Ширли Мерфи - The Shattered Stone [calibre]

“We can go now, we—”

“I cannot go with you.”

Zephy froze, staring. “What do you mean?”

“I am needed here.”

“ Needed! Needed by the Kubalese?” Her voice raised so that Mama grabbed and hushed her. “Needed by those who have destroyed us?” she hissed.

“I am needed by Kearb-Mattus. No matter what the Kubalese have done, I cannot leave him.”

“But you—”

“You can slip food from the sculler if you’re careful. Take Nida, she can carry blankets and a waterskin.”

Zephy clung to her. “What if he dies? What will they do to you then?”

“I will not let him die.”

“I could stay with you . . .” Did Mama feel for Kearb-Mattus the same pain that Zephy herself felt for Thorn? Would a grown woman suffer the same awful agony?

“You cannot stay with me. You must go now. Tomorrow they will kill you. It won’t be forever, Zephy. Go to Carriol, you can go along the edge of the mountain. You’ll be safe in Carriol. Cloffi—Cloffi cannot stay enslaved forever.”

Did Mama know about the Kubalese plan for conquering all of Ere? Had she known, before the attack? Zephy could not bring herself to ask. Mama’s back was to the window, Zephy could not see her expression. She clung to Mama, but at last Mama pushed her away. “Hurry, Zephy. You cannot stay here.”

“Then I must take Tra. Hoppa.”

Mama stared at her in the near darkness; Zephy could feel her concern. Then she turned silently, and led Zephy toward the door.

As they started up the dark stairs, it seemed to Zephy that Mama had pulled away from her in a subtle way; as if they were no longer mother and daughter, but were equal in something. As if each must do what she must, without taking heed of the other. It was hard, it made her ache inside. But it was fine, too. Mama was letting her go, shoving her out. If she was not ready to leave, that could not be helped. The time dictated the need.

Together they climbed the steps and the ladder. They found Tra. Hoppa sitting in the window just as Zephy had sat so many nights, staring down at the littered, moonlit streets, at the sacked town.

They stripped the beds of blankets and Zephy’s goatskin robe, then went silently out the front and down the alley to the sculler, where they gathered food to fill two baskets. At last Zephy and Tra. Hoppa were out on the street. It was but an instant since she had stood encircled by Mama’s arms, and now Mama was closing the sculler door between them for what might be forever.

Zephy went ahead. They did not speak. Each was loaded with bundles. Tra. Hoppa took her sleeve once, when she saw which way Zephy was headed. Zephy stopped to whisper, “There are Children in the tunnel.” They went on again in silence. The moons were sinking.

When they reached the square, they froze, then backed deeper into the shadow of a building, for there were soldiers there, dark shapes gathered before the statue silently working at something. They had tied great ropes to the extended arms of the Luff’Eresi, and around his wings, and around the heads of the Horses of Eresu. Now suddenly they began to heave forward on their straining mounts. They were trying to pull down the statue. They meant to destroy the people’s god-image—and in so doing, they would discover the tunnel. The men shouted, the horses hunched, the statue creaked. Zephy clutched Tra. Hoppa’s hand and they ran back through the narrow streets, then through the gardens, dropping their bundles there, ran on until they reached the plum grove.

Zephy wrenched the stone back, and they plunged down into the darkness, gulping for breath. “Elodia?” Zephy cried over the creaking of the statue and the wild shouting of the Kubalese. “Elodia!”

There was no answer from the tunnel. They ran blindly. Zephy thought unreasonably that if she could find the niche, the stone would be waiting, that it would help them. Despite common sense, she felt along the wall and stopped at last, plunging her hand in.

Of course it was not there. She was wasting time.

Then she heard Elodia speaking softly in the darkness. The baby whimpered. She heard Tra. Hoppa speak to him as if she had taken him from Elodia. She felt Toca’s small hand in hers, and they were running as the statue groaned above them.

The baby began to cry, then stopped as if Tra. Hoppa had clapped her hand over his mouth. They stumbled and bumped each other in the darkness, then at last they saw moonlight through the hole. Zephy pushed ahead and crawled up into the grove. Nothing stirred there; though in the shadows under the trees . . . She snatched the heavy baby from Tra. Hoppa; he was warm and soft against her, and he smelled bad. The others climbed out and they ran across the gardens, grabbing up their bundles, the dry mawzee rattling around them.

When at last they reached the pens, the donkeys were stirring restlessly. Zephy held the others back and stood listening. Could she see a shape in the blackness? Then Tra. Hoppa’s hand pressed her down. They crouched, hardly breathing. The smell of rotting charp fruit was strong around them.

There was a soft snuffling but that could be the donkeys. Then a low grumble, so muted that Zephy could not be sure whether it was human sound or animal. Then they heard a sharp snort, a pounding of hooves, a harsh Kubalese swear word; and a steady cantering away, toward the square. There had been a mounted Kubalese soldier there, the animal must have shied. Zephy removed her hand slowly from across the baby’s mouth. They could hear the horse brushing through the gardens, then clattering along the cobbles farther away. It must have been a guard, waiting out his stint there in the darkness. Would another come now, even though a predawn light had begun to glow in the east?

Then they heard the other sound. The groaning, a wrench of metal, and the crash. The statue had been brought down.

Zephy rose and found the shed, groped for Nida’s saddle and halter in the darkness, and began to saddle the fidgeting donkey. Dess, who wasn’t being touched at all, kicked at her evilly.

The saddle felt strange, mucky, as if it were coated with dirt. But it was surely Nida’s saddle, Dess’s pack bars were different. Besides, she could feel the tear in the skirt, where straw oozed out. Then she realized the Deacons must have taken Nida’s saddle instead of Dess’s to carry Meatha. She leaned over and smelled the leather. It smelled of the gutter, all right. She shuddered. But she continued to fasten the straps, there was no time to change. Besides, Nida was used to her own saddle, it fit her right. Dess backed up to kick again, and Zephy drove her off with a slap.

When the saddle was secure and the packages tied on, she lifted the fat baby on top—he smelled no worse than the saddle—and they started off through the upper housegardens; they must cross the northerly whitebarley field. Toca crowded close, stepping on Zephy’s heels. When the baby began to fuss, she covered his mouth with her free hand, lurching against the donkey.

“He feels our fear,” Elodia whispered. “Think of something safe and warm.” Zephy tried, but she was far too afraid to make her thought convincing. When they stepped out onto the stubble of the whitebarley field, the crackle alarmed her so she drew back quickly, pulling the donkey away. “We’ll have to go around,” she whispered, and started east along the edge of the -field. Already the sky was too light. She pushed Nida to a faster walk, then a trot. She could hear Tra. Hoppa’s quick breathing. It must be hard on the old woman, no sleep, the fear and tension, and now this lunging flight.

When Toca began to lag behind, Zephy set the little boy up behind Bibb. “Hold onto the baby, Toca. Not too hard,” she added, at Bibb’s indignant grunt. Then she froze . . .