A Gathering Of Stones dost-3

by Jo Clayton

  He gave over his explorations, carried the robe and lotion back to the man. Kneeling beside him, he rubbed the lotion all over him, enjoying the feel of him, the brisk green smell of the lotion. Y’ walk in circles I can’t even sniff at, everythin’ say it. He felt a pleasant melancholy as he contemplated the probable impossibility of what he wanted. When he was finished with the rubdown, he rolled the sleeper over, spread one of the blankets on the hearth; after sweat and swearing and frustration, he finally got the dry robe on him and shifted him bit by bit onto the blanket.

  Weary beyond exhaustion, weary to the bone, Simms got heavily to his feet. The soup was sending out a pleasant smell, filling the kitchen with it, making it feel homier than any place he’d been in for years. He stirred the thick, gummy liquid, tasted it, smiled and shifted it from the grate to the sand bed where it could simmer away without burning. The tea water was boiling; he dropped in a big pinch of tea leaves, stirred them with a whisk and set the pot on the sand to let the leaves settle out. He picked up the wet, discarded clothing, hung it on pegs beside the fireplace to dry out and went into the parlor to check on the horses. The water in the crock was low; he emptied what was left onto the floor and fetched more from the kitchen. Neddio was sleeping in one corner, the mules were dozing in another. The truce seemed to be holding. He put out more grain, thinking: feed ‘em well while I got it and hope the storm blow out before we in trouble for food. He checked the fire, threw a chunk of fence post on and left it to catch on its own.

  Back in the kitchen he stripped and straddled the waste channel, scooped up water and poured it over himself, shuddering at the bite of that icemelt, feeling a temporary burst of vigor as he rubbed himself dry on his visitor’s towel. He hung it on a peg, pulled on his trousers, turned to pick up his shirt and saw the man watching him.

  “Well, welc’m to th’ world, breyn stranger.” He pushed his arms into the sleeves and began buttoning his shirt. “Was wonderin’ when y’d wake.” He went to check the soup, tasted it and turned, holding up the ladle. “Hungry?”

  “What is this place?”

  “I’m as temp’ry as you, blown here by the wind. Whoever lived here left long time ago.” He started ladling soup in a pannikin. “Name’s Simms Nadaw, out of Dirge Arsuid.”

  “Long way from home.”

  “Way it goes.”

  “Maks. Passing through everywhere, lighting nowhere. Recently at least.”

  “Right. Feel good enough to sit up?” He took the pannikin and a spoon to the hearth and set it on the tiles, went back to the stove. “Get some of that down you. Start warming your insides well as your out.”

  “Give it a try.” After a small struggle Maks managed to raise himself high enough to fold his long legs and get himself balanced with his shoulder to the fire. “Weaker ‘n I thought. Soup smells good.” He tasted it. “Is good.”

  “Hot anyway.” Simms spread a square of cheesecloth over his mug, poured himself some tea, rinsed the cheesecloth and repeated with another mug, then filled another pannikin with soup. Over his shoulder he said, “You want some tea? It’s yours, I poke through y’ things, they over there.” He nodded at the table.

  Maks looked amused. “See you found my mug.”

  “That I did. Take it that mean yes.”

  “Take it right.” He set the pannikin down. “The mules?”

  “Parlor. With Neddio. M’ horse. Bad tempered mabs, an’t they.”

  “Not fond of freezing, that’s all.”

  “Mmh. Shu’n’t keep ‘em so hungry then, they were doin’ their best to eat ol’ Neddio. Me too. Got toothmarks on my butt. Want some more soup?”

  “Just the tea for now. I don’t want to overload the body.”

  “Odd way o puttin’ it.” Simms took the tea to him, collected the empty pannikin and rinsed it in the channel. He turned it upside down over the tank and went back to leaning, on the wall beside the stove, enjoying the warmth radiating from the bricks while he ate his soup. He was immersed in flickering shadows while his visitor was centered in the glow of such light as there was in the kitchen. The firelight loved Maks’ bones, it slid along them like melted butter, waking amber and copper lights in his dark skin, face and hands and the hollow where his collar bones met.

  “Listen to that wind howl. Bless ol’ Tungjil, I wouldn’t want to be out there now.” He had a rich deep voice, flexible, musical, Simms thrilled each time the man spoke; he had trouble concealing his response to the sound, but he worked at it, he didn’t want to disgust him or turn him hostile.

  “Blessings be, on heesh an’ we.” Simms finished his soup, rinsed his pannikin and spoon in the channel, set them on the stove. “We were both Iuckier’n we deserve running across a place like this.” He gaVe himself some more tea. “Too bad the steader were chase out, a spring like this ‘n is flowin’ gold.”

  “Chased out?”

  “‘M a Reader, Maks; walls remember, walls talk. Blood and screams, ‘s what they tol’ me. But it was all a long long time ago. Ne’er been this way b’fore. You know how long Grass storms us’ly last?”

  “It’s still early winter. This one should blow out around three days on.”

  “I put the dulic in a shed out back. I don’ know how much good it’s gonna do you if there’s a couple feet of snow on the ground.”

  “We’ll see what we see.” He chuckled, a deep rumbling that came up from his heels. “There’s no horse foaled that’d carry me.” He yawned, screwed up his face. “My bladder’s singing help,” he said, “you have any preference where I empty it?”

  “You see the spring here, they led a channel off from it under the tiles the next room over, what we call straffill in Arsuid, there a catch basin, for baths I s’pose. Got a hole in the floor, a spash-chute on th’ wall, leadin’ to the hole. You wanna shoulder t’ lean on?”

  Maks bent and straightened his legs, rubbed at his knees. “Give a hand getting on my feet, if you don’t mind, breyn Nadaw.”

  “Simms, y’ don’ mind.” He offered his hands, braced himself and let Maks do most of the work. When the big man was on his feet, standing shaky and uncertain, he moved in closer, clasped Maks about his thick, muscular waist, grunted as long fingers dug into his shoulder and the man’s weight came down on him, not all of it, but enough to remind him vividly of the effort it took to haul hiin inside.

  “Not too much?” ‘

  He could feel the bass tones rumble in the center of his being as well as in his head, he felt the in-out of Maks’s breathing, the vibrations of his voice, the slide of muscles wasted but still bigger than most and firm. “It’s not something I’d do for the fun of it,” he said, almost breathless, though that definitely didn’t come from fatigue.

  “Let’s go then.”

  2

  He lay listening to the wind howl outside and the steady breathing of the man he shared the hearth with. Now and then he heard Neddio or the mules moving about in the parlor, the clop of iron shoe on wood floor. He turned his head. The fire was low, but he could leave it for a while yet. He closed his eyes and went back to listening to Maks. Maks… it was his name… it fit in his mouth with a familiar easiness… it wasn’t the whole name. He thinks I’d recognize the whole name. Maybe so maybe not. He wanted to touch Maks, but he didn’t dare, not now, not when he might wake and know he was being touched. Not yet. Simms drew his hands down his own chest. What was wrong with him? He was lively enough when he came out of that trance or whatever it was, unperturbed by his condition, but there was that… that something… The man’s spirit was so vital, so… absorbing, entrancing… Simms smiled into the fire-broken darkness… it obscured that other thing. Almost. Part of him wanted Korimenei here so she could work her magic on Maks. Part of him didn’t want to share Maks with anyone, anything. Even if their enforced cohabitation came to nothing, there would be at least three days alone with him, time out from the world.

  Round and round in his head, was he sick with something? Will he love me will
he hate me will he look through me like I’m nothing? Round and round until he had to move, do something. He slipped out of his blankets and added wood to the fire, chunks of tough hard fence post that’d burn all night. He bent over Maks before rolling into his blankets again, touched his fingertips light, light, feather-light to the man’s brow.

  It took him almost an hour to get to sleep.

  3

  The house rumbled and rattled and shook under the blast of the wind as the blizzard settled around them.

  Maks slept heavily while Simms fed the mules and Neddio, used an old cedar shake to scoop up their droppings and carry them into the straffill where he dumped them down the hole. He brewed tea, ate one of Maks’ trailbars and put a new pot of soup to simmering on the stove. He washed his shirt, trousers, socks and underclothing in the waste channel, looked over Maks’ clothing, brushed the mud and debris off the outercloak, washed the undercloak and the other things, hung them all to drip dry on a cord he’d stretched between two pegs in the straffill. It helped the morning pass. Now and then he went over to Maks, squatted beside him, worried about the long sleep, but there was no sign of fever or other distress, so he went away again and let him sleep on.

  Maks woke an hour past noon. He stretched, yawned, looked relaxed and lazy as a cat in the sun. He turned to Simms, gave him a wide glowing smile that sent flutters running round Simms’ interior. “What’s the time?”

  “You couldn’t tell it from out there,” he nodded at the shuttered window, “but it’s a little after noon.”

  “Ahhhh. Perfect. I hate mornings. Best way to greet the sun is sound asleep.”

  Simms chuckled. “So I see.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those pests who leaps out of bed at dawn caroling blithely. They should be swatted like flies.”

  Another chuckle. “Ne’er uh blithe, but up, yeh. When I wan’t workin’.”

  Maks raised his brows at that, but didn’t ask for explanations. He closed his eyes, turned his head from side to side. After a minute, he said. “Today, tomorrow, I think. Day after that we can move.” He pushed the blankets off and got to his feet. He was steadier, visibly stronger.

  Simms finished sewing a button on his shirt, tied off the thread and cut it with one of his sleeve knives. “Tea on the stove. More soup, should be ready by now.” He rolled a knot in the end of the thread, turned the shirt inside out and started examining the seams.

  Maks wandered out. Simms could hear him talking to the mules. He came back in the kitchen, looked through his packs, found a currycomb and a stone and went out again. A little later as Simms was putting a new edge on the frayed hems of his trousers, he heard splashing in the straffill, Maks whistling a cheerful tune. Maks came in, glanced at him, went to the stove and filled his mug. He looked at the tea. “You sure this isn’t going to crawl out and jump me?”

  “Wake y’ up.”

  “One way or another. You’ve had a busy morning.”

  “Help the time pass, keeping y’ hands busy. ‘Sides, I been puttin’ off a lotta this, might’s well catch up while we stuck here.”

  Maks nodded. “Not a bad idea.” He ladled out a pannikin of soup, glanced at Simms. “Want some?”

  “After I finish this, I think. I’ll take some tea, if you don’t mind.”

  Maksim brought him the tea, fetched the pannikin and ate his soup while he squatted beside Simms and watched him set small neat stitches.

  Simms was quietly happy; he said nothing because he felt no need to talk, and he was pleased that Maks seemed equally comfortable with the silence. He finished one cuff and began on the other. Maks set the pannikin down and sipped at the tea. The fire flickered and shadows swayed around them in a slow hypnotic dance, the wind howled and icemelt drafts whispered through the room. Maks set the mug down and gave Simms’ shoulder a squeeze, got to his feet and wandered out again.

  He was back a moment later with the mules’ harness, some rags and a bottle of oil. After some maneuvering, he settled at the edge of the hearth, pulled a blanket round his shoulders and began working oil into the leather, cleaning it and working supple the places where the damp had stiffened it. Filled with the small peaceful sounds of their labor, the hiss and snap of the fire with the muted noised of the storm as background, the silence wrapped like a blanket about the two men as they went on with their work. Finally Maks spoke, his voice lazy and undemanding. “Arsuid’s a long way south of here.”

  Simms chuckled, a small soft sound. “Y’ mean I got rocks in m’ head ridin’ into this kinda weather.” He glanced at Maks, met his eyes and looked away from the laughter in them, not because he didn’t like it, he liked it far too much. “C’d say the same, don’ y’ think?”

  “So you could. Never visited Arsuid. What’s it like?”

  “Yesta’day. Ev’ry yesta’day.”

  Maks thought about that a minute. “I see what you mean. It can get boring if nothing changes.”

  “‘Pends where y’ sit.”

  “More so on whether you’re a sitter or sat on.”

  “Y’ know ‘t.”

  “Spite of that, Arsuiders seem to stay put.”

  “T’s so. Arfon, he like to keep his folk hoverin’ round. Way I got loose, well, y’ might say I was flung out.”

  “Feel like telling it, or is it none of my business?”

  Simms tucked the needle into the cloth, dropped his hands and frowned at the fire. “Don’ know the whole, ‘s more confusin’ than entertainin’.” He snapped thumb against middle finger, shook his head. “Here tis. Arfon got a itch for a talisman of Is own. He a jeaaalous god, yehhh. An’ there was this sorceror came by, call hisseif Lazul. Turn out, wan’t so.”

  “Sorceror, hmm. Did you ever find out what his name was?”

  “After, yeh. Danny. Laz was for th’ duration, what he said.”

  “Danny. Danny Blue?”

  “Dunno. Might be. ‘Staffel trap him, me, a couple more, fill us fulla poison. Say go get Klukesharna, we wipe you clean when y’ give her to us.”

  “Not nice.”

  “Nah, that tisn’t.” Simms grinned at Maks, went back to watching the fire. “You know ‘im? Danny?”

  “I know one Danny Blue. A student of mine once. In a way.”

  “You a Sorceror?”

  “For my sins. And you’re a Witch.”

  “Nah.” Simms sighed, shook his head. “Ne’er got the training.”

  “You have the Talent, you could still train.”

  “I don’ think so.”

  “Well, you have to want it. You got Klukeshama?”

  “Yeh, we made one gwychcher team, in and out, slick’s a trick.”

  “So Arfon has Klukesharna now.”

  “Nah. We got her yeh, but after that, things got outta hand.”

  “Danny?”

  “Part. There was this putch the ‘Staffel land on us. Din’ need her, don’ know why they bring her in. Their mistake, for sure. Her ‘n Danny, they dump Felsa ‘n me, run for the Asatas. We wake up, go after ‘em. Had to. Poison. We catch up to ‘em this side the Asatas. Felsa nails Danny. He fall out facedown in the snow. I go for the Esmoon. Think I hit her. What happens next I don’ know till later. Felsa and me, we went out, whoosh, blowin’ a candle. We wake up next day half-froze with heads like y’ get after a three-day drunk. We still got no choice, so we take after Danny again. We catch him up. He with this woman, not the Esmoon, don’ know where she come from. No Klukesharna. Felsa gonna to skin him, she don’ believe nothing he says. He says the Esmoon went off with Klukesharna. He says the Esmoon’s no woman, she a demon.”

  “Demon? Tell me what she looks like,” Maks’s voice was suddenly taut, compelling, for the first time he was putting the power on Simms.

  Simms blinked. “Fahhn silver hair, way she wear it, it go to her waist in long waves, shiny. Blue eyes. Velvet skin. Beautiful and she know it. I ‘spect mos’ men go crazy for her. I ‘spect Danny right ‘bout her, I thought sure I put one shaft
, maybe two in ‘er. You know ‘er?”

  “Probably not her. But something like her. Go on. What happened next?”

  ‘It was in this Gsany village, in a bathhouse. We caught ‘em pants down, you’d think we had ‘em flat. Wan’t so. The woman drop a demon on Felsa an’ Danny drop me. Blessings be, old Tungjii stirring the waters, it turn out that the woman has this talisman, Frunzacoache, she use it to leach the poison outta us. Korimenei. Goin’ home and goin’ fast. Taktre Danny with her. Felsa taggin’ along, she don’ believe Danny don’ wanna see Klukesharna or the Esmoon ever again. I go along until I get tired a hurryin’. I leave and that’s how I end up here.”

  “Korimenei.” Affection and amusement rumbled in the word. “How’d she look?”

  “Like you damn well better not get in her way when she goin’ somewhere.” Simms rubbed his thumb along the seam of the trousers he’d been working on. “She a student too?”

  “More like adopted daughter. Apprentice if I survive and she wants it.”

  Simms blinked at him. “Cheonea,” he said. “Settsiulaksimin. Sorceror Prime.” He folded his arms across his chest and hugged himself as he watched hope and possibility wither and wash away; that was all he could see for the moment, then he realized what Maks had just said. “Survive?”

  “It’s a web they’re weaving, Simms, the demons, the gods and the Great Ones. Arfon and the Ystaffel pumped you full of poison, my set of demons robbed me of my souls, temporarily I hope. They pointed me at Shaddalakh, either I get it or I die. I’m dying now. When the body’s empty, it begins to fall apart. No healer or herb doctor can stop the decay.” He shook his head. “They send me out and at the same time rob me of my best tools. Without my earthsoul I have no Shamruz body to journey for me, I can’t walk the realities or summon demons.”