke to himself. Carm, a spoiled child, would abandon her sister to the dangers of the unknown. Her beauty was a mirage covering the selfish, barren sands of her spirit. It was a woman he sought, not a thoughtless apprentice to roll in the grass.

He had seen a mud stained, weary, very young woman dressed as a soldier, with fire in her eyes. Through the eyes of the stubborn old woman, he had seen a sensible woman who could be counted on. He had seen a courageous, self-determined woman through the eyes of her father. Tabar reached up and set his feather at a cocky slant.

"Larka, you have potential," he sang.

He nudged West Wind to his fastest pace.

---

Chapter 2: EXILE FROM AZURAY

Two days ago Larka had fled from Azuray on the back of her mare, Red Berry, a pack mule tied behind, the wolf dog, Kro, within call. Looking back. Forever looking back to Azuray. At first, Larka’s misted brown eyes sought for a last time her father’s Hall where she had lived the entire nineteen years of her life. Then they looked to the Cinyet built by her many times great Grandfather, with its awkward additions added over the ages. She numbered the cottages, large and small, randomly clinging to the stone-toothed, grassy slopes until they reached the pine forest which itself climbed to where the barren rocks of a snow-topped peak denied it entry. As she lost these images in her descent, she memorized the green grazing fields spotted with cows, goats and sheep descended from animals whose very hides she wore. Even the sheer protecting cliffs seemed precious. Before she ducked under the blazon canopy of the forest at the mountain’s foot, expanses of ripe grain ready for the blade caused her to lift her hand and stroke the thick blond braid hanging down her back. Her age-mates had often teased that her braid wasn’t hair, but stolen shafts from the fields. This memory she could always recall with a touch of her hand. No matter how long the time, how far the distance, how deep the pain, her spirit would carry Azuray with her. The knowledge brought no relief, only a tiny flicker of hope that in time it would.

A wisp of cool harvest air clung to her open fronted outer-tunic and held a faint tinge of drying dung, stacked manure and burning logs. These smells of home brought a moan through her throat. She almost turned back, but, could not. Huddled within herself, tensing at every unexpected noise, never knowing if she feared or hoped for pursuit, she rode on.

When she reached the foothills, the mare and the little pack mule showed their fatigue even though the broad chested, stocky animals were bred for strength and endurance on mountainous terrain. Kro, however, maintained his loping pace.

Larka’s strong young body bore the stress of the journey perhaps better than the burdened animals’ had. Each time she reluctantly stopped to rest and water the animals, she dropped her bow and quiver within easy reach at her booted feet, shed her sheep hide outer-tunic and stretched the tension from her tired muscles while the mare and the mule grazed. Then refreshed, she continued on.

Progress slowed as she led the animals along the darkening trail. The rest periods became longer and longer, during the night. Her spirit allowed her no sleep. She paced an elongated oval around the resting animals while thoughts of all that had happened in the last two days to crush her dreams circled in the patterns of debris on the forest floor. Faces formed and faded. Her father Ander’s, her mother Magena’s, her sisters Carm and Elama’s, Aunt Bit’s, Ashe’s and the people of the Cinyet.

One face, however, refused to pull clear of the bits and pieces on the ground and revealed only the curve of a cheek. She knew though that if the face turned forward it would be Tabar’s. Tabar, the groom from whom she had run.

***

Larka had seen Tabar only once and hadn’t known who he was at the time. She was returning with a small troop from a training expedition, splattered with mud, exhausted from lack of sleep and a hacking cough. Six or seven mounted men were leaving as the troop arrived, and somewhere in the middle of that group a bright red feather stuck up above all the heads. It was straight and dry. It danced in the breeze. Larka glared at the feather through puffed eyes, past a raw nose. She hated that feather. How dare it be dry and unmuddied and happy when she had never been so miserable? She lowered her eyes a short distance. Directly beneath the fluttering feather, she saw shocked gold-flecked hazel eyes staring back at her.

She quickly looked away and tried to disappear among her companions. She had seen enough to know by the rich clothing and trappings that the man must be a person of importance from a wealthy Holding.

"Unknowable Ones, spare me from having offended one of Anfer’s friends," Larka implored. Thankfully, the man who had intercepted her hateful stare was leaving. Hopefully, he would forget the foolish incident before he saw her again and knew her for Anfer’s daughter.

As she entered the gate with her troop, Larka glanced over her shoulder. The feather bounced away in the distance. Suddenly she laughed. How ridiculous to be angry at a feather. Then she sneezed, rasped her throat with a cough and sank back into her misery.

The trail weary animals regained some energy when they recognized home. With their heads raised, they trotted a little faster until they reached the stable yard and its trough of water.

Larka slid from Red Berry’s back and leaned her head against the mare’s shoulder. She thought she might never move.

"Larka!" she heard her sisters call. She raised her head. They looked so clean; each dressed in her best woolen skirt and tunic. Their black curls shining. They clung to the outside of the rail fence not risking the wet mud slung from the dogs’ twisting bodies.

"Larka!" She waved for them to wait. She could barely hear them over the horses, donkeys, dogs and men.

After tending to her animals, she did what she could with a damp towel to remove the worst of the mud she wore.

"Larka, wait ‘til you hear." By this time they were jumping up and down. She had never seen Carm so genuinely animated.

"Calm down. Don’t come any closer. I’m muddy and sick,

but tell me. What’s all the excitement?" Larka said.

"The Heir of Jollemy was here," Carm said. "He and father signed a contract for Gamash’s heir to marry one of us."

"Yes," Elama interrupted. "And it’s sure to be Carm. You’re the heir and I’m too young."

"He’s handsome, too," Carm cut in. "His name’s Tabar. The contract says he’s to give his grandmother’s jewels to me, well, to his bride. She’s to have six new outfits at each full turn of the seasons. When Gamash dies, we’ll--he’ll have a Holding as large as you will when father dies."

"Carm, don’t wish their lives away so easily," Larka said.

Brushing the words away with a gesture of her hand, Carm said, "You know what I mean. I want them to live a long time, but wouldn’t it be nice. He's handsome besides, I'll probably love him very much. He already loves me. I could tell by the way he watched me. I imagine everything will be just perfect."

"He is handsome, Larka," Elama said, "He's nice, too. I liked him. He has auburn hair and unusual colored eyes with little gold dots in them."

Unknowable Ones, no! "Did he wear a red feather?" Larka asked.

She groaned when her sisters answered in unison, "Yes, he did. How did you know? Did you see him?"

Larka tried to remember the face she had seen in her brief glimpse, but it swayed and blurred. It vaguely interested her to note that her sisters’ faces also blurred.

"Catch her. She’s falling." Larka heard, and in the distance running feet.

Larka dreamed. Hooded figures fought with long knives. A knife silently pierced one of the fighters at a jointure of his ribs, the sword sinking into the heart. She saw herself struggling to go to the figure's rescue, but something dragged at her feet, holding her in place. Looking down, as from a great height, she realized she stood in a river of mud. Mired there, she could only watch. When the injured fighter slowly withdrew the sword from his wound, Larka noticed it was a large red feather. As the bleeding figure sank to the ground, it turned to Larka. Sad amber eyes shone from the shadows. A languid arm raised to point at the quivering heart impaled on the feather's tip. "Save it." The voice sunk low. Larka strained to hear, but laughter drowned the voice. She turned her head. Carm stood to one side, dropping from her dainty hand a statuette of a man carved from gold. The small statue floated down to smash on color streaked rocks. It was Carm who had laughed. Larka began to sob.

"Hush, darling, everything's all right. There's nothing to cry about." Aunt Bit slid an arm under Larka's shoulders, lifting her head from the pillow. "Here drink this. It'll help you feel better." The drink was honey sweetened but held a bitter under taste. Its tang brought her a little further awake.

"Aunt Bit?" Larka's voice still trembled.

"Yes, dear, I'm here. You're much better. Go back to sleep now. You still need rest, but you'll wake up feeling wonderful."

Larka obeyed. She had no choice. Her lids closed themselves. Again Aunt Bit was right. She did wake up feeling much better physically. She lay for awhile, thinking of the dream. It left her spirit disturbed. She did not understand why she couldn't name the emotions she felt. All she knew was that she felt a strange reluctance to think of the amber-eyed stranger being married to Carm.

As her busy days and nights passed, the nightmare of her fevered dream faded. The year ended and with it her military training. She spent each day now with Anfer's manager, Ey. He had thirty years of knowledge to hand on to Larka. He allowed her to make some of the decisions and listened to some of her suggestions. He gave serious consideration to her idea for a second Cinyet and together they worked on a comprehensive plan to present to Anfer. Time moved swiftly.

In the spring, Magena was ailing. At thirty eight she was not yet old, but she looked tired and drawn. Larka, concerned about her mother, went to Aunt Bit.

"Don't worry, child. Her bleeding's stopped. That's all. It's not unusual at her age. Magena's just having a little more trouble than most. You watch. It will straighten itself out soon."

And it did. After a couple of moon phases, Magena almost glowed with health, if Magena could ever be said to glow. She gained a little weight that filled out the hollows in her cheeks. She walked with a slight lilt to her step.

By late summer, it was obvious that Magena was pregnant. A quiet announcement was made that a baby was due during the moon of the longest nights. No celebration accompanied the announcement. She had carried two stillborn babies longer than this and she had been much younger then.

The rest of the summer and early fall kept everyone busy with the harvest. In addition, this year everyone competed preparing elaborate wedding gifts to show Jollemy the value of a daughter of Azuray. Even Carm was observed working long hours at her only skills, neat sewing and beautiful embroidery.

The Cinyet whispers said that Magena had started bleeding much too early. Soon she spent all day in bed. Two moons before the moon of the longest nights, she went into labor. Anfer carried her down the hill to the birthing room in the infirmary of the Cinyet. Larka asked to be with her, but the midwife shut everyone out.

The Cinyet was quiet, the only time Larka had known it to be. Even the fires went to ashes to still their crackling. When someone tried to move a heavy chair, the floor shrieked. Everyone jumped then fluttered down again. Larka and Elama sat together on one of the trestle benches grasping each other's hands. Aunt Bit bustled from group to group, patting and reassuring. Magena was much admired and respected. Anfer, somewhere in the infirmary, stayed out of sight. Speculation as to his feelings skittered around the Hall.

No bowl of warm water or soft wrappings awaited this birth. The water sat in a cold container in the birthing chamber beside a small pile of linen burial binders. No screams came from Magena's chamber, only weak whimpers and groans of torment.

Hours passed. Elama slept on Larka's shoulder. Aunt Bit settled in her chair, her crooked foot on its stool. She rocked, slowly, back and forth, staring at the entry to the infirmary. The quiet persisted into the late evening. Parents took their children home. Some of the Old Ones slept in their chairs; others wearily crept to their beds. Small groups sat in clusters around the dim Hall. All worries expressed, they were silent. With each hour, Larka's fear for Magena increased.

The curtain to the birthing chamber snapped open, bringing everyone to attention. Anfer took one stride into the Hall. He raised his hands. In them lay a small body with limp legs and arms. The tiny mewing infant, strung with threads of birth blood, looked to Larka too unfinished for this dangerous world. On their own, Larka's hands reached out to catch the minute baby should Anfer be so careless as to drop it.

Anfer spoke in a soft voice, but his words echoed from the walls. "He, who has come to us from the Unknowable Ones, shall be called Innas. As he grows to his destiny may he be wise and dutiful."

He turned and looked at Larka with a deep pool of sympathy in his eyes, and even a tinge of regret. With the realization of what that look meant, Larka was swamped by a burden of emotions.

She had no time to sort them. As Anfer spun on his heel, he called over his shoulder, "Bit, come with me."

As Aunt Bit struggled from her chair, she said, "Larka, dear, heat some fist-sized rocks in the fire then wrap them in soft, clean cloths and bring them to me." The same look Anfer had given Larka rested in Aunt Bit's eyes with the regret more evident.

Hurrying to do what Aunt Bit asked, Larka felt the soft brush of hands touching her clothes, her arms, her hair. Her mind barely recorded them but her flesh remembered. Later when she dealt with the turmoil in her mind, she knew that the love passed by those caressing hands would comfort her.

Three days of Aunt Bit's special love-filled nursing and the sweet milk from the generous breasts of Joelle, a weaver, whose own child was of weaning age, and Innas thrived. Magena, also, would recover, although the healers warned her not to resume her duties for many moons. They told her she might never be as active as she had been.

The people of the Cinyet quit holding their breath. Larka had spent those days at Aunt Bit's side, helping when she could, seeing that Aunt Bit rested. Thankfully, there had been no time to think. Half asleep, Larka walked out of the Cinyet past the whispers and the sidelong glances.

Sinking into her bed in the room she shared with Carm and Elama, she slept for half of the full turning of a day and a night. She woke fuzzyheaded, but knowing she had to sort out how the birth of her tiny brother would change her life.

A message waited on her clothes chest. Her father wanted to see her as soon as she woke.

After dressing quickly in her knee-length clerk's tunic, Larka hurried toward Anfer's workroom, but found him waiting for her in an adjacent sitting room. The small windowless inner room lit by oil lamps was furnished with a few chairs and an oval table. A room meant for privacy. He looked as though he had aged in the last few days.

"Please, sit down, Larka. I need to talk to you about your position at Azuray."

Larka sat. ‘I'm not prepared for this,’ she thought as Anfer continued.

"You've done an exemplary job in your training and the work you've done since you've joined Ey. The people admire you, in fact, many love you. Indeed, that's a good part of the problem.

"Divided loyalties are dangerous. These are good people, but it is too easy for accidents to happen if the wish is there. A small child is dreadfully vulnerable."