Almost a year had been stolen from her life—of that she was certain. She was plumper than she remembered herself, and fat took time. Hair took time, too—she climbed out of bed, turned on the light, and inspected her neck in the mirror again. Maybe . . . she could not be sure. Everyone tended to grow a little paler in the rainy season and darker in the dry season. The neck evidence, she admitted, was weak. It might be only imagination, or the rainy season. She could hardly accost Sorcerer Jain, point at her neck, and demand an explanation.
She turned out the light and floated down into the bed again. It was much too soft, but she knew she would not sleep, even if she lay on the floor. She had never felt more awake in her life. Too soft . . . and empty.
Why did an empty bed feel so wrong when she had always had a bed to herself ? Ferns or feathers—a bed was a bed. She thought about praying, but almost all the prayers she had ever learned were addressed to the Keeper, and here she was in the Keeper’s lair. Even the Gods might not heed a prayer from within the College itself.
Almost a year of her life. She might be able to live with that loss. Whom do we serve? asked the catechism. The Keeper and the College, of course. She had been taught those words by her parents, as all pixies always were and always had been. If she had truly run away, disobeying the recorder’s edict that she present herself at the College, then she had sinned. Crime deserved punishment. Perhaps that dark void was her punishment.
But who had lived within that void? A boy with a kind smile whom she had loved? A man, perhaps, who had built a Place of bamboo and wicker? Who had taught her to cook fish? A lover? A man of her own?
Loss of life she might accept, but loss of love was unforgivable. She must know! She must find more evidence and be sure. She trembled as she followed her logic to its conclusions.
If she had learned to cook fish, then she might have learned other things as well.
Thaile arose and pulled a dress at random from the closet. She wrapped herself in a cloak. She did not need shoes to walk in the forest, nor any other garment for what she planned. She stepped out into the moonlight and set off along the Way, shivering a little—partly from the cold, but mostly from shame.
There was still light showing in the Mist Place. For a moment she hovered nervously on the stoop, sensing the boredom and worry and loneliness within. A pixie, lonely? Poor Mist! She could not imagine Mist as a sorcerer. Easier than picking cotton, he had said. Easier still to see the devious, sinister Jain as a sorcerer and the placid, easygoing Mist pulling weeds or just dipping a paddle into sunlit water . . .
The frogs were louder than they had been earlier, yet why could he not hear the beating of her heart? Her Feeling gave little sense of direction, but she was fairly sure that he was in bed, or at least in his bedroom. A faint undertone of disgust suggested that he might even be trying to tidy up the Place so that Novice Thaile would not be upset when she saw it again tomorrow.
Are you sure this is what you want to do? whispered a tiny voice within her.
I must know, she replied, and rapped knuckles on the planks. Wild alarm within . . . The floor creaked.
“Who’s there?” Mist demanded from the other side of the door, deep and threatening.
“Thaile. Let me in.”
Relief and delight . . . “Wait a minute, then. I haven’t anyI mean, I’m not respectable.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Incredulity . . . excitement . . .
The door opened a crack, and two eyes peered out below a tangle of hair, all silver pale in the moonlight.
She said, “Are you going to keep me here shivering all night?”
Excitement became tinged with embarrassment—and shame. “But I . . . I haven’t any clothes on.”
She pushed the door, and Felt his disbelief and wildly mounting joy as it creaked slowly open. He retreated behind it, peering around the edge incredulously. She entered, blinking in the lamplight. She could still see nothing of him except his eyes, yellow again now and stretched impossibly wide.
Her mouth was dry. “Promise me you’ll be gentle?” she whispered.
“I promise! Oh, I promise!” He pushed the door closed and wrapped her quickly in his arms. “I do love you!”
2
Faint lichens of moonlight clung to darkness on the cottage walls. Frogs croaked far away. Mist snored softly at Thaile’s side, facedown, one heavy arm across her. The performance was over: the heaving, the sweating, the gasps and cries andyes, admit it!—the heart—stopping surges of rapture.
Over. She felt soiled and guilty, as if she had done something sinful. She also felt used, although it had been she who had tried to use Mist for some insane, nonsensical purpose. What in the world had she hoped to achieve? And what had she in fact achieved, apart from a sort of all-over pummeled feeling, as if she had been rolled down a long hill?
More sorrow, that was what. She knew now that she had not come to this man’s bed as a trembling virgin. There had been no surprises there. Her body had known what to do, how to respond to his and encourage it. It was probably a lot more experienced than Mist’s was.
She shivered as her sweaty skin cooled. He stirred. She Felt his sleep fade into a drowsy smugness.
“I did good, didn’t I?” he muttered.
She countered, “You mean that’s all?” and at once scolded herself for being catty. Ungrateful, even. A girl ought to appreciate a man willing to exert himself so hard and long.
Mist’s satisfaction was proof against teasing. He chuckled silently. ”Sure is all! Try me again in the morning.”
She was not going to be here in the morning, that was certain. Her pulse rate had returned to a bearable level. A long cold walk lay between her and that wonderful bathtub waiting at her own Place. As she was about to remove Mist’s sticky hand, though, he seemed to rouse a little more. “Who’s Leeb?”
Her heart began to hammer again. “Who?”
Mist yawned, and stretched sensuously. “That last time. You got kinda wild. Kept calling me Leeb.”
Leeb? It sounded like someone’s name, but she knew nobody called Leeb. ”You heard wrong.”
“Nawp! It was Leeb, Leeb, Leeb . . . Leeb this, Leeb that. Well, I did everything you wanted, honey, and then some. One last kiss . . . Hey! Where’yu going?”
“Bathtub.” She slid her feet to the garment-strewn floor. Mist grunted and rolled over, sinking down into sleep even as he did so. She pulled a cover over him and went out into the front room. She managed to locate her cloak near the outer door. Curiously reluctant to call for lights, she decided to leave her dress wherever Mist had thrown it; doubtless he would keep it as a souvenir. She left the cottage, closing the door quietly.
The moon was low in the sky, the forest cooler and dark. There was no rain. Thaile Place she thought firmly as she reached the shimmering paleness of the Way, and its grittiness was pleasantly familiar under her feet.
Leeb? The word meant nothing. A man? A place? A river, perhaps. But she had called it out at the ultimate moment of ecstasy, the moment—so an old song said—when the God of Love caressed the soul.
Most of a year missing from her life, nine or ten months at least. Almost long enough to . . . No, that was absurd. She wouldn’t think about that. But now she was sure. Certainly that had not been the first time a man had made love to her. Leeb? Who else?
Gods, but she was tired! Kneaded! Mist was heavy.
Leeb! She had a name for him now, at least, if not a face yet. Now what? All her life she had been taught to revere the Gods, the Keeper, the College.
Who defends us from the demons? The Keeper and the College. Whom do we serve?
The Keeper and the College. Who never sleeps?
The Keeper.
But now the Keeper and the College had stolen away a year of her life and the love of her life. They had brought her here against her will. They expected her cooperation, yet they had coerced her, and tricked her. Could anything demons might do be worse than that?
Leeb? Who was Leeb?
To serve the Keeper and the College—to serve the Gods . . . But the Gods Themselves must seek to aid the Good. The Gods, the College, the Keeper, and humble little Thaile—they all should follow that highest loyalty. She could see little evidence that any of them had been doing so.