“They wore veils, heavy ones. I saw one face, only for a moment. They said . . . no! She said, the only one who made sense, she said they had earned this . . . candidacy, whatever it was.”
A long pause, then a weary sigh. “Perhaps, under those circumstances you would have been allowed to walk with them.”
“Except that we didn’t walk,” said Genevieve. “We sat. I said something, and they would say nonsense. At least one of them could talk as well as I, but all but one spoke only nonsense aloud. They gave me some tea. I didn’t drink it. I didn’t like the smell.”
Another silence, less ominous. “Perceptive of you. What did you do with it if you did not drink it?”
“Dripped it into my robe, under my veil. You can see, the stain is still there. I had no time to wash it before I left.”
“Did the wives sound young? Or old?”
“The one who spoke said she was thirty-three years old. She said she was old for the trip, but her husband hadn’t wanted her to go until now. I assumed the others were younger.”
A pause. Then, “Why did you pick these clothes for this journey?”
Despite herself, the tears came. “I didn’t pick anything. Awhero gave me the robe and told me to wear it when I went out. I had the under-robe and the sandals on because I was summoned to visit the women again. And Father had gone to find out the details from the Shah’s people. Then Awhero came running in to tell me assassins had taken him and were coming for me and Dovidi. I didn’t doubt her. Others of our party were away, my father was missing, there was fighting where my husband had gone! My husband’s spare sunhelmet and cloak were still hanging by the side door. Awhero said take them, so I threw them on and ran.”
“Where is your son?”
“Awhero said if I took him, he was as good as dead. She said she could hide him, pretend he was one of them. I trust her, but I honestly don’t know if he’s … if he’s still alive.”
“She’s malghaste?”
“Yes.”
“You took no food or water?”
“My husband had left a little sack of way-food in the pocket. I took a water bottle and this staff from the door nearest the guard post. I filled the bottle at the untouchables well, then I started north.” She rubbed her head, trying to make the pain go away. ‘The guards weren’t at their post, and it made me uneasy, so I went out the malghaste door.”
“Guards wouldn’t have been there,” said the softer voice. “Not if men were coming to abduct you. The guards would have been invited to be elsewhere, so they could later say they had seen nothing, that perhaps you had been stolen. Women are stolen. It’s always believable. Where is the bottle you carried?”
“Wherever I stopped to sleep this morning. I heard the birds screaming, so I rolled away from under a bonebush, and then I ran. When I found it was gone, I didn’t dare go back and look for it. It can’t be far from here, for I only walked an hour or so before seeing the banner.”
“What is this device in the pocket?”
“A locator. It’s just … it focuses on the navigational beacon in orbit above Haven and it can tell you where you are. It’s more useful in Haven than here . . .”
“An off-world device!” The pitch went up, the sharpness slashed. “You’re from Havenor? From the Lord Paramount?”
“I’m not, no, though the leader of our party is. I suppose he is. We did come in an airship. I’m sorry. I thought you knew. Though, why would you know? We’ve been here for some time. I guess I thought everyone knew …”
“Was this device brought with you?” The words were sharp, demanding. “Did anyone in Mahahm-qum see it?”
Why did they care? Then, wearily, she understood. “No, the people in Mahahm-qum don’t know I have this device. They probably have no idea I can keep to a direction in the desert, which would explain why they kept finding my trail and losing it. They don’t know that I had talked to Awhero or that I knew anything about Tenopia or this place. Awhero called itwabi orantja, ormarae morehu. That is what the name means, isn’t it? Place of refuge?”