by Joni Sensel
When she rushed to show Scarl her sleeve, though, he, too, blamed a nosebleed. He put a cup of warm tea in her hands. “Here. Slow yourself down. I know a few things have happened that don’t make much sense, but let’s not see phantoms behind every tree. It’ll be harder to spot the true hazards. You haven’t seen Misha, have you? Other than the flowers?”
Preoccupied, she’d barely noticed them this morning. She shook her head.
“Then the simplest answer is probably correct.”
Ashamed, she hastily washed her sleeve before breakfast. The blood, not yet dried, came out readily enough, but the cold water made her arm ache in a familiar way she tried to ignore.
“For heaven’s sake, why don’t you wash the whole shirt and wear something else?” asked Sienna when she saw Ariel dripping.
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Ariel replied. “If I brought as many clothes as you did, we’d need a whole ’nother horse.”
“I was going to offer something of mine.” Sienna turned away with a flounce. “But forget it.”
An apology flickered in Ariel’s mind, but before it got farther, Sienna raised her voice to call, “Scarl, let me get you more tea.”
Dismissing her guilt, Ariel stalked in the other direction.
Although the visible reminder was gone, Ariel thought of her arm for several hours that morning. The pain she’d felt through her sleep reminded her of the nightmares that had swept her too tangibly into the past. It occurred to her that her wound, like her necklace and skirt, were not just from her past, but specifically from her very first farwalking trip—which had begun with her telling dart, which in turn had been launched by the sender. Maybe Tattler was somehow responsible for sending these strange waking dreams. Ariel didn’t believe they were dreams, not at all, more like souvenirs from events she would rather forget, but they kept ambushing her when she awoke as if they’d followed her back from her sleep. Since they were growing more unsettling as the travelers drew nearer the giant, Ariel would be reluctant to close her eyes in its shadow. Scarl may have been right about camping under its gaze.
As they progressed toward it, Tattler played hide-and-seek, looming larger at each sudden view. It gave no sign of wanting to eat them. Despite awkward angles and lines reminiscent of a praying mantis, it gradually took shape as a beast built by man. Ariel could clearly see legs, spread and planted to support the tall steeple, but Tattler’s flesh was a lattice.
“Oh!” she said, once her eyes made out the blue sky through the holes. “Back home, we had this big metal tree. That’s what we called it. It wasn’t so tall, just a tangle of limbs, and the men broke off pieces for tools.” The quick thrill of recognition dwindled to vague disappointment. “This isn’t the same, is it, Scarl?” She couldn’t see how a big metal tree could send darts.
“Clearly both were created before the Blind War,” Scarl said. “But I saw what was left of your metal tree, and I don’t think their purposes could have been much the same. Looks to me like Tattler’s main work was to hold aloft its eyes and its ears.”
Most of those organs—though clearly metal, not living—had fallen. One had caught in the lattice; others had burst at Tattler’s feet in a tangle of dented pieces, torn mesh, and wires. The gleam of white they’d first spied still hung aloft, round and protruding at Tattler’s top. Its front bulged, bringing to mind a wide eye. Other parts were shaped more like odd funnels or the seashells Ariel had once held to her ear to hear the rush of the sea. High above the ground, overlooking the landscape in every direction, these devices indeed could have caught whispers on the wind or spied on distant events. Ariel could imagine the metal beast relaying those secrets, passing them on through some inscrutable machine talk more complex than bats’ eerie locator sense or even the telling darts’ magic. Although not made of flesh, Tattler’s ruined organs still seemed gory, and the gaze of the remaining eye made Ariel’s skin crawl.
Sienna hung back. “It’s creepy.”
Ariel had to agree. One of the legs had collapsed on itself, which is why the whole tilted, and other parts of the lattice were crumpled or stuck out in unnatural directions. Dismayed by the obvious damage, which boded ill for her search for the telling darts’ sender, she said, “It looks dead. If it was ever alive.”
“Your telling dart wasn’t alive,” Scarl said, “but it could still act. Some things—especially things from the past—have powerful energies other than life.”
“Not just from the past,” said Sienna. “Fire, too.”
“Or rabbit snares, I suppose.” Right away, Ariel wished she hadn’t thought of a trap.
“Fire doesn’t make you feel like it’s watching you, though,” Sienna added.
Nobody argued.
Ariel’s unease grew. Still, she’d led them a good distance along the base of the slope Tattler stood on, expecting to turn and climb up soon, before she realized she wasn’t just nervous. Something important was wrong with her feet.
She stopped and stared, not at the giant above, but at the gentle meadows sloping away to the south. She turned back to Tattler.
“I don’t want to go up there, Scarl,” she said.
To her surprise, he said, “Good. You plunge too readily into situations that should scare you. Why don’t I climb up alone, just to start? We have a few hours of daylight to spare.”
“No, you don’t get it! It’s not being scared. My feet don’t want to go there.” She’d changed course yesterday after spotting Tattler from a distance. Now, if she focused on it, her feet were willing to scramble up toward it. Otherwise they inclined considerably more to the south. “We’re practically past it,” she added, “but they want to keep walking that way and around—” Her voice broke. “Like Tattler’s not where we’re going at all.” The weight of more miles ahead, and less knowing, crashed down upon her. She’d been so ready for the path and the mystery to end.
Scarl turned a wistful look up at Tattler.
“Fine by me,” said Sienna. “Let’s find a nice creek for a bath.”
“Are you sure your feet aren’t simply taking an easier route up the hill?” Scarl asked.
“I thought that’s what they were doing twenty minutes ago,” Ariel said. “But if there was a reason we couldn’t march straight up the slope, by now we could see it.” She sank to the ground. “I thought this was it. I thought we’d be done! How far away could the stupid sender still be?”
Scarl extended a hand to help her back to her feet. “Take heart. We’ve gone much farther before. I should have tempered your hopes about Tattler. Or for that matter, finding a sender at all.” When she ignored his hand, he let it fall to his side. “But while we’re so close, I’d still like to explore this. Would you be comfortable resting and waiting an hour or two for me? Or do you want to take Willow ahead with Sienna, and I’ll catch up tonight?”
Neither appealed. In fact, his offer made Ariel feel both cowardly and lazy.
“Ooh.” Sienna wrung her hands. “I don’t want to get that far ahead of you, Scarl. We might need you.”
Ariel groaned and pulled herself back to her feet. “I guess I—”
A screech drifted down to them on the wind. Their faces turned up. The sound thinned and broke, jiggled, and repeated more sharply.
“Is that some kind of bird?” asked Sienna.
Scarl must have caught the words first. He cast Ariel a worried look precisely as she recognized what the voice above kept repeating: “Farwalker! I seen you! I seen you! ’Zat you?”
CHAPTER 18
Dog Moon and Legend
Willow’s reins were in Ariel’s hands before she realized it. Scarl whirled and began climbing, digging his walking stick into the slope.
“Wait!” Ariel said. “I’m coming, too.”
He didn’t stop. “No. Stay until I know who that is. Your feet may have headed away to protect you.”
Ariel ignored him, but to coax the horse along, too, she had to switchback up the hill rather than scram
ble straight up. Sienna floundered behind.
“You still down there? You coming?” screeched the voice from above.
“Yes!” Ariel shouted.
Scarl turned, probably deciding whether to stop her by force. He chose instead to cut her off and pull the reins from her hand. “At least keep behind me. Help Sienna. Stay close.”
They clambered through thick brush and up the dry, crumbling slope. The warbling voice did not come again, but they heard clattering gravel above, and shortly they found a thin path worn in the dirt. Slipping and scrambling, they crested a rise to a wide, stony landing. A metallic whine greeted them. Their heads tipped back in awe.
Tattler straddled the landing and them, its feet splayed amid clumps of witch broom and gorse. Entire houses could have huddled in the space underneath and, indeed, the remains of a stone building sat against one of the feet. What looked like an enormous plate—a fallen piece from above—lay amid the rubble of one wall. One latticed leg had a tree growing up through it, or that leg also would have sagged and twisted to increase Tattler’s list. But the crisscrossing lines and jagged, crimped metal imparted the air of a mean dog made all the more dangerous because it was crippled.
Movement caught Ariel’s eye. Long, narrow flags fluttered from the lowest portions of lattice. Their movement added a dry rustle to Tattler’s steady keening, which changed pitch with the breeze. Looking closer, Ariel recoiled. The flags were not strips of fabric or woven grass, but dozens of rattlesnake skins.
“Eeeeeee!” A bent figure darted from behind the shack and scurried up Tattler’s nearest leg like a spider. “Don’t hurt me!” Pegs, spaced along the lattice like handles, seemed to help, but in places the owner of the voice simply clambered up the lattice itself. Reaching a height well over their heads, the apparition paused and peered down. Wild white hair swirled around a face as wrinkled and brown as a walnut. Tattered snakeskins flapped and dangled below, more like kelp stuck on a rock than true clothing.
“An old woman!” Ariel said. “Isn’t it?” She had to be eighty years old, maybe more.
Scarl said, “I suspect it’s—”
“Stay away!” With remarkable speed, the withered crone scrambled higher. “Stay away, man. Tattler will eat out your eyeballs! It will!”
Involuntarily Ariel glanced toward Tattler’s head. Neither teeth nor a mouth was apparent.
“I hope not,” she said, her voice cheery and unthreatening. “I’m Ariel. Hello. Who are you?”
Although the woman gazed down with mistrust, she eased slightly lower. Her head cocked. “Fa-a-ar… walker.” She might have been calling a lost pet. “Farwalker. Come.”
Hearing her name on this madwoman’s tongue made Ariel shiver. It put her in mind of another troubling voice from the moon.
Sienna spoke up. “Vi? Is your name Vi Storian?”
The woman straightened. She smoothed her hair and a smile crept onto her face.
“Brilla? I knew you’d come back to me! I’ve been waiting.” She began climbing down. “Come, come. Let me look. All grown now, are you?”
“You know her?” Ariel whispered as Vi worked her way back to the ground.
“No, I just guessed,” said Sienna. “She was sent away long before I was born. And Brilla was the name of her daughter. The dead one.”
“Yes, all grown-up and lovely, surrounded by friends.” Reaching Tattler’s base, Vi hurried toward them. “Weren’t there another? A shadow behind. I saw the Farwalker coming, and her friend, and her shadow—oh, I knew you would come! Hoo! Brilla, my Brilla. From your toddling days you had a Farwalker in you. I knew it, I saw—” She halted in confusion and her gaze bounced between Ariel and Sienna.
She tipped her head straight back, mouth gaping, to stare overhead. “Are you sure? The small one?” She eyed Ariel. “No, no. She can’t be the one. My Brilla’s the Farwalker girl.”
“I’m a Farwalker,” Ariel told her. “My name is Ariel, though.”
Sienna introduced herself, too.
Scarl remained silent, but Vi squinted at him in mistrust. “Oh, I see you, too. You stay distant, you hear? Just like the other.”
Ariel wondered what “other” she meant. Not done ranting at Scarl, Vi seemed to answer her thought.
“You stay near that horse. Horse backsides, the lot of ’em. Men.” She spat in the dust. When her face turned back up, she beamed again. “But I’m glad my Farwalker came.”
She shuffled forward, arms raised to embrace Sienna. The Flame-Mage stiffened, shot Ariel a desperate look, and whispered, “What do I do?”
Ariel wasn’t eager to step forward into that hug, either. As Vi drew within a few feet, though, she gasped. Her arms dropped and she stared at Ariel’s neck. “Story beads! I had a—Hey, did you steal those? Did you steal ’em from me? Are those mine?”
Ariel drew back, one hand protecting her necklace. But Vi only cackled. The angry pucker smoothed from her face.
“Silly! You’re right. I had my own once, strung with plenty of stories. Let’s see if I know all of yours …” She crept closer, one trembling finger pointing out beads. “Move your hand for a peek, there’s a girl. Flame… and death. Love and loss. Riches and jealousy, yes, yes. And hiding there, quietlike, fail-safe. Of course!” She clapped her hands like a child. “A good abacus! A good one for traveling with a Farwalker, sure.” She raised her gaze reproachfully to Ariel’s eyes. “As neck beads, though, they’d wear better on Brilla, not her friend the Storian’s apprentice.”
“But I’m not a—,” Ariel said.
“Never mind. It’s still good. Smart girl to bring a Storian with you, young one or not.” Vi patted Sienna’s arm approvingly. “You’ll need her, since I’ve gotten too old to go. Especially with stories like those, all balanced on the point of a needle. A pin. Oh, maybe a dart. That’s pointy, too.”
Ariel started. “Do you know about telling darts? Did you send some last year?”
Vi ignored the question, busy lifting both arms and one foot to wobble on the other. She looked like a decrepit heron. “Balanced on tiptoe and ready to fall.” Sadness crossed her face, and she put her foot down to gaze up. “Like my Tattler friend.”
Keeping his voice soft, Scarl asked, “Can you tell us a story, old mother? One of Tattler, perhaps?”
“Or darts?” Ariel added.
“Stories …” Vi sighed. “It’s been so long since I told a story. To any but Tattler, that is. Oh!” She reached toward Sienna. “I have one you must hear, though. Will you listen?”
She ignored all responses until Sienna, nudged by Ariel, said, “We all will.”
“Good, good. Let me sit and collect my thoughts a bit first. All this gabble and clamber is aching my bones.” She turned and shuffled toward the stone shack, but she called over her shoulder. “Tie up that horse. And that man—if you can, you should tie him up, too. And watch yourself close in the rocks. Rattlers like Tattler, and—Ooh.” She spun back to them. “You bring me some food? Nice swamp food? Not snakes?”
“Yes,” Ariel told her. “We’re happy to share.”
Vi cheered and disappeared into her shack.
Ariel looked at Scarl. “She’s awfully crazy.”
He nodded. “There’s insight in her insanity, though. She knows your trade.”
“No, she doesn’t! She’s got me mixed up with Sienna!” She wouldn’t have minded so much if her trade had been lost to Scarl instead.
“The knowledge is confused with memories of her daughter, who probably looked and dressed more like Sienna. But she was struggling with that. Her comment about the dart might be chance, but it’s curious. And her Storian skills are still strong.” He tapped a bead on her necklace. “She put an interesting name to one of your beads that I wouldn’t have thought to give it: fail-safe.”
Ariel bent her neck to look at the bead, carved from white wood. “What’s it mean?”
“It’s a way to make certain that things turn out all right even if something goes wrong. Mistake
-proof is another word for it. Because the bead is fire-pine wood. Do you know fire pines?”
“Pine trees, sure,” Ariel said. “I’ve never heard of fire pines.”
“I have,” said Sienna.
“I grew up near a stand,” Scarl said. Willow jostled him, restless. “Here, come with me. You might need to pretend to tie me.” He led the horse to the nearest of Tattler’s feet and hitched him within reach of a few tufts of grass. As he knotted the reins, he explained: “The trees in the story are crotchety elders. But real fire pines also live very long lives, and they don’t like to be crowded by hungry young trees. So they grow cones every year, but their cones cannot open. The seeds remain trapped, and the cones drop to be buried under needles and moss—until a wildfire comes along. Then the heat of trees burning opens the cones so the seeds can finally sprout in the ash and replace the trees killed by the fire.”
“They use fire as a tool, same as us,” said Sienna. “Just like cooking mud-clams until they pop open.”
Scarl nodded. “It gives fire pines a fail-safe—a way to stop seedlings unless something’s gone wrong, and in that case, to allow them to grow.”
“Pretty smart,” Ariel said. “Even if the old trees sound kind of mean.”
“Well, the moral of the story is not to think you’re so clever that you can’t be surprised by unforeseen events.” He glanced toward the stone shelter. “Or by Storians who’ve gone slightly mad. I’ll be interested in what Vi can tell us.”
Ariel sighed. “If it makes any sense.”
“Would you rather keep walking now?” he asked. “I’d like to learn more about Tattler yet, but I haven’t forgotten the reason we’re here.”
“I wish I could forget.” Ariel’s feet wouldn’t let her, but for the first time in her life she wasn’t sure she still wanted to follow their lead. The wreck over their heads might once have performed feats—maybe even shooting telling darts into the air—but she couldn’t believe it had done so as recently as last spring. Vi, too, was a wreck, and meeting a mad sender might be worse than finding none. Ariel felt no closer to her goal now than two weeks ago.
