A Fray of Furies, page 28
part #2 of The Waking Worlds Series
“In person? And how will they manage that?”
“Teehee!” the ragged angled chortled. “They’s won’t! Not on foot. No indeedy. River’s slow but them two’s famous slow.”
“Poor fellows,” he commiserated.
“Don’t waste yer pity, peddler. Mulish they is, more so’n yer beast, I’d wager. An’ right greedy. Always arguin’ them’s wages. Temba kept ’em ’cause they’s got the backs an’ brains o’ oxen.”
A plan began to take shape.
“No love lost between them, then?”
“Ha, no! An’ that’s afore she booted ’em over, riverside!”
“She heaved them overboard? What an impressive lady.”
“Oh, aye. Raised on bear’s milk, that one.”
It was a pity he’d missed his quarry. But, so far, they were following his directions to the letter. By road, he could overtake them at Reedbridge. That Neril girl’s companion had looked formidable, though. He might need help. Of the brawny persuasion…
“The Caulked Sow, you said?”
* * *
“Your lad looks a little wobbly.”
She took her attention off poling the barge. The river woman, Temba, was eyeing the krin. It lay slumped on a nearby bale. The celebratory jug of rum canted between its knees. Truth be told, she was a little worried too. It had never gone through its changes in such rapid succession. One moment, it had been rearing with energy, the next, it had been all she could do to steer it to a seat. She feared her ill-conceived slap had skewed something. But she hit it often enough and had never managed to trigger a change.
“He not drink often,” she made light of it. “Be alright soon.”
“That’s a relief. My last two balers fair sweated ale. Watch yourself up ahead. See the ripples, ribbing tighter together?”
“Sandbank?”
“Well, look at you: already learning the waterways. Keep us at a pole’s length and we should be good.” The woman watched her motions critically. “You’ve plied the river before?”
“Blackwater,” she nodded. “In salmon season. Smaller canoe.”
“Mm. Can’t say as I know that delta,” the woman mused. “And I know most. Doesn’t the salmon swarming attract a lot of bears?”
“Bear not as good as salmon,” she nodded affably. “But no fat or fur on fish. Need bear for cold winter snow.”
“So,” the woman wondered, “you left for warmer weather?”
“Go see city.” As the peddler had said. “Is that time for Nemil.”
“Nemil, huh? Get a lot of salmon on the savannah, do you?”
She turned to stare at the river rider.
With no Hunt to hide, secrecy was probably no longer a priority. But alone, safety was a concern and subterfuge was her surest armor. Plus, the People weren’t wont to blab their secrets.
She raised her chin in challenge, “Yes.”
The woman dropped her gaze, smiling, “As you say, girl.”
“How long until Tongal?” she tried changing the subject.
“We have a few stops yet. Pondsprings and Reedbridge after that. I’ll barter for some more bales at both. It’s been a harsh winter but spring has struck with a vengeance. If I’ve planned it right, mine’ll be the year’s first tobacco haul. I’ll finally steal ahead of those river gypsies and swipe their premiums!”
Kassika nodded, approving of the raider-like sentiment. She’d never heard of the ‘gypsy’ tribe but their ‘premiums’ sounded well worth stealing. This Temba seemed an experienced warrior.
“That is,” she woman mused, “if your lad isn’t all show. If he’s going to collapse after every bale, he’ll do me very little good.”
“He be fine,” she promised. “I help. We move bales.”
“Get him to be careful, will you? I don’t need my merchandise flung about, willy-nilly.” She trailed off, re-examining the krin. “Where’d he learn Common anyway? He sounded city-born…?”
“He eat cityman,” she answered truthfully, her smile turning sour as she heard what she’d said. The river woman blinked at her.
“Couldn’t have been a very big one,” she said at last. “I’ve had fewer bones in a fish supper. He needs feeding up, lest people think I’ve taken to keeping slaves. There may be some ham…”
The woman wandered off, muttering about leftovers.
She relaxed. Who knew? She could speak the truth, keep her honor intact and still have the lowlanders disbelieve her. When she got home, she’d be able to bandy words with Fleetlock tribesmen.
Feeling unaccountably impressed with herself, she turned back to steering the barge. The impulse to share her news somehow summoned up Bellem’s face. She clutched her pole harder.
She didn’t want to miss him. She wanted to stay angry at him.
“Did I do it?”
She jumped, “Make noise when you walk!”
Bearbait weathered her one-handed swatting. She’d expected the krin to be insensate for the rest of the day, at least. This reversal was uncanny.
“I did it, then? I shifted the bale?”
“You did well,” she begrudged. “Welly-nelly.”
He frowned at her, “I think you mean ‘willy-nilly’.”
“I know what I mean,” she scowled. “What is ‘savannah’?”
“Savannah? They’re the great grass plains of the inner Empire.”
“Any salmon there?”
It shook its head, “I shouldn’t think so.”
Damn.
“I feel like I’m cursed,” it said after a moment.
She stared. The krin met her eyes mournfully.
“My head is a jumble of mismatched information,” it admitted. “I remember geography but not where I was born. I vividly recall the taste of custard creams but I’ve no idea what I had for lunch. I can tell you how many stones in the Greenwall but not whether I moved that cursed bale! It’s maddening!”
She breathed a slow sigh of relief. As long as it believed that to be the extent of its malady, it would continue to follow her.
“One fall,” she began, surprised at herself, “the elders come to the wise man. It is the time when the salmon run. A hungry winter is before the tribe and they need the food very much. But the flesh of the fish is wrong. Not the color of sunset, as is usual. It is the color of a storm sky.
“‘Please,’ they say to the wise man, ‘the tribe starves. Use your magic. Break the curse so the tribe can eat.’
“‘Nothing ails the fish,’ says the wise man. ‘It is safe to eat.’
“‘But,’ says the elders, ‘it is the color of death!’
“‘No,’ says the wise man, ‘it is the color of fish.’
“‘Not the color of this fish!’ says the fishermen.
“‘Do you eat the fawn?’ the wise man asks them. ‘While it is spotted and new?’
“‘Yes,’ they say.
“‘And do you eat the winter hare, while it wear white fur?’
“‘Yes,’ they say.
“‘Then eat this fish. Like us, this fish hungered this season. It ate not its usual fare. That is all. Be not so hasty to cast curses.’”
It was the krin’s turn to stare.
“That’s a parable,” it breathed.
“No, is ‘salmon’,” she argued, enunciating clearly.
“You’re trying to tell me I should not view my lack of memory as a curse,” it gave her a stupidly grateful smiled. “But rather as a natural phenomenon with an explanation? Or even a cure?”
Its eager, open face made her uncomfortable.
“What I try to tell you,” she corrected, “is you not forget what you have for lunch. You not have lunch yet.”
“Oh…”
“Let’s fix that!” Temba had returned, bearing a huge haunch of smoked pork. “Get out your knife, girlie, before your young man decides to make a meal of one of us!”
The barge woman did not see her blanch.
Chapter 10 – Debacles and Barges
Unrelenting sun sizzled off the sand, cooking them from above and below. The horses, bellies exposed to the griddle, dropped baked bricks for dung. Despite this, each morning left frost, pooling in the lee of the dunes. Dunes, as far as the eye could see...
“Friends,” Vaste had begged, not three days ago, “can I not convince you to stay?” The shared horror of the man-jackal’s lair had enamored them to the karwan. He’d even learned their names. “The desert is merciless. It’s no place for city folk.”
“Your concern does you credit, Master Vaste,” Neever had soothed. “But our minds are mind up.”
“I say this,” the karwan had confided, “because Captain Daim will not: our band is now critically short of protection. You capable three may be willing to brave the desert alone. But are you willing to leave your less able companions to do the same?”
He’d smiled at this backhanded blackmail attempt. Purli or not, Vaste was a karwan, through and through.
“Captain Daim knows what he is about,” Yoriana had asserted.
The caravan master had rallied for a last, desperate ploy.
“We are halfway to Qarib Jidan already. If you’d see fit to finish this leg of the journey with us, I’d be persuaded to re–”
The unwelcome word had stuck in the man’s craw.
“Refund you–” a swift change of direction, “–half your tithe.”
“Most generous,” Neever had sounded sincere. “But, no.”
“There’s nothing out there!” Vaste had declared, abandoning his purpose, to fish for theirs. “The only riches out there are a wealth of bones! With respect to your god – you don’t have a prayer!”
“Nevertheless,” Neever had apologized, gentle but firm.
Vaste had left with no further word.
Garm had been altogether more difficult to dissuade.
“But I want to go with you.”
“Well, you can’t.”
“But why not?”
“It might be dangerous.”
“What will?”
He’d turned on the shorn urchin, casting around for listeners.
“There’s a reason people get guides and guards for desert crossings,” he’d growled. “Stay with the caravan, where it’s safe.”
“Safe from sandstorms?” she’d challenged. “From bandits? Cave monsters? Safe from whoever sees through me next?”
It was his own doing. Daim had suggested the boy, Garm, play bait to the beast. As the scrawniest, she’d have fit Mazi’s hole.
“I’ve seen the boy run,” he’d half-lied. “You want to feed this thing, fine. If you want to kill it, it had better be me…”
At the time, nursing a brandy hang-over, Garm had nearly vomited in relief. It had needlessly complicated their leave-taking:
“Will the caravan protect me from all that?” she’d demanded.
“Better than what you’ll face, coming with us,” he’d declared.
“Why? Where are you going?” she’d insisted.
Exasperated, he’d turned on her in anger, “For a swim!”
His gesture had taken in the endless dunes and she’d flinched.
“Fine,” she’d stiffened her backbone. “At least take this…”
His ring had tingled a warning as she pressed something into his hand: a silver sheath, no larger than his littlest finger. Though it lay empty, it was inlaid with a jewel the size of a pigeon’s eye.
“What’s this?” he’d growled, suppressing his alarm.
“It’s magic,” she’d told him proudly. “There used to be a dagger too. While sheathed, the blade would supposedly be sharpened and repaired. I never got a chance to see whether it was true, though.”
He could imagine only too well how she’d divested herself of the dagger. Somewhere, there was an angry merchant or master, nursing a humming-bird peck. No wonder she was on the run.
“Keep it,” he’d told her. “Trust me, the desert cities are dear and no place for paupers. You’ll need every coin you can scrounge.”
She’d resisted his efforts to hand it back.
“The stone is only semi-precious,” she’d assured him. “Incomplete as it is, it’s only value is as a keepsake.” She’d blinked shyly at him. “It saved my life. Now, so have you. It seems only fair you should have it. Consider it a ‘thank you’.”
“Fine,” he’d told her, eager to have done with their discussion. He’d spread his arms in invitation. Instinct had taken over. “That was a trick,” he’d breathed in her ear. “Men don’t hug.”
She’d sniffled manfully before turning on her heel.
“Let’s go,” Neever had prompted about then.
Only at the next rise had his ring’s persistent prick penetrated.
“What’s that?” Yoriana had demanded, watching him discover the silver sheath, tucked between his saddle and saddle-blanket.
“Proof that women are the slyer species,” he’d informed her. He’d slipped the sheath into Garm’s belt pouch during their hug. She apparently didn’t need him to school her in all facets of deceit.
* * *
She tracked the krin as it cut through the water, her sling at the ready. Bobbing children screamed and squealed as it neared. Their stumpy limbs churned river, their high pitches carrying painfully.
“There!”
The children panicked, pulling each other under.
“No there!” the oldest girl shrieked.
A barge pole slapped down on the water.
“Yay! We won! We won! You lose!”
Unimpressed with their victory, and frankly unable to conceive of the rules, the krin struggled on over the make-believe barrier.
“Agh! No! That’s not…!”
The one manning the pole was pulled from the dock and into the drink with the rest. Laughing, the children scattered as the krin paddled among them, swimming a stupidly excited circle.
For the moment, it was its dumb beast-self, Bearbait having spent the better part of the morning helping her shift a score of bales. The agony across her shoulders and her lower back now knew the weight of twelve stone. Two dozen times over. If not for the krin’s prodigious strength, she couldn’t imagine how they’d have managed.
“Hungry?” she’d asked, once the last load had been settled. His silence had been telling. He was many things but not often silent. She’d turned to find him slumped, empty eyes on her feet.
“Ancestors forfend,” she’d cursed, forcing herself to be gentle as she’d wrestled him into a sitting position. It seemed slow, but the immobile imbecile could be dead quick when threatened.
Temba had been off into town. To anyone watching, they’d been simply two people taking their midday meal.
She’d not had to wait long for the smell of sausages to draw the dumb beast to the fore. The krin’s changes were occurring more frequently now. The dark bread and pickled eggs would have to await Bearbait’s re-emergence. The beast ate meat. Period.
“You know,” she’d mused to herself, chewing, “if I’m right, “the next skin you don may be that of a man-sized sausage.”
At which point its attention had been stolen by the squeals and splashes of half a dozen children, diving off the dock.
“Don’t you mind them,” she’d placated. “Just you eat your–”
She’d forgotten how fast it was. In a blink, it had galloped over the edge of the barge and slipped headfirst into the water. It had cut a line straight for the unsuspecting children. Terror had clutched her heart, then: herding a man-eating monster across the breadth of the lowlands, she’d somehow convinced herself it was safe.
It was a laughable notion. These children weren’t of the People, but their deaths would ride her shoulders all the same.
With trembling fingers, she’d fitted a stone to her sling and set it spinning. The moment the krin broke the surface, she’d decided, she’d cave its head in. But she’d forgotten how clever it was. It had surfaced sleekly, behind the bathers, gliding toward the nearest one’s back. She could not loose then. Not without risking a child.
She’d watched, heart sinking, as the krin burried its head in the little girl’s neck. The wild screaming had pierced her to the core.
…blood, panic and chaos…
Except there’d been none.
The girl in question had pushed the insistent krin away, giggling as she tucked her chin over her vulnerable neck. Not to be denied, the beast had bulled forward, trying to lick her again.
It could have turned really ugly right then. She’d stood, tense, as the children turned it into a game of tag instead. Delighted at having an adult play, they’d made up ever more complicated rules. Rules the krin promptly ignored or followed only by accident, to equal amounts shouting and giggling.
At one point, a young mother had made a cursory pass by the docks. Seeing Kassika, standing at stiff attention and watching the goings-on like a hawk, she’d nodded gratefully and gone back to whatever she’d been doing.
None of the children had seemed to grasp or care that the krin’s simple-mindedness was serious. None but her, clutching her loaded sling and not relaxing her vigil for a moment.
At long last, there came a call – some half-heard imprecation – to summon the children ashore. With groans and whines of protest, they’d waded from the water. One trailed behind the others, turning to wave shyly at the krin, “Bye, Corky…”
Quizzically, the krin had made as if to follow.
She’d been ready for this.
The krin spun, shaking its head as the horse-whistle blasted over it. Playfulness returned to its stance as it recognized her.
“That’s right,” she wheedled, waggling some leftover sausage at it. “Come on, stupid! Please don’t follow the children home...”
She continued through gritted teeth as it splashed toward her.
“Ancestors send they keep mum to their parents...”
The krin clambered wetly onto the barge, “No don’t–”
It shook itself out violently.
“Great,” she sighed, wilting beneath the spray of droplets. Tentative teeth nibbled at the sausage she held by her side.
