by Greg Bear
“What hopes? I haven’t had any hope since I came to this place.”
“Ah!” Spart pulled her lips back from her black gums and long teeth. “You hope for those geen.”
“Who?”
He felt weak and fell back. As he twisted his head, he saw Nare on one side of him, Coom on the other.
“Ba (click) dan,” Coom said. “Okay?” Nare bent closer to examine his limbs.
“Other than being a little banged up, I’m fine,” Michael said quietly.
“Something,” Coom said. “Did something.”
“What?”
“Up. Outside.”
He stood awkwardly and realized he was naked. Spart pushed him through the doorway and they pulled him forward by his arms until he stood in the middle of the mound. “Do you feel anything?” Spart asked as they circled him. Coom made soft clucking sounds. “Anything odd?”
“No. Nothing. Why?”
“Be certain!” Nare snapped. “Where is it?”
“On one of his limbs, probably,” Spart said. “Hiding.”
“Daggu,” Coom said. It sounded like a curse. He was filthy, stained with grass juice and blood, but he didn’t feel badly injured. Still, the way the Crane Women regarded him, with tight narrow expressions, worried him. Coom glanced down at his calf and bent over. She held out her left hand, wriggling her fingers slowly, and suddenly snapped it down to his ankle, plucking something up and holding it at arm’s length.
“Do you see it?” Spart asked.
“What?” He tried to make out what Coom was holding but was too nervous to approach close enough.
“In the sun,” Nare said. Something about two inches long glinted in Coom’s long fingers. He squinted and traced its silhouette. It resembled a slender crab, translucent, almost invisible. In all the dirt and mess, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all; he certainly hadn’t felt it.
“What is it?” he asked, shivering.
“This night, while you sleep,” Nare said, “it would kill you. It’s a gift from the Meteorals. When they give one of these to another Sidhe, the bite produces mystic dreams. Humans can’t dream here, so it kills them.”
“Jesus,” Michael said.
“Remember,” Span said, her eyes fixed on his. “You cannot dream here. There are no dreams.”
Coom carried the tiny creature into their hut. “It will entertain us tonight… and then, we’ll add it to our collection,” Span said.
Biri had watched all this from the door of his hut. The young Sidhe drew his reed curtain closed and Michael stood alone and naked, as hollow as a dead tree.
Inside his hut, stashed in a corner, was a change of clothing. The pants, shin and cloth shoes resembled what the Crane Women wore but were even more ragged. Still, they were clean. He put them on. The fit was tolerable.
Michael felt the by now very familiar sensation of apprehension and helplessness. He had survived. He had done something strange, something he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to repeat; yet in the face of the Realm’s mystery, he had not learned much.
What he had learned was that the Crane Women cared little for his safety—or they were crazy enough to put him into situations where he could get killed.
He came out of the hut again to see that the sky was brightening. He had slept all day after his ordeal. After eating the fruit and porridge Nare had left for him, he went to the stream to bathe. He scrubbed off all the dry grass and din stains, then poured water over himself. When he had shivered dry, he went to a relatively calm pool and peered at his reflection.
His cheek was swollen and the scratches were pink and puffy, but they didn’t seem infected. His forehead was bruised, as were his ribs and feet.
Biri came up to him as he finished dressing. “What do you want?” Michael asked, looking off to one side.
“They played games with you. Not the Crane Women—the Meteorals.”
“Everybody plays games with me.”
“If they had meant to kill you, you wouldn’t have escaped.”
“Maybe they did try to kill me, and I’m just better than anybody thinks.”
Biri shook his head.
“Dammit, nobody believes I’m worth a crap! Why can’t I just do something right and be recognized for it?”
“Do you know what you did?”
“Yeah. I survived. We’ve been through all that.”
“The Crane Women were—”
“I don’t give a damn what they were doing. I’m not wanted around here. Tell them,” he nodded at the hut, “tell them I’m going to spend the night with my own people. Not with Breeds.” He hesitated. “Not with Sidhe.”
“I’ll tell them. And after tonight?”
“I’ll worry about that later.”
“What will Lamia do?” Biri asked.
“What do you know about her, or care? I don’t want to be here, that’s all.”
Biri watched as Michael crossed the river and walked west. He carried his book in one frayed pocket; it slapped against his hip with every step.
In Euterpe, Michael located the alley where Savarin had led him, turned left into it and at the end walked up the flight of steps to Helena’s doorway. He knocked on the frame but received no answer. Standing for a moment, convinced his luck wasn’t going to improve for some time, he descended the stairs and nearly walked into her.
“Michael! What’s happened to you?” She reached up and touched her fingers solicitously to his face.
“I’m leaving the Crane Women,” he said. “I want to live in town. I thought you might be able to help me find a place.”
“Maybe. Maybe Savarin can help you.”
“I thought…” He was too numb to consider finesse. “I thought maybe I could stay here.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Helena said, smiling broadly. She patted him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s find Savarin.”
At the hotel, Risky told them the scholar was teaching classes. “Why did you decide to leave?” Helena asked as they walked through the streets.
“Sick of it,” he said. “I just want to find some way to go home.”
“So do we all,” Helena said ruefully. “But most of us have learned to accept that there’s no going back.”
“Someone could send us back.”
“That hasn’t happened yet. What did they do to your face?”
“They took me out on a hike and left me on a trod. I was almost killed. That’s part of the training.”
Helena shook her head sympathetically.
The school was in worse repair than most of the buildings in town. There were no windows in the brick frames and the door hung askew, allowing Savarin’s dulcet tones to escape across the clear sunny morning.
They waited for Savarin’s lecture—conducted mostly in French—to end. The five townsfolk sitting on the brick pews got up and shuffled out, their expressions resigned. Savarin lifted his arms in greeting. “My flock,” he said, pointing to the backs of the departing five. “Enthusiasm incarnate.”
“Michael needs a place to stay,” Helena said.
“Why? You have your place outside Halftown.”
“I don’t want to be there,” Michael said. “I’m leaving the Crane Women.”
Savarin frowned. “That’s not good,” he said. “I’m afraid there’s no place in town for you. You don’t have a job, and jobs are important. Outsiders are few and the accommodations are slim even for those living here.”
“I’ll work at something.”
“You don’t understand.” Savarin sat on the end of a pew and spread his hands. “Lamia ordered you to the Crane Women. The townsfolk are in awe of Lamia, no matter how irreverent they may seem. If you displease her, you have no place here. Go back.”
Michael shook his head.
“Savarin is right,” Helena said. “I mean, I’ve only been here for a short time, and I have to accept things as they are. Getting along, doing things the accepted way.”
“Can’t I share your r
oom? Michael asked, glancing from one to the other. Helena’s sympathetic smile was weaker this time.
“You’re young,” Savarin said. Michael turned away, unable to bear the thought of another lecture.
“Look,” he said, “I know I’m young, I’m stupid, I’m clumsy. So what? I need a place to stay. I need some freedom.”
Savarin laughed bitterly. “Freedom? Show me a human in the Realm who has any freedom. Why should you be different?”
“I didn’t want to come here! Music didn’t bring me here.”
“No,” Savarin said. “You walked here, on your own volition. You knew you were going someplace. You tried harder to get here than we did. So you are a little less free. There’s no place for you here in town.” He tried to soften his words by adding, “Not that we wouldn’t put you up if we could. But things are balanced very delicately now.”
“We can’t afford to rock the boat,” Helena restated.
“I might manage to get you some food,” Savarin said.
“Me, too,” Helena said. “And maybe some better clothes. Where did you get those?”
Michael didn’t answer. He looked at Helena imploringly, and realized his few hopes had been exploded. Without a word, he turned and left the school.
“Michael—”
He ran. Letting the familiar pleasures and pains of exertion fill him, blanking out his worries, he covered most of the distance to Halftown before forcing himself to slow to a walk.
He didn’t even know who he was any more. At one time he had been the young, bright son of well-to-do, talented parents, living in a prosperous neighborhood in a famous city, hoping—trying—to be a poet. Now he was ragged, bruised… yet stronger and swifter, and he had been forced to do something quite wonderful… or die. He didn’t know who his friends were. He was angry at Savarin and Helena, but he didn’t actually blame them…
The Realm was a tough place to live.
He entered the market courtyard in Halftown. The Breeds paid little attention to him; he was none of their concern. But Eleuth saw him from the workshed, where she was wrapping cloth goods for a customer, and her face lit up with a smile. When she saw his bruises, the smile changed to a look of concern. She finished tying the package and handed it to the tall Breed woman, who glanced at Michael sternly in passing.
“Hello,” Michael said.
“They’ve been testing you again,” Eleuth said, perching on a stool in front of him. Standing, she was a couple of inches taller. On the stool, her face was level with his.
“How’d you guess?” He smirked, holding out his tattered sleeves.
“And they won’t let you stay in Euterpe.”
“Did you see me going there?”
She shook her head. “I’m learning. Very slow, very difficult, but just looking at you I can tell a little of what happened. Why did you leave them?”
“I don’t want to die,” Michael said. “And I don’t think they much care if I do.”
“You could be wrong,” Eleuth said. “But stay here. I have to work for a while.”
“I don’t have anyplace else to go,” Michael said.
Eleuth smiled. “I mean, stay here with me. You can help. As long as they let you.”
Michael watched her return to her customers. Suddenly, a different kind of panic assailed him. What was he going to do, living with a Breed woman under the same roof?
What would she expect him to do?
Chapter Eighteen
I’m closing now,” Eleuth told Michael as dusk settled. “Today seemed shorter than usual, didn’t it? Adonna’s whim, I suppose.”
She showed him how to pick up the baskets of merchandise from the board tables and where to put them in the shed, away from the elements. He helped her draw a tarp over the displays of heavier merchandise. “Nobody steals anything here?”
“Certainly,” Eleuth said. “But even Breeds can afford a few safeguards.” She didn’t explain, simply grinned at him as she closed the gate to the market courtyard. “Now. How long has it been since you ate?”
“About a day and a half,” he said. He hadn’t noticed, but the reminder awoke his hunger.
“I have some broth cooking, some Faer dishes… I hope it will be enough. I mean good enough for you.”
The house next to the market square was soon lit with oil lanterns and candles and a fire was kindled in the pit. Eleuth placed bread on the bricks to warm and stirred a pot suspended over a circle of embers. She offered Michael a cup of water from a cloth bag, cooled by evaporation, and asked him to sit on one of the two wooden chairs.
“How old are you?” Michael asked as she finished gathering utensils and set a wicker table for them.
“Oh, that’s not a definite thing here,” she said.
“Can you guess?”
“Not much older than you, by the looks.”
“But I’m sixteen, and you’re… bigger.”
“That’s natural for those with Sidhe blood. We grow up very fast.”
“Your father was half Sidhe?”
Eleuth nodded. “My mother was human. She died long ago. I don’t remember her very well. Now if I were full Sidhe, I’d either remember everything, or nothing. Depending on what I choose.”
“I feel so stupid, living in the Realm,” Michael said quietly. Eleuth handed him a ceramic bowl filled with vegetable broth. It smelled spicy and was; his tongue was aflame after a few swallows.
“Bread?” she offered. He tried to hide his discomfort by chewing on the durable, brown-crusted bread. “We all learn here, all the time,” she continued, sitting across from him. “Isn’t that true on Earth? I mean, mortals have finite lives; they must spend all their short years thinking themselves to be very ignorant.”
“I guess.” A few more swallows and he seemed to get used to the spiciness. The warmth passed up his neck and into his head. His scalp was sweating.
“As for me, I’m not terribly bright, even for a Breed. By Sidhe standards, I’m very slow. My father was a fine parent, but I think I was a disappointment to him.”
“He’d rather have had a son?”
“Oh, no!” Eleuth laughed. “Sidhe always prefer daughters. Magic is more powerful in a family with daughters. But in my case, I inherited very little.”
“What can you do with magic?” Michael asked “I’ve seen some things, but…” He trailed off.
“We probably shouldn’t talk about it,” Eleuth said. She took his empty bowl and filled it again. “You’re not a Breed. I’m not sure why you’re here or why they tolerate you. Do you know?”
Michael shook his head. “I wish I did. I mean, I think I wish I knew. Maybe I don’t want to know.”
“You must know eventually,” Eleuth said. They ate in silence for a while. Then she picked up their empty bowls and stuck them in a pot of sand. She spun the pot on its pedestal and plucked the bowls out, clean.
“You can sleep next to the hearth,” she said. She took a rug down from its bar and laid it on the floor, then produced two blankets and a robe. “This was Lirg’s,” she said, handing the robe to him. “I’ll sleep now. In the morning, you can pick out some other clothes. Good night.”
He lay on the rug and pulled the blankets over him. Eleuth put out the fire in the pit and pulled the screen over it, then slipped behind another hanging into her room.
He lay in the ember-lit dark for a few minutes, his mind turbulent but blank. His eyes shut.
Sleep without dreams occupied no time at all. He came awake to the sound of weeping. It was Eleuth. Groggy, uncertain what to do, he sat up on the floor and listened for a minute, chin on his knees. Finally he stood, the old clothes binding him where he had twisted in his sleep. He approached the hanging.
“Eleuth?”
The sobbing became softer. “Eleuth, what’s wrong?”
“I’ll be quiet,” she said, her voice muffled.
“No, what’s wrong?”
He pulled aside the hanging and saw her lying on a wooden palle
t, blankets pulled up around her neck. Her face was streaked with tears which glinted in the light of the room’s single candle.
“I can’t remember all the transactions,” she said. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep the accounts in my head.”
Michael leaned sleepily against the wall. “Then use paper.”
“Oh, no!” Eleuth said, shuddering as she wept. “We do not write anything down. That is…wrong. Lirg would be very disappointed in me.” She wiped her face with her hands.
“So you’re different. Everybody’s different.”
“I’ll be all right,” she said. “Go back to sleep now.” She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. He let the hanging slip back.
“Michael?”
He stopped at the edge of his bedclothes. “What?”
“Are you afraid of Breeds? I mean, do you hate us?”
“No,” he said. “They’re no worse than humans. Better than Sidhe, as near as I can tell.”
He heard her bare feet on the floor. She pulled back the hanging and stared out at him. Nothing was said for a time, then she motioned for him to come join her.
“I’m mostly human,” she said as she held back the blankets for him. He started to climb in with his clothes still on, but she made a face and pushed him gently back. “Not with those,” she said, undoing the strings which belted his pants. “Take off that shirt. You deserve much better.”
He felt very strange, excited but sleepy, afraid but calm. She smiled at his underclothes as he untied the fabric and let it hang in front of him. She took his hand and pulled him down beside her, then kissed his forehead.
“You’re tired,” she said. “Tonight we sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep just yet,” he said. He put his arms around her, bunching the coarse, pliant fabric of her gown in one fist. He nuzzled her neck and she lifted her chin, closing her eyes. Then he kissed her. She tasted slightly electric, as if he were licking a dime. With one hand he undid the ties on the upper portion of her gown, revealing her breasts. They were dotted with pearly-gray freckles and her sternum rippled in the hollow between. He touched her skin gently with one finger, then rubbed his cheek against her breasts, feeling her warmth. She held his head and squeezed him closer, kissing his hair.
