The Cursed Read online

  "Then... I mean, you don't have to tell me anything if you'd rather not."

  "I don't care one way or the other." He frowned, as if vaguely puzzled. "No, perhaps I would rather tell you than not tell you."

  Thoroughly bewildered, Gwin said, "Then please carry on! I don't know what your trouble can be. If there is anything I can do to help, then I will. I am still a Dalingian at heart and I have always been loyal to the governor. As his heir, you may count on my support."

  "I am no longer his heir, Gwin Saj. My chances of succeeding him were never very good. He is a wily old toad, who has managed to stay on top of the swamp for far more years than anyone could ever have predicted. The great families conspire against him all the time, but he plays them off, group against group. Inevitably, they will soon oust him and establish an oligarchy. There will probably be considerable bloodshed, but do not doubt that my uncle is the last of our line. Yes, he had dreams of passing the scepter to me, but no one else ever believed it would be possible. I never thought it was, nor that I would be able to hold it for long if he did. I suppose I would have tried."

  "And now?"

  He twisted his face in faint surprise. "Can't you tell? I caught the star sickness."

  "Oh, no!"

  "Oh, yes! A mild case, to be sure. Just a few bluish spots on my thigh. I almost failed to notice them—I did not even feel unwell."

  Remembering the brutality and hardships she had witnessed, she did not even try to conceal her anger. "And the rules about expulsion did not apply to the governor's nephew, of course?"

  "Of course not. But I discovered I had been Cursed and even the representative of a non-existent emperor can do nothing about that." The words might have been spoken with irony, but they were not. Wraxal could as well have been discussing a complete stranger for all the emotion he was displaying.

  Gwin was annoyed to discover that she had instinctively edged away from him. She compensated by laying a hand on his shoulder. He did not seem to notice. "Cursed how?"

  "By the Passionate One."

  "I am very sorry, Wraxal Saj. I ought to have guessed, of course, but I never met a Muolscath. I thought..."

  "You thought we all killed ourselves? That is the common belief—Muolscaths commit suicide, just as Shoolscaths go insane, Jaulscaths drive everyone else mad, Ogoalscaths perish in weird accidents, Ivielscaths go around blighting people and hence get mobbed, and Awailscaths just disappear."

  "I had heard that, but I don't believe it." Recalling the Tharns' tale of the Jaulscath and the man who had died in his tracks while carrying her the previous night, she added, "Not all of it, anyway."

  "I don't feel suicidal," Wraxal said idly. "To kill anyone, even oneself, must require a certain passion, mustn't it? I don't feel anything. I am not depressed, or resentful, or angry, or hopeless. Perhaps I shall eventually succumb to boredom, but at the moment I am not even bored."

  "I am sorry. Truly I am!"

  "You are fortunate! But you need not feel sorry for me. I suppose I could even be envied. Nothing touches me, Gwin Saj. I do not suffer. I feel no fear. I can recall experiencing such emotions, but not what they were like. At the moment I am physically weary from the ride, but there is neither sorrow nor satisfaction in that. I am aware that my belly is empty, so I shall eat when food is available, but whether I eat sautéed larks at my uncle's table or sewage from a gutter is immaterial to me."

  The evening seemed to have grown cold very quickly, although the sun had not quite set.

  "There are other stories about Muolscaths," Gwin said uneasily.

  Wraxal shrugged. "And I expect they are true also. I have not bothered to experiment, although my uncle repeatedly urged me to."

  "Urged you to?"

  He looked at her as if she were being excessively stupid. "We are reputed to be able to arouse in others the emotions we cannot feel for ourselves. Is not this what you have heard?"

  "Yes! But why—"

  "Because this is a skill he would dearly love to possess. He does, to some extent, or he did once—they say he was a great orator in his younger days. When he discovered my Curse, he thought it was the answer to the problem of the succession."

  Gwin realized her hand still rested on his shoulder. She removed it. "A ruler who feels no emotion would be incorruptible!"

  "That was not the factor that most impressed my uncle. He thought more along the lines of rousing crowds to hysterical patriotism. He foresaw the council leaping to its feet to acclaim him—or me, after him. In future, he thought, all votes would be unanimous, and in his favor."

  "You could do this?" she asked incredulously.

  "So they say. But why should I?"

  Civic duty, family solidarity, idealism... She thought of several answers and discarded all of them. She breathed a prayer of thanks to the Twin God. "I am truly glad that you feel that way, Wraxal Saj!"

  He shrugged as if the matter were of no importance. "I don't feel anything. You need not pity me. I certainly do not pity myself."

  A whiff of cooking smell drifted over from the fire. Gwin realized that she was ravenous, and the thought made her feel guilty. She was hungry, he was Cursed. A handful of grain would solve her problem, but his life was completely blighted.

  "Have you ever heard of Raragash?"

  "Yes."

  "I was told today that there are still many Cursed living there. I was told that they can often help the newly... people like you."

  "I don't much want to be helped, thank you."

  "What do you want?" she asked, horrified.

  "Nothing."

  "Then why are you going to Tharn Valley?"

  "Because I was ordered to. The old habit of obedience still has some power over me—but not much, you see, or I would not be telling you all this. I still wash and shave and dress out of habit. I have been told that the habits soon fade."

  "You should go to Raragash!"

  Wraxal Raddaith shrugged again. "Why? I am not suffering."

  22

  This was ridiculous! Bulion Tharn was more than sixty years old. He was a great-grandfather. He should not be creeping around on hands and knees through prickly bushes on a dark night, trying not make a... Crack!

  Sh!

  Awail's thin crescent was just setting. She gave no useful light, but she provided easy navigation. It would not be seemly for the hitherto highly respected patriarch of the Tharn clan to crawl around in a huge circle and then slither up to a sleeping Wosion, say, or Himion—or worse, one of the women! and... Didn't bear thinking about.

  Ouch! Nothing was very clear in the starlight. Everything was sharp and brittle and rustly. Branches kept removing his hat. The damp, leafy smell was thick in his nostrils. Sharp things poked in his knees and palms. Ouch again! If he put his back out, so that he couldn't move, and then had to call for help...

  The things men did for women! Gwin wanted to make love in the bushes. Now. Tonight. No matter that there would be comfortable beds available tomorrow in the valley—admittedly there would also be six hundred more eyes spying than there were here. No matter that he disapproved of intercourse outside wedlock. No matter that there was an excellent chance that the rest of the party knew what he was up to—or that some of them did and would tell the rest in the morning, so that his reputation would be ruined, his sanity thrown in question.

  Women!

  He would not be doing this if he thought that all she wanted was confirmation that he was still virile. He had given her reasonable evidence of that last night.

  More likely she had motives she had not even worked out herself. The Tharn's Old Man had a pretty good eye for people. He thought he knew what her reasons—Ouch!—were. After the wedding, he would take her to his bed, in his house, in his valley. Gwin Solith was no blushing maiden, she was not a child bride bought from impoverished peasants struggling to feed double-digit progeny. Gwin had been an important woman in Daling. She might or might not know that she was now penniless. Even if she did, she coul
d not yet have adjusted to the idea of being a pauper. She wanted their first love-making to be done as equals, on neutral ground.

  It wasn't the way of the Zarda, but it wasn't much to ask. He had not wriggled under bushes like this in forty years, not since Himion became old enough to take over the sheep herding. He might be going to make a terrible fool of himself. But he could not deny his excitement. He was trembling and puffing, and not all of that was from unfamiliar exertion. A lot of it was anticipation. Fates! He was aroused already.

  Where the curses was she? He ought to be at the marker tree by now. Suppose he went right by her, crawling off into the moors? He paused to catch his breath and take stock of the stars.

  "Psst!" said a whisper close by.

  "Gwin?" he whispered back.

  A faint snigger... "No, Elim."

  He eased himself under a branch, and his fingers touched blanket. Leg. He hauled himself into place beside her. Twigs crackled, dry leaves rustled.

  "You're out of breath," she breathed.

  "Anticipation!"

  "Good."

  Kiss. Long, wonderful kiss.

  Wriggle, adjustment. Two bodies entwined on a blanket, stars overhead. Heart thumping. He had been single far too long.

  Faint rustling not far away. Whispers?

  "What's that?"

  "I suspect it's Polion," said that soft voice beside him. "You realize that any minute someone will start a search for those two, and come blundering through here—"

  "Don't even think of it!"

  Mutual chuckles. Another kiss. Hands moving in the darkness...

  "Love you, Nien!"

  "Love you, Bull! Fates!" Gwin muttered, fumbling at his waist. "What sort of knot is this? Don't you pull those buttons off! This is exciting."

  "Yes."

  "You know I haven't been out of Daling since my honeymoon?"

  "Your what?" He grunted and struggled for leverage to remove her boots. Unromantic things boots. Riding breeches would be a more worthy challenge. How did one get a woman out of such a garment?

  "An old Qolian custom. After a wedding, the bride and groom go off by themselves somewhere, a journey. Dalingians go to the seaside, usually. Carp took me to Tolamin. It's a sort of final fling before the bride gets buried in dirty diapers."

  Bulion shuddered. "What a disgusting description!" But accurate, of course.

  She had his smock off already, and he had barely started. Her cool fingers stroked his chest. "Don't worry about it. Exploring Tharn Valley will be honeymoon enough for me. Us. You have to show me everything!"

  "I'm about to," he said.

  She hugged him and chuckled into his beard.

  23

  Low in the south, Muol shone red in the House of Children. Her retrograde motion made that the House of Adults, though, and passions of all kinds were adult affairs. So did she not portend that children were about to become adult by experiencing passion? Polion would have liked to hear Wosion's opinion of that interpretation, but he certainly wasn't going to ask for it.

  The men had spread out their blankets on one side of the fire and the women on the other. Astonishingly, no one had noticed that his was absent, and Niad's also. Even more astonishingly, no one had missed either of them when they had stolen off into the bushes. So far no one had raised a hue and cry. That was really astonishing.

  He eased his hand a little higher, so his index finger was just touching her breast. She had her back to him, and they fitted together perfectly, like two spoons.

  "No!" she whispered. But she did not do anything, so he left his hand where it was, for now.

  "Have you ever slept under the stars before?" he asked softly, his lips close to her ear.

  "No, never. It's exciting!"

  "Not usually as exciting as this time."

  She sniggered. "It isn't going to get any more exciting!"

  No?

  He had found a wonderful little hollow for them to lie in, carpeted with dry pine needles. There were thick branches overhead to keep the dew off, so the stars weren't actually very visible, but that didn't matter. He'd looked at them earlier, despite his absorption in Niad. No, because of it.

  "Can you read the stars, Polion?"

  "Oh, yes. It's very important to understand the portents. Wosion wants me to be a pastor because he says I have a talent for it. That red one is Muol, of course. She's in the House of Children, And the bright one is Jaul, in the House of Lovers." Wosion had said she was still in Leaders, but even Wosion could not have been sure of that. "So this is a very good time."

  "A good time for what?" Niad murmured, snuggling a little closer.

  "For learning about love, of course." Polion slid his hand higher and cupped it over her breast.

  "You promised!" she complained, but still she did not resist.

  "You're beautiful, Niad. You're beautiful to look at and beautiful to touch." Warm, smooth. Soft and solid at the same time. Girls were wonderful! Mysterious, necessary, irresistible. He'd solved the problem of fat girl or thin girl. Niad was plump where it mattered and thin where it looked good. Lovely!

  "You promised!"

  "Promised what?"

  "That you wouldn't make love to me."

  "I promised I wouldn't do anything you didn't want, didn't I? All I'm doing is holding you."

  "Then just hold me. Tighter. And don't... Oof! Not that tight!"

  "Why not?" he breathed in her ear.

  "You're hurting. You're so strong!"

  He eased the pressure a little. Not much. She did not protest again, so she must be enjoying it as much as he was. The next move was to stroke a thumb over her nipple, but he should wait a minute or two for that.

  "They'll hear," Niad murmured.

  That sounded like encouragement. "No they won't."

  Actually, Polion could hear something not far away that sounded very much like dry grass or leaves being rustled. He might not be the only man with a woman in the bushes tonight. And if there was another couple out here, then it had to be the Old Man and Gwin Saj. Incredible! She was too old for Polion himself, of course, but not hard on the eyes at all, whereas Grandfather was old! What on earth could a woman see in him?

  "Polion?"

  "Mm?"

  "You may call me Kodi if you want."

  "I think Niad is a lovely name."

  Whoops! He had said something wrong. He felt the change even before she reached up and removed his hand.

  That was the trouble with girls—they never said quite what they meant. And men often said things they did not mean. He knew that. He knew there was one thing that should never be said unless it was really meant. It was the worst sort of lie if it was a lie. He wondered if he was sure enough to say it, and decided that he was. She had pulled her smock down.

  One step back, two forward...

  He took a deep breath. "Niad? I love you."

  There! He'd said it. And he meant it, he really did.

  "You've told lots of girls that."

  "No I haven't! And I really mean it this time. I am madly, crazily in love with you."

  "How many?"

  "None!"

  That was true, absolutely. Meilim had asked him and he's said yes, but he hadn't actually volunteered the word, so that didn't count. What else could he have said to a direct question? And perhaps he had even sort-of believed then that he loved Meilim, but what he had felt for her was nothing like what he felt for Niad, so it was all right. Fates, but he wanted—loved—her! He had never felt anything like this before as he'd never wanted anything in his life before. He was bursting.

  She whispered: "Polion?"

  "Darling?"

  "When you were very little, did your mother have a special, secret sort of name for you? Something she called you that no one else did?"

  "Mm?" Now what? He tried to move his hand to her boob again but she gripped it and held it where it was. "Maybe."

  "Tell me."

  "'Drather not."

  "Don't yo
u trust me?"

  "Well... You promise you won't tell anyone?"

  "I promise."

  "Sometimes she called me... Froggy." He felt her snigger. "She said I was all legs! But if you ever breathe a word—"

  "I won't tell. Kodi's my middle name."

  "That's a lovely name too," he said cautiously. He remembered now that there was something special in Daling about middle names, some old imperial custom.

  Niad wriggled without releasing his hand. "If your friends started calling you Froggy, what would you do?"

  "If there wasn't more than four of them, they'd all die."

  The noises off in the bushes were clearer now. Somebody was doing it! The idea drove him almost frantic. It was possible! Concentrate, man! "Kodi?" he said experimentally. He felt reaction, a slight relaxing. "Kodi, darling."

  She sighed. "In Daling, we tell people our mother-name, but no one else ever uses it. Never! It's a terrible insult to call anyone by their middle name."

  Ah! Got it! "You can call me Froggy, Kodi. I'd like you to call me Froggy."

  That was the answer. She released his hand. He moved it back where it belonged. He fingered her nipple. He felt her shiver of pleasure.

  He whispered, "Kodi, Kodi, Kodi!" in her ear.

  She squirmed around so they were face to face. "Froggy?" Her breath was sweet. She kissed him.

  "Kodi darling. Love you, love you, love you, Kodi!" It worked like magic. She melted, just melted in his arms. He squeezed, kissed, fondled, kissed. Stroking, exploring, fingers... The other noises had stopped now, and he was making more than he should, but he didn't care any more. This was going to be it! Together they squirmed, kissing, stroking... "Not so loud!" he whispered.

  "I'll scream!"

  "What!?" He realized that she was not just playing. Really struggling? She was saying No, and had been for some time. She meant it? He stopped, horrified and frantic at the same time. "But I love you, Kodi." They were both gasping for breath.

  She rolled over, her back to him. "You promised!"

  He put his arms around her. She was sobbing.