Riders Of The Winds Page 11

  She nodded. "It is nice here, and the people are very friendly and seem to not mind the differences. The feeling of security here is very reassuring, considering what I have been through."

  "A refuge," he responded, sounding pleased. "We provide not only security but a decent life."

  They were finally through the sumptuous meal, and the Duchess stood up and cocked her bird's head at the Duke, who said, "You may leave if you wish, my dear, or remain. Please, by all means, do what you wish."

  The bird's head nodded, and the Duchess walked out that back entrance to the dining room.

  "So, they tell me that you are off to get this sorcerer's curse lifted," the Duke remarked casually. "Tell me honestly—is your heart in that? Do you really want to go to a foreign Akhbreed sorcerer and beg for favor? Truthfully, now."

  She sighed, and decided that honesty was still the best policy. "No," she responded. "It is just something that is forced on me. From what everyone says about these sorcerers, even though they maintain the system they are as dangerous as the change wind."

  "More," the Duke replied seriously. "Far more. The changewind is terrifying mostly because it is random. It is a thief that comes in the night and steals all that you take for granted, but it is an honest, capricious, random thief with no malice and no thought, no motivation. It just is, a force of nature. One with the power of an Akhbreed sorcerer cannot help but go mad from the sheer power at his or her command. But their madness has thought, direction, and also shows no mercy. Even the best of them is dangerous, unstable, psychopathic. We are their playthings, not human beings to them, if they decide to play. Only the changewind keeps them humble. It is its place in the scheme of things, I believe. For even the greatest cannot control, deflect, or even defend himself against a changewind or its effects. There is some suspicion that the sorcerers themselves foster and promote this insane policy of destroying any people who become victims of the changewind, because they have no power over those victims. Our own sorcerers, should they be so inclined, could turn me into a frog or a maniac or a monster with a single spell. Yet they could do nothing to my wife or my son. If any Akhbreed sorcerer is ever destroyed, it is by the product of a changewind, for their power ends there and only another changewind can affect them."

  That was something to think about. No wonder they killed them when they could! The Akhbreed ruled by the power of their sorcerers and maintained their system and their position by virtue of that power. The changelings, then, would be the only things other than the winds themselves that the Akhbreed leaders would fear.

  They wrapped it up with some more small talk, mostly about her and the refuge, and she had the sense to know that it was over. The Duke stood up, and so did the Director, and so she and Medac did as well, and the Governor said good night and the two departed out the back way. It was only after they had gone that Sam realized that this Director hadn't said more than a few words the whole evening. Perhaps it was just that when the Duke wanted to talk you didn't dare not let him talk.

  Medac escorted her back to the head of the stairs. "You did quite well," he told her. "I want to thank you for it."

  "I did nothing at all. Your father is a charming man."

  "Yes," the winged man replied with an odd tone of voice. "I often wonder if I was not fortunate to become a changeling. I cannot imagine myself taking his place or having the ability to make so many hard decisions." He sighed. "Well, good night and good luck on the work the next few days. I hope your future brings happiness and peace of mind."

  She was charmed by that. "Thank you. I don't know where I'd be or even if I'd be alive without you and your father. But I must go now. That potion is wearing off and I want to make it to my bed before I collapse."

  Medac watched her go, men sighed, turned, and walked back by a different route to the living quarters. As he expected, his father and the Director were in the study, talking animatedly over cigars and coffee. They both looked up when the winged man entered.

  "Ah, Medac! Come, relax and join us/' the Duke invited. "I want your input on this. First, has there been any sign of this Boday or her friend?"

  "Not really. The rebel band that was ambushed and massacred just east of here shows that a strong band of marauders was in the area about the same time. The two women did not turn in here, which suggests that they were tracking the rebels, either out of fear that their companions had been taken or out of some sense of bravado that perhaps they could get back their horses and belongings. Two naked, defenseless women definitely did not do that to the rebels, and there were signs of a considerable number in the attacking band. There were no women's bodies found, and they did not double back, and they did not meet our own patrol coming from downriver. The inescapable conclusion is that the same band that hit the rebels captured them. They are probably not dead, but are almost certainly beyond caring by now."

  The Duke nodded. "I feared as much. Any luck on identifying the band? I do not like anyone operating independently this close to our lands here, although they appear to have only hit the rebels and not anything or anyone of ours. That implies at least partly a political act."

  "Yes, but that's probably why I can pick up nothing of importance. Oh, I have a few details. Tracking down the horses and the booty was not difficult, but it was already through many hands and they were very closedmouthed about it. They had hoped, I think, to get away without paying our 'tax,' as it were."

  "I also don't like any of Klittichorn's hordes in my canyon without my knowledge or permission," the Duke growled. "They had a small army in the region. Still do, I suspect. Brazen bastards."

  "They are beginning to move off and away now," Medac told him. "You know, I wonder if there isn't a connection there. They put out the word that they would pay a tremendous sum to anyone who brought them a slender young woman with a superficial resemblance to the Storm Princess. Do you suppose that perhaps this Susama's young friend might have been that one? If so, we know what's happened to them."

  The Director stirred for the first time. "Interesting. Your Grace, that might explain a lot. A double. A living duplicate of the Storm Princess, perhaps an exact duplicate, born and raised on another world. Somebody like Boolean, who has been crying for years about Klittichorn's threat, might go after such a one in order to make a switch or train her as a combatant. Those powers are unique. And the great storm that did in the train but also did in the raiders—it might be!"

  The Duke scratched his chin. "And this Susama?"

  "Obviously a friend, probably sucked along when Klit-tichorn or Boolean or whoever opened a hole and dropped the double down. That would explain the interest around here, all the events, and even why an Akhbreed sorcerer would be interested in them and give them language and a curse."

  "But it was Susama who was cursed, not the other," Medac pointed out.

  "Yes, sir, but who knows what powers, what resistance she might have? But if she were loyal to her friend, then curse the friend."

  The Duke sat back and sighed. "Logical. And the fact that Klittichorn's men are now withdrawing from the area can have but one meaning. And that means this Susama is most certainly alone and stuck here. She'd have no chance of even getting that curse removed now. She has no future, gentlemen. She's without funds, has no family or tribe or anyone to fall back on, is bright but illiterate and has no meaningful skills."

  "She also has no self-esteem," the Director pointed out. "You could see that by how she presents and carries herself. She'll wind up desolate, alone—I'd say there is a better than ninety percent chance that she would do away with herself."

  "I don't believe there is any reason or mercy in waiting," the Duke said. "Even if her friend should somehow miraculously come into our hands we would have different uses for her than merely a reunion with a friend. You have our permission to incorporate them into the refugee program immediately."

  "I will set it up for tomorrow morning, Your Grace," the Director replied.

  The Duke looked over at
his son, who seemed to have a disapproving look on his face. "You still have bad feelings about this. Consider, my son—if we left it up to her she would refuse and cling to a fantasy, a dream. She is someone truly without hope or future and she is insisting on jumping into an abyss. Would you gain her permission before you saved her from jumping?"

  Medac sighed. "I see your point, Father. It's just, well, she was different and likeable. Totally without any reaction to me or Mother or any of the others except curiosity."

  "And that will not change. That is the nature of this place."

  When she first awoke she had, quite literally, no memories at all, nor any direct means of thought, although she was curious and aware, as a small baby might be aware. Then they began talking to her, not as before but in the peasant vulgar dialect of Mashtopol Akhbreed speech. As she heard each word and phrase and thought she understood it, as if it were being written indelibly inside her mind, and within a few hours she could think quite clearly in the Akhbreed tongue.

  She lapped up everything they told her like a sponge, accepting it unquestioningly at face value. They had found her wandering lost and alone out in the dangerous, hot, endless desert and had taken her in. She was now a part of a great community under the leadership of Her Lord the Duke, who was kind and wise and provided all things for everyone that they would ever need or desire. All the people worked for the common good, and each had a vital role in keeping everything going. Each had a function which, when added to everyone else's functions, created a common, just society in which all were absolutely equal.

  All products of the community were given to the Duke, the wisest and most just, who then redistributed them so that all received according to their needs. Beyond the community was only desolation, danger, and death. The Duke protected the community from it, and kept it safe. The community was a loving, sharing family of which the Duke was the wise, kind, and all-powerful father. All thoughts were towards the community's good; no one was above the good of the whole, and no individual should ever put him or herself above or below the group. All were brothers, all were sisters, and all were essential parts of an integrated whole.

  She wanted to belong; she wanted to find her place, her function, and to contribute. She felt safe and secure within it, and wanted no part of anywhere else.

  She was startled to find that she was a girl, although she would have been equally startled to discover she was anything but. It was a strange face and figure that stared back at her in the mirror, but she accepted it. Everyone told her how cute she was, how her big breasts were so desirable, how lucky she was to be so cute and look the way she did, and she accepted that as well.

  They told her that her name was Misa, and although it sounded strange she answered to it afterwards because it was the only name she had. Then they told her that her function would be to work in the fields, planting and picking and tending the community's important food, and she thought that was wonderful.

  Then they brought her to a long three-tier adobe complex and she climbed the ladders to the top level and then went into one of the "rooms" in the center. It was a one-room affair, with two sets of bunk beds on opposing walls, a worn but serviceable rug with pretty designs on the floor, oil lamps, and at the rear a long dresser that took up the entire back wall and contained areas for each of the occupants' clothing and personal effects plus some crude wooden stools and mirrors.

  Water was rationed but there was a communal bathhouse two blocks of apartments down. There were also communal toilets there, but mostly you used a bedpan-type gadget and roommates took turns emptying it and sanitizing it each day. Human solid waste was not to be discarded; it was placed in community bins and then blended with other things and spread in the fields, so that what was needed by the land was given back to it.

  Her roommates were girls near her own age, all products of the system and true believers in it, all lifelong field workers. They embraced and took to her as if she and they had known each other all their lives, and it was from them she learned the rest of what was necessary to be learned.

  She made a concentrated effort to model herself after them in all things; to talk like them, act like them, think like them, until in a very few days it was impossible to tell the new from the old. They talked and giggled and played silly games and compared the various men around and everything was open and shared. Mostly, of course, they worked—long, hard days, but nobody minded or complained because everybody had to work to keep the community whole. Without them, the community would not be fed and the groves would die. They were vital and that made them proud.

  What little they had they shared freely. There was no lying, no cheating, no stealing, no thoughts of deception or shirking work or duty. There were also no questions. None. The entire world, its rules, and your place in it were clearly defined. It was the way it was, that's all. You couldn't change anything and you wouldn't want to, because it was good the way it was. She liked field work because it wasn't the same all the time. After a time of fruit picking, you might do a tour elsewhere in the irrigation system ass-deep in mud making sure just the right water went where it was supposed to, and next you might be planting behind a narga-pulled plow, knowing that what you planted you would see grow and thrive and bear useful things for the community. Honest mistakes, even carelessness, were never punished; instead you felt terrible about it and everyone worked to reassure you and to teach you so that you did not make the same mistake twice.

  And the work grew easier with time; she needed less to drink, felt hardier and more confident, and finished without aches and pains and tiredness much of the time as her muscles grew and her body conditioned itself. She grew no thinner, but her arms and legs began developing a hell of a set of muscles. It was not something she was conscious of, but it was noticeable in her neck and shoulders and when she flexed her arms.

  Far from feeling self-conscious about her weight, she relished it as a reflection of power, the way a wrestler took pride in bulk, and no other girl had breasts so enormous; and because she could lose no weight the effect of muscle development in her neck and shoulders had the effect of pulling the breasts up and thrusting them out firmly so that there was little sag. She called them her "melons"—and she liked to flaunt them, never so much as during Endday, the one day of the week where they worked only half a day and threw a grand communal party and celebration that lasted well into the night. Then she would don her one fine patterned sarong and the traditional flower necklace and dance with the best of them. They took to calling her Noma Ju, which literally meant Big Tits, and she didn't mind a bit, taking it in the playful spirit that it was used.

  She did, however, allow her roommates to do something of a makeover on her. There was a magic potion you could get from a friend or a relative of a friend who worked in the residence that would make your hair grow at a miraculous pace and they procured enough of the weakened formula to allow her to grow in a matter of weeks hair just below shoulder length, which set off her face and made her look much better. All the other girls had their ears pierced, so she did, too, even though it hurt, getting small rings inserted on which you could clip longer ones for special occasions like Endday Festival; and she started taking some care in her appearance outside of work and even in the way she walked and talked.

  She found herself most comfortable around the women but the men seemed attracted to her and she did tease them a lot. Virtually all the Akhbreed peasant women were lean and muscular; her more padded form and largest attributes hanging out there seemed to turn some folks on. She found that she liked to be kissed and hugged and fondled but she didn't ever let it get too far. Although sex was rather casual among the peasant communes, a pregnancy meant an obligatory marriage and for some reason she just could not bring herself to take the risk.

  And there were the dreams. Strange dreams, sometimes, of another person, another place, in some magical royal castle. A strange woman with a deep voice that was cold, eerie, aristocratic, and a fearsome nightmare fi
gure in crimson robes and horns on his head. She felt that, somehow, these dreams were of the evil around the community, the evil from which they said she'd escaped, and so she did not talk about these dreams with anyone. Perhaps they were somehow shadows from her past, but she did not want to know any more. At least they were not common; she had experienced only four of them so far, and she could live with that.

  Still, she was happy, very happy, and content, and she had no questions.

  Up in the residence, however, where the peasant folk virtually never went and held in some awe, there were questions.

  "This is a high desert," Duke Pasedo grumbled. "It has almost always been so and it stretches out for most of the continent. It rains for perhaps an hour every two or three years, and often less than that, and the land and the system, our system, is based upon it. And yet, in two months, just two months, gentlemen, it has rained heavily four times! Four times! Some of the crops are in danger, the irrigation system is a shambles in many places, and along the canyons there are now many landslides. I want to know how this can happen. What is causing it?"

  The Director sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "Your Grace, these things happen. Some shift, somewhere, causes freak occurrences of all sorts of weather. You remember several years ago we had that freakish cold and actually a bit of snow over the night."

  The Duke slammed his fist on the table. "That is one incident. This is more of a long pattern. My son has watched these storms, since I feared they might be Sudogs or some other sorcery, but they appear to be just storms—but localized. Very localized, and with no apparent source of moisture. It rains only on us! It collects from nowhere, rains, then dissipates. That is not natural, gentlemen. Not natural at all. When you begin to get such magical storms, can the change-wind be far behind, attracted to this very spot? Can you imagine what a changewind would do to this place, all our dreams? Yes, I see you are about to assure me that we are adequately protected, but the land is not! The river and canyons are not! The balance is delicate here."