by Gene Wolfe
While I tied my sandals, I said, "You can't take off a chain as though it were one of these."
"Yes, I can. They have them to chain up bad sailors and barbarian prisoners, so they aren't made to fit somebody as little as me. It's tight, but I can get my foot out. I did it last night."
"Show me."
She crossed her chained foot over her knee, stuck out her tongue, and tugged at the shackle, which was indeed too large. "I was sweating a little then," she said. "I guess that made it easier. Now it's got sand under it."
"You'll take the skin off."
"No, I won't. Master, put your hand right here, and your thumb against my heel. Then pull with your fingers and tell me what you think."
I did so, and the shackle slipped from her foot as easily as an anklet. "You were joking," I said. "Why, you might almost have stepped out of it."
"Maybe I was, a little bit. You're not angry at me, are you, master?"
"No. But you'd better put it back on before someone sees you."
"I don't think I can," she told me. "I'll say it fell off in the water, and I couldn't find it."
"Then you'd better hide it under one of those stones."
"I know a better place. I found it while you were swimming around. Look at the edge of this big rock."
It was a hole the size of a man's head. When I thrust my arm into it, I discovered that it went almost straight down.
"I wouldn't do that," Io said. "Something smells bad down there." She dropped the chain and shackle into it. "I don't think they'll put another one on me. They'll be afraid that will get lost too."
One of the sailors who had reboarded the ship had returned now with a bronze fire-box. I was surprised to see how bright its vents seemed. The sun was setting behind the finger of land, plunging the beach into shadow.
"I'll go and get our food, master," Io said happily. "That's one of the things I ought to do for you."
"It won't be ready yet!" I called after her, but she paid no attention. I had picked up this scroll and started to follow her when someone tapped my shoulder.
It was one of the bowmen. I said, "She'll do no harm; she's only a child."
He shrugged to show he was not concerned about Io. "My name is Oior," he said. "I am of the People of Scoloti. You are Latro. I heard the man and woman speak of you."
I nodded.
"I do not know this land."
"Nor I, either."
He looked surprised at that but went on resolutely. "It has many gods. In my land we sacrifice to red fire and air the unseen, to black earth, pale water, sun and moon, and to the sword of iron. That is all. I do not know these gods. Now I am troubled, and my trouble will be the trouble of all who are here." He looked around to see whether anyone was watching us. "I do not have much money, but you will have all I have." He held out his hand, filled with bronze coins.
"I don't want your money," I told him.
"Take. That is how friends are made in this land."
To please him, I took a single coin.
"Good," he said. "But this is no good place to talk, and soon there will be food. When we have eaten and drunk, go high up." He pointed to the ridge, between the sentries who stood black against the sky to the north and south. "Wait for Oior there."
Now I am waiting, and I have written this as I wait. The sun has set, and the last light will soon leave the western sky. The moon is rising, and if the bowman does not come before I grow sleepy, I will go to a fire to sleep.
CHAPTER X-Under a Waning Moon
I write beside the fire. When I look about, it seems that no one is awake but the black man and me. He walks up and down the beach, his face turned to the sea as if waiting for some sail.
Yet I know many are awake. Now and then one sits up, sees the rest, and lies down again. The wind sighs in the trees and among the rocks; but there are other sighs, not born of the wind.
I asked Hypereides whether we would bury the dead man in the morning. He said we would not, that there is hope we will reach the city soon. If we do, the dead man can lie with his family, if he has one.
But I should return to the place where I stopped writing only a short time ago. Io carried food and wine to me, though I had eaten already, and we shared it with our backs against one of the highest rocks of the ridge, watching the moon rise over the sea and enjoying the spectacle provided by the fires of driftwood and the ships drawn up on the beach.
Hypereides was generous with food, and because no one had remembered I had eaten already, Io had received full portions for both of us. While I pretended to dine a second time, she piled what she did not want of her own meal onto my trencher, so there was a great deal there still when I drained the cup, wiped my fingers with bread, and laid it at my feet.
"I would like something of that."
I looked around to see who spoke. What I had thought only a stone resting by chance upon a larger stone was in fact the head of a woman. As soon as she saw I had seen her, she rose and came toward us. She was naked and graceful, beyond her first youth (as well as I could judge in the moonlight), though not her beauty. The black hair that fell to her waist seemed longer, thicker, and more tangled than any woman's hair should be.
As she came nearer to us, I decided she was a celebrant of some cult; for though she wore no gown, she had tied the shed skin of a snake above her hips like a cincture, with the head and tail hanging down.
"Here," I said. I picked up my trencher again and held it out to her. "You may have it all."
She smiled and shook her head.
"Master!" Io gasped.
She was staring at me, and I asked her what was wrong.
"There's nobody there!"
The woman whispered, "She's your slave. Won't you give her to me? Touch her and she's mine. Touch me, and I am hers." She scarcely moved her lips when she spoke; and she looked away, toward the moon, when she said, "I am hers."
"Master, is there somebody here? Somebody I can't see?"
I told Io, "A woman with dark hair, belted with a snake skin."
"Like the flute-playing man?"
I did not remember such a man and could only shake my head.
"Come to the fire," she pleaded. She tried to pull me away.
The woman whispered, "I won't hurt you. I've come to teach you, and to give you a warning."
"And the child?"
"The child is yours. She could be mine. What harm in that?"
I told Io, "Go away. Run to the fire. Stay there till I come."
She flew as a rabbit flies the hooves of warhorses, leaping and skipping among the rocks.
"You are selfish," the woman said. "You eat, while I go hungry."
"You may eat as I did."
"But quick of wit, an excellent thing. Alas, that I cannot chew such food." She smiled, and I saw that her teeth were small and pointed, shining in the moonlight.
"I didn't know there were such women as you. Are all the people of this coast like you?"
"We have spoken before," she said.;
"Then I've forgotten it."
She studied my eyes and sank fluidly to the ground to sit beside me. "If you have forgotten me, you must have seen many things."
"Is that what you came to teach me?"
"Ah," she said. "It is my face you do not remember."
I nodded.
"And the rest is somewhat differently arranged. Yes, you are right. That is one of the things I have come to teach you."
I looked at her, seeing how fair her body was and how white. "I'd gladly learn."
Her hand caressed my thigh, but though her fingers moved with life, they felt as cold as stones. "Someday, perhaps. Do you desire me?"
"Very much."
"Later, then, as I told you. When you have recovered from that wound. But now I much teach you, as I said I would." She pointed to the moon. "Do you see the goddess?"
"Yes," I said. "But what a fool I am. A moment ago, I thought her only a crescent lamp in the sky."
"There is a shadow across her face now," the woman told me. "In seven days, the shadow will cover it wholly. Then she will become our dark goddess, and if she conies to you, you will see her so."
"I don't understand."
"I tell you these things because I know she once showed herself to you as a bright goddess when the moon was nearly full. What she has once done, she will do again, so these things are good for you to know. For a very small price, I will tell you more-things that will be of the greatest value to you."
I did not ask what the price was, because I knew; and I saw that she knew I knew. I said, "Could you take her? Even when she's sitting around the fire with the rest?"
"I could take her though she sat in the fire."
"I won't pay that price."
"Learn wisdom," she said. "Knowledge is more than gold."
I shook my head. "Knowledge is soon changed, then lost in the mist, an echo half-heard."
She rose at that, brushing the dust from her hips and thighs like any other woman. "And I sought to teach you wisdom. You mocked me when you said you were a fool."
"If I mocked you, I've forgotten it."
"Yes, that is best. To forget. But remember me when you meet my mistress in any guise. Remember that I helped you and would have helped you more, if you had been as generous to me as I to you."
"I'll try," I said.
"And I will warn you, as I promised. The child fled down this hill, and fled safely; but soon one who walks this hill will die. Listen well!"
"I am," I said.
"Then wait for the death. Afterward you may go in safety." She paused, licking her lips as she cocked her head to listen.
I listened too, and heard far off the noise a stone made falling upon a stone.
"Someone comes," she said. "I would ask you for him, but that would be your death. Notice that I am your friend, merciful and just, more than fair in every dealing."
"As you say."
"Do not forget my warning and my teaching. There is one thing more." Swiftly she went to the boulder behind which she had been waiting when I first saw her. For an instant she disappeared as she crouched to take something from the ground. Then she stood beside me again and dropped it at my feet. It clinked as coins do, tossed in the hand.
"The women here put knives beneath their children's cradles," she told me. "They tell one another they will keep us away; and though they do not-not always-it is true we do not like iron." She crouched again, this time to wipe her hands on the ground. "The reason we do not is to come."
I picked up what she had dropped. It was a chain, with a shackle at one end.
"Don't let your brat dump her rubbish into my house again," the woman said.
A man's voice, rough and deep, called, "Latro!" I glanced in the direction of his call, and when I looked again the woman was gone. The stone rested on the boulder as before. I went to it and picked it up. It was a common stone, not otherwise than any other; I tossed it away.
"Latro!" The man's voice sounded a second time.
"Over here," I called.
A tall foxskin cap came into view. "I am glad you waited," the bowman told me. "You are indeed my friend."
I said, "Yes. Soon we will walk back to the fire together, Oior." For I trusted neither the woman nor her warning, and I feared for the child.
"But not before we have spoken." The bowman paused, rubbing his chin. "A friend believes his friend."
"That's true."
"I told you I do not know the gods of this land."
I nodded; we could see each other almost as well in the bright moonlight as we might by day.
"And you do not know mine. You must believe what I say of them. A friend speaks only the truth to his friend."
I said, "I'll believe whatever you tell me, Oior. I've already seen something tonight stranger than anything you're liable to say."
He sat on the ground almost where the woman had. "Eat your food, Latro."
I sat too, on the other side of the trencher. "I've had all I want."
"As have I, Latro; but friends share food in my land." He broke a piece of bread and gave half to me.
"Here also." I ate my bread as he ate his.
"Once our land was ruled by the Sons of Cimmer," Oior began. "They were a mighty people. Their right ran from the Ister to the Island Sea. Most of all were they men mighty in magic, sacrificing the sons of the Sons of Cimmer to the threefold Artimpasa. At last their sorcerers slew even their king's son, the acolyte of Apia. She is Mother of Men and Monsters, but the boy's blood burned on Artimpasa's altar.
"But the king came to know of the sacrifice of his son, and with hands held to heaven he declared death, that no sorcerer should sacrifice again among the Sons of Cimmer. He sent forth his soldiers, saying, 'Slay every sorcerer! Leave none alive!'
"Seven sorcerers sped to the sunrise beyond the Island Sea. Death-daunted they dwelt in the desert, cutting its cliffs for their cottages and at last counting a numerous nation, the Neuri."
To show I was listening, I nodded again.
"Sorcery they sent against the Sons of Cimmer, stealing the strength from their swords. Silver they sold to the Sons of Scoloti, paid in moon-pale ponies and brides bought for their proud priests. So they learned from our lips, copied our clothes and our customs.
"Soon they said, 'Strong are the Sons of Scoloti! Why do they dwell in the desert? Strike the Sons of Cimmer, a puling people languishing in a lordly land.' Then bent we our bows and waged war.
"Scattered were the Sons of Cimmer, wider with each wind. We pastured our ponies in their palaces and tented in their temples, princes of their plains.
"Long ago, low we laid them. Careful chroniclers count the kings since we came to the country of the Sons of Cimmer, but count them I cannot." He sighed, his recitation ended.
I felt I knew why he had given it, and I asked, "But what of the Neuri, Oior?"
"How can a simple bowman speak of the sorcerers? They live in their ancient land, east of the Island Sea. But they live among us too, and no one can say who they are. They have our speech and our clothing. As well as we they draw the bow, and with a touch, tame horses. No one knows them, unless he sees the sign."
"And you have seen it," I prompted him.
He bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Apia burned her brand on the Neuri, price of the boy's blood. Once in each year, and sometimes more than once, each changes. 'Sorcerer' is your word, Latro. Neurian, say the Sons of Scoloti. Apia is earth, Artimpasa the moon."
"I understand," I said. "How does a Neurian change?"
"His eyes dim. His ears sharpen. Swift then are his feet across the plain-"
A dog howled in the distance. Oior gripped me by the arm. "Listen!"
"It's a dog," I said, "singing to the moon. Nothing more. There's a town-Teuthrone, the kybernetes called it-not far from here. Where there's a town, there are always dogs."
"When the Neuri change, they drink the blood of men and eat their flesh, pawing the dead to wake them."
"And you believe there is one here?"
Oior nodded. "On our ship. You have seen our ship. Have you stood in the lowest place, where the water laps the wooden walls?"
I shook my head.
"There is sand there, and water and wine, bread, dried meat, and other good things. Often I watch the man, the woman, and the child. You understand?"
I nodded again.
"Once they thirsted, and when the rest had eaten, no one had fed them. The man spoke to Hypereides. Hypereides is a kindly man, for he has not even put out their eyes. He told me to go to the lowest place and bring water, wine, bread, olives, and cheese. I got them, and I thought it might be I would never go there again, and it might be good to see all that was there. I was where the oarmen stand, and do not sit."
"In the stern?" I asked. "Where the steersmen are?"
"Beneath them. A step I took with back bent. Then two, then three. It was very dark. The food is where the oarmen stand because the evil water r
uns away when the ship is pulled onto the shore. If I had turned and gone back then, I would not have known. I took one step more, and eyes opened, far before mine. Not a man's eyes."
"So you believe one of the other bowmen is a Neurian?"
"I have seen such eyes before," Oior said, "when my sister died. Eyes that were like two white stones, cold and bright. But now when I look into the eyes of the others, I cannot see the stones. I heard the man and the woman, and even the child, when they talked. You are blessed by your gods and see unseen things. You must look into the eyes of all three."
"I am cursed by our gods," I told him, "like your Neuri. And Hypereides will not believe us."
"Behold," Oior said, and drew the dagger from his belt. "Apia's prayer is scribed along the blade. It will send him to his grave, and I will heap stones upon it. Then he cannot return unless the stones are taken away. Will you look?"
I said, "Suppose I look and see nothing? Will you believe me?"
"You will not see nothing." Oior pointed to the crescent moon. "There is Artimpasa. You will see her in his eyes, or Apia's black wolf. Then you will know."
"But if I do not see," I insisted, "will you believe me?"
Oior nodded. "You are my friend. I will believe."
"Then I will look."
"Good!" He rose smiling. "Come with me. I will take you to the other bowmen. I will say, 'Here is Latro, friend to the Sons of Scoloti, friend to Oior, enemy to all that is evil.' I will speak the names, and you will take each by the hand and look into his eyes."
"I understand."
"The rest will be listening to the man in chains, but the bowmen do not listen, because this talk is like the cackling of geese to us. Come, it is not far, and I know the path."
It was not easy to see the way in the moonlight, for there was in fact no path, though Oior moved as readily as if there were. He was five strides or more ahead of me when an arm circled my throat.
CHAPTER XI-In the Grip of the Neurian
I fell backward, half-strangled. For an instant there was a long knife, its point at my chest; perhaps its owner hesitated for fear his blade would pierce his own heart.
