Tarashana Rachel Neumeier (top 10 motivational books TXT) 📖

The wheels had been taken off the wagon because they would warp if the wagon were left to stand in one place too long. The quills decorating the covering had been dyed pink and brown, and from the colors and the patterns, I knew this wagon belonged to Garoyo’s wife. The awning had been put up over the entry, and rugs, red and blue and purple, spread on the ground, with cushions laid on the rugs to make a comfortable place to sit.

The avila woman herself was not in evidence.

“Perhaps she does not know we have come,” Raga said uncertainly.

“Perhaps,” my father said, though we had not taken pains to be quiet. He studied the wagon a moment longer, while he waited for my mother and the other women to come to us. Lalani had smiled when we first came in sight, but Geras caught her eye and she stopped smiling and came quickly to join us, moving to put herself behind Geras and Suyet. Neither of the soldiers had drawn their swords, but Geras had set his hand on the hilt of his knife. So had I, though I had not realized this until then. I took my hand off my knife, but I did not feel easy and did not move my hand far from the hilt.

My father did not show such obvious unease. But he said to Garoyo, “Tell her to come out.”

“Yes,” Garoyo said. He was expressionless. He did not like this either. He took a step toward the wagon, but the cloth of the entry stirred, so he paused.

Then the avila woman came out. She stepped carefully down from the wagon, came as far as the rugs, and knelt there, clasping her hands together. She tucked herself down low, trying to make herself seem small. This was an unnecessary effort for one of her kind. She was a very small person, not even as tall as an Ugaro and much slighter, as slender as a Lau child.

She was very different from either Ugaro or Lau, in her own way almost as different as the Lakasha-erra from the land south of the summer country, and they are very different. The Lakasha are even taller and more elegant than the Lau, and even darker, black-skinned rather than warm brown, but more than that, the Lakasha have the heads of jackals. They are beautiful, but strange to look upon, and they are all sorcerers. My people would fear them for that reason, except that they find even the summer lands cold and would never venture into the winter country.

The Tarashana are different again. This woman’s skin was very pale, almost translucent. Our tales say that the avila take in the light of their stars and give that light back again, but as Raga had explained, we could not see this now, in the bright light of the Sun. Her hair, drawn back in a single braid, was straight like the hair of my people, but the white of fresh snow rather than black. She had large eyes set wide, a small nose, a narrow mouth, and a delicate chin and jaw. As my mother had said, elaborate, elegant pattern of lines, ran up her throat and curled across the right side of her face: spirals and circles and dots. That pattern poured down her left arm too, and across the back of her left hand, and down the two middle fingers of that hand. At the moment, all these patterns glimmered in luminous blue and silver and white. Ugaro have no art of that kind; nor do Lau; nor, so far as I knew, Lakasha. This is an art only practiced by the Tarashana of the starlit lands.

Even though her eyes were lowered, I could see they were at the momet a very pale shade of blue, almost white, like the dawn sky in the winter. Every tale teaches us that this color means an avila is afraid. But I would have known that even if we had known nothing at all of her people. She looked as small and fragile as a bird, and as frightened as a bird broken and flightless, with no hope of mercy from the predators who would find her.

“She has not been as afraid as this since we found her in the pass,” Garoyo said, frowning down at her.

“She is certainly very frightened now,” Aras agreed. “I hope everyone will be patient. I can see nothing unless I can persuade this woman to be less frightened. I would like Ryo to stay with me, but perhaps everyone else will go some small distance for ... a hand, two hands of time?”

Geras drew breath, and Aras switched to darau to add drily, “Not you, of course, Troop Leader; I’m perfectly aware of your opinion.” In taksu, he said, “I ask my soldiers to move back a little. I ask Ryo to stay here with me. I ask everyone else to go some small distance and wait.” He caught my thought and turned quickly to my father. “I mean no offense. If the lord of the inGara does not object, this might be helpful.”

One of the inVotaro warriors said quietly, “One of us should stay. If the lord of the inGara is not offended by this suggestion, I will step back, but remain.”

My father looked at him for a moment. Then he looked at Aras.

“Yes, if you prefer,” Aras agreed at once. “Seroyo inVotaro may of course stay, or anyone you wish, lord, but please, if everyone will move back a little.”

My father gave the inVotaro warrior a curt nod. He said, “In two hands of time, everyone else will return.” He added to Hokino, “Two hands will be long enough for you to show my warleader all the places you concealed yourself and explain how you