She told about a festival, Rendezvous, she called it, when the tribes didn’t fight but told stories and had contests. She told two of the stories, one about a dead warrior who wanted his funeral done over right and another one, a funny one, about a girl who took a fancy to the old man who led the tribe.
Pretty soon, people in the tavern started quieting, like a circle spreading out from around her. Rowan looked like she didn’t even notice, like it was the Outskirts she was seeing instead.
There were songs, too, Rowan said, and she sang one. She had no voice to speak of, sort of plain and thin; but the song was the strangest one that Steffie had ever heard, with a twisty melody and words that only made sense if you didn’t try to understand them.
By then she had everyone in Brewer’s gathered around, none of them speaking at all, not even when the song made Maysie cry. It was Brewer took Maysie’s hand and gave her his towel; but the steerswoman jus went on.
She told about rescuing a man from a whole troop of goblins, her and this friend of hers, fighting a long time, all in the night by a great bright fire; then straightaway told how she saw, at that Rendezvous, a mandolin made out of a dead goblin’s head. And a duel she fought with an Outskirter, and how the other person shook her hand after, each of them saying how good the other fought.
She didn’t talk like she was talking to a lot of people, not checking how they took things, seeing if they were bored, changing direction to suit the crowd— not the way old Mira used to. Rowan talked like she was talking to herself, or as if it was her own thoughts, the things inside her, that were doing the speaking, and she was just listening to what they said.
She told about things tall as trees that weren’t trees but had deadly sharp spines running all through them, and how little Outskirter children would cut them down and laugh when they fell crashing. And how it got so cold last winter they brought all the goats in the tents at night, and she woke up to find a fat doe cuddled up right under her blanket.
And a river, the oldest river in the world, so far below a cliff that the water was just a tiny ribbon, and way off east, up where all the green-colored grass ran out and all the red-colored grass was almost gone, other people living there, who were such barbarians that the barbarians called them barbarians.
And when the time came for the tribe to move, they’d just pack up and walk, homes and goats and all, all off across the landscape together, far away …
It made Steffie think of what it would be like to be an Outskirter, always moving, always defending, and how it wasn’t so barbaric at all but brave, really, hard and brave and good.
Steffie thought about it for a long time before he noticed that Rowan had stopped talking; and it was because she’d fallen asleep right in her chair, her beer, which she hadn’t touched once, still on the table beside her.
It was Steffie and Gwen who packed her up, got her home, and helped her unstrap her sword and fall into bed. She wasn’t up until noon the next day.
She didn’t talk all during lunch, and neither did Steffie. Because if he said anything, it would be about what she’d said last night, and somehow he didn’t want to do that. It had been like he’d gone to a strange land without quite knowing how he’d done it; like it was special, maybe magical, and touching it with new words would make it all go away.
Gwen didn’t speak either, except for “Pass the sauce.” She was thinking, too, but whatever she was thinking made her look at Rowan sideways.
And right after lunch, Rowan got out a stack of new empty paper, trimmed up her pens, mixed new ink, gathered a batch of those books, and got back to work.
Gwen left, because a whole group of people were going to be doing laundry together, and she couldn’t get out of it. And Steffie ought to have gone, too, doing that or something else at home, but he stayed.
He watched Rowan for a minute or so, going through the pages of a book. Then he said, “What are you asking them?”
She looked up. “Pardon me?”
“All those dead steerswomen. You said you were asking them something. I’m wondering, what is it you’re asking?”
She closed the book, and thought a bit. “I’m asking them if they’ve seen anything magical.”
“Magic?” he said, surprised. “Well, it’s wizards do magic.” Which he knew only from being told, because no wizard ever came to Alemeth that he’d heard of. Plenty of stories about wizards: wild and wonderful tales, with flying houses, magic swords, treasures, and princes or princesses to be rescued. Stories you didn’t take as true, but you wanted to hear anyway.
But there were also true things said about wizards: like how the people living around them had to give them food and goods and land, and sometimes be their servants, with nothing in return except not having a bad spell put on you. And those wars— nobody knew why the wizards sometimes would get a war going, but you had to fight anyway, leave your family and all, and even die for your side, not ever knowing why.
“Wizards do magic, yes,” Rowan said. “But I want to know about magic that has happened when no known wizard seemed to have been present.”
That stumped him. Then: “But if there’s magic, got to be a wizard doing it.”
“That’s what I believe.”
The wizard would still have to be around, even if no one saw him. “ ‘How do you find a man?’ ”
“What?”
“Well … I heard you say that once. Sort of to yourself.” He felt embarrassed, like he’d been eavesdropping on her thoughts.
Her eyes narrowed but not at him: at what was going on in her own head, he guessed. “His name is Slado,” she said.
“You know his name, but you don’t know where he is?”
“That’s right.”
Have you tried asking around? he wanted to say, but stopped himself just in time, because she’d have done that already, first thing. “I thought steerswomen and wizards left each other alone.” Mira had told him: The wizards mostly paid no attention to steerswomen at all, which was sort of insulting; but the steerswomen all hated the wizards, because they would never answer any question about magic. Not that Steffie could blame the wizards; if you had a lot of secrets that gave you power, you wouldn’t want to just give it all away. If Steffie knew magic himself—
Well, no, come to think of it. If Steffie knew anything that was worth knowing, he was pretty sure he’d pass it around. He’d tell it to whoever wanted to know.
“That’s true,” Rowan said. “We let each other be. Generally.”
“Then, why do you want to find him?”
And she thought some more, and it came to Steffie that the answer was going to be complicated and she was probably trying to figure how to parcel it out in pieces a regular person could understand. So, when she spoke, he expected her to say something simple, sort of step-by-step.
But instead she said, “I want to find him because of a magic spell that the wizards call Routine Bioform Clearance.”
Which were a bunch of words Steffie didn’t know what they meant— except, now that he thought of it, he did know what “routine” was, at least. It was when things happened over and over, the same way each time, like pretty much everything did in Alemeth. And “clearance” was obvious, too, so that narrowed things down a bit. So: “What’s ‘bioform’?”
“ ‘Form’ is shape, or type; and I’m assuming that ‘bio’ refers to living things.”
That added up to clearing away things that were alive. Which sounded like a strange thing to do, at first. But actually, it sort of made sense— with trees, say, and maybe wild animals, if you wanted to make a new farm or build a house somewhere for someone to live in.
But imagine that, using a magic spell to clear off the land instead of an axe. And doing it over and over, routinely. “Is that something that Slado wizard does? He makes new places for people to live?”
Rowan turned her chair a bit, so she could look at him straight on. And she was looking at him differently, somehow, he couldn’t say ho
w, except maybe that she looked like she found him interesting all of a sudden. “As a matter of fact,” she said, “that is the correct use of Routine Bioform Clearance. When the spell is permitted to operate as it ought to.”
“Meaning, it’s not anymore?”
“That’s right.”
“So, what about the people? The ones who’re expecting new places to live.”
She leaned back, still watching him. “You mean the Outskirters.”
“Outskirters?” But they didn’t live in houses at all, they used tents. Still, all those things Rowan had mentioned— the dangerous plants, the creatures and insects and such— be handy for the Outskirters if all that was gone. “Can’t the Outskirters clear out those bioform things themselves?”
“They can. They do. Everything the Outskirters do, every aspect of their way of life, serves to destroy the plants and animals native to the Outskirts and aid the spread of those native to the Inner Lands. But the Outskirters can only do that at all because the worst of the dangerous lifeforms have already been eliminated.”
It was hard to imagine things more dangerous than what Rowan had talked about last night. “Cleared out by that magic spell?”
“Yes.”
“But … not anymore?”
“No. Not anymore.”
Steffie thought about the Outskirters and how even the best of times were tough for them. “Then,” he said, “that’s bad.”
“It’s worse than bad.” Rowan looked at the papers in front of her on the table and laid one hand down on them. “Routine Bioform Clearance takes the form of an invisible heat that comes down from the Eastern Guidestar onto the land below. It can be directed. It ought to be directed to the east, into the wildest lands, past where what we call the Outskirts ends.” She looked up. “At least once, its direction was changed. The heat was brought down upon the Outskirters themselves.”
Magic heat from the sky? Steffie felt himself sort of grind to a halt, like a mill with rocks in it. He pushed hard to get himself going again. “Those Outskirters got burned?”
“Not with any flame. But it did— ” And she was looking past him all of a sudden, to something far away; and from the look on her face it had to be the most awful thing she’d ever seen. It only lasted a moment, but Steffie saw it clear; then she came back. “Everything in its path was killed,” she said, “yes. And I believe that Slado is responsible.”
And that’s when the whole thing was suddenly just too much.
Steffie had only just got used to the Outskirters existing at all, even though he’d heard about them before— but they’d never been real, only some stories told by the old folks. But Rowan, she’d made them be real by the things she’d said last night: stories, too, but different stories, stories about being there and seeing it all herself. Outskirters were real, and interesting to think about, and Steffie liked them …
But now that there was magic in the story— and invisible fire and wizards— he felt like he couldn’t make it all hang together right.
Steffie felt for a moment like there was some place really high that he had to jump up to, to see it clear all at once. But he was here with both his feet right on the ground, in the Annex, in Alemeth, and he couldn’t figure how to jump.
And then he realized, all of a sudden, that while he’d been thinking all that, he’d been just standing here, staring off into space, not saying anything, probably looking like some kind of dolt, and he didn’t know how long he’d been doing it. Which was a thing that happened sometimes. “Stuck in the mud,” was what old Galer called it; even though “stuck” wasn’t right, because there were lots of things moving, just not on the outside. Still, people laughed when Galer said it.
Thinking of that made Steffie go red in the face; and then he wasn’t just standing around saying nothing, he was standing around saying nothing red in the face, and for who knows how long. So he said, just to get himself going again, “Well,” but he couldn’t find anything else to say after that.
But Rowan said, “Well,” herself, stopped being interested in him, and turned back to her papers.
“Well,” Steffie said again, because he thought of something to ask, “what are you going to do when you find Slado?”
“That,” Rowan said, not looking up, “remains to be determined.”
Which was when Gwen came to get Steffie, because there was more work than people working, so to speak. Steffie hated laundry, but he went, because if he didn’t he’d never hear the end of it.
The whole bathhouse had been given over to laundry, which never struck Steffie as a good idea, what with who knows who having been in there after having been who knows where and having been in he didn’t want to think what. But that was what hot water and soap were for, he’d been told the first time he complained. Still, made him itchy to think of it.
It was all winter’s clothes needing to be cleaned before being put away, and that was nasty enough, because not much laundry gets done in winter. But it had to get done sooner or later.
The bathhouse was noisy. Belinda had brought the twins, and Ivy had brought Tarlie, who was too young to be much good, but old enough to complain in words. Old Galer had brought little Anna, and she was all right, quiet and hardworking, but he was a chore, always grumping how people had it soft now, not like in his day. Which you wouldn’t think should be a complaint, rightly speaking, but he made it one.
So Steffie thought fast and moved sly, and got himself right by a whole tub of blue, which no one liked to do, because the dye stayed on your hands; but that left Galer with one of the tubs of underlinens, which was worse. He spent half an hour complaining about how nice they were.
“Right,” Steffie said when he’d had enough. “And in your day people made their knickers out of tree bark.”
“And used it for kindling after!” Gwen declared from the other side of the room.
“Think of the stink!”
“’Cause they didn’t have chimneys in those days. They’d open the window to let the smoke out.”
“You could hang your hams from the ceiling and cure ’em right then. What with that, and no laundry, you’d have plenty of free time.”
“No free time!” Galer said. “We worked hard!” Everyone groaned, and someone threw a wet shirt at him; but it missed and fell into Steffie’s tub. “Who’s that’s?” Steffie called. “Because it’s blue now.”
Galer went on, but mumbling, which was quieter, at least. But Steffie picked up “steerswoman” in it, so he couldn’t help asking, “What?” A lot of voices complained at him, and someone threw another shirt, which hit him; but it was dry, and already blue, so he just put it in the tub.
“You,” Galer said, louder. “Fellow your age, lazing about at the Annex with that steerswoman. Doing nothing all day that I can see.”
“What? I do my share! See this?” Steffie pointed to the tub. “See me? This is me doing this, and that’s something.”
“And you,” Galer called over to Gwen. “just as bad.”
“Or just as good,” Gwen said back. Trust Gwen to have an answer ready. “Because you’re supposed to help a steerswoman, and that’s what me and Steffie have always done. No reason to stop now.”
“Young thing like that Rowan doesn’t need your help.”
“Think so? You seen how Mira kept her house. We’ve been setting it straight, and if you think that’s easy, come by and try it yourself.” Except that they were mostly done setting it straight by now, except for the books. Still, it shut Galer up for a bit, which was good.
Then Maysie and a couple of her boys came in with three big baskets full of nothing but sheets, and that made everyone find plenty of rude and funny things to say; but it set Steffie to thinking about the Outskirters again, because how did they wash their sheets, and did they even have any? And the talk went on all around him while he wondered about that until something got his attention.
It was Maysie, laughing at something someone had said. She laughed loud, and for
a long time, like he’d never seen her do before; and everyone else was just as surprised as Steffie was.
When she was done laughing, she said, “Seems to me you’ve got it backward, Choley. Rowan is a nicer person than Mira ever was.”
“You just say that because you didn’t like answering Mira’s questions.”
“Questions she had no business asking. My customers have the right not to have their private doings talked all over town. Mira was just a nosy old woman who used being a steerswoman to collect gossip. I think it’s clever, how Rowan put you off without breaking her own rules.”
But Steffie had missed the start of all that, so he asked Alyssa, who was working just behind him. “He wanted to know what Rowan knew about Janus,” Alyssa said, “and Rowan answered, until the questions got too personal. That’s when she started asking questions back.”
“How’d that stop him?”
“Depends on the questions, don’t it?”
And Steffie was going to ask what questions— but then he didn’t, because a whole bunch of interesting ones popped into his head, and then he just laughed and laughed.
But Choley was still talking. “Doesn’t seem right to me, from a steerswoman. Mira never tried to slip out of answering.”
“But that’s just what I mean,” Maysie said. “Mira ought to have done, if she’d had any respect, considering some of the things she knew about people.” She looked down at the tub of sheets, sort of surprised, and then pulled out something, which turned out to be someone’s knickers. She balled them up and tossed them over into Galer’s tub. “I think I’ll start coming by the Annex, of an afternoon. Just to be sociable.”
“Well, it’ll be you, then, and hardly anyone else. Not much fun, when that steerswoman’d rather we weren’t there. Stuck up, that’s what she is.”
“No,” Alyssa said, “she keeps to herself ’cause her heart is broke. It’s that Janus, gone sailing away again, and now she’s pining after him— ”
“He always comes back,” Belinda put in, tossing clean nappies to Choley at the wringer.
The Lost Steersman (Steerswoman Series) Page 8
