Fall of Angels (The Saga of Recluce #6)(138)

"You haven't tried," said Ryba in a reasonable tone.

"You have everything figured out. If we don't kill these two men, dozens will arrive, and we'll have to kill them, too, or be killed. If we don't use the two men as studs, we might have our gene pool contaminated too soon ..."

"Aren't you being harsh?"

"You've said or done all those." Nylan's shoulders slumped in the darkness, and his eyes dropped to the cradle. Would Dyliess be as coldly reasonable as her mother?

"We landed with twenty-seven women. No sooner had we landed than a local lord showed up wanting to turn us all into serfs or concubines, or worse, and probably to slaughter all three of you men. Since then, we have made not one aggressive gesture toward the locals. We have not raided; we have not stolen. All we have done is build a place to live where they can't and try to survive. The locals are still trying to kill us or cheat us ... or both. The local women, some of them at least, are risking death to find refuge here. Maybe all this local male behavior is mere lousy socialization. Maybe it's not. Do you want me to gamble after everything that's happened? Do you really want Gerlich's genes to dominate Westwind?"

Nylan rubbed his temples again. Finally, he said, "The killing hurts. Even when I don't do it, it hurts."

"You think I like it?"

"I know you don't," Nylan said. "I'm telling you something different. It's part of this net, or whatever it is, but when someone's killed, a wave of whiteness, like mental acid or something, washes through me."

"Ayrlyn told me the same thing happens to her." Ryba paused. "You both have that ability to help healing. They're probably tied together."

"I wouldn't be surprised."

"We still haven't dealt with the children problem. Do you want me to risk-"

Nylan raised a hand to wave off the question, but realized that Ryba couldn't see the gesture. "You've been right about most things, but... and this sounds like a woman ... I still feel violated."

"I've noticed that. You stay on your side of the couches. Are you ... do you need time?"

Nylan took a slow deep breath, wondering if time would ever heal anything. "I don't know that time would heal things." He paused. "Do you want me to move my stuff elsewhere?"

"No." Ryba's voice was cool.

"What do you want?"

"I want you to think about things. We can move the couches apart, if that will help."

Nylan puzzled at Ryba's tone, wondering about the wrongness again. "More visions?"

"You could say that."

Nylan could sense the sadness and reserve in the tired voice, and the anger. "I'm sorry."

"So am I, but being sorry doesn't solve things."

He eased his body next to hers, putting his arms around her shoulders.

She pushed him away. "I don't need your comfort."

"Ryba . . ." He put his arms back around her. Who else could hold her, and who else besides Ryba was strong enough to bring them through? His eyes burned, even as his own anger seethed, but he whispered, "Even marshals need to be held."

"I don't need you ... I don't need anyone."

In the end, he looked into the darkness, while Ryba, the marshal, the farsighted, sobbed silently, again, with her face away from him.

Dyliess slept, and the wind hissed through the window.





LXXXV



THE WATCH TRIANGLE rang once, well before mid-morning, and Nylan ignored the summons to the tower, continuing to lay brick, although he hoped that it signaled Ayrlyn's return, and that she'd been able to find saw blades.

The back wall was complete, and the side walls were thigh-high. Where the front wall would be, the space for the double doors was framed in brick-but only knee-high- and he needed to leave spaces for two windows.

By the time he finished using the last of the mortar, Ayrlyn and the cart were headed down from the ridge. Nylan squinted. There were two people on the cart seat, and two in the cart, and five on horseback. A stranger accompanied the four guards who had gone with the healer on her trading run.

The engineer wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, then looked down at the empty mortar tub. Beside it were the baskets of crushed lava, clay, and what passed for lime. He set the trowel down and started downhill.

Four strange women stood by the causeway with the healer, three shifting their weight nervously from one foot to the other, while the shorter dark-haired woman on one end gentled her mount.

Ayrlyn was supervising the unloading. "The barrels of flour and meal go down to the big shelves in the corner off the kitchen."

With that, Weindre carted off a large barrel.

"The saw blade is for Nylan, but put it up on the fifth level. We haven't built a sawmill yet."

Murkassa laughed at the comment as Ayrlyn handed the blade to Berlis.

"He says he will-then he will." Ayrlyn turned. "Speak of the demon."

"I see you got the saw blade."

"Just one, and it was nearly a gold itself, and I had to promise that it was going up on the Westhorns. That was an easy promise."

"I see you brought some recruits. We picked up one-with a daughter."