James Enge - This Crooked Way

Anyway, I could see what he meant clearly enough. If Merlin had some way of tracing us or following us, we would lead him straight to Roble and the children. Then we'd be back in the same situation: all of us at risk because of this duel between Morlock and Merlin.

"Do they know?" I asked finally.

"No," Morlock admitted. "They expect us."

"Why-?" I started to ask, then broke off.

Morlock snarled at me, and sounded like nothing so much as the werewolf we had met in the mountains. I waited, but he didn't say anything else.

Anyway, maybe it was clear enough. He was fond of Roble and the children. Maybe even of that milky wench, Reijka Kingheart. And he'd had to walk away from them, his last words to them a lie: "I'll see you soon," or something like that. Otherwise they would have come with, or followed after, and he couldn't have that. Maybe that was it. Something was bothering him, anyway.

Abruptly, he stopped. It was as emphatic as shouting: I knew he had something important to say. His pale eyes, lit strangely by moonlight, stabbed through the shadows at me.

"I go south, then east over the Nar," he said. He swallowed painfully and continued. "You: north maybe. Northside of Narkunden, maybe Semendar or Aithonford-places to work, hide, be safe."

"All right," I said. "When do you think I can see my children? Where will they be?"

He shrugged. "Spring or summer maybe."

"That's half a year or more!"

He shrugged again. "By then, eh. By then this thing between me and Merlin. It will be over. I think. I think he. He won't care about you then."

Merlin might not care about my family, but …I suddenly thought of that look of betrayal he had fixed on me. He might be interested in looking me up to settle a score. It might be better for my family if I didn't come near them for a while, a long while.

It tore my heart, but I knew they would deal with it better than I would. And every mother knows that time of parting will come eventually: I just hadn't expected it to come that suddenly, to lose all my children at once. All my surviving children. I thought of Stador rotting in that hole in the mountains and sighed.

"How will I find them when it's time?" I asked at last.

I guess I expected him to pull some magical whatsit out of his pocket, but what he said was, "Look for Kingheart's Cavalcade of Wonders."

"What?"

"It's a carnival. A travelling show that goes from town to town."

"That's the business proposition Reijka had for me?"

"Yes. Her parents ran a carnival, but they wanted a settled life for her. They bought her a citizenship in Narkunden, a prenticeship with a physician. But she hates it and now she's starting her own show."

"A carnival." I thought about it, and some icy pain deep within me eased a little. Not tied to any town with its stupid rules and laws. I'd known some travelling players in Four Castles and had always admired their camaraderie and freedom. "Not a bad life."

"Eh."

"Did you travel with them?" I asked. "With Reijka's parents? Is that how you know her?"

"Yes, Lonijka Kingheart and her husband took me in once." He looked away; there seemed to be some painful memory hidden behind the words. "That was around the time Reijka was born."

"Huh."

"Good fortune to you," he muttered, and turned away.

Wait, was what I did not say. Maybe I should have. Whatever I should have said, I didn't say it. I didn't say anything, but just stood there with my jaw clamped shut as he hobbled away and disappeared around a corner.

I did like him at first, and a little bit toward the end, too. But not enough to die in that stupid vendetta between his father and him-and not enough to forget that my son had died in it. I waited until he was gone, and then I walked away in exactly the opposite direction.

That was quite a while ago. I suppose by now one of them has killed the other, or maybe they're both dead. I never did hear how it played out. I sort of wish I knew, but more importantly I wish I knew if it was safe to see my family again. I've been working on a farm north of Narkunden for the past two years, and the farmer just came in and told me to knock off work for the night.

A carnival is coming to town.

The day of anointing is a proud day in the life of a Gathenavalona. So the elders say; but the Sisters are silent. Gathenavalona did feel proud, a little, as she watched the ceremonies. The carapace and face-shell of her charge were peeled carefully away, and the royal jelly applied directly to her purplish pulsating flesh. Old Valona was there, wearing the Wreath of Parting, and Math Valone crowned the new Valona with a Wreath of Becoming. There was a dance, which the Sisters partook in, since it involved no mating. There were speeches and ceremonies and stories and feasting from dawn nearly to dusk. This would be a very special season of Motherdeath, some said the best kind of all.

Gathenavalona tried to be happy, but her heart wasn't in it. At her former charge's insistence, she went along to the new Mother's Nest and settled in for the night together.

"The place is too big for me," said young Valona (Dhyrvalona no more since her anointing). The jelly gleamed all over her exposed skin.

"You'll grow into it," Gathenavalona predicted. "The Mother is the greatest of all the Khroi."

"When will my egg-sac grow in?" Valona asked sleepily.

"Soon."

"Will you still sleep in my nest when I'm big?" Valona asked, sounding sleepier yet.

Gathenavalona closed her eyes. "If you wish it," she whispered at last.

Young Valona sang:

"Gathenavalona! Speak up!"

"Gathenavalona! Stand tall!"

"Gathenavalona! No one hears what you don't say."

It was the sort of thing a nurse says to a young Khroi after her Second Birth. Gathenavalona laboriously blinked one eye. Her former charge was making a joke, and she felt obliged to register amusement.

Two of Valona's half-open eyes opened wide, and she was clearly concerned; her soft gleaming head was somehow more expressive without its chitinous shell.

"Would you like to hear a story?" Gathenavalona asked, with feigned gaiety, before Valona asked her a question she would have to answer.

Young Valona's eyes went half shut again. "Yes," she said thickly, with just one of her mouths. "Tell stories. Am tired. Feel strange." She rolled over and lay at ease in the Mother's Nest.

Gathenavalona sat down beside her and told her stories until long after she was sure the new horde mother had fallen asleep. She did not weep, because Khroi do not weep.