The Outskirter's Secret (54 page)

As the map grew clearer in her mind, Rowan
became more interested, and then fascinated, staring blindly ahead.
The map was like a living thing, moving, even breathing, in waves
of information. With knowledge of this detail, she felt she could
walk the veldt blindfolded.

She emerged from her absorption to see
Kammeryn beside her. He walked confidently in his usual measured
pace, but his eyes looked only inward. Rowan realized that he was
doing the same as she had been, but doing so completely, with all
his attention and concentration. It came to Rowan that the
information, and its detail, were of desperate importance.

When night fell, and darkness ended further
reports, she understood. The tribe slowed slightly, but did not
stop.

Now Kammeryn began to speak, quietly,
constantly: specific directions and warnings to guide the steps of
those who walked behind. No tribe member questioned his
instructions, or the need to risk travel in the deadly night. Each
sentence the seyoh spoke was repeated by those walking behind him,
passed back to the rear of the tribe, out to those walking among
the close-packed herd; in star-spattered blackness, the tribe was a
single, murmurous animal, surging across the veldt.

One ancient mertutial toward the center of
the tribe stumbled and fell, breaking her hip. People supported
her, half carrying her as she wept in pain, while word was passed
forward that she asked to be left behind. Kammeryn was long in
replying to the request; he was still issuing his instructions. But
a few minutes later, between a warning of a large boulder at the
tribe's left and the exact number of meters to a marshy sink, he
inserted the sentence "Send Chian my farewell."

At last the sky began to lighten, and the
entire span of the mental map had been crossed. The night's march
was done.

But now the tribe could see to walk. There
was no rest. They continued on.

During the night, the tribe had caught up
with most of the guards ahead, who had been forced by the darkness
to wait. Now, as the sun rose, the scouts themselves were sighted;
but they were rested, and begged permission to move ahead
immediately, informing the seyoh that the point scout had done so
already, daring to walk step by careful step, out into the unknown
land. Permission was given, and the scouts set off at a flat run,
the lines of guards reconfiguring more slowly.

Kammeryn was now silent, often walking with
eyes closed. Rowan understood that he was resting his thoughts from
the night's efforts; and from this, that he was preparing to
receive the next reports, for the creation of another map; and from
this, that he intended the tribe to continue traveling throughout
the next night.

Kammeryn's aide walked close beside him,
holding his elbow, occasionally speaking to warn him of objects
underfoot. Her instruction was insufficient, and Kammeryn stumbled
once. On his other side, Rowan reached out to assist, grasping him
by the arm.

The touch sent a shock through the
steerswoman. The seyoh's arm was thin, the skin loose, the muscles
slack. His bones seemed light as a bird's, and as she helped him
regain his balance, she felt his weight almost not at all.

Kammeryn was an old man. She had
forgotten.

Kammeryn always stood tall and straight,
striding about his camp with a firm step; his dark eyes were clear,
his comprehension deep, his authority unquestioned. He was a man of
power.

But his wisdom was the wisdom of years. The
years were marked on his face, and the years had long ago wasted
the mass from his body. His power came from his tribe's recognition
of his wisdom; his strength was strength of spirit and
intellect.

But it was not his spirit alone that had now
walked twenty-four hours with no rest. It was his body. And he was
an old, old man.

Reports slowly began to come in again,
briefly interrupted as the outer line paused to deal with a number
of goblin jacks. Back in the tribe, another mertutial succumbed,
falling in exhaustion, and died where he lay. His body was carried
to the front of the tribe, segmented by mertutials as the tribe
passed around it, and cast by warriors in the rear positions of the
outer circle.

The herdmaster reported that twenty-three
goats had escaped in the night. The seyoh's mind was already
occupied; he nodded indifferently.

Rowan's own thoughts began to be claimed by
the new information from the warriors ahead; and before she grew
too completely involved, she slowed her steps and dropped back
within the tribe.

Orranyn and his band, with Fletcher within
them, were traveling some thirty feet behind and to the left of the
seyoh's position. Rowan crossed to them and caught Fletcher's
attention; but before she could speak, Jann interposed herself.

"No," the warrior said.

"I just want to talk to him."

"No. Kammeryn said, keep him apart."

The night's march had been hard on Fletcher.
It was only a week since he had been wounded, and his reserves of
strength were not great. He was pale, panting in effort, and
limping slightly. He watched the two women speaking, his bright
gaze flickering between them.

"I'm sure Kammeryn didn't intend to keep me
from speaking to Fletcher," Rowan said.

"No."

"Jann, he knows things we might need to
know!"

And Fletcher called out to her. "How far have
we come?"

And it shocked her to recall: Fletcher was
under the Steerswomen's ban. Rowan could not reply.

Orranyn came around the guards and joined
Jann. "Rowan," he said carefully, "do you want to ask Kammeryn if
you may speak to the prisoner?"

Her mouth moved once in realization; then she
said, "No." She dared not distract the seyoh from his work. She
drew a breath, expelled it. "Orranyn," she said, "you might be
interested to know that, by my estimation, the tribe has traveled
one hundred and twenty kilometers." And she hurried forward to
rejoin Kammeryn.

Up front, Bel had slipped off her pack and
was carrying it below one arm, while she rummaged inside with the
other hand. "Here," she said to Rowan, handing her something.

Rowan looked at the object: a box wrapped in
silk cloth. "Your cards?"

"And here." A spare knife. "Put them in your
pack. And these." The three remaining handleless knife blades the
travelers brought from the Inner Lands.

"In my pack?"

"Yes. I'm losing mine; it'll slow me down."
Bel indicated the land ahead with a jerk of her chin. "I'm moving
up to work as a scout. They lost the point man overnight."

Rowan groped back over one shoulder to thrust
the items into her pack. "I'll feel much better knowing it's you
out on point," she said.

"Ha," Bel said, still rummaging. "I'm not
going to be point. I'll take someone else's place;
they'll
move to point."

Kammeryn spoke. "Relay."

"Seyoh?"

"Bel is point scout."

The relay gave Bel one appraising glance,
then sent the signal forward. Bel grinned, thumped Rowan on the
shoulder, and was off, moving at a tireless jog, her pack still in
her hands. Thirty feet away, she swung the pack three times over
her head and sent it flying off over the redgrass, then disappeared
among the brushy hills.

Kammeryn was not yet so occupied as to be
unaware of conversations nearby. Rowan hazarded addressing him.
"Seyoh, you might be interested to know that I can do the same as
you. I can interpret the reports coming in, I can visualize the
landscape, and I can keep track of the tribe's progress."

"Are you current on the reports?"

"For the most part."

"Tell me about the brook we're
approaching."

No brook was visible. "It's now ten and one
half kilometers away, oriented northeast to southwest. At the point
we'll meet it it will be too deep to wade, unless we change
direction now. We can't change direction because of that hill ahead
of us at position ten, five kilometers away. We must go to the
brook, and travel along it for one and one half kilometers, where
the water is just over a meter deep. We'll know the place by the
young lichen-towers the scouts crushed to mark it."

The old man smiled into the distance. "Stay
by me. Keep up with all the reports."

"Yes, seyoh."

Just past noon they came to a doused fire
pit, with slabs of half-cooked goat meat hung across it. The fire
had been started by members of the far outer circle, checked by the
following circles, doused by the innermost. Kammeryn called a halt.
The tribe settled down to eat, the stronger ones bringing food to
those more exhausted; and for the most part it was now warriors
serving mertutials, and mertutials thanking the warriors for the
service. Rowan brought the partly raw goat meat to Kammeryn
herself.

The tribe rested for four hours, and most
people slept; but Kammeryn did not, nor Rowan. When the tribe
prepared again to march, Rowan noticed that five warriors had lost
their packs and were instead carrying small children strapped to
their backs. Asleep, the children stirred fitfully as they were
hoisted up on the warriors. Some fell back to sleep; two began
weeping continuously but softly, too tired for louder
complaint.

By midafternoon, hazy clouds climbed in from
the south, crossing and then filling the sky. The clouds deepened;
horizons dimmed, then vanished. A fine drizzle more mist than rain
began.

Soon, no further reports could be received,
and well before nightfall, the tribe was again traveling by night
tactics—without stars by which to check true direction.

Kammeryn was again issuing instructions
continuously to the tribe. Rowan listened intently, matching each
word against her own knowledge, constructing her own version of the
imagined chart. The work was difficult, and soon absorbed her
completely. All her concentration was required to maintain the
clarity of her vision and her route. Other considerations faded;
her very identity seemed diminished.

The situation struck her as oddly familiar,
but she had not the freedom of thought to analyze the impression.
She gave herself to the work, and it owned her, utterly. In her
mind, the tribe slowly inched its way across the land.

When they reached the last known position of
the innermost line, they encountered one warrior of Berrion's band,
waiting alone in the hazy light. The woman fell in with the tribe,
as expected. But when, only one kilometer farther along, they found
another single waiting warrior, Rowan understood that a different
tactic was being used.

The warriors ahead had stationed themselves
along the route Kammeryn had selected. For the rest of the evening
and partly into the night, the tribe met them, hailing from the
darkness, one after another, at approximately one-kilometer
intervals.

But later, after fifteen warriors had been
met, the tribe walked over a kilometer without meeting anyone.

Kammeryn called a halt; everyone behind sank
immediately to seats on the ground, drawing up their hoods against
the soft rain. The seyoh, his aide, and Rowan remained
standing.

Kammeryn called for a volunteer. Garris sent
one of his warriors forward.

The woman was given careful, precise
directions, and alone walked ahead at a slow pace, step by measured
step, into the wet darkness. While the tribe waited, word came
forward to Kammeryn that another mertutial had succumbed to age and
exhaustion, and one infant. The mertutial was cast, the infant
buried.

An hour later, the volunteer returned; she
had found no one. Kammeryn issued new instructions and sent her off
at a slightly different angle.

She was never heard of again.

The tribe slept, waiting for the dawn. Rowan
and Kammeryn spent the night speaking to each other in strange,
short sentences, consisting purely of measurements and the names of
natural features, as they mutually reconfirmed their understanding
of the land ahead.

The rain stopped shortly before sunrise, and
in the morning light Kammeryn recognized that the tribe had
wandered north off its route. He and Rowan amended their
information, and the tribe slowly resumed travel.

The waiting lines of guards ahead were met,
slowly, and sent ahead again. The new reports began.

Eventually the scouts began to be heard from,
and at last the point scout herself. Rowan accepted the information
provided and integrated it; and somewhere within, a small part of
herself recalled that it was Bel whose words she now heard. That
small part of Rowan found a moment to be pleased, and grateful. Bel
was ahead, discerning what dangers the tribe must avoid; Rowan was
behind, observing, integrating, planning, waiting for her own wider
knowledge to be called upon. The configuration struck the
steerswoman as perfectly natural, and correct.

They traveled until noon, when they found
food again. They ate, and rested briefly. They walked on again,
people shambling, stumbling in exhaustion. When night came, their
seyoh permitted a three-hour rest.

Kammeryn did not sleep; Rowan wished to,
desperately, but followed his example, realizing that once she
released her detailed understanding of the invisible land ahead,
she would be hours, perhaps a full day, regaining it. Kammeryn did
not dare to slack his attention, for the sake of his tribe; Rowan
refused to rest her own.

She found she must stand, or fall asleep. She
and the seyoh walked together in the dark, pacing back and forth on
a twenty-foot line they both knew to be flat.

After three hours they woke the tribe; and
through the rattling redgrass, across the rolling veldt, under a
thousand stars and the two bright, untwinkling beacons of the
Guidestars, Kammeryn led his people on through the remainder of the
night.