Star Hunters (26 page)

Authors: Jo; Clayton

BOOK: Star Hunters

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“Which way?” Manoreh said.

Faiseh shrugged. “Doesn't matter much. We need to find a fisher hut and get the man to take us out to the islands in his boat.” He waved his hand at the horizon. “They're out there but too far from shore to be seen.”

Manoreh eased his faras closer to Kitosime. “Kita.” He put his hand on her arm.

She was tired, but not too tired to take joy in the warmth that flowed between them. “What is it?”

“Tell us which way. North or south?”

She touched the eyestones in their pouch. After a minute she nodded. “Help me off this creature. If I tried to get down by myself, I'd break my neck.”

With a soft laugh he took hold of her waist and lifted her off the faras. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he let her down until her feet were on the sand. Then he slid off his own mount and stood beside her. “What do you need?”

“Fresh water and a little time.” She walked apart from the children and sat on the sand. Lifting the pouch cord over her head, she took the stones out and put them on the sand in front of her knees. Manoreh brought her one of the limp waterskins and she squeezed a few drops onto the pale gray stones, filling the eyeholes with darkness. She closed her own eyes and felt the humming of the power blending with the soft brushing of the sea.

Flashes of light, small darting sparks of fire â¦ A boy's face â¦ bright in the darkness â¦ the boy from the Tembeat â¦ he who had sneaked her in that night â¦ the night that began this long trek she'd made from doll to woman â¦ he looked down into flames and grieved â¦ he led boys over a wall â¦ he took a boat â¦ loaded the boys in â¦ went down a river â¦ a wide shiny river â¦ reached the coast â¦ saw the emptiness of the sea stretching to the horizon â¦ and was afraid â¦ he sent the boat along the coast â¦ stopping at huts â¦ stopping again and again in vain â¦ the huts were empty â¦ then three men came out of the last hut â¦ it was close â¦ close â¦ around a bend â¦ no more â¦ three men came out of a hut and saw the boat â¦ saw it and desired it â¦ and fell upon the boys to take it from them â¦ happening now â¦ right now â¦ the boys are fighting â¦ struggling â¦ right now â¦ holding the men off â¦ but at what cost â¦ three dead already.â¦

She moaned and opened her eyes, stopped the soft mutter of her words. Manoreh and Faiseh were leaning close, listening intently.

Manoreh jumped to his feet. “Umeme!”

Faiseh touched her arm. “Which way, Kitosime? Which way?”

She pointed to the north. “There,” she said. “Where the cliffs come close to the sea like a finger poking into the water. On the other side of that.”

Faiseh stood beside Manoreh. They exchanged a glance. Then Manoreh reached a hand down to her. She gathered the eyestones, put them back in the pouch, then let him pull her to her feet. “Kita,” he said. “Wait a few minutes after we're gone, then bring the children after us. You'll be all right?”

“Am I a doll?”

“Never!” He hugged her quickly then ran to his faras. In minutes he and Faiseh were halfway to the out-thrust of the cliffs.

Kitosime trudged back to her faras, stopped and looked down the line of the children. They were too tired to be curious, just sat passively on their faras, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. She sighed. They needed to stop and rest. She put her hand on the saddle of her faras. “No,” she muttered. “I'd rather walk.” She took hold of the faras's nose rein and faced the children. “Follow me,” she said crisply. She turned and plodded off, looking over her shoulder at intervals to make sure the children were coming after her.

By the time she reached the hut, the fight was over. The bodies of the attackers were stacked like firewood against the wall and the boys were circling excitedly about the two Rangers, all talking at once.

She smiled and began helping the children off their mounts. They staggered a few steps and collapsed to the sand, curling up and going to sleep. Only the older boys kept on their feet and followed her onto the dock. She touched Manoreh's arm. “Is it finished? Are we home?”

He looked out to sea. With a quiet satisfaction, he said, “An hour's sail and we can stop.” He fitted her into the curve of his arm. “We can stop and start to build again.”

Wolff:

They ran through gray days. Neither spoke beyond what was necessary. They settled into the busy silence of the snow and mist, hearing and not hearing the rhythmic body sounds, the grunts and hoarse, breathing, the shish-shish of the snow-shoes.

The first cairn. Aleytys touched the pile of stones but added none of her own. She was not making this trek alone. She smiled at Grey. Already the hard physical labor and the solitude were beginning to work on her. Their eyes met. The smile deepened. They said nothing, but turned and went on.

The silence was deep between them now. A shared silence. Their two solitudes had moved together. In the night camps they were sometimes lovers. It was a good time, a rich time.

The second cairn. They exchanged silent laughter and went on.

Again they were in separate solitudes, turned in on themselves in the grim struggle to maintain sanity as they moved over endless white snow through endless white fog. The air bit now. It was late in winter for a trek. The ice storm came suddenly on them and they were forced into shelter. The days passed, black and dreary. They grated on each other till both were at the point of screaming. They treated each other with an exaggerated courtesy that was by its nature a deadly insult. When the storm passed over and they emerged into the eternal mist, it was almost a time of joy.

The third cairn. They looked grimly at each other and nodded. They went on.

Where Grey had camped on his trek they built two snow shelters and stayed alone, one in each. The nightmares came, the hallucinations and the sudden emergence into clarity.

Grey found his peace again. He watched the yellow lamp flame flicker and wondered if Aleytys had found hers. He sat a long time watching the flame dance over the wick, then he rolled outside and turned to face the other shelter.

Aleytys emerged, springing lightly up onto her feet. She came toward him across the snow like a flame walking, but when she stopped in front of him, her blue-green eyes were filled with tranquility. He reached out. She took his hand. They shared the Wolff-gift while the ghost sun moved slowly past zenith and dipped toward the horizon. Neither spoke. There was no need.

About the Author

Jo Clayton (1939â1998) was the author of thirty-five published novels and numerous short stories in the fantasy and science fiction genres. She was best known for the Diadem Saga, in which an alien artifact becomes part of a person's mind. She also wrote the Skeen Trilogy, the Duel of Sorcery series, and many more. Jo Clayton's writing is marked by complex, beautifully realized societies set in exotic worlds and stories inhabited by compelling heroines. Her illness and death from multiple myeloma galvanized her local Oregon fan community and science fiction writers and readers nationwide to found the Clayton Memorial Medical Fund.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Andy Ross

ISBN: 978-1-5040-3843-0

This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

180 Maiden Lane

New York, NY 10038

www.openroadmedia.com