Fish Tails

by Sheri S. Tepper

  “Thou-shalts?”

  “Some ancient rule most folks seemed to know when I was a boy. Thou shalt not steal was one of ’em. Not kill ­people was one. Not tell lies was one.”

  “What happened to the little girl in the barn?”

  “After we killed the four men?”

  “Presumably after, yes. Since you were a bit young to commit rape.”

  “Which would not have been at all tempting to me. If you had ever seen or heard her, you would have known that. Particularly heard her. Doing so would make one covet deafness. Don’t worry about Willum. Even if he were caught, no one knows he’s connected to us. They wouldn’t hold him long.”

  Xulai did not look greatly comforted, but then she worried over Willum’s morality more than Abasio did. Morality proceeded from conviction, and at some point she hoped Abasio would take the trouble to convince him. Ability to trick and dissemble, however, was inborn, and Willum had an immeasurable supply of that!

  Abasio stalked out to the road. He would prefer that the men stop at the place he had picked out for them. He took off his boots and climbed a convenient tree.

  From below him, Xulai asked, “And you are doing what?”

  “Seeing where they stop, dear heart. So I’ll know when we can expect Kim and his horse back. Also Willum and our horses. Also, perhaps, all the horses they were riding. I’m wondering about that group, hoping Kim has listened to them and can tell us something when he gets back. They acted almost as though they were looking for something in particular.”

  “You think the Griffin sent them . . . ?”

  He shook his head. Griffin did not need and would not use such scruffy agents. Compared to that gang of offal eaters, Griffin was a model of purity.

  Xulai prepared their supper, something a bit more satisfying than boiled grain, putting a goodly share at the edge of the fire to await Willum and Kim’s return. When she took Abasio his bowlful, he remarked, “They stopped at that clearing we noticed on the way up, the one with the little tributary creek running through it. They’ve built a fire.” He came down from his perch. “We can’t expect anything until well after dark. Let’s get everything repacked and ready to move. We’ll want to get out of their observation range before light.”

  (That’s it, thought ul xaolat. Hurry, rush, scramble around, drive yourselves crazier. Why not just say, “Put the stuff back in the wagon”? I am being totally wasted on this trip. Maybe they make a model for very young children two or three years of age that would be more suitable for this . . . group.)

  BLUE AND RAGS ARRIVED IN the vicinity of the troop’s camp well before it was dark. Willum slipped from Blue’s back and slithered to the largest tree between him and the encampment—­though he considered it not much of a camp. Everyone sort of suiting himself, finding his own bed space, nobody collecting wood to keep the fire going, nobody preparing anything hot to eat. And each one of them seemed to have a bottle of something besides water, which could be good news so far as Willum was concerned. Particularly if they all got sleepy-­drunk fast.

  Kim was tied to the tree Willum was behind, his hands tied in front of him.

  “Kim,” whispered Willum. “Don’t talk.”

  “Crmm,” coughed Kim.

  Willum looked up. Kim had a gag on his mouth. “If I cut the gag off, they’ll see. I don’t want to cut you loose till they’re asleep. Can you sit down?”

  Kim sagged, worked the ropes downward inch by inch as Willum silently shaved off chunks of tree bark to let the rope go by. Kim finally managed to sit. He was tied once around his chest, once around his belly. “Put’cher legs up,” whispered Willum. “Hafta cut the bottom ropes, but they won’t see with your legs up. Hafta leave the top rope for a while.”

  The bottom rope—­with a knot that had been pulled so tight it could not be untied—­had been wrapped several times around Kim’s body. Willum cut it next to the knot and pulled it slowly away, inch by inch, providing a nice length for someone to do something else with. He set himself to watch.

  Each man carried his own provisions, just as each man had his own bottle, and they were settled separately, each eating and drinking from his own supply.

  “Y’gonna feed ’im?” one asked.

  “Na,” said the fatter man. “Later, mebbe, when we get some provisions down in Saltgosh. Don’t have any extra now.”

  “Y’wanna keep the fire goin’?”

  “Nah,” the leaner man replied. “S’not cold yet. We’ll get some sleep, make a fire for tea in t’mornin’.”

  “We gonna do Saltgosh in the mornin’?”

  “Whenever we get there. Queen Sybbis says Saltgosh’s got a whole winner’s wort’ a per-­versions. Got salt wagons and horses, too, an’ prob’ly money. We’re gonna load their wagons with their per-­versions and drive them over the pass.”

  “Y’know how t’do that? Like harness n’ all?”

  “It’s justa buncha straps. Shouldn’t be hard.”

  A horse, hearing this, snickered. Willum gave Blue a look, which was returned innocently.

  “Think there’s enough of us?” yawned another of the men.

  “Nobody there that fights, is there? Sybbis says it’s justa mine. Men diggin’ out salt. No gangers. Might be some women. If there’s women, kids, we might take some.”

  One of the other men asked, “Whatchu gonna do with him?”—­pushing his chin out in Kim’s direction.

  “Sell ’im when we get back.”

  “Don’t think so,” murmured Willum into Kim’s ear.

  It grew dark. The clearing resounded with whurfles, snores, grunts. Kim was released. The moon rose, giving Kim and Willum enough light to release all the horses from the picket line after Blue had spoken to them about the need for quiet movement away through the trees, quiet movement upward off the road inside the trees, leaving no tracks while following Blue and Rags to a far better future than these idiots were offering. All the horses agreed.

  Kim mounted his horse—­the men had left the horses saddled—­and followed the herd as it moved. Willum was on Blue’s back, holding on tightly. The herd ghosted upward along the hill, mostly in among the trees, the shorter way that Rags and Blue had come, well spread out and leaving, as Willum had requested, no easily visible hoofprints. Willum could have tracked them, he knew, but those idiots asleep back in the clearing probably couldn’t.

  Willum announced his return well before midnight. “ ’Basio, I got all the horses an’ the saddles. Kim’s back.”

  Xulai had heard them, and had also felt the soft noses of some other beasts smelling her where she lay beside the wagon. A brief conference ensued while Kim and Willum were given food and while both they and the horses drank.

  “They didn’t even unsaddle the horses, Abasio!” snarled Kim. “They’re stupid. They don’t know anything. Didn’t even let the horses have a drink! No campcraft, nothing! Those saddles have been on those horses for days! They prob’ly got sores, even!”

  “Well, their ignorance was luck for us,” muttered Abasio. “Let’s see if we can stow the saddles inside the wagon for a while. They may have to carry them daytimes, but we’ll give the horses’ backs a rest. I have stuff for saddle sores if you see any.”

  The extra harness was removed from its traveling rack under the wagon, Blue, Rags, and two volunteer horses—­Blue said there were four in the group that were harness, not saddle horses. The Catlanders hadn’t known the difference when they got them. Kim mounted up once more and headed uphill, followed by ten horses. In the pale moonlight, the wagon trailed behind them, moving a good deal more rapidly behind four horses than it had traveled with two. The second team made a difference.

  “What did those men think they were doing?” Xulai asked Willum.

  Willum said, “Two of the men were talkin’, an’ one said Queen Sybbis says there’s a whole season’s wort
h of supplies put away in Saltgosh, and they’re supposed to steal winter ‘perversions.’ What’re perversions? And maybe they’ll steal some women and children. An’ when the others was asleep, it was just those two guys, Skinny and Fats, awake, and they said Saltgosh prob’ly had money.”

  In the moonlight, Xulai stared at Willum. “They were talking about provisions, Willum. That’d be food for winter, mostly, I imagine. Abasio, you have my ul xaolat, don’t you? I created a destination place in Saltgosh. It’s not that far away in real distance, though the road winds so much that it seems much farther. I can be there in two minutes, warn them, let them lay whatever trap they like. Just because that crew lost its horses doesn’t mean they still won’t attempt to rob the place.”

  “What place in Saltgosh?” he asked.

  She flushed. There had been that lovely little mountain pool above the pasture, surrounded by pines, with the softest mosses . . . Abasio had been in a loving mood. The children had been asleep. And Willum had been, for a wonder, somewhere else! Never mind. It would be a good place to flick to, with very little chance of being seen.

  Abasio, reading the flush correctly, changed the subject. “Well, you’ll have to wait until we reach a camping spot you can enter into ul xaolat so you’ll know what place to come back to. There’s plenty of time. They won’t move until morning and they won’t move fast even then.” He turned toward Willum. “Did you or Blue hear anything else about who or why?”

  “Seems,” the horse said over his shoulder, “our information is correct about there being two countries now, down where we’re headed. Artemisia is one of the two, Catland lies to the north of it. We know what philosophy Artemisia follows. Catland follows another one. That dozen are employed by Catland.” He gave Abasio a significant look. Abasio shuddered.

  “Catland?” said Xulai. “They worship cats?”

  Blue made a whurfling noise, suspiciously like a whinnied giggle. “Not cats, no. Not just any old cat. Abasio the Cat. Who is evidently the sainted father of the current boy-­child leader and the sainted spouse of the leader’s mother, or regent, perhaps. Queen Sybbis, ha.”

  “The one you told me about?” whispered Xulai. “The ganger’s daughter-­in-­law?”

  Blue flipped his tail in amusement. “Better if her sainted spouse didn’t suddenly turn up alive.”

  Abasio corrected him. “Blue, I was never Sybbis’s spouse, and I’d rather not be a sainted anything! The single encounter I had with Sybbis took place when I had been drugged. The only way she could recognize me was by my scars and tattoos. Sybbis never saw the wagon, and it wouldn’t matter. It looks entirely different now. None of the gangers ever saw Willum or Xulai. My scars were removed when I was in Tingawa. I’m older and grayer. I can dye my hair to be grayer yet. And starting now, I’ll grow a mustache and beard.”

  “But they’re talking about your son, Abasio,” Xulai whispered. “Don’t you want to . . .”

  He put a hand on her shoulder and shook her, not entirely gently. “Bailai is my son. Gailai is my daughter. Willum is . . .” He had been going to say “my son.” “Willum is—­at least temporarily—­my foster son. I was only ganger on my father’s side. Sybbis is completely ganger both on her mother and father’s side. If CummyNup is her boy’s father, which is most likely, he’s ganger head to heels. Knowing what I know of Sybbis, I’m quite sure she would prefer me to be dead. If she thought I was alive, she might take steps to assure I didn’t last long.”

  “But, for heaven’s sake, ganger isn’t a race! It’s not like skin color, or blue eyes! It’s not something one inherits—­”

  “That’s not quite true, Xulai. Personality is largely genetic. The ganger personality is a pack personality. If you don’t have a pack personality, you don’t last! Before the Big Kill some countries were tribal, pack civilizations all with the same language or background or religion, and with a dominating leader—­an alpha male, one who is willing to do anything inside or outside the pack to maintain dominance: kill, rape, torture, murder. No one outside the pack matters. Anyone else can be killed without remorse. Sybbis has this ‘pack attitude’ and so does this bunch who are intending to rob Saltgosh. I, on the other hand, do not have it.

  “We talked about my using another name when we get down on the plain. We’d better start practicing while we have some little time to get used to it. You and Willum need to practice hitching the wagon to four horses. We’re all the ones who own the wagon, having bought it from a stranger man somewhere far west of here.”

  “You said we were gonna call you ‘Vahso,’ ” said Willum.

  Xulai murmured, “Yes. It sounds enough like your own name that if we forget, we can claim we said ‘Vahso,’ ” said Xulai. “You’re Vahso Gormley. I am Shooey Gormley. Willum is, of course, Willum Gormley. Will we reach the pass tonight?”

  “Easily. If there’s a good place to stop where we won’t be seen, I’d like to see what those men will do in the morning. I don’t see any sign of them, back there.”

  Blue said, “They let the fire go out. Didn’t even cover it. They’re not forest ­people or country ­people. Have they built themselves some new city?”

  Abasio muttered, “I doubt it. Something more like a camp. Gangers aren’t talented in any useful way. They create nothing, build nothing, grow nothing, harvest nothing but ‘riches,’ which usually means other ­people’s belongings and lives. Nothing gangers do is useful.”

  Sooner than they had thought possible, they reached a switchback, high upon the mountain, where they found Kim resting the horses. He told them they were within half an hour or less of the summit but could rest where they were, unobserved, in order to see where the raiders would go in the morning. He pointed them into a glade opening from the end of the switchback and extending some little distance along a cleft in the mountains, rock on both sides, a few stunted trees, a little rock pool full of rainwater. They pulled the wagon in, unharnessed the four horses, and made all the horses more comfortable with a ration of oats and hay. Blue moved among the new horses, asserting supremacy and assuring good treatment. Xulai stared about herself as she entered landmarks into her device. She would return after visiting Saltgosh.

  “Abasio, wasn’t that ridge down there where the burned trees were?”

  Abasio went to look. “I don’t see the Listener.”

  “I don’t either, and I don’t see the burned trees. Shouldn’t we see them from here?”

  (No, idiot, thought ul xaolat. You shouldn’t. I’ve replaced them. The Listener wanted them replaced. I also found the remains of the campfire that started the blaze. And the bones which were all that were left after the body burned. And the horse that was wandering around down in the valley behind it from which I removed the halter and saddle. To summarize: one traveler, one horse, one campsite, one large bottle of spirituous liquid resulting in one drunken camper, one runaway campfire, one very large blaze resulting in one cremated camper, one grove of burned trees: sole survivor, one horse. I have entered the facts into the daily report. And by the way, if anyone’s interested, that Listener thing is talking to itself. It says requests for aid have been received, help is on the way.)

  “If it starts to get late and I’m not back, you go ahead,” Xulai said finally. “I may stay long enough to help the Saltgosh ­people, and I can catch up by taking short visual trips.”

  “No!” Abasio said, his voice rising. “Xulai, do not pin us down here with what you may or may not do. Don’t make us fret and worry and maybe endanger ourselves or the children because we’re worried about you.”

  She gave him a look of annoyance. He took her by the shoulders. “Dear heart, have you forgotten that our children won’t wait quietly to be fed while you spend hours back down the road? And have you forgotten that Saltgosh has been right where it is for some hundreds of years? If you feel they’re incapable of surviving without your assistance, then go, but come rig
ht back! If the ­people of Saltgosh have asked for your help, you can flick back to help them from our next place on the road. We will still be within range.”

  “It’s more sensible,” offered Blue in his minatory voice. “Really, Xulai.”

  “Of course,” Xulai agreed, flushing ruefully. “It’s awful of me, but I keep forgetting they’re not weaned yet. I keep forgetting I’m a mother!” Her eyes began to fill.

  “You have a history of behaving like a heroine,” he said, hugging her and swallowing the grin she would have resented. “It’s not a history one drops in a few months of parenthood. I have the same problem. I find myself irresistibly moved toward intrepidity and heroism! It is all I can do to remember I have other responsibilities!”

  She gave him a frankly disagreeable look and flicked away, leaving Willum with his mouth open.

  “ ’Basio? What’s ‘in-­trep-­edy’?”

  “Foolish behavior, like small boys teasing giants. It often results in death.”

  It was about an hour later, as they were just settling into their beds, when she returned, slightly shamefaced. “I don’t need to go back. Gum was perfectly right. The Saltgosh ­people have had it happen before. They’d already seen the group, already diagnosed the situation, but were waiting for them to get a little closer before ringing their big bell. Evidently, even though we didn’t see any towns close to Saltgosh, there are clusters of woodsmen, hunters and trappers, back in the hills. When the bell rings, ­people from all over the valley come to help, and all noncombatants go underground—­including the ­people in that Home they told us of. I told them how many men there were and what they were after. I told them we’d taken their horses and suggested they put their own horses where they can’t be destroyed or run off if any of the raiders get that close. They’d started moving them before I left, the entrances are in the woods, not easily found. Everyone was quite excited about having someone to fight . . .”