Moonrise

by Mitchell Smith

  "I thought so."

  "Nancy, already denied by Richard, came to me the night of our first day with these guardsmen. She wanted you safe and away.... I told her what I'll tell you. I've come to care for you all — Errol excepted, and even there, some affection — and, since I've become older and foolish, might even die to save any one of you." She sniffed at the jerky. "Seal meat, even dried, doesn't have to be this bad.... Yes, might even die to save you, so silly I've become. But I will never let you go." Her black eyes seemed darker than black.

  "— And will certainly do my best to kill you both, if you run. Your life — our lives — balance very poorly against what Boston has done in its hostage taking — crimes I admit perfectly comfortable for me, until they took my son.... They fear my darling so, fear the past truths he dreams — fear even more what futures he may find, traveling blood's probable highways. Find, or perhaps someday make come to pass."

  She took another bite of jerky, spoke while chewing. "I've seen that for Sunrisers or Moonrisers, love is always lost sooner or later, as the man or woman is always lost, to death if nothing else.... Learn to live with loss to come, Baj; prepare to fight as your fathers fought — and never come begging to me again."

  CHAPTER 21

  Relieved of hope, Baj felt oddly content, and as march followed march, now to the north — and the Wall grew from a white ribbon... to taller, and taller... until it was a wall, stretched across the northern horizon — he kept Nancy close for the pleasure of her closeness, so they walked through the camps' habitual temporary streets a couple, with Errol — wandering, circling, having to be called or hauled back — acting their restless child.

  The wind, some days, became bitter with deeper cold, notice sent down from the glacier as if a great messenger-pigeon of crystal ice were bringing word of Lord Winter's awakening. Unless in fur mittens, with parky hood up, Baj's hands and face were numbed by these breezes.... In their weeks since Battle-valley, he and the others had traveled the summer away.

  After chow, the evening of their sixth day marching, Richard — who had a fine gift for it — settled on a blanket by their small dry-dung fire, with his ax and their knives and swords lying beside him to sharpen. He always began with a coarse small stone from Map-Missouri... then, after the most delicate strokes — his huge hand light, light along the steel — he went to soft Map-Arkansas, both very expensive stones imported through three tribes, Owls to Blue-birds, then across the river to the Thrushes. Last — Richard's secret — he used palm-sized chunks dug out of permafrost, the ice finely powdered with the ground granite of glaciers advancing and retreating centuries ago, to stroke along edges already shaving sharp.

  Finished by stropping on moose-hide leathers, then touched with tallow against the damp, Richard's worked edges were keen past testing. Touched even lightly, they cut.

  "And still," he would say, handing over this or that murderous instrument, "— still sharpened at a sensible angle, so no wire-edge, no becoming delicate on armor."

  Richard was bent to this chore — Baj and Patience playing pickup sticks by firelight — when there was the faintest cry out of fallen darkness, from John trench.

  It was barely a sound .. . only the trace of one — but Richard was up with his ax in his hands. Other soldiers near the Lines were standing listening — some sergeant already shouting an order — when Baj said, "Nancy," picked his sheathed rapier up from Richard's blanket, and went running.

  He jumped fire-shadowed shelter tie-downs as he went out from camp row toward John trench, and heard soldiers coming behind him. The Wall — immense, though still many miles away — gleamed before him under a rising moon.

  ... The cry again — with strangled fury in it.

  Running hard — feeling oddly light, as if he could float along — Baj reached the latrine trench, turned down along it, and saw a Person bent and struggling, his broad back touched by moonlight.

  Nancy yelled again.

  Baj saw her held beneath, kicking, biting. The Person on her turned a broad head, a blunt-muzzled face to Baj as he came. Nancy's shirt was torn away, her small breasts showing.

  Baj gripped his rapier's hilt to draw as the soldier stood with a quick hunch and heave to face him — when a breeze and flutter swept above. "Baj, don't draw!" Patience swung down through the air beside them. "Death, to draw steel in camp!"

  The Guardsman smiled, teeth glinting in moonlight, huge hands held up and empty. There was blood on the side of his furred face, where he'd been bitten.

  The Master's voice sounded in Baj's ear, clear as if reality. "Never. Never lose your temper in a fight."

  Baj swung the sheathed rapier back — and whipped its limber length whistling across the soldier's face. It struck with a stock-lash's heavy crack, and wiped the smile away.

  Baj spun in reverse, brought the blade around, and caught the soldier not quite guarded on that side, so the scabbarded steel struck him across the side of the head, across a small fur-tipped ear.

  Either blow would have sent even the strongest human staggering, would have knocked a weaker man down, but the Guardsman still stood, his face now a fanged mask of rage. He came with one swift heavy step — and a Wolf-soldier in half-armor, brass Provost-chain gleaming across the steel breast, stood between them.

  "Continue," the officer said, his grating voice harsh as his general's, "— and die."

  * * *

  "I went to piss," Nancy, bruised, spitting like an angry grain-store cat before their fire, "— and he came and took hold of me. He saw I didn't have my sword!"

  "Who is that thing?" Baj said, sitting with his arm around her.

  Richard sighed. "That 'thing' is a sergeant. The general's banner-bearer."

  "Yes," Baj said, "it was that one. The Badger-blood. Always staring at her...."

  "If you'd drawn on him, Baj," Patience shook her head, "they would have executed you."

  "And for attempting a rape?" Baj started to stand, but Nancy tugged him back beside her. "What does the Guard do for that?"

  "For a rape — out of camp and after fighting — no penalty," Richard said. "Otherwise, a beating with harness leathers, fifty strokes. Sylvia decides if with the metal buckles, or without."

  "They will not beat George Brock-Robin," Nancy struck the turf with a small fist. "That fucked-his-mother will say I was a camp whore and am a camp whore, and felt and tempted him — then changed my price unfairly."

  "And they will let that go...?"

  "His word against hers, Baj." Richard shook his head. "He's a shit — but a good soldier, fighting."

  "Sad, then, that he'll be missed," Baj said. "Now, tell me how I can bring him to my blade."

  "You can't."

  "And you shouldn't," Patience, sitting cross-legged by the fire, shook her head. "Nancy was frightened —"

  "I was not."

  "— but not hurt. And we are with these companies on a razor's edge."

  "All the more reason," Baj said, "to see they respect us."

  "And your fathers," Patience said, "would have agreed. But they had armies at their back."

  "And therefore — since we do not have tumans, do not have regiments of the Army-United behind us, the more reason to earn their respect."

  "Baj... Baj." Patience shook her head. "Whether true or false, that is not the deeper truth of the matter, is it?"

  "It is a truth," Baj said, "— but the truth you look for is that I will not have Nancy abused. I'll kill whoever does it."

  "Baj... don't."

  "Sweetheart, this is already decided."

  "It is not."

  Errol, observing upset, began tongue-clicking. "Baj," Richard said, "it's easy to talk of killing, and honor to you to intend it. But the doing would be... difficult. George-Brock is a serious soldier, or he would not be bearing the Wolf-General's banner."

  "Bigger than you, Baj," Patience said, "stronger, and swift... and has killed, no doubt, many many times."

  "I said he'd be missed. Unfortuna
tely, he didn't keep his paws to himself."

  "He won't fight you," Richard said. "It would have to be a decided duel — and over-the-ditch from camp. He won't fight you; he'll laugh."

  "Will he laugh if I call him a liar?"

  "Yes, he will. Everyone knows he's a liar."

  "A coward?"

  "Baj — everyone knows he's not a coward."

  "Then I'll have to think of something that won't make him laugh."

  "Oh, this is just so unwise." Patience leaned to touch his cheek. "Baj... Prince... please let this go. Will you allow your pride to damage us all — damage the cause and reason we came here?"

  "I think I've learned something of soldiers, now," Baj said, "though I've never been one. I'll let this pass, if Richard can say to me that two things are not so. — First, that justice requires the Banner-bearer to answer to Nancy, and to me. Second, that this camp — including the General and her officers — is waiting, curious to see what we do in answer. And in waiting, are judging whether we are serious in all our intentions."

  "Richard," Nancy said, "tell him no,"

  "...I can't," Richard said.

  Patience stood, angry. "So unwise!"

  "Unwise, perhaps," Baj said, "as any sensible woman would likely say. But necessary, as any man would feel in his bones."

  "Listen, foolish... foolish boy," Patience tapped her scimitar's hilt. "I can fight two-handed, now, and could cut you crippled, prevent your stupid fight. Better you're crippled than dead."

  "Listen to her!"

  "Nancy, I would fight you all to be free to deal with George Brock-Robin." He smiled. "Though I'd undoubtedly be somewhat whittled, come time to duel him."

  "He'll likely kill you," Richard said. "You know that?"

  "He'll have an excellent chance, no question. Certainly frightens me."

  "He'll kill you," Nancy said. "Please please please..."

  "No, sweetheart..." Baj tried to kiss her and was pushed away.

  "Listen to her," Patience said. "You think she'll respect the memory of a fool?"

  "No," Baj said, "listen to me. I'm not a fool, and while I've had no soldier's experience of battle as that Person has, I have considerable experience of duels.... And I doubt if he's used to that lonely fighting, with no comrades by him, right and left."

  "Bigger," Richard said. "Stronger, and fast."

  "Well," Baj smiled, "of course, luck will have to come into it." He got up, walked away into the camp, and didn't turn when they called to him.

  ... There was time enough, searching through the Infantry rows, stopping at camp-fires to curious glances — glances from eyes often reflecting silver circles by firelight — there was more than time enough to consider and reconsider. To say to himself, "My God," that ancient and most basic of Warm-time's copybook pleas for attention, salvation. "My God.. ." What had seemed both clear and clearly necessary only a while before, now seemed dubious, badly mistaken.

  Nancy — how would she do if he were killed? What slashing blow in a storm of fighting would catch her unaware, with him not there to parry it? What injury, even accidental, on the ice and surrounded by Shrike savages?... And he lying dead here in permafrost, broken by a brute, and left behind forever.

  Certainly, it seemed to Baj — walking through freezing night past fires' warm shadows — certainly the woman in Nancy would forgive him if he decided on caution after all — and after all his speech-making. The woman in Nancy would be relieved, understand, and forgive what there might be to forgive.

  But the fox in her — even the small portion contributed — would not. The vixen swimming through Nancy's veins, crested with russet fur, golden eyes slit-pupiled, would never quite trust herself to him again... nor wish Baj to sire her kits, who must be brave.

  So, foolishness perhaps, and perhaps not — but he was surely, in the copybook phrase, "stuck with it."

  At the eleventh fire, he found George Brock-Robin — recognized him by the broad, furred back, the wide flat skull and small, rounded ears. Very little Sunriser-human to be seen — at least from behind.

  Brock-Robin was with other Moonrisers — four bear-bloods — so he sat the smallest at the fire.

  Baj took a breath, and stepped beside him — watched though the smoke by brown eyes under great shelves of brow.

  "You," Baj said, "need a lesson in keeping your hands to yourself."

  The badger-blood looked up, his thick neck requiring some shoulder-turn to do it. Brock-Robin's eyes were gray, their pupils very small. "You're not the first to say so," he said, the words sizzling a little liquidly, from the muzzle conformation of his mouth.

  "The last, though," Baj said, "that you'll be hearing."

  One of the others chuckled.

  "Sounds dire," Brock-Robin said, "— but the girl's a whore, and our quarrel about money." He turned back to the fire.

  "I've been told it's no use to call you a liar —"

  "Been told true, boy." One of the others, his voice as deep and fine as Richard's. "That's only description, not insult."

  Chuckles around the fire. They seemed jolly soldiers.

  "And to call you coward — I was told everyone knew otherwise."

  "True." Brock-Robin turned to look up at Baj again, and seemed to be smiling.

  "Then, the rest of what you are must be due to your mother. In Boston's pens, instead of the Talents' tinkering, she must have preferred to go to all fours to be fucked in the ass by the boar-badger itself... to produce the shit you are."

  Then, no chuckles. The camp-fire's flames seemed to fall and flicker to the beat of Baj's heart.

  Brock-Robin slowly stood, close enough so Baj could smell his harsh odor amid the dung-fire's stinging smoke.

  "Say that what you just said, Sunriser-boy, is not so."

  "I will — after you come to Nancy-Thrush, kneel down before her, and beg her pardon."

  Standing, the Person was a little shorter than Baj — and easily twice as wide. In only hide trousers, hide jerkin, and boots — unarmed, unarmored — he still looked able to grip and break Baj's arms at the shoulder-joints, to lack and stave in his ribs .. . and considering fangs, tear out his throat.

  "Not in camp!" One of the soldiers at the fire.

  "No," Brock-Robin said, "not in camp. Will you fight a decided-duel, boy? Come over the ditch with me?"

  "Now and by moonlight, if you like."

  "Dawnlight will do." Brock-Robin nodded pleasantly, and gestured to their fire. "Join us? We're discussing this interesting expedition north."

  "Thank you, no," Baj said, and bowed to the others. "— I'll need a good night's sleep to kill you clean." And walked away from more fireside chuckles.... Jolly soldiers.

  * * *

  "You are a fool a fool a fool!"

  "More than possibly, sweetheart. But I offered him a chance to come and apologize."

  The four of them — including Errol, who seemed troubled as if he understood — sat staring at him. Then Richard sighed. "Baj..." pronouncing the name as if in mourning. "Baj, in a decided-duel — and the Wolf-General may not allow it, would not allow it if you were in the Guard, and a higher or lower rank — in a decided-duel, you meet over the camp ditch, with officers presiding. You fight with personal weapons only, and wear no helmet, no armor."

  "Fair enough." It was beginning to seem more a dream than not, with a dream's floating, almost sensible conversation.

  "We can go," Nancy said. "We can go!"

  "No," Patience said. "We can't — and wouldn't be allowed to, unless Sylvia permitted."

  "I don't mind!" Nancy tugged on Baj's arm. "I don't mind. I forgive him — he was drunk."

  "But I don't forgive him, sweetheart."

  "You'll have your sword and dagger, Baj," Richard said, "there'd be no objection to them. He'll carry short-sword and shield."

  "Shield..."

  "That's what he fights with, Baj. What all Light Infantry fights with."

  "But he rides."

  "Rides, yes
— to carry the standard. But he's still Light Infantry."

  "The shield," Patience said, "will make a difficulty."

  "Then I'll have to make it his difficulty."

  Another silence, and staring, as if he'd changed to a great mushroom.

  Richard cleared his throat. "Tomorrow? No delay?"

  "Tomorrow, as I understand."

  "Too bad. Too bad.. . We could have practiced you a little against sword-and-shield. Many, many tricks to that."

  "I have practiced that sort of fighting, Richard — though not often. I won't really know his way, and he won't know mine."

  "Yes .. . Remember this, Baj: a shield is also a weapon. I've known fierce fighters killed by the edge of a shield, with no blood on a sword at all."

  "I will keep that in mind."

  "You have no mind," Nancy said. "You're a boy and a fool. I should have let him fuck me, and been quiet — and you would have known nothing!"

  "I would have known... everything," Baj said, and when she began to weep, caught her in his arms.

  * * *

  Fearful when he lay down with Nancy curled tight against him under their blankets, Baj sank to sleep surprisingly swiftly... and was surprised again on waking (after no dreaming at all) to stretch luxuriously under warm wool, against a warm girl, and feel very well in gray end-of-night, with a light snowfall drifting.

  Lord Winter had stepped down from the Wall.

  He was up, and the others were up — even ignorant Errol — looking worried, weary in the weather.

  "The cold will slow you, Baj — and snow on the tundra makes it slippery...."

  "Richard, I'll step light and wear no parky; the exercise will warm me."

  Nancy, crouched striking sparks into grass starters for their fire, mouthed the word exercise, but didn't say it.

  As the little dung-heap lit, smoking nastily, its chunks rimmed red, Baj — feeling perfectly calm, really very well — noticed with surprise that his hands were shaking. A fine tremor that seemed to vibrate up his arms. So, if he wasn't frightened, his body seemed to be.