Strange Attractors - Kim Falconer [42]
‘Two years?’
‘Exactly. I don’t plan on us being here for more than two minutes. Besides, you would have no idea where to begin. Have you ever even kissed a man?’
Shaea touched her lips and looked away.
‘Thought so. Get our bags. They’re by the alcove. I’ll meet you at the gates.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Never mind. Keep your head up—back straight and step light. Act as if you are the High Priestess of of the Temple Corsanon. Can you imagine what that would be like?’
‘I can’t.’
Rall pressed her lips into a thin line. ‘Of course you can’t. What about top dog of the bakery alley?’
‘I think so.’
‘Close enough.’
Before Shaea could say any more, Rall had disappeared into the crowd.
Shane scraped his bowl, taking the last spoonful of his meal. ‘Delicious,’ he said to their host. ‘Thank you.’
Selene murmured, an agreeable sound. She had made herself comfortable in a large overstuffed chair near the crackling fireplace. She held her bowl of pumpkin soup as if it were her child. She was wearing a dusky black dress of finely woven cotton with tiny red flowers embroidered at the sleeves and hem. Shane thought she had never looked more beautiful, or peaceful. He wondered how long that would last.
Their luck had changed but he wasn’t comfortable with it. Something wasn’t right about this place out in the middle of nowhere with only a tiny path leading to or from the front door. The woman who had taken them in, fed and clothed them, seemed jovial enough. She shared stories and music with the most dramatic delivery. Polished, and very hospitable. No argument there. But he couldn’t shake the prickly feeling, and that was a sign he’d learned to trust. Who were these people, playing music like master bards, treating them as if they were royal blood? Where in the many-worlds could they be?
‘More soup, Shane?’ May asked.
May was a large woman with soft thick arms and stubby fingers. He was amazed at her expertise on the guitar. She picked out arpeggios at lightning speed, accurate to the note, perfect intonation. Her face became angelic when she played, as if she had lifted off to another realm. Her hair was spun around on top of her head, and loose strands swept across her face as she tapped out the rhythms. Her voice was pitch perfect as well. She had to be formally trained, but what temple or school she came from, she wouldn’t say. That was the peculiar thing. They had spent hours together and he still had no idea who she was or, more importantly, where they’d landed.
The lad was the opposite of his mother, if indeed that was the relationship. He was lithe, with long fingers, dark eyes and no voice at all. He could play the fiddle, though. Remarkably so. Shane was in musical heaven. Why couldn’t he just enjoy it?
‘No thank you, May. I’m fully satisfied.’ It was almost as if they were being fattened for a Beltane feast.
‘Selene?’ May turned to her. ‘There’s plenty in the pot and you’re all but skin and bones.’
‘I’m fine, May. Thank you. It was the perfect amount.’ May was about to turn away when Selene stopped her with a light touch. ‘I would like to talk to you about our location, though. Do you have a map of this region? We need to make plans and I’m afraid we’ve lost our orientation since the river crossing.’
‘A map?’ May repeated. ‘I can’t say I’ve got one of those.’ She pushed a wisp of hair back from her eyes. ‘What is a map, exactly?’
Selene looked at Shane.
‘It’s a drawing,’ he said, miming a square. ‘Marks written on a single page that represent the lie of the land.’
May wrinkled her nose. ‘Lie of the land? Never heard of one. But there might be something in the river chest.’ She turned to the lad. ‘Tamin? Have you ever seen anything like that—a map?’
Tamin shook his head. He wasn’t a mute—he’d giggled loud enough when they’d first arrived—but so far no words had passed his lips.
‘Have a look anyway, can you? Then we’ll play one last tune before bed.’
When Tamin had trotted up the steps that led to the loft, May sat with a sigh, scooting her chair closer to Selene