Fish Tails (19 page)

Later Xulai told Abasio, “I told Precious Wind about the Lorpians. They haven't shown up in her area, not yet at least. She has several groups well started along the coast down there, and she feels they can continue the work without her. Most of the ­people down there can actually see the water rising; they're not skeptical. So she's decided to head back in our direction to be with us in case we meet up with a Lorpian threat. She'll meet us in Artemisia, and according to the map, it's just two valleys and a pass away!”

Abasio nodded, glad of it. Xulai had been lonely for female companionship. She had actually borne the bulk of the “fatedness” they shared. It was she who had borne the children, she who nursed them, she who did most of the caring for them. Having Precious Wind with her once more would give her some help and make him feel far less guilty. Not guilty of anything in particular, just for existing in a kind of not-­particularly-­helpful male matrix of some kind. Being the one responsible for constant alertness to danger and constant readiness to meet it did not qualify as “doing something.” This journey had for both of them been an isolated, anxious, sometimes angry time—­angry not at each other, but infuriated by certain villagers. Or sometimes reduced to hidden laughter.

A schoolmaster had explained to them: “Y'see, when there gets t'be 'nuff a' that water, see, it'll all run t'the bottom, see, and the earth'll just float on it, see, with the north half outta the water an' we're not worried 'cause we're on the north half!”

When Xulai had asked which way was the bottom, it was carefully explained that all the maps showed which way was up and which way was down. The south was down because it was heavier and water always ran downhill. The village schoolmaster had been delighted to explain the matter to them and delighted to calm any fears their visit might have occasioned. He was quite, quite sure they were far enough north to be above the waterline.

That village had not been dangerous. Other villages were dangerous, but Xulai and Abasio had been warned. They'd known. The constant abrasion of implacable ignorance and focused animosity had not yet rubbed through their defenses, but the everlasting watchfulness had been extremely wearying. That night, soothed by the fact that Precious Wind would soon be with them, Abasio totally relaxed into sleep. He dreamed once again of the not-­Lom place. It was the Plethrob dream. He paid attention. Maybe this time he could make sense of some of it . . .

And in the morning, Abasio awoke suddenly with the whole dream firmly in mind. It stayed with him for at least ten seconds. Then he realized what had awakened him was Bailai, loudly shouting his first word: “Il-­lum. ILLUM. ILLUM.”

Beside him, wrenched from sleep, Xulai burst into tears.

“There, there, dear,” said Abasio to Xulai, holding her closely while she wept. “Come, come, sweetheart. I know you expected them to say ‘Mama' or ‘Papa,' or ‘Dada' or whatever, but since we don't address one another by those names, it was illogical for us to expect that the babies would read our minds. We do address Willum as ‘Willum' frequently, and Willum is far more ubiquitous than we! He's in constant motion. He's noisy. He brings ­people who bring treats and toys. He is unfailingly amusing. We, on the other hand, are merely part of the environment.”

“I was looking forward to their saying ‘Mama.' ” She wept.

“Now, now, dear heart. I don't call you ‘Mama,' Willum doesn't call you ‘Mama.' They will say something like ‘Oolai,' because that's what they've heard. Oolai and Baso probably. You'll grow sick of hearing it soon enough.” He believed what he said, then during the rest of the day tried to remember how he knew that.

The next day Gailai's first word was “Oolai,” and by evening Xulai knew that Abasio had been right. Gailai said it: within hours, Bailai said it, then shouted it, and very soon they were both shouting it at every opportunity.

“Lug them over to the pond, will you, Willum?” said Abasio, his ears ringing.

“Drown them,” muttered Xulai.

“Don't think they drown,” said Willum thoughtfully. “Y'want me to try?”

“She was joking, Willum!”

“Oh, fiddle, 'Basio. I know that,” said Willum, with the scorn of which only a very bright child is capable. Abasio, as a matter of fact, recognized the tone as one he himself had sometimes used. As a child.

“It's time to wean them,” Xulai announced. “They're teething. They bite! Remind me what the ­people in Tingawa said I was to feed them. We've only given them fruit and vegetables . . .”

Abasio recalled the instructions: “Anything we eat, a tiny bit at a time, mashed up. Not too much of any new thing, at first, and easy on the seasonings.”

Some days passed. The children grew fond of eggs. And crackers. And leaves and moss and insects. Willum carried a damp handkerchief about with him for wiping out mouths. The ­people of Gravysuck grew familiar with the concept that the waters were indeed rising. Several young ­people announced their intention of traveling to Wellsport, to see about taking part in the future. Xulai began to look less weary and laugh more often. Kim rode off to find reputed horse breeders, here and there, but could not locate another team of horses.

They had become too well accepted to suit at least one villager. Arising from bed and leaving the wagon one morning, Abasio almost tripped over a body stretched out on the ground, near where the horses were grazing. Lorp. Lorp with a knife in his hand and a horseshoe-­shaped depression in his skull. He was quite cold.

“Tried to cripple me,” said Blue. “Came around midnight, but had to do a little bragging about it first. Leanin' up against me, tellin' me what he intended to do. Man got kind of startled when I told him I didn't like the idea. Mighta managed to cut me if he hadn't had to call me names first. 'Cordin' to him, only HYUman shapes're allowed to talk.”

“He had to call you a monster, I suppose,” said Abasio mildly.

He pointed the body out to Willum, calling his attention to the knife. Willum said matter-­of-­factly, “Ayeh. That's his knife.” He went to summon the family.

No one wept, not even Liz. “Notcher fault,” Liz told Abasio. “Not t'horse's fault neither. He'uz allus a mean'un, Lorp. Allus was. Glad I din't have to killum m'ownself. I was 'bout ready t'killum! Musta bin crazy t'marry that'un.”

After an appropriate silence, Abasio said to Willum, “Bertram finished the jackets and pajamas and shirts for the little ones yesterday. The children wore the pajamas last night, slept well, and they didn't show any sign of drying out.” He turned to Kim, who'd been waiting for his instructions. “Kim, your horse is well rested. You can ride on toward Saltgosh early tomorrow morning. We will follow you an hour or two later. Saltgosh is the last town before we go over Findem Pass and down into Artemisia—­the last one on the road, at any rate. Bertram goes down to Flitterbean and Asparagoose fairly regularly, he has promised to serve as our recruiter there, and that leaves us free to take the northern route and stop in the village of Odd Duck. Leave sign if you see anything we should look out for, and we'll see you each evening, as usual. Ask Bertram if he has anything to send his sister Liny, and if he does, either put it in the wagon or carry it with you. She lives in Saltgosh.”

He turned back toward Willum. “Tell the folks in Gravysuck we're moving on tomorrow, Willum. It'll take me most of today to get rid of the water tank and plug up the drain holes in the bottom of the wagon. In this dry air, the floor should dry out in a few days. The map says the stream runs along the road all the way to the Findem Pass. Would anyone know if that's true on the north road?”

“Oh, it's true,” said Willum. “Gum goes to Saltgosh ever' year, and he says the river from there runs down both ways. Like it splits there, or something. And, I heard from one a' the wagon men there's a little creek starts up pretty quick on the other side a' the pass, too.”

Abasio nodded. “The map says there's a little lake about a half day's travel down on the downhill side, so we can actually get by without even filling our drinking-­water tank as we travel uphill.”

Willum gave him a long, searching look, and loped down toward town.

“I'm almost out of cookies,” said Xulai. “We've used up all the ones we brought along, and I can't bake cookies over a campfire.”

Bertram had been listening. “When you get to Saltgosh, you'll be seeing my sister Liny. She and a dozen or so of her women friends do all kinds of catering things for Saltgosh, and they'll be glad to bake hundreds and hundreds of cookies. You seem to use a lot of them . . .”

“Tea and cookies. That's the way we do it in every village. Even if ­people don't want to hear about the inundation, they'll come along for the tea and cookies.”

“Ah. I see.” He gave her a saddened look, turned it toward Abasio, and asked plaintively, “I shall miss your being here. It has been . . . a friendly time. Do you, perchance, have any idea when the mission from Tingawa might arrive?”

“It's already fall,” Abasio mused. “We'll reach them as soon as possible, and if the ships have a good wind, they'll get into Wellsport about thirty days after that.”

Xulai nodded. She thought the earliest they could be here would be late winter or spring. The ­people from Tingawa might travel faster, but their speed might depend on the weight of their equipment.
But if they
use ul xaolat
to jump them here once they're across the sea . . .
“Bertram, it could be as soon as a month or two, depending upon how they come.”

He sighed. “Now that I know it's not for my whole life, it's silly that a few months can seem so long.”

“It'll be sooner than you'd expect,” said Abasio. “When they get here, ask them to use their far-­talker—­the device we told you about—­to reach Xulai. We're very interested in what happens.”

“Abasio . . . ?” Bertram seemed to be fumbling for words.

Abasio gave him a sympathetic look. “What is it, Bertram? Something we can do?”

“If I . . . if the books are all taken care of and I don't have to keep the Volumetarian Oath anymore, and if my friend in Asparagoose—­her name is Mirykel, pronounced like the
miracle
she is, but not spelled that way—­if she says yes . . . I mean, if she does, and well . . . where should we travel to, to get the best chance at sea-­eggs?”

Abasio grinned widely. He had already spent considerable time regretting being separated from Bertram. If one ignored fathers-­in-­law and grandfathers-­in-­law—­which one sometimes had to do to save one's sanity—­he had not had a close male friend since he left certain gang members in the city, years ago—­and even they had not been . . . well, not fellow thinkers. Or thinkers of any description. If Bertram traveled to Wellsport, chances were good Abasio would see him there.

“Go to Wellsport!” he cried. “I'll give you a letter to the distribution ­people there and Xulai and I will give you two sea-­eggs. Put them in a safe place. Do not use them until you're at the Sea Duck. They are not like a bird's egg, they're solid, they seemingly keep for years. The ­people at Sea Duck should know where we are, and we're sure to see you there at some time. You and . . .”

“Mirykel.”

“You and Mirykel should go as soon as you can. Is she . . . younger than you? Good! The whole purpose, of course, is to give sea-­eggs to those who can have children. And be sure you visit Mirykel frequently, because I'm counting on you to get some of the young ­people from her village ready to travel to one of the Sea Ducks. It may be that from there, the nearest would be the one south of Artemisia. Sea Duck Three. You've heard everything we have to say, you can do the telling for us.”

Bertram's eyes lighted up. “Oh, yes, I mean to do it, Abasio. And Mirykel will help. She's a wonderful woman. None of this Lorpian stuff about her.”

“Lorpian?”

“You didn't catch that? They never called him ‘Uncle,' they called him ‘Lorp' because he was a Lorpian, a follower of Akra Vechun Lorp. He's the Great High Shapist!”

Abasio shook his head, not getting it.

Bertram said patiently: “A man named Akra Lorp—­he actually calls himself ‘the Great Lorp'—­started a Shapist sect. He uses as his authority one of the old books in which it is said that God made man in the image of God. Some of us call him Aggravation Lorp. Whatever we call him, he says anything a man does to change his shape, that's heretical. That's where Lorp got all that Shapist stuff he was preaching.”

“Change his shape?”

“Well, you know . . . for instance, girls. They acquire bosoms. Though I've never understood it, no tailor is unaware of the fact that there seemed to be great dissatisfaction attending this acquisition. Either the bosoms are not thought large enough, or they're too large, or they . . . droop. Accordingly, women create—­sometimes doing it themselves and sometimes it has been known for a tailor to do it—­fancy underwear to hold themselves up or make them more . . . protrusive. This is not such a great matter in these villages where anatomy is taken for granted, but in the more sizable towns, well, you know: the greater the population, the greater the number of silly ­people. According to the Great Lorp, bosom stitchery is heretical. Or if a man loses a leg, that's a sign God's cast him out; and if somebody makes him a peg leg, well, that's heretical. Or if a man puts on a wide belt to pull his belly in.”

“So the Great Lorp's God has breasts?”

Bertram flushed the glossy red-­brown of well-oiled mahogany. “Well if God made both sexes, I assume that meant he had all the requisite patterns in stock. It never made any sense to me, Abasio. But that's where all that monster stuff is coming from. Just so you'll be informed.”