In the Ruins
Page 183

“I’ll see you get justice.”
Heric laughed hysterically. “How can you do that? How can you? What are you? Where are you come from? What happened to the madness that ate at you?”
After all, Alain found that spite still lived in his heart. “A little late to ask those questions, isn’t it?” he said with a sour grin. He turned his back and began walking.
After a sharp rustle came a thump and a yelp of pain. Alain turned to see Sorrow sitting on Heric’s chest again. With a growl the hound opened his mouth and gently closed his jaws right over Heric’s face.
“Come,” said Alain firmly. Sorrow eased back, scratched an ear as though he didn’t know what for, and padded after Alain.
Blubbering, Heric rose and limped after, Rage bringing up the rear.
“One will always be awake,” said Alain. “One, or the other.”
“I’ll come! I’ll come!” He staggered along like a man walking to his death.
And, Alain reflected, it must seem so to him. It might even be true. Yet, however little Heric deserved mercy for his cowardice and his rapine, he must at least be judged only for the sins he had committed, not made into a sacrificial beast by those who wished to assuage their own shame with the blood of someone else.
They walked in a silence broken only by the wind’s passage through branches still bare of spring buds. Except where evergreens gave cover, it was possible to glimpse vistas into the forest, a place of muted colors and a profound solitude. Now and again a clearing opened up; here and there coppices filled a well-husbanded section of woodland. They passed an old charcoal pit, two or three seasons in disuse, with leaves and dirt scattered in damp mounds and a half burned log laced with clinging vine. Human hands had teased a streamside clearing into an orchard made proud by a dozen trees, not yet far gone in neglect. Farther on, a wide meadow boasted a sturdy shelter suitable for a flock of sheep on summer pasture.
“This was a peaceful place once,” said Alain. “Well tended and well loved.”
“Maybe so,” muttered Heric, “but they still kept a girl from Salia to serve the steward’s son in whatever manner he wished.”
“How do you know?”
“She got free and come to the bandits, that’s why. It was she made the plan, and give the signal. She knew the ways and times of the household, that’s why. The others said she killed that one herself, the one who used her, but I didn’t see it.”
“Made she no protest when four girls were taken to be used in the same rough manner she was? And worse, for they were killed after?”
“What did she care for them? She wanted revenge, and took it. It was she argued loudest that they were a nuisance and ought to go. I think it was for that she was jealous of the attention they got. She liked keeping the men on a string, you know how it is. That girl at Lavas, called Withi, I liked her well, but she did do that to me, curse her. Went off in the end with a man who could keep her fed.” His tone was self-pitying. “The Salian girl, she said also those other girls cursed her ill with words and slaps, back when she was only a concubine. So it was revenge twice over.”
“Might she have been lying?”
“About what? Being taken to bed each night by a man she hated? The other girls slapping her and calling her a Salian whore? How would I know?”
Alain tramped on, unable to speak for the bitterness lodged in his throat. It seemed that injustice was woven through the world in inexplicable patterns, impossible to tease apart without unraveling the entire web.
“Seems like God are blind and deaf and mute,” continued Heric, having gotten a good wind to fill the sails of his complaining. “But I heard a story about a phoenix. You heard it? They say a phoenix descended from heaven and tore the heart out of the blessed Daisan to make him suffer just like the rest of us. I wonder if it’s true.”
“I think that story was twisted in the telling.”
“Huh. ‘Truth flies with the phoenix.’ That’s what one of those girls cried out as they was cutting her throat. Well, she flew, anyway, right up to the light, or into the Pit.”
“Don’t mock!”
Rage barked and Sorrow growled. Heric fell into a sullen muttering that was not audible enough to fashion into words.
They went on, and soon a second murmuring noise caught Alain’s hearing. He lifted a hand and halted on the path just before it curved left. He recognized this place from his morning’s passage along this way. In another twoscore or so steps they would come to the main road. As they listened, they heard the sound of a cavalcade moving along the as-yet-unseen track: harness jingling, wheels scraping along dirt, voices chattering, and a dog’s bark. Sorrow whined but did not answer.