by Jo Clayton
“Let’s stop a while.”
“What about Da?”
He moved his shoulders irritably, leaned over the saddle ledge and scratched at the spongy fringe on the macai’s neck. “They need rest. Look ahead there.” He pointed. “The Blasted Narlim.” A high pale pole of a tree (dead for a hundred years or more but still standing as a landmark because the oils in the wood repelled insects and retarded decay) the narlim was like an ivory needle rising above the blue-green leaves of the broader, squatter brellim. “We stopped there when we went to Oras, remember? It’s got a well.” He shook the limp waterskin by his knee. “We’re about out of water.”
“We can’t camp there.” Tuli scratched at her chin. “You saw how those landless looked at our macain.”
“You always argue,” he burst out. “No matter what I say.” He kicked his mount into a heavy run, leaving Tuli gaping at this unexpected and quite unfair attack. She followed without trying to catch him, a cold hollow spreading under her ribs. Not that she and Teras never had arguments, but there was a different, sound to this, an angry resentment that troubled her. He slid from the saddle and began working the pump handle with a vigor that seemed to ease some of the tension in him. Uncertain how to act with her brother now, Tuli rode her macai down the embankment, silent and hurting. She slid from the saddle and led her macai to the water trough, stood patting his neck as he gulped down the cool water.
When the trough was full, Teras untied the grainsack given by Rane, pushing past Tuli to do so. He felt dark to her, dark and closed away from her. Then she saw him glancing at her, not meeting her eyes, glancing repeatedly and shyly like a chini pup who’d misbehaved and she saw that he was ashamed but didn’t know how to speak to her again. The coldness under her ribs went away. She grinned at him and led her protesting mount to the pile of grain he poured for her. He smiled back tentatively then left the macain whuffling at the grain and moved under the trees. He settled on a thick air-root, his back to the spikul’s scratchy trunk, his eyes on the Highroad.
Tuli straddled a root on a neighboring spikul, leaned forward, arms braced, hands circling the shaggy wood. “Will you know who it is?”
Teras leaned his head against the trunk and closed his eyes. He scratched slowly at his thigh, his fingernails pulling wrinkles into the heavy material of his trousers. “I think so.”
“How long we going to wait?”
“An hour, mayhap.” He opened his eyes and smiled dreamily at her. “If he’s not by us before then, he’s not coming. The macain will be rested enough by then so we can go along for a while more.”
Tuli bounced a little on her root, then jumped off. She stretched a while, bent and twisted, until she remembered she was hungry. She edged toward her macai. The beast was licking up the last grains, the ones sunk in between the stiff springy blades of grass. He shied as she set a hand on his flank but kept his head down, wrapping his tongue about the grass, tearing it up and swallowing it. She dug into a saddlebag and pulled out a packet of cold meat, bread and cheese.
After sharing with her twin, she settled herself back on her root, chewing vigorously and watching the thin trickle of passersby. Floarin’s moves in the past few days obviously hadn’t touched everyone in the mijloc, not like Cymbank anyway.
As the sun moved slowly toward the peaks of Earth’s Teeth, losing a portion of its swollen coppery strangeness, the twins spoke at intervals, exchanging only a word or two. More seemed unnecessary now, the rents in their accord healed (at least on the surface) as if they’d never occurred. When she finished eating, Tuli was up again, too restless to relax as Teras was doing. She began prowling through the quiet sun-dappled grove, watching tiny talkalots running about the limbs, watching the abasterim swooping after near-invisible bugs, listening to wild oadats rustling through brush, airroot tangles and fallen leaves. Eased by these comforting reminders that some things weren’t changing out of all recognition, she strolled back to Teras. “We going to wait much longer?”
He was staring intently at the Highroad. His head jerked a little when Tuli spoke behind him, but he didn’t turn. “No.”
She looked from him to the empty road, then started past him to see more of it. He stopped her, his hand hard and nervous on her arm. “Wait.”
She stepped back reluctantly and stood at his shoulder in the shadow under the drooping limbs. A single figure rode slowly toward them. He looked thin and short though he was still too far away to judge the actual length of arms and legs. He wore a cowled jacket, the hood pulled up over his head in spite of the lingering heat of late afternoon. His mount looked lean and rangy with powerful legs longer than the average—mountainbred, a racer by the look of him.
When the rider came even with them, he pulled the fractious macai to a stop. While it jerked its head about, clawed at the blacktopping, sidled and backed, the rider stared intently into the trees, his face a circle of darkness under the cowl. Teras slipped his hand into the pocket of his jacket and brought out the sling, draped it over his knee, slid his hand back and closed it about one of the stones. He sat tense, waiting.
“Gong?” Tuli whispered.
“No.” He didn’t relax. “It doesn’t always,” he whispered back.
The macai continued sidling about, whoomping softly until the rider urged him off the Highroad and down the embankment. The man’s long-limbed body moved easily and gracefully with the dip and sway of the racer. He rode straight toward them, stopped the macai at the edge of the shadow, lifted a hand to the cowl with a familiar angular grace. Even before the gesture was completed, the cowl pushed back, Tuli knew. “Rane,” she breathed.
Teras stuffed the sling back into his pocket. “Why?” he demanded.
“Why?” Rane shrugged. “Say curiosity. I was leaving anyway this morning.” Her eyes moved from him to search the shadow behind him. She smiled at Tuli. “How go the sores?”
“Well enough.” Tuli glanced at Teras. He nodded. It was Rane who was following, no one else. “Why didn’t you just come with us? How come you waited?”
“You look like you were waiting for me.”
“Someone.” Tuli spoke before she thought. Teras’s fingers closed tight about her arm, but his warning came too late.
“One of you is a sensitive. You?” She nodded at Teras.
He drew back until his spine was pressing against the trunk of the spikul. Tuli chewed on her lip. Did it again, Maiden bless, ran my mouth before I thought. She moved closer to Teras, closed her hand around his. She felt him stiffen, then relax and knew he’d forgiven her. With a brief reluctant nod, he said, “Me.”
Rane crossed her arms on the saddle ledge, smiled down at them. “Owleyes and Longtouch. You make a good team.”
Teras grinned. “Well,” he said. “Sometimes.” He slid off the root. “You didn’t answer Tuli’s question.”
“I had things to do before I left.” Rane’s voice went cool and distant. She waited until the twins were mounted again, then the three of them rode back up the embankment and set their macain to an easy lope. The mounts of the twins were rested and well-fed, full of frisk though not as high-strung as Rane’s racer.
Tulu studied the lanky ex-meie, wondering just why she’d come after them, why she’d really come, not what she said, wondered if they’d ever get any answer to that, one they could believe, not that laconic non-explanation she’d given them. She shifted in the saddle, suddenly aware of her sores as if Rane’s question had stirred them into life.
The ex-meie rode closer. “Bothering you?”
“A little.”
“Ummm.” She inspected Tuli’s mount. “A good flatland beast with a steadyish gait.” She paused. “How’s your balance?”
“Huh?”
“Ever walk corral poles?”
“Course. Lots of times.”
“Good at it?”
“Some. Why?”
“Never mind. Try taking your feet from the stirrups and letting your legs hang. Don’t grip with your thigh
s—hold yourself on by balancing your upper body. Hang onto the ledge if you start slipping, that should be enough. Teras.” Her call was quietly spoken but insistent. Teras twisted around, saw them slowing and dropping behind, pulled his mount to a stop and waited for them. When they came up with him, Rane said, “We’re going to have to move slower. Your sister is having some trouble again.”
Teras nodded, rode beside Tuli ready to give her a supporting hand if she needed it. After wriggling about in the saddle until she felt comfortable, she kicked her feet out of the stirrups, then tried to deal with the consequent feeling of instability. With a startled gasp she clutched at the ledge as she found herself tilting inexorably to her right. Eventually she slumped like a sack of grain in the saddle, legs dangling loose, her body moving bonelessly with the swing and sway of the macai’s stride. It was a rather exhilarating feeling. She was rooted in the macai and through him into earth herself, wholly relaxed, almost giddy with the unexpected pleasure in this sort of riding, the ease of pain only a minor though welcome, bonus.
After watching her closely for a while, the quiet ex-meie nodded and her smile stretched to a broad grin. Her worn face relaxed. The warmth usually hid behind her controlled bearing shone from her blue-green eyes like sunlight on rain-wet brellim leaves. “You should have seen me trying to ride when I ran away to the Biserica.” Her voice had a tender, musing quality. She might have been talking to distract Tuli from the questions seething in her head, or might simply have been in a remembering mood with Tuli just by chance riding beside her. Or she might have other reasons, helpful or threatening. Tuli wondered as she listened, but she listened avidly.
Rane made a clown face, ran long, rather bony fingers through her thatch of straw-colored hair. “Stenda women, ah stenda women, what a life they lead.”
Tuli added, “A while back we passed a stenda boy with a herd of macain.”
Rane chuckled. “And he wouldn’t even give you greeting.”
“Yah. A snot.”
“A Stenda, moth. A lord of creation. Born knowing he’s infinitely above the rest of us.”
“You couldn’t ride?”
“Oh no, Tuli. A stenda lady—never. It wouldn’t be at all proper. We sew and we smile, we learn our genealogies until we can recite them in our sleep. We gossip and protect our complexions and wait to be married. If we’re lucky and a little talented we may even learn some music.” She patted her flute case. “And it’s so damn dull one wants to scream aloud but that wouldn’t be permitted. A stenda lady has a low and pleasant voice at all times no matter what the provocation.”
“So you ran away.”
“So I ran away.” She sighed. “Not before I was beaten bloody more than once. I used to slip out at night like you and Teras when I couldn’t stand it any longer, usually when TheDom was full, I couldn’t bear to stay inside when he painted the world silver. I used to play with the macai foals or just wander about feeling free. I was very bad at escaping then, they caught me nearly every time and every time they caught me my father examined me to make sure I was still virgin. Examined me publicly. Called all the family together. The times I wanted to kill him, chop him into bloody shreds.…” She sighed again. “Ah well, that was a long time ago.”
“Sounds like the Followers are first cousins to stenda men,” Tuli said. “They kept yammering stuff like that at me.” She slanted a look at Rane, then gazed down at hands resting lightly on the ledge in front of her. “Do many stenda girls reach the Biserica?”
Rane’s lips twitched, but she answered seriously. “Not many. Just the stubbornest.” She shrugged. “Most stenda women seem to like the way they live. My youngest sister is quite happy, no pretense about it.”
“Sort of like Nilis.”
“Sort of, I suppose.” Rane’s eyes twinkled at her.
Tuli fell silent. Her ankles and feet started to swell, hurt when she moved them. She lifted one foot and rested her toe in the stirrup. It threw her off balance, but felt better, so she slipped in the other toe. When she was settled again, she glanced at Rane, started to speak, clamped her lips tight.
“Why did I leave the meien?” Rane’s voice was gently teasing. “You want to ask that, don’t you.”
“It’s none of my business.” Tuli was embarrassed. Her face felt hot and tight.
“No, it isn’t.” Rane looked away. Her profile was all Tuli could see in the slanting light from the setting sun. “Still, it’s certainly no secret. You met my shieldmate but I don’t know if you remember her, it was a long time ago, nearly half your lifetime, moth.” She rode silent for several minutes, her profile altering as her lips moved into a brief tender smile. “Meien always ride in pairs. Sometimes for companionship and protection, sometimes because they are lovers. We were lovers, my shieldmate and I. You probably can’t understand that, moth, but it was so. Passion and affection, an affinity of souls. Together we made a whole, apart we were uneasy and imcomplete. I was fourteen, your age, moth, when I stumbled through the Northwall gate. Fourteen when I met her. I was thirty-nine when she died.… she died—do you know, there were months when I couldn’t say those two words together. She died for two years, a wasting disease that even our healers couldn’t cure. I left the Biserica because there were too many memories there. Out here.…” She moved her hand in one of those innately graceful gestures Tuli now knew were a lingering result of stenda drilling. “Out here I can let go of her. And remember the good times if I’m in a mood for memories.” Tuli saw with surprise that she was smiling. “I’m just a wanderer now, moth, playing flute for those who want to hear it. The Players make me welcome for the sake of this.” She patted the flute case with laughing affection. “And I’m useful if they run into trouble with drunks or men who pester the Player women under the delusion that they’re little more than whores. It saves a lot of bad feeling if I’m the one to tunk the louts on their thick heads and leave them for the Townmaster’s men to cart off to the lock-up.” She tapped the saddle ledge. “A caveat here, Tuli. You and Teras did right to trust Fariyn and her friends. The other Players are something else. They’re fiercely loyal to their own but outsiders are fair game. If you run into them again, trust them only as much as you have to. And keep an eye on exits.”
Tuli frowned, suspecting that there was a lot about Rane and her activities the ex-meie wasn’t telling. She swallowed her curiosity, knowing she’d get no satisfactory answers. “Tchah,” she whispered.
“Hurting again?”
“No. Just thinking.”
“Oh.” Rane’s lips twitched. “That can be painful.”
Thick yellow clouds were piling up above the Earth’s Teeth, pushing at the sharp peaks like hauhaus shoving against a corral fence. The sunset stained them rose madder and rust, garnet and gamboge, amethyst and indigo, great rolling puffs of barren dust given momentary glory. Rane watched the clouds, silent and still, her hands relaxed on her thighs. Tuli saw the colorplay that enthralled the ex-meie and paid it perfunctory tribute, but she was filled with fear for her father and she had little mind left for anything else. When she looked at Teras, riding stiff and unyielding beside her, she knew he was feeling the same fear.
His head started moving, turning slightly side to side. He was scanning the road ahead, scanning the sky. Tuli waited for him to speak but when he said nothing she grew impatient. “Anything?”
“No.” He lifted a hand, let it fall. His gong occasionally deserted him when it would be most useful. They’d learned long ago never to depend on it when they were trying to sneak back into the house after one of their night runs. Tuli stared at the sky ahead, not knowing what to expect, then she leaned tensely forward, ignoring the pain as she pressed sores hard against the saddle flaps.
A black shape barely distinguishable from the sky flew across the road, flew back. She strained to see. Not a trick of the twilight, she thought. One? Yah, only one. “Teras, Rane.” She pointed. “A trax. There. Just one.”
Teras tried to follow the line of he
r pointing finger. “You sure?”
“Tcha! Would I say it if I wasn’t?”
“You think it might be watching Da?”
“Maiden knows.”
Rane wiped sweat from her forehead, her eyes on that black shape still far ahead. The sun’s murky glow picked out the planes of her high cheekbones and the long slide of her nose, sank her eyes into smears of shadow. She pulled her cowl up over her head with a crisp movement of one hand as if she were issuing a challenge to that unnatural thing that waited for them. Her macai caught her mood, tossed his head, sidled about, his claws pricking delicately at the blacktop. “That thing’s already seen us, don’t you doubt that.” She tugged at her cowl. “We’ll ride slow and steady till we’re a quarter mile, maybe a little more, past the snoop.”
“Past?” Tuli blinked. “Oh.”
Teras grinned. “And come back through the trees.”
“Didn’t think I’d need to explain.”
Tuli eased a hand down along her thigh and rubbed gently at the sores. After a minute she said, “If Da is there, what are we going to do about that trax?”
Rane dipped and tapped on a flat leather case behind her right leg. “Crossbow,” she said. “Its range is longer than those lethal slings of yours.” When she straightened and saw Tuli’s face, she shook her head. “I’m not making fun of you, child. Are you as good as your brother?”
“She’s better, ’specially at night.” Teras touched Tuli’s arm.
Tuli closed her hand about his, happy with this renewal of their closeness. “Maybe I can see better’n him, but he can sling harder and farther.”
Rane nodded slowly. “I see.” Her head tipped forward, she brooded in silence as they slowly drew closer to the circling trax. It was bigger, like a child with great leathery wings. The air near the surface of the Highroad was still, the only sound the clack-pad of the clawed feet on the resilient paving, but high overhead the clouds were spilling, wind-driven, from behind the peaks and spreading out across the Plain, veiling the pale light from TheDom while he was still low in the east. “Maiden curse them!” Rane slammed a hand down hard on the saddle ledge, then soothed her startled mount. She jerked the cowl off her head again, her short hair standing out from her head like tumbled straw. “Look here, Tuli, Teras.” She pressed the hair back from her face, tapped at her temple. “I hate this, it shouldn’t be necessary.” She straightened her shoulders. “This is a good place to hit if you want to lay a man out with your slings. You’ll either kill him or put him out of action for a good long while. If his back is to you …” she bent her head forward, felt at it with long strong fingers. “Here. Try to hit about here. If his hair isn’t too thick.” She straightened. “If it is or he’s wearing something on his head, one of you sting him, the other be ready for the temple when he swings around. If you’re lucky. He could dive for cover and make a nuisance of himself instead.” She went on talking as their macai walked briskly over the blacktop, giving capsulized advice in a hard, steady voice.
