The Mammoth Book of Best New SF 13

by Gardner Dozois

  She woke to feel a hand shaking her. Another hand was over her mouth.

  “Don’t make any noise,” a voice whispered.

  She moved her head in a gesture of agreement. The hand over her mouth lifted. Cautiously, she sat up.

  The fire in the main cave still burned, though more dimly. Blinking, she made out a slim figure. She touched an arm. The fur felt smooth and clean. “You are the boy.”

  “A man now. Fifteen this spring. Are you really an actor?”

  “Yes.”

  “My father was one. They told me about him: a handsome man, who told jokes and juggled anything: fruit, stones, knives, though they never let him have sharp knives. After he made my mother pregnant, they kept him to impregnate another woman and because they enjoyed his company. But instead of doing as they planned, he escaped. They say, they’ll never trust another foreigner – or keep a man alive so long that he knows his way through the caves. His name was Cholkwa. Have you ever heard of him?”

  Dapple laughed quietly.

  “What does that mean?” asked the boy.

  “I’ve known him all my life. He stays at my family’s house when he’s on Helwar Island. Though he has never mentioned meeting your kin, at least when I was around.”

  “Maybe we weren’t important to him,” the boy said in a sad tone.

  Most likely, Cholkwa kept silent out of shame. His own family was far to the north, across the Narrow Ocean, and she’d never heard him speak about any of them. Maybe he had no relatives left. There’d been war in the north for generations now. Sometimes it flared up; at other times it died to embers, but it never entirely ended; and many lineages had been destroyed.

  He was a decent man, in spite of his lack of kin. How could he admit to breeding without a contract arranged by the senior women in his family? How could he admit to leaving a child who was related to him – granted, not closely, but a relative nonetheless – in a place like this?

  “Will your relatives kill me?” Dapple asked.

  “Once you have made one of my cousins pregnant, yes.”

  “Why are you here with me?”

  “I wanted to know about my father.” The boy paused. “I wanted to know what lies beyond these hills.”

  “What good will it do for you to know?”

  There was silence for a while. “When I was growing up, my mother told me about Cholkwa, his stories and jokes and tricks. There are cities beyond the hills, he told her, and boats as big as our cave that sail on the ocean. The boats go from city to city, and there are places – halls and open spaces – where people go to see acting. In those places, Cholkwa is famous. Crowds of people come to see him perform the way he did for my family in this cave. Are these stories true?”

  “Yes,” said Dapple. “Everywhere he goes, people are charmed by him and take pleasure in his skill. No actor is more famous.” She paused, trying to think of what to say next. The Goddess had given this boy to her; she must find a way to turn him into an ally. “He has no kin on this side of the ocean. Most likely, he would enjoy meeting you.”

  “Fathers don’t care about their children, and we shouldn’t care about them. Dead or alive, they do nothing for us.”

  “This isn’t true,” said Dapple with quiet anger. “Obviously, it makes sense for a child to stay with her mother and be raised by maternal kin. A man can’t nurse a baby, after all; and few mothers could bear to be separated from a small child. But the connection is still there. Most men pay some attention to their children, especially their sons. If something happens to the maternal lineage or to the relationship between a woman and her family, the paternal lineage will often step in. My mother is from Sorg, but she quarrelled with her kin and fled to my father’s family, the Helwar. They adopted her and me. Such things occur.”

  “Nothing has happened to my family,” the boy said. “And my mother never quarrelled with them, though she wasn’t happy living here. I know that.”

  “Your family is not fit to raise children,” said Dapple. “You seem to have turned out surprisingly well, but if you stay with them, they’ll make you a criminal, and then you’ll be trapped here. Do you really want to spend your life among thieves and people who breed without a contract? If you leave now and seek out Cholkwa, it may be possible for you to have a decent life.”

  The boy was silent for a moment, then exhaled and stood. “I have to go. They might wake.”

  A moment later, she was alone. She lay for a while, wondering if the boy would help her or if there was another way to escape. When she went back to sleep, she dreamt of Cholkwa. He was on a stage, dressed in bright red armour. His eyes were yellow and shone like stars. Instead of acting, he stood in a relaxed pose, holding a wooden sword loosely. “All of this is illusion and lies,” he told her, gesturing at the stage. “But there’s truth behind the illusion. If you are going to act, you need to know what’s true and what’s a lie. You need to know which lies have truth behind them.”

  Waking, she saw a beam of sunlight shining through the hole in her ceiling. For a moment, the dream’s message seemed clear and important. As she sat up, it began to fade and blur, though she kept the image of Cholkwa in his crimson armour.

  One of the bandit males came and untied her. Together they went out, and she relieved herself behind bushes.

  “I’ve never known anyone so modest,” the bandit said. “How are you going to get a woman pregnant, if you can’t bare yourself in front of a man?”

  A good question, Dapple thought. Her disguise couldn’t last much longer. Maybe she ought to end it. It didn’t seem likely that the boy would help her; people didn’t turn against their kin, even kin like these; and as long as the bandits thought she was a man, they might do anything. No rules protect a man who falls into the hands of enemies. She might be dead, or badly injured, before they realized she wasn’t male. But something, a sense of foreboding, made her reluctant to reveal her true nature.

  “We have sex in the dark,” she told the bandit.

  “That can be managed,” he replied. “Though it seems ridiculous.”

  Dapple spent the rest of the day inside, alone at first, in a corner of the cave. The other bandits did not return, and the matriarch looked increasingly grim. Her kin sent their children outside to play. The men were gone as well. Those who remained – a handful of shabby women – worked quietly, giving the matriarch anxious glances. Clearly this was someone who could control her family! A pity that the family consisted of criminals.

  At last, the old woman gestured. “Come here, man. I want to know you better.”

  Dapple settled by the fire, which still burned, even in the middle of a bright day. This wasn’t surprising. The cave was full of shadows, and the air around them was cool and damp.

  Instead of asking questions, the woman grumbled. It was hard work holding together a lineage, especially when all the neighbouring families were hostile, and she got little help. Her female relatives were slovenly. “My eyes may be failing, but I can still smell. This place stinks like a midden heap!” Her male kin were selfish and stupid. “Five men! And they have brought me one, with another promised, though I’ll believe in him when he appears!”

  All alone, she laboured to continue her line of descent, though only one descendant seemed really promising, the boy who’d been fathered by an actor. “A fine lad. Maybe there’s something potent about the semen of actors. I hope so.”

  Evening came. The missing bandits did not appear. Finally the old woman looked at Dapple. “It seems our hopes rest in your hands – or if not in your hands, then in another part of your body. Is there a woman you prefer?”

  Dapple glanced around. Figures lurked in the shadows, trying to avoid the matriarch’s glance. Hard to see, but she knew what was there. “No.”

  “I’ll pick one, then.”

  “There is something you ought to know,” Dapple said.

  The old woman frowned at her.

  “I can’t impregnate a woman.”

  �
��Many men find the idea of sex with women distasteful,” the matriarch said. “But they manage the task. Surely your life is worth some effort. I promise you, you’ll die if you don’t try.”

  “I’m a woman,” said Dapple. “This costume is a disguise.”

  “Ridiculous,” the matriarch said. “Decent women don’t wear men’s clothing or travel with actors.”

  “I didn’t say I was a decent woman. I said I was female and unable to father children. Don’t you think – since I can’t help you – you ought to let me go?”

  “No matter what you are, we can’t let you go,” said the matriarch. “You might lead people to this cave.” Then she ordered her kin to examine Dapple.

  Three shabby women moved in. Standing, Dapple pulled off her tunic and underpants.

  “No question about it,” one of the women said. “She is female.”

  “What wretched luck!” cried the matriarch. “What have I done to deserve this kind of aggravation? And what’s wrong with you, young woman, running around in a tunic and tricking people? Have you no sense of right behaviour?”

  There were more insults and recriminations, mostly from the old woman, though the others muttered agreement. What inhospitable and unmannerly folk! Dapple could hardly have fallen into a worse situation, though they weren’t likely to kill her, now that they knew she was a woman.

  At last, the matriarch waved a hand. “Tie her up for the night. I need to think.”

  Once again, Dapple found herself in the little side cave, tied to an iron ring. As on the previous night, stars shone through the hole in the ceiling, and firelight came down the corridor from the main cave, along with angry voices. Her captors were arguing. At this distance She couldn’t make out words, but there was no mistaking the tone.

  This time she made a serious effort to untie the rope that held her. But her hands had been fastened together, and her fingers couldn’t reach the knot. Gnawing proved useless. The rope was too thick and strong. Exhausted, she began to doze. She woke to a touch,” as on the night before.

  “Is it you again?” she asked in a whisper.

  “My grandmother has chosen me to impregnate you,” said the boy, sounding miserable.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you can’t father children on our women, then we’ll father children on you and adopt the children, as you were adopted by your father’s family. That plan will do as well as the first one, Grandmother says. The others say she’s favouring me, but I don’t want to do this.”

  “Breed without a contract? What man would? What are you going to do?”

  “Have sex with you, though I’ve never had sex with anyone. But Grandmother has explained how it’s done.”

  “You have reached a moment of decision,” said Dapple. “If you make the wrong choice now, your life will lead to ruin, like the life of a protagonist in a hero play.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “If you have sex with me against my will, and without a contract arranged by my female relatives, you will be a criminal forever. But if you set me free, I will lead you to your father.”

  “I have a knife,” said the boy uncertainly. “I could cut you free, but there’s no way out except through the main cave.”

  Dapple lifted her head, indicating the hole in the ceiling.

  The boy gazed up at the stars. “Do you think you could get through?”

  “I’d be willing to try, if there’s no other way. But how do we reach it?”

  “Standing on my shoulders won’t do. It’s too far up. But I could go outside and lower a rope. Can you climb one?”

  “I’ve worked as a sailor,” said Dapple. “Of course I can.”

  “I could tell them I need to urinate. I know where there’s a rope. It could be done. But if they catch us –”

  “If you stay here and do this thing, you will be a thief. Your children will be thieves. You’ll never see the cities beyond these hills or the ships as big as caves.”

  The boy hesitated, then pulled his knife and cut Dapple free. “Wait here,” he said fiercely, and left.

  She rubbed her hands and wrists, then stood and stretched. Hah! How stiff she was!

  Voices rose in the main cave, mocking the boy, then dropped back to a murmur. She began to watch the hole.

  After a while, a dark shape hid the stars. A rope dropped toward her. Dapple grasped it and tugged. It held. She took off her tunic and tied it to the bottom of the rope, then began her climb, going hand over hand up the rope. Cold air blew past her, ruffling the fur on her arms and shoulders. It smelled of damp soil and forest. Freedom, thought Dapple. A moment or two later, she reached the hole. Hah! It was narrow! As bad as she had feared!

  “Can you make it?” the boy whispered.

  “I have to,” Dapple said and continued to climb.

  Her head was no problem, but her shoulders were too wide. Rough stone scraped against them. She kept on, trying to force her body through the opening. All at once, she realized that she was stuck, like a piece of wax used to seal the narrow neck of a jar. Dapple groaned with frustration.

  “Be quiet,” whispered the boy and began to pull, leaning far back, all his weight on the rope. For a moment, she remained wedged in the hole. Then her shoulders were through, though some of her fur remained behind. Her elbows dug into dirt. She pushed up. The boy continued to pull, and Dapple popped into freedom. She stretched out on the damp ground, face down, smelling dirt, the forest, and the night wind.

  “You have no clothing on!” the boy exclaimed.

  “I took my tunic off,” said Dapple. “I knew the fit would be tight.”

  “You can’t travel like this!”

  She pulled the rope out of the hole, retrieving her tunic and putting it on.

  “Better,” said the boy, though he still sounded embarrassed.

  He had wrapped his end of the rope to a tree. She undid the knots and coiled the rope. “A knife, a rope, and four sound feet. I’d like more, but this will have to do. Let’s go.”

  They set off through the forest, the boy leading, since he had good night vision, and this was his country.

  “When will they discover that we are missing?” Dapple asked after a while.

  “In the morning. Tonight they’ll drink and tell each other rude stories about sex. Grandmother gave permission. It’s lucky to do this, when people breed.”

  It was never lucky to breed without a contract, Dapple thought, but said nothing. How was this boy going to survive in the outside world, knowing so little about how to behave? She’d worry about that problem when both of them were safe.

  They travelled all night. In spite of the boy’s keen eyes, the two travellers stumbled often and hit themselves against branches, sometimes thorny. No one living in a town can imagine the darkness of a forest, even when the sky above the trees is full of stars. Certainly Dapple had not known, living in a harbour town. How she longed for an ocean vista, open and empty, with starlight glinting off the waves!

  At dawn, they stopped and hid in a ravine. Water trickled at the bottom. Birds cried in the leaves, growing gradually quiet as the day grew warmer. Exhausted, the two young people dozed. Midway through the morning, voices woke them: men, talking loudly and confidently as they followed a nearby trail. The boy peered out. “It’s my relatives,” he said.

  “Is anyone with them?” asked Dapple fearfully. What would they do, if one of the actors had survived and was a prisoner? It would be unbearable to leave the man with savages, but if she and the boy tried to free the man, they would be killed or taken prisoner like him.

  “No,” said the boy after a while. “They must have killed him, after they finished raping him. My grandmother will be so angry!”

  These people were both monsters and fools. Was there anything she could learn from the situation? Maybe the nature of monsters, if she ever had to portray a monster in a play. The nature of monsters, Dapple thought as she crouched in the ravine, was folly. That was the thing she
had to concentrate on, not her own sense of fear and horror.

  After a while, the boy said, “They’re gone. I didn’t expect them to come this direction. But now that they’ve passed us, we’d better put as much distance as possible between us and them.”

  They rose and went on. Shortly thereafter, they found the robbers’ camp: a forest clearing with the remains of a fire and Dapple’s last companion, Manif’s lover. He must have endured as much as he could, then fought back. There were various wounds, which Dapple did not look at closely, and a lot of blood, which had attracted bugs.

  “Dead,” said the boy. “They should have buried him, but we can’t take the time.”

  Dapple went to the edge of the clearing and threw up, then covered her vomit with forest debris. Maybe the robbers wouldn’t find it, if they came back this way. Though the moist ground should tell the bandits who’d been here.

  The boy must have thought the same thing. After that, they travelled through streams and over rocks. It was a hard journey.

  Late in the afternoon, they descended into a valley. At the bottom was a larger-than-usual stream. The forest canopy was less thick than before. Sunlight speckled the ground. “We are close to the border of our country,” the boy said. “From this point on, it will be best to follow trails.”

  One ran along the stream, narrow, and used more by animals than people, Dapple thought. The travellers took it. After a while, a second stream joined the first. Together, they formed a river where small rapids alternated with pools. At sunset, turning a corner, they discovered a group of men swimming. Clothes and weapons lay on the riverbank.

  The boy stopped suddenly. “Ettin.”

  “What?” asked Dapple.

  “Our enemies,” he answered, sounding fearful, then added, “The people I am bringing you to. Go forward. I cannot.” He turned to go back the way they had come. Behind him the sky was sunset red; the boy’s face was in shadow. Nonetheless, Dapple saw his mouth open and eyes widen.