Moongather (32 page)

The Pehiiri mouscar counted five families, the most that their barren territory could support. This territory wasn't so much a slice of land as a migration route and series of wells that the mouscar had dug and now maintained. They moved in a year-long loop, south in the winter along the inner line and north in the summer along the outer arc of the loop. When Serroi joined them they were close to the northernmost well.

They camped at the present well for another passage, then packed the tents and moved on. Serroi helped Raiki fold up the tent and lash her belongings on the jamat's back, then walked beside her as the mouscar began its leisurely progress to the final well.

The days were hot and dusty and slow. They were forced to move no faster than the grazing berbeci. Serroi walked silent beside Raiki, a small dark shadow, listening while the janja schooled her apprentice. Yehail never forgot that Serroi followed. Her eyes continually swiveled around to her, glinting with triumph when she thought she was monopolizing Raiki-janja's attention, glaring with hate when her inattention to the lesson brought her a scolding.

Nights were hot and breathless. There was no water for bathing; hardly enough water for the ritual glasses of cha the men took around their fire at night Food was scanty; there was no time for searching out the wild grains, roots and herbs to supplement the greasy stews. The families slept in their clothes, huddled in a mass of rugs, women on the inside, their men in a ring of hot snoring flesh around them. Raiki and Serroi slept apart, but the night sounds of the uneasy sleepers surrounded them, then groans and snores, the wails of hungry babies, sharp staccato slaps at wandering sand fleas. In the rope corral, jamati shifted about, pawed at the sand, honked mournfully, resenting their daily burdens, restless under the moons. A bit farther out, the berbeci whined and cried out, rose and wandered aimlessly about, sometimes dodging and twisting to get away from the night-herds. When one succeeded, the boy who was nearest would curse, call to his companion, then trot out into the shadowy plain to chase down the escapee through the shifting moon-shadows that made such intrusions a continual stumbling and falling.

The mouscar reached the Northwell at the end of the ninth day. The tents went up as the women and girls worked quickly to spread the tent cloth and set the poles and drive in the pegs. The men had scattered to look over the grazing lands, checking grass and browse to see how well they'd renewed themselves in the passages of rest. Serroi helped Raiki set up her tent, arrange the rugs and pillows inside and quietly drive out the vermin that had crept back from the jamat and the sand they'd slept on during the trek. Yehail had returned to her family for the night, leaving the two janjai in comfortable silence, stalking away, seething with anger and jealousy.

Serroi frowned over her cha, watching the girl until she merged with the dark cluster of figures around her family fire. “Raiki, she's going to make trouble for you. Because of me. She doesn't even try to understand.”

Raiki sighed. “Even half a chance, I'd send her home for good. I've tried with her, meto. I can't make myself like her. Can't.” She sipped at her cha. “She'll be my death, damn her. Saw it when I went through the gates.” Her eyes, more brown than green now with brooding, moved over the camp. “Them too, meto. She's going to kill a lot of them. There's a dark hand reaching for her, the dark hand that loosed you to me, you know what I'm talking of. But she's the only one with the talent, the only damned one.”

Serroi stirred restlessly, feeling the pressure of the janja's desire. She looked up, stared, as five figures left their fires and came-over to them.

Four of the men stood back, willing to support, unwilling to speak. Yod vo Rehsan stepped forward, scowling at the janja, ignoring Serroi. “There is an outsider, janja.”

Raiki sat without moving for a long moment, then she rose with slow massive force and stared back at him, her lined face expressionless. “I see no outsider, Yod. There is a guest. My guest.”

Yod glanced swiftly at Serroi who sat beside the fire, her arms wrapped around her legs. His dark sunken eyes were shiny with dislike. He was a man of quick and violent temper but he had a cunning tongue and was the mouscar's leader, if that loosely organized collection of families could be said to have a leader. The group lived too close to the edge of subsistence for wide differences in the status of its adult males. Cooperation was essential to their continuance as a group. Yod had an abrasive persistence that wore down opposition. The other men were here now because he'd kept at them until it was easier to go along with him than to keep arguing. While mildly disturbed by Serroi's presence, they'd come to accept her as the janja's pet, but Yod was. Yehail's father. When Raiki's eyes swept over them, they plucked at sleeve fringes and kicked at the sand.

“Guests stink after three days. We got no place for strangers.” Serroi could see his face darkening even in the dim light from the clouded stars. “I speak for the mouscar, we don't want her here.”

Raiki chuckled dryly. “You speak for yourself, Yod. And that daughter of yours.” She moved her stern gaze from one face to the other, leaving each man distinctly more uneasy than before. “You going to let an adder-tongued-girl tell you what to do?” She snorted. “Yod, you keep pushing this, you push your janja out too. Understand me, man. I won't let you stick your nose into my household. So you might's well trot yourself back to your fire, teach your girl to mind her manners and her business.”

One of the other men laid a hand on Yod's arm. “Let it go,” he muttered.

Raiki sank down on her heels and poured another cupful of cha, her shoulder turned on the men. She smiled at Serroi, tilted the pot, offering her a refill.

Serroi held out her cup, watching out of the corner of her eye as the men walked back to their fires. She bent her head over the rising twist of steam. “I said there'd be trouble.”

Raiki snorted. “Pay them no mind, meto. They need me too much to make trouble.”

“Would you really leave because of me?”

“Yah, meto.” Raiki chuckled, then drained her cup. “Wouldn't stay away, couldn't, you know. But I'd shake them up a bit. Won't happen.” She sighed. “I wish you'd let me teach you, but you're right, even if it is for the wrong reasons. I doubt if they'd ever accept you, not with Yehail back-biting.”

The mouscar stayed at the Northwell for three passages then began to trek south, the long leisurely trek from well to well as the grass grew greener and the days warmer—and Yehail grew more jealous, more dangerous. She spied on Serroi continually, and when she wasn't spying, prodded at her, trying to force her into a hair-pulling fight. Serroi managed to swallow her anger, unwilling to hurt Raiki or further damage her standing with her people. By a combination of luck and close observation, the janja often caught Yehail before she went too far, sending her rolling with one of her backhand swats or cowing the girl into temporary submission with a vigorous tongue-lashing.

For Serroi this was a time of drifting. She clung close to Raiki as the only certainty left to her. Even her body began changing. She grew several inches taller, her breasts budded and she woke one morning with blood on her thighs. The herdboys took to coming by the janja's tent, laughing and shoving, until one of them found the nerve to call out to her, then they'd all mill about laughing and joking for a few minutes before they ran off to join their family groups. As the mouscar moved slowly from well to well, working its way south, she grew restless, gradually becoming aware that she didn't want to continue living the meager life of the Pehiiri. She hungered for the small luxuries she'd had in the Noris's tower, though she couldn't endure thinking of him. Clean clothing, daily baths, good well-cooked food, books, beautiful things around her. Above all, quiet and privacy. Raiki was mother and sister and friend; the warmth that had sprung between them from the beginning had grown quietly. Each time she thought of leaving, the nightmares came back. She'd dream of the Noris, wake up sweating, crying in Raiki's arms.

When the winter mooncycles had passed and the year was turning to Spring, the Mouscar reached Southwell, the most elaborate of the wells, small fields enclosed within stone walls and covered water pipes leading from the well to the carefully mulched land. As soon as the tents were up, Raiki was intensely busy with fertility rites for the land and planting ceremonies. Serroi was left to herself. She wandered out away from the well, sat looking down the long slope to the lusher valley far below.

Raiki found her still sitting there late that night, watching the sprinkle of lights in the valley, yellow-gold fires in clusters like a paler starfield on the darkness.

“You didn't come to supper.” Raiki settled beside her with a series of grunts as she made her unwieldy body as comfortable as she could on the coarse earth.

“I wasn't hungry.”

“Ah.” Raiki sat silent a long time, then she raised a large arm, bangles clanking like lonely bells, and pointed at the nearest group of lights. “Sel-ma-Carth.” She sighed, the chains around her neck clashing softly. “The Shessel fair will begin in a few days. The men will be going down.” Her hand dropped into her lap.

Serroi glanced from the moon cluster to the lights of the city. “It's time.”

“Yehail?”

“In truth, Raiki my friend, she's only one of many reasons.” Serroi leaned against the old woman, slid her hand between arm and body, hugged Raiki's arm against her.

“What're you going to do?”

“I don't know. Work my way across to the Biserica probably. I'm old enough finally.”

“Watch out for them, those lowlanders.” In the silence that followed her words, the rising wind picked up grains of sand and sent them skipping around between patches of brush. Over the plain below clouds were gathering. The lights began going out. “They're not to be trusted, meto. Cheat you, kill you, rape you.” A big hand patted Serroi's thigh. Serroi could feel her trembling. With an agitated clinking of chains and coins, the old woman moved away. Serroi heard heavy breathing, more rattling of coins. She turned to see Raiki working three of her coin-chains over her head. The old woman thrust them at her. “Take these,” she urged. “You'll need money down there.”

Serroi jumped to her feet, pushed the chains away. “I can't take that. Raiki, your dowry!”

“Dowry!” Raiki's mouth stretched into a broad smile. “More like burying money. Got plenty for that, meto. Who'd I leave the rest to? Yehail?” She snorted. “Not likely. It's mine, got honest, mine to give where I choose.” She fell silent. The moons floated quiet and silver overhead, dipping one by one into the cloud layer over the valley. “I give where my heart goes, meto.”

Serroi threw her arms around her friend, pressing herself anxiously against the warm soft body. “I want.…” She started crying.

“I know, meto-mi, I know.” Raiki patted her on the back awhile, then pushed her away, stood her straight. “I know. Well, that's enough. Come with me, meto. Something I want to show you.”

In her tent Raiki opened a chest and pulled out trousers, vest and a loose smock like the men and boys wore. She tossed them on the rug by Serroi's feet. “You're a bit of a thing and still flat enough to pass for a boy half your age. Be safer that way with Lowlanders. Don't trust them, meto. They'll steal the skin off your face and sell it back to you.” She grunted as she settled her bulk onto a pile of cushions. “Come and see me if you can. You know how we go.” She looked down at her hands. “You'll stay until the men have left?”

Two days later, Serroi slipped away from the Well and followed the track the men had taken down the long slope to Sel-ma-Carth and the Shessel fair. After hours of brooding, her goal was set—the Golden Valley, the place where the Noris couldn't go, the place that had welcomed her.

THE WOMAN: XIII

Serroi's chains clashed softly as she shifted position on the plank bench bolted into the cell wall. Some distance away down the dark stinking corridor she could hear the rise and fall of male voices but couldn't make out the words. She stirred and the chains clanked again, drawing her eyes down to the iron cuffs tight about her wrists, to the rusty chains looped over her thighs. She shivered then reached down and touched the lump in her boot. The tajicho was cool again. The Norit couldn't care less about her. She leaned her head back against the damp stone and listened to the voices, to the silence. The dungeons were empty as far as she could feel.
Hern
, she thought.
Wait till Lybor has her way. No. Not Lybor. The Nearga-nor. Ser Noris, Ser Noris, what's the point of all this?
She felt the stone cool and damp through the double layer of vest and tunic.
That Norit didn't know about me. Why? Are you using them too, Ser Noris? Pushing them about without their knowing it? That so, then I'm a rat in the walls going to steal their prize
. She caught her lip between her teeth.
Half a chance, blessed Maiden, give me half a chance
.

She stood, shuffled to the door. Pressing her body against the hardwood planks, closing her hands tight about the bars, she tried seeing down the corridor; because it slanted a little away from the cell where she was imprisoned she could see dark forms pacing past the end of the corridor. Words floated back to her, cut off as each figure passed out of sight. “… that crazy mare … set up … race … got the legs.… dlebach … beat … decset … three decsets for … the meie … play with her … damn Nor … leave us the bones … no meat on her.…” Finally the two men sat at a table just beyond the end of the corridor and their voices came more distinctly. “Stickin' around here after they finish with fat boy?” The speaker jerked his thumb at the ceiling.

“They promised us gold. Who's gonna stop us takin' what we want.”