Fish Tails (30 page)

“Is it possible,” she asked ruefully, “that the thing up there is looking for us?”

“Or,” he said, taking her hand tightly in his own. “Or possibly not
us
. Possibly . . . just me.”

At that moment he realized the probable actual size of the thing. The apprehension he felt was a shudder of possibility, like the subliminal detection of a far-­off avalanche, barely heard but inevitably headed in their direction. A creature that size . . . so much larger than the one he had seen, talked to, been carried about by when he was last in Artemisia. So? What might that mean?

“Sexual dimorphism,” murmured Xulai. “Do you suppose?”

Abasio scowled at the sky. They would be leaving Saltgosh in the morning; they would be moving toward that distant peak. He did not want to suppose any such thing.

 

Chapter 5

A Departure, and a Departure

I
N THE HIGH VALLEY NEAR
F
INDEM
P
ASS, THE
time came that Needly had to leave Tuckwhip. She was moved by two happenings: a tragedy and a meanness, either of which would have been reason enough by itself.

The meanness came first. She heard Gralf, the House-­Pa, tell his cronies he'd taken an advance payment from Old Digger, who would be wanting Needly right soon, since she was the only female in the village who was “purdy near beddin' age.”

The following morning, when Pa crowed about it to Grandma, she lost her patience and told Pa what she thought of men who sold their children. Pa had no patience to lose, and one of those nice throwing stones was near at hand. It struck Grandma's forehead. One stone was all that was needed. That was the tragedy, or so Needly saw it. Gralf, seeing what he'd done, ran off. He'd killed the healer. The only one in the valley. It was
jitchus
! Some might not take that too kindly. Needly, seeing what he'd done, ran for Grandma's medicine bag. The little blue bottle was there: a drop of what was inside it was placed on Grandma's tongue while Grandma still breathed. This done, Needly relaxed in tears. She did not grieve. She thought there was no reason for grief. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.

There were no obsequies. The ­people of the village were superstitious about dead ­people left unburied, so Grandma was buried deeply, though evidently not deep enough, for the grave was opened to its bottom that night and Grandma's body was gone in the morning. This fact served only to intensify Gralf's fears. Too late he had remembered
jitchus
.

Needly had gathered from various things Grandma had said that
Grandma's ­people
would come for her body. That Grandma had
­people,
Needly had never doubted, nor had she doubted those ­people would be her own, if and when they chose to reveal themselves to her, or if she ever found them, which she now intended to do.

Without any prompting, Needly had decided the men in the village should believe that killing a woman would bring retribution. They knew
jitchus
. Therefore let
jitchus
be manifest. Early on the day prior to her departure, she mentioned to Slap that Grandma had come out of her grave, looking for Pa because the goddess of the valley was tired of the men killing women or girls, killing them or hurting them.

Needly's announcement was known village-­wide by nightfall. It gave Pa only an hour of apprehension between supper and sleep and a few moments' serious discomfort the following morning. That night Trudis and Gralf and the boys had slept very deeply, helped by one of Grandma's little bottles: this one a clear, tasteless liquid. One had to be sure of the justice of the matter before using Grandma's potions, but for the most part, they were not unmerciful. Just before Needly left the place, at about midnight, she put a few drops from the yellow bottle in the kettle on the back of the stove, the one Pa would use in the morning for his tea. Pa always poured any extra water out, to prevent Trudis finding any hot water when she woke. Pa was mean that way, as he was mean in all ways, but this meanness was useful, for it meant no one else would drink what was in the kettle. Needly bore Trudis and the boys no fatal ill will. Trudis was her Ma. Slap and Grudge were at least her half brothers. Pa-­who-­was-­not-­her-­father, however, was no kin to her at all and had murdered her grandma. His fate was fitting.

“With this preparation, Grandma wishes you farewell, Pa,” she said, making the same hieratic gesture she had seen her grandmother make on similar occasions. The gestures had a meaning. They were a kind of summons. Grandma had indicated that these gestures, when used, were
seen
to be used. If Needly used them, she would be seen to be using them, though how and by whom Grandma did not say. Nonetheless, the girl made them gracefully, completely, as instructed. “With this ceremony, with this elixir, Grandma and I say good-­bye to you, Gralf. Fare far and unwell.”

Her provisions had been ready packed and accumulating in hiding since she had turned eight. They had been regularly updated as she had grown. She was eleven now, or thereabout. Her small pack contained a fire starter, a good knife and a spare, leggings and boots, warm knitted sweaters, and a hooded raincoat that unfolded into a cover for her bedding. All the clothes were familiar, tested, broken in during private walks in the mountains. The pack was rolled inside a blanket, with another waterproof cover outside it and a strap to hold it across her back. Among the other equipment was a metal stake with a hook that would hold a tiny pot over a fire and a water bottle Grandma had found somewhere, made out of some flexible stuff that would not break. Could have been an animal's bladder, Needly thought. Something like that. One end of it wrapped around a short piece of hollow bone that was bound there with waxed thread, a hook to put on a belt loop, and a kind of cork thing that screwed in. It was to be used to hold water, whenever she left the vicinity of a stream.

In the pocket of her jacket she had a comb and a spare. Grandma and Needly had kept a secret from Gralf. They had only pretended at Needly's uglification. She had always washed and combed her real hair and braided it tight to her head, covering it with a wig made out of horse combings from the one horse in the valley with a white mane and tail. The dirt had been real, but it had never been allowed to grind in or accumulate. There had been frequent baths in the little hot spring in the hollow over the ridge; long midnight soaks while Grandma told her old stories and drilled her on survival matters. Since that first time, Slap or Grudge had not used Needly as their target. Since reasoning from cause to effect was beyond them, Grandma had finally told them Needly was protected by a forest spirit who cut off boy's parts if they abused girls. After that, they had left her alone. Along with gold, those “parts” were a male's most important possession.

By the midnight following Grandma's burial, Needly was clean, clad, equipped, and well away from the valley, gone by a different route than the men ever took. It was unlikely they would even hunt for her for some time, perhaps not until Old Digger decided he wanted her. It would take several days for Needly to get to the pass, but she did not hurry. Better to go slow and careful than quick and careless. Grandma had “foreseen” something useful for Needly would await her at the pass. Once at the pass, she could decide where to go from there so long as it took her east and eventually to the area near the House of the Oracles.

Behind her in Tuckwhip, morning came. Gralf rose, made his tea, and drank it. He felt very sleepy afterward and went back to bed. Trudis finally decided to wake him in the early afternoon, but his body was cold by then. Cold and starting to stiffen. Trudis went down the road to tell the other Mas. They said
the men'd wanna bury him afore dark
. The men were afraid of ghosts, so they did bury him. One of the men who had no woman announced to the others his intention of moving into Trudis's house. Two others saw fit to fight him over it. He killed one of them and sent the other fleeing into the woods, then waited for a ­couple of days after the burying, as tradition required, before moving in with Trudis, announcing he'd take Gralf's place. Trudis poured herself another glass of beer. She subsequently noticed no difference. Gulped food the same. Snorted and farted the same. Smelled the same. Rutted the same. Only that one fellow had been any different. The one that probably fathered Needly.

Needly. She yawned and rolled to face away from the new man, wondering if he'd get her pregnant and become a Pa, wondering why Gralf had gone and died, wondering where Needly had got to. Girl hadn't washed the kitchen stuff from yesterday. Girl oughta be here, takin' care of things. She hadn't been around for . . . a while.

 

Chapter 6

Encounters on the Road

A
T FIRST LIGHT,
A
BASIO DROVE THE WAGON PAST
the watchtower of Saltgosh and up toward Findem Pass. They were well provisioned. If all went well, they would be on the plains below the mountains before serious cold struck. Willum knew all about what would be done in case of cold, but he much preferred not having to sleep in the cold-­weather fold-­down bunk above the big bed in the wagon. He preferred to sleep next to Blue and the chickens and come and go as he pleased.

On the journey, the horses needed no guidance. There was only one road and only one way to go up it, so up it they went, the walkers variously trailing behind, rushing ahead, or plodding alongside. The babies were perched on the wagon seat, carefully strapped in, regarding each turn in the road with solemn interest. They met no one at all for the first two days. It was, Abasio thought, as though they were the only living two-­legged mammals alive, though four-­legged ones were plentiful: deer, elk, wolves. He had more or less expected wolves. Precious Wind had adopted a pack of them during their former travels and she would guarantee that they survived the waters' rising. How water wolves would differ from water dogs, he had not asked. He did not see coyotes; they were usually creatures of lower altitudes.

The scenery was so uniformly grand as to become unremarkable except for one view they came upon in early morning as they made a turn on the way up and saw it against the sky.

“What in heaven's name is that?” cried Xulai.

Blue and Rags brought the wagon to a halt, looking up as Xulai was doing. She had actually walked forward, as though to get closer, though the thing was far and unattainable from where they were. They were looking across a straight-­walled crevasse, over an intersecting ridge, up another vertical wall. At the top of the wall stood a sizable grove of blackened trees, an isolated grove occupying the only soil pocket for some distance in any direction. Nothing was left now but the charred trunks and the larger branches. Through this black veil they could see the curved, soaring lines of a remarkable stone formation.

“I see it,” said Abasio. “Actually, I've heard of it. It's called something odd. Oh, yes: the Listener.” He leaned back into the open window of the wagon, feeling dizzy. “I don't remember anyone saying it could be seen from the road here.”

“It's huge.”

“It is that,” he mumbled, fighting nausea as images cascaded through his mind
. The tower. The women. A forest, a group of creatures dancing . . . a huge red egg . . . a building that squirmed and changed its shape . . . Then the tower, the pool. Then, suddenly, the throne room, Plethrob. . .

Xulai stared at the thing. The light around it was a halo, a sphere, contracting, narrowing, becoming a single beam that reached from the formation toward them, arrowing toward them, past her, ending at Abasio. He was outlined with a scarlet glow, as though on fire . . .

She cried out, “Abasio? Love, what is it?” As she moved toward him, it vanished.

He slumped, breathing heavily. Casting a glance at the formation, Xulai said, “Blue, Rags, get us out of the line of sight of that thing, will you? Quickly.”

The horses moved quickly; the formation vanished as quickly as it had appeared, visible only from that one angle, and it would have been invisible, even from there, if the grove of trees had not been burned. Xulai gritted her teeth. It was almost as though someone . . . something had burned them just so something could get a look at Abasio. She climbed onto the seat beside Abasio and turned his face toward her: he was pale, his nostrils flared. She could see the pulse in his neck, hard, fast. Suddenly he took a deep breath and straightened up. “Whoosh.”

“Hold it, Blue, Rags. Let me get him something to drink.”

He gulped at the water she gave him, his breathing slowed. His eyes darted, here, there, coming to rest on her face. He muttered, “Those burned trees. Looked like a lightning strike, didn't it. Just burned that one isolated bunch. Thank goodness it was isolated. Otherwise, there'd have been a forest fire.”

“We goin'?” asked Blue.

Xulai answered. “Yes, Blue. Let's get a little distance between us and that whatever. Abasio, what do you know about the thing, the thing we just saw?”

“Ah. Not much, actually.” He took several deep breaths, another gulp of water. His head didn't hurt, but it felt odd. As though it had been rummaged through. There were . . . adjacencies in there he didn't remember. Whatever did it wasn't required to be gentle. He fumbled for words. “I've never heard you could see it from here. Well, normally one couldn't, of course. It's supposed to be a vivid red at dawn. That's really all I know about it.”

“It's very strange,” murmured Xulai. She kept glancing at the skyline as they went on, though a turn in the road had put it behind an intervening ridge. According to a sign by the side of the road, Findem Pass was a day's travel farther on. They paused briefly in a clearing beside the road to put together a late, cold lunch. Willum, who seemed to have several extra pairs of eyes—­to go with his multiple mouths and lungs—­called their attention to the height still above them where a dozen horsemen were briefly silhouetted against a high rock wall. The men were perhaps an hour or so away, and Abasio noted with some apprehension that they had no pack animals with them and . . . the last horse in line seemed to have a rider who was bound. It was too far to tell for sure, but the horse looked
very much
like Socky. The bound man was probably Kim.

Poor Kim. He'd had nothing but trouble on this trip, and Abasio said as much to Xulai. Unfortunate young man. A Tingawan chosen for the task, but just possibly not as well fitted for it as someone else might have been. Xulai thought Precious Wind would not have been caught so. Nor would her former companion, the Great Bear of Zol. Poor Bear. Honorably dead. But still, dead.

The wagon had been sheltered behind trees when they saw the men; it was unlikely that either it or they had been seen. The wagon was quickly pulled into the next shielding grove. The trees were too thick to get it very far among them, so they removed their stores and anything that looked useful into the nearest hiding place they could find, a small cave not far away, invisible among trees and fallen stones. Everything went, including the chicken coops, which were covered to eliminate any clucking or crowing to betray them. All of Xulai and Willum's clothing was hidden, as well as the babies and all their accoutrements. The sea-­eggs, which, along with themselves, were the most precious things they carried, were already well hidden in the walls of the wagon, cushioned against any accident. When they had finished, the wagon carried nothing much but a sparse diet and clothing for a single traveler. The last thing removed was the harness.

“Why, dang nab it?” said Willum to Xulai. “We was just about all the way up!”

“We don't know that group coming down,” Xulai told him. “Men traveling in groups without pack animals and this far from a town have to live off the country—­and we're part of the country. They could be slavers or thieves. Abasio and I would rather not have wounded ­people or animals while we're trying to get the babies to safety, so we're going to give them no fight and no reason to steal. Also, Abasio thinks they may have captured Kim. Understand?”

“Abasio says you got something could stop them!”

“Yes, but only by killing all of those men while they're in a close group, and probably some of their horses.” Although, she thought, the new devices might well be able to discriminate. No time to experiment, however
. . .

(Of course I can discriminate, you silly woman! thought
ul xaolat
. I know Kim, I can release Kim, kill all the others—­without gore—­quiet the horses, and then recite in a solemn voice, in any chosen language, your choice of requiems, with appropriate musical setting. Given an extra few moments, I can manage an interment. With flowers. You don't have to push a button. You have only to say so!)

Xulai went on. “Their horses are not at fault and killing them would upset our horses—­and us—­to see them needlessly murdered. So we are putting all our tempting things away, including you and me, Willum, and the babies.”

“My ma'd tell you, nobody'd steal me,” said Willum.

“They probably wouldn't steal you if they knew you, no,” agreed Xulai, quite seriously, “But if they are gangers, as Abasio thinks they may be, they may make a specialty of beating brattish boys into doing what they're told, and in any case, they don't know you, so the question doesn't arise.”

(I could have moved all that stuff in a tenth the time, thought
ul xaolat.
There's a better cave, too, and it's no farther away. And I don't suppose they'll tell me to put their possessions back either. Honestly! I could stow them so much more efficiently! Hasn't anyone read the new directions?)

About an hour later, the mounted men reached the clearing. They made up a column of twelve, riding in pairs except for one rope-­bound man, tied to the horse being led behind the group. The two men at the head of the column dismounted and walked toward Abasio, where he sat beside a lonely fire, eating a very small pot of boiled grain. The wagon was parked inside a grove of trees. There was no sign of the horses.

The fatter of the two called, “Well, traveler, you're out here all alone.” His eyes flicked toward the wagon and away.

“Ayup,” replied Abasio, chewing, his eyes on the tethered man. Kim. And Kim's horse.

“Where's your horses?”

“Wun'a'um los' a shoe. T'other went to keep 'im comp'ny.” Abasio let his eyes drift along the mounted column. When he saw the bound man was looking at him, he winked with the offside eye, the one the others would not see. The bound man nodded, very slightly. He looked only slightly battered. Far less so than he had outside Gravysuck. Probably they had been laying for him, jumped him.

“Went, where?” Fatter had eyes like two weasels peering out of holes in his face.

“Blacksmith,” said Abasio, pointing down-­road. ­“Couple days thataway.”

“You had somebody who could drive them down, huh?” Leaner breathed through his mouth, loudly. His eyes were vacant, but that was a lie. Someone nasty was home in there! Now, who did that remind Abasio of? Another life, another story.

Abasio chewed, swallowed, wiped his mouth. “Nope. Nobody t'drive 'em. Went by their own selfs. They know where a blacksmith is. Otta know. Gone through here alla their lives. Up n' down the mountain. Up n' down, up n' down. They knows the way.”

The two looked at each other, then at the wagon. The leaner one demanded, “Whatchu got in there?”

“Dye pot,” said Abasio. “Raw stuff for dyein'. Not much dye lef'. Used mos' of it up.”

“Dyer, huh?” said the fatter one. “That's intresting. Mind if I have a look?”

“ 'T's a mess,” said Abasio, “but suit yerself.”

The two men inspected the wagon, which
was
a mess, a carefully created mess—­complete with dye pots and slight smelliness. There was a small supply of grain, small enough that if it was stolen, they'd have plenty left. They had left no interesting food in sight or easily discoverable. There was nothing that looked worth stealing. The other ten men sat on their horses on the road, variously squirming and muttering. Two of them took out pipes and filled them. Fatter and Leaner returned from the wagon, one looking annoyed, the other vacant. Fatter said, “Where's yer harness?”

“Horses took it,” said Abasio. “It b'longs to them. Whenever they d'cide to go off, they take the harness with 'em. See, they're just hired horses. I pay 'em a fee at the end of the trip. They use the money to buy oats, pay the blacksmith, and like that.”

“Yer not carrying any fodder,” said Leaner.

“Han't needed any,” Abasio replied, scraping the bottom of the iron pot with his spoon to make an irritating, screeching sound. “Got good forage, so far. Should last till we get down to the prairie on the far side.”

Fatter shook his head. “Never heard such a thing. How can horses own their own harness?”

“Man who owned 'em lef' it to 'em in his will. Set 'em free and lef' it to 'em. Do that alla time in Artemisia, so I hear. You musta come through there to get up on the mountain.”

Fatter and Leaner went back to their own horses, muttering and growling to a ­couple of the other men, meantime glancing over their shoulder at Abasio, who was doing nothing but staring after them while holding a deadly weapon in one hand and planning his first stroke if he was forced to use it.
If Fatter and Leaner approach, fall to ground, take their heads off, aiming up to miss the horses. Then skip the last rider and make one slice above horse-­head level back along the file.
Abasio had borrowed Xulai's
ul xaolat
. In an instant, it could move him to another little glade some way down the mountain.

However, whenever possible, both Xulai and Abasio preferred to avoid violence. Flicking off to some other location, however, would leave the wagon and its precious cargo of sea-­eggs unprotected. If the mounted men gave him no choice, he would kill them, though it seemed less likely when he heard one of them say, “Y'can b'leeve mos' anythin' 'bout Artemisia. Crazy ­people.”

(If they attack, thought
ul xaolat,
I shall take what he is thinking as an order. Heads off, horses to be preserved uninjured, release Kim. He didn't say cauterize the necks, but I will. And dispose of the corpses by burial. I think over where the burned trees were. And I'll transplant a new grove from the big ones down at the bottom. I can do that even without corpses. It'll give me something to do tonight. It's neater.)