Medieval Rain Read online

  She also tried to will the stupid virul’s silence, but it didn’t work. He went on and on, and she guess she should listen so she could learn more about her captor, but the fog in her head didn’t allow it, so she just lay on her back, the sky and sun going around and around.

  “Wake up! WAKE UP!”

  “I heard you the first time,” Rane said. “I need something to eat.”

  She must have fallen asleep, but now her head hurt less, the spinning had stopped, and the sun was hugging the horizon in its yielding to dusk. The cool felt good. She put her hand up to her forehead and to her surprise found a cloth had been placed over the wound. She was even able to sit up. The movement made her a little woozy, but at least she did not vomit. In an automatic reflex, she stretched her legs and heard a loud clank. Her ankles were encased in the shackles, their chains attached to a pole which had been driven into the ground. Instinctively she began to flail.

  Immediately the virul was beside her, his hand on her throat. “If you do that, I will tie your hands to the shackles. Control yourself and you will have more freedom.”

  She stopped her flailing and chopped at the hand at her throat. “Get away!” she exclaimed, pushing at him. But he would not move. He seemed bigger than she remembered. She added gravel and volume to her voice. “I said, ‘Get away!”’

  He moved away slightly, crouched on his haunches and smiled. For the first time, she saw the little fire and felt hopeful that its smoke might alert those who were trying to find her. This virul was like all the others, not very bright.

  He seemed to read her thoughts, for he said, “Oh, do not worry, they will not find my fire. There are many outlying lodges in this area, and all are burning for warmth at this time of day. My fire will look no different to your searchers—if there are any. Anyway, we will be on the move, soon. ”

  Rane was surprised. So, a virul could have intelligence, but at his mention of “warmth,” she discovered that she was indeed experiencing a chill and she moved, amidst much clanking, closer to the fire. The chain did not allow her the proximity she desired, but the flame felt good to her feet, even forcing her to withdraw them a little as the shackles became too hot.

  “So, now what, virul?” Rane asked, rubbing her calf muscles. “When you say we will be on the move, where are we going? I assure you that I will not be easy to move with these shackles. You probably ought to take them off.”

  “Oh, I plan to. But I assure you that there will be no escape, if that is what you were thinking. You will be able to walk well enough with your hands tied and a gag in your mouth. The shackles will be your evening vesture.”

  “Evening vesture ,” she spat when he referred to the Leads and Titleds Fortnight Concourse. “What do viruls know of evening vesture?”

  The virul wore a look of immense patience to Rane’s great irritation. He said, “Do you know that in the old times, men—“

  “You mean viruls.”

  “Very well, Viruls and women—“

  “That would be Leads.”

  “Let me tell the story!”

  “I do not want to hear your damn story, virul! And I am especially not interested in hearing a lousy virul tell about the old times. Yes, of course you want to go back to the killing and disorder of the old times, when viruls were in charge. Well, Kagallen changed all that, thank all the gods! And I will not hear about the old times from you. Now, if we need to be on the move, let’s get going. I would rather be wandering the swamps of the waste than sit here and jaw with an idiotic and filthy virul.”

  Although the vitriolic speech made her feel better, the widening grin of the virul made her want to grind her heel into his face. She vowed that as soon as she had the opportunity, she would do just that. And it was not a question of if she would escape, but when. She vowed that too.

  “Give me your hands,” the virul said. “If you do not give me any trouble, I will dispense with the gag for now. But try anything,” he warned, “I will find the dirtiest part of my clothing, and use that few square marks to stuff into your mouth.”

  Rane held out her hands, grudgingly more impressed with the virul’s intelligence—he knew women a little better than she had given him credit—and waited as he tied her hands. He then removed the shackles from her feet and pulled her up. She was a little wobbly and her head started to hurt again, but she was not about to show any weakness, so she started walking. As was her intention, she did not get far and had the chance to say as she pulled at the leash he had wrapped around her wrists, “Come on, virul! What are you waiting for?” To her satisfaction, this made him fumble about for the articles from camp that he wanted to take, all while he had to hold her leash with one unsteady hand. For the first time, she noticed her sack of provisions as he stuffed it into his sack.

  Finally, with a lot of clumsy attention to both her and his rucksack, he was able to fill it and heft it to his back.

  What was he doing with a rucksack? Rane wondered. In fact, as she walked along, she realized that she had much information to gather. She probably should have let him tell his dumb story a few moments before, but once you let a virul talk to you, he will start taking license for unwanted behaviors—at least that is what her mother taught her and she saw evidence of that in squirrel, not to mention rat. Her house virul sometimes had bouts of outrageous insubordination, and Rane had even had to beat him once. It did get her in trouble, but after that, she had a more subservient personal virul with fewer outbursts of independence. Some of her friends had very mouthy viruls, even worse than squirrel, because they were not stern enough with them. She did not give them advice on the matter because that was not her way. Modest enough to keep her observations to herself, she was content to be able to control her own affairs.

  She almost laughed out loud at this last thought. Talk about irony! And, the rope was beginning to chafe around her wrists. And, she was still hungry.

  “When do we eat, virul?”

  “What is this ‘we,’ Lead? I have food enough for me. When you learn some manners, Lead,” the virul said, “then maybe you will eat, Lead!

  Again, more intelligence than she would usually credit in a virul. She stayed silent for innumerable paces: over rock, stones and violent scrub that raked at her skin and clothes. At least she had on her riding leathers which protected her legs somewhat, but she was astonished at how little time it took for her non-leathers to be in shreds. Also, the skin on her face was beginning to dry and sunburn, her lips taking most of the punishment. Her hunger was beginning to become supplanted with an intense thirst, something that was entirely foreign to her, living on a water-inundated world.

  Oh, how she wanted to be strong and not give this accursed virul the satisfaction of her discomfort, but finally her pride gave way to her thirst. “Water,” was all she said--was all that she could say, her throat was a dry as, well nothing on this world.

  The virul turned and looked at her. He had not had any water either, but his skin seemed hale, and his lips were not parched at all. “It seems that our Lead is not used to going without water,” he said derisively. “But, we viruls, we are more than accustomed to going without, well not just water, but everything. You think to make us weak with your domination. But, I tell you, you are making us stronger with every deprivation! Here!”

  He threw the water skin toward her which she thankfully caught even with her lashed hands. She even managed to unstop the lid and she drank loudly.

  “Hey! That’s enough!” he said, grabbing the skin away from her thirsty mouth.

  She wanted more, so much more, but her mind at least came back to her with her thirst partially sated. Rane decided to keep silent. It might make him talk so she could get some information. They kept pacing along until a few steps turned into long swaths of wilderness for many more climbings of the suns.

  It was not until the suns began their descent that they stopped. Rane was in the same condition as before, but worse this time. Her throat was so dry that it had developed a r
asp as she breathed in and out; the innards of her gullet almost meshed at one time closing off her air, but a miracle opened it and she was able to keep breathing. At least the parch kept her from whining again for water, this time her pride won out over her body until she collapsed at the virul’s feet.

  This time he had to pour the water down her throat, and she sat up retching and gulping. She had not lost consciousness, but her body just would not respond to her wishes. She lay down again weakly, the water having given life to her mouth and throat again, but her body still betrayed her. Watching for a moment as he gathered wood for a fire, she pressed her tied hands on her stomach to ease the hunger pain and closed her eyes.

  “Here, Lead! Have some bread.”

  She felt something strike her face. The faint smell of stale bread jolted her with energy, and she eagerly sought the morsel with her fumbling hands and ravaged it.

  She almost uttered the word,” more,” but willed her mouth shut. When the urge passed, she allowed herself to say, “My name is—”

  “—I know what your name is, and I don’t care,” the virul said between gobs of bread and meat.

  “Well, what is your name, then?” Rane ventured.

  “Landman.”

  “That is not your name, virul. What is your true name? Badger? Sloth? Or maybe Lemur?”

  “I gave myself my name.”

  Rane shook her head. This was not a good sign. She thought she had been dealing with a fleer. But this was no renegade. He was part of those-who-would-be-men. She had been hearing about a group of viruls beyond the waste who had gotten away from their Leads and Titleds and were living without supervision. They were a silly little band of brigands. No one was really afraid of them, as only a few had had contact, and most of the reports were of vandalism and theft. The Titleds hardly ever discussed them, and the Leads mostly just joked about those-who-would-be-men. Where had that name come from, they asked themselves. Those-who-would-be-men. Why would anyone want to be a man, virul, or anything with those vulgar organs? Males were only good for dragging tree limbs, applying pitch or serving in the kitchen. Oh, and providing Leads with seed for offspring. Rane peered up at this virul.

  “Why did you not kill me?” She asked. “Why am I here? You already murdered my sister. She was of security, you stupid lout. Her Titleds and fellow Leads will come for you, you know. Your little band of viruls have not been important enough for anyone to worry about, until now.”

  “You have no idea, do you?” The virul said in wonder. “And I did not murder your sister.”

  “Idea of what? Nobody even talks about you. You are not important enough. Well, now they will!” Rane exclaimed. “You could have wandered off the edge of the Waste and no one would have cared. You should not have taken me. And if you did not murder my sister, what did you do to her?”

  “I just knocked her out. I did not hit her very hard, but she collapsed pretty convincingly. And your precious titleds have been combing the Wastes for us for years, now,” the virul said. “They just do not tell you Leads about it.”

  “And why would they not tell us about it?” Rane smirked. “My mother is very important, and tells me everything. She has never mentioned it.”

  Rane surprised herself with the lie that her mother shared things with her, but she was even more surprised at the things this virul was saying. The Titleds organized posses that went out looking for this group of fleers? She had always thought viruls disappeared because Titleds or Leads killed them. Not that any of this mattered. There were plenty of viruls around to do the work. A dead one here or there was of no consequence.

  The virul fished the shackles out of his rucksack. “We are stopping here for the night. I will put these on you and take the rope off your hands.”

  “I do not believe your story!” Rane declared, a little desperate to get more information.

  “I do not care!” The virul said. “Lock these around your ankles.”

  He made sure the locks were sound, then pounded the chained stake into the ground with a rock. He untied her hands and moved to a large rock against which he rested, not taking his eyes from her.

  She found a rock, put it under her head and closed her eyes, actually feeling like she could sleep. But she still wanted information. “You still have not told me why you took me,” she murmured nonchalantly, then asked, “Why I am here?”

  “Breeding stock,” he said. “You may look like a bear, but you seem sturdy enough. We need new females in our community to have our babies and rear them into strong and free girls and boys.”

  Rane was wide awake now and all the pain and nausea that she had experienced earlier in the day was nothing compared to what she felt now. Breeding stock? Rearing children? And viruls thinking that the babies were theirs? Leads raising boys? Never! She tried to calm herself as she felt she were descending into a black crater of panic. She had to get control of this situation and soon. There was absolutely no way she was going to be part of this community of virul fleers. And, were there other Leads there? Titleds? She would have to escape and get word back. But, how would she find them? If she escaped now and killed this virul, the renegade camp, viruls, kidnapped Leads and Titleds alike would fade into the woods, never to be found. But, if she allowed herself to be led to their camp, and then escape, she could lead her sector to the fleers and rescue whatever Leads or Titleds or even lowborn females were held there. She resolved there and then that was what she would do. She would even play along with this virul—perhaps even make him think she had been wanting to escape her world, etc. etc. But she could not be too obvious. He had to think that her acceptance of the idea was very gradual. She breathed evenly and deeply and began.

  “It will never work, you know,” she said reasonably. “An existence like that cannot last.”

  “It has already lasted,” he said depreciatingly. “We have been living a free life for five seasons.”

  “Five seasons!” Rane said in astonishment. “I do not believe you!”

  “Believe what you want. It does not matter,” the virul said.

  Rane shifted her legs so that the shackles’ weight was more evenly distributed against her ankles. She thought for a moment and felt like an idiot. She had not even asked the virul what he was doing bobbing in the lake, almost drowned. So, she asked.

  He hesitated, seeming wary, then said almost to himself, “Oh, what does it matter?” He straightened his shoulders as if getting ready for a fight. “I fell in.”

  “You fell in?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, why did you not just swim to the shore?” Rane asked.

  “I can’t swim,” the virul said defiantly. He made himself busy with stirring the fire.

  Rane started laughing, the trill crescendoing until tears came. “You live on this world of water, and you can’t swim? For the gods’ sakes, we all have webs on our hands and feet! And we can use our vestigial gills under water!” She shook her head and said to herself, “I’ve never met anyone on Maraquan who could not swim. It is true that we leads acquire high order swimming skills in our training, but every virul I have come across can swim and well, too. How do you manage to get around?”

  “I’ve managed quite well,” the virul said coldly. “After all, there are boats.”

  Rane said, “Yes, but boats can sink, and when boats sink, people must swim.” She shook her head and said, “I do not understand the mindset of someone of Maraquan who doesn’t swim. So, virul, what were you doing so near the lake that you fell in?”

  The virul spread out his sleeping blanket and lay down. “Enough questions. Go to sleep. We will start early tomorrow.”

  Rane shifted the shackles once again and closed her eyes. “Virul. What did you say your name was again?”

  “Landman.”

  “What about your name before? Was it raccoon, ferret, or—”

  “That name is gone forever,” the virul said. “And if you do not want me to gag you, shut your mouth so I can sleep!”
<
br />   “Very well, Landman. Good night.”

  The only answer Rane received was a deep snore. But she was awake for many hours, staring at the moon, wearily vacillating between weeping softly and comforting herself with various and violent contingencies for escape.

  Chapter Four

  Six more suns passed over them as they plodded over the waste, and Rane blessed her training, knowing she would never have survived this grueling trek without it. The terrain was unremarkable except for her one touchstone—and a huge one it was. Mount Termonos.

  She had heard of valleys surrounded by unbroken jags of rock. In her region, it was not so. Mount Termonos rose, a prodigious solitary creature of stone, and no other land feature approached it in mass. Even though three days separated her from her home, the rock still loomed and although she had to turn her head back to look upon it, despair left her whenever she caught even a part of its girth in her sight. She looked at it as often as possible, and when that became impractical with stumbling that often went with a glimpse, her mind passed the meandering and uncertain journey by exploring memories. She thought of her mother, friends and even her sister with a longing that increased exponentially every hour.

  She remembered her mother and sister seeing her off when the security drover showed up at the lodge to take her away to training. Her mother, encouraging, her sister, derisive, “You’ll never get through it—you’re not tough enough. Mother, maybe you had better get a waiver for this one. She’ll probably get killed during initiation alone and I do not want to take over her chores!”

  Mother had not given Shukad’s stormy comments the dignity of a response, but her calm reassurances had given Rane the strength to get in the iron conveyance drawn by four sturdy draft horses. The portholes barely allowed her the scene of her mother and sister standing solemnly at the entrance to their lodge, but she recalled craning her neck to sear the vision in her memory. Finally, the rumbling of the carriage made it too difficult to watch.