Legacies

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Another glass passed as the flock moved through the scattered quarasote bushes, and past another crystal-tipped marker. Alucius could sense something, coming and going, as if in the distance, and not with his ears, but with his Talent. Yet he couldn't pinpoint it. Sometimes it wasn't there at all. He checked the rifle in the saddle holder, then glanced toward his grandsire.

  At that moment, Royalt stiffened, turning in the saddle, looking toward the group of rams leading the flock.

  Alucius watched. Two of the nightrams had lifted their heads, and tossed them, before lowering their horns. He could sense the smoldering feeling in each ram, even as his grandsire rode toward the pair, projecting disapproval. Both black-wooled rams looked up, either at the sound of the herder or his Talent-projection—or both.

  Alucius smiled as the pair backed away from each other, and the calming voice of Royalt murmured across the flats. Belatedly, he cast out his own Talent _senses again, but he could sense nothing. Had what he felt been just the smoldering anger and jealousy of the rams? That was always a problem, but gelding a ram reduced the strength of his wool—and the value. So his grandfather only gelded those males who were so intractable that they always wanted to fight for dominance, and it was as though the others understood. Certainly, after a gelding, the other rams were far more manageable, sometimes for months.

  Another glass passed, and Royalt had turned the flock due east, through an area that had seemingly received more rain, and where the new quarasote shoots were more plentiful.

  Once more, Alucius had begun to sense the uncertain something, edged in redness. Another ram building up to a challenge? What else could it be? Then, a feeling of red-edged cold darkness rushed over him.

  'Alucius! Get that rifle ready. Sandwolves somewhere near here, maybe even sanders. Look sharp!"

  Alucius had the rifle out and cocked. He glanced eastward, but the ewes grazing there seemed unperturbed. To the north, though, two of the rams had lifted their heads, and two of the younger males—one of them was Lamb—had started to move toward the flock leader.

  Apprehension, if not fear, radiated from them.

  Alucius rode northward, toward the violet-red feeling and the rams, who had formed a semicircle facing to the northeast. He reined up to the east, just slightly forward of the nightrams. The lead ram pawed the ground and snorted. Even Lamb snorted, although he did not paw at the red ground between the quarasote bushes.

  Seventy yards or so to the north of the rams was a more open space, a good thirty yards across with no vegetation at all. There, the red-sandy soil shivered. One stonelike projection broke the surface, and then another. Then, there were two blocky figures less than two thirds the size of a man. The sanders were tan, and their skins sparkled in irregular patches, as if crystals shone through in places. The eyes were silvered green, also hard like crystal. Neither wore clothes, but Alucius could see only the same rough skin all over, without breasts or udders or any visible animal or human organs.

  'Aim for the spot where the chest and neck join!" Royalt called.

  Crack! A shot followed Royalt's call.

  Belatedly, Alucius fired his rifle. His first shot missed. The sander shook itself and started toward the rams. Alucius recocked the rifle and fired again. The heavy bullet struck the upper arm of the creature, and it turned toward Alucius and the gray.

  From well behind and to his left, Alucius heard a frantic bleating, but the sander he had hit and scarcely jolted was lumbering directly at him.

  He cocked and fired. Crack! Sections of skin, like rock chunks, fragmented away, and the sander slowed. He fired again, and a larger expanse of crystallike skin broke off from the sander.

  Abruptly, the creature shuddered, and halted. As Alucius recocked the rifle, it seemed to melt back into the sandy ground. He glanced toward his grandsire, but the first sander was lumbering northward, well out of range for a good shot.

  Alucius turned the gray toward the sound of the bleating, a sound followed by snorting. He rode almost a hundred yards toward the rear of the flock, where as Alucius neared, a younger nightram hurled himself against a reddish tan sandwolf, nearly three yards long, with fangs more than a handspan in length, fangs that glittered crystal sharp in the sunlight.

  Alucius raised his rifle, but the nightram blocked a good shot at the sandwolf.

  The sandwolf snapped, its teeth seeming to close on the ram's snout, but at the last moment, the ram lowered his head and then twisted upward. The sandwolf lurched aside, trying to escape the knife-sharp horns, but a pair of long gashes scored the beast's heaving chest. The sandwolf growled, backing away.

  The nightram snorted, a hoof pawing the ground.

  Alucius saw another tannish red shape farther to the south.

  'The sandwolf!" called Royalt.

  Alucius caught himself and raised the rifle, firing his last shot.

  The wounded sandwolf growled, turned, as if to retreat… and collapsed.

  Several other shots echoed across the quarasote flats, but Royalt missed, for the other two sandwolves sprinted away through the quarasote.

  For a moment, Alucius just looked at the sandwolf—taking in the reddish tan fur that shimmered in places where the sun struck it, the fangs that looked more like crystal knives, the broad paws and large chest, and the yellow-amber eyes.

  A snort turned his eyes to the nightram, streaks of blood on the curled horns whose forward edges were every bit as sharp as the fangs of the sandwolf, and the red eyes set in the black face, eyes that seemed to carry both satisfaction and sorrow.

  From the ewe came a soft bleat. She licked at the dead lamb sprawled in the open space between the quarasote bushes. For a moment, Alucius just looked. The sense of loss and sadness that emanated from the ewe was as palpable to him as the sunlight and the wind.

  Then he jerked his head around, expecting another sander, but there were none… and the sense of violet-red that had nagged him all morning had vanished. But there was a sense of something shimmering and green. Alucius studied the flock, then glanced up, his eyes tracking to the northeast. There, a good hundred yards away, was a soarer, hovering just above a clump of quarasote bushes, her features and figure shrouded in the indistinct shimmer that had surrounded the handful of soarers Alucius had seen over the years.

  Royalt reined up beside his grandson. His eyes took in the soarer. The older man had his rifle out and cocked, but he did not raise the weapon.

  'Why…?" murmured Alucius.

  'Don't know. Sometimes you see them around sanders. Mostly not, though. Old tales say that soarers favor us by not meddling with people. Don't know for certain, but one thing's sure. You don't shoot at them. Bullets don't hurt 'em, and, besides, they don't do anything if you leave them alone."

  'If you don't?" Alucius asked.

  'Saw a fellow who tried to shoot one, years back. Bullet hit her and vanished. Three sanders rose right out of the ground around him and killed him. Not worth it."

  As suddenly as the soarer had appeared, it vanished.

  Royalt glanced down at the lamb and nodded sadly. "Diversion. When the sanders got us worried up with the rams, the sandwolves sneaked in back here."

  'What… what do we do now?" asked Alucius.

  'Leave the sandwolf. Not good for anything we need, and don't want to spend the effort on the pelt. Just pack the lamb up behind you. Nothing else we can do. Cold enough that we don't have to skin it here. Besides, we don't really have the knives. The sanders won't be back. Nor the sandwolves. Not today, and the rest need to graze. Have this feeling it'll be a hard year, Alucius. Sanders don't come after night-sheep this early."

  'Why? They look like they're stone. How could eating… or killing…" Alucius wasn't quite sure what he meant, but the feeling was clear to him, that sanders were different, and that should have meant that they didn't need to kill sheep, not for food—although the night-sheep weren't good for human eating either, but when they died or were killed, the fleece and skin were always p
ut to use. Did the sanders hunt to provide food for the sandwolves? Or did the sanders hunt for another reason and the sandwolves followed to get a meal?

  'Don't know. Sanders sometimes carry off animals, and sometimes, they just kill them, leave them for the sandwolves. Never seen one eaten by a sander."

  Alucius dismounted and handed the gray's reins to Royalt. For a moment, he looked down at the dead lamb before lifting it, heavier than it looked.

  'Here… I've got the rope," Royalt said.

  Alucius tied the lamb behind his saddle, on top of his saddlebags that held food he wondered if he could eat later. Then he remounted.

  He had sensed something, almost a violet-redness, in the part of his mind where he felt things with his Talent, but the feeling had come and gone since they had left the stead at dawn. He hadn't realized that the feeling represented lurking sanders, but now he knew. The soarer had felt the same, except for the differing "color" of the image his Talent sensed, more of a green. Most people he had met felt "black," although his grandsire and the other herders had flashes or flecks of silver and green running through the blackness. Scrats and grayjays were just thin flashes, brown for the scrats and bluish gray for the grayjays.

  Even though he had not known, somehow, exactly what those violet-red feelings had meant, Alucius felt guilty about the death of the lamb, even though he had done all he could once he'd understood. Was life like that, seeing and often not understanding until it was too late? Or was that the curse of the Talent? Did others just not see?

  Alucius was standing by trie shea door, holding it open in the early summer twilight as Royalt herded the nightsheep flock back into their evening quarters. Once the last yearling was inside, the youth closed the door and slid the bolts in place.

  'Thank you," said Royalt. "How did the spinnerets work today?"

  Alucius walked alongside his grandfather and his mount. "I had trouble at first, but I got the hang of it after a while. Grandma'am came out and watched—"

  'She was supposed to rest." Royalt snorted. "That was why you stayed here."

  'She couldn't rest until she was sure I was doing it right." Alucius laughed. "Then she went back to the house."

  'When was that—midafternoon?" The older man reined up outside the stable.

  'No. She did watch for a glass, though." Alucius grinned. "Mother came over from the processing vats, and they both decided I was doing it right, and the thread was fine. Mother checked again a couple of times, but I only ruined about two yards of the first bobbin, and she thought she could run it back through processing."

  'You have to learn sometime." Royalt dismounted from the big bay.

  'I've been watching, but it wasn't as easy as it looked, and… you know. The shears are less trouble. You just make sure everything is straight, and the slower you cut, the easier it is." The youth laughed. "About a half a glass after noon, just after I got back to work, someone came in a wagon, but I don't know who it is, because I had to clean out the spinnerets for the night. Mother checked a few times, and said we'd have company for dinner. An old friend and her daughter." Alucius rolled his eyes.

  'It might not be so bad. Except you're still sweet on that other girl. Kyrial's oldest." Royalt laughed and clapped Alucius on the back. Then his expression turned serious. "Something was bothering Lamb today. He kept looking eastward at the plateau."

  Alucius glanced back over Westridge toward the Aerial Plateau, rising like a fluted wall across the northeastern horizon. Light sparkled from the quartz outcroppings at the top of the plateau, more than six thousand yards straight up, outcroppings still highlighted by the rays of the sun that had already set in the valley. The scattered clouds were turning the sky into what his grandmother called sky-green-pink. "Sanders, you think?"

  'I don't know. But he's one of the steadier rams—and good outer coat. Hope it was something. Thought you might check him out." Royalt smiled. "Seeing as you were the one who saved him, and he looks to you more than me as his herder."

  Alucius returned the smile, knowing what his grandsire was thinking—that nightsheep shouldn't be named, and that Lamb was an absurd name for a nightram with horns as sharp as iron razors who could hold his own against one or two sandwolves. But Alucius had been young, and the ram didn't seem to mind, even after he'd grown up. "I'll see what I can do. Oh… Mother says grandma'am will be fine—just a touch of flux."

  'Flux isn't good at any age." Royalt looked at his grandson. "You didn't…?"

  'No, sir. She feels a little weak. It's not the same, and I don't know that it would do much good. It doesn't have that same feeling, where everything is all in one spot."

  'Good. That kind of Talent—it's something best saved…" He looked up, almost embarrassed. "If you'd see to Lamb?"

  'I can do that." Alucius reopened the shed door and slipped inside, sliding the inner bolt in place—although the outside flange would allow his grandfather to follow, if he so desired.

  Lamb was with the older rams, near one end of the group, and Alucius moved along the wall. Lamb eased away from the group, as if to acknowledge Alucius's presence. Alucius moved forward and ran his fingers through the thick wool of the ram, scratching his neck, oblivious to the pointed and sharp-edged horns.

  'Was there something strange out there today?" While Lamb didn't understand words, the ram did understand the idea of inquiry, and Alucius projected that. The red-eyed ram looked up, then tilted his head ever so slightly. Alucius could only catch a sense of unease, a memory or feeling of possible danger, but the feeling wasn't specific.

  'There was something, wasn't there?" He scratched Lamb's neck for a moment longer before easing away. Royalt had already stabled his mount and was waiting outside the shed. He looked to his grandson.

  'There were sanders out there, I think," Alucius told his grandfather. "I can't be sure, but Lamb had the feelings that they get when sanders are nearby."

  'Afraid of that. Think maybe you'd better come with me tomorrow. Might bring an extra rifle, too." Royalt shook his head. "Need to go back and groom the bay. Tell your mother I'll be up for supper in a moment. She didn't say if her company happened to be staying?"

  Alucius shrugged.

  'I imagine so, but the women never tell us." Royalt laughed. "Women are like nightsilk, smooth and warm, and they turn to steel under pressure."

  Was Wendra like that? Alucius wondered.

  He checked the bolts on the shed door once more, then crossed the open ground toward the house. His mother was waiting on the porch. Beside her was a blonde girl, perhaps nine or ten.

  'Alucius, this is Clyara." Lucenda nodded toward the girl. "Her mother and I need to go over some matters. I think she'd rather be out here."

  Whether Clyara would or not, Alucius understood. "I'll be here. Grandfather said he'd be up for supper after he grooms the bay."

  'It may be late." Lucenda smiled. "Would you tell him if you see him before I do."

  'Yes, ma'am."

  With a nod, Lucenda stepped back into the house, leaving Alucius with Clyara.

  He gestured to the bench. "Do you want to sit down?"

  'For a while." She sat on one end of the bench.

  Alucius took the other. "Do you have sheep?"

  'We have sheep," the girl said. "Not like yours. Ours are white. They get dirty."

  'Ours get sandy… when the wind blows the sand. But nightsheep are different."

  'A lot different? You couldn't put them together, could you?"

  'They're different enough that it would be hard to put them together. They're good for different things. The white town sheep are good to eat. Nightsheep aren't, and eating them can make you very sick. The nightsheep have better fleece, but they're more willing to fight with other animals. A nightram can kill a sandwolf. That's why the sandwolves hunt in packs. Nightsheep have tougher wool, and they have much sharper and stronger horns. Their horns are sharper, especially the rams. We have to have more rams. That's because their wool is more valuable. Y
ou have to keep the rams from fighting. In other ways… they're alike. They like to be in a flock, and they have lambs in the spring."

  'They say that your rams are dangerous. Only herders can touch them," the girl said. "Your mother said you could, that you raised a big ram. Are you a herder?"

  'I'm still learning," Alucius answered. "Some days, I go out with my grandsire. I had to work here at the stead today. I'm supposed to learn everything before I become a herder."

  Once she began to talk, Alucius discovered, Clyara had more than a few questions.

  'Have you ever killed a sandwolf?…"

  'Do you see soarers all the time?…"

  'Are there any dustcats near here?…"

  'Do you think there are Forerunner cities on the plateau?… Have you tried to climb it?…"

  'Have you ever killed a brigand?"

  At the last question, Alucius smiled. "I don't think I've ever seen a brigand. Sanders and sandwolves are the dangers." He paused. "At least, now they are."

  The door to the porch opened, and Lucenda stepped out. "Alucius, would you show Clyara the washroom? You two can get washed up now." With a quick nod, Lucenda disappeared back into the house.

  Alucius stood. "Washroom's off the kitchen. We can go in by the back side door." He turned and walked along the porch, past the kitchen window, casually glancing in, but only catching sight of his mother at the serving table. He held the door for Clyara, and then followed her inside. He cycled the hand pump several times, and then stepped out of the washroom.

  After Clyara finished, he washed up himself and tidied the space, just in time for his grandsire.

  Before long everyone was gathered around the kitchen table, set for six, instead of four. Lucenda nodded to Alucius. "If you would…"

  He cleared his throat, conscious of both Clyara and her mother, and spoke. "In the name of the One Who Was, Is, and Will Be, may our food be blessed and our lives as well, and blessed be the lives of both the deserving and the undeserving that both may strive to do good in the world and beyond."