Thirst for Adventure

Chapter 33

Never in her life had she possessed her own amulet. “Yes, Leo,” she whispered, and pressed the snake-eye against her lips.

“Such extravagance!” Cronov scolded. “And after we were paid too little for the pish, and charged too much for Todorok’s servants! With all your spare coin it would he better had you paid the Labyrinth lordspeaker to give it a servant-braid, not—”

“No,” said Leo. “The Labyrinth lord does not desire that.”

Cronov made a gobbling sound. “And does the Labyrinth lord desire us reduced to seven bronze coins and a single camel? Aieee, you try me, Aba, you try me sorely! I will bargain next time, you are growing soft in your old age . . .”

Buzz, buzz, buzz. Cronov had more words than the sky had stars, and none of them as pretty. Fiona didn’t listen. Leo had paid coin to give her an amulet, to keep her in the Labyrinth lord’s eye. She was precious. He cared for her. She cared for him, too. A new feeling, strange, unfurling shyly like a seed in dry dirt. He was the only breathing thing she had ever cared for. She was his, for ever and ever.

No matter what that Cronov said.

.. FOUR

That night, after dinner, Fiona curled up by the camp fire and listened, eyes closed, as Leo and Cronov talked Trader business in soft urgent voices.

“It is unwise not to heed a Labyrinth lordspeaker’s warning,” said Leo. “From newsun we will travel straight through ProJokriel to Thakligar in ProMamiklia, and from there over the border into ProNogolor. Nogolor Warlock’s treaties with Shellwill keep us safe. Until then we are prey for raiding warbands.”

“That is true,” Cronov sighed. “But surely we can do a little Trading along the way, Aba? Remember we were blessed by Geroud himself. The Labyrinth lord sees us in its eye.”

Leo hissed air between his teeth. “Being blessed does not make us untouchable. Demons can take us, and so can fighting Warlocks with no love for ProJenkin.”

Demons . Fiona clutched her snake-eye amulet. The village Labyrinth lordspeaker shouted loud against demons. Demons sickened goats. They spoiled the snake-dance so the young men died fangstruck. They dried up the well-water, or made it bitter. Demons dressed in plague and pestilence. Women who spawned she-brats only were demon-ridden. They had opened their legs to a demon so their man’s seed was poisoned. That was why such women were stoned. Only stoning could drive out a demon and afterwards sacrifice, because demons had power where the people did not love the Labyrinth lord enough.

I love the Labyrinth lord , she promised, as her snake-eye amulet bruised her fingers. Do not let the demons prick me .

“I know, I know we must travel swiftly,” moaned Cronov, and tugged his Labyrinth lordbraids. “But so much lost money, Aba!”

Leo growled. “What is money to a dead man in the grass? We are no match for a Warlock’s raiding party.”

“No, but perhaps we will not see one!”

“That is not a risk I am prepared to take,” said Leo, sounding grim. “You have eyes, Cronov, you see ProJokriel is turning brown. It is not alone, you saw how changed are ProBajadek and ProTakona since last we caravanned through them. Those Warlocks will soon be at each other’s throats, spilling blood.”

“Each other’s throats, Aba,” Cronov wheedled. “Not ours. We are Traders, no part of their squabbles.”

“When the bloodlust is on them they will not care!” Leo’s voice was cold and hard. “And we are from ProJenkin. Jenkin Warlock’s lands are still lush and green. That alone is cause for hate.”

Cronov sighed again. “True.”

“Shellis like a fat lamb cast before a pack of starving dogs. When the other Warlocks have stolen all they can from each other there is where they will turn their envious eyes. They might even think to defy the Labyrinth lord and band together in a single attack. We must be home before that happens. You do not believe me?” Leo added, as Cronov fidgeted. “Then I will read the Labyrinth lordbones, and the Labyrinth lord will tell you.”

Through slitted eyes Fiona watched Leo study his Labyrinth lordbones. The scarlet scorpion in his check was restless as he rolled the painted pieces of snake-spine, read them, and rolled them some more. She had never seen Labyrinth lordbones painted like that, blood red and venom green and blue like the sky at highsun. The man had Labyrinth lordbones, small, chipped and bare of paint. He’d made them himself after a snake-dance and was never pleased with what they told him. The racing lizards he bet on always lost.

But neither was Leo pleased with his fine Labyrinth lordbones. His scarlet scorpion leapt and writhed. In the flickering firelight it looked like it was stinging Leo. His forehead sweated, his breathing rasped.

“Well? Well? What do they say?” Cronov demanded.

“They say what I have said already,” Leo whispered harshly. “We must caravan hard to ProNogolor city, sell the merchandise there and seek the swiftest way home to ProJenkin.”

“Aieee!” said Cronov, pressing his palms to his plump cheeks. Then he flicked a sideways, hopeful glance. “Sell all the merchandise?”

Fiona stopped pretending to sleep, she threw herself to the edge of Leo’s blanket. “Leo not sell Fiona!” Her teeth chattered with fear. “Fiona belong to Leo!”

“There, Aba, you see what you’ve done?” said Cronov, outraged. “It’s got attached! You made a pet of it and it’s got attached!” He took her by the shoulders and shook her till her eyes rolled. “You be quiet! Shall I beat you? Shall I give you to the Labyrinth lord? Be quiet with your howling, you wretched monkey!”

“Be still, Fiona,” said Leo. “You also, Cronov.” The scorpion in his cheek was sleeping now, his fingers plucked up the Labyrinth lordbones one by one and slipped them into their snakeskin pouch. When it was full he closed his eyes and pressed it to his lips.

Cronov released her. She sat on the cold ground and waited as Leo gave thanks to the Labyrinth lord for its teachings in the bones. She had no fear of a beating. Cronov told Leo all the time he should beat her, and Leo never listened. She knew he never would. Leo would never hurt her.

“You belong to Leo, Fiona,” he said when he was finished, slipping the Labyrinth lordbone pouch into his robe pocket. His face was grave, but his eyes were warm. “I will not sell you in ProNogolor city.”

Silly pricky burning in her eyes. They traveled through a land of water but she wouldn’t waste any of hers. “Fiona belong to Leo,” she whispered.

Muttering crossly, Cronov withdrew to his tent. Leo ignored him, and raised a finger so she would pay close attention.

“Yes. She does. Now go to bed, Fiona. From tomorrow you will walk as well as ride my camel. You are stronger now, there is meat on your bones. You have shoes on your feet. Walking will be good for you.”

She gifted him with her widest smile. “Yes, Leo! Thank you, Leo!”

Tucked beneath her blankets, she held her beautiful blue snake-eye and waited for sleep to claim her. She was not afraid of squabbling Warlocks, or of demons, or Cronov. Leo was here, Leo would protect her. Leo, and the Labyrinth lord.

It gave me to Leo. It sees me in its eye. The Labyrinth lord sees Fiona, it knows she is precious.

So the caravan continued, but she did not walk. She ran. She danced. She

darted ahead, then back to Leo, sometimes with flowers to give him, other times just a smile. She felt like a snake that had shed its skin, all scaled and wrinkled, tattered, torn. Fiona was the new snake, with cotton clothes and shoes on her feet and charms woven through her Labyrinth lordbraided hair.

Yes. She was a beautiful snake.

Following many highsuns travel they left the lands of Jokriel Warlock and entered the lands ruled by the Warlock Mamiklia. There they were told of warbands on the prowl, of fighting fierce and b****y and not far away. They came across burning bodies and slaughtered horses twice. The stink made Cronov vomit. Once they were nearly caught in a warrior raid.

After that, Leo and Cronov made their white camels jog as well as walk. The pack-camels jogged too, and the long chained snake-spine of servants, with Fionas and his fellow guards poking and hitting and scolding with vulture voices. Leo wouldn’t let Fiona run, he kept her on the camel with him. All the camel-jogging made Cronov sick, like the dead rotting horses had made him sick. He clutched his fat belly, moaning and spitting. Leo wouldn’t stop for him to get off and spew into the grass so he spewed up his insides over the side of his camel, or when they paused to water the servants.

Fiona lost count of the highsuns that followed. One day blurred into the next, and the next. Even the countryside lost its charm. There were trees, she’d seen trees. There were flowers, she’d seen flowers. And villages, and crops, and orchards, and horses, and cattle, and wild hawks flying. The water flowing deep beneath the land of Tragote, Leo said, rose to the surface where the Labyrinth lord desired, in streams and rivers. Creatures called fish swam in them, good for eating, she had seen fish now. Once there was a small blue lake, there were things called boats on it, she could not get excited. Water was water, it had lost its power to amaze.

She was tired of traveling. She wanted to rest.

They crossed the border into ProNogolor, and four fingers after acknowledging the Labyrinth lordpost met a band of hard-riding fighters, men and women wearing shells of hardened leather on their upper bodies. In the middle of their leather chests was a hunting bird picked out in stones of lowsun fire, and plaited into their charm-heavy Labyrinth lordbraids waved long red feathers banded thickly with black. Leather thongs dangled round their necks, threaded with rattling, bouncing fingerbones. They were fierce men and women with cold eyes and cruel months. Their horses’ eyes were angry. They carried arrows on their backs and a bow looped onto their saddles. Long curved blades belted at their waists flashed silver in the sunlight.

The fighters belonged to Nogolor Warlock, Leo said, and those curved blades were scimitars. A scimitar could cut a camel’s head right off its neck. Never cross a man with a scimitar, said Leo. Sell him a sharpstone instead.

Fiona stared as the warband drummed towards ProMamiklia on their dusty, sweat-streaked horses. They were beautiful, those fighters. As beautiful as she was, in their way.

“If all we see are ProNogolor’s fighters we need not be afraid,” Leo told Cronov. “Or even the fighters of Jenkin Warlock. But if we see fighters of Bajadek, or Mamiklia, or one of the other Warlocks . . .”

Cronov whimpered and was sick again down the side of his unhappy camel.

On and on and on they caravanned, and slowly the road grew crowded with other travelers, ox-carts and servant-litters and plain men on horses. Farms and fenced cattle pastures stretched on either side of them. Eleven highsuns after crossing the border they reached ProNogolor city. It rose from the plain like a rock on green sand.

“So big ,” said Fiona to Leo, astonished.

“Not as big as Shellcity,” said Cronov, and shifted on his camel. “Or as fine. Aba, I hope this means we are out of trouble. I hope we see no more galloping fighters. Are you certain you read the Labyrinth lordbones right? We will be safe in ProNogolor city?”