Kill the Dead, Tanith Lee [a court of thorns and roses ebook free .TXT] 📗

said Dro, “you didn’t see her last night, because you weren’tnear me.”

“I don’tget it,” said Myal. But he did.

And,“Think about it,” Dro said. “You will.”

SomehowMyal had given Ciddey a path back into the world, and she utilised him for thatpurpose. Myal was the means of her manifestation. But Dro, whom she hated, withwhom she had a score to settle, Dro was the reason for her return. Now, whileshe had little strength, she might only trouble them. But when she grewstronger, when Myal, and her returning phases themselves, had fed hersufficiently—

Droreached the fire and began to put fresh wood on it. Myal went after him,uneasily skirting each dark thicket and shrub, looking often at the oak tree onthe hill.

But inthe firelight, Myal relaxed somewhat. Dro had taken up again his position aswatchman, though seated, his shoulders resting on a trunk.

Myalsat on the grass, glad to be near the fire. Dro’s carven, seemingly immovablefigure was a shield between Myal and the night.

“Howlong are you going to watch?”

“Don’tworry about that. Worry about remembering what you may have inadvertentlypicked up, whatever it is she’s using to come through. Rack your brains. Itshouldn’t be hard with such a limited number.”

Myaldid not react to that. He was disorientated, so relieved to be no longer alone,he was almost happy. Eventually he asked, in a contrite voice, very aware ofits inappropriate request: “You don’t have anything to eat, do you?”

Myal emerged from a thicket,flicking burrs off his sleeves with pedantic elegance—the cover forembarrassment—lacing his shirt and hopping, half in his boots, half out.

“Istripped and turned my clothes over.”

Drostood and looked at him.

“I didn’tfind anything that could have come from her. Nothing. Not even a hair.”

“Allright,” Dro turned away.

“Ofcourse, you don’t believe me.”

“Ibelieve you.”

Brashly,Myal said, “Maybe she gave you something.”

“Allshe gave me was a claw mark down the side of my face. Which has healed.”

“Yes.Heal quickly, don’t you? Anything you can’t do?”

Theyate the portion of bread that was left and drank water from the spring. Myalfelt a constant urge to apologise, and started to whistle to prevent himself.Then he became conscious he was whistling Ciddey’s song, and went cold to hisgroin.

Drostarted off with no apparent preparation, just rising and walking away. Myaluneasily followed, keeping to the rear, subservient, dog-like and self-hating.

Theymoved along the side of the ravine, which narrowed and finally closed together.They picked a way down into a valley, and through the valley, and into anothervalley.

Theland had all the same smooth blankness. No smoke rose, there was no stone thathad not fallen naturally upon another. There was not even a field which hadgone to seed. Not even a ruin. If anyone had ever passed that way he had notlingered, and all trace had been obliterated.

Myalgrew jumpy with uneasiness. All his roaming had been at the periphery of towns,villages, courts. He was so ill-prepared for anything like this. He did noteven have a bottle to collect drink from springs or streams, having lost theone he had had in an unsuccessful fight half a year before. That he had neverthought to replace it was indicative of its unessential quality. Yet, he hadgone searching for Ghyste Mortua. For Tulotef.

Wherehad he first heard of it? Where had the notion of a song of the undead firstcaught his fancy? He could not recall.

Now, inany case, he had no choice.

Andhaving dogged Dro, begging to accompany him, once Dro was determined that heshould, Myal longed to run away. Though run where, and with what ghastlyghostly thing in pursuit?

A wide escarpmentfloated up from the valley, long dusty concaves of parched and whitened grass,periodically steepled with dark green trees. Near the top, biscuit-colouredslashes and streaks of clay daunted Myal with their elevation. Yesterday’s ridehad knotted the muscles of his legs. At first he had walked the stiffness out.Gradually, it was returning.

Someearly currants were beaded along a wild fruiting hedge. Myal tore them off andate them ravenously. Then he gathered others and advanced on Dro, catching himup for the first time, and offering the gift ingratiatingly.

Ratherto Myal’s surprise, Dro accepted the currants and ate them, as if he had notnoticed them himself.

“It’spast noon. When do we rest?” wondered Myal.

“Comenow,” said Dro, very nearly playfully, “you’re not bored with this lovelybracing walk we’re having?”

“Itbeats me why you don’t ride with that–with your–well, it beats me. You couldafford a horse.”

“If Istarted riding, I’d cease being able to walk anywhere again,” said Dro. “The onlyway I can keep the damn thing from seizing up forever is to work the hell outof it most days.”

“Oh.”Awarded this personal revelation, Myal felt pleased and almost flattered.Emboldened, he said, “You seem to know the direct route to Tulotef.”

“I practicallydo. But leave the name alone. Why do you think it got a nickname instead?”

“Thatother thing,” said Myal, “the girl–”

“No,”Parl Dro said. “Leave that alone, too.”

Puzzledand insecure, Myal did as he was told.

Theescarpment went on, up and up. Looking back, the descending lands they hadnegotiated earlier had become another country, ethereal and far away, perhapsimpossible to regain.

Myal’smother had died six months after his birth. Another mistake, getting himselfborn to a woman who died, probably because of him. Inadvertent matricidethereby added to his crimes. He had been brought up, or dragged up, by thebestial father. At twelve he had run away. He was still running. Still thievingtoo; his first proper theft had been the stringed instrument–the second time ithad been stolen. Before that he had only attempted small robberies, at hisstrap-wielding father’s suggestion.

Whenthe sun fell, and the light began to go, and they were still climbing theinward-curving upland they had first got on to an hour before noon, the analogyof life itself as a hopeless climb occurred to Myal. Though they had restedsomewhere, under trees, for a while, his back and his legs screamed. He couldnot understand how Dro, the cripple, kept going with such seeming indifference,with such a peculiar lurching grace. Myal began to think Dro forced himself onmerely in order to spite his companion.

If Istop dead, what then?

Myalstopped dead. Dro did not appear to note the cessation. He went on, walking upinto the forerunning brushwork of