The existence of the blood-arch is traditionally attributed to moon sprites, woodwives, gods and witchcraft, but it is the task of a tooler to quash such superstition. As our Master Toolers show us, the colors of the blood-arch have nothing to do with such hokum, and are easily created with light through a simple prism of glass....

- From First Tooler's Prentice Manual, Vol. I, Master Erkan of Wend

Chapter Twenty-Four

Harric woke, and peered groggily around him. Spook lay panting beside him, green eyes glazed and twitching in the firelight. His pink tongue licked foam from his whiskers.

"Shut up that cat, boy!" Willard growled from his blankets.

Brolli beckoned Harric to the tiny fire, where he boiled water in a kettle. "Join me. I have tea."

Harric shook his aching head in apology. He felt as though he hadn't slept all night.

"Ragleaf," Brolli whispered. He indicated the kettle. "Drink. Before I rouse Willard."

Harric almost groaned with gratitude. "Gods leave you." He rolled to his knees, and gingerly clambered to his feet.

"I have selfish reasons," Brolli said, handing Harric a steaming mug. "I want your help tonight."

Harric drank, expecting explanation to follow, but Brolli said nothing more. As soon as he'd drained the cup, Harric felt his body relaxing and warming, the bands of pain that held him fast loosened, and fell away. Brolli filled the mug again for Willard and delivered it as he roused the others. When all were gathered at the fire, he told them what he'd found at the pass.

"The gate is shut and the guard house occupied," he reported. "It's not a huge building, but its wall spans the pass. I think the gate is run by a machine inside the walls."

Willard twisted the end of one mustachio between thumb and forefinger. He looked groggy, and weak, but his fever seemed to have broken. "You're sure there's no other way across the ridges than to cross the pass?"

Brolli shook his head. "Caris is right. The toolers take the easiest way when they blast their road through the pass. But I have a plan to pass without notice."

Willard raised one grizzled eyebrow. "Something in your bag of tricks."

Brolli nodded. "Unless you have another idea."

"Go on."

"In some ways it is better the pass is watched," said Brolli. "Then they tell our hunters the pass is secure. One thing only I need for this, and that is assistant; I wish Harric goes with me."

Willard frowned. "Remember what we said about magic and this boy's values."

"He does not touch a bit of magic. That I promise."

"He can't see a lick in the dark, Brolli."

"He does not need to. We set out when the Mad Moon is high, so he sees enough to follow my lead to the gate house. Once we get to the wall, all will still be lit by the Mad Moon."

"All right. When do we follow?"

"Saddle the horses and pack. Snuff the fire. I come back for you when all is ready."

* * *

Harric followed Brolli out of camp as Caris scrambled to saddle the horses and Willard stared into the fire, the dull eye of his ragleaf pulsing red.

The trail now followed the ridge, up and down a ledge carved across its rugged face toward the pass, and rising higher and higher above the valley below. Harric followed Brolli, holding to a lead line they'd borrowed from Idgit's bridle, to guide him in the darkest stretches. Brolli steered the line around the worst obstacles, and warned him with a whispered "rock" or "root" when needed. As the Mad Moon climbed the sky, more and more of its crimson light illuminated the contours of the rock. In one particularly long stretch of illuminated path, Brolli slowed to walk near him, and flashed his toothy grin. "This is a hard few days for you," he said, ambiguously. "I am glad you come with me."

Harric gave a non-committal nod.

When he offered nothing else, Brolli spoke again. "This Caris, she sleeps so far from you. Why is it so? She wears love rings from you, yes? You give them to her, yes?"

"Yes."

"Then, I must ask why you sleep so far apart. Is it custom with your people? Perhaps you wait until Willard sleeps and I am away for secret tryst?"

Harric tried to read the alien features of the Kwendi's face, but found it difficult. He judged from his tone, however, that it was a serious question, not mocking. "Well, the first reason is simple," Harric said. "She's angry with me."

"Ah!" The Kwendi laughed. "She cannot stay angry long."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. I've seen her when she sets her mind on something. She's not like ordinary people that way."

"She is different. I see that."

"The second reason is that even if she wanted me, it's only because she's got those rings on. One day they'll come off, right? She might think I've been taking advantage of her then, and kill me."

The Kwendi's brow furrowed in earnest perplexity. "Because of the rings? Why?"

"Because she's being forced by those rings," Harric said, more vigorously than he intended, "or altered, or whatever you want to call it. It'd be like taking advantage of her when she was drunk for the first time. It isn't right."

The Kwendi stopped and faced Harric in a patch of red moonlight. A mountain breeze sighed across the rock face around them; far below, tumbling water rushed through the darkness. "I thought I watch carefully your mating customs in your queen's court, but I never notice this 'right' you speak of. You have to win a 'right' before you mate? Or is it before you marry? Or is marriage itself this 'right?'" Brolli fetched a traveler's journal and stylus from his shirt, and jotted some notes.

Harric stared for several heartbeats. When the Kwendi put the book away, Harric laughed. "Are you serious?"

Brolli looked at him. "There is no marriage among my people, so I do not understand why you hesitate to mate."

"Marriage isn't about mating, Brolli. It's bigger than that. It's for life."

Brolli's brows pinched. "Marriage is not about mating?"

"Well, no. It's more." Harric smiled, bemused. It occurred to him that since he'd never had a father, and since the two women who raised him were unmarried or widowed before he was born, he didn't know the first thing about permanent male-female partnership. His entire understanding of marriage therefore consisted of nothing more than the vague longing of all bastards for something sacred and unattainable.

"More than mating," Brolli repeated. He plucked the journal again from his pocket, and scribbled a note. "Yet her looks at you are about mating. Even I see that. Such complicated mating rituals!"

Harric laughed. "Hold on. Are you telling me that you have no idea what marriage is, but you decided to make a magical wedding ring for our queen?"

The Kwendi's face crumpled in something resembling embarrassment. He put the journal away and started walking again. "The rings were meant as a gift," he explained. "She has no husband, yes? We thought, since your people mate for life, that she, all alone and without a mate...well, think she maybe was not so...how you say...attracting? With these rings we think she could capture a mate."

Harric laughed heartily. It hurt his ribs and head but the ragleaf muted the pain. "I'm sorry. But, I can't believe you survived that gift. A wedding ring for the Lone Queen of Arkendia? Ambassador, our queen is famous in ten kingdoms for shunning marriage and abusing courting princes. She built a career on it. She built modern Arkendia on it."

Brolli sighed. "Yes. She nearly threw us out the window. It was a bad beginning to our talks."

"My own troubles with that ring seem suddenly small. How'd you calm Her Majesty?"

"I gave her instead another ring of my own, just as strong."

"So, if your people don't marry, Brolli, may I ask what you do?"

The Kwendi flashed his feral grin across his shoulder. "We mate."

Harric waited for more. None came. He asked, "And then what?"

Brolli glanced back as if for clarification in Harric's face. "We mate again? Perhaps I do not see your question."

"I mean, do you stay with your mate then, for the baby?"

"Ah! No. She raise the baby with her family."

"You just leave her?"

Brolli apparently sensed something in his voice, for he paused and turned to examine Harric closely. "This is the way of all my people. When my sisters and cousin have babies, I help raise them with my family."

Harric felt a concealing veil lift from his mind to reveal an aspect of life he'd never sensed possible. "You're a nation of bastards! You have no idea who your fathers are."

"Why should that matter? The woman determines the family. It is easy to know who is the mother. Hard to know for sure the father."

"That's the best thing I've heard all year. You know they used to enslave us bastards in Arkendia? Still do in the West Isle"

"I have heard it. Now hush." Brolli laid a finger across his lips. "We draw near."

*************************************

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