The voice went on unhurried and tender still, but profoundly forceful.
"A female Taltos is as willful and childlike as a male," said Ash. "A female would have gone at once to this creature, Lasher. A female, living only among females, could not have been prevented from doing it. Why send mortal men to capture such a prize and such a foe? Oh, I know to you I don't seem formidable, but you might be very surprised by my tales. Take comfort: your brothers and your sisters are not dupes of the Order itself. But I believe that you have hit upon the truth in your considerations. It is not the Elders who subverted the avowed purpose of the Talamasca, so that they might capture this creature, Lasher. It was some other small coterie of members who have discovered the secrets of the old breed."
Ash stopped. It was as if the air had been emptied of music suddenly. Ash was still regarding Yuri with patient, simple eyes.
"You have to be right," said Yuri softly. "I can't bear it if you are not."
"We have it in our power to discover the truth," said Ash. "The three of us together. And frankly, though I cared for you immediately upon meeting you, and would help because you are a fellow creature, and because my heart is tender to you in general, I must help you for another reason. I can remember when there was no Talamasca. I can remember when it was one man. I can remember when its catacombs enclosed a library no bigger than this room. I can remember when it became two members, and then three, and later five, and then it was ten. I can remember all these things, and those who came together to found it, I knew them and I loved them. And of course my own secret, my own story, is hidden somewhere in their records, these records being translated into modern tongues, and stored electronically."
"What he's saying," said Samuel, harshly but slowly for all his annoyance, "is that we don't want the Talamasca to be subverted. We don't want its nature to change. The Talamasca knows too much about us for such a thing to be tolerated. It knows too much about too many things. With me, it's no matter of loyalty, really. It's a matter of wanting to be left alone."
"I do speak of loyalty," said Ash. "I speak of love and of gratitude. I speak of many things."
"Yes, I see it now," said Yuri. He could feel himself growing tired--the inevitable finish to emotional tumult, the inevitable rescue, the leaden, defeated need for sleep.
"If they knew about me," said Ash in a low voice, "this little group would come for me as surely as they came for this creature, Lasher." He made a little accepting gesture. "Human beings have done this before. Any great library of secrets is dangerous. Any cache of secrets can be stolen."
Yuri had started to cry. He didn't make a sound. The tears never spilled. His eyes filled with water. He stared at the cup of tea. He'd never drunk it, and now it was cold. He took the linen napkin, unfolded it, and wiped his eyes. It was too rough, but he didn't care. He was hungry for the sweets on the plate, but didn't want to eat them. After a death, it seemed not proper to eat them.
Ash went on: "I don't want to be the guardian angel of the Talamasca," he said. "I never wanted this. But there have been times in the past when the Order has been threatened. I will not, if I can prevent it, see the Order hurt or destroyed."
"There are many reasons, Yuri," said Samuel, "why a little band of Talamasca renegades might try to trap this Lasher. Think what a trophy he would be. They are human beings perhaps who would capture a Taltos for no earthly reason. They are not men of science or magic or religion. They are not even scholars. But they would have this rare and indescribable creature; they would have it to look upon, to talk to, to examine and to know, and to breed under their watchful eyes, of course, inevitably."
"They would have it to chop it to pieces, perhaps," said Ash. "Lamentably, they would have it to stick it with needles and see if it screamed."
"Yes, it makes such good sense," said Yuri. "A plot from outside. Renegades or outsiders. I'm tired. I need to sleep in a bed. I don't know why I said such terrible things to you both."
"I do," said the dwarf. "Your friend's dead. I wasn't there to save him."
"The man who tried to kill you," Ash said, "did you kill him?"
Samuel gave the answer. "No, I killed him. Not on purpose, really. It was either knock him off the cliff or let him fire another shot at the gypsy. I must confess I did it rather for the hell of it, as Yuri and I hadn't yet exchanged a single word. Here was this man aiming a gun at another man. The dead man's body is in the glen. You want to find it? It's a good chance the Little People left it right where it fell."
"Ah, it was like that," said Ash.
Yuri said nothing. Vaguely he knew that he should have found this body. He should have examined it, taken its identifying papers. But that really had not been feasible, given his wound and the awesome terrain. There seemed something just about the body being lost forever in the wilderness of Donnelaith, and about the Little People letting the body rot.
The Little People.
Even as he had fallen, his eyes had been on the spectacle of the tiny men, down in the little pocket of grass far below him, dancing like many twisted modern Rumplestiltskins. The light of the torches had been the last thing he saw before he lost consciousness.
When he'd opened his eyes to see Samuel, his savior, with the gunbelt and pistol, and a face so haggard and old that it seemed a tangle of tree roots, he had thought, They've come to kill me. But I've seen them. I wish I could tell Aaron. The Little People. I've seen them....
"It's a group from outside the Talamasca," said Ash, waking him abruptly from the unwelcome spell, pulling him back into this little circle. "Not from within."
Taltos, thought Yuri, and now I have seen the Taltos. I am in a room with this creature who is the Taltos.
Had the honor of the Order been unblemished, had the pain in his shoulder not been reminding him every moment of the shabby violence and treachery which had engulfed his life, how momentous it would have been to see the Taltos. But then this was the price of such visions, was it not? They always carried a price, Aaron had told him once. And now he could never, never discuss this with Aaron.
Samuel spoke next, a little caustic. "How do you know it's not a group from within the Talamasca?"
He looked nothing now like he had that night, in his ragged jerkin and breeches. Sitting by the fire, he had looked like a ghastly toad as he counted his bullets and filled the empty spaces in his belt and drank his whiskey and offered it over and over to Yuri. That was the drunkest Yuri had ever been. But it was medicinal, wasn't it?
"Rumplestiltskin," Yuri had said. And the little man had said, "You can call me that if you like. I've been called worse. But my name is Samuel."
"What language are they singing in?" When will they stop with the singing, with the drums!
"Our language. Be quiet now. It's hard for me to count."
Now the little man was cradled comfortably by the civilized chair, and swaddled in civilized garments, staring eagerly at the miraculous willowy giant, Ash, who took his time to answer.
"Yes," said Yuri, more to snap himself out of it than anything else. "What makes you think it's a group from outside?" Forget the chill and the darkness and the drums--the infuriating pain of the bullet.
"It's too clumsy," said Ash. "The bullet from a gun. The car jumping the curb and striking Aaron Lightner. There are many easy ways to kill people so that others hardly notice at all. Scholars always know this; they have learnt from studying witches and wizards and other princes of maleficia. No. They would not go into the glen stalking a man as if he were game. It is not possible."
"Ash, the gun is now the weapon of the glen," said Samuel derisively. "Why shouldn't wizards use guns if Little People use them?"
"It's the toy of the glen, Samuel," said Ash calmly. "And you know it. The men of the Talamasca are not monsters who are hunted and spied upon and must retreat from the world into a wilderness and, when sighted, strike fear in men's hearts." He went on with his reasoning. "It is not from within the Elders of the Talamasca that this menace
has arisen. It is the worst nuisance imaginable--some small group of people from outside, who happened upon certain information and chose to believe it. Books, computer disks. Who knows? Perhaps these secrets were even sold to them by servants...."
"Then we must seem like children to them," said Yuri. "Like monks and nuns, computerizing all our records, our files, gathering old secrets into computer banks."
"Who was the witch who fathered the Taltos? Who killed him?" demanded Ash suddenly. "You told me you'd tell me if I were to tell things to you. What more can I give you? I've been more than forthcoming. Who is this witch that can father a Taltos?"
"Michael Curry is his name," said Yuri. "And they'll probably try to kill him too."
"No, that wouldn't do for them, would it?" Ash said. "On the contrary, they will strive to strike the match again. The witch Rowan ..."
"She can no longer bear," said Yuri. "But there are others, a family of others, and there is one so powerful that even--"
Yuri's head felt heavy. He raised his right hand and pressed it to his forehead, disappointed that his hand was so warm. Leaning forward made him feel sick. Slowly he eased back, trying not to pull or flick his shoulder, and then he closed his eyes. He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his little wallet and opened it.
He slipped out of hiding the little school picture of Mona, very vividly colored; his darling with her smile, her even white teeth, her heap of coarse and beautiful red hair. Childwitch, beloved witch, but witch without question.
Yuri wiped his eyes again, and his lips. His hand was trembling so badly that Mona's lovely face was out of focus.
He saw the long, thin fingers of Ash touch the edges of the photograph. The Taltos was standing over him, one long arm behind him, braced against the back of the sofa, while with the other hand he steadied the picture and studied it in silence.
"From the same line as the Mother?" said Ash softly.
Suddenly Yuri pulled in the photograph and crushed it flat to his chest. He pitched forward, sick again, the pain in his shoulder immediately paralyzing him.
Ash politely withdrew and went to the mantel. The fire had gone down somewhat. Ash stood with his hands on the mantel shelf. His back was very straight, his bearing almost military, his full dark hair curling against his collar, completely covering his neck. From this vantage point, Yuri could see no white in his hair, only the deep dark locks, brownish black.
"So they'll try to get her," said Ash, with his back turned still, raising his voice as needed. "Or they will try to get her or some other witch in this family."
"Yes," said Yuri. He was dazed, yet maddened. How could he have thought that he did not love her? How could she have been so distant from him so suddenly? "They'll try to get her. Oh, my God, but we've given them an advantage," he said, only just realizing it, and realizing it completely. "Good God, we have played into their hands. Computers! Records! It's just what happened with the Order!"
He stood up. The shoulder was throbbing. He didn't care. He was still holding the picture, tight, under the cover of his palm, and pressed to the shirt.
"How so, played into their hands?" asked Ash, turning, the firelight flashing up on his face so that his eyes looked almost as green as Mona's and his tie looked like a deep stain of blood.
"The genetic testing!" Yuri said. "The whole family is going through the testing, so as never to match again a witch to a witch that might make the Taltos. Don't you see? There are records being compiled, genetic, genealogical, medical. It will be in these records who is a powerful witch and who is not. Dear God, they will know whom to single out. They'll know better than the foolish Taltos! They'll have a weapon in this knowledge he never had. Oh, he tried to mate with so many of them. He killed them. Each died without giving him what he wanted--the female child. But ..."
"May I see the picture of the young red-haired witch again?" Ash asked timidly.
"No," said Yuri. "You may not."
The blood was throbbing in his face. He felt a wetness on his shoulder. He had torn the wound. He had a fever.
"You may not," he said again, staring at Ash.
Ash said nothing.
"Please don't ask me," Yuri said. "I need you, I need you very much to help me, but don't ask me to see her face, not now."
The two looked at each other. Then Ash nodded.
"Very well," he said. "Of course, I won't ask to see it. But to love a witch that strong is very dangerous. You know this, don't you?"
Yuri didn't answer. For one moment he knew everything--that Aaron was dead, that Mona might soon come to harm, that almost all that he had ever loved or cherished had been taken from him, almost all, that only a scant hope of happiness or satisfaction or joy remained to him, and that he was too weak and tired and hurt to think anymore, that he had to lie in the bed in the next room, which he had not even dared to glance at, the first bed he had seen in all this time since the bullet hit him and nearly killed him. He knew that never, never, should he have shown Mona's picture to this being who stood looking at him with deceptive softness and seemingly sublime patience. He knew that he, Yuri, might suddenly drop where he stood.
"Come on, Yuri," said Samuel to him with gruff gentleness, coming towards him with the usual swaggering walk. The thick, gnarled hand was reaching out for his. "I want you to go to bed now, Yuri. Sleep now. We'll be here with some hot supper for you when you wake up."
He let himself be led towards the door. Yet something stopped him, caused him to resist the little man, who was as strong as any full-sized man Yuri had ever known. Yuri found himself looking back at the tall one by the mantel.
Then he went into the bedroom and, to his own surprise, fell dazed upon the bed. The little man pulled off his shoes. "I'm sorry," said Yuri.
"It's no bother," said the little man. "Shall I cover you?"
"No, it's warm in here, and it's safe."
He heard the door close, but he didn't open his eyes. He was already sliding away from here, away from everything, and in a spike of dream reality which caught him and shocked him awake, he saw Mona sitting on the side of her bed and telling him to come. The hair between her legs was red, but darker than the hair of her head.
He opened his eyes. For a moment he was only aware of a close darkness, a disturbing absence of light that ought to be there. Then gradually he realized Ash was standing beside him, and looking down at him. In instinctive fear and revulsion, Yuri lay still, not moving, eyes fixed forward on the wool of Ash's long coat.
"I won't take the picture while you sleep," said Ash in a whisper. "Don't worry. I came to tell you that I must go north tonight, and visit the glen. I'll come back tomorrow and must find you here when I come."
"I haven't been very clever, have I?" asked Yuri. "Showing you her picture. I was a fool."
He was still staring at the dark wool. Then, right before his face, he saw the white fingers of Ash's right hand. Slowly he turned and looked up, and the nearness of the man's large face horrified him, but he made no sound. He merely peered up into the eyes that were fixed on him with a glassy curiosity, and then looked at the voluptuous mouth.
"I think I'm going mad now," said Yuri.
"No, you are not," said Ash, "but you must begin to be clever from now on. Sleep. Don't fear me. And remain here safe with Samuel until I return."
Four
THE MORGUE WAS small, filthy, made of little rooms with old white tile on the walls and on the floor, and rusted drains and creaking iron tables.
Only in New Orleans, she thought, could it be like this. Only here would they let a thirteen-year-old girl step up to the body and see it and start to cry.
"Go out, Mona," she said. "Let me examine Aaron." Her legs were shaky, her hands worse. It was like the old joke: you sit there palsied and twisting and someone says, "What do you do for a living?" and you say, "I'm a ba-ba-ba-rain surgeon!"
She steadied herself with her left hand and lifted the bloody sheet. The car had not hurt his face; it w
as Aaron.
This was not the place to pay him reverence, to remember his multiple kindnesses and his vain attempts to help her. One image perhaps flared brightly enough to obscure the dirt, the stench, the ignominy of the once-dignified body in a heap on the soiled table.
Aaron Lightner at the funeral of her mother; Aaron Lightner taking her arm and helping her to move through the crowd of utter strangers who were her kin, to approach her mother's coffin; Aaron knowing that that was exactly what Rowan wanted to do, and had to do--look upon the lovely rouged and perfumed body of Deirdre Mayfair.
No cosmetic had touched this man who lay here beyond distinction and in profound indifference, his white hair lustrous as it had always been, the badge of wisdom side by side with uncommon vitality. His pale eyes were unclosed, yet unmistakably dead. His mouth had relaxed perhaps into its more familiar and agreeable shape, evidence of a life lived with amazingly little bitterness, rage, or sinister humor.
She laid her hand on his forehead, and she moved his head just a little to one side and then back again. She figured the time of death at less than two hours ago.
The chest was crushed. Blood soaked the shirt and the coat. No doubt the lungs had instantly collapsed, and even before that, the heart might have been ruptured.
Gently she touched his lips, prying them apart as if she were a lover teasing him, preparing to kiss him, she thought. Her eyes were moist, and the feeling of sadness was so deep suddenly that scents of Deirdre's funeral returned, the engulfing presence of perfumed white flowers. His mouth was full of blood.
She looked at the eyes, which did not look back at her. Know you, love you! She bent close. Yes, he had died instantly. He had died from the heart, not the brain. She smoothed his lids closed and let her fingers rest there.
Who in this dungeon would do a proper autopsy? Look at the stains on the wall. Smell the stench from the drawers.
She lifted the sheet back farther, and then ripped it aside, clumsily or impatiently, she wasn't sure which. The right leg was crushed. Obviously the lower portion and the foot had been detached and put back into the wool trouser. The right hand had only three fingers. The other two had been severed brutally and totally. Had someone collected the fingers?