Moonscatter

by Jo Clayton

  “You really think they would?”

  “No.” She sighed. “Teras?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why don’t we get a little closer and go off the Highroad? We can hobble the macain and sneak through the trees until we can see what they’re watching.”

  He thought for a moment then nodded. “Better than that, we can take the macain with us and sneak them around whatever it is, then hobble them and come back for a look. That way we’ll have a good start on the traxim when we go on in the morning.” He thrust his hand into a jacket pocket. “We got our slings. Fill our pockets with good stones and I’d back us against a decset of those city-bred guards, ’specially you with your night sight.”

  Tuli giggled. “I’d like to get them into those trees in the dark, tripping over their own feet and skewering each other instead of us. We could run them crazy.”

  As soon as it was full dark, they led their grumbling mounts down the steep embankment and into the trees until they were moving along beside a rambling, badly maintained Tar-hedge. Tuli rubbed her stomach, hunger overriding her excitement. A fistful of dried fruit, a torn bit of bread and cheese snatched on the run just wasn’t enough. She heard her twin’s stomach growl and giggled. Teras glared at her, then moved on as carefully and quietly as he could. She adjusted quickly to the confused blurring of shadow thrown by the Scatter; there were nine of the eleven moons in the sky with Nijilic TheDom now past full and beginning to lag behind the smaller but faster moons, the Dancers and the Drover, the Jewels of Anesh and the smallest of them all, the Dasher. For Teras, adjustment was more difficult; the shadows were a shifting confusion, tricking him into misjudging heights and stumbling over roots and other small obstructions that caught at his feet before he could make them out. He settled down after a few minutes and went more slowly, taking his time instead of plunging ahead, and his progress became almost as silent as Tuli’s.

  The leaves overhead murmured in the night wind. Somewhere not too close a stink-shell had been disturbed and wisps of its pungent defense came drifting to them. The macain grumbled and whoofed, wanting to stop and graze, which they considered their due after a hard day’s work. Their claws dug into the thick layers of fallen leaves, sending fragments of leaf and gravel in an irregular rain behind them. Tuli chewed on her lip as she glided through the dark. The beasts were making too much noise to sneak them past anything more alert than a hibernating doubur. Sneak, she thought. Hah. More like stomp up to their front door and bang on it and announce here we are.

  A different sound came floating to her through the night noises and the tromping of their disgruntled mounts—a few stray notes broken by shifting wind gusts. Tuli caught hold of her twin’s arm. “Hear that?”

  “Sounds like a flute.”

  “Yah. What I thought. Gong?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Well, we better leave them here.” Tuli nodded at the macain. “They just won’t be quiet. There’s a bit of grass.” She pointed. “That should keep them happy.”

  They left the hobbled beasts cropping eagerly at the grass and slid into the shadow under the trees. Teras kept close behind Tuli, stepping where she stepped, the two of them gliding like moondrift toward the music. It was soon more than scattered notes, blending into a haunting melody that wove into and around songmoth twitters, the whistles of hunting kanka passare, the rising and falling whisper of wind through the trees.

  Those trees thinned abruptly, opened out into a roughly circular clearing. Tuli dropped onto her knees behind the high roots of a spikul tree. As soon as Teras was settled beside her, they eased apart a few of the tall thin suckers growing in a thicket on the clearing-side roots and stared wide-eyed at the scene spread before them.

  A number of blocky wagons like boxes on wheels were scattered about the clearing, small cook fires burning by all but one. Women bent over pots dangling above the fires (the rich meaty smell drifting to her on the wind made Tuli’s mouth water and her stomach cramp), children played in the dust near their feet. Men sat in groups on wagon tongues or squatted beside their wagons talking in low tones. The few words that reached Tuli’s ears were strangely accented and unintelligible; they were speaking some language she’d never heard before, not the mijlocker that she’d grown up with. One wagon was drawn apart from the others, closer to the tree where the twins crouched. Its fire was larger than the others and had no pots or spitted meat roasting.

  The flute player was a long thin shadow beside that fire. Red light played restlessly on a lined face and a thatch of pale hair, on thin fingers flickering along the pipe. Beside this figure a blockier shape with a bland round face held a fat-bellied lute, fingers and finger shadows dancing vigorously over the strings coaxing from them mellow flowing sounds like the leap of water in a mountain brook. Other shadowy forms squatting by the fire tapped at small drums. A big woman sat on a chair at the back of that wagon, clapping with the beat of the drums. After a short while she dropped her hands. “Vala, Seichi, gelem-hai brad,” she called, her deep voice music as rich as any the lute produced. “Tans pyr zal.”

  Laughing, patting at long black hair flowing loose, tugging at tight bodices, smoothing the gathers of flaring skirts over slim hips, the two girls left their fires and came running to the big woman. Men and children, women not still cooking supper started drifting from the other fires, settled in a circle behind the musicians. The music stopped a moment. The flute player stretched, shook saliva from her instrument. “Kim olim’k?” Her voice was low and husky; she spoke the strange tongue with a slight mountain lilt. Looking around at the others, she ran her free hand through her untidy hair, cocked her head and waited for the answer to her question.

  The big woman cleared her throat and the confused babble among the musicians died away. “Sorriss,” she said firmly.

  The flute player laughed, glanced at the others, blew a few experimental notes, then settled into a lively tune. The lute came in, then the drums picked it up. The girls began dancing around each other, flirting dark eyes, swinging their long dark hair, arms rising and falling, hands clapping over their heads, dropping to clap before their breasts. The spectators picked up the rhythm and were clapping soon in their turn, laughing and calling out cries of appreciation and encouragement.

  The girls swayed and whirled, their feet pattering swiftly on the earth, turning and twisting in their intricate dance. A man rose to his feet. Several of the sitters called his name, then fell silent. He gave a wild cry that brought a gasp from Tuli and a glare from Teras. The man began to sing in a sliding minor tremolo that climbed over and under and around the bouncing melody from the instruments, weaving a thread of sadness through their cheer.

  Teras and Tuli watched entranced, so absorbed in the strange spectacle that they failed to hear the two men coming up behind them, were not aware of these until hands closed on them and jerked them to their feet. Teras struggled then went still when he found his first effort useless. Tuli tried to wrench herself free. When she failed she blazed up, flailed out with her feet, threw herself about, tried to bite her captor. Since he was stronger than her and skilled in the control of struggling animals, she got nowhere.

  “Tuli!” Her twin’s voice was like a slap in the face, bringing her out of her blind rage. She quieted and hung panting in the hands of her captor.

  He lowered her until her feet touched the ground. “Tat way, yoonglin’.” With a shove he sent her stumbling toward the fire and the dancers. Her hands shaking, she straightened her jacket and tried to swallow the lump of fear in her throat. She moved closer to Teras, wanting to take his hand, unwilling to show that much weakness.

  “Vat ye got, cachime?” A small man walked from the fire and stopped in front of her. He spoke the mijlocker with a strong accent that made him hard to understand. Tuli lifted her head defiantly and stared at him. His face was a congeries of wrinkles, his nose a blade of bone jutting from that sea of folds. Eyes lost far inside somewhere flicked over her, turned to measure Teras
, then fixed on the face of the biggest man. An eyebrow rose. “Mijlocker.”

  Her captor smelled of musk and sweat. He shrugged. “Thom ’nd me, ’ve check d’ snares.” He held up a cord with six lappets dangling from it, their forepaws limp, their necks broken, their powerful hind feet soiled with dirt and oil from their fear glands. “Ve find d’two sneakin’ ’nd watchin’.”

  “Spies?” The little man’s lips stretched in a thin smile, spreading out the wrinkles in his cheeks, his eyes narrowed yet further—shooting out little gleams of amusement. “These? Some young for it.”

  Behind them the music died away, the dancing stopped. Tuli shivered under the threat of all those eyes. They looked hostile, certainly unwelcoming.

  “What were you doing there, boys?” Perhaps by conscious effort his accent smoothed out a little.

  Tuli looked at Teras, thinking he’d better do the talking. At least they’d taken her for a boy, but she didn’t trust her tongue or temper.

  Teras rubbed his arm. “We were just watching the dancing. My brother and me.”

  Tuli nodded, watching the wrinkled face, relaxing at the little man’s calm acceptance of what Teras said. She began to think they’d come out of this without more problems, swallowed a smile at the ease with which they they were fooling these people.

  “Yoonglins like you ought to be in bed this late.”

  Teras licked his lips, scuffed his toes in the dirt. He was enjoying himself, Tuli felt that. Men were sometimes so dumb, they just didn’t think anyone younger than them had any brains. His eyes on his boot toes, Teras muttered, “We sneaked out. Climbed down a tree. My brother and me, we do that all the time.” He started to put his hand in his pocket, but the man Thom grabbed his arm. “I’m not gonna do anything.” Teras jerked his arm loose. “I just wanna show you.…” He pulled the sling from his pocket. “See?”

  “Any good with that, yoonglin?” The little man looked mild and disarmingly simple; his wrinkles trembling, he was almost beaming at Teras.

  “I usually hit what I aim at.”

  The little man moved to one side, the firelight catching the folds of skin, deepening the lines until he looked grotesque, as if he wore a mask painted with red and black lines. He waved his hand at a wagon a short distance from the fire. “See that basin on the side of the drogh?”

  “Drogh?” Teras was running the sling through his fingers. He was shaking a little, blinking and a bit worried. Tuli looked where the little man was pointing. The basin was a dim round that flickered as its shiny bottom reflected the cookfire close by. It seemed big enough to be a fair target. Tuli crossed her fingers, hoping the fire was bright enough to ease Teras’s problems with moonlight.

  “The wagon there. Make that basin sing, boy.”

  Teras nodded. He reached in his pocket and brought out a pebble. He whirled the sling about his head until it sang, then with a quick expert flick of his wrist sent the small worn stone flying. The basin rang like a gong.

  “Good enough, boy.” The little man shoved his hands into the pockets of his short black jacket. “Take back a lappet or two these nights, do you?”

  The tension went out of the watchers. They began to wander off, back to their fires or their groups to talk over what had happened.

  “Can we go now?” Teras shoved the sling into his pocket and moved a step closer to Tuli. “We didn’t mean to bother you.”

  “Bring the boys here, Gorem.” Tuli jumped. The big woman’s voice startled her. She began to feel apprehensive again when she realized that the woman spoke without any accent. Why this bothered her she wasn’t sure, but she dragged her feet as she followed Teras and the little man Gorem around the fire. He stopped them in front of the woman, walked on another step to drop on his heels beside her, his head just a little higher than the line of her massive thighs. Her face was broad across the cheekbones, narrowing to a squarish chin. Her mouth was large and mobile, set now in an intimidating downcurve. “Rane,” she said, “you and Lembas stay, the rest of you scat.” She thrust out her hands, fluttered them as if she shoed away a clutch of oadats.

  Rane was the flute player, a tall thin woman in a man’s tunic, trousers and boots. She had a mountain-bred’s lanky build and pale hair. Her eyes were unexpectedly dark. In the fire and moonlight their color was indeterminate, but they certainly weren’t the pale blue usual in her kin. They tilted down at the corners above high narrow cheekbones. She smiled at Teras and Tuli, amused and tolerant but maybe not so easy to fool.

  Lembas was shorter, stockier, with arms that looked too long for his broad body. His hair shone like silver in the moonlight; his face was round like a baby’s and rather too pretty. He stood tossing a stone idly from hand to hand, his delicately curved mouth set in a slight smile that failed to reach dark eyes.

  “Your names, boys.” The big woman leaned forward, the chair creaking under her. “I am called Fariyn.”

  “Teras, cetaj, and this is my brother Tuli.”

  “Not cetaj, Teras. Fariyn.” She settled back in the chair; it creaked alarmingly with each shift of her massive body but that didn’t seem to bother her. “Now then, what are we going to do with you?”

  Teras lifted his chin, stared defiantly at her. “Do? Why do anything? Just let us go. We can get back home easy enough.” Tuli nodded vigorously. “Let us go,” she said. “We didn’t do nothing.”

  Fariyn glanced up, her eyes searching out the circling forms of the traxim, her face grim. She looked from Teras to Tuli. “This is not the time to be fooling about after dark, boys. I think you need a lessoning. Who’s your pa?”

  Teras pressed his lips together and shook his head. Tuli prodded at her own brain, frightened in earnest now, trying to find a way out of this closing trap. “No!” she burst out, then wished she hadn’t when she felt Teras stiffen beside her. “No,” he said firmly. “Da ’ud tear hide off if he found out we were night running. Just let us go, we won’t do it again.”

  Fariyn rubbed at her nose. “We got trouble enough these days being what they are. Who’s your pa?”

  Teras shook his head.

  Fariyn turned to Rane. “There’s a town a few miles east of here, isn’t there? You know this part of the Plain better’n me.”

  Rane nodded. “About a half hour’s ride.”

  “Good.” Fariyn scowled at Teras. “You won’t talk to us, boy, then we take you and turn you over to the Agli there.”

  “No!” Tuli cried out, her shout blending with her brother’s. They whipped around and darted away, ducking and dodging as Rane and Lembas chased after them. Tuli stumbled, scrambled to her feet, but Rane’s long fingers closed on the neck on her jacket; she twisted hard, a sudden skilled jerk of her hand that brought Tuli whirling around.

  “Be still,” Rane said. Her cool fingers slid up onto Tuli’s neck, nipped hard suddenly. A roaring filled Tuli’s ears and blackness slid across her eyes. Then the pressure was gone and she could hear and see again. “Be good,” the long thin woman said, her voice quiet, a little amused. “We won’t hurt you.”

  Tuli heard a scuffle, then Lembas came past her, pushing Teras ahead of him. Rane urged her after them, her strong slim fingers a warning pressure on Tuli’s neck. The twins were marched back to Fariyn and left standing dejectedly in front of her.

  She was smiling, an amused twinkle in her dark eyes. “Boren,” she said, “these two don’t seem to relish talking to an Agli.” The little man’s wrinkles spread again as his lips stretched in his version of a smile. “So.” Fariyn looked from Teras to Tuli. Her smile faded. “Rane, bring me that one closer.” She pointed to Tuli.

  Urged by a hand in the small of her back, Tuli stumbled forward. She knelt at Fariyn’s command. The big woman bent over her, looked intently into her face. She slipped long strong fingers under Tuli’s chin, forced her head around, drew a firm forefinger along her jawline. “So.” A soft, drawn-out hiss, filled with satisfaction. Fariyn took her hand away and settled back in her chair. “I don’t thin
k you’re a boy at all.”

  Tuli kept her head stubbornly down. She said nothing.

  “Go back to your brother, child. I have to think a minute.”

  Tuli scrambled to her feet and stood beside Teras, rubbing at her neck where Rane’s fingers had bitten hard into the muscle.

  Fariyn rubbed her broad thumb against her forefinger, slowly, repeatedly, her dark eyes focused on the fire, a contemplative look on her face. After a moment she scratched at the drooping tip of her long nose, tilted her head back, her eyes following the black shadows circling high above the camp. Finally she nodded as if she’d made up her mind about something. With a vast fluttering of petticoats, she got onto her feet. “Rane, Lembas, bring those two inside. Come, Gorem, there’s more here than we want to spread about.” She looked past him at the dark figures around the cook fires. “Yes, well.” She started up the back steps of the drogh, the box swaying back and forth under her weight. The little man followed behind like an oadat chicklet at its mother’s tail.

  The inside of the drogh was something of a surprise to Tuli. It was lit by several delicate oil lamps with bowls of etched glass. The oil in the reservoirs was scented and filled the small neat room with a smell something like that of fresh-mown hay. The wooden floor was covered by a Sankoy rug that glowed with jewel colors. Along one wall a chest with a padded top served as a seat. It had carved panels with floral designs and pillows piled thick over the embroidered pallet. Fariyn sat in an armchair placed against the wall opposite the door, an elaborately carved seat almost like a throne. She nodded at Gorem who threw two pillows on the floor by her feet. “Sit yoonglins,” she said briskly. “Be welcome in my house.”

  Lembas stopped in the doorway, one shoulder pressed to the jamb, his free hand tossing and catching the stone he’d been fooling with before, his eyes turned outside, a sentry watching to see that no one came close enough to overhear what was said inside.

  Rane and Gorem sat on the wall seat, Rane at the far end, her face lost in shadows, Gorem nearer to Fariyn.