Maeve

by Clayton, Jo;

  “You keep better watch on your creeps, k’Ruff’n. That berserker could have killed me! And Lovax is on your tail. He’s hungry, you idiot. You ain’t much but you’re a wide place better than him. Now, clear this mess out of my place. I don’t want no Company spies walking in on a corpse.”

  K’Ruffin shuddered. His stubby antennas drooped dejectedly. With short, simple words, he directed the other being to pick Henner’s body up and follow him. Then the oddly assorted pair stumped out of the cookshop.

  Bran nudged at the bloodstain with her toe. “That sets and it’ll be a pain in the ass getting out of the wood.” She shrugged and went back behind the counter.

  “What was that?”

  “K’Ruffin? I told you about him.”

  “No. The other.”

  “The big one. A Hasheen. He’s other, all right.”

  “He made my skin crawl.”

  “You got taste. A junker ship kicked him off here and anything too bad for a junker …” She shook her head. “K’Ruffin took him on because the little bug’s greedy as hell but scared of his own shadow. No one who had sense enough to put two thoughts together would mess with him when the Hasheen was around. They’re treacherous, though.” She tilted the cha pot. “Low. You want a refill on me? It’s strong enough to float a starship.”

  Aleytys shoved her mug across the counter. For several minutes there was a comfortable silence in the shop as they sipped companionably at the warm, bitter liquid.

  The beads clacked behind her. Aleytys turned slowly.

  A small, gray man walked cat-footed to the other end of the shop and hoisted himself neatly onto a stool. He looked at the two women and tapped impatiently on the counter with the coin he held between his first and middle fingers.

  Bran’s face went blank. Aleytys could sense anger building in her, focused on the innocuous-seeming little man. Seeming … she touched him with the fingers of her mind … she could feel a cynical amusement expanding outward from him, a cruel cat nature under his colorless exterior. And … she struggled to conceal her astonishment … a lively interest in her.

  “Kavass.” His voice was high-pitched like an adolescent’s and rather comical coming from the withered little face, but neither woman felt any desire to laugh. Silently, Bran levered open the bottle of kavass and set it in front of him. From under the bar she took a glass and several chunks of ice and set them beside the bottle. He slid the coin across the counter, smiling meanly as the old woman seemed reluctant to touch it. “Keep the change, despina.”

  She swept the coin into a money box and began fussing with the stove. She set a fresh can of water on the burner, emptied the leaves from the cha pot into the garbage hole, scrubbed the pot clean and dried it with care. By the time she had finished all her busy work, the little man had drained his glass and fixed his eyes on Aleytys for a minute. He slid neatly off the stool and prowled out.

  Bran picked up his glass, touching it with fingertips only, and dropped it in the garbage hole.

  Aleytys stared at her. “That’s a good glass.”

  “Go see if he’s really gone.”

  Aleytys walked to the curtain and stepped outside. She saw the small, gray figure walking through the growing crowd of sleepy, noisy people. No matter how crowded the street was, he had a constant emptiness around him. No one got closer than half a meter without sheering off. She shook her head and went back inside. “He’s going off down street. Walking slow but not stopping.”

  “Good.” She was scrubbing vigorously at the counter where the little man had put his hands.

  Aleytys picked up her pack and rested it on the stool. “Who’s he?”

  “Company louse. Spy.” She dropped the rag and turned the fire down under the bubbling water. As she shoveled new leaves into the pot she said slowly, “You better get on over to Tintin’s; tell him I sent you. Drop back around sundown. Should have some idea by then what work’s available.”

  “Thanks. See you later.” Aleytys slung the pack over her shoulder and went out.

  Chapter III

  Gwynnor pushed the door open and stepped into the smoky lantern-lit interior. Several young cerdd were sitting around the fireplace arguing vehemently, individual voices lost in the noise of the common babble. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he recognized Siarl standing with his back against the bricks with Tue, Huw, Iwan, Ofydd, and Twm seated on the cushioned benches arranged in a circle around the fire.

  He hesitated a minute, then walked over to join them.

  Siarl saw him first. “Gwynnor?”

  “Himself. Annerch, Siarl.”

  “Annerch, old friend.” As the others stared, the young cerdd sidled past the benches and chairs to clasp hands with the newcomer. Siarl pulled Gwynnor into the circle. “Eh, now we’ll have some real news.”

  Gwynnor shook his head. “I’ve been out of touch for awhile. What news I have, I got from Treforis.”

  Ofydd leaned forward, his long face drawn into a sneer. “You went with Dylaw.”

  Twm snorted. “Shut up, Ofydd. Let the man talk.”

  “Man? Huh!”

  “When you come up with more than some dumb carping, someone might want to listen to you.” Twm grunted. “What about Dylaw? What’s he doing, Gwyn?”

  Ofydd settled back, offended.

  Gwynnor sat beside Twm. “Dylaw’s bought darters from a smuggler. He plans to keep sniping at the city and raiding the starport.”

  Iwan plopped his hand on his thigh. “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?” He glared around at the shadowed faces. “At least Dylaw’s doing something, not just throwing words around.”

  Ofydd smiled bitterly. “That why you left him, Gwynnor?”

  Siarl moved impatiently. “Shut up, Ofydd. You tell us, Gwyn. Do you think Dylaw’s really making any mark on them?”

  Gwynnor shrugged. “Flea bites. If he ever made real trouble, they’d squash him like a bug. You thinking of trying something?”

  Tue leaned forward eagerly. “I say we should get cerdd from all over the maes and hit that damn city hard before they wreck us so bad we’ll all starve come winter.”

  Eyes moving sadly from face to eager face, Gwynnor shook his head. “That’s a great idea, if you don’t want to starve. You’d all be a layer of ash floating haphazard on the winter wind. You’ve seen their weapons. You must have when they raided.”

  “I still say …”

  “We heard you, holy Maeve, haven’t we heard you.” The cool, sarcastic voice sliced through the fervid smoky air.

  Heart beating with unexpected excitement, he stood. “Syfarch, Sioned.”

  “Annerch, Gwynnor.” The girl stood in the middle of the room, hands on hips, scornful eyes on all of them. “Come to hear the brave ones fight the war of the words?”

  “Treforis told me about Rhisiart. I’m sorry.”

  “Come have a beer with me and tell me what’s happened to you.” She ran appraising eyes over him. “You look older, cerdd.”

  Gwynnor caught Ofydd’s jealous glare and smiled to himself as he left the cerdd to their arguing. “I feel older.” He sat on the swiveling stood and took a foaming mug from silent Margha.

  Sioned smiled at him. Her hair was a riot of black curls. She wore a dark, baggy tunic that failed to disguise the taut ripeness of her young body.

  “You’re looking well, Sioned.”

  “Good thing the light’s dim in here.” She sipped at the beer, licking away the foam with her pointed pink tongue. Gwynnor felt tension rising in him as he watched. Her nostrils dilated and the tip of her tongue traveled around her lips again. Then she shifted impatiently on the stool. “Well, Gwyn, what about you? What have you been doing?”

  “Dylaw’s an idiot. I was getting fed up with him when the smuggler landed. One of the starfolk from the smuggler ship cut loose from it and needed someone to take her to the city.”

  “You? I thought you couldn’t stand them.”

  “Me, too.” He dipped a finger into the
drops of spilled beer and drew a circle. He put two dots at the top for eyes and drew a line for a mouth. “Like you said, I’m older.”

  “You said she. It was a woman?”

  “Mm. We tangled with a peithwyr and got away alive because she had an energy gun. Then we got mixed up with the forest people, tangled with the Company men, and twisted their tails.”

  “The Company men?”

  “Yeah.” He touched his finger to another drop and drew long wavy lines on either side of his schematized face.

  “Ah, Mannh! You beat them!”

  “Not me.” He brushed his hand over his face, erasing it. “The starwitch. She was … remarkable.”

  Sioned drummed her fingers on the bar. “Did you sleep with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she left you.”

  He squeezed his fingers hard around the ceramic mug as he remembered too clearly the stormy ups and downs of his relationship with Aleytys. He thought about explaining, then said simply, “Yeah. She left me.”

  “Would she help us? If you asked her?”

  “I don’t know. She might be gone by now.” He frowned at the warming beer. “By the way, Sioned, has anyone thought about going to the Synwedda for help?”

  “How? No one goes on the river these days.”

  “What about at night? Treforis said they don’t raid at night.”

  “Who wants to trust those bastards an inch? Beside, Synwedda might not want company. She hasn’t asked for any.”

  “Still … someone ought to go.”

  She snorted. “Think you could get one of them that far from his hidey-hole?”

  “I wasn’t talking about them.”

  “You?” She drained her mug and set it down with a thump. “I’ll go with you. I’d like to meet this starwitch of yours.”

  “Keep your fingers crossed she’s still on Maeve. But …” He set his mug next to hers, pushing it until the two clicked together. “Synwedda first. Sioned …”

  “What, Gwyn?”

  He rested his fingers on the back of her hand. “Lie with me tonight.”

  “Me?” There was an odd shake in her voice. Surprised, he saw her lips tremble, then firm in a bitter line. “Just thinking of her gets you so excited you’d bed anybody, even me?”

  He shook his head, feeling dazed by this sudden turn. “What makes you think …”

  “Them.” The bitterness was seared into her bones. He could feel it as a sad, sick agony in himself. He looked over his shoulder at the cerdd and saw them glancing surreptitiously at the pair of them.

  “What is it?”

  Her taut body relaxed suddenly. “They act like I’m some kind of freak, half-fascinated and half-repelled. Ofydd’s the worst. He’s crazy to have me and at the same time he hates me worse than …” She shook her head.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  With Ofydd’s eyes burning into his back, Gwynnor escorted Sioned through the swinging door.

  Outside, clouds were building, blowing in tatters across the sky. The moon was just rising, casting long, fuzzy shadows around their feet. They walked slowly toward Blodeuyn’s Lane.

  “Ofydd seems to think you shouldn’t leave with me.”

  “What Ofydd wants and what I want are two different things.” She shrugged. Out in the moonlight, away from the other cerdd she seemed softer. “You really want me?”

  “I really do.” Fingers moving caressingly over the junction of her neck and shoulder, he looked back at the yellow glow from the tavern windows. “Has he tried to hurt you?”

  “He’s tried. I got a knee in where it hurts and got away.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I know. He was a beast when you were lads. He’s still a beast. I’m glad you came back, Gwyn.”

  He hugged her against him. “I didn’t do so well before. He used to beat hell out of me.”

  “It’ll be different this time and he knows it.”

  “You sound very sure of that.”

  “I am. And so was he. I don’t think you realize the full difference these months have made in you, Gwyn.”

  “Apparently.” He pulled her to a stop at the head of the lane. “I don’t want to go in yet. I want to talk to you. Come see my boat.”

  “Why not? It’s early yet.”

  They strolled on in a companionable silence, feeling a warmth grow between them. Gwynnor found he liked this quiet pleasure better than the body-shaking firestorm Aleytys had awakened in him. They talked casually about unimportant things, memories of the time before the terror, his arm around her shoulders holding her close to him.

  When they reached the landing, he pulled her down beside him to sit on the rough hewn, time-smoothed planks, the shadow of the old oak a dark secret pool over them.

  “There it is. Cludair-built, with sails of Lliain woven here on the maes. It’s a good boat. Tomorrow night we’ll take off in it, if you still mean to come with me.”

  “I come. I want to see that witch.” At his disgusted grunt, she chuckled. “How long will the trip take?”

  “Coming up it took … what’s that?”

  “Maeve! The raiders.” The deep hum of the skimmers floated to them on the wind, growing louder and louder. “Into the river,” she snapped. “Quietly.”

  Gripping the edge of the landing, she slid into the river until only her head showed. Puzzled, Gwynnor followed and together they paddled along close to the bank until the steep-sided landing site gave way to the gentler muddy slopes where reeds grew in scattered clumps.

  Sioned eased her way into a patch of reeds. Gwynnor followed.

  “Help me,” she hissed, “and be quiet.” She began digging at the mud, pushing the reed bunches aside without tearing them so that she hollowed out a space for her body. She settled into the space and pulled the reeds back over her until she was almost invisible. Quickly, though more awkwardly, he followed her example and burrowed into the mud.

  In minutes, the chill water had sucked the warmth from his body. Shivering and uncomfortable, he still managed a shaky laugh. In a hasty whisper, he said, “This isn’t how I’d planned to be with you tonight.”

  “Fool.” He could hear amusement quivering in her voice. A small, muddy hand snaked through the reeds and closed on his.

  Behind them they could hear shouts and explosions in the village. Gwynnor moved restlessly.

  “Don’t,” Sioned whispered. “You can’t help.”

  “They’re here for me.”

  “Holy Maeve, that’s conceit.” Her whisper mocked him but her hand tightened around his. “You can’t know that.”

  “The very first night attack on the day I come home? After I helped screw Chu Manhanu?”

  “It could be coincidence. Hush!”

  The skimmers came flying low over the river, searchlights streaming in long liquid lines across and across and across the river and the banks.

  “Get under water,” Sioned breathed. “As long as you can. They’ve got some way to spot people but the water fools it.”

  Gwynnor sucked in a lungful of air then pulled his head under water. He lay there minute after minute until his lungs labored, hummed, the blood pounded in his head, his ears rang, and the cold … the cold … Drifting up till his nose broke the surface he let the stale air trickle from his straining lungs and carefully drew in fresh. Brilliant light skittered across his face, broken in shards by the screen of reeds. Startled, he ducked back under water as a brilliance whooshed out and seared across the surface of the water, clearing his face by less than a centimeter and burning the reeds to ash. The water hissed with the sudden application of heat, nearly parboiling him. Once again the lights flickered across the troubled surface of the water, then slid away. Gwynnor stirred feebly, but before he could surface for the air his straining lungs demanded, Sioned’s hand pressed down on his shoulder.

  And the light came back, hovered, then was gone again.

  The pressure on his shoulder went away and he pushed his
head out of the water, gulping the air in throat-tearing sobs. Sioned sputtered beside him. When the ache was gone from his chest he started to stand.

  “No.” She snatched at his arm. “Not yet.”

  “This is how you live?” He felt her shoulder move up and down against him as she shrugged. The whites of her eyes glistened in the fitful moonlight.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “Though usually they don’t bother us at night. Like I said.”

  In the dim light he could see her face crumple together. Then she shuddered, the water shaking with the movement. Uncertain what to do, he chewed at his lip and rubbed absently at the clinging mud on his arm fur.

  After a minute she lifted her head, her face restored to its usual calm. “We can go back now.”

  He glanced to the west where clouds obscured the horizon line. “Will they come back?

  “Who knows?” She moved past him and paddled back to the landing. Swimming close behind, Gwynnor found the movement warming his blood. Still, he felt oddly weak as he hauled his body onto the landing beside Sioned.

  Scraping the water from his fur, he turned to her. “We need a hot bath and a warm bed.”

  “You do.”

  “If you think I’m going to let you go shiver somewhere on the maes, you’ve got water on your brain, love.”

  “Getting ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “No.” He tucked his forefinger under her chin, lifting her face so that the moon shone into her eyes. “What do you think?”