Isle of Woman (Geodyssey)

by Piers Anthony

  Ember set out as the villagers hurried to get the last preparations done. Another woman was carrying the remaining fruits to the raft. Crystal was with Scorch, and would be taken onto the raft when he was. Anything they could not load by dusk would be left for the fire to destroy.

  She held a bit of material up to test the wind. It was starting to stir, going out from the warming land to the sea. That was the wrong direction, but she knew it would change by dusk. She merely had to get far enough away to be sure the fire would not close on the village too soon. Then it would turn and drive on the Green Feathers, who would have to flee it. It would have to cross over some of its own ashes, but the rising breeze would lift it to the treetops that had been dried by its first passage, and instead of a grass fire it would be a tree fire, much worse. It would do the job, if she got it started in the right places at the right time.

  She started the first fire near the shore, so that the enemy would not be able to go around it and reach the village too soon. She got down and brought out her smoldering punk. She blew on it, and got dry leaves burning. Soon there was a fire, slowly expanding. Slowness was the key; she needed it to grow to its prime later, when the enemy would be trying to pass this section.

  She moved inland, starting fires at appropriate intervals. There had not been recent rain, so this part was relatively easy. The wind was rising moderately, stirring the fires to greater effort, and they would soon link together and form a wall.

  Then the wind reversed course, unpredictable as it often was, and the fires started to pursue her. Fire could move rapidly when it chose. This was good, because it meant that she would not have to go farther inland; the fire would take itself there faster than she could go.

  But when she turned to cut back to the village, secure behind the expanding line of fires that were not yet burning in that direction, she discovered that it had grown too well. The wind had whipped an arm of flame between her and the village already. She would have to go the other way, outside the forming fire wall, and that had its own special risk.

  She hurried, hoping she would be lucky. But she was not. As she crested a hill and started down toward the shore, she saw men. They were between her and the sea, and the fire was behind her. She was caught.

  She knew what to do. She turned and ran directly for the fire. But the men pursued her, and they were faster; she saw that she couldn’t make it to the fire first. One caught the back of her jacket and hauled her up short. So she tore open the fastenings and tried to get out of it, so as to leave him with nothing more than the jacket. But this was a mistake, because it bared her breasts, which were still large from her recent years of nursing.

  There was an exclamation of surprise. What they had taken to be a boy was a woman. The boy they might simply have killed outright; the woman they would not. Another man caught her as she tried to leap away, hauled her back away from the fire, and threw her to the ground. Now the other two came up, staring at her big breasts. They spoke in an alien tongue, but she knew what they were saying: here was a treat. Do with her what men do with women. If she resists, knock her unconscious or bind her. She would be good, perhaps, for several days of fun before she expired from mistreatment.

  She pretended not to resist. But they took no chances. One man held her head down to the ground, trying to kiss her without getting bitten, while another caught her feet and held them apart. The third stripped away his breechclout, then ripped away her skirt, dumping it and the pack carelessly beside her. Then he got down on her as the other let go of one of her feet. So now she could kick with one leg, for what little good that might do her. It would probably just increase the man’s joy of the occasion.

  They had not bothered to grab her hands, being more interested in her face, breasts and legs. Despite her desperation, she had a stray thought: was this why women had several aspects of interest to men, instead of just one? So that they could entertain two or three men simultaneously? No—so they could distract three men while fighting for survival! For Ember realized that their diversion had given her a chance to fight back.

  She flailed with seeming helplessness, which the man seemed to enjoy, but it was not aimless. While the one played tag with her face and left breast, and the second held her foot and ran his hands up toward her knee and thigh, and the third set his hardening penis for penetration, her right arm found her pile of clothing and the harness. She plunged her hand into her pack and found the firepot. She got her fingers around a cushioning leaf and drew it out with the central punk. It was burning hot, but she ignored that. She brought the burning punk down behind the man as he stretched his body flat on hers. She felt the curve of his thigh, finding her place as carefully as he was finding his.

  Then she rammed the punk into the crevice of his buttocks, questing for his testicles. She rubbed it in as hard as she could.

  The man bellowed and convulsed. The action caused his member to plunge into her, but not with any joy. His crotch was burning! He leaped off her, screaming, in his distraction kicking the man behind him in the head so that he fell back and let go of her leg. The man at her head, amazed, not realizing what had happened, let her go for an instant. Perhaps he thought there was an enemy attack. He was right, but not in the way he supposed.

  Ember rolled over, scrambled to her feet, and plunged away. By the time they reacted, she had a good lead. Her nakedness gave her an advantage, because she was smooth and unencumbered, while they were burdened with clothing, surprise, and a burn that might have made running awkward.

  Nevertheless they gave chase. But this time she was able to reach her target before they caught her. Maybe they thought they had her pinned against the sea, and expected her to try to turn aside. But she never paused; she plunged into the water and swam out beyond the surf. The waves were steep, being whipped by the wind, but she had swum this sea all her life. The shallow water was her friend. It was only the deep water, beyond the embrace of land, that she feared.

  They let her go, realizing that further pursuit was pointless. In a devious way they had actually done her a favor, because her first impulse had been to go for the fire, dying in the heat of her namesake. They had prevented her, and now she had found life instead in the water.

  She swam back toward the harbor—and saw that the men had not after all given up. They were wading in the shallow water, to get around the fire, so that they could catch her as she returned to land farther in. They knew she could not stay out beyond reach forever.

  Ember smiled. There was a reason she had entered the water where she had. The People had known that the enemy would try to avoid the fire by wading around, and had prepared for it. They had set assorted traps at low tide, knowing that the rising water would conceal most of these. So she stayed deep, and watched.

  The first man tried to avoid wetting his feet by stepping across the beach just beyond the edge of the fire. Suddenly he paused, slapping at his ankles. He had encountered one of the nets of stinging nettles placed there. He backed off in a hurry. Those nettles were not lethal, but the stings were most uncomfortable for some time.

  The second man waded deeper, carefully avoiding the region of nettles. Then he too cried out: he had stepped on one of the hidden spikes. The spikes were embedded in the sand with just their sharp points exposed, a menace to bare feet. It was difficult to get by them carefully, and impossible rapidly. He too backed off.

  The third man, wincing as he walked, was the most determined. He waded deep, then swam around or over the stakes and came back to land inside the fire. He watched for the nettles, and waded to shore in a clear lane. He stepped onto land—right where an old trunk concealed a nest of hornets who had already had all they cared to take of human intrusions. He splashed back into the water in a hurry, in the process tangling his ankles in nettles and landing on a spike. His loud cries announced all three.

  Ember smiled. The men might in time make it past the fire, but not quickly and not without further discomfort. The defenses were effective.
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  When she was out of sight of the men, she swam to shore at a safe place, and followed a safe path back to the village. Work was proceeding apace, with men using stout hand axes to chop the bamboo for construction. “The fires are set,” she reported. “The traps are working. But some men may get through too soon; we need to be on guard.”

  “We are on guard,” a senior told her. “Children watched you return without revealing themselves. They would have cried alarm if they hadn’t recognized you.”

  Ember was relieved to know that. She went to see Scorch before settling back down to useful work.

  “You look awful,” he said, before she could say the same about him. “You’re naked and scratched and bruised.”

  “I had to swim back,” she said.

  “More than that, I think. What happened?”

  She knew better than to try to conceal things from him. “The wind changed, and the fire got behind me. It cut my work short, but I had to go ahead of it to get back. There were three Green Feather men—”

  “Did they rape you before you got away?”

  It occurred to her that this might be a sensitive issue with him, as it was with her. But the truth had to be told. “Yes and no. They caught me and stripped me, but I got hold of the burning punk and rammed it into the butt of the one who was on me. I burned my fingers, but I burned him worse. He did not enjoy getting into me.”

  He stared at her. “You—as he was—?”

  “Yes. It was the hardest thrust I ever had. No offense. But his attention was elsewhere. I think he will have trouble pooping for awhile.”

  “You raped him back!” he exclaimed. He took her hand, seeing the tender fingers. “You put the punk up his—the fire—”

  “Well, I tried to. But he didn’t stay long enough for me to finish the job.” She smiled, hoping he would smile too.

  Instead he laughed. “Only a fire woman could have done that! You fixed him with fire!”

  “Yes. Then I got away.”

  He sobered. “If it had been me, they would have killed me immediately. You got away because you distracted them.”

  “Yes.”

  “You did my job, and returned to me. I’m so glad I didn’t lose you. Let’s not tell others the details.”

  “No details,” she agreed, relieved. She had been raped, and had avenged herself, and had told her mate. As far as others were concerned, it had never happened. That was best.

  Ember went back to work hauling fruit, while men struggled to complete the third raft in time. But it simply was not possible to get all the poles properly bound. They ran out of good cord, and had to stop with the raft undersized. It also lacked a cabin. But twenty people volunteered to ride it, and they agreed that during the voyage they would switch off with others, so that everyone had his turn with the more comfortable complete rafts.

  The fire burned nicely, and as the wind shifted and intensified it made a beautiful display in the center of the island. But the alarm was cried: the enemy had managed to get around it, and was closing in on the village. The People had to evacuate immediately and get on the rafts, before the enemy got close enough to catch the rafts and prevent them from leaving.

  Ember made sure Crystal and Scorch were on a raft. Then she returned to the shore.

  A senior intercepted her. “You are too late for anything more. They are already closing on the village.”

  “Not too late for my purpose,” she said grimly. “I will join you in a moment.”

  Then he understood her intent. “Then hurry,” he said, following his own advice as he went toward the rafts.

  Ember went to the village, carrying another fire-shell, and went to the center. “Everybody get out of here,” she called, just in case anyone had been missed. “I’m going to finish it!”

  There was a cry. Ember looked—and saw a foreign man at the outer edge of the village. The enemy was already here!

  There was another cry. Another man, coming in from the side. She was about to be trapped, again. Perhaps by the same men she had foiled before. She knew that this time they would not give her any chance to fight or escape, and they would make sure she suffered a great deal before she died.

  But she had the same remedy as before. She brought out the punk and set fire to the central house. It was of bamboo, thatched with straw, and years dry. It blazed up immediately. She touched a straw torch to it and ran to the next house, and the next, sowing fire in her wake.

  Now there were cries of dismay from the Green Feather men. They had thought they had captured the village intact, and now they were losing it as well as the People.

  Ember ran on, making her trail of fire. It was time to return to the rafts. But how could she get past the men? They had lost the village, but they hadn’t lost her.

  She surprised them. She ran inland, leaving the burning village behind. She entered the forest and quickly lost herself. Now she was between a fire and a fire, and soon enough those fires would meet and merge. But she knew the pattern of fire, and knew where it would travel last. She made her way quietly along that route, back toward the sea.

  When she reached it she saw that the rafts were already moving out. They had not waited for her. They couldn’t, because they had to get away from the men of the Green Feather. They could stop anyone from swimming to them, because the People could simply spear swimmers. But if the Green Feathers had any rafts of their own here, they could mount a more effective attack. So the paddlers were ranged along the edges, and the rafts were slowly coursing toward the open sea.

  Ember slipped into the water and began to swim. She was tired from her exertions of the day, but this was the swim she had to complete. She stroked for the rafts as rapidly as she could.

  The sea breeze was in her face, and the waves were pushing her back. She had to slow as her arms grew fatigued to the point of numbness. She could not, after all, get there.

  She made a final effort. She cried out, and waved an arm, trying to attract the attention of someone on a raft. But she was afraid that no one would hear or see her, or that if they did, they would think she was one of the enemy. Now all she could do was try to hold her place, and hope.

  There was a shout. Someone had spied her! But her flare of hope was quickly damped: that shout had been from the land. It was the enemy!

  Now a man set off from the shore, swimming toward her. They were going to haul her in after all, so they could torture her to death. They knew that she had set the fires that deprived them of even a remnant of their victory.

  She could simply let herself drown before they got her. All she had to do was give up. She was near it already. But somehow she couldn’t. She had to hang on to the last, even if it did merely put her into the dread hands of the enemy.

  The Green Feather man came toward her. She recognized his face: he was one of the three she had foiled! He gave a grim cry of exultation and stroked the last few body lengths to her. She was so tired she could not even try to swim away. She knew she should push the air out of her lungs and duck her head down under the heaving surface of the sea, depriving him of her final pain. But she merely watched him, like a bird trapped by a snake. He reached out—

  A spear came from nowhere and struck him in the chest. He looked surprised as the blood stained the water before him. Then he drifted away.

  Ember turned her head. There was a small raft approaching, with a spearsman standing on it. They had spied her! They had sent out a raft. She, distracted by the swimmer, had not been aware of it—and the swimmer, distracted by her, had not seen it either. She would be saved after all.

  There was a second man on the raft. He caught her hands and hauled her up until she lay sprawled across the center, unmoving, just breathing. Then both men set to work with paddles, going toward the big rafts.

  They reached it, and other hands lifted her to the more solid surface. She came to rest in the cabin, in the center of a crowd of people. She was beside a man who was lying on his back. A child was sitting by her o
ther side.

  “We were scared for you, Mommy,” the child said, taking one of her hands.

  “That we were,” Scorch agreed, taking the other.

  Ember let her consciousness go at last, knowing she was safe.

  When she woke, it was dark. She knew they were well out to sea, because there were no sounds of land. No birdcalls, no crunching of gravel underfoot. Just the slopping of the waves against the raft. It was restful. But now she needed to attend to a natural function. The one the rapist should find excruciating.

  Her mate and child were asleep on mats on either side of her, as were most of the other folk. Ember got up, finding a lane between sleepers, by the dim light of the central fire. She walked along it and out of the cabin, where dim moonlight showed the way. Men were still paddling on either side of the raft, slowly. She walked to the rear where there were two structures: the steering assembly and the privy enclosure.

  There was a man holding the long steering oar, keeping the raft more or less on course. He was asleep, but it didn’t matter; the oar handle was under his arm, and any shove on it would wake him. The privy was unoccupied, for which she was glad. She entered it, hoisted up her skirt—someone must have put it on her after she passed out—hung onto the rail, and squatted over the dark water. Her innards let go and there were splashes below her. Then she scooped up some water from the side and washed herself off.

  She was feeling a bit queasy, but she knew why: she had been on the heaving raft for several hours, and her equilibrium was suffering. It would pass. Sickness on the water was to be expected; that was why no one had eaten much before setting off, lest the food be wasted before the sickness passed.

  She straightened out and walked back across the raft. She saw that there were six paddlers, evenly distributed by type: two seniors, two adults, and two older children. The adults were both women. She realized that the shifts would change frequently, so that no one became too fatigued to bounce back soon. They had a long voyage, and strength was valuable. The paddlers were not stroking hard, just trying to keep some forward progress.