by S. D. Tower
I lay there in the mud under the overcast sky, and after a while a soft drizzle began. The rain fell on me as people walked past; some stepped over me as if I were a length of cane, and I didn’t move for a long time.
But when the drizzle stopped and a pale silver smear in the clouds showed that midday had come, I made myself get up. Then I stumbled around to the rear of the house, where I sat down on a stone. Rana and Aunt Tamzu were in the cooking porch, simmering fish and greens in a clay pot for the midday meal. A stack of flatbread, baked that moming, waited in a straw basket. I dully considered going and getting in their way, but I knew nothing would come of it.
Then I thought: I have to leave here, I have to go somewhere else, where people won't do this to me.
Before my Negation, the idea of leaving would have scared me, even though my life in Riversong was so difficult. But now I realized my loneliness would madden me until I killed myself or until I did something that would justify my being put to death. That was the purpose of Negation; the person either died or ran off, and the village was rid of them one way or the other.
I don't want to die, I thought. I'm only eleven. But I'll die if I stay here. And they'll be happy about it, and I don't want them to be happy.
All right, then, I'll leave. Maybe I'll die somewhere else, but at least someone might talk to me before it happens,
I couldn’t just walk away, though; I’d need supplies to sustain me until I found a village where I could beg or work. To start off. I’d head for Gladewater, some two days’ walk along the road to the northwest. If I couldn’t find anything there. I’d keep going; according to Detrim, there was a town named High Lake somewhere beyond Gladewater. He’d been there for a few months as a young man, when he was impressed into the Despot’s army.
And beyond those two places lay the great world and all its countries. I knew a little about that world, knowledge I had gleaned from the half-comprehended tales carried by the infrequent wanderers who found their way to Riversong. I knew that the villagers and I were of the race called the Durdana, and that our empire of Durdane had once been great but was now broken and cast down. I knew that there had been no Emperor of Durdane for a hundred years—only the Despots, who governed a dozen petty states in the soudi of our ancient realm, and the Sun Lord of Bethiya, who watched over his larger domain in the north. I knew also that our ruin had come at the hands of the people we called the Exiles, and that they still ruled half the lands of the old empire—the Six Kingdoms—and that neither Despot nor Sun Lord had the power to drive them out.
But I had no clear understanding then of how vast my world really was. Our empire had once stretched fifteen hundred miles from east to west and a thousand from south to north, and beyond those borders lay other places and peoples yet: the wintry northern chiefdoms of the Daisa and the Huazin; the archipelagoes of the Chechesh, the Khalaka, and the Yellow Smoke Islanders in the western ocean; the Country of Circular Paths, the Bone Tree Kingdom, and Narappa-lo on that ocean’s far shores; and in the east, the brooding and barbarous realm of Abaris. And there were others beyond these, but so far away that they were more like rumors than real places and had no names.
If I’d known more than I did, I might have been daunted at the prospect of leaving. But in my innocence, I felt that the whole world was mine to discover, if I were daring enough to seize my opportunities with determined hands. My fortune, I told myself, lay in rich foreign places, not here in this wretched village where the road ended.
Excitement flooded me at the prospect. Why had I ever imagined I had to stay in Riversong until I died? My Negation was a blessing in disguise. I’d never have thought of leaving my old life, unless this punishment had befallen me. Losing those needles was perhaps the luckiest thing I’d ever done.
So tomorrow moming I’d leave. No, not tomorrow moming— Suppose something happened to change my mind? I’d go today, this aftemoon.
But I had to be practical, so I thought about what I’d need. Two days’ worth of provisions would sustain me as far as Gladewater, but I should make it three to be on the safe side. I had my cloak and my smock, and I could take a length of cane to serve as a walking stick and a sort of weapon. As for footwear, I didn’t need any; I’d gone without it all my life, and my soles were tough as boar’s hide. All I had to do, then, was get my hands on three days’ worth of food. Smoked fish and breadnut meal would be the best choice; I could wrap them in the broad leaves of the butterfly acacia to keep them dry and carry them in a fold of my cloak.
I got up off the stone and walked along the lane until I stood in front of the Stock House. The sky was clearing, and small ribbons of warm blue showed through rents in the cloud. The rapids growled softly from the Wing, like the rumble of distant drums.
I drew a deep breath and shouted, “Pay attention to me! I know you can hear me, even if you pretend you can’t. I’m going to do something now. When I tell you what it is, you’ll want me to do it.”
I paused. All Riversong seemed to be a huge listening ear. “I'm going to take some fish and bread from some of you. I know I’m not supposed to, and I know you can beat me for it, but I want you to let me take enough for three days. Because then I’m leaving. Forever. You give me three days’ food now, and you’ll never have to feed me again. I won’t come back. I swear that on the name of the Water Lord, who preserved my life. If I do come back, you can kill me.” Another pause. Riversong still listened. “I’m going to come for the food, then,” I shouted into the humid afternoon. “Then you’ll be done with me.”
I realized that my hands were clenched into fists. O Lady of Mercy, I prayed, make them give me what I need.
I set off along the lane, intending to begin at Detrim’s house. When I went around to the back, no one was in the cooking porch. The basket of bread was gone. The fish still simmered in the pot but I had no way to carry a portion of it. I’d have to go inside and look for what I needed. They might throw me into the street, but given what I’d promised, they might not.
But before I could try this, Rana came through the house doorway. She carried a woven bag with a strap, worn but still serviceable. It was the bag she used when she went clam digging in the Wing’s shallows. I stared at her in puzzlement, and then Rana looked up, and for the space of three heartbeats I gazed into her eyes. She opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it. She put the bag on the earthen floor of the porch, then went back inside and shut the door.
My sight blurred. I stumbled into the porch and picked up the bag. It smelled fiercely of old clams, but in it were three rounds of bread and a bundle of smoked eelpout wrapped in leaves. It was enough to keep me walking for a whole day, and the tight weave of the bag would keep out the rain.
I didn’t understand why Foster Mother had been so generous. I got a lump in my throat at first, but then I thought: Ah, but it's just to make sure I leave, so she'll never have to see me again. That's all it is.
This made me even more sad, so I pushed the thought fi’om my mind and slung the bag over my shoulder. Then I got a length of stout cane from the firewood pile and set out for the next house. The people there had left a few scraps outside the front door. I packed them away and moved on.
It was the same at the next house, and the next. Before the sun had moved much farther, I had all I needed. I went to the edge of the village, where the road began and ended. It ran northward away from me, toward the mysteries of those distant lands.
I settled the bag on my hip, took a firm grip on my staff, and walked out of Riversong forever.
Four
By the second morning of my great adventure, my enthusiasm for it had somewhat waned.
I’d slept, or tried to, in a thicket by the road, under a leaky roof I wove from the big round leaves of a butterfly acacia. Showers came and went, and when the night wasn’t full of the patter and hiss of rain, I heard noises: hoots of night birds, the chirr of crickets, the guttural creak of tree frogs.
But I was used to these natural
sounds and wasn’t troubled by them. What did scare me a bit was the thought of bemg visited by something from the Quiet World. For that realm, as the village priest had taught, is separated from our human one by less than the thickness of a leaf, and in the dark of the night, those thin partitions become thinner still.
And just as our world has its fearsome and hungry beasts, so does the Quiet World—not only demons and ghosts but also nameless things worse than these. Fortunately, however, our ancestors reside there, too, and with the help of the Beneficent Ones they protect us from such evils as best they can. But such protection can fail, and in the middle of the night, in the middle of a forest, I was very worried that it might—especially since I didn’t know who my ancestors were, and could only pray to Our Lady of Mercy that they’d notice me anyway and keep me safe. Perhaps they did, for nothing came whispering and sighing out of the rainy blackness to trouble me, and toward dawn I fell into a broken sleep.
Finally the light woke me. The forest had emerged from
the darkness, dripping wet and hung with mist. Sodden and chilled, I jumped up and down on the road’s rough turf until I’d warmed up a little. Then I ate sparingly of my dried fish and bread, drank from a pool that had collected in the hollow of a rock, and set off into the drab moming.
In a while the clouds parted in the east, and the sun poked rosy fingers through the rents. But the growing brightness did not cheer me much, for I was beginning to realize how utterly alone I was and how uncertain my future had become. However, there was nothing to do but go on, so I tried to bolster my spirits by imagining all the wonderful things I might do once I reached Gladewater.
But after a few miles I decided that Gladewater, being just a village, would be too small a compass for my ambitions. I’d stay there only long enough to get a new supply of food, and then go on to the town of High Lake, where there would surely be opportunities for a clever and resourceful person such as myself. I’d become rich and successful in no time, and I’d ride back to Riversong on a horse—an animal whose appearance was hazy to me, since I’d never seen one—and show everybody how stupid they’d been not to recognize my talents.
Such bright pictures sustained me till mid-moming, but at length my mood changed again and I began to feel very low. What did I have in the world? A few scraps of food in a smelly sack, a cloak, a smock, and a length of cane. And my wits. I was no longer sure how much my wits were worth.
I tramped onward nevertheless. The sun went in; more rain fell; the sun came out. The air was humid and thick, full of the smell of greenery, damp bark, and the fragrances of the wet-season blooms that grew beside the road: honey hibiscus, cinnivar, white glory, silverfoil. But I was too downcast to take much pleasure in their beauty, though back in Riversong I’d delighted in their hues and scents.
After a while I came to a place where the road cut shaiply around an outcrop of stone. And there, just beyond the bend, was a blaze of red and orange, like a great fire frozen by sorcery. It was a flame magnolia.
I'd never seen one so ancient and enormous. It had impressed other people as much as it did me, for beneath its flower-weighted limbs was a stone pillar with niches cut into it, and in the largest niche was the round plump face of a place god. His stone features were old and worn, but I could still make out the cheerful grin below his mustache and his bushy eyebrows.
I had knelt and was sprinkling a few crumbs as an offering for him, when a man strode around a bend in the road ahead. I stood up quickly, but I didn’t flee into the trees although I knew he might be a bandit. Maybe I thought the place god’s presence would protect me. Also, I had nothing worth stealing.
I watched him approach. He wore a straw hat, loose knee-length tan trousers, and a sleeveless brown tunic. A short sword dangled at his waist, and on his back he carried a pack. His hair was brown and fell unbound to his bare shoulders.
And slung over one of those shoulders was the slim leather case of a musical instrument. I stared at it in disbelief, and as the man came nearer I burst out, “Master Lim?”
Recognition dawned on his face and he exclaimed, “Why, it’s young Lale, isn’t it?”
“It is. What are you doing here. Master Lim?” I couldn’t imagine why he’d be on his way to Riversong. He’d gotten only his keep, and scanty keep at that, during his earlier visit.
“And what are you doing here, young mistress?” he asked, grinning. “I'm a wanderer, but I didn’t know you were one, too. Have you run away, or are you on an errand?”
I thought it better not to mention my Negation, and said, “I'm running away to find my fortune. I'm going to become rich and powerful and famous.”
Master Lim threw back his head and laughed. It was a happy, warm sound. He had a wonderful voice, and I was old enough to know that he was a very handsome man.
“I see,” he said. “But aren’t you afraid they’ll catch you and drag you back to Riversong to scour the pots?”
“They won’t,” I told him. “Nobody cares if I’m gone. And I don’t have any ancestors in Riversong, so I didn’t belong there anyway.”
“Are you going to look for your ancestors, then?” Now he sounded as if he took me seriously. “As well as make your fortune?”
I hadn’t thought much about my real parents since I left the village. But they were there nevertheless, shadowy, in the back of my mind. “I think so. Someday.”
“Hm,” he said, and gazed south along the road. “And are things any better in Riversong?”
“No. Everything’s worse,” I answered emphatically, in the sudden hope that he might come to High Lake with me. With that, great possibilities flashed through my mind—me, playing a sivara, wandering the world with him, singing.
“They won’t be able to feed you,” I added. “That’s another reason I left. I was always hungry.”
He removed his gaze from the road and inspected my face. I couldn’t work out why he was looking so intently at me, but I gave him my best, most-trustworthy grin.
“Well,” he said, “in that case, there’s not much point in going on, is there? But here’s a thought. I need an assistant, somebody who can help me by collecting from my audience, maybe learn to dance a little for the stories. How would you like to join me and see a bit of the world?”
I couldn’t have asked for more. I looked at the place god’s benign face and thanked him for his gift.
“I’d like that,” I said nonchalantly, as if I were used to such offers. “Of course I’ll go with you.” And at the same time I thought. Maybe I shouldn't ask him yet if I'll get paid.
“Good, that’s settled.” He squinted up at the sky. “We’ll go on for a way, and then we’ll stop and eat something. Or are you hungry now?”
I was, but I wanted to start out before he changed his mind. So I told him I was fine and skipped off beside him, with a final silent thanks to the place god under his burning tree.
I soon discovered that, unlike all the other grown-ups I’d known. Master Lim seemed to enjoy talking to me. I’d told him, during his previous visit to Riversong, how I’d been found in the drifting boat, but I told him again because he seemed interested, and then I chattered about lots of other things. He listened carefully, nodding from time to time and making suitable noises of alarm or encouragement. I was quite out of breath by the time we stopped to eat.
By then it was early aftemoon. We sat on a fallen tree by the roadside, and unwrapped my bread and smoked fish and his biscuits and some of his journey cheese, the kind that doesn’t spoil even in hot weather. He’d been telling me about High Lake, but suddenly, just as we began to eat, he broke off and said, “Well, I’ve got another idea. What do you think of becoming a learned woman, Lale?”
I was so astonished I lost my tongue and could only stare down at the grass by the log, where some lucky ants struggled with a morsel of fallen fish. “What?” I said at last. “I can’t even read.”
He didn’t reply. I heard a brief buzzing hiss and a soft thunk, and then Master
Lim made a peculiar noise like Uuuh, as though he’d suddenly let all his breath out.
I looked up at him. Protruding from his left eye was a long slender stick with feathers on the end. Master Lim sat very still for a moment and then, as I watched in speechless shock, he toppled slowly backward into the grass. The arrow swayed a little as he hit the ground and then he just lay there, staring one-eyed at the clouds, with his legs draped clumsily across the log. There was hardly any blood, just a couple of tiny rivulets trickling across his temple and into his long brown hair.
I couldn’t even scream. I put my hands to my face, and sat paralyzed as two men came out of the thicket on the other side of the road. One held a bow with an arrow nocked, the other a long curved knife. They were barefoot, ragged, and dirty and looked starved. The bowman’s face was pocked by some old disease, and the man with the knife had a walleye that pointed outward, so that he seemed to be looking in two directions at once.
They approached almost timidly, as if Master Lim might yet leap to his feet, draw his sword, and fillet them like a pair of fish. In fact I couldn’t believe he wouldn’t. But I’d seen enough of death to know that he would never sing his way down a road again.
“Sit still, girlie,” the walleyed man said. “Don’t go running off now, till we see what you’ve got in that bag. If you try to scoot. I’ll put an arrow in your back, understand? Is he dead?”
The bowman said, “Dead as old leather,” and slung his bow over his filthy tunic.
I began to scream then, and wouldn’t stop until the bowman hit me across the cheek. It wasn’t a hard blow; I’d had harder from Detrim, but it stopped my shrieks and I began to sob with hopeless grief. I was too frightened to run away, and in any case my legs wouldn’t have carried me.
They ignored me while they stripped poor Master Lim of all he’d owned. I couldn’t look, but I heard them sounding pleased over the sword and arguing about how much the sivara would bring. Then they got around to me. They took my bag, the only gift Rana had ever given me, all my food, and even my walking stick. The walleyed man then grabbed my cloak and was going to rob me of that, too, but the bowman said, “Leave it, she’s got little enough.”
