by Diana Rivers
“I must go back to Hamishair,” she whispered. “There may be others there, trapped or in trouble. Stay within sight of the shelter till I return. These woods are tricky for strangers, easy to get lost in.” She could have saved her words. I had no wish at all to venture out into those woods and thought I would gladly stay on that very mat till she came back. Furthermore, I thought her mad to ride again into such certain danger. I said none of this. I pulled up my covers and turned my face to the rock wall to try once more for sleep. The torchlight receded. Then the sound of her horse’ s hooves faded in the night.
When I woke next, it was to the tap-tap-tapping of a little hammer. It was full daylight already. Pell was sitting in the doorway of her shelter, if such could be called a doorway—actually it was more of a crude opening. She was already at work on a saddle. Barrenaise sat next to her, helping. Each time Pell spoke, Barrenaise looked at her adoringly, much like a dog that has found itself a kind master. I thought this a distasteful sight and so turned to look around the shelter instead.
This shelter appeared to be a rough, temporary place. A crude lattice of branches formed the outer wall with stones piled all along the base for support. There was a pile of coarse mats and bedding against the back wall on one side. Sacks and boxes were stacked at the other end. Above this, some pegs for hanging garments had been driven into a crevice in the rock face. In the other direction, at the farthest corner, a little spring seeped out from the wall and trickled out across some stones. Several crocks and jugs stood by it.
At the outer edge, near the entry, a little fire burned in the fire pit. In front of it a crude table consisting of a plank on some rocks, was set with a few plates, cups, and bowls, and what looked to be the remains of last night’s dinner. Pots and pans hung from nails along its edge. That was all there was to Pell’s shelter, but in spite of its roughness I felt a sense of order there. Each thing appeared to have a place and purpose, to be set there with intention. I thought to get up and add my bedding to that neat pile, but must have dozed again.
This time, when I woke, the scene at the entryway was not near so cozy. Barrenaise appeared to have been crying. Pell was saying in a tight, angry voice, “I do not care one feather’s worth for your uncle’s fate. I hope that the young man who betrayed you was hung for starting the fire. I hope that the flames rushed up the Commissioner’s pant legs to heat him in his most private place. As for you, what kind of a fool are you that you stayed there serving tables while that edict was being passed about?”
“But there was no one else to wait tables that night. My uncle promised he would protect me. And now we have burned down his tavern.” This last brought on a new burst of weeping.
Pell sputtered with indignation, “Protect you? How? With that feeble little lie? He thought to protect you from the Zarn’s edict with that nonsense? And you believed him? Even with a price on your head you believed him? Foolishness must run in the family. I had hoped to find others like me, but perhaps I have found more than I can manage.” As Barrenaise was still crying, Pell shook her roughly by the shoulder. “Listen, girl, it was your uncle’s tavern or your life, that was the choice. And besides, that fire probably looked far worse than it really was. Lamp oil makes a great show, you know, but not much heat. Anyhow, there seemed more than enough hands to put it out.”
I was just thinking to myself that by now her uncle had likely been hung for lying and had no need for his tavern at all, when Pell threw down her hammer in disgust and shouted, “I risked my life to save yours. How long do I have to listen to your sniveling?”
Barrenaise sucked in her breath and stopped her crying by an act of will. She put out her hand to Pell. “Oh, Pell, you must not think me ungrateful. I know well enough it was your quick thinking that saved my life.”
“Well, see that you use it with some sense, then.” Pell stood up so impatiently she spilled her cup in the dirt. Barrenaise reached out quickly to right it. At that moment Pell noticed me sitting up. I was shaking my head to clear away the confusion of all that had happened. “Good, you are awake,” she said quickly. “I was afraid you meant to sleep all day. We must talk together and make a plan of action as soon as possible.”
“Did you really go back to Hamishair last night?” I asked. Clearly, there were only the three of us in the shelter, and I could sense no one else nearby.
“Of course.”
“And what came of that?”
“That some are dead, and some escaped, and some have gone into hiding who may join us later. I am new in this place and so have few contacts. That made it hard.”
The finality of her tone told me to press no farther on that subject. Instead, I asked, “What is this place? Where are we?” What little I could see through the entryway looked very strange indeed, like no woods I had ever seen before.
“We are in a part of the Twisted Forest that none come to. It is thought to be haunted. Even with the edict we are safe here, at least for a while.” Then her face seemed to soften suddenly. She turned back to Barrenaise, put a hand on her shoulder, and said in a gentler tone, “Sorry, Sister, sometimes my temper outruns me. I should not turn it on you or on any of us. It should be aimed at those men.” Then she shrugged. “And what good purpose would that serve? Better to steal their horses and their money and escape with our lives. Let them be the ones to chew on their anger.” At that she gave a sudden laugh. “Yes, money and horses and lives and even some dinner—not a bad piece of work for one night.” Seeing me folding up my bedding and mat to add to her neat pile, she gestured toward the table. “There is some bread and cheese left from our adventures and a pot of gruel and dried fruit keeping warm by the fire.” Then she went to pour herself another cup of tea and settled back to her saddle work. Barrenaise looked much relieved.
I took my portion gratefully and came to sit near them on a rock, this being the only kind of seat I saw there. Barrenaise had resumed her stitching with barely a glance at me and no word of greeting at all, though I saw her look admiringly at Pell several times when she thought herself unobserved. Pell had taken up her hammer again and worked in silence while I ate.
This was my first chance to really observe this Pell, this person who was a woman yet not a woman, this person who had leapt so suddenly into my life. She was bent over the saddle, her thick brows drawn together in a single dark line of concentration, her shirt loose and open to the waist so her breasts hung forward in the light. I could see that her dark skin had been made even darker by the sun. She was thin and taut, as if everything in her had been turned to muscle and will. Yet she moved in an easy way, alert but relaxed in her body, as if for years it had been tuned to responding to her will. Her features were fine and clear. I suppose she might have been thought beautiful if anything was left for that, but too much had been pared away, pared down to the bone. There was no softness anywhere. Barrenaise, on the other hand, seemed just the opposite, all softness, softness everywhere. With her there was no outward sign of will, though I could feel it working underneath, a very different sort of will, devious where Pell was direct. I did not like this Barrenaise. Something in her very being made me itch with impatience. I sensed that she did not have much love for me either.
When I set down my bowl, Pell said instantly, “Good, now we can make our plans.” It seemed as if she had been waiting for just that signal, though if she grudged me my meal she had given no sign of it.
Barrenaise set down her stitching and said quickly, “I must go back to my village to warn my sister and my cousins and our friends, for they are all in danger.”
Pell leaned forward, immediately full of interest. “Yes, just so. Which village is that and where is it from here, or rather from Hamishair?”
“Athron. It lies south and a little east of Hamishair.”
“Show me,” Pell said eagerly, as she cleared a space in the dirt with her hand. She handed Barrenaise a stick from the kindling pile.
Barrenaise drew a set of lines, stopping now and then to
rub one out and redraw it. Pell nodded as she watched. When Barrenaise finished Pell took the stick and added other lines.
“You must send someone to warn the young women of Ashire and Kernaka. Both those settlements lie farther south like this and this,” she said, pointing with her stick. “And they must send others to the villages of Menalli and Barthis. From there they must spread out to warn still others. Later, if possible, they should gather with us here. We will have to work out some meeting places and some signs and signals. Whoever goes to Ashire should look for Josleen or Megyair. Those are the only two I know in that direction, but they know many others. Yes, yes, someone must go to Ashire. Draw this sign or this one and they will trust you.” Pell drew a six-pointed star in the dirt and then a triangle inside a circle. She looked at Berranaise to see if she understood everything. Then she rubbed it all out with care and stood up, brushing off her hands on her pants. “We will find ways to slip around the Zarn’s edict. They will end by driving us together, not apart. In that way we will become a power, the very thing they fear the most.”
Barrenaise was looking up hopefully at Pell. “Come with me, Pell. You know so much more. It would be far safer.” It was almost a plea. I knew she was afraid to go alone.
Pell shook her head. “Safer, perhaps, but not the best use of our time, and we have precious little of that. Besides, you know the way to your village well enough. I will set you on your path and make a sure place to meet, but I have other things I need to be doing. There are those north of here who must be warned and quickly, and they must be sent on to warn others. The game speeds up now that the Zarn has issued his proclamation. It has all moved much faster than I expected, much faster than I was ready for. We must set out running to catch up. I think we have a chance, though, for Hamishair lies close to the Zani’ s main east-west road, and these places we will ride to are out of the way, much harder to reach. Hopefully, we will be there first. Yes, you will go south and I will go north. Tazzi will help me here.” She said all this in such a tone of command that I found myself bristling with resentment. No one had ever ordered me about, not even as a small child, the result, I suppose, of having powers so young.
“It does not seem to me that we are planning this together,” I said sharply. “Rather it is you who are the commander, mapping out our plans and issuing orders. We are to be the silent soldiers. You say what I will do. I have not even been consulted nor given my consent.”
Those harsh words were out of my mouth before I had time to think. Barrenaise looked shocked. I braced myself for Pell’s anger, but instead she answered me evenly, “That may be true, but you must understand, Tazzi, I have been thinking on this for a long time now, preparing for it and learning all I can. The Zarn has caught me off guard, but I knew that sooner or later the time would come when he would need us dead. Now that time is here. We must meet it quickly and in the best way possible. Later, when we have a chance, I will tell you my story and you may better understand. In the meantime, if you have any better plans spit them out. I am always ready to listen. But understand, I have no patience for games of pride or any other kind of games. We have no time for that. If you think my plan to be a poor one, say so now and say why and tell me what we should do differently.”
“No, no,” I answered hastily, “you seem to have it well thought out already.” I was almost blushing and stammering with embarrassment. Then I caught Barrenaise smiling smugly.
“And you,” Pell said, turning on her, “does your silence mean you agree or that you have no thoughts of your own?” Now it was my turn to watch Barrenaise’s discomfort, though it hardly seemed fair as she had already voiced her disagreement. She quickly turned on me, saying sharply, “And will you ride back to your village, also?”
I shook my head, “No, I can never go back. I am already wanted and marked for death there. Besides, it was such a small village, there were only two of us of that age. There is no one left to warn. Me they have driven away, and Kara they have killed.” It was the first time I had spoken those words aloud. I bit my lip and clenched my fist against the pain.
Pell gave me a sharp look as if she could see into my head. “I have already said Tazzi will stay here and help me—that is if it is totally agreeable to her.” This last she added with a slight mocking bow.
“Pell, you have had far more time to think on this than I have. I will do whatever you judge to be the best.”
“Good. That will make things simpler, but do not hesitate to say whatever you may see. My eyes cannot be everywhere. Now, Barrenaise, my thought is that you would go south with your own horse, or rather your uncle’s and two or three others. But first they must be well disguised. And before we go back out into the world, you both must be transformed.”
She took up a pair of scissors and began to sharpen them with a stone. “You first,” she said, pointing them at me. My hair had never been cut. It was long and thick with strong, stiff waves in it. I had worn it mostly in a single braid behind me. She had me stand before her. First she cut off the braid and dropped it on the ground. It lay there like a dark snake. Then, while I turned slowly, she cut my hair just below my ears in the style of young men, throwing handfuls of it into the fire as she worked. This made a choking stench that filled the shelter. It had us all coughing, but Pell ignored it, merely telling me to stand still or the scissors would catch my neck.
Meanwhile she had set Barrenaise to grinding some berries in a bowl. When the cutting was done, Pell added some liquid to the crushed berries. This mixture bubbled up alarmingly. As soon as it settled, she brushed the bitter-smelling stuff into my newly cut hair, then rubbed the hair vigorously between her hands. I saw the palms of them turn red. After that she daubed some dark stuff into my eyebrows and down along my jawline and added some smudges under my eyes. All this time, as she worked on me, she nodded and muttered to herself. When she had me done to her satisfaction, she brushed the hair from my shoulders and handed me a bowl of water to see my reflection. I had to move this way and that to catch the light just right. Then, suddenly, a sullen boy with frizzy reddish hair and a shadow of new beard glared back at me from the dark, quivering water.
Pell nodded with satisfaction and said proudly, “Well, I believe your own mother would not recognize you on the street now.” With those words, spoken in jest, the grief of my loss swept over me. Quickly, I set down the bowl before I dropped it. My mother! Would I ever see my mother’s face again? I seemed to be moving farther and farther away from her. I did not even know if she still lived or if she had died on that terrible morning. And how would I ever know? Who would tell me now? Pell, seemingly oblivious to the desolation her words had caused, was already at work on Barrenaise.
When she had us both shorn to her liking, she went through her bags and baskets of clothes, holding them up against us for fit. Those that held promise she hung on the pegs. I was amazed. I could hardly believe this quantity of clothes, some even of fine cloth and make. I wondered how she had come by it all.
“I borrowed it here and there, knowing it would all come to good use,” she answered readily as if reading my thoughts. I understood that by borrowed she meant stolen, but I did not ask.
My brother’s ragged clothes she rolled up “to be dealt with later.” His boots were too large for me, but the cap she saved out, saying it did me very well. I was thinner than either of them, so Pell wanted to add some thickness to my slight frame. Barrenaise was wider than Pell and very full in the bust, so Pell found her a broad band to bind and flatten her breasts. We tried on this and that, rejecting more than we kept, till Pell finally had us clothed and shod to her liking, both of us looking like stocky farm boys. Barrenaise’s breast made no showing and my thin figure had been given bulk and substance. We glanced at each other and laughed nervously while Pell muttered, “Good, good, by the Goddess. That will surely fool them.” When she had dressed herself in similar style she folded and put away most of the extra clothes with care, but selected out of it a small stock. T
hese she stuffed into a saddle pack which she handed to Barrenaise. “Take this with you for the others. They may not have time to find clothes for themselves.”
After that she had us walk back and forth for her appraising eye as I had done the night before. Finally, she pronounced us ready. “That will do for now. I would still know because I know, but for other eyes it is good enough. And one last thing, that name of yours—that will never do,” Pell said, looking at Barrenaise. “No man has such a name. It will give you away in an instant. We could shorten it perhaps to Renaise or change it to something else if that suits you better.” When Barrenaise made a face Pell said quickly, “Which would you rather safeguard, your name or your life? And besides, it puts the rest of us at risk if your disguise is uncovered.”
“Renaise will do,” she answered almost in a whisper, looking down at the ground. She seemed about to cry, quite at odds with her rough farm boy appearance.
“Good, that is all settled, then.” Pell took a stack of trail bread from a large crock buried in the dirt floor. She packed some in a little waist pouch and some in Barrenaise’s pack. At a nod of her head we followed her out into the day.
It must have been past noon already. The sun was riding high, though still barely discernible through the thick covering of leaves. There was no clearing around Pell’s shelter. The trees came right to the entrance. These trees, now that I saw them in the daylight, seemed repellent to me. They were all bent and twisted in strange, threatening ways and shapes, as if some disease or some foul wind had moved through this part of the forest. There was something unpleasant, almost loathsome, at the sight of them. It was easy to see why none came here. I shivered in spite of the warmth of the day and saw Barrenaise or rather Renaise do the same.
Before we left, it was necessary to pull the horses’ shoes for, as Pell said, farmers’ horses are seldom shod and guardsmen’s always are. Also, shoes carry the owner’s mark and number. Renaise and I were, of course, expected to help. Pell took tools from a wooden box hidden behind some rocks, under a low ledge. With these she showed us what to do. It seemed easy enough to me, but I found working with Renaise no pleasure. Her hands on the tools were clumsy and inept. I itched to take them from her and put them to better use in my own skilled hands. I said nothing, but I have no doubt she felt my impatience. All of a sudden she said scathingly, “You must be well accustomed to this kind of work from living on a dirt-farm.”
