The Chronicles Of Ixia. Books 1-6. Maria Snyder V.

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СКАЧАТЬ her hands raised as though she tried to deflect a blow. Leif squinted in confusion.

      “That’s it,” I cried. “Can’t you smell it?”

      He passed the vial under his nose, breathing in the pungent scent. Then he shoved the cork back in, flipped the bottle over, and read the label. He stared at me in shock.

      “It makes perfect sense!” His mouth opened in horror.

      “What?” I demanded. “Tell me.”

      “It’s Curare.” When he saw my confusion he continued, “Comes from a vine that grows in the Illiais Jungle. It paralyzes the muscles. It’s great for numbing toothaches, and for relieving minor pain. To freeze a whole body, the medicine would have to be very concentrated.” Leif’s eyes flashed in dismay.

      “Why are you so upset?” I asked. “Now you know what it is. Isn’t that good?”

      “Curare was rediscovered just last year. Only a handful of Zaltanas know about its properties. Our clan likes to know everything about a substance before selling it to others.”

      Understanding flooded my mind. Leif believed that the red-painted man could be from our clan.

      “Who found the Curare?” I asked.

      Still upset, Leif turned the vial in his hands.

      “Father,” he said. “And the only person I can think of who has the skills to concentrate the Curare enough to paralyze a whole body, is Mother.”

       18

      I SAT UP IN BED. “Leif, you don’t really believe …” I couldn’t bring myself to conjecture aloud. To say that Esau and Perl, our parents, might have some connection to this horrid murderer.

      Leif shook his head. “No. But someone close to them, perhaps.”

      Another dreadful thought came to mind. “Are they in danger?”

      “I don’t know.” Leif began to pack his scent vials into their box. “I need to talk to our clan leader. Somehow, the Curare must have been stolen. That one of our clan is …” Seeming lost for words, Leif banged the box’s top down. “Compromised? Saying we have a spy sounds too dramatic even for me.” Leif gave me a rueful grin. “I doubt our leader will even believe me.” He grabbed his kit and rushed from the room.

      Tula, who had remained quiet during our conversation, asked, “Could Ferde …” She swallowed. “Could my attacker be from the Zaltana Clan?”

      “Ferde? Is that his name?”

      She covered her face with a hand. “No. That’s just what I named him. I hid that from you. I was embarrassed.” She stopped and took a deep breath, glancing at her sister.

      Opal yawned and said she needed to get some sleep. She kissed Tula on the cheek and pulled the covers up to Tula’s chin before leaving.

      After a few moments of silence, I said, “You don’t have to explain.”

      “I want to, talking helps. Ferde is short for Fer-de-lance. A poisonous viper that hunts for prey by seeking heat. We used to get them in our factory all the time. They were drawn to the kilns. One killed my uncle. Anytime one of us would go out to the factory, my mother would say, ‘Be careful. Don’t let Ferde get you.’ My older sister and I used to scare Opal by telling her Ferde was coming for her.” Tula made a small sound as tears tracked down her face. “I have to apologize to Opal for being so mean. It’s funny …” She choked out. “I was the one taken by Ferde, but if I’d had a choice, I would have rather been bitten by the real snake.”

      I couldn’t find any words of comfort for Tula.

      Later that night, Bain arrived. He carried a lantern, and Dax, ladened with a large leather-covered book and rolls of paper, followed him into the room. Yet another roll of paper was tucked under Bain’s arm. He lit the lanterns in the room until the air blazed with candlelight. Bain wore the same purple robe he had worn the day before. Without preamble, he spread the paper across my bed. My stomach clenched when I looked at the scroll. The symbols I had seen tattooed on Ferde’s body covered the parchment.

      Bain watched my reaction closely. “These, then, are the right symbols?”

      I nodded. “Where..?”

      Bain took the book from Dax, and for once the young man’s face held a serious expression.

      “This ancient text written in the Efe language tells of magic symbols from long ago. It reports that these symbols were so powerful that they could not be drawn in the book, for to do so would call the power. But, fortunate for us, they describe them in detail. And fortunate, too, Dax was able to translate the Efe language into these.” Bain gestured to the paper.

      “That’s some progress,” I said.

      Dax flashed a smile. “My talents are finally being used for a good cause.”

      Bain gave Dax a stern look. Dax sobered.

      “The order of the symbols is very important,” Bain explained, “for they weave a story. If you can tell us where they were on the killer’s body, we might be able to discern what motivates him.”

      I studied the sheet, trying to remember where Ferde had painted the markings on his body. “There are some patterns on him that aren’t on this paper,” I said.

      “Here,” Tula said. Her eyes were closed. Even though her arm trembled, she held out her right hand. “I know them by heart.”

      Bain handed her the paper as Dax put his rolls on the floor. Unrolling one, he began to sketch an outline of a man on the sheet with a slender piece of charcoal. Tula stared at the symbols for a moment then she recited their order. Starting with Ferde’s left shoulder; she worked her way across his body to his right shoulder, then continued left to right like lines of words in a book.

      When Tula came to a symbol that wasn’t on Bain’s sheet, I drew it on a piece of scrap paper for Dax. Even though my drawings looked clumsy compared to his, he was able to duplicate my efforts on his paper.

      Tula stuttered in embarrassment when she reached Ferde’s groin. Bain squeezed her hand and made a comment about how the man must have suffered for his art. A single chuckle burst from Tula. By her expression, I knew the brief laugh had surprised her. I suppressed a smile; Tula had started on the long road of recovery.

      Tula had memorized the symbols on her attacker’s back. I cringed, remembering that she had spent almost two weeks as his prisoner. She also recalled other things about him—the scars on his ankles, the size of his hands, the red dirt under his fingernails, the shape and soft fabric of his red mask, and his ears.

      “Why his ears?” Bain asked.

      Tula shut her eyes and, even though her voice quavered, explained that each time he had staked her to the ground and thrust deep inside her, he turned his head to avoid looking into her eyes. To block out the pain, Tula focused on his ear. The first time he raped her, Tula bit him on the right ear. She recalled feeling a moment of satisfaction when the hot metallic taste of his blood filled her mouth.

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