by Larry Niven
The apparition darted after it.
Bison panicked. The lead wagon jolted as the bison broke into a cumbersome canter. Others followed. In seconds the orderly wagon train was a mass of stampeding bison pulling wagons, and the bird was in the middle of it.
Willow and Orange Blossom were seated on the tailgate of their wagon, clinging to ropes as the wagon lurched away. The bird hesitated, then charged them.
Whandall snatched a blanket from a wagon seat and ran forward, waving his Lordkin knife, shouting a wordless challenge.
Ponies tried to block the thing, but it evaded their horns and aimed a kick powerful enough to stagger the larger stallion. Then it ran toward Willow. It was faster than Whandall. Whandall flapped the blanket at its eye.
The bright blanket got the terror bird's attention. It turned to charge Whandall, its eyes fixed on the blanket. Whandall kept the blanket in front of him until it was nearly on him, then stretched out his blanket-covered left arm and raised it while turning to his left. The bird stretched out its neck and dove into the blanket. Whandall brought down the big Lordkin knife at the base of its neck.
The neck was too thick. The bird ran a circle around Whandall, blinded and trying to tear through the blanket, while Whandall sawed at the neck with his knife. Turning the edge forward got it under the feathers. Round and round, but that had to be bone, and he was getting through it, and then the head was bent back but the bird was still running. It ran Whandall into the side of a wagon. He spun off and lay dazed.
The bird was hellishly fast, but its head flopped loose now, and here came Carter and Carver with a rope stretched between them. The bird's random path veered toward them. They pulled the rope taut and tripped it. As it thrashed they ran round it, wrapping the legs so it couldn't get up.
The spear-claw forearms thrashed for ten minutes. By the time the beast was still, Kettle Belly and the other drivers had halted the wagon train. Now they all gathered around Whandall and the Ropewalkers and the dead bird.
"What in the hell is that?" Whandall demanded.
"Terror bird," Kettle Belly said. "They're rare."
"Let's keep it that way," Whandall said, but he was grinning. Victory felt good. And Willow was looking at him in a way she never had before. So were the other girls of the wagon train, all of them. That felt good too.
The terror bird made soup to feed the whole train, in a row of the big bronze pots that most of the wagons carried. The train gathered around Hickamore's ring of rocks to share it. The meat was tough, and red, less like bird than bison.
As they ate, Hickamore asked Whandall about his tattoo. Whandall had learned some of the local speech by now, but it went better with Ruby Fishhawk to translate from his own language.
"I know now that Morth of Atlantis made it for me, and enchanted it, so that he could follow me out of the Burning City. I believe it killed all the men in my family...."
Gradually the folk around them went silent. Hickamore's daughters listened, and the Ropewalkers and Millers too, and Willow. They'd never asked him about the feathered snake tattoo. What had they known of Lord-kin? They might not know this tattoo was unusual.
Whandall felt good. If Willow hadn't been there he might not have stuck to river water. The party broke up far too early.
The road led up to another pass. Orangetown was in a vale there, and unlike Marsyl, Orangetown had walls.
The town gates were set into stone gate towers, and the walls were stone for a hundred paces to each side of the gates. Elsewhere they became a wooden palisade, logs sharpened at the top and set into low stone walls, chest high to Whandall. Whandall thought Orangetown was smaller than Lordstown. It was certainly tiny compared to Tep's Town.
There were permanent corrals outside the walls, with pens for the bison and another fenced area for the ponies. A steady wind blew from the northeast and the pens were downwind of both the town and the campground. The campground itself had wells and fountains and stone-lined walks. There were feed stores and warehouses adjacent to the animal pens. A large field with wooden seats filled the area between the campgrounds and the animal pens.
Kettle Belly and a dozen of his younger relatives-sons, daughters, nieces, nephews, and cousins-came to help Whandall and the Ropewalkers unhitch their animals and set up camp. "You'll be here," Kettle Belly said, indicating an area among the low trees. "That's your well. The toilet trench is in the grove there. Use it, and clean up any animal droppings. They're sticky about that here."
Whandall smiled to himself. Not everyone had a well and a fireplace at his campsite. The area Kettle Belly picked for Whandall was nearly as large as Hickamore's, and certainly nicer than what the Fishhawks got. "The town looks organized," Whandall said.
"We'll pay for it, but yes, they're organized. One thing. Catch up on sleep. It's safe here. When we set out north again we'll stand night watches until we get to the Big Valley." He eyed Whandall's big Lordkin knife. "Wouldn't surprise me if you got a chance to use that again."
"More of those birds?"
"I'm hearing rumors of two bandit tribes in the hills."
Carter fingered the sling he wore openly around his neck and displayed a bag of stream-rounded stones. "We'll be ready!"
Whandall smiled thinly. He'd never seen a kinless with a sling until Carter took to wearing one. Carter had a knife too. He was clumsy with it, but the kinless were good with slings. More than ever, Whandall thought he knew why Lordkin turned up missing from time to time back in Tep's Town. ...
"Bandits have seen slings before," Kettle Belly said.
"Bet they never saw anyone like Whandall before!"
Kettle Belly eyed the orange feathers Whandall wore in his plaited hair and the gaudy feathered serpent crawling up his arm and across his cheek and eye. "Now there you may be right."
"I heard Morth say, 'What if a magician vouched for you?' I had no idea he was there, and I wasn't even surprised. Morth called it a lurk spell," Whandall said.
He took a strawberry. The shaman had set out a platter of big red strawberries. Whandall hadn't seen anyone picking them. "Shaman, where did you get these?"
"Treeswinger Town, before we met you," Hickamore said. He saw Whandall's astonishment. "My magic preserves many kinds of food. One of the ways in which I earn my keep."
Whandall ate another strawberry, then drank. He lifted the water bottle to show Twisted Cloud. "Brought my own. You won't have to leave this time."
The girl giggled.
She did too much of that. Whandall didn't know how to deal with a giggler. He continued, 'Two huge dagger-toothed cats made of fog and smoke were playing around Morth's feet. His hair was going white to pink and back again, like cloud shadows. He had magic to make him young, but it wanted power.
"I had to hold back. I wanted to kill him. No reason at all. Yangin-Atep was in me, and Yangin-Atep is a fire god, and Morth is a water wizard. Morth backed away. The kinless children were still giving me plenty of room ..."
Hickamore held out the wine flask.
He had only made that gesture once, the first night of storytelling. After that, he'd kept the bottle. Whandall took the bottle and drank.
It wasn't watered. Better not do that again!
Mountain Cat reached. Whandall passed the bottle.
Whandall asked Carter for his own memories of Morth, and then Willow's and Carver's. Carter laughed. He said that Willow had thought Morth might protect them from the Lordkin who threw fire. Hammer had found Whandall awesome, because he frightened Carver; but Morth tended to lecture, like his father.
Whandall didn't take the bottle again, but he could feel its effect burning in his blood. He spoke on. The fire track through the forest, Morth suddenly among them... Tell them about gold in the riverbed? Not yet.
Twisted Cloud went to bed. Mountain Cat made his excuses and departed. Carter was asleep.
Whandall picked the boy up in his arms and made his farewells.
The campfire lit his way, barely. He became
aware that both older girls were walking with him. One spoke in a teasing voice. "Mountain cats made of smoke? Is any of that true?"
Whandall kept walking, because Carter was heavy. He said, "I wouldn't lie. Also, I wouldn't lie to a shaman until I knew his power."
"Why do you bring the boy with you? You almost never ask him anything. Is he your ----?"
"He is under my protection. What was that word?"
"Stays with you so that a woman can't get you in trouble, so that another woman's dowry is safe. Does Willow Ropewalker fear for her dowry? She doesn't have one!"
"Running Deer, what is that word, dowry!"
But the girls were gone, so abruptly that Whandall wondered just how much wine he'd taken. One full swallow; it had burned his throat going down. Maybe some wines were stronger than others.
Chapter 43
The water in their camp well was cool and sweet. Whandall drank his fill, then splashed himself clean in the washing pool next to the well. The afternoon was hot. It had been a long day, starting before the sun came up.
He found shade in a thicket near the wagon and stretched out for a nap.
The sun was still high when he was awakened by someone moving. He looked out through the thicket, moving just his head. Old habits die hard.
Willow was tightening a rope four feet above the ground. For practice she liked it high enough that a fall would hurt, but not so high that she'd break bones. She tugged on the rope, nodded in satisfaction, and went into the wagon. Whandall waited for her to come out. He liked to watch her, although Willow didn't want anyone to watch her practice.
She came out wearing bright feathers. When they'd skinned the terror bird, Whandall had given the feathers to Willow. He hadn't known she had made a costume from them. It looked good on her, gold and green and orange feathers sewed into the cotton and linen cloth most townspeople wove and sold. It fit her tightly, showing the curve of her hips and breasts, and stopped short at the knees to show her perfect calves. Whandall stifled his approval. She might be angry with him for watching her. When Willow got angry, she got more and more quiet, and if he asked her what was wrong, she would mutter, "Nothing." It drove him crazy.
She vaulted onto the rope and did a quick back somersault, then a handstand, the feathered skirt tumbling down to show more feathers and a few
inches of thighs. Wagon train women and townswomen never allowed anyone lo see them when they weren't fully clothed... unless they were performing, like Orange Blossom riding the ponies. Then they wanted everyone to see them. Girls were confusing.
Willow came off the handstand and dove forward. Whatever she attempted, she missed, and nearly fell, just catching the rope. She used it to swing upward and back onto it, then did a forward somersault.
"Bravo!" Carver came around the side of the wagon.
"You startled me," Willow said. "Coming up?"
"No. I've lost the knack," Carver said.
"Brother, you just need practice."
"No, I've really lost it. Besides, no one wants to see me do ropewalking. They want to see pretty girls."
"That was nice. Do you really think I'm pretty?"
"Yes. Whandall thinks so too."
"Maybe." She jumped lightly to the ground. "Well, if you aren't going to be part of the act, I'll have to work out a new routine."
"You'll do fine," Carver said. "Mother always said you were really good."
"I miss her," Willow said.
"Dad too."
"Well, sure, but-yeah, Dad too."
Carter and Hammer came out of the wagon. "Hi. Hey, you look great," Carter said. "Did you make that?"
"Well, I sewed it," Willow said. "Ruby Fishhawk helped."
Carter fingered the feathered skirt. "That sure was something to see. Whandall saw that bird looking at you and pow! He was right there, that big knife out, that blanket-did you see what that bird did to the blanket? It would have torn Whandall the same way, only he was too fast for it. And strong. You ever seen anyone stronger?"
"Will you stop with that?" Carver said.
"Why should I?"
Whandall lay still, wondering what to do now. Lurking was natural, but this...
"Wasn't he, Willow?" Carter demanded. "Wasn't he wonderful?"
Willow nodded but didn't say anything.
"Ah, you think Whandall can't do anything wrong," Carver said. "But what does he really know how to do? He can't tame ponies. Even my mare runs away from him. He can't make rope. What can he do?"
"He can fight!"
"Lordkin can fight," Carver said. "And he's a Lordkin."
"He's not," Carter said. "He's not Lordkin and we're not kinless! Not out here."
"Then what are we?" Hammer asked.
"I guess we're just people," Carter said. "Rich people." •
"Whandall's rich," Carver said. "We're not. Morth gave that gold to Whandall, not us. We don't even own the wagon, not if Whandall says we don't."
Hammer had been listening with attention. "But it's ours," Hammer said. "Well, yours. But one of the ponies was my dad's, so that makes it mine."
"Yours if Whandall says it is," Carver said.
"It's mine anyway!" Hammer said. "If that Lordkin harpy won't give it to me, I'll-"
Carter laughed. "You won't do anything!"
"I'll get help," Hammer said. "Carver will help. And the wagon master. And the blacksmith. They'll make him give me my pony!"
Carter laughed again. "You think everyone in this wagon train could take something away from Whandall if he didn't want to give it? He could kill everyone here!"
"Well, maybe not," Carver said. "But you're right-he'd be pretty hard to take out. They won't try it. The wagon train can't afford to lose that many people dead or hurt. Unless we get him in his sleep."
"You won't do that!" Carter said. "Why are you all mad at Whandall? He saved Willow from that bird! He saved us all. We'd never have got out of that forest. We'd still be in Tep's Town if it wasn't for Whandall, and he never did any of us any harm. Willow, you're the oldest; make him stop talking like that."
"We still don't know what happened to Father," Carver said.
"Whandall didn't hurt him," Carter said.
"He says he didn't," Willow said.
"You believe him?" Carver demanded.
"Yes. Yes, I do. Anyway, he was possessed of Yangin-Atep," Willow said slowly. "Yangin-Atep could do anything. It wouldn't be Whandall's fault."
"You believe in Yangin-Atep now?" Carver asked.
"Don't you? Morth does. You saw what Morth could do with magic, and Morth was afraid of Yangin-Atep!"
"Yangin-Atep can't take Whandall again," Carter said. "We're safe here."
"We don't know that," Willow said. "We don't know what gods there are, or what they'll take a whim to do. But I think we're safe from Whandall."
"He's still Lordkin," Carver said.
"Why do you keep saying that?" Carter asked.
"Because that's what everyone says. Everyone in the wagon train."
"Does Kettle Belly say it?" Willow asked.
"No-"
"Hickamore?" She was holding back a laugh. .
"I never asked him."
"Who have you been listening to?" Willow asked.
"Yeah, who's everybody?" Hammer chimed in.
Carver was turning belligerent. "Rutting Deer. And Fawn, the blacksmith's older daughter. They say he's a Lordkin boor."
Willow laughed merrily, and Whandall's heart danced inside him. She said, "You don't know much about girls, do you, little brother?"
Carver gaped at his sister. That hurt.
"I already heard that story," Willow said. "Ruby Fishhawk told me. Rutting Deer-"
"Her mother had a vision," Hammer snickered. "Can you picture it?"
"Hush. Rutting Deer and Fawn are together all the time, and they both had their eyes on Whandall after he killed the terror bird-"
"So did you!" Carter laughed. "I saw you."
"So they tried to fl
irt with him." Willow forged on: "Carver, Fawn's not as good looking as Rutting Deer, is she? But she's not promised. Rutting Deer is promised to a boy in another wagon train. They both think it's fun to flirt. That poor boy, Mountain Cat-anyway, Whandall just couldn't believe that name!"
"I can understand that," Carver said. "I can hardly make myself say that in front of a girl. Even if it's her name."
"He thought he'd heard wrong. Whandall called her Running Deer. But he got them mixed up and called Fawn Running Deer. Now they both want his liver," Willow said.
"He's still a Lordkin," Carver said stubbornly.
"And Mountain Cat is still their toy doll, but you could take his place if you say what they want."
Whandall would have paid a high price to be somewhere else. No outsider should hear any of this.
"Us. The wagon," Carver said. His face was very red, and he was forcing the words out. "The team. Who owns any of this? Whandall already gave away one part in ten-"
"That was a good deal!" Carter said. "Everyone else pays more."
"Yes, but he made the deal for all of us," Carver said. "He didn't ask us. Like it's all his."
"So you'd give Kettle Belly twice as much. More. He wanted a quarter! You're very free with the family goods." Willow turned away. "It's time to start dinner. Whandall will be hungry. Carter, Hammer, go find us some wood."
Whandall crawled out through the thicket, staying with the shadows, sliding through branches without bending them. He knew how to hide from kinless. There was a lot to think about as he walked back to the main camp.
Rutting Deer. Fawn. Got them mixed up in the dark. Whandall thought. Names were important. In Tep's Town you never lei anyone know your true name, so whatever name people called you wasn't real to begin with. Out here, your name was your self. Rutting Deer?
Flirting. Willow said Rutting Deer and Fawn were flirting. He didn't know that word. What had they been doing before they turned cold?
They'd been talking about dowries.
What's a dowry?
Whandall glanced up at the sun. Still high. Hours to dinner. Time to find out. There was a person he could ask....
