Fish Tails

by Sheri S. Tepper

  Chapter 6

  Encounters on the Road

  AT FIRST LIGHT, ABASIO DROVE THE WAGON PAST the watchtower of Saltgosh and up toward Findem Pass. They were well provisioned. If all went well, they would be on the plains below the mountains before serious cold struck. Willum knew all about what would be done in case of cold, but he much preferred not having to sleep in the cold-­weather fold-­down bunk above the big bed in the wagon. He preferred to sleep next to Blue and the chickens and come and go as he pleased.

  On the journey, the horses needed no guidance. There was only one road and only one way to go up it, so up it they went, the walkers variously trailing behind, rushing ahead, or plodding alongside. The babies were perched on the wagon seat, carefully strapped in, regarding each turn in the road with solemn interest. They met no one at all for the first two days. It was, Abasio thought, as though they were the only living two-­legged mammals alive, though four-­legged ones were plentiful: deer, elk, wolves. He had more or less expected wolves. Precious Wind had adopted a pack of them during their former travels and she would guarantee that they survived the waters’ rising. How water wolves would differ from water dogs, he had not asked. He did not see coyotes; they were usually creatures of lower altitudes.

  The scenery was so uniformly grand as to become unremarkable except for one view they came upon in early morning as they made a turn on the way up and saw it against the sky.

  “What in heaven’s name is that?” cried Xulai.

  Blue and Rags brought the wagon to a halt, looking up as Xulai was doing. She had actually walked forward, as though to get closer, though the thing was far and unattainable from where they were. They were looking across a straight-­walled crevasse, over an intersecting ridge, up another vertical wall. At the top of the wall stood a sizable grove of blackened trees, an isolated grove occupying the only soil pocket for some distance in any direction. Nothing was left now but the charred trunks and the larger branches. Through this black veil they could see the curved, soaring lines of a remarkable stone formation.

  “I see it,” said Abasio. “Actually, I’ve heard of it. It’s called something odd. Oh, yes: the Listener.” He leaned back into the open window of the wagon, feeling dizzy. “I don’t remember anyone saying it could be seen from the road here.”

  “It’s huge.”

  “It is that,” he mumbled, fighting nausea as images cascaded through his mind. The tower. The women. A forest, a group of creatures dancing . . . a huge red egg . . . a building that squirmed and changed its shape . . . Then the tower, the pool. Then, suddenly, the throne room, Plethrob. . .

  Xulai stared at the thing. The light around it was a halo, a sphere, contracting, narrowing, becoming a single beam that reached from the formation toward them, arrowing toward them, past her, ending at Abasio. He was outlined with a scarlet glow, as though on fire . . .

  She cried out, “Abasio? Love, what is it?” As she moved toward him, it vanished.

  He slumped, breathing heavily. Casting a glance at the formation, Xulai said, “Blue, Rags, get us out of the line of sight of that thing, will you? Quickly.”

  The horses moved quickly; the formation vanished as quickly as it had appeared, visible only from that one angle, and it would have been invisible, even from there, if the grove of trees had not been burned. Xulai gritted her teeth. It was almost as though someone . . . something had burned them just so something could get a look at Abasio. She climbed onto the seat beside Abasio and turned his face toward her: he was pale, his nostrils flared. She could see the pulse in his neck, hard, fast. Suddenly he took a deep breath and straightened up. “Whoosh.”

  “Hold it, Blue, Rags. Let me get him something to drink.”

  He gulped at the water she gave him, his breathing slowed. His eyes darted, here, there, coming to rest on her face. He muttered, “Those burned trees. Looked like a lightning strike, didn’t it. Just burned that one isolated bunch. Thank goodness it was isolated. Otherwise, there’d have been a forest fire.”

  “We goin’?” asked Blue.

  Xulai answered. “Yes, Blue. Let’s get a little distance between us and that whatever. Abasio, what do you know about the thing, the thing we just saw?”

  “Ah. Not much, actually.” He took several deep breaths, another gulp of water. His head didn’t hurt, but it felt odd. As though it had been rummaged through. There were . . . adjacencies in there he didn’t remember. Whatever did it wasn’t required to be gentle. He fumbled for words. “I’ve never heard you could see it from here. Well, normally one couldn’t, of course. It’s supposed to be a vivid red at dawn. That’s really all I know about it.”

  “It’s very strange,” murmured Xulai. She kept glancing at the skyline as they went on, though a turn in the road had put it behind an intervening ridge. According to a sign by the side of the road, Findem Pass was a day’s travel farther on. They paused briefly in a clearing beside the road to put together a late, cold lunch. Willum, who seemed to have several extra pairs of eyes—­to go with his multiple mouths and lungs—­called their attention to the height still above them where a dozen horsemen were briefly silhouetted against a high rock wall. The men were perhaps an hour or so away, and Abasio noted with some apprehension that they had no pack animals with them and . . . the last horse in line seemed to have a rider who was bound. It was too far to tell for sure, but the horse looked very much like Socky. The bound man was probably Kim.

  Poor Kim. He’d had nothing but trouble on this trip, and Abasio said as much to Xulai. Unfortunate young man. A Tingawan chosen for the task, but just possibly not as well fitted for it as someone else might have been. Xulai thought Precious Wind would not have been caught so. Nor would her former companion, the Great Bear of Zol. Poor Bear. Honorably dead. But still, dead.

  The wagon had been sheltered behind trees when they saw the men; it was unlikely that either it or they had been seen. The wagon was quickly pulled into the next shielding grove. The trees were too thick to get it very far among them, so they removed their stores and anything that looked useful into the nearest hiding place they could find, a small cave not far away, invisible among trees and fallen stones. Everything went, including the chicken coops, which were covered to eliminate any clucking or crowing to betray them. All of Xulai and Willum’s clothing was hidden, as well as the babies and all their accoutrements. The sea-­eggs, which, along with themselves, were the most precious things they carried, were already well hidden in the walls of the wagon, cushioned against any accident. When they had finished, the wagon carried nothing much but a sparse diet and clothing for a single traveler. The last thing removed was the harness.

  “Why, dang nab it?” said Willum to Xulai. “We was just about all the way up!”

  “We don’t know that group coming down,” Xulai told him. “Men traveling in groups without pack animals and this far from a town have to live off the country—­and we’re part of the country. They could be slavers or thieves. Abasio and I would rather not have wounded ­people or animals while we’re trying to get the babies to safety, so we’re going to give them no fight and no reason to steal. Also, Abasio thinks they may have captured Kim. Understand?”

  “Abasio says you got something could stop them!”

  “Yes, but only by killing all of those men while they’re in a close group, and probably some of their horses.” Although, she thought, the new devices might well be able to discriminate. No time to experiment, however . . .

  (Of course I can discriminate, you silly woman! thought ul xaolat. I know Kim, I can release Kim, kill all the others—­without gore—­quiet the horses, and then recite in a solemn voice, in any chosen language, your choice of requiems, with appropriate musical setting. Given an extra few moments, I can manage an interment. With flowers. You don’t have to push a button. You have only to say so!)

  Xulai went on. “Their horses are not at fault and killing them wou
ld upset our horses—­and us—­to see them needlessly murdered. So we are putting all our tempting things away, including you and me, Willum, and the babies.”

  “My ma’d tell you, nobody’d steal me,” said Willum.

  “They probably wouldn’t steal you if they knew you, no,” agreed Xulai, quite seriously, “But if they are gangers, as Abasio thinks they may be, they may make a specialty of beating brattish boys into doing what they’re told, and in any case, they don’t know you, so the question doesn’t arise.”

  (I could have moved all that stuff in a tenth the time, thought ul xaolat. There’s a better cave, too, and it’s no farther away. And I don’t suppose they’ll tell me to put their possessions back either. Honestly! I could stow them so much more efficiently! Hasn’t anyone read the new directions?)

  About an hour later, the mounted men reached the clearing. They made up a column of twelve, riding in pairs except for one rope-­bound man, tied to the horse being led behind the group. The two men at the head of the column dismounted and walked toward Abasio, where he sat beside a lonely fire, eating a very small pot of boiled grain. The wagon was parked inside a grove of trees. There was no sign of the horses.

  The fatter of the two called, “Well, traveler, you’re out here all alone.” His eyes flicked toward the wagon and away.

  “Ayup,” replied Abasio, chewing, his eyes on the tethered man. Kim. And Kim’s horse.

  “Where’s your horses?”

  “Wun’a’um los’ a shoe. T’other went to keep ’im comp’ny.” Abasio let his eyes drift along the mounted column. When he saw the bound man was looking at him, he winked with the offside eye, the one the others would not see. The bound man nodded, very slightly. He looked only slightly battered. Far less so than he had outside Gravysuck. Probably they had been laying for him, jumped him.

  “Went, where?” Fatter had eyes like two weasels peering out of holes in his face.

  “Blacksmith,” said Abasio, pointing down-­road. ­“Couple days thataway.”

  “You had somebody who could drive them down, huh?” Leaner breathed through his mouth, loudly. His eyes were vacant, but that was a lie. Someone nasty was home in there! Now, who did that remind Abasio of? Another life, another story.

  Abasio chewed, swallowed, wiped his mouth. “Nope. Nobody t’drive ’em. Went by their own selfs. They know where a blacksmith is. Otta know. Gone through here alla their lives. Up n’ down the mountain. Up n’ down, up n’ down. They knows the way.”

  The two looked at each other, then at the wagon. The leaner one demanded, “Whatchu got in there?”

  “Dye pot,” said Abasio. “Raw stuff for dyein’. Not much dye lef’. Used mos’ of it up.”

  “Dyer, huh?” said the fatter one. “That’s intresting. Mind if I have a look?”

  “ ’T’s a mess,” said Abasio, “but suit yerself.”

  The two men inspected the wagon, which was a mess, a carefully created mess—­complete with dye pots and slight smelliness. There was a small supply of grain, small enough that if it was stolen, they’d have plenty left. They had left no interesting food in sight or easily discoverable. There was nothing that looked worth stealing. The other ten men sat on their horses on the road, variously squirming and muttering. Two of them took out pipes and filled them. Fatter and Leaner returned from the wagon, one looking annoyed, the other vacant. Fatter said, “Where’s yer harness?”

  “Horses took it,” said Abasio. “It b’longs to them. Whenever they d’cide to go off, they take the harness with ’em. See, they’re just hired horses. I pay ’em a fee at the end of the trip. They use the money to buy oats, pay the blacksmith, and like that.”

  “Yer not carrying any fodder,” said Leaner.

  “Han’t needed any,” Abasio replied, scraping the bottom of the iron pot with his spoon to make an irritating, screeching sound. “Got good forage, so far. Should last till we get down to the prairie on the far side.”

  Fatter shook his head. “Never heard such a thing. How can horses own their own harness?”

  “Man who owned ’em lef’ it to ’em in his will. Set ’em free and lef’ it to ’em. Do that alla time in Artemisia, so I hear. You musta come through there to get up on the mountain.”

  Fatter and Leaner went back to their own horses, muttering and growling to a ­couple of the other men, meantime glancing over their shoulder at Abasio, who was doing nothing but staring after them while holding a deadly weapon in one hand and planning his first stroke if he was forced to use it. If Fatter and Leaner approach, fall to ground, take their heads off, aiming up to miss the horses. Then skip the last rider and make one slice above horse-­head level back along the file. Abasio had borrowed Xulai’s ul xaolat. In an instant, it could move him to another little glade some way down the mountain.

  However, whenever possible, both Xulai and Abasio preferred to avoid violence. Flicking off to some other location, however, would leave the wagon and its precious cargo of sea-­eggs unprotected. If the mounted men gave him no choice, he would kill them, though it seemed less likely when he heard one of them say, “Y’can b’leeve mos’ anythin’ ’bout Artemisia. Crazy ­people.”

  (If they attack, thought ul xaolat, I shall take what he is thinking as an order. Heads off, horses to be preserved uninjured, release Kim. He didn’t say cauterize the necks, but I will. And dispose of the corpses by burial. I think over where the burned trees were. And I’ll transplant a new grove from the big ones down at the bottom. I can do that even without corpses. It’ll give me something to do tonight. It’s neater.)

  Eventually, Fatter and Leaner remounted their horses and clattered off down the road, not bothering to wave. Abasio went out onto the road and watched them go. When the bound man on the last horse looked back, Abasio made a signal, an upright right hand making a circle toward the sun. It meant something like, “Within a day we’ll see to it.” Meanwhile he was carefully noting which stretches of the downhill road could be seen from this particular place.

  There were three places, all within a day’s travel, the first one only an hour or so away by horse—­and by road. Without a wagon one could go downhill through the trees instead of by road, in less than an hour. He remembered the first possibility as a good place to camp, near the river—­which at that point was merely a streamlet trickling through a rocky crease. The men probably had no plan requiring speed. Robbery, rapine, and murder needed no advance timetable. Plans were made after one had assessed a target. He wondered, briefly, if they knew how well Saltgosh was protected, deciding they not only did not know about Saltgosh but also did not know how to ride. If they were all like the two he’d seen dismounted, every one of them rode ugly and walked sore. He thanked something or someone he had not had to kill them. A dozen corpses to dispose of. He and Xulai couldn’t simply have left them on the road. Possibly with a few dead horses!

  Willum and Xulai appeared out of the woods, bearing chicken coops and babies. Blue also appeared to tell them that Rags had gone down, slightly uphill and inside the forest, to be sure all the riders would indeed camp some distance away. Abasio mentioned that Kim was a prisoner of the men who had just passed.

  “Why didn’t they grab you?” Xulai asked.

  “No horse for me to ride,” Abasio replied. “I’d have slowed them down. And no harness for the wagon, so they couldn’t take that. My guess is, they plan to pick me up on the way back. By that time, they figure on having extra horses.”

  “You want me to get Kim loose,” asked Blue. “Tonight? While they’re camped? I can follow them down now.”

  “Both you and Rags go. If the horses could be silently cut loose, maybe they’d wander off in the night and make it difficult for the men to go anywhere tomorrow. Or they might follow you. That’d be fine. But you . . . you might have to cut Kim loose. I’ll have to—­”

  “Me, me, me,” cried Willum. “I’m sneaky, ’Basio
. Real sneaky.”

  Abasio gave him a long, thoughtful look. “Can you handle a knife without cutting yourself?”

  “Oh, fer, ’Basio! You know me better’n that!”

  Without further comment, Willum was furnished with a sheathed knife, which he fastened to his belt, his face tense with concentration. He scrambled onto Blue’s back and the horse turned to go down through the forest, silent as a deer.

  Abasio turned to find that Xulai was glaring at him. He said mildly, “When I was nine years old, four nasty men came by our farm. They took over our barn, where they had a little girl all tied up. She was a bit younger than I was. They were holding her for ransom, some folks in town who were well-­to-­do, I guess. They shut my father and me in the cellar. Snow could be heavy on the farm, partway up in the mountains as we were, so many of us farmers had tunnels connecting barns and chicken houses and such. I got out of the cellar into the chicken house, and then cross-­country to the three farms nearest ours, got six men to come back with me. Three of them were good bowmen, the others had axes. The men in the barn had only knives; at least that’s all I saw. While the men helped my father keep the place surrounded, I got into the barn and got the little girl loose, and got her and me down in the tunnel they didn’t know was there.

  “I tell you this to explain why a man is never too young to learn how to gag some female who is intent upon screaming when silence is absolutely required.” He removed his scarf and moved purposefully in Xulai’s direction.

  “All right! I won’t yell! I grant you are probably more aware of Willum’s propensities than I am.”

  “Both his propensities and his talents. You need to examine his pack one of these days. He thieved half Saltgosh of this and that and no one saw a thing. He’s a petty pilferer. I’ll bet he’s been sneaking into places since he was three.” He saw the shock on her face. “Never mind! He and I have jointly recompensed or returned property to those who were stolen from. He owes me several dirty, unpleasant, onerous tasks for having supplied him with the wherewithal to repay and having taught him how to apologize. He deeply resented having to apologize. It made him feel ashamed, thank heaven! I was afraid nothing would! His ma evidently never taught him the thou-­shalts and shalt-­nots.”