Medieval Rain

by J. D. Sonne

  “So, what happened to you yesterday?” Landman asked, picking up the latest draft of the new sector of troughs. “I would have liked you to see their reactions to the waterwork!”

  “Whose reaction to the waterwork?” Rane asked.

  Bruse, Chun, Scout and Terran’s!” Landman replied. Then, “I heard you went visiting.”

  Rane did not look up from her parchment and answered, her voice a study in extreme nonchalance, “I wanted to get to know the females in camp,” she said. “I find them interesting.”

  Landman said nothing, but Rane sensed his knowing gaze. She raised her eyes and coolly met his. “What.”

  She thought she had kept the challenge out of her tone, but Landman’s face said otherwise. “You think many things of our females, but ‘interesting?’ I think not!”

  She ignored the comment and asked, “Did you head the building of the scaffold on this next sector?”

  He leaned over the parchment, his attention diverted, and said, “No, I had Scout direct the build yesterday. He needed something to do, and I thought it would be good experience for him.”

  Pointing to one of the joists on the drawing, she said, “Well, this was not the right sector for him to get “experience” on. Look!”

  Landman followed her finger on the parchment and exhaled. “Damn. It’s a turning joist.”

  “Exactly. He would have looked at that on the plans and probably thought it was a normal joist. If you didn’t catch it, he certainly didn’t.”

  “It would have helped had you been here and not out ‘studying’ the females of the camp!”

  Rane ignored him again, leaning down to peer at the parchment. She grabbed it and rustled the paper in his face. “Come on!”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Where do you think?” Rane asked in exasperation. “To find ra—, I mean Scout! Where is he?”

  “Probably at work on the sector already,” Landman said, trying to keep up with her agitated gait. “But he won’t like you interfering!”

  “Interfering?” Rane yelled, stopping and looking at Landman, her eyes wild with disbelief. “He’s about to waste an entire day’s work and you’re worried about his being corrected by a Lead?”

  “He doesn’t see you as a lead,” Landman observed dryly. “He sees you as a female. Look, why don’t you let me help him make the correction? That will go a little eas—”

  “Because you put me in charge of this construction, and I am not about to allow his or your stupid prejudice to compromise its structure or my schedule!”

  Rane heard a faint and ironic, “Of course! It shall be as you say!” And a fainter, “This should be interesting!”

  As Rane sped by the completed sectors of the waterwork, she couldn’t help but revel in the sheer scope of its construction. And, its elegance. She was surprised by the monumental attention to detail in the finish on the troughs, the carvings that identified each sector. Each sector numeral had a different animal assigned to it as a motif. The hind, marmouse, needlebeast, scuprat, and many more were depicted in sumptuous carvings that were obviously the work of someone born to etch art into wood. She would have to find out who. Such pride in work was unusual for a virul. And, as the sectors proceeded closer to the lake, she could tell that the viruls were increasing in their craft and knowhow. Now, the joists supported three tiers of troughs, and though she hadn’t noticed it before, she saw that the virul or viruls had added even more carvings and flourishes in the troughs themselves and the effect was truly amazing. It was almost as if she hadn’t seen the waterwork before or appreciated the creative work that was going on. She even stopped once, Landman almost running into her, and ran her hand along the grooves of one particularly exquisite woodcut that depicted the never-ending coils of a fearsome lakeel, every rivulet and pock of its hide etched carefully in one of the major supports that ran along the bottom of the lower troughs. She had never seen work like this at the waterwork at home, theirs being more utilitarian than artistic.

  The troughwork that would employ the turning joist finally came into view, and Rane slowed her feet so that Landman could catch up. She felt him alongside her as she walked toward the scaffolding and looked at the workmanship close up. The same craft was evident here and all of a sudden, she forgot the purpose of her race out here, the emotion governing that headlong rush having spent itself in her assessment of the overall work on the waterwork. The beauty that the viruls had put into her waterwork banished any anger she had over a mistaken direction of a joist.

  Rat, having swung a leg over, was balancing himself on one of the support joists, using a mallet to pound in some of its support pegs. The other viruls around him by now had noticed the lead and Landman and had stopped their work, assuming that some instruction was in the offing. They waited.

  Rat followed their attention, his face turning surly when he saw that it was Rane who had interrupted their work. He made as if to jump down, but stopped when Rane held up a hand. She turned to Landman and gestured with an upward sweep her request that he be the one to talk to Scout and simply said, “This waterwork is turning out to be the most beautiful and solid of those I’ve seen. Well done!”

  Their faces held the same look as that day when she had almost clubbed one of their fellows to death. The surprise was the same, but the horror that followed her action then, was replaced by a kind of pleased bewilderment. Rat’s face, however, was hardened in suspicion, so she simply turned away from him. She allowed their faces to fill her gaze for a moment, then left them to their work.

  She had expected a more violent resolution to her problem of correcting rat. After all, she had beat him into submission before; but as the opportunity of following Landman’s advice presented itself, she found the progression of events enabled the more peaceful solution. She was beginning to realize that sometimes gentle persuasion worked better than brute force. She just hoped rat wouldn’t see her backing down as weakness. Not that it mattered that much. She did not fear rat in the slightest. Her only fear was that his enmity toward her would disrupt construction on her waterwork.

  Her walk back was much more pensive. Glancing up at the wooden edifice that would harness the water of the huge lake that lay just beyond the construction site, she realized that it would not be long before the troughs would be running with the pure water of her world, providing power for the camp and leisure for its inhabitants. No longer would they have to drag water up from the inadequate creek below camp. No longer would they have to rely on human drudgery to transfer supplies and cargo between camp and field or camp and creek or camp and lake. The water would do it for them. The community would have the task of maintaining the structure and the roll of the waters through the troughs so that the waterwork would live up to its name. And they would love the water, and the water would serve them.

  She sat down at her worktable and pulled the parchments toward her, although she did not look at them. Staring ahead, she suddenly became afraid. She shook her head and wondered what fount in her psyche had produced such fear. She searched and searched and for a long time couldn’t find the answer. And, finally, it came to her: She cared, not only about the waterwork, her waterwork, but about the people, her. . .”

  She did not finish the thought.

  Chapter Ten

  Rane and Shad were sitting together eating breakfast when Rane’s stomach dropped. Murman’s mate, Loward, was ambling toward their hearth. An entire two days had passed, and she had not heard even a whisper of Murman’s disappearance and she was beginning to think she had chosen the right virul to “disappear.” She put down the seed bread she had been ravishing just a moment before and waited.

  All Loward did was sit down and launch into an amiable session of camp gossip. Rane had been intent upon finishing breakfast quickly so as to get an early start at the waterwork. Even though she had lost her appetite, she picked up the bread and gnawed at it, waiting.

  Rane expected, well, she didn’t know what to expect from th
is lump of a female. It had been apparent from her discussion with Loward the day of Murman’s disappearance that the female didn’t value her mate very much. So maybe it shouldn’t surprise her that she wouldn’t mention his absence from her hearth. Finally, after ten horribly boring pours, his name came up and not in the way she expected.

  “I am very proud of Murman,” Loward said, slurping at some gruel that Shad had offered her.

  Rane had been stirring the embers of the hearth for something to do and practically fell into the smoldering coals in her surprise.

  Shad, who had picked up her leatherwork, easily asked, “Really? How so? Usually, you are complaining about Murman!”

  “Well, not today!” Loward fingered the hem of the jerkin Shad was sewing. “Nice work. No, what I mean is that I think he finally went out foraging!”

  “Foraging?” Rane asked, in spite of her resolve to keep quiet and listen. “What is he foraging for?”

  “I have only been nagging him to go out for weeks, now,” Loward said. “Everyone forages for different things our camp needs. His specialty is garlock.”

  Now Rane felt totally stupid. Not only had she no idea that this foraging was an important facet of life here, but she also had no idea what garlock was, so she asked.

  “Garlock is the forgetter,” Shad and Loward said, almost in unison.

  At Rane’s confused expression, Shad went on, “Garlock is the forgetter medicine. It helps us get over bad things that happen to us. And, Murman is the only one in camp who knows where to find it. Are his stores empty?” This last she directed to Loward.

  “Not particularly, but getting a little low,” she answered. “That is why I am so proud of him. Usually, he waits until there is just dust in the bottom of the sack.”

  Rane desperately wanted to ask how long his “foraging” took, and even would like to know more about this garlock stuff, but decided to wait, hoping that Loward would offer the answer in the natural course of the conversation. She was tired of asking questions anyway. But, she was also tired of Loward’s chatter and even the female’s presence here. She forced herself to be patient. It was important that she understand how much time she had before Murman would be missed. Maybe the answer was “never.” She resolved, nevertheless, to get back to the body and bury it properly. She hadn’t had the chance, yet. It was an easy task to put off, she thought, wrinkling her face in a grimace.

  “Is something wrong with the food?” Shad asked. “You haven’t finished your porridge, or your bread, for that matter.”

  “No! It was all quite good,” Rane said, deciding she could not wait for Loward to expound further on Murman’s disappearance. “I just realized that I am late to the site. It was nice seeing you again, Loward. I hope Murman’s foraging goes well.”

  “I do, too!” Loward said, then cackled. “I also hope that he is gone longer than two weeks.”

  Shad and Rane looked at each other and smiled, even allowing themselves a little chuckle, Rane’s chuckle being a little too manic.

  So, Rane had better count on just two weeks. Maybe there would be a little speculation about Murman at the work site. With an anxious “Good-bye,” she departed for the waterwork.

  When she arrived, Landman was already at work in the hut, using one of Rane’s parchments to draft an idea for an upgrade on the new sector.

  “What do you think?” He asked, shoving the plan at her as she sat down.

  “I think it is a good idea,” Rane said. “But you would need to add an extra joist under the trough to support the arc in a decline like that.”

  Landman scribbled a few more etches with the charcoal and showed it to her.

  “That would work,” she said, nodding, her finger tracing the angle of the new support.

  The two worked on the plans for the next sector until the next sun turn. It was only when the heat of the early afternoon conquered the hut’s shade that they realized how late it was.

  “We had better get to the new sector and make sure that Bruse knows what he’s doing,” Landman said, removing his outer jerkin. “Damn, it’s hot. And, I need to see if Murman has finished the count.”

  Rane felt cold streams in her blood at the mention of her victim’s name, but she forced herself to repeat it. “Murman?” she asked, trying like mad to keep the stratum of her voice appropriate.

  “Yes, I worried about putting that fool in charge of the count, and it looks like I was right,” Landman said, shaking his head. “He has not gotten the counts of logs, troughs, joists or even pegs to me as promised. That was—three days ago. Damn him.”

  Rane forced herself to speak. “Um, that’s funny,” she said. “I just talked to his mate, and she said that he went off foraging and wouldn’t be back for two weeks.”

  “What?” Landman practically shouted. “That idiot went foraging? And we need garlock around this site like we need a hole in the head. I need him for the count!”

  As Landman continued to rage, Rane tried not to panic. She had known there had been a counter that took stock of inventory, but it seemed strange that she had not come across Murman in all her work here. Landman’s next tirade explained it.

  “He promised me that if I assigned him to be the counter, he would make good! Well, great! As soon as I trust the fool with the job, he goes off—foraging!” And he went on.

  “Landman!” Rane finally interrupted. “Settle down! All right, so he was worthless! We’ll get someone else!”

  The two walked silently the rest of the way to the new sector, Landman indicating with snorts and huffs and puffs that he was still raging in his mind. He seemed to calm down by the time they reached the fresh build, and the quality of the work put him in a better mood. Bruse had done a good job in directing the work, and the viruls assigned to him fairly bustled as they attended to their various duties of stripping, planing and hammering.

  “Bruse!” Rane said, trying not to sound surprised. “This is as good of work that I have ever seen! Well done!” She approached the scaffolding and ran her hand along the poles. Smooth! She pounded them and liked their solid feel.

  “Well done! Well done! Well done!” She heard a grating, sing song insulting mimicry and knew at once who it was. Chun had been planing one of the troughs still on the ground and made his distaste at her presence further known by adding, “No one cares what you think! We don’t need you here!”

  Rane itched to take him down, but decided if she kept killing the viruls who insulted her, the waterwork would never be complete. If she had not just murdered Murman, she might have responded differently, but she decided to use this moment to cultivate her new-found, if tenuous ability to rule by reason and logic rather than force. She glanced at Landman who happened to be watching her. He probably expects me to do some kind of violence here, she thought, and decided to surprise him.

  “Chun,” Rane said. “Let’s you and I have a little talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you; I don’t want to be within ten troughlengths of you!” Chun said, his tone derisive and surly. “And, you don’t belong here.”

  “I think Landman should decide that,” Rane pointed out. “Or we can decide it another way. But only if you want to.”

  Chun look was still hard, but a slight interest creeped into his features. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,Chun,” Rane said easily. “It is obvious that you do good work—“

  “Don’t patronize me,” he said. “I am not one of your house viruls, and as I have said before, I don’t care what you think!”

  “—and the most important thing to me,” Rane continued, “is that this waterwork proceed without arguing or even feelings of hatred between workers—that is, between you and me.” Rane shrugged and tried to ignore rat who was standing nearby, his face even surlier than Chun’s. She went on, “Landman has put me in charge of this project. But, I’ll tell you what. Let us have a contest between us, you and me. If you win, I will relinquish leadership of this project to you and retreat to the
hearth. I will work out my days with the other females, never to darken the worksite with my shadow again.”

  She thought she heard a gasp from Landman, but she did not look at him. She hoped he would trust that she knew what she was doing. She had to end this with Chun once and for all, and she believed that she had the solution. Rane didn’t want to have to fight Chun and rat at the same time, and Chun seemed as if he could be won over with her strategy. Solving the problem with rat would be much more complicated as they had more history. Chun’s dislike was solely based on prejudice

  “And, if you win?” Chun said, obviously grudging the very thought.

  “If I win, I will keep my place as leader of the project, and you can continue hating me.”

  Landman was pacing at this point, flapping his arms in consternation. She knew what he was thinking: that Chun had not her skill in running a project of this size and that she was placing the delicate work hierarchy Landman had set up in jeopardy. He knew, as she did, that she was the only one qualified in this camp to direct the building of the waterwork.

  “That doesn’t change anything,” Chun said in amazement. “That is all you ask?”

  “Oh, only one other thing,” Rane said. “If I win, you will keep the hate to yourself.”

  Chun seemed to consider this for a moment, then asked, “What is the contest?”

  “You will choose.”

  “What?” Both Chun and Landman blurted the interrogative.

  “Yes, I will engage you in any contest that you wish. All you have to do is agree to honor the outcome.”

  For the first time, Rane saw a hint of respect in Chun’s face as he nodded. This was exactly what she needed. She just hoped the contest he chose would be one that had a skill set her training would have covered. As her training was so comprehensive, she liked those odds. She waited.

  “I agree.” Chun said, solemnly, and sat on one of the trestles of a nearby trough to think for a moment.