Pallahaxi

by Michael Coney

  “Another time,” I said hastily.

  “No, come on in,” said Walleye, twisting his lips into a smile. “We’re always pleased to see a visitor from Yam. Obviously we received false information about the, uh, state of your health. Facts get twisted in the telling; in the end, memory is the only reliable thing. Sit down. What brings you here, Hardy?”

  What false information had they received, and from whom? I decided to leave my questions until later. Mine was going to be a long story and I had a suspicion Lonessa’s patience would be exhausted long before the finish. Right now, I needed a dramatic start to rivet their attention.

  “My life is in danger,” I said. “I’m seeking sanctuary here.”

  Walleye was impressed. “Aha!” he exclaimed.

  Lonessa sniffed skeptically. “Why not seek sanctuary in Yam, where you belong?”

  “The danger lies in Yam itself.” This was beginning to sound stilted and pompous, as though Stance had lent me the words. I changed tack. “It started when my father was killed in Noss. I made a fool of myself then, I admit it. My only excuse is, I was not myself. I made some stupid accusations for which I’m truly sorry. I’m hoping you’ll accept that.”

  “Huh,” said Lonessa.

  “Just pass among our men and make it clear you were wrong,” said Walleye helpfully. “Time goes by, things don’t seem so important.”

  “Anyway,” I resumed, deciding to edit out large sections of my story, “It all came to a head when you visited Yam a couple of days ago, Lonessa.”

  “I didn’t visit Yam a couple of days ago.”

  “I saw you myself.”

  “You couldn’t have. I wasn’t there. I haven’t been in Yam for thirty days or more,” she insisted angrily.

  “That’s true,” said Walleye.

  I stared at them. What game were they playing? “But you came to talk to Yam Wand about her crops!”

  “That was over thirty days ago, as I said. Are you doubting my memory?” She was rearing up in her seat, eyes like bright stones, fine leather tunic taut over menacing breasts.

  “No. No, of course not… . Wait a moment,” I said. “Let me think about this.”

  The lorin. Everybody knows the lorin are able to affect people’s minds. Examples: the slow production at the human mine. My escape from the ice-devil at the stardreaming pool. The lorin have a way of slowing consciousness; in some cases causing a loss of consciousness altogether.

  I’d entered the lorin warren in mild weather with an injured ankle. I’d emerged in warm weather with my ankle cured.

  How long had I been asleep?

  With the lorin, anything is possible.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. I must have lost track of time. So much has happened lately.”

  “We’d heard you’d gotten lost in Arrow Forest and died there, for one thing,” said Lonessa.

  “I survived. Who told you I’d died?”

  She shrugged. “Nobody in particular. It’s been common knowledge here for days.”

  A good example of the importance of getting the facts right. Any child conceived during the past thirty days would pass the story of my death in Arrow Forest down the future generations. It would be corrected subsequently, but memories of me would be garbled for a while. That can make a fellow feel very insecure.

  I shelved the matter of my death and the lorin’s powers for later consideration and marshaled my thoughts. We were sitting on the familiar fish-trap wicker chairs around the low table. The last time I’d been in this room, Dad had been alive. He’d thrown Cuff against the wall. His warm presence was very much with me, and I was in danger of slipping into an involuntary stardream… .

  I pulled myself together, and gave them the gist of the story to date.

  When I’d finished, Lonessa said, “First Cuff, now Stance. Can you really expect us to believe the Yam manchief wants to kill you? His own nephew? I don’t think so.”

  “If we believe you, it puts us in a difficult situation with Yam,” Walleye pointed out.

  “I can’t help that.” I’d been walking all day, I hadn’t eaten since Phu knew when, and I was tired. “Just tell me this. Was Stance in Noss the day my father was killed?”

  “The Yam hunt was up on the east cliffs, not far off,” said Walleye. “I saw no hunters in the village.”

  “Neither did I. If Yam Stance had been around, wouldn’t we have heard about it?” said Lonessa. “He’s not a man to go quietly.”

  “Unless he had good reason,” I said. I was watching their faces as we spoke, trying to detect a shifty look. I could understand their problem. They didn’t want to get involved in anything that might have political repercussions or leave unpleasant memories. They certainly didn’t want to be party to an accusation of murder against the Yam manchief. On the other hand, maybe they genuinely knew nothing. Their faces gave nothing away. Not a shifty look in sight.

  “The only stranger in town was the Nowhere Man,” said Lonessa in tones of righteous disgust, “so far as I know.”

  “I saw him myself that day,” I said. “He had no reason to kill Dad.”

  “The Nowhere Man is not always responsible for his actions,” said Lonessa.

  Walleye added, “He was wild, as a boy. He’d have been welcome to spend his days in Noss, but he was out of control. Things happened, best kept under geas. He had to go.”

  “A man bitter against authority might seize an unexpected opportunity… .” suggested Lonessa. “Your father with his back turned… .”

  “It’s Noss authority he’d be bitter about, if any. He had nothing against Yam. He wouldn’t have killed Dad.”

  “The circumstances of his conception… .” murmured Lonessa.

  “I know all about that. I’ve stardreamed it.”

  “Of course. Your grandfather was implicated.”

  The woman was trying to annoy me. “Not implicated. He just happened to be there at the time.”

  “Well, anyway,” said Walleye placatingly, “the Nowhere Man’s a more likely candidate than Yam Stance.”

  “I told you whose voice I heard outside the lorin cave.”

  “You have no reason for tying that in with your father’s death. Stance was probably concerned about you being out all night.”

  It was hopeless; their minds were set. “All right,” I said. “We’ll agree to disagree. Can I stay in Noss for a while?”

  “I won’t have you bothering Charm,” snapped Lonessa.

  “I won’t bother Charm.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Really, Lonessa,” Walleye came to my rescue, “Whether or not Hardy stays in Noss is man’s business. Once he’s apologized to our men I see no objection. I’ll be glad to have him here. We’ll gain a useful understanding of Yam from him.”

  “He could come between Charm and your son!”

  Walleye sighed. “That’s Cuff’s problem. Sometimes I wonder what that boy is coming to.”

  “That boy, as you call him, will be our manchief one day.”

  “Yes, when I’m dead. Then he’ll be your problem, Lonessa.”

  The hostility I’d observed when I arrived had surfaced again, and it seemed a good time to leave.

  THE GRUME

  Once there was a sailing ferry across the estuary at the end of the village. It was operated by the father of the Nowhere Man’s mother, but nobody took the job on after he died. There wasn’t enough traffic. A men’s village that makes its living from fishing has boats to spare and little need for a specialized service. Noss’s sacred plantation starts at the old stone ferry wharf and covers the hillside as far as the point. The path through the forest zigzags to the cliff top, then follows the coastline east to Butcher Bay. The Nowhere Man’s prospective mother had climbed this path on the way to her historic meeting with my grandfather and his friend Hodge.

  I found Charm alone on the disused wharf, sitting on the upturned remain
s of the ferry boat in the shade of a seasucker, gazing across the water to the other side of the inlet. My skimmer lay beside her. I hardly recognized her at first; she had her back to me and she was dressed in a loose fur smock that had seen better days. I identified her by the way my heart gave its usual alarming lurch.

  “Hello, Charm.”

  She swiveled around on the old planking and her eyes opened very wide. As I approached I could see she was trembling violently. She continued to stare without speaking.

  “It’s me,” I said cheerfully. “I’m not dead.”

  It was an insensitive opening to say the least; but you have to realize that up to this point neither of us had admitted any deep feeling for the other. I may have an extensive knowledge of the past, but I had no way of knowing the future and what it held for Charm and me.

  Charm still shivered. She put her hands over her eyes and hunched over a little as she sat, her arms around her knees. Then her fingers parted and I saw two brown eyes regard me briefly, incredulously; then she covered her face again. She began to sob quietly.

  I felt almost guilty at being alive. I sat down and put my arm around her, and began to mumble the kind of nonsense soothing noises that my mother used to mumble to me before I graduated to the men’s village. It was the best treatment I could manage at short notice. I sat like that for a while, waiting for something to happen.

  When it did happen, it was conclusive and almost violent. She twisted toward me, threw her arms around my neck, pulled me to her and laid a very wet cheek against mine.

  “I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “They told me you were dead. I wanted to die myself.”

  I felt completely inadequate. “I didn’t know… . I never realized… .”

  She released me, put her hands on my shoulders and stared into my eyes with wet brown ones. Suddenly she was quite calm. “Of course you realized,” she said. “Nobody can feel like I do without being loved the same way back. Otherwise what’s the point of anything? So kiss me, why don’t you?”

  I obeyed. I’d never done this before and I probably wasn’t very good at it, but when it finally ended Charm gave a sigh of happiness. “Oh, wow!” she exclaimed. “You really do love me!”

  It’s a worrying thing, being accused of loving. It dumps all kinds of responsibilities on a fellow. If he accepts them he must act quite quickly and pass his memories down the line before the feeling dies. Fortunately — so they tell me — it’s all quite easy and extremely enjoyable, and when it’s over you can forget about the woman involved and get on with your life.

  Unless you’re made like Dad and Spring… .

  I had to say it.

  “Charm, I’m not sure I love you that way.”

  Her face paled. “You mean you don’t want to make love to me?”

  “Of course I do, but it wouldn’t be fair.” It was difficult to find the right words. “You see, I don’t want to… . make a nuisance of myself. I couldn’t stand it afterwards, you see. You going off to the women’s village, me catching sight of you occasionally in the street… . I couldn’t stand it.”

  Her expression told me nothing. “You don’t want it that way? What do you want, then?”

  “I think I might be made like Dad. He and my mother used to meet secretly, ever since I was born. They wouldn’t let each other go. I wouldn’t be able to let you go, either. It’s not fair to lay that kind of thing on you.”

  “Why… . What makes you think you’re like them?”

  It took a big effort to make the admission. “I’ve never been able to get you out of my mind since I first saw you.” I waited for her to call me a fool, and get up and walk away, and maybe look for Cuff, the freezer.

  “That makes two of us,” she said simply.

  I couldn’t believe what I’d heard. “What?”

  “I think maybe your dad and mom had the right idea. Except for the secrecy bit. To Rax with everybody else, I don’t care what they think!”

  I couldn’t take it in. My life had changed in a short moment. What was I supposed to do next? I searched my memories, wishing I’d used my enforced confinement more usefully in stardreaming, but I couldn’t find any precedents. No doubt they were there in faithful old Dad’s memories, but these things take time to unearth. He may even have put them under geas, never realizing I’d be made so much like him.

  I felt Charm’s hands on my face, turning me toward her. “You’re not riffling through your memory, are you?” she asked, grinning.

  “Uh, not exactly.”

  She chuckled. “You really are a very conventional fellow, aren’t you! You’ll get no help from the past. Nobody ever felt the way we do!”

  “I suppose we’re kind of special,” I said uncertainly, not wanting to mention the shameful behavior of my parents.

  “Of course we are. This is forever, Hardy.” She hugged me close.

  But I’d had too many conversations in the ale house with men who’d sired children. Once the siring part is over, the woman loses her attraction. That’s what they all say.

  So I was terrified that once we’d actually made love, the glow that turned Charm into a bright shining thing in my mind’s eye, would suddenly snuff out. It would hurt her terribly if that happened. I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life and I didn’t want anything to bring this to an end. Making love might do just that.

  She was holding both my hands. She was waiting for me to continue the love talk, but I had to change the subject.

  “You’re wearing the crystal,” I said.

  “Thanks so much for getting it back.” She let go my hands and fingered it. “I wish I was wearing nicer clothes with it. I didn’t expect to see you ever again. What happened to you, anyway? Why did we hear you were dead?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow.” Evening was darkening the sky, and I shivered. A lone zume raised a mighty splash across the estuary. Hunger and tiredness had suddenly caught up with me, and just for an odd moment I longed for the comfort of the cave-cow. This had been a day my descendants would visit many times. “It’s a long story.”

  “Tell me tomorrow, then. Hardy… .”

  “Yes?”

  “I wish we could sleep together tonight.”

  “So do I, but we have to break this to Lonessa gently.”

  “All right. I can wait, just about.”

  We walked back toward the village hand in hand.

  Walleye found me a cottage to myself. This was a relief, because I’d thought I’d have to move in with him and Cuff; the customary form of hospitality extended to a visitor. Having my own cottage made me feel as though I belonged. The previous occupant had been eaten by a grume-rider, but one thing we’ve learned through the generations is that history rarely repeats itself. I chased out the resident drivets, slept very well that night and dreamed of the legendary Drove and Browneyes.

  The following morning I heated up some smoked fish provided by Walleye, ate it quickly and walked out into the morning sunlight, anxious to meet my girl. The cottages of the men’s village are ranged along one side of the road; the hillside rises behind. A wide bank, worn bare of vegetation, slopes gently to the brown waters of the estuary. At this time of year the fishboats were all upside-down on the bank. Men were scrubbing them with pond sponge impregnated with sand.

  “You’ll be Yam Hardy. I’m Noss Crane. I’ve seen you sailing with my daughter.”

  A tall man with a wiry mop of red hair stood before me. I found myself expecting the worst, but there was no hostility in his gaze. More worrying was the sight of other fishermen strolling up.

  “I’m hoping to stay in Noss for a while,” I said.

  “Charm will like that.” It was an encouraging reply. He turned to the newcomers; six of them. Three of them were carrying the clubs they use for battering fish to death. It probably meant nothing. “You remember Yam Hardy,” he said to them.

  They grunted. They remembered.

 
It was groveling time. “The last time I was here, my father was killed,” I said. “I was upset and I said some stupid things. I’d like you all to know I’m sorry.”

  “That’s not good enough!” Cuff darted into view from behind a fishboat. “You accused me of murdering your father! It’s me you have to apologize to!”

  He was right, of course. But my pride simply would not allow it. “You heard what I said to the men here. That covers you. So let’s forget it, shall we?”

  “No, we won’t forget it! I demand an apology!”

  “Get frozen, Cuff.”

  He blundered toward me, fists clenched, face even pinker than usual. He’d finally gotten around to it. He was going to smash my face in. But he was no bigger than I, and the thought of his proprietary attitude toward Charm lent weight to my own fists.

  I caught him with a pre-emptive strike on the nose while he was still shuffling in. It stopped him in his tracks. His eyes watered and he clutched his nose, pondering on the fact that my arms were longer than his. He appealed to the others. “He hit me! You all saw that! The dirty grubber hit me!”

  “All right, that’s enough!” Noss Crane stepped between us. “You’re supposed to be adults, you two!”

  Cuff was already retreating. “My dad’s going to hear about this!”

  We watched him go; a chunky figure in leather shorts, bare back streaked with muck from the boat he’d been working on, mind full of bitterness and bile. It was a pity. I didn’t need enemies in Noss; I had enough already in Yam.

  “Come with me, Hardy.” Crane led me away while the men wandered back to their boats. “You can give me a hand with my keel. Much better that you should be seen helping around the place, if you want to stay.”

  “I hardly think Walleye will let me stay after I punched his son on the nose.”

  “Walleye’s in your debt. You did what he hasn’t the strength to do himself. I’ll be frank with you, Hardy. Cuff’s gotten out of hand. Walleye’s our manchief because he has the longest memory and we respect him for it. But Walleye’s a cripple and Cuff’s a bully, and they live in the same cottage. It was almost inevitable, what’s happened. Cuff started off by passing on a few of Walleye’s instructions when Walleye maybe didn’t feel well enough to leave the cottage. Now we’ve found the instructions aren’t always Walleye’s. Cuff often invents his own. We’ve challenged them. No jumped-up youngster tells us fishermen what to do. But Walleye backs him up, under pressure, we think. This means Cuff’s our manchief now, in effect.”