THE ROAD OUT OF THE KEEPled down a cobbled way, into a broad square full of merchant stalls and food carts and jostling people.
They got about two blocks down, nearly to the edge of the market, and Caliban had to stop.
It was too much. There were too many people, too many colors, moving too quickly. The sky was too large. He felt dizzy, as if he might fall upward into empty space.
He tried to keep up with the woman—Slate—but his head spun and he staggered. She was moving too quickly, outpacing him as he shied like a nervous horse at the loud voices and flapping cloth.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice high and hoarse. “I—wait—please—”
She turned, startled, and he put his hands over his face to block out the world.
“Hey now—hey—” Her voice was sympathetic but wary, as if she wasn’t sure whether to console him or slap him. “Hey, now, you knew it was a suicide mission, don’t go to pieces on me, the tattoo won’t eat you as long as you’re trying—”
“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s thesky.There’s too much of it.”
Nowthat’sa sensible thing to say. Perhaps you really are mad.
“Oh.Oh.”
Her fingers touched his sleeve, then she curled her hand around his arm and tugged him forward. “It’s okay. Keep your eyes closed, here—come on—just through here—”
He followed, keeping one hand over his eyes. The sounds of the city were still overwhelming, but they ran together into a muted roar, and he could ignore it.
To think that a season ago, he’d walked or ridden through these streets without thinking them strange at all. He’d moved like a fish through a darting, multicolored sea.
“Come on—step down—you’re doin’ good—”
Such a great champion you are, now, being led blind by a woman half your size. Demons must tremble…
His own particular demon muttered down in the dark, ragged ends of syllables with no earthly meaning. Death hadn’t silenced it completely. It was a more familiar sound than the city, now, but not a comfortable one.
“Here. It’s an alley—this is the best I can do—”
He cracked his fingers cautiously, and saw stone between them. It was indeed an alley, the corners thick with trash, the walls close and comforting. The sky was a narrow crack of blue overhead. A shudder of relief wracked him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t expect—this is foolish of me—”
“It’s really not that uncommon,” she said. She was still holding his arm, and patted it absently, as if he were a skittish horse. “A lot of people get out and get a touch of agoraphobia at first. It’ll pass off in a day or two. I shouldn’t have taken you straight into the marketplace, I wasn’t thinking.”
“You sound as if you’ve known a number of prisoners,” he said dryly.
“Oh, yes.”
She released his arm and retreated the few feet to the other side of the alley, leaning against the wall near the mouth. He tried to look out into the market again, found it a dizzying whirl, and looked away.
He looked at Slate instead. She was a small-boned woman, her eyes grey and glittering, like flawed quartz. She had dark brown hair in a thick braid down her back, and a long, mobile face. Her skin was a few shades lighter than her hair and her clothes were loosely cut and nondescript. Mouse brown, sparrow brown—some creature that relied on being small and drab and getting out of the way of predators.
She scowled out at the marketplace as if it had personally offended her.
Caliban was vaguely aware that he would not have looked twice at her in the days when he was a god’s champion. Beautiful women had strewn themselves in his path like rose petals.
And that morning, after you were done with the sword, they were strewn in your path again. Although not many roses are that exact shade of red, and they were not so beautiful any more.
Shut up. You’re out of the cell. Quit wall owing. You’ve told hundreds of people they weren’t responsible for what the demon did with their body. Take your own damn medicine.
It was embarrassing that he’d spoken with the demon voice in the Captain’s office. He hadn’t meant to. It must have been the tattoo, or the tattoo artist. Magic made the corpse stir, as if something were walking past it and kicking up the flies. It tookthem a while to buzz and settle down again.
Such a lovely metaphor.
