The League of Peoples

by James Alan Gardner

  I finally took a deep breath and wheeled around with words tumbling out of my mouth, 4 ‘All right, if you want to talk, we should just—”

  Cappie was gone. In the distance, her father was bustling her away, with the rest of her family still clustered close to hide her clothes and hair. I don’t know why she didn’t resist them; maybe she’d had a tweak of nerves and was suddenly not so eager to thrash out our problems either.

  I watched her go…and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dorr, Hakoore’s granddaughter, watching me. She must have seen me when I spun around, talking to thin air. Dorr’s expression was more than curious; her eyes had a focused astuteness, as if she knew everything about

  Cappie and me, as if she could see clear as a soap bubble into my mind.

  It made me wince. Dorr always had a witchy, watchy way to her, especially around me. When I was a fourteen-year-old boy, and she was a nineteen-year-old girl, I sometimes noticed her lurking in the woods outside the house where I lived with Zephram. I told myself then I should be flattered that an older woman had a crush on me…but after a while, I found it more creepy than pleasing.

  Now I turned toward Dorr so that she wouldn’t think she could shy me off. “So,” I said, “a Spark Lord. What do you think of that?”

  She only shrugged and turned away. Dorr didn’t talk much in public.

  The square began to empty as people headed back to whatever last-minute preparations remained for the festivities. Nothing formal would happen before noon, when Master Crow and Mistress Gull came to take the children away; nevertheless, there would be small celebrations in homes all over town, private gift-giving or special breakfasts, that sort of thing. Every family had its own traditions. Still, a few folks remained in the square, moving closer to the steps rather than walking away: children, teenagers, and others without immediate duties, all of them crowding up to talk with the Spark Lord.

  “Have you ever fought a demon?” “Can you really ride lightning?” “How much do you have to study to be a Knowledge-Lord?” The questions piled on top of each other, exactly the things I’d be asking too if I didn’t have a horror of looking gauche in front of a Spark. Perhaps Rashid groaned inwardly at such questions, the way Tobers groaned at outsiders who wanted to know male/female things; but he paid attention anyway, easing himself down to sit on the steps and answering the questions he chose to hear amidst the barrage. I listened for a while in spite of myself—yes, he had fought demons, although he preferred to call them “extraterrestrials,” and they weren’t all as bad as the stories claimed….

  When I finally pulled my attention away, Steck was no longer standing on the Council Hall steps.

  Perhaps she had retreated into the Council Hall itself. There was little risk of people recognizing her after twenty years—as I said, she looked completely female, and with a different face than when she was a woman living in the cove—but maybe she was playing it safe by staying out of sight. Quietly I drew away from the pack around Rashid and circled to the hall’s side door.

  Don’t ask me why I wanted to see where Steck was. If she’d suddenly appeared before me, I wouldn’t have known what to say. How do you speak to your mother, when she doesn’t feel like your mother at all? My mother was still a corpse drifting among the reeds of Mother Lake: a woman who might be illusory but who had lovingly held my hand through childhood bouts of loneliness. I had prayed to my drowned mother; I had seen her in dreams; I had occasionally dressed as she must have dressed, and worn my hair in the way I imagined she wore hers. That fictitious woman was my mother, even if she never existed. Steck was just a Neut who gave me birth.

  And yet…I went looking for her, even when I would have flinched to meet her.

  She wasn’t in the Council Hall—there was nothing in the building but the smell of varnish, since the big meeting table had been recently refinished. Steck must have left through the same side door I’d come in; and she must have left soon after the welcoming ceremony finished.

  Where would she go in such a hurry?

  The natural answer was she wanted to find me, her beloved child. But I had been standing in plain sight near Little Oak; if she wanted to shower me with maternal kisses, she knew where I was. Steck had bustled off in a different direction…and I asked myself why. What other business did she have in Tober Cove? Whom else could she want to see apart from me?

  When the answer thumped into my mind, I wanted to smack myself in the forehead. Zephram. Her old lover. Of course she’d recognize him and want to talk with him. And like an idiot, I’d let him carry Waggett so Steck wouldn’t take an interest in the boy. Even now the damned Neut might be chucking my son under the chin and talking to him like a proud grandma.

  I stormed out of the Council Hall and ran toward Zephram’s home. He’d lived there since his earliest days in the cove—Steck would know where to find him. She might even catch him before he got to the house. As I’ve said, Zephram’s place stood apart from the rest of the village, with a good stand of birch and poplar between the property and its nearest neighbor. For some reason, it seemed more sinister if Steck caught up with my father and Waggett on the path through those trees. I could imagine her standing athwart the trail like a toll collector…maybe even with her knife drawn.

  Twenty years had passed since Steck and Zephram had been together—twenty hard years for Steck, and who knows what crazy resentments she might have developed? Maybe she had talked herself into believing everything was Zephram’s fault; after all, he was the one who told her about that other Neut who lived “happily” in the South. Had Steck come to Tober Cover for revenge against my father? And what would she do to the boy Zephram was carrying?

  I ran faster.

  As I entered the woods between the town and Zephram’s home, I slowed to a quiet trot. If Steck really was up to no good, it might be better to catch her by surprise.

  The trail wound as all trails wind on Tober land, shifting in response to the ledges of limestone that slab up out of the earth. The ledges seldom rose higher than my waist, but combined with the shimmering leaves that drooped down from the trees, there were places I could scarcely see a dozen paces in front of me.

  That’s why I didn’t notice the body until I was almost upon it.

  It lay near the halfway point of the woods, curled into a fetal position on the path. The back was toward me; I could tell it was a man but not who it was. Not Zephram, at least—my father didn’t have any sleeveless shirts, and this man, whoever he was, had muscular arms bare to the shoulder.

  Before I approached the body I froze and listened. The breeze rustling a forest full of leaves hissed up enough background noise to cover any quiet movements of threat nearby. I couldn’t see anyone in the neighborhood, and there wasn’t anywhere within ten paces that someone could hide…unless the killer was lying behind one of the low rock ledges, waiting for the moment I turned my back…

  Don’t do this to yourself, I thought. After thirty more seconds with no sign of trouble lurking, I slipped warily toward the unmoving form.

  It was Bonnakkut: our First Warrior. A slash across his throat dribbled blood onto the dirt. Red blobs low down on his shirt showed he had taken some gut jabs too, but the throat gash had all the finality a man required.

  I didn’t need to take his pulse or check for breathing.

  The ground was scuffed, but it didn’t look like there’d been a major fight. Bonnakkut’s beloved steel ax still gleamed sharp and unused, secure in the leather housing that Bonnakkut had made himself—a sort of hip holster which allowed him to whip out the ax in a split-second. Either he hadn’t had time to defend himself…

  …or he’d decided to pass up the ax in favor of shooting his attackers with his brand-new Beretta.

  I didn’t see the gun anywhere. Not in his hands. Not on the ground nearby.

  “This is not good,” I whispered. Much as I hated Bonnakkut having a firearm, he wasn’t the worst type of owner: the worst was someone who’d kill Bonnakkut to
get the gun.

  Suddenly, I had a twitch in the small of my back—the queasy feeling of someone dangerous right behind me. I spun around, but there was no one…just shimmering leaves, stolid rock, and a dawdle of insects flicking through the pockets of sunshine that penetrated the tree cover.

  Whichever way I turned, I felt there was someone just a hair behind me.

  “Help!” I shouted. “Hey! Anyone hear me? Help!”

  Ten seconds later, Cappie came running from the direction of Zephram’s house. She still carried my spear, and she held it ready for trouble.

  What was she doing here? I thought she’d gone home with her family.

  “Fullin,” she said, “why are you making all that…oh.” She stopped. She had seen Bonnakkut.

  “I didn’t do it,” I told her.

  Cappie didn’t answer. Her gaze was on the corpse.

  “He was like this when I found him.”

  “Don’t be so defensive,” she said, but there was no snap in her voice. She looked quickly left and right; I don’t know what she expected to see. Oddly enough, the twitch in my back had disappeared the moment Cappie showed up. We were alone now—I could feel it.

  “His gun’s missing,” I told her.

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  She squatted in front of the body, an unladylike pose made decent only because she was wearing pants. Her hand reached out toward Bonnakkut’s slashed throat, but I grabbed her wrist in time. “Don’t be crazy,” I said.

  “I’m not a woman yet,” she answered.

  “Bonnakkut might not care.” Everyone knew that a woman should never touch a man’s corpse, just as a man shouldn’t touch a woman’s. If Bonnakkut’s spirit hadn’t left his body yet, it would be lonely and maddened; one touch from Cappie and he would suck her soul into his corpse to be his death-wife. Some Elders claimed that was impossible—before Commitment, we couldn’t marry, either in life or in death. But I didn’t trust Bonnakkut dead or alive, and I didn’t let go of Cappie’s hand until she shrugged and eased back from the body.

  “We should tell someone,” she said.

  Her eyes met mine. I don’t know what she was looking for, but her face had a focused seriousness that I found beautiful in its intensity. After a few seconds, I asked, “Do you want to stay with the body or shall I?”

  She actually smiled faintly. “Thanks. Trusting me for once.” She drew a breath. “I’d better be the one to stay. I’ve got the spear.”

  As I ran back to the center of town, my brain rattled with questions. Who killed Bonnakkut? That was my top concern. And my top suspect was Steck. Someone callous enough to Commit Neut was callous enough to commit murder…but I couldn’t see a motive. Bonnakkut was only five years old when Steck left Tober Cove; she shouldn’t have any longstanding hatred for him. Anyone else might have killed Bonnakkut to steal his gun, but Steck had no reason to do that. Working for a Spark Lord, she could have any weapon she wanted, just for the asking.

  It was possible there might be a criminal hiding nearby; as I’ve said, fugitives occasionally came up-peninsula to hide from the Feliss Watch. It was also possible one of the muscle-brains in the Warriors Society had decided to take the Beretta for himself. It was even possible someone else in town hated Bonnakkut enough to do the deed…but I had trouble believing it.

  We were Tobers. We didn’t ambush other Tobers in the woods and kill them. The only homicide in my lifetime was fifteen years earlier, when a man named Halsey killed his brother in a drunken fight. A town like ours didn’t get cold-blooded murders. Especially not the morning of Commitment Day.

  I told myself the killer couldn’t be a Tober. Better for it to be Steck or a fugitive—some outsider.

  But I didn’t just think about the murder; I thought about Cappie too. She had come from the direction of Zephram’s house…so what was she doing there? Just returning my spear? Or had she come for that talk with me?

  For a guilty moment, I felt glad about Bonnakkut’s murder—even Cappie couldn’t expect me to discuss our future with a corpse at our feet.

  And I thought about more immediate questions: whom should I tell about the murder? Officially, the Warriors Society kept the local peace, but with Bonnakkut ready for worm-fodder, it was a joke to think of turning to Kaeomi, Stallor or Mintz. Mayor Teggeree was no better; he was good for speeches and organizing storage of our spring wool, but not for surprise crises. Leeta was dither-headed, and I refused to go to Hakoore. Father Ash and Mother Dust? They would pronounce sentence when the time came, but you didn’t just run up to them shouting, “Help me, help me!”

  Which only left one choice.

  Lord Rashid still sat on the steps of the Council Hall. He stood when he saw me running toward him—they say Sparks have an instinct for recognizing trouble.

  The Knowledge-Lord didn’t ask why I wanted him; he told the people around him, “Sorry, I have to go,” and waved away the few who tried to follow. It was only when we were out of the square that he murmured to me, “Problem?”

  I nodded. “A murder.”

  “Damn!” he whispered. “And I bet that girl Cappie is right on the spot to say, ‘I told you so.’ ”

  “Cappie won’t—”

  “She will,” he interrupted. “She went on about my very presence provoking…” He stopped. “I don’t suppose she could have done it? Just to prove her point?”

  “Never! Never…”

  Rashid looked at me curiously. I didn’t speak, but I admit, I suddenly wasn’t as sure about Cappie as I wanted to be. Fighting last night in the creek, she’d shown how well she could manage the spear, even if she was female; she might be able to take Bonnakkut, especially if she caught him by surprise. I couldn’t imagine why she’d want to—but now that I thought about it, Bonnakkut had made those leering insinuations about wiving her. If he saw how good Cappie looked today…if he had talked her into meeting him in the woods, then tried to force her into something she didn’t want…I could believe Cappie might slash him in the heat of the moment. Then she might run up the trail, wipe Bonnakkut’s blood off the spear head, and wait for someone to discover the body…

  …whereupon she arrived in response to my calls, playing innocent as a crow.

  Last night I’d believed Cappie was possessed by devils. Since then, I’d let go of that theory, but now I wasn’t so sure.

  Rashid knelt beside Bonnakkut’s body. The Spark Lord’s armor wasn’t quite flexible enough for him to lean in for a truly close look, but he did his best.

  “This is exactly how you found him?” Rashid asked.

  “Give or take a few ants,” I replied. The insects had begun to take an interest in the corpse, scurrying over Bonnakkut’s bare arms as if he were no more than a log.

  “Did he have any enemies?”

  “Steck,” said Cappie.

  Rashid looked at her sharply. “Do you have any solid reason to suspect Steck?”

  “Bonnakkut tried to shoot her last night,” Cappie shrugged. “Maybe Steck decided to return the favor.”

  The Spark Lord shook his head. “My Bozzle had no grudge against this man…and even if she did, she wouldn’t act on it before Master Crow and Mistress Gull get here. Steck has been pining for this day too long to mess things up so quickly. All she can talk about is showing me how the children go off to Birds Home…”

  I bit my lip.

  “No,” Rashid said, “my Bozzle has her faults, but if she really wanted to kill someone, she’d have the self-restraint to hold off until the festivities were over.”

  “Suppose it was Bonnakkut who wouldn’t hold off,” Cappie suggested. “He tried to kill Steck last night. Suppose he gave it another shot and she fought back.”

  “Then she wouldn’t run afterward,” Rashid answered. “The Patriarch’s Law recognizes self-defense, doesn’t it?”

  “Certainly,” I said.

  “So Steck would walk straight into town and announce she filleted a man who tried to kill her. Sh
e’s not the sort to be shy about that.”

  Rashid said that with the rueful ghost of a smile.

  “It’s not funny!” Cappie told him.

  “I know.” Rashid stood up, his armor clicking over itself as he readjusted his position. “What happened to the gun I gave him?”

  “Gone.”

  “Any chance he just left it at home this morning?”

  Cappie and I gave him “Who are you kidding?” looks.

  “All right,” he grumbled, “it was worth asking.” He glanced around at the woods. “Tree trunks are too thin here to hide behind. The killer couldn’t just leap out and take this man by surprise. Unless…” Rashid looked straight up. “No, the trees aren’t sturdy enough to support a man’s weight. You couldn’t wait up there, then jump on your victim.”

  I looked at the trees myself. The Knowledge-Lord was right: poplars and birch are the herons of the tree world, with spindly stems and limbs. Even someone as slender as Cappie couldn’t climb one or hide behind a trunk. “So what are you saying?” I asked Rashid.

  “The victim knew the killer,” he replied. “Otherwise, Bonnakkut wouldn’t have been taken by surprise. After all, if you met a stranger with a knife coming down this path, would you let the guy get within throat-slitting range?”

  “Bonnakkut might,” Cappie said. “He was a cocky fool.”

  “Mmm.”

  Rashid sounded dubious. Loyalty demanded I back Cappie up. “If Bonnakkut ran into a fugitive,” I said, “he might try to take the fellow single-handed. That was Bonnakkut’s style. He’d draw that gun and say, ‘Surrender or die.’ ”

  “And if the fugitive tried to knife him,” Rashid replied, “Bonnakkut would fire, wouldn’t he? You’d hear the shot all over town.”