The Burning Ground tst-2

by Jo Clayton

  “Ya, Baba.”

  The boat was a flat-bottomed scow with a single mast and a shack built of weathered planks for a sleeping cabin, the deck cluttered with barrels and bales, an old sail that was more patches than original cloth tied over these. It was nosed against the bank, the sail dropped in a crumbled mass on the boom, an anchor cable taut and straining over the side, holding it against the push of the current.

  The peddler splashed into the water on the downstream side and swung himself on board. As he began turning the crank to lift the sail, he called to his son, “Yal, haul ’em over. Hop it, mallit, you want that Imp phela to come over hill and see what’s happenin’? Nah! Not the femlit, the anya. That’s the one that’s real walkin’ money. What I keep tellin’ you, make sure of the money first.”

  “Ya, Baba. Uh anya, xe’s made a mess of xe’s wrists.”

  “Ne’ mind that. Patchin’ comes later. Move it.”

  Yal hefted Thann and rolled xe over the side. The peddler caught xe before xe hit the planks and dumped xe down by a bale of old clothes that smelled of sweat and rot, then went back to working the crank as the mallit struggled along with a writhing, screaming, biting Isaho.

  When he reached the boat, Yal dropped Isaho over the rail and swung himself up after her, hauled her across to Thann, and went to help his father.

  Thann nuzzled at Isaho, trying to comfort her, driven half insane because xe’s hands were tied and xe couldn’t speak. In the middle of xe’s anguish, xe remembered the peddler’s words and felt a flare of hope. Impix phela, he said. If only they would come, anything would be better… Xe’s hope died as quickly as it was born. He wasn’t really worried, he was lessoning his son. If he thought the Impix were close enough to be trouble, he’d have done the carrying himself instead of leaving it to the mallit, and we’d be going down river already. Isa, ah, Isa, we’ll get out of this. Somehow. I promise… hush, Shashi hush, baby… oh, God, help us, give me strength… Xe moistened xe’s lips, tried a soft whistle; it was more air than sound, but xe turned it to a lullaby that seemed to comfort xe’s daughter.

  As soon as the boat was out in the middle of the river, the peddler lifted Isaho and carried her to the stern, then dropped her at the feet of his son who was tending the tiller. “The anya gives trouble, strangle the little bitch.”

  He went into the shack and came out with black iron chains draped over one arm, a bundle of rags and a battered tin box in his other hand. He dropped the chains beside Thann, squatted beside xe. “You heard?”

  Xe nodded.

  “Good.” He set the box on his knee, pried the lid up and took out a half-used tube of salve. “So you don’t move when I cut the ropes off.” He went to work and had xe’s feet free, squeezed out a dollop of salve and spread it where xe’d cut into skin and muscle trying to kick free. When he had it well worked in, he tore a strip from one of the rags and wound it round xe’s ankle, his fingers surprisingly deft, almost gentle. As soon as he was finished with the second ankle, he clamped iron cuffs over the bandages, locked them in place. They were joined by a chain about the length of xe’s arm.

  He dealt with the wrist wounds in the same way, locked cuffs around xe’s wrists. These fit so tightly he could barely close them over the bandages. The chain that joined them was shorter, but xe felt an inexpressible relief when xe saw that xe would be able to sign.

  He wiped his hands on a rag, sat on his heels, his eyes moving over xe. “Anya in egg,” he said after a while. “So you won’t be trying to go overboard. Femlit’s your daughter?”

  Thann hesitated, signed, +Yes.+ Xe’s hands shook with the weight of chains.

  “Up to you to see she behaves. She gives too much trouble, we knock her on the head and drop her overside. Understand?”

  +Yes.+ As he started to get up, xe signed rapidly, +Why? Why are you doing this?+

  He laughed as he stood up. “You ask a peddler why? Coin, anya, coin. There’s a hungry market ‘long the coast for anyas in good health. Femlits still bring in something, too, but there’s getting to be a glut in them, so not near so much as an anya. What that means is what I said. Too much trouble, we get rid of her.”

  Thann sat with xe’s back against the bale of rags, Isaho crouched beside xe with her head in xe’s lap. Xe stroked xe’s daughter’s shining black hair with small careful gestures that didn’t make the chains clank and watched with despair as the wind and current carried them swiftly back along the ground that had cost them so much time and strength.

  Xe made Isaho eat the biscuit and stew the peddler fed them. +If you don’t eat, you’ll get sick, and we’ll never get to Linojin. As long as we have our strength, Shashi, there’s always a chance. If you get sick and die, there’s none.+ Over and over, the same things, over and over till the glaze faded from Isaho’s eyes and she forced the food down.

  As the sun rose on the second day, Thann heard again the boom of the mountain guns.

  On the third day they were gliding past the ruined towers of Khokuhl; they spent the night tied up at a half-drowned wharf at the far end of a waterfront that used to be the busiest on the east coast of Impixol. The only things there now were rats and rot.

  On the fourth day the boat crept along the south shore of the Bay of Khokuhl, standing out only far enough to escape the jagged stone teeth at the foot of the cliffs. Around noon it reached a high-walled inlet like a bite out of the stone.

  The peddler dropped sail and hove to at the mouth of the inlet, lifted Thann off xe’s feet and carried xe into the cabin, leaving xe in the stinking darkness. Xe heard the hasp clank shut, the scrabbling as he pushed the padlock through the staple and clicked it shut. Protecting his assets, xe thought. Please, oh, God, watch over Isaho, don’t let them hurt her. Please…

  As xe kept up xe’s desperate prayer, xe felt the boat shift, then settle to a steady dip and surge. Xe licked xe’s lips and put all the force xe could manage into the whistle code xe and Isaho had worked out as they walked. Xe broke off, kneeling taut with fear, waiting for an answer.

  Isaho’s voice came to xe, sweet and true, stronger than it had been, almost a fern’s voice though she was still too young for the Change. “Thanny,” she sang, “Anya meami, they have taken the chains off, I am well.” Then she whistled the code that meant she was truly all right.

  A lie, but a brave one. God watch over you, my baby. Thann sighed and settled to wait for whatever came next.

  The boat shifted direction. Xe could tell by the sound of the wind and the tilt. The next few minutes as it negotiated the crosschop at the mouth of the inlet, xe was thrown off xe’s feet, rolled about, slammed against one wall then another. By the time the worst of the motion stopped, xe was bruised and dizzy and xe’s throat burned from the bile xe’s first stomach cast up.

  After another fifteen or so minutes, there was a thump, a shudder, and the movement gentled further to a slow rocking. Mixed in with the raucous cries of shorebirds, xe heard scratching and rasping as the fenders rubbed against something, probably one of the wharves. The peddler’s voice came muffled through the weathered wood of the door. “Yal, you listen now. Anyone tries to come on deck, take out their knees. Don’t kill ‘urn, I don’t want that kinda trouble. And you don’t listen to no yammer, y’ just keep deck clear till I get back.”

  “Ya, Baba.”

  “Hoy! Anya! Got a choke lead on your femlit here. You whistle her she should be a good chal, you hear?”

  For a moment Thann’s lips trembled so badly, xe couldn’t make a sound, then xe whistled the warning note and hoped Isaho would mind it.

  Xe felt the dip and the outward thrust that told xe that the peddler was stepping off the boat.

  It hadn’t been real somehow before this. We’re going to be sold, xe thought. Maybe to different buyers… That pierced xe like a knife. Xe hugged xe’s arms across xe’s chest and rocked forward and back in a storm of grief/ fear/rage. God, oh, God, where are you, how can you let this happen? lsa Isa Shashi my baby…


  Xe rocked and wept, prayed and lashed at xeself for not thinking. If xe’d put xe’s mind to it, surely there must have been at least a moment or two when xe could have tried to get xe and Isaho away. No, xe’d let fear make xe helpless, and now it was too late…

  The spasm passed and xe crouched exhausted for a time, then xe began to move about the shack, hands splayed out, fingers groping, eyes straining in the faint light that crept through cracks between the planks, cracks around the shutter blocking the single window in the wall across from the door.

  It was a filthy place, a pallet by the shuttered window that xe avoided touching as long as xe could, the blankets greasy, smelling of stale sweat and other bodily fluids, probably crawling with vermin. There was a chest at one end of the pallet, battered and heavy with iron bands around it, iron hasp and padlock. At the other end of the pallet, there was, a sawed down box that served as a bed table, two inches of each side left and partitions set into it to keep a water crock and some unwashed dishes from sliding about too much. Among the crockery xe saw a glint of metal; xe lifted a plate and found a spoon and a three-tined fork. Xe took up the spoon and tried to bend it; the metal gave only a little and sprang back when xe loosed it. Good steel. Stifling xe’s distaste, xe took the edge of a quilt and wiped as much of the food away as xe could, then put the spoon and fork in xe’s trouser pocket.

  Xe moved about the hut, testing the walls, pushing at them, trying to find a board rotten enough to let xe break through.

  Nothing, nothing, nothing.

  The word beat in xe’s throat like blood. Nothing, nothing, nothing. The wood was weathered and cracked but too sound for xe’s strength.

  Xe started at a thump against the door, stood with xe’s hand pressed against xe’s mouth until xe’s heart steadied and the mix of sounds told xe what was happening.

  The mallit was tired of standing; he’d dumped himself down and had got himself arranged with his back against the door. A moment later, he started whistling, flatting notes and garbling the beat so xe almost didn’t recognize the tune, though it was a song xe’d heard on the radio dozens of times in the weeks before xe left Khokuhl, one they said was popular in the cities along the southern coast. The noise plucked at xe’s nerves, but xe tried to ignore it as xe looked around and considered what to do next.

  Trying without much success to ignore the images in xe’s head of a hoard of body izin crawling up xe’s legs, xe stepped onto the noxious bedding and began pushing gently at the shutter. It was thinner than the walls or the door, and xe could smell the dryrot.

  Xe’s heart leaped into xe’s throat as xe’s fingers passed along the latchhook. If it was secured from the inside…

  The hook was stiff, with a hump in the end meant to hold it firmly in the staple. Xe didn’t dare use much pressure. Too much noise and the mallit would notice. Pull in, push up. Pull harder. Tight, the fit was tight, easy, thumb under the end, up, push up, ahhh!

  Xe caught the hook before it could swing loose. For a moment xe couldn’t catch xe’s breath, just leaned xe’s head against the wall and gasped in the stinking lifeless air.

  Then xe pushed against the shutter and it moved.

  Xe jerked xe’s hand back when the hinges started to squeal, waited to see if the mallit had noticed.

  He was singing now, beating time with the flat of his hand against the deck; there was a chorus of sorts that he shouted out every few slaps of his hand, the words so mangled and slurred that she couldn’t make out what they were. That didn’t matter. The only thing important to xe was that they were loud and if xe fitted xe’s actions properly to them, xe could get that creaking shutter open.

  Inch by inch, hands trembling with that strain, shuddering as the hinges squealed and groaned, xe edged the shutter back. After an eternity, xe pushed it against the wall and stood with xe’s hand bent, gulping in the acrid, briny air off the bay.

  Yal broke off the song.

  Thann straightened, stood tense, hand pressed across xe’s mouth.

  He started whistling “Bashar’s Lament,” the last song Mandall had announced on the day that he was killed.

  Thann forced back the wave of grief. Xe had no time for memories now. Mandan Was dead, Isaho was alive and needed xe.

  Xe turned xe’s back to the wall, hitched a hip onto the sill, and got xeself up into the window. Xe caught hold of the roof’s overhang, used that to pull xeself out as slowly as xe could force xeself to move, struggling with desperate attentiveness to keep the chains from clanking.

  When xe was out, xe crouched and shuffled across the deck, crept under the sail tarp and wriggled through the bales until xe could see the wharves and massive warehouses that edged the end of the inlet.

  Xe counted the masts and funnels of half a dozen steam coasters tied up at the wharves and smaller, sleeker ships that had to be smugglers’ craft. Behind the slate roofs of the warehouses a massive stone wall rose so high she could barely see the crenellation along the top. Fort Yedawa. We built it to keep pirates away from our cargoes and our shores. Now the pirates have moved behind the walls and turned into slavers and whoremasters and arms dealers.

  The peddler’s boat was tied at the last of those wharves, moored to a pair of crusted bitts. The nearest of the steamers was two wharves over; it was long and broad in the beam, with auxiliary masts, short, stubby things that looked as if sails run up them would be absurdly useless at shifting the rusty bulk of the ship. She could see several crewmals working without much enthusiasm on repairs that seemed to involve a lot of hammering and scraping.

  Birds glided overhead or sat the chop between the boats like miniature boats themselves, white and black with long greenish-ocher beaks. Cats lay sleeping in the sun or prowled among the bales and barrels piled on the wharves, killing rats, dodging the feet of the few ladesmals and sailors in view. Two of the steamers farther along the line were being readied for departure; the other ships were deserted except for watchmals dozing at their posts and a crewmal or two working with a lazy lack of enthusiasm.

  Xe couldn’t get onto the wharves. Deserted as they were by all but a few, there were still were too many eyes about; listening to the peddler speculate with his son about the price xe’d bring convinced xe that the first person here to see xe running loose would put the grab on xe faster than the peddler had. But xe couldn’t stay here among the bales; it’d take about five minutes to find xe. Xe was a strong swimmer, but the iron chains would drag xe down if xe tried that.

  Hiding places… anywhere I think of the peddler would see too… he’s a horror, but he’s not stupid… if he got a search started… no, he wouldn’t do that, he doesn’t trust folk here enough for that… so, that’s a small plus on my side… if I can’t figure out something… might as well crawl back in the window.., he’s sold Isaho by now… I can… God, why did you let this happen… why?

  Thann lay with xe’s face pressed against xe’s arms until xe’s breathing steadied, then xe listened a moment to Yal’s whistling. When the mallit began a series of elaborate trills, xe slipped over the side of the boat, used the rotting fenders to haul xeself along until xe was under the wharf, then began making xe’s way south in the cold and filthy water beneath the wharves, fighting the down-pull of the chains and fatigue, moving hand over hand along the cross bars between the piles, blessing God’s beneficence at giving xe a receding tide.

  Near the far end of the line of wharves the water began to stink even more than it had and it was filled with bits and pieces of things xe didn’t want to think about, things being swept outward by a powerful current that would have caught Thann and taken xe with them if the smell hadn’t stopped xe.

  Xe clung to a cross bar and scowled at the water boiling up a few feet in front of xe-, below the murky surface, xe could see a rounded dark blotch. Sewer outfall. And in a short while the tide would be out enough to uncover it. The thought made all xe’s stomachs heave, but it did offer the only hideaway xe’d found in all xe’s cogitations.

&
nbsp; Xe pulled xeself from the water and perched wearily on the bar. As soon as xe was settled, xe checked the egg. The sealing sphincter of the pouch had held, God be blessed; xe didn’t want to think of the infection that swam in that filthy water. Xe sighed and leaned against the weedy stone to wait for the uncovering. With a little luck the peddler wouldn’t get back to the boat before the tide started coming in again and xe’d be tucked away up in the sewers where even he wouldn’t think to look. Oh, blessed God, keep Isaho safe and grant me grace and patience to do what is necessary.

  2. Crossing the mountains

  Wintshikan watched Luca and Wann come loping along the Round, got to her feet, and made her way down the mountainside to wait for the rest of the Remnant to come from hiding.

  Under the thick foliage of the trees the night was dark and quiet; the moon wasn’t up yet and a drift of thin clouds muted the starlight. Wintshikan found that darkness oppressive and walked ahead a short distance to a place where a windstorm two years ago had blown down a huge old, tree and opened out the forest. She sat down on the crumbling trunk, pulled her Shawl more tightly about her; the cold that gripped her had little to do with the night and a lot to do with the decision she’d taken up there on the mountainside.

  Xaca came silently into the open patch, the children holding her hands, pressed close against her, their eyes huge, their faces old with the strain from being afraid. Arms hugged tight across her chest, Nyen followed them with Hidan close behind.

  Wintshikan felt in her belt pouch and took out the box with the Tale Cards. She sat with the box on her thigh, her two hands clasped loosely about it. “We have thinking to do,” she said. “Questions to ask. We will bespeak the cards and consult our hearts. It is a hard way that lies ahead, and we must get ourselves ready to bear it.”

  As she opened the box and took out the cards wrapped in their silk scarf, she murmured the words of the Prophet. “Bless the unfolding, O God. Guide the mix and the draw, O God. Speak to our hearts, O God. Guide our days, O God.”