Three Hands for Scorpio

by Andre Norton

  Zolan subsided at last on the far side of the fire to sit staring into it intently, as if reading some important message in the flames. He had tied back his hair with a twist of grass, and now, in addition to raw scratches on his bare arms, I could see a long scrape down his left cheek.

  We had reached our present campsite, true—but where would we go from here? I closed my eyes and tried to picture the markings on the maps I had indifferently scanned back in Grosper. Grosper! A Send—could we reach our mother from here, now that we were safely past any of the confining Wards of the Dismals?

  And how much Power might we now call upon? I knew that the balance of Talent could have been changed by our drawing so heavily upon it in the immediate past. I opened my eyes to look into the flames. Then I remembered the gem Tam had found in the ruins. A caller—it might prove just such an energy magnifier. Silently I relayed my thoughts to both my sisters.

  “Yes,” Tam was the first to respond, also by Send. Perhaps her thoughts followed my own. As Bina agreed, Tam put her hand within her jerkin and drew it forth closed but with golden light gleaming between the fingers.

  “Whom do you call?” Zolan used voice instead of mind-speech. Was the nature of his response evidence that the Power he held had been lessened by his coming into the Upper World?

  “We seek our mother,” I returned.

  With the care of one handling a fragile treasure, Tam laid the gem on the ground and we moved together, forming a circle around it with clasped hands.

  Eyes closed, I faced darkness from which I began to form an image of my mother as she often appeared, seated at work, her desk before her spread with the reports she read to such good purpose. Just so—yes, she was sitting in the high-backed and cushioned chair she often preferred, fine satin skirts outspread to prevent creasing (Mother tolerated no disorder in garments). Her face grew larger as if I were approaching ever closer.

  Now I was able to sense that strength feeding into me readily and swiftly from Tam and Bina. Perhaps because I had suggested this course of action, so I was the first to essay the contact. Approaching me came a sense of rising heat, not to burn but to warm, to cherish, as Mother might reach out comforting arms to encircle us all.

  I was—in! Fearing every moment I might lose that tenuous touch, I mind-spoke swiftly. I wasted no time in description but relayed only the most crucial facts: that we were now free, that we moved once more in the Upper World (though we were not sure where), and that we carried news of great import. I used my words as I might threads, stitching with them a tapestry or working a needed banner for imminent battle.

  I felt as breathless as if I had been shouting that curtailed report aloud. Then came a reply:

  “Head South if you can. We are at war—Gurlyon struggles within. We shall come—”

  It was a firm promise, standing as a sworn oath. I had not been aware of the weight lying on me until I was freed of it. Sighing, I looked to Tam and then Bina. Both of them nodded. We three might be separated in body from our mother, but we had been reunited with her in spirit and might henceforth draw upon that link for support. All at once I was very sleepy. Together, side by side so we touched, we curled together. Tam had taken the gem up again and placed it where it rested on her breast to yield heat under the cloaks we had drawn over us. Out in the world, a world familiar to us if no longer safe, we finally knew a measure of peace. And, at that moment of rapidly approaching slumber, Zolan was no longer a part of it.

  Tamara

  ALL AT ONCE hunger pinched my middle, and I awoke. The fire was dead, but light surrounded us, a glow that rose from neither flames nor from the gem. I instantly put my hand forth to search for the jewel from the world below, fearing that it might have disappeared during the night. My fingers touched it and, brushing aside the cloak, I clasped that strange find. Its glow was gone; it was only a dullish oval. Dead? Had my uses of it destroyed the Power within, or could it not display life for long outside the Dismals?

  Not too far away, chunks of roasted meat, still twig-impaled, rested on a small square of hide. Beside them lay roots that had burst their outer charred skins in places and now emitted white puffs. Seeing those offerings, I was distracted from concern over the stone and drawn back to the necessity of food.

  Food—had I Sent that word? I was not sure. However, a stirring began around me; Cilla and Bina were sitting up, rubbing their eyes. I glanced across the fire-pit. There was no sign of Zolan nor Climber, whom I had last seen seated close to the man. A second search showed me that we were, for the moment, alone.

  Bina reached for one of the water bags and held it up, setting its spout to her lips with one hand and working its cap loose with the other. As she drank, Cilla lifted one of the roots.

  After one bite, she grimaced. “Cold,” she announced, eyeing the tuber dispiritedly. But she did not stop eating.

  So we broke our fast for the first time back in our own world. That feeling of freedom and rightness continued in me even as I also chewed the cold and tasteless fare. Since arising, we had seen no sign of Zolan and Climber—they might have returned down the cliff. On impulse, I stood to look over the piles of bags towards the plains.

  If Zolan had left us, the horsetalker had not taken his herd with him: one horse and several ponies yet stood at graze.

  “He is gone.”

  Bina stood beside me.

  “Do we wait, search, or go on our own?”

  My sister posed well the questions from which we must choose answers. I watched the small group of mounts. Used as I was to horses, I had no belief in my ability to render them as biddable as had Zolan. There was nothing about their uncared-for hides to even suggest they were tamed, trained mounts. They did not show signs of any ranch. But how had these steeds survived so long if they were indeed the animals the reivers had left? From the remains of that battle we had found at the bottom of the cliff in the Dismals, years—a number of them—must have passed since the raiders had gone treasure hunting. Were those I now watched the offspring of the mounts and burden-beasts that had been left to wander free after that conflict? The matter, however, meant little now.

  “Let us search for him.” Cilla had joined us.

  It was true that we had been able to contact our mother, but our Talents were not the same as Zolan’s. Still, this answer was the best any one of us could offer now. Again we encircled the gem, but we had no more than settled around it when Cilla shook her head. “Mother was already bonded to us. Zolan is not.”

  She rose and walked around the fire-blackened spot to the other side of our rough camp where we had last seen him. There she stood, looking intently at the place where he had lain.

  Drucilla

  IF ONE PERSON is not bonded to another by blood or close kinship, then in order to reach him or her by mind-speech, a Sender must have an object recently touched by the one sought. I knelt, stared down; I might have been trying to count every fragment of gravel and earth. The bed-place showed evidence that someone had lain there, and for time enough to impress the surface; however, such traces did not hold enough Power for my purpose. I plucked a pinch, a very dusty scrap, of red hair from the ground. Not Zolan’s—the tuft must have come from Climber’s hide. Could the man be reached through the beast?

  It was true that the animal of the Dismals could communicate with Zolan, but the cat-creature’s Send was either too low or too alien to clearly reach us, and we had never been able to receive any but the faintest sense that it even existed. Still I held my find carefully as I continued to search. At last I was forced to accept that the bed held nothing more for me to find.

  When I showed the fur-scrap, I expected disappointment; however, to my surprise, neither of my sisters greeted my find so. Tam motioned to the gem she had set out once more on the ground. With care, lest I lose one of the hairs, I placed them on and about the talisman. We closed the circle, seated ourselves as we had the night before, and made ready.

  Many rules governed the use of Talent. Sinc
e I had found the hairs, I must initiate the Send, even as I had when we quested for Mother. Again, as had been the case with our call to her, Climber’s image was easy to draw upon the dark curtain of the inner mind.

  We could not guess what form a beast-bound Send should take; it might be that Climber’s lack of speech might be an insurmountable barrier. I eyed the mind-picture I had raised.

  “Come back—bring Zolan.” Words—those simple phrases and the feeling of need—were all I could project. “Come back—bring Zo—”

  I was interrupted by a Send so powerful that it might have been a physical blow.

  “I come!”

  “That was not Climber!” Bina exclaimed.

  In spite of the fact that it had been somewhat accented, as if our spoken language had been shaped by a foreign tongue, the message had come without doubt from Zolan.

  We did not attempt to reach either of the roamers again. Instead we busied ourselves with a further examination of the contents of the plunder bags.

  “Those robbers helped themselves to some burgher’s well-stocked pack train,” Tam commented.

  She was right. What we shook out in the way of clothing were, in spite of long-set creases, trews, shirts, and jackets of sturdy stuff and good honest make. I pulled free a second bundle to discover women’s garments of only slightly less durable manufacture. Woolen, these were—no satins or tafties of Southern gentlewoman’s wear. But the necks of two of the gowns were edged with embroidered patterns, simply yet carefully done. A third dress, without any decoration, might have been intended for a personal serving maid.

  The goods-pack held two petticoats, but four chemises, the latter with narrow lace binding about the trim. I held one up, only to find that the looted merchant must have dealt with customers shorter and stouter than the likes of us.

  We measured our newfound wardrobe against our bodies and made the decision that we would not discard our reptilian Dismals garb but would pull this more acceptably feminine gear over it. Our appearance would be that of trampers—those who beg their way and have no fixed dwelling-place. Such vagabonds had come and gone at Grosper for as long as we had been there.

  We were still poking about the bags when we heard a whinny and looked up quickly to see Zolan, mounted, Climber running beside him as he rode towards our camp at a gallop. Within a short distance he pulled up, to sit looking as if he had never seen us before.

  The ill-fitting clothes evidently served to disguise us. I remembered our condition of undress at our first meeting and felt the blood rise to my face. A moment later our host smiled. I did not know whether he was minded or not to laugh at the appearance we offered.

  “Ladies.” He sketched an informal bow from his seat on the horse, which was tossing its head in display; it had been fitted with an improvised bit and bridle. “I see that you are minded to be on your way.”

  “We have had news of aid from the South,” Tam answered. “The sooner we start, the shorter will be the journey.”

  Zolan’s smile faded; his face became blank.

  “Just so.” He slipped from his mount and tossed the extra-long reins to Climber as if this action had been long in use between them.

  Again we worked, breaking off our labors only long enough to eat. Zolan had brought back with him more roots to be roasted. They were easier to chew and swallow when hot but were undoubtedly not as good as the fare to be had in even some of Alsonia’s humble taverns.

  When we finished with the packs, selecting what to take with us to present the likeness of traders, it was too late in the day for us to start out. We had even come upon some small trinkets that might gain us entry at a keep, should we be invited into such a dwelling.

  I welcomed an object that was, to me, a treasure: a wooden case in the form of an acorn, which protected a number of coarse needles and a couple of skeins of heavy thread. We each had a cloak and wool cap that could be pulled down far enough to hide our ears and our long hair, the remainder of which would be hidden under our cloak-collars.

  “No!” Tam flicked the skirt of her dress about, frowning heavily at the sight of reptile-skin leggings that still showed beneath. The dress that had fallen to her share, when we had cast lots for the clothes, was even shorter than those Bina and I were wearing—after a fashion. “No!” she repeated even louder.

  She tugged and pulled at the clothing that was never meant for the use she demanded from it. Standing once more in only the garb of the Dismals, she reached for a set of trews, which slid easily over the skin breeches. Her choice of a shirt and then a jacket somehow did suit her. Only her long braid remained, and she lifted that plait now in her hand as if she weighed it.

  Swinging around, Tam pointed to the dagger I still carried, though I wanted no part of such a weapon. She held the braid straight up and as far away from her head as she could.

  “Cut it!” she ordered aloud in a tone that left me to understand that she would hear none of the arguments ready on my lips.

  When I did not move at once, she let the plait drop and put hand to her sword hilt, though she must know that a blade so dull would not serve for a cosmetic operation.

  Reluctantly I did as she wished. When I had sawed through that luxuriant twining of never trimmed locks, she snatched it from me and stuffed it into her shirtfront.

  “So be it!” she snapped. “Let us ride.”

  Nineteen

  Tamara

  Ride we did not, until shortly after dawn. Zolan and Climber had brought in the remainder of the horses and ponies. Three more of the mounts had saddles improvised with materials from the bags as well as bridles woven by Zolan, doubtless products of his day apart.

  He drew us, one by one, to a horse and obviously Sent some introduction or order to the animal, giving us also a name he must have selected for each beast.

  I was glad that I had chosen not to wear skirts, as we must ride astride on such unfamiliar and surely untrained steeds, and women’s garb made a knee grip difficult. The horse he had apportioned to me was a mare, certainly not of high breeding and rather the worse for her wild life, as well. Her rough coat was gray, and her ragged mane held a sprinkling of burrs.

  We had already packed what gear we had onto the stoutest-looking ponies. Those impromptu pack-beasts were roped together in a long string and led by each of us, turn and turn about.

  Our first goal was the pond Bina had discovered. There we made sure that the water bags were well filled and that the animals drank. No food remained on which we might break our fasting, and we knew we must acquire provisions of some sort as early and as well as we could.

  It was a good morning, somewhat warmer than we had experienced since leaving the Dismals. Our way south led not directly to the mountains ahead but rather towards a point to our right, but for a while our path paralleled the clifftop. There Climber disappeared. We were passing a stand of trees at the time, and that copse was well behind us when he returned. In his jaws was clamped a game bird of the breed often served on the table at Grosper. Though one fowl would not go far for four of us, Zolan dismounted to solemnly receive this gift, which he proceeded to secure by tying its feet to the pack-roping on the nearest pony. He made much of Climber, pulling his small ears gently and running fingers through the thick fur.

  I do not know how Zolan was able to measure time, but at intervals he would bring the whole party to a halt, have us dismount and breathe the animals. I took the chance at each of these stops to work upon what I had started earlier. From my shorn hair I had at last netted a miniature sack into which I could fit the gem out of the ruins. To that talisman bag I added a small braid by way of chain, so that the packet might hang about my neck. The stone was dull; I might have exhausted whatever power it had by overuse. Still it was truly a treasure—one Mother must see and examine.

  Dusk had not yet fallen when Zolan called an end to the day’s journeying. We had angled even farther from the mountains, though the land was not very flat. During the afternoon, Climber had add
ed to our larder another bird and a plump ground leaper unwise in venturing far from its burrow.

  We did not string a rope to tie the horses, as was the custom for travelers. Instead, as each mount and pony was relieved of its burden, it was allowed to simply move off, Zolan giving no heed to its straying.

  We found water at the campsite, a wide and shallow brook into which our animals waded as they drank. We washed our faces, scrubbing our hands with leaves pulled from waterside plants. Bina gave a little cry of recognition and harvested a small growth of cress, sharing the leaves out carefully with us all.

  We had eaten, not enough to satisfy but at least better fare than the day before. Since we were far less tired than we had been the previous evening, we lingered by the fire Zolan had started, oddly, with the rubbing of a stick by a small stone—or was that only a gesture to conceal some use of his Talent?

  At the same time, it became evident that our companion out of the Dismals wanted something from us: information. He began with a series of questions; he might have been compiling the list for some while.

  The inquiries he made were intended to give him some idea of the Upper Land and those dwelling there. We answered each in turn carefully, trying to be as usefully informative as we could. The unhappy situation along the Border was fairly easy to outline; after all, we had lived with the results of that conflict for years. Our father’s wardship we made plain, along with the influence he wielded, both in the North and at home. Lastly, we explained to our best ability the disturbed state of Gurlyon, ending with the story of the lost young king.

  Bina it was who faced him squarely when the tale was ended, with a question from us all:

  “Are you Gerrit?”

  He said nothing for a moment but simply stared at us where we sat across the fire from him in our usual position.