Incarceron Part 42

"Shut up, old fool," one of them muttered.

"We can pay. We have money. I can cure illnesses. The boy ... the boy is a seer. He speaks to Sapphique. He has seen the stars!"

It came out like a cry of desperation. At once the man with the knife paused; his gaze flashed to the crones.

Together they said, "The stars?"

The words were an overlapping murmur, a wondering whisper.

Gildas, gasping for breath, saw his chance. "The stars, Wise Women. The lights Sapphique speaks of. Ask him! He's a cell-born, a son of Incarceron."

They were silent now.

Their blind faces turned toward Finn; the central one held out her hand, beckoning, and the Crane-man shoved him forward so that she touched his arm and grabbed it.

Finn kept very still.

The old woman's hands were bony and dried the fingernails long and broken. She groped down his arms, over his chest, reached up to his face. He wanted to break away, to shudder, but he kept still, enduring the cool, rough fingers on his forehead, over his eyes. The other women faced him, as if one felt for them all.

Then, both hands pressed against his chest, the central Justice murmured, "I feel his heart. It beats boldly, flesh of the Prison, bone of the Prison. I feel the emptiness in him, the torn skies of the mind."

"We feel the sorrow."

"We feel the loss."

"He serves me." Gildas heaved himself up and stood hastily. "Only me. But I give him to you, sisters, I offer him to you in reparation for our crime. A fair exchange."

Finn glared at him, astonished. "No! You can't do that!"

Gildas turned. He was a small shrunken shape in the darkness, but his eyes were hard and crafty with sudden inspiration, his breathing ragged.

He looked meaningfully at the ring on Finn's finger. "I have no choice."

The three crones turned to one another. They did not speak, bur some knowledge seemed to pa.s.s between them. One cackled a sudden laugh that made Finn sweat and the man behind him mutter with terror.

"Shall we?"

"Should we?"

"Could we?"

"We accept."

They spoke it in unison. Then the crone on the left bent and picked up the spindle. Her cracked fingers spun it; she took the thread and pulled it out between finger and thumb.

"He will be the One. He will be the Tribute."

Finn swallowed. He felt weak, his back sheened with cold sweat.

"What tribute?"

The second sister measured the thread, a short span. The third crone took the shears. Carefully she cut the thread and it fell silently in the dust.

"The Tribute we owe," she whispered, "to the Beast."

KEIRO AND Attia reached the City just before Lightsout, the last league on the back of a wagon whose driver never even noticed them. Outside the gate they jumped off.

"Now what?" she whispered.

"We go straight in. Everyone else is."

He strode off and she glared at his back, then ran after him.

There was a smaller gate, and to the left a narrow slit in the wall. She wondered what it was for, then she saw that the guards were making everyone walk through it.

She looked back. The road was empty. Far out in the silent plain the defenses waited; high above, what might have been a bird circled like a silver spark in the dim mists.

Keiro pushed her forward. "You first."

As they walked up, the guard ran a practiced eye over them, then jerked his head toward the slit. Attia walked through. It was a dim, smelly pa.s.sageway, and she emerged in the cobbled street of the City. Keiro took one step after her.

Instantly, an alarm rang. Keiro turned. A soft, urgent bleep in the wall. Just above, Incarceron opened an Eye and stared. The guard, who had been closing the gate, stopped. He spun around, drawing his sword.

"Well, you don't look like ..."

With one blow to the stomach Keiro doubled him up; another sent him cras.h.i.+ng against the wall. He lay crumpled. Keiro took a breath, then crossed to the panel and flicked the alarm off.

When he turned Attia was staring at him.

"Why you? Why not me?"