Eric felt as if he’d been struck hard in the chest. He remembered, all too clearly, when his hands had borne their own marks. His were elaborate blue-and-green swirls curling from his fingertips to his wrists. Bright, gold circles shone in the centers of his palms. He remembered how shaky they felt when he stood in the streets of Tiered Side with the night’s freezing rain spattering against them and the Skymen with eyes like ice and milk told him he’d be free….
Eric jerked his head back to stare at Basq. “She’s from the Realm!”
“We require you to act as translator and cultural liaison for us,” Basq said. “Beginning immediately. There has already been too much delay.”
He looked back through the window. The woman sat at the table now, fitting pieces into the puzzle. He squinted toward her hands, looking for a trace of gold on the palms. There was nothing, just bare, brown skin.
“But …” he began incredulously. “What do you want with a Notouch?”
Basq tapped the translation disk in his ear. “That term is not coming through.”
“A nothing. A pariah.” Eric searched for an explanation. “There’s a caste system in the Realm. A strict one. “That”—he pointed toward the window—“is the bottom of the heap. They aren’t even allowed residence in the cities. If you were looking for information or power, Ambassador, your contraband runners cheated you.”
“We were not cheated. She is what we require.”
For what? Eric tried to collect his thoughts. His head still reeled from the shocks he’d been given.
Basq didn’t give him time for another question. “We require that she be made aware of her situation and the necessity of cooperating with us fully. Coercion is time-consuming, but still a viable option and you will make that clear as well. We require answers to our questions so that we can construct a context for her language usage and communicate with her directly.”
Eric felt as if the world about him had begun gently rocking. He was supposed to go in there and threaten a powerless Notouch with coercion? What could she have possibly done to get the Vitae so … irrational?
Even if she did turn out to be a power-gifted, like him, but who’d never been picked up by the Temple, what could she possibly have done?
Eric shoved the questions to the back of his mind. “Whatever it is you want from her, but there’s no guarantee I can get it for you.”
“Why?”
He held up his hand, relieved to see that it had stopped shaking. “No hand marks. I had mine removed. The maaman tell a person’s caste and family identity. They also tell if they’re an ayaraku, a priest, or … teacher, is maybe a better translation.” He lowered his hands and studied the backs for a moment. “They also mark you as one of the People. One of those named by the Nameless Powers. Without hand marks, she’s got no way to know who she’s addressing, so she may decide not to trust …”
“You speak her language. We require that you get her to begin talking. That is your assignment. You are already aware of the consequences of refusal.”
Who in all the worlds do you think you are? The anger that rose in him was almost enough to temporarily block out the memory of the pain. Almost.
Eric let his head droop. “You can threaten me until the suns burn out, Ambassador. I’ve still had my hand marks removed. She won’t know me from a Shessel’s brood and she’ll have no reason to trust me, even if she’s capable of understanding what I tell her, which she might not be.”
“If I am satisfied that you have made the fullest effort on this, you will not be hurt further,” said Basq.
Garismit’s Eyes! Eric resisted the impulse to run both hands through his hair. This was going from beyond comprehension to beyond belief. What could he do? Even if she was a volunteer, as he had been, and had gotten into this on her own, he couldn’t just leave her with these … things.
A Teacher is the caretaker of all those spoken of by the Nameless Powers. A Teacher is bound by the gift of power and the …
Stop it. That’s over with. That’s dead and drowned.
He looked at her again, nearly mesmerized by her scarred hands and intense face as she fitted two of the puzzle pieces together. She had left youth behind but hadn’t arrived at middle age yet. She was his own age, maybe. The lines around her mouth had been drawn by smiles as well as cares. Eric wouldn’t have believed there was room left in him for more confusion, but he felt it all the same. There sat a living, breathing representative of everything he had run away from, and part of his soul reached out to her like a long-lost friend.