Dragonfly

by Sylvia Kelso

The yard was trodden earth, with stone-rimmed garden beds against the outer wall. Herbs, my nose read, including the lavender. A hazy sun enhanced their scents amid the warm breath of grass, a wet-hay smell from the thatch, the cold presence of that stone wall. And a definite drift of ammoniac byre stink, across the scent of new-turned earth.

  Our host appeared, little basket in one hand, in the other, my discarded boots.

  “I washed these fresh, last night. Work t’grease in well now. An they dry, they’ll be fit to wear.”

  What is more precious to a traveler, a castaway, than your own fitting, well-worked, intact boots?

  She brushed my thanks aside with a little upward shift of her chin, and produced a distaff and spindle and a dusty mass of—wool? The same dark brown as her smock and the peculiar skirt. But Two had no time to question. My left sleeve had slid back as I worked. She observed, “That could use grease, too.”

  She knew what she had seen. She was right, and it was both risky and stupid to dispute. I unbuckled both sheaths, and slid knives and all onto my knees.

  Both blades were salt-rimed but intact. The hilts, carved bone dark with use, needed wiping at once, and the sheaths were as direly soggy as my boots.

  “Work them with this.” She gave me a handful of unspun wool. “Within and out.” Adding with satisfaction, “T’will serve your hands as well.”

  If I had never owned knives, Verrith had taught me both their upkeep and use. I wiped and rubbed in silence that kept blurring out with tears. Then caught her glance, saying she recognised my training, and let Two loose almost with relief.

  “Who are you? What is this place?”

  One small wave accepted and dismissed my look of apology. We spoke very well, I realised, without any speech.

  “This is the ban-house of Evvamoor. And I its keeper. These last ten years.”

  Two nearly exploded on the spot. She anticipated, with that small, suppressed smile.

  “Evvamoor’s t’village. Over there.” Southward. “But the old ones, the bones, are here.”

  “The bones?” This was a graveyard? I could not help the wild glance round. She smiled a little grimly, and pointed a thumb earthward.

  “There.”

  No tale of the scree-folk had been this bad. Could she possibly mean what it seemed? “The, the old ones are buried under the house?”

  “Nay.” With a deft twist she sent the spindle twirling and the distaff began to turn. “On Sickle, time out of mind, bones go to the ban-house. Flesh goes to the air.”

  Even Two could not find a question to expand that.

  “The birds,” she said. “The dead lie on the ban-rock. The clean bones come here. For the ban-keeper to grind, in the under-pit, and lay to sleep and ward.”

  I just managed to keep Two quiet. In a moment, with ebbing irony, she added, “The under-gate’s t’other end of the house. Past the quern.”

  I could not possibly exclaim in relief. After a minute or two’s sedulous rubbing and wiping, I could almost get the hush out of my voice.

  “How, uh, do we call you?”

  She gave her sudden almost-laugh. “M’name’s Nouip: ere I was ten they were callin’ me tall-as-a-peak.”

  “Oh.” Could this woman ever have been ten? But the return courtesy was pressing. “I am called Chaeris.”

  She nodded. She had heard Therkon use it, I realized, and in any mannerly exchange my origins came next. But could I, should I open the door to the questions that would follow that?

  With relief I saw Therkon reappear, rubbing at his hair and trying at the same time to carry his boots and pull tight the laces in a long buckskin shirt.

  * * * *

  We made room for him on the bench. He shook his hair out. Sighed, as I had, in near luxurious relief, then remembered his manners, and turned to Nouip.

  “My lady, how can we thank you? Your courtesy, your gifts—”

  She made the little hand-twist again. Castaways: who could do less? “T’is the custom of the land.” She nodded at his boots. “We’ve the goose-grease here.”

  I nearly hiccupped at the thought of Dhasdein’s crown prince oiling his own boots. A sharper shard of thought slashed the mirth: she had read my experience with the knives, she would pick up his inexperience here. What would that tell her? What should we tell her—belatedly I reclaimed Iatha’s, Tez’s caution. What should we tell anyone in the Archipelago about either of us?

  Therkon’s wits were warier than mine. He made a little motion all grace, but equal parts dismissal and request. “My lady, if you please. First, if you could tell us. What you saw.” He did swallow. “The wreck?”

  I lowered my eyes in shame. I had been thinking ahead, taking the past as given. Done with. Lost. He had not yet relinquished it.

  The spindle rose and fell. She said, “I Saw it. Aye.”

  I heard the capital and my heart spun right over. She was not just scree-folk, or a ban-keeper. She was a Seer. She Saw it, as she Saw the two of us.

  Two said, “How long since?”

  Therkon frankly gaped, but the woman’s eyes slitted. Grey eyes, by daylight grey as her hair.

  Then she answered, evenly, “Twa, threen days past.” The gesture pointed up and seaward behind the house. “On t’ Head. Rack Head. At the Giants’ Dance. The Long Stone. Speirin’ the Quarter star.”

  Two and I were flying at her sentence tails in literal giants’ leaps. Giants’ dance, long stone, stones even bigger than the quern stone inside, she had been seeking the mark of a year quarter. Spring? Far behind ours on the River, Two extrapolated frantically, we must be far, unthinkably far south. And she?

  Two, or I, or both of us, drew in a long, almost ecstatic breath. She was a true Seer. One who knew how to do it. One who might pass that knowledge to us.

  I made the gesture by which, in Amberlight, you would acknowledge a woman of the Mother’s. Not merely Craft, but Calling. What Dhasdein terms priests.

  She inclined her head. Therkon had reached, Two, three days past? Now he repeated, uncertainly, “You saw the wreck?”

  Her brows made a little twitch.

  “I Saw a ship. Sore touched by storm. In t’Rackstream, that aye sets into the cliffs.” Another eloquent turn of a wrist. Knowledge enough to forecast the rest.

  “But when it happened? Did you—”

  He broke off short. He still had his wits, and he had been some time round me. He did not burst out, So you saw nothing? But went on, almost composedly. “There was . . . wreckage. On the beach.”

  The spindle ran up and down again. And up. “Naught else?”

  “Not—before we left.”

  He was watching her with more than a heart in his eyes. After a moment she said quietly, “Evva beach. T’Rackstream flotsam comes there, aye.” She shook her head a little. “Eh, man, t’is no surety they lived.”

  “But one more chance they might.” He clenched his hands. “My lady. I am importunate. But to have lost them—lost them all, and not be sure—”

  “Aye.” Her face had softened, but the next question came smoothly as a stab. “Where were ye bound?”

  “We—” Therkon balked. Then he suddenly shook his head with a tired little laugh. “I think you know this. We were blown out of the River mouth. Five days south-west, without a sight of land. We are,” he took a visible breath, “from Dhasdein.”

  “Outlanders,” she said, but not in surprise. And Two got loose with, “Did you See that too?”

  Her eyes turned, considering. “Nay,” she said.

  We had hardly shorted her of common clues, after all, from our accents to our ignorance. Or our clothes. Or . . .

  Therkon was sitting bowed as he had on the beach, hands clasped between his knees. Knees clad in the semblance of those elegant black trousers. Swollen, blistered hands that still bore the glint of rings.
>
  The Empire’s spousal ring. Worth a fortune, anywhere. The imperial signet. The last thing he should wear in any island of the Archipelago.

  “I beg your pardon, uh, Nouip.” I wanted to call her Lady, at the least. “We’ve been mannerless. I told you, my name is Chaeris. This is—”

  “I am Chaeris’ brother Therkon,” he said.

  I just controlled the gasp. The lightning flash of comprehension woke a stupid jet of relief: that’s why he didn’t hug me this morning, he’s starting as we must go on, he means to protect me. And the irrelevant counter-flash, she already knew his name.

  But the courtesy was what mattered. And the distraction. He had sat up, making an abbreviated Court bow, his ringed hands were out of sight.

  Nouip turned the distaff deftly and the spindle ran up and down. She said, “Aye.”

  “My, our family are merchants. Chaeris sailed with us, just to the Delta mouth.”

  He stopped again, catching his breath as on him too the past fell like a wave. Azo. Verrith. Deoren. The captain, the steersman, the rowers and sailors. Ten men of the Imperial guard. Gone. Lost.

  Dhasdein, the Empress, left not knowing if we were with them. The River beyond. Iskarda.

  Nouip looked once at us and dropped her eyes to the distaff. After a moment she asked, “What think ye to do now?”

  * * * *

  “Now?” Therkon laughed raggedly and shoved a hand through his hair. “My lady. There’s hardly been time—”

  I saw the thought hit him, almost physically. He spun on the bench and almost grabbed for her. “My lady, can you See what we should do?”

  Such a desperation of hope as would have broken my heart. Nouip’s eyelids did flinch a hair’s-width. Before she slowly, sadly, shook her head.

  “The Sight comes to me,” she answered, “at its will. Not mine.”

  Therkon did not have to reply in words.

  I was saying, too loudly, “Then could you show me? Maybe I can look? Could you show me how?”

  She put the distaff down altogether and turned to face me. Understanding was in that look. And with it, reluctance. Regret.

  “I would show you, Chaeris, and welcome. But I think, it will not help.”

  It was disappointment, not shock, that left me mute.

  “Sights . . . come all of a piece to me. Once and only. Most often, at the Dance. I’ve to, to put the pieces together, for myself.”

  She reached a hand out suddenly and set it lightly on my wrist. “With you, I think t’will be very different. To begin with, there’s two of ye.”

  She nodded, wryly, not making me try to marshal words through the shock. “T’one’s a fine well-raised maid, smart with If-you-please and Thanks. T’other’s mad to know things, and no carin’ how.”

  Therkon had got up. I felt him twitch, but she only smiled faintly, and let go my wrist.

  “I’ve no way of tellin’ how, or when. But one day, aye. You will See. And I think, t’will come from that. From the two o’ ye. And knowing things.” Her hands shaped piling up something. “But t’is naught to do with mine.”

  Somewhere a strange bird whauped. Up the hill came a drift of wind, the jingle of a bell, an irritated bleat and unmistakable smell of goat.

  Then Therkon let his breath out in a long soft sigh, either disappointment or anticipation, and Nouip said, “Now, whither would ye go?”

  Instinctively I looked at Therkon. And Therkon looked at me.

  I had ado not to scream at him as I wanted to scream at Nouip: I’m a girl, I know less than you do, you’re used to asking councillors and experts! I’m somewhere I know nothing about, and I can’t even ask Azo!

  But he had no other counsellor. If Two and I could not See the future, if we lacked data even for a solid extrapolation, surely we could lay out the logical choices? The necessities?

  I took a very deep breath and tried to make my voice steady. “Shouldn’t we, uh, let Dhasdein know?”

  Therkon sat slowly down on the bench again. Familiar warmth and solidity beside me, and the anomalous smell of lavender and lye soap.

  He said, “First, we would need news to send.”

  “But we know—Oh.”

  About ourselves. Not about the rest.

  Therkon looked past me at Nouip and said, “My lady, the main harbour on Scythe—on Sickle island. What is its name?”

  The mere fact that he had to ask told me just how far south we must be.

  “Hranhaven?” Nouip had begun spinning again. “In t’Sickle-crook. West of here.”

  Therkon’s face set. “The current. The Rackstream. It would not carry that far?”

  The spindle sank down, and up again. “If ye’re bent on speirin’ after your folk, ye’d ask at Grithsperry.” She pointed south and west. “When the Rackstream carries aught round t’Head, t’will drift down there.” She added, after a moment, “T’is the southern harbor. The traders call there from Eynholm. And Phaerea.”

  I saw Therkon’s eye flash and my own heart leapt. At last, a name I knew.

  “That is,” Nouip went on precisely, “if any lived.”

  Goat bells fell like punctuation into the quiet. What chance had there been for the others, if Azo and Verrith had taken such a desperate risk with me?

  Therkon straightened his neck and said, “We must ask.”

  He had brought them here. He would not, till the bitter end, renege on his responsibilities.

  Then he looked at me and said, “But my—Chaeris. If we went to, to Hranhaven, you could take passage. For Riversend. You could tell them, what we know.”

  Go back to Riversend. Tell them we lived. Abandon all this sea and strangeness, go right back to Iskarda. Go home. Be safe.

  Tell Iskarda I had failed. Had lost Azo and Verrith. And what would I tell my mother?

  What would I say to Tellurith?

  The world flew away on a cross-waft of lavender and back on a jet of absolute wrath.

  “You want me to go back? To run off, not knowing anything about the others, not knowing anything? Just to be safe?”

  “If you were safe I could be—”

  “And what will you do? What do I tell them about that?”

  “We cannot risk us both! They must know, they need to know we are alive. And they will need you as well! If the worst comes, they will need you, not me!”

  “Claptrap!” It was Iatha’s word and I never savoured it more. “They need you, didn’t you see that? On the River? At the forts! Dhasdein can do without me, they’ve done it before, but they can’t—”

  “And I swore to protect you! Lost in some squall, some spawn of the Adversary catches—if I ever did get back, what would I tell your mother, about you?”

  “What’ll I tell your mother now?”

  “She will understand—”

  “She won’t understand! Blight and blast you, you won’t be there. I’ll be no use to her and I’ll have to tell her! I’ll have to say, Empress, I’ve lost your—!”

  I choked, but it was too late. Therkon’s eyes blazed hotter than the house fire. Then he gave a groan and sank his head in both his hands.

  I had jumped off the bench. I wanted to yell, to cry, to bawl, I’m sorry! To bang my own head against the stones. But it was too late for Sorry now.

  The silence vibrated like a mis-struck drum. Into it, Two spoke.

  “No-one can go back.”

  All three of us jumped. Nouip actually let the distaff fall.

  “You have been brought here by another’s plan. Nothing you have done could gainsay it. If you could not steer events this far, then it does not matter what you decide now. You will move only as the plan allows.”

  Therkon whipped his head up. I could see Where? forming. Two already had the reply.

  “The only way you can go is as you have already
come.”

  Therkon’s eyes were black as pits in a cream-pale face. Neither of us needed words to finish. We knew which way we had come.

  South.

  “You have been brought here from the Seaforts. From Riversend. From the River. From Iskarda. There is not enough data to say how far back the pebbles began to fall. But they fell to bring you together. The plan includes both.”

  My knees were shaking. My heart was pounding like a water­mill, something had parched my throat. I took one step and Therkon grabbed me as I collapsed.

  * * * *

  Eventually my heart slowed, my breathing eased. But I was still propped like a rag doll in the coign of Therkon’s shoulder when Nouip spoke.

  “Whose plan?”

  We both turned. At whatever our faces said, she lifted the distaff an inch and let it drop.

  “Ye’ve let cats enough out already. And if yon—creature—will prophesy before me . . . might ye not as well finish it off?”

  I did not feel myself flinch, but Therkon did. His arm went iron hard and he spoke over me as I had heard him address Deoren.

  “Chaeris is not a ‘creature.’ She is—”

  “I know who Chaeris is. T’was not she I meant.”

  Therkon balked. I turned about in his arm and spoke for myself. For us.

  “The other is Two.”

  She had not recoiled. Revulsion, I realized now, had never been part of her response. Her eyes almost skewered me. Then she said softly, “And who is Two? Or what?”

  “That is Chaeris’ business.” Therkon sounded more than

  redoubtable. “Of your courtesy, let it be.”

  Her long unblinking look retorted, I have a right, as your

  rescuer and host, to know what I have let into my land, taken to my hearth.

  “My lady.” He very nearly managed conciliation, if not outright plea. “Two may be, may be more than any of us understand. But what she is—”

  Nouip turned the distaff over and back. Met his eyes again and said evenly, “Haps ye’ll tell me, then. What’s the Empire’s Heir, and a maid that’s maybe Sighted, and very like not his sister, doing here?”

  I could feel Therkon thinking, faster and more redoubtably than Two. Calculating, running projections, deciding what, or who, could be sacrificed. Then his muscles tensed. I knew he had cut a thicket of losses, and chosen to be brutal too.