Harpy's Flight
Page 13
“Do you know how they speak of us?� Ki found herself asking him angrily. The dammed-up anger burst in her. She let it flood her mind with the more personal affront she felt, letting it wash her thoughts away from circling Harpies and sharp talons.
Haftor shrugged under his burden, allowed himself a small chuckle. “Does it bother you, Ki, to have your name linked with mine? You have never spoken of it before. I thought you were unaware of it. A vainer man would believe that you approved the talk. But it is easily resolved. Wait until you’ve an audience, then put your fist in my ugly face. No woman will blame you for it. It will give them something new to talk about.�
Ki looked at him incredulously. “Does it not bother you, Haftor, to have every tongue forking over your personal life as if it were their manure pile?�
Haftor stopped, set down his buckets to get a fresh grip, and then moved on. Ki followed him.
“People have ‘forked over’ my life since the day Marna and I were brought here as children. Most felt that Cora took us on out of the charity of her heart. Only Cora seems never to have seen it so. So, walk with me or poke me in the eye. They will talk about us, either way. Only the tone of the gossip will change. So,� his tone suddenly became lighter, and he turned to toss Ki a smile, “why not give them something to jabber about? When will you come to my sister’s house to visit and admire the work of her hands? From her forge and anvil come the best metal-working the family has ever seen. She has never given them cause to regret taking us in.�
“I am sure neither of you has ever done so,� Ki hastened to reply. It was the first time Haftor had ever spoken openly to her of the matter. Ki had never understood what there was about the subject that made it seem forbidden. But she felt the mention of it drew her onto shaky ground.
The hanging shed loomed up before them. The door was ajar, and Ki could see within to long poles that spanned the interior and supported the glistening crystals on their cords. “I will come to see you and Marna when Rufus leaves me time free. Perhaps Marna would work some metal for me? I’ve little to trade, except a share of the metal itself. It’s silver, and fine, but I’ve no use for it as a silver mug. It takes the heat of the drink too well and burns my hand.�
“I’m sure she would be pleased to do it for nothing. She gets little chance to work with fine metal and takes pleasure in good materials. What will you have her make from it?“
They had reached the door of the hanging hut. Ki set down her heavy bucket. She folded her mouth, her face thoughtful. “Almost, Haftor, you make me forget who I am, and when. I had the mug for a long time, and often thought of a hair comb for myself and a wrist piece for Sven. Now I’ve no use for either. My hair is bound back in widow’s knots, and I shall not see that metal shine on Sven’s arm. Almost, almost, you make me forget.�
Haftor flushed unexpectedly at her words. A smile gentled his homely face. “Fetch the mug anyway, and bring it tonight to my sister’s house. Have your hair comb, and a wrist piece to fit yourself. Surely you shall not wear widow’s knots to the end of your days?�
She looked at him silently. She stooped and took a crystal on its line from her bucket. She reached to an empty spot on the pole and knotted the line about it. “I shall ask your sister to make me only the comb, and a wrist piece to fit herself. Or her brother, if she has no vanity for jewelry.�
Haftor looked deep into Ki’s eyes. Gentleness mellowed his face. “Ki, will not you tell me what troubles you today? A spattering of gossip, no matter how distasteful to you, could not pale your face this way.�
Ki folded her mouth narrowly. She stooped to her bucket for a fresh crystal, took her time to hang it. Where was her mind today, to let her face so mirror her distress? Damn Harpies and everything to do wih them! She tried for a weary smile.
“I am but tired, Haftor, in a peculiar way. The odors of the marsh make my eyes sting and my nose run. They make my head pound until my ears are filled with the sound of a thousand bees humming. I do not think this life suits my body. I find myself longing for the coming of the Rite Master, so that you all may make your Rite. Then I can go on my way with a good conscience.�
Haftor looked at the empty path behind him. He stepped inside the small hut, close to Ki. His eyes were darker in the dimness of the hut’s interior. His voice was low and urgent.
“Go now, Ki, Go now!�
She stepped back from him, bewildered and frightened by his sudden intensity. He did not look completely sane, with his mouth set and eyes glowing so. She licked lips gone dry. “I cannot go now, Haftor, and keep my honor intact. I have given my word to Cora that I would stay. Would you have me break it?�
“Yes! I would. But you, I fear, will not.� He shook his head and cast his eyes down. The fierceness seemed to ebb away. “For your sake, I hope the Rite Master hurries. But he is an old man, and he will not hasten his rounds. He travels from town to town in the valley, catechizing the children and presenting them to the Harpies. As he did to me once.� Haftor’s voice trailed away uncertainly, and he seemed lost for a moment in a memory. “Another month will find him with us.�
Ki wondered what he had recalled. Had older memories haunted Haftor as memories of him haunted Ki now?
A jolt to Ki’s ribs recalled her to the present. Vandien had stirred himself in his coverings to nudge her. Ki glanced up at the sky. No Harpy. And the sun was still high enough for them to travel yet a ways.
“What’s the matter?�
“Tonight’s camp.� Vandien had settled back against the cuddy door, but he pointed a gloved hand.
Ki looked. She saw no more than a wide place in the trail. True, the rock there overhung the trail a bit and was free of blue ice. But it was bare to the sky, a bad place to have to defend.
“And if we push on past there—use up what daylight is left to us?� Ki asked over the wind.
Vandien shook his head slowly, not even bothering to straighten up on the seat.
“A narrower, more treacherous trail ahead, one best seen in full daylight. And no piace to camp for the night, unless you want to light your fire on the trail before or behind us. Here at least you may unharness the team in a level spot and let them take shelter between the wagon and the cliff. Ahead, nothing.�
Regretfully, Ki pulled the wagon up in the wide space. She wanted to flee from the Harpy. Hopeless. It had always been hopeless. Even at a dead run on level ground, the team could not outdistance that winged death. Ki prayed for strong winds as she moved to unharness the team. A bitter smile twisted her lips. Did she think that Keeva would hear one who had forsaken the Romni ways?
The rhythm of camp-making took over her mind. Rub the team, blanket the team, shake them out a double measure of grain. She leaned on Sigurd a moment, feeling and hearing the steady munching as his dull teeth ground the grain. The inevitability of her own death settled over her like a cloak. It seemed to make the wind muffled, to make the nasty fingers of the cold more impartial. It dulled the old fear that nibbled at the edges of her mind. It was coming for her, as she had long known it would. Now it would be soon, and the waiting would be over. Ki would be glad when the waiting was done. She was weaponless on an exposed ledge on a mountain face. Let death be mercifully swift for her. She wondered if she would struggle at all.
A grim humor settled over Ki. It was as Haftor had said: You needed the bitter edges of life to make it real, to let you taste what was still sweet. She hugged Sigurd’s great shoulder impulsively. The beast veered away from her in surprise.
Six
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Vandien had already kindled a small fire between the wagon and the bare cliff face. It winked at Ki in the gathering darkness. Vandien moved among Ki’s
things with sureness now, knowing where to seek for the kettle, the brewing herbs, the mugs. She started to go to the cuddy to gather the makings of the stew, then saw that he already had it beginning to bubble on the fire. She was torn between displeasure at his free ways with her possessions and relief that it would be ready to eat soon. Impulsively, she changed her pace, came up behind him silently over the snow. He poured tea steaming into a mug and turned to present it to her. “You’ve keen ears,� she said. He shrugged and poured a mug of tea for himself. She watched him over the rim of her mug as she sipped. Who the hell was he? What fate had slipped him into her life, sandwiched between a late cargo and a Harpy bent on revenge? It did not seem at all fair that she must be burdened with him when there was already so much hanging over her. She watched him narrowly, seeing for the first time the precise way his hands moved as he did things, the smallness of his hands and feet that moved so economically to every task. Even in his unkempt state, there was an inborn tidiness about him that refused to be quenched.
He took the kettle of stew from the fire. Ki followed him as he carried it to the wagon seat, and then into the cuddy. Two bowls were set out on the small table.
“I saw no sense to eating in the wind,� he explained as he poured two equal portions that left the kettle empty.
Ki took out hard traveler’s bread from a cupboard to add to the stew in their bowls. They ate silently. Ki tried not to watch him. When the meal was finished, she pushed her bowl aside. Their body heat and the single candle had warmed the cuddy slightly. Vandien had pushed his hood back.
As they sat silent at the small table he seemed to become more and more uncomfortably aware of Ki’s gaze. Before it, he seemed to withdraw deeper into himself, as if he could vanish by being still and silent. Ki tried to put her eyes elsewhere—on the toy horse on its shelf, on the handle of Sven’s cupboard—only to find her eyes fleeing from her past to rest on the dark little man.
Vandien fidgeted. Reaching into his tunic pocket, under Sven’s cloak, he drew out a fine, thin piece of cord. It was creamy white and silkily smooth as he drew it over his hands. He tied the ends of it together with a small, peculiar knot and then began to loop it in an intricate pattern over his fingers. Ki found her eyes drawn away from his face and to the moving string. She watched as his fingers looped the string about themselves, built patterns that faded and melted into other patterns. He glanced across at her from under thick eyelashes. She became aware of a small smile that hovered at the corners of his mouth.
“It’s a story string,� he said in reply to her unasked question. “Haven’t you ever seen one before?�
Ki shook her head, watching his fingers deftly loop and throw the string about in melting shapes. He transferred a loop from the thumb to the finger of the other hand, made a pattern of diamonds, and now a shape of rectangles. With a sudden snap of his narrow hands it was a loop of soft string again. He untied his knot and passed it to Ki for her inspection.
“It seems like any other string,� Ki observed, as she let it trail across her hands. She tugged it gently, feeling its limber strength. Vandien reached to snag it back from her loose fingers.
“Where I come from… on the other side of these mountains, and then a ways north… they are taught to all the children. From this string I have learned the history of my people, the genealogy of my family and of other families that touch mine, to say nothing of the doings of many heroes.�
“From a string?� Ki asked, half in wonder, half scoffing.
“Here’s a tree,� Vandien said, and with a flicker of his fingers he held before her a tall triangle of string stretched on the fingers of both hands while four fingers of one hand held the rectangle that was its trunk. Another flash of his fingers, and the tree disappeared. “A star!� This took a moment of loopings before he held up a five-pointed star on the fingers of one hand. “The Hawk!� An abstract, graceful figure that suggested open wings. “My name!� This seemed to be two separate abstract figures, one on each hand, held up side by side for Ki’s inspection.
“Do the shapes form a sound, like the characters linked on paper?�
Vandien shook his head. “We have that type of writing also for things that must be recorded, sales of land, the pedigree of a bull, public announcements—but these are older by far than those symbols. No, this is Van,� he nodded to his left hand, “and this is Dien,� with a nod to his right. “Vandien. Myself.�
“What does your name mean?� she asked him.
He shrugged at her question, his dark brows drawing a little closer together in puzzlement. “It’s a name, like any other, given by my parents. No meaning.�
“My father named me as the Romni do, making the name a reason to remember the time of birth, ‘Ki, Ki,’ a bird called to him on the morning I was born. And so I was Ki.�
Vandien looked scandalized. “Among my people, that is how we might name a horse or a dog. Not a Human. Your name should bespeak who your parents were and the order of your birth. I sang—croaked might be a better word—to you. of Sidris today. Her father was Risri, her mother Sidlin. She was their first-born daughter, hence she was Sidris. You see?�
Ki shook her head. “I do not follow it.�
“It is simple. If she had been the first-born son, she, uh, he would have been Riscid. Their second-born daughter was Linri, their second son is Rilin, and so on.�
“And if they have more than two daughters?� Ki asked. “What do they do when they’ve run out of names to share?�
“A Human’s name does not run out, unless there is a time when he had no forebears. For convenience, we use but the first two parts of our names. I know my own to thirty-six forebears. There is more to it than that, of course, but the rest is for the keepers of the genealogies. A girl adds to her own name the entire name of her mother. A boy takes his father’s.�
“Who could ever keep it all straight? And, more to the point, who would want to?� Ki’s tone was lightly mocking, but Vandien’s face went dark at her words.
“There are some to whom such things matter. They used to matter to me, once, but no more. It is, as you say, a silliness.� He snapped the string free of his fingers and pocketed it. He rose to take the stacked dishes and clamber out of the cuddy with them. Ki wondered what had offended him. Her pleasant mood evaporated, leaving darkness inside her heart. She wondered at her own foolishness, to sit and talk on trivialities while death stalked her from the skies. She sat still, harking to the wind. Blow long and hard, she urged it.
Through the wind she could hear Vandien outside the cuddy, heard him speak to the team, felt the slight movement of the wagon as he put the dishes into their chest. Idly she wished she were alone tonight, to sort out her memories, to handle the good ones and set aside the bad ones. To look back on her days. Instead, she must deal with this peculiar dark-haired man, so foreign to her experience. He made Ki aware of him and drove Sven back into the shadows. She did not like the way he stung her out of her solitude, didn’t like the way he made her ask questions and wonder. She didn’t want to consider the way his body moved or guess the lively thoughts behind the movements of his features. She liked her silences. She missed her solitary routines.
Her fingers moved idly to her hair. Out of long habit, she let it down and combed her fingers through the brown strands until they lay flat and smooth down her back. Then, with the swiftness born of habit, she put it up again into her knots and weavings. She removed her outer cloak and spread it over the bedding. She was kicking off her boots when Vandien returned. She slammed the sliding door shut against the rising wind that tried to follow him. Without a word, he shook out his cloak and spread it over t
he bed. He began to remove his boots.
Ki sat staring. Cloakless and bent over, the arch of Vandien’s neck was curved. A marking was on it, small, almost hidden under the hair that straggled there: Outstretched blue wings.
Ki’s heart went cold. She met his gaze with stony eyes as he straightened. He looked at her, perplexed. Then his dark eyes fell, and he shifted his feet in embarrassment.
“When I am weary,� he said softly, “there are subjects that come to my mind. Things that pain me. And when those subjects are touched upon, I become abrupt and rude, taking offense where none is meant and forgetting where courtesy is owed for hospitality shown.“
He stood before her, seeming to wait. Words struggled in Ki. Should she demand to know the meaning of the mark on his neck? The candle flickered in the cuddy, the lighting was uncertain. Was Vandien to be accused and suspected because he had a peculiarly shaped birthmark? Her logic fought with her wariness. Courtesy intervened when she realized that Vandien was still standing before her, waiting.
“We are both tired,� Ki said. The words were enough. He sighed as she blew out the candle. There was less awkwardness as they crawled under the covers, but more watchfulness on Ki’s part. He did not seem to notice. He stretched his body out beside hers, full-length, yet he was careful not to let any touch occur. He was still and silent except for one spell of coughing. Yet Ki could not lose her awareness of him. Anger rose in her. She was sick to death of her fears. Enough that she must watch the skies all day for death. Now must she fear that the man stretched beside her was a servant of the Harpies, an instrument of their revenge? She cautioned herself that she must wait and see. She would not let her hastiness hurt an innocent man. She would never be guilty of that again. And yet she chafed to know, to have her final encounter with the Harpy above, to know what this man beside her was. But she must wait. And waiting was the thing she was worst at. Her last few days at Harper’s Ford seemed to have been years in her life, to have aged her as years on the road with Sven had not.