Ganne


06 - A Princess In Exile.


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The Lady Genella Bah Dishone, Princess in Exile of The Ballan Tah, was
dying.  At least, she fervently hoped she was.  Anything would be better
than having to endure the hours of insupportable misery promised by the
hangover...  Except, of course, suffering the pitiless accusation of the
Face.  Drinking herself into a stupor every night was the only way she
knew to be certain not to have Malincha's bloated face haunting her
dreams.  Better to die...  Only they would not leave her alone to get on
with it.

A hand on her shoulder gave her a none too gentle shake.  "Genny!  You
must get up...Now!"

With a heart felt groan, Genella gave in to the inevitable, and edged
her eyes open.  The luxuriously appointed bedroom was almost entirely
in darkness.  The only light came from the candle held by her elderly
maid, Bettan, who stood beside the large, four poster bed.  She was
wrapped against the pre-dawn chill in a blue woolen wrap, her long
greying hair in disarray.

Genella pushed weakly at the hand shaking her.  "Leave me alone,
Bettan...  I just want to die."

"I just bet you do," Bettan observed, more than a trace of
vindictiveness in her voice.  "Well, it would serve you right if you
were dying after what you drunk last night, you wicked child.  Now.  Up
with you.  That nice, young Lieutenant Marlek, is waiting downstairs."

It was the surge of anger that got Genella sitting up.  She was thirty
eight years old, daughter of one of the noblest families on the whole
damned planet, and a powerful Ganne Witch to boot.  Nobody called her
"child" in that tone of voice.  Especially not servants, even if they
had been in your family's service since before you were born.
Especially when she was feeling so wretched.  By the Goddess!  she
would lash the spiteful old woman with the Ganne power and teach her
some manners.  The crone would be shaking for a fortnight.

The sudden surge of anger sent the room spinning about Genella's head.
Nausea stirred in her middle; and a hot, bitter bile rose into her
throat.  A cool china bowl was thrust, none too gently, into her
shaking hands.  She clutched it to her, and vomited the seething
contents of her stomach into it.  It occurred to her, as she
surrendered the pot, that it had been the gazunder from under the bed.
She flopped back weakly to the pillows, still feeling to ill to decide
whether she was annoyed, or amused, by Bettan's none to subtle
disrespect.

A cold, wet flannel flopped over her face, wiped around, and was gone.
Goddess, but she felt wretched.  There was a vile taste in her mouth;
her teeth itched; and a pounding headache made it hard to concentrate.
Whatever the hell did Olan want this time of the morning?  It had to be
important.  Only someone with a death wish would risk dragging her from
bed after one of her legendary binges without good cause.  For a
moment, she dwelt on a pleasant fantasy of making the Garrison
Commander at Maron Gate very uncomfortable, perhaps as uncomfortable as
she now felt.

"Don't you go back to sleep, you naughty girl!" Bettan scolded.

"Alright, Bettan.  I'm getting up right now." With an effort, Genella
brought her mind back to the business at hand.  Blinking in the
wavering light, she studied her old nurse.  The round, motherly face
held a look of concern, giving the lie to her belligerent attitude.
Bettan turned away to cover the look of love that glimmered in her
eyes, setting down the candle on a little table.

Feeling a sudden rush of tenderness towards her old nurse, Genella
reached out and hugged the old woman.  She loved Bettan more than her
own mother, who could hardly be called to mind; and Bettan, she knew,
despite her nagging, loved her "Genny" as dearly.

Genella said, "oh, Bettan, you are such a dear old thing.  I do not
know what I should do without you to look after me."

The old woman gave her an affectionate squeeze; then pushed her away.
"You'd drink yourself to death in half the time," she said.

"Please, Bettan, do not scold me...  Not this morning.  I really am
ill."

Bettan stood back and regarded her, hands on hips.  "Yes, indeed you
are ill, my child.  But the cure is in your own hands.  I am sure that
if you apologise nicely to Guara..."

Genella threw back the covers, and put her bare feet to the floor.  She
winced at the contact with cold stone.  The rug had been moved again,
most likely another of Bettan's petty "revenges".  Normally, Genella
found them amusing, but not this morning.  "You know I cannot go
crawling to that fat old cow," she snapped.  "I do not know how you can
suggest such a thing.  Do not you feel any shame?  Would you have a Bah
Dishone go arse licking to the daughter of a gardener?"

"I'm sure I don't know about such things.  But if you don't patch
things up with the Council - and that means apologising to Guara - then
we are like to leave our bones here in this stinking marsh." The
elderly nurse regarded her baby with a searching look.  At length, she
shook her head sadly.  "Pride!  It's nothing but stubborn pride.  Can
you not find the strength of character to put aside such silliness?
I'm sure Guara would accept an apology."

Genella shook her head; it was out of the question.  There were things
which Guara could never forgive.  Genella got unsteadily to her feet.
With Bettan fussing about her, Genella managed a hasty toilet, and to
clamber shakily into some presentable clothes.  It was an ordeal and an
effort just to stay on her feet - a long blurred misery of discomfort;
but eventually she was dressed to Bettan's satisfaction, and able to
sit down.

Bettan gave her something cold to drink, while the elderly nurse
badgered Genella's mousy hair into some semblance of order.  Genella's
stomach clenched at the cold liquid; but her abdominal muscles were too
weak to throw it back out.  The gentle stroking of the brush made her
feel a little better.  The headache had abated to a distant throbbing,
hardly more than the pulsing of the ever present Curse, which could not
be shut out this close to the Cursed Land.  The land of The Ballan Tah
lay only fifteen miles away, north across the estuary of the Great
River.

By the time Bettan had finished fussing with her hair, Genella felt
sufficiently prepared to face the world in the form of Lieutenant
Marlek, Olan's errand boy.

"Alright!" Genella said at last, determination in her voice.  She rose.
"Let us see what's got Olan so worked up."


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