by Jaleta Clegg
"You said the past no longer mattered."
She surprised me by grinning. "So I did." She whirled away and stumped off down the path.
I hurried to catch up. "What's your name?"
"Tunisia," she answered after she paused to glance back at me.
The trail twisted around a thick clump of trees then spilled into a tiny cup of a valley. A frozen waterfall glittered dimly on a rock face twenty feet high. A tiny cabin was tucked to one side, hidden under a giant pine tree. Most of the valley was cleared, open to the sky overhead. Drifts of snow hinted at neat rows of a garden.
"My home," Tunisia said, nodding towards the cabin. "Yours now, too," she added.
She headed across the clearing, not waiting for me. I hurried after her.
She opened the door to the cabin, walking into the dark interior with old familiarity. I paused at the threshold, peering uncertainly into the dark. Tunisia did something and fire flared brightly. I stepped barely inside, pulling the door shut behind me. Tunisia held a burning twig, using it to light a fat candle.
I looked around the tiny cabin. There was a fireplace directly across from the door. Flames danced cheerfully across logs on a thick bed of ashes. Stones lined the floor underfoot. The walls were made of thick logs, stuffed tightly with mosses and dried mud. The only furniture was a sturdy table with two chairs woven from bent saplings and a snug bed. The blankets on the bed were worn, faded and patched. A long shelf ran along one wall, bundles of dried plants hanging above it and jars lined up carefully against the wall along its full length. A single cabinet was built into the other wall. Tunisia opened the cabinet as I watched. I saw a few stacked pots, dishes and other oddments filling the shelves inside. Tunisia put two flat tins on the table. She glanced at me as she unbundled the shawl she'd been wearing. She had a loaf of coarse bread tucked inside. She placed it in the center of the table.
"There's a chicken coop," she said. "I've got a dozen good hens. If the wolves don't get them this winter. I'll show you in the morning." She lifted a trapdoor in one corner of the cabin. "Root cellar," she said as she reached into the space underneath. She pulled out a handful of shriveled tubers. "You want to eat, you'll help," she said as she closed the trapdoor. "Take the bucket there and fetch water. Mind you get it from the fall itself and not the pond."
She turned her back on me, busy with the tubers at the long shelf. I saw the bucket near the door and picked it up. I opened the door and walked into the cold night.
I found the trickle of water by sound. I stepped carefully by the pond but I still got one boot wet stepping on ice that gave under my weight. I held the bucket under the trickle as it dripped from the stone face, using one hand to feel when it was mostly full. I carried it back into the cabin.
Tunisia was bent over a pot that hung on the fire. She glanced at me. "Over there," she said, nodding to a basin she'd placed on the shelf. I put the bucket next to it. "Stir this," Tunisia ordered, holding her spoon out to me.
I took her place next to the fire and stirred the pot. The contents were simmering. It smelled better than anything I'd smelled in a long time. Tunisia cut the loaf, splitting it into eight parts. Six of them she wrapped carefully and put into the cupboard.
"Come eat," she invited as she lifted the pot from the fire. I followed her to the table. She dished the stew into the two tins.
I took one chair and tasted the stew. I was suddenly ravenous. I spooned up a new bite. She rapped my knuckles. I dropped the flat spoon with a clatter, splashing broth onto my hand.
"We say grace here," Tunisia said sharply.
I watched her, unsure what she expected of me. I sucked the broth off my hand as she closed her eyes and tilted her head up.
"We give thanks for our bounty," she said simply. She dropped her head and started eating. I took it as a signal that I could eat.
The stew was delicious. The bread was coarse but full of flavor. I ate with more appetite than I'd had in a long time. Tunisia watched me eat. The candle sputtered between us.
"Tell me about yourself," Tunisia said, her old voice cracked but warm.
I quit trying to find more to eat in my empty bowl and looked up at her. "What do you want to know?"
"Tell me the truth," Tunisia said. "You're no orphan from Milaga. What did you do to get exiled to the farms?"
I looked down at my plate, afraid I'd give away more than I intended if I held her gaze.
"There's nowhere else you could have come from," she said. "And only those who displease the authorities are sent there. You must have been someone to have the strength to escape and make it here."
"You said my past didn't matter," I countered, risking a glance up.
She watched me, her eyes hooded in the candlelight. "So I did. There's a pot on the bottom shelf. Heat water for washing."
I did as she asked, glad to dodge her questions. I had no idea what would be safe to reveal and what would be better hidden.
I washed the dishes under her critical gaze. I'd had enough experience, both at the orphanage and on my own ship. She found nothing to complain about. I dried the last dish and put it away. I staggered, catching my balance on the shelf. I was suddenly so tired I could barely see.
She gave me a thin pallet and extra blankets to spread on the floor to one side of the fireplace. I curled up on the crude bed and was asleep in moments. My last sight was of Tunisia, sitting in one of the twisted chairs, watching me.
I woke too early, shaken awake by Tunisia's walking stick. I yawned as I followed her into a misted morning so cold my breath fogged. She showed me her crude bathroom, a cold shack over a deep hole. She taught me to care for her flock of chickens. She showed me how to chop wood and then left me with a stack of logs to split into pieces for her fire.
I wondered what would happen if I left, if I just ran off. I'd die, either of exposure or they would kill me. I had no idea where I was or which direction Milaga was other than west. I swung the axe, hitting the log with a dull thump. The blade bounced off and landed in the dirt to one side, jarring my hands on the handle.
Work and be fed. Or choose to die. If I really wanted to die, this was my chance. I stared down at the axe and the thick log. The air smelled of woodsmoke and pine sap. I didn't want to die, I realized. I wanted to live. I wanted to see Jasyn and her baby. I wanted Clark to tease me, to have him beside me as I flew my ship. Tayvis was gone, true, and it would hurt for a long time. But I had a life waiting for me. I had to survive. I had to find a way back.
I straightened the log and swung the axe up. I brought it around and slammed it into the log. The wood split with a loud crack. I could do this, I would have to do this. I survived Trythia and being a slave, I could survive this. At least Tunisia seemed friendly. She hadn't tried to beat me. The scars from the whippings I'd lived through itched briefly as I raised my arm for another swing.
The axe thunked home. The log split further. I picked up the pieces and stacked them with others against the side of Tunisia's sung cabin.
The pile of wood didn't seem to get any smaller. I worked until my shoulders ached and my hands started to blister. Tunisia finally came out to watch me for a while.
"Enough for today," she said when I missed a swing. The axe thudded into the dirt.
She watched as I picked up the wood chips and put them into the box she'd shown me. I hung the axe on the pegs just inside her cabin door when I'd finished. She nodded, satisfied.
"Come this way," she said.
I followed her into the woods. She knelt under a spreading tree, bare of leaves. She grubbed through the detritus underneath. Dead leaves crackled under her hands. She lifted a wrinkled knob of brown.
"Nuts," she said. She dropped the nut into a basket at her side.
I knelt and started digging through the leaves. We worked in silence for a while. The pile of nuts in the basket grew. I scraped leaves, looking for the small hard knobs.
"You work well," Tunisia said finally.
I sat back, wincing at a ne
w scratch on my hand. She saw the blisters and clucked her tongue. Half of them were from work on the farm, the others from chopping wood.
"I've got a cream for that," she offered. "When the basket's full."
I bent back to the task of grubbing for nuts under the tree. She worked her way to the far side of the tree. The basket finally filled. I reached to pick it up. She waved me away and hoisted it herself. I followed her back to the clearing.
The sky had cleared. Sunlight poured down into the tiny valley. It was almost warm. We sat in front of her cabin and cracked the nuts we'd just gathered. She was a lot faster than I was at picking the meat out of the shell. We worked in silence for a long time. The sun slowly crept overhead. Tunisia finally declared it was lunch time.
I stayed outside, cracking nuts, while she went inside to fetch food. My hands were raw, aching and sore. I wasn't sure why I was trying so hard. Maybe I didn't want to admit weakness. Not to myself or anyone else.
She came out with a platter of soft cheese and more of the coarse bread. She had two wrinkled apples.
"Go wash," she told me. "There's a white pot with cream in it. Use that on the blisters."
I found the pot next to the wash basin. I scrubbed dirt from my hands before rubbing some in. A deep warmth spread from the cream into my hands.
I went back outside. Tunisia sat, her knotted hands resting in her lap. She looked across the clearing. She nodded to a blur of bright red in the tree.
"The birds are watching us, waiting for crumbs," she said as I sat down.
I helped myself to lunch. It was almost pleasant, peaceful in the clearing. The only sounds were the trickling of water over the stones and the soft cackling of the hens in their pen. I ate, wondering what was next. The pile of nuts we'd gathered was almost shelled. Tunisia finished her meal and started cracking nuts again.
"I've lived here all my life," she said conversationally. "What's it like, in the city?"
I wasn't sure what answer to give. "They have indoor plumbing, and hot water on tap."
Tunisia laughed, a cackling sound of mirth that sounded a lot like the hens.
"The food's better here," I added.
That pleased her. She smiled, her face wrinkling.
"Why did you take me?" I asked.
"We all take turns, with the refugees. I'm not young anymore. I needed help."
"Then why not take one of the men? Someone stronger?"
"You're stronger than any of them. I saw it in your eyes. And you reminded me of someone." There was a wistful note to her voice now. She stared at the pile of nuts in her lap. She shook her head and cracked another shell.
"The others," she said after a long moment, "they have family, children to help them. Most don't want outsiders. Most don't need outsiders."
I brushed crumbs off my lap and picked up a handful of nuts, stung by her comment for reasons I couldn't begin to explain to myself. I was an outsider and I wanted to stay one. Didn't I?
"Don't you worry none," she said to me. "You work hard, prove yourself, and in a year or two none of them will dare question you."
I shook my head. I didn't want to work here a year or two. I glanced up at the blue sky, wanting to see stars. Of course they weren't there. I ducked my head and cracked another nut.
"You don't have a family?"
"I had a daughter, once," Tunisia answered. Her voice was rough with old regrets. "She's been gone many years now. What of you?"
That was a loaded question. I stuck with my original story. "I grew up in an orphanage."
"You aren't one of the meek mice from Milaga," she said in denial. "Your accent might have been Milagan at one time. It isn't now. I've got an ear for it."
"If you're so isolated up here in the mountains, how would you know?"
She grinned. "I see you've still got spirit. Good." She cracked another nut. "We aren't so isolated. Runners, like you, come up every few months or so. Most of them don't last long."
We cracked nuts in silence for a while. The birds scolded from the tree across the clearing.
"So, tell me truth," Tunisia said. "You're a spacer. What are you doing here?"
Not just here on Tivor, but here in the mountains, cracking nuts and chopping wood. I didn't answer. I scooped up the last handful of nuts and cracked one.
"No denials?" Tunisia asked.
"What good would they do? I did grow up in Milaga, in an orphanage, like I said."
"That much may be truth," Tunisia said. "But that isn't the whole truth. I see more in your eyes. Who gave you the scars on your back?"
I flinched involuntarily. "What do you want from me? I'll chop wood, I'll crack nuts, I'll work at whatever you ask, but—"
"Don't ask you questions? What are you hiding?"
I dumped a handful of nut meats into a pottery jar then brushed the shells into a basket, like Tunisia had shown me.
"What are you hiding?" I asked her back.
"I'm the witch up here," she said. "The strange old woman who knows more than she should. The one with healing magic. The one who talks to the mountain ghosts. Who are you?"
I shifted around to face her, studying her. Her grin was gone. What would it hurt to tell her the truth? Maybe she would help me escape. Maybe she could give me back the stars.
"I was sent here to start a rebellion," I admitted.
"Because you were born here?" Tunisia shook her head. "Outsiders don't understand. How did they possibly think you could start anything? No one would trust you. No one would follow you. You aren't Tivoran, even if you were born one, you aren't now."
"That's what I tried to tell Lowell. He wouldn't listen."
"Who's he?" Tunisia asked.
"My commanding officer." I felt the full weight of his betrayal. He'd backed me into a corner, given me no choice but to enlist. And then he'd used that to order me to Tivor.
"You're Patrol?" Tunisia asked, as if she didn't believe me.
"It was the only way off planet," I said. She didn't need to know how I'd come to enlist. Or which planet I referred to.
"What rank do you hold?" Tunisia asked, curiosity glowing in her eyes.
"Admiral."
She whooped with laughter. She didn't believe me. I didn't believe me either, even if it was true. I swept up nut shells, dumping them into the basket while she cackled herself into silence.
"So, Admiral," Tunisia finally asked, "how did Lowell expect you to start anything? Why send you here?"
"Because of my mother," I said before I could think better of it.
Tunisia went still, waiting for me to explain myself.
"She named me Zeresthina Dasmuller."
"And her name?" Tunisia demanded, all trace of laughter wiped from her face. She studied me intently, her eyes burning into mine, demanding the truth.
"Lirondalla Muberretton," I answered.
"Liri," she whispered. Then dissolved into tears.
Chapter 16
Jhon hacked at the stand of tangled bushes. They'd given him a dull shovel that was about worn through. They thought he was dangerous. They had no idea how right they were. He slammed the shovel against the tangled brambles. It did little to penetrate.
He swore to himself as he worked. Kuran's plan had worked better than expected. Jhon was in the middle of a whole settlement of rebels. They had a whole society hidden here in the mountains. He doubted Kuran knew anything about it.
That was one of Jhon's problems. He was stuck here, with no way to contact Kuran. And he'd lost track of Dace. He sneered as he thought of her. Kuran was so convinced she was a threat. She was nothing. She was weak. She wouldn't have made it to the mountains if he hadn't dragged her. She would never have escaped the farm if he hadn't taken matters into his own hands.
And now, perversely, she was gone. Hidden away in one of these isolated cabins strung through the high mountains.
He slammed the shovel into the nest of brambles. He'd been given explicit instructions that he was to remove the clump. He
would not be allowed to rest or eat until he did. He paused, ostensibly to wipe his brow. He was really getting his bearings. He had memorized the contour maps, as much as Kuran had been able to access. He had a rough idea of where he was. If he was correct, there would be an emergency stash of equipment only three days walk down the mountain, left there by the last crew to try to build a train line out here for the lumber. That was back before Tivor's economy had collapsed, thirty years earlier.
If he could reach the equipment, he could call Kuran and let him know of the extent of settlement here in the mountains. And let Kuran know that Dace was no threat.
Tonight, he decided. He would slip away after dark. They'd never notice until morning, and then it would be too late. He put little stock in the villagers' threats. He could always claim he was searching for Dace. He'd laid the groundwork for that lie earlier. He could almost hate her for not allowing his deception to stand. And for rejecting him back in the cave.
Maybe she was a woman lover, he thought as he attacked the bramble with renewed vigor. That would explain it. She was one of those perverts he'd heard about. They gave in to unnatural lusts out there, in the corrupt Empire. She'd turned her back on Tivor years ago. And now that she'd come back she would find Tivor was not forgiving.
The thought of her starting a rebellion was laughable. She was a nothing, a weak woman. She would bend to him soon enough, once she knew the touch of a real man.
He entertained himself with fantasies for the rest of the day. It took him until almost dark to finally tug free the last of the brambles.
He was rewarded with a bowl of watery soup and a crust of coarse bread. He had a blanket in the barn where the animals slept. He waited until the man shut the door on him before he let his lip curl in a sneer. He ate the soup because it was all the food he had. He retreated to the barn to wait until full dark.
They were afraid of him, as they should be. They fed him slops, keeping the real food for their whiny offspring. The children disgusted him. They were mewling, weak things with snotty noses and sticky hands.
The animals were almost as bad. He wrinkled his nose at the smell in the barn. They expected him to sleep in animal droppings while they hid, snug and warm, in their cabin. He picked his way to the cleanest spot in the barn.
