Ganne


23 - The Face In The Firelight.


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Guara leaned against the wheel of the Traveller Wagon, enjoying the
discomfiture of the High Gannes in the smoky gloom under the canvas roof.
The Travellers had parked their gaily painted wagons in a large square,
and drawn a canvas sheet over the top to form a Traveller's Hall.  Fires,
lit in the gaps between the wagons, filled the space with a sombre orange
light.  Beyond the fires and the wagons, the rain fell steady and
relentless in the benighted pine forest.

The Travelling Folk had donned their brightest clothes in honour of having
their Queen come among them.  Their flamboyant dress and ornamentation
fairly blazed with colour, even in the uncertain light of the cooking
fires.

It warmed Guara's heart to see the high and haughty Bahs and Gannes having
to put up with the enthusiastic hospitality offered by the travelling folk
of the Gynarchy.  The aristocratic women sat around being gracious to a
fault, admiring the babies they were importuned to bless, listening to the
discordant music being played for their pleasure, and hating every second
of the rude and rustic entertainment.  Her enjoyment, Guara knew, was
spiteful and unworthy; but it was so delicious.

An old woman, tending a pot set over one of the fires, scooped some broth
into a chipped bowl.  She straightened, and shuffled over to where Guara
sat.  The old Traveller woman smiled a gap toothed smile, and held out the
grimy bowl.  "My Lady Ganne," she wheezed.

"Thank you Galara." Guara thanked the old woman with genuine warmth, and
felt the ripple of resentment in the Ganne as her words carried to the
others.  They had all taken the offered food, peered at it, smiled a wan
thank you to their servitors, and set the bowls of food in the trampled
grass, untouched.

The old lady bobbed a curtsey.  She threw out her full skirts, and
squatted at Guara's right hand, drawing a black shawl tighter about her
bony shoulders.  She beamed with pleasure at the honour of being permitted
to serve her Queen.

Guara broke of a large piece of the hard, black bread, holding it out
towards the dark under the wagon.  "Food Angela.  Good food." she said, a
little louder than was quite necessary, and was rewarded with another
ripple of irritation.

Under the bed of the wagon, Angela was lying on her side, staring out into
the dripping night.  Her back was turned to the gathering.  A smile, sweet
and knowing, fluttered upon her lips.  Her eyes were shining with a secret
joy.

At Guara's call, the girl rolled onto her back.  For a long moment, she
lay staring at the bundles and bags hanging in the nets slung under the
wagons, while the smile slowly changed to cunning, before it faded into
Angela's usual vacuous expression.

She coiled to hands and knees, and crawled out to settle herself at
Guara's side.  Her snake eyes went round the crowded space, a hint of
secret purpose glowing in their blue depths.  Then she looked up at Guara
with a question in the set of her features.

Guara put the bowl of soup in the girl's hands.  "Food, Angela," she
encouraged.  "Good food."

As the Viper took the bowl, the sound of children at play, chanting some
inane litany, cut the smoky air.  Guara stiffened.  There was a sudden and
powerful surge of the Ganne.

Fear clamped icy talons around her heart.  In that instant, all Guara's
worst nightmares came out of the dark to dance before her guilty
conscience.  It was all going to happen again; and it was all her fault.

Guara made a desperate effort to gain control of herself.  She tried to
convince herself it was just one of the Gannes who led this band of
Traveller folk, who had produced that surge; but how could that be?  The
Ganne sensitives were all locked into the dream-less coma induced by the
Vellas drug to ease the murderous agony of the Curse.

The three Ganne sensitive women who led the clan had been brought from
their hiding places in the base of the wagons.  With almost surreal
ceremony, they had been formally introduced to the Matriarch by the acting
head woman.  Guara had solemnly inspected the three comatose forms, noting
the blue tinge to the skin from the drug.  She had formally blessed them.
It was all she could do.  Then the three were stowed away again back into
hiding away from the prying eyes of the Vardenai soldiery, who were always
on the look out for those Strong in the Ganne.

Twice every year, these women braved the dangers of the Vellas leaves as
the clan made their dash across the Cursed lands.  In spring, it was north
to the Gynarchy for the seasonal work to be had there; and in autumn they
came back south to the Ganne Lands, fleeing the harsh winters which took
possession of the Gynarchy.

There ought not to be any Ganne sensitive women awake.  Some men were
Ganne sensitive; but they could still function if they chewed carefully
measured portions of leaf - enough to dull the biting edge of the curse.
Some women, too, who were only marginals like the men, could function.

None of them could have produced such a powerful outburst.  It was
untouched by the blurring of the Vellas...  And there was something
frighteningly familiar about the flavour of the energy.

Still holding in panic, Guara stared at the shadow between two wagons.
Had she not known where to look, her attention drawn to the location of
that outburst, she might never have seen the sight which foreshadowed the
ending of the world.

There, in the gap between two wagons, a figure paused to scream in anger.
For a second, a face stood out clear in the gloom, seeming to blaze with a
golden radiance.  A heart-beat later, the boy had turned and fled away
into the dripping dark.

That one fleeting glimpse was enough.

All of Guara's worst fears were confirmed in that moment.

She reached a trembling hand for Angela; but she encountered only empty
air.

The viper was gone.


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