Her father had chosen her for this distasteful mission because she had been married for two years. He felt his widow daughter would find the violation easier to accept. How simple men are, she thought. How little do they understand the nature of such violation.
Yet she had not criticized him. At twenty-two Sofarita could read the faces of men, and she saw in Bekar a terrible fear, and a great longing. He had been made headman and this, he believed, would bring wealth and security to his family. Yet it all rested on the charms of his daughter.
Sofarita thought him short-sighted. There would be no wealth, and precious little security for the headman of Pacepta. They were too close to the borders of the Erek-jhip-zhonad, and soon other raiders would come, followed by settlers who would either kill the villagers or force them from the land. The Avatars would be wiped out. Everyone knew that. The sure knowledge of it whispered in the movement of the wind-rustled corn. It could be heard in the fluttering of a sparrow’s wing. But great damage could still be done to the Vagars in the death throes of the Avatar Beast.
The Avatar Beast …
She raised her eyes and looked at the man. His face was handsome, his yellow hair close-cropped at the front and sides, long at the back. At the temples the hair was dyed sky blue. He smiled and beckoned her forward. It was a gracious smile, full of warmth and friendship. But then, thought Sofarita, if evil wore an ugly face no-one would yearn for it.
Tell me about yourself,’ he said. The voice was light, but yet still manly. It was the voice of a bard or a singer. She looked into his pale grey eyes, seeking sign of the cold killer she knew him to be. There was nothing to be seen. The horror lay below the skin, behind the eyes.
‘I am a widow, lord,’ she said, averting her dark gaze from him.
‘And that is your life story? How drab. Did your husband teach you to be a good lover before he died?’
Anger flared in her, but she suppressed it, though her cheeks burned red. Suddenly she coughed, the spasms rocking her. Bile and blood entered her mouth but she swallowed them down.
‘Have I offended your Vagar sensibilities?’ he asked her. ‘If so I apologize. Now close the door and show me your body.’
As she did so she considered his question. Had Veris made her a good lover? Did a woman need a man to show her how to make love? But then, she reasoned, he does not mean what he says. To a man a good lover was someone who offered them the most pleasure. Veris had not made her a good lover, he had been a good lover. Something she believed this Avatar would never understand. Sofarita pushed shut the door, then turned and let her shawl fall to the floor. Beneath it she was wearing a simple dress of white wool, laced at the front with silver ribbon. She began to untie the lace. The Avatar rose, moving smoothly to stand before her. His nimble fingers took her hands and drew them away from the ribbon. Then he untied the dress, slipped it over her shoulders and allowed it to fall to the dirt floor.
His right hand slid over her belly. ‘You have borne no children,’ he said. ‘How long were you married?’
‘Three months.’
‘Follow me,’ he said, and walked through to the back of the house and into the main bedroom. The bed was of carved wood, the mattress laid over wooden slats. He dragged back the blankets and knelt by the bed. For one insane moment Sofarita thought he was praying. Then he rose. ‘No bugs that I can see,’ he told her. Swinging towards her he suddenly slapped her face. It was not a hard blow, but it stung.
‘Why do you strike me?’ she asked him.
‘For your impertinence,’ he told her, with a bright smile. ‘The correct answer was “Three months, lord.” How did your husband die?’
Her face was hot from the slap. ‘He was gored by a bull, lord.’