G. Howell, page 14
I snapped awake with a gasping cry, the sheets twisted around my legs and clammy with cooling sweat. There was no sound from the bunk above. ******
We were at anchor in a bay somewhere around near where Atlantic city should be. The crew were lowering the dingy from the back of the sloop, the ropes creaking under the weight of the small boat loaded with empty water barrels.
That was the reason for us stopping. Tahr told me such a small ship does not have a lot of room for carrying supplies such as food and water. Since the ship was a coaster and never far from the shore it was more practical to stop - either at a port or somewhere along the coast - than carry provisions needed for several weeks journey.
Tahr and I stood watching them prepare the dingy. “It will be good to walk on solid ground again,” she sighed.
I had to agree with her. Going on an Atlantic cruise may be fun to some people, but not when the boat rises and falls with the tiniest swell and the head is a bucket.
Four of the crew clambered down to the boat and took up oars. With the barrels there was only room for one more. Captain Hafair saw the situation.
“They will have to make two trips.”
That was something the rowers didn’t want to hear. They muttered among themselves.
“No need,” I said. “Tahr, you go… take these.” I gave her the M-16, then stripped down to my shorts, bundled all my clothes up in my jacket and handed her the package. The crew stared at my body with a mixture of amusement and disgust. I heard whispers pertaining to my lack of fur and guesses at other physiological arrangements.
Tahr looked at the water with distaste. “You can swim that far?”
“Sure. It is not that far.” It was only about sixty meters, no sweat. Sathe aren’t very good swimmers: Not only the fact that their fur became waterlogged, but they were just natural sinkers. Too much muscle to float I guess. “Race you.”
She wiggled her ears and tossed my clothes down into the boat, slung the rifle over her shoulder and swarmed down the horizontal slats on the hull that served as a ladder. I stepped over the hemp railings and balanced on the edge of the boat for a second. The water suddenly seemed a lot further down. Oh well… With some attention to style I launched myself into a swan dive and broke the water cleanly.
I came up gasping. The Atlantic was damned COLD! I looked around for the rowboat and saw they had already started, putting their backs into it. I hitched up my shorts and struck out for shore, bodysurfing the mediocre waves.
The beach was just a small spit of gritty sand, carried down from inland by a narrow stream. The rest of the shoreline was rock, worn smooth from the constant action of the waves. As yet the trees around the bay hadn’t begun to loose their leaves, but it wouldn’t be long before they turned russet red-gold.
Puffing and blowing like a seal I hauled myself out of the water, adjusting my shorts while I grinned at the dingy still several meters out and riding the waves in. I waded out again and gave them a hand by dragging the boat up to the watermark.
“Show off,” Tahr chastised me as she leaped out onto dry sand.
“Hey,” I grinned back at her while splashing ashore. “I am allowed some fun in life.”
She spat in mock disgust, then laughed and tossed my bundle of clothes at me. I caught it and began to sort my clothes out.
“So, did you enjoy your swim?” Tahr asked.
“Very pleasant,” I grinned, then nearly fell over trying to get my legs into my pants. Solid ground felt strange after a heaving deck.
While the crew filled the water flasks and drew straws for the hunting detail, Tahr and I struck off on our own, following the stream inland through the utterly deserted forest. Not a sign of Sathe habitation anywhere, only birdsong. The sky was clear with only a trace of clouds, small animals scuttled through the undergrowth doing whatever it is that small animals that live in the undergrowth do.
“It is beautiful here,” I said.
“What?” she gave me the Sathe version of a blank stare.
“I forget, you grew up with this.”
As a New Yorker myself, I only recently started seeing anything of the great outdoors, and even then nothing as outdoor as this. “You should be grateful, there is not a lot of untouched countryside left in my world.”
She looked around. “Your world sounds like a very strange place. How could anyone destroy land? It is… always. There is just so much of it.”
“It is not that hard to do, believe me.”
She was silent for a while, looking at me, studying me. “You have changed, strange one.”
“Huh?”
“Your skin… It is much darker, and the fur on your face is thicker.”
I looked down at myself. I don’t tan easily, but all those days outdoors had weathered me, and given me restless nights suffering from sunburn. Using a knife to shave is a very uncomfortable experience. The last time I’d tried it was well over a week ago in The Reptile and by now my beard was quite distinctive. Patchy, yes, but distinctive.
“I think I had better cut it back again.”
Tahr craned around to look. “No, do not. You look better with it on.”
“You think so?” I scratched at the bristles.
She bobbed her head in an exaggerated nod. “It hides your… baldness.” Then she added, almost as an afterthought, “And it is a nice color.”
I laughed: “Flattery will get you everywhere.”
“Another saying from your world?”
“Sort of.”
The source of the stream was a small lake about two kilometers inland. Not very large, just enough to hold the water that drained from the local land. It was picturesque: a small valley between four hills covered in a canopy of greenery: oak, ash, beech, birch, as well as a spattering of pine.
We had settled under a tree in a small glade near the lake, me leaning against the trunk and Tahr lying sprawled out on her cloak near my feet in that relaxed attitude that only cats can adopt, her fur blending in with the golden grasses around us.
I took a swing of water out of my canteen then offered her some. She accepted it and I watched as she put it to her almost nonexistent black lips and tilted her head back, dribbling water down her chin and chest. Her mouth really was not built to drink out of a vessel shaped like that. Sathe canteens are flexible leather bags with long, flattened necks… much like botas.
“Tahr, what happens when we get to Mainport?”
She wiped a trickle of water off her chin and tossed the canteen back to me. “Ssaaa… You mean what happens to you?”
“Uh,” I ducked my head somewhat sheepishly, “Yes… You are my only friend here. I know very little of your customs and I am not skilled in the crafts that your people value. There are none of my own kind. I am a… a stranger in a strange land.”
“Very poetic, K’hy.” She reached out and patted my leg. “Do not worry. You forget; I am not a figure of unimportance there. I will make sure that you are looked after. Also our scholars will be fascinated in you, your devices, and your knowledge.”
I slowly shook my head. “That was not really what I meant. Tahr, you are a friend, but still you are Sathe. You are all Sathe. It gets… lonely.”
She plucked a blade of grass, twisting it in her hands. “You pine after others like yourself? There was that other… h’man. If both you and he came here there may be others. What do you think the chances are?”
I shook my head, “I would not have the faintest idea. People - my kind of people - disappear all the time, but I doubt it is quite the same thing.”
There were all those legends and stories of people and machines who vanished without trace. The tales of the ancient civilizations of Atlantis, Eldorado, and Vilcabamba and the more contemporary Bermuda Triangle, the Marie Celeste.
Would Tenny and I be included with these? Nah, I doubted it. We’d just go down in a government computer somewhere, along with that ever-growing list of missing persons. How many of them had suffered this same fate… or worse. If this was another Earth that had just taken a different turnpike somewhere in time, then how many others could there be? an infinite number? every major and minor decision in history causing another branching with an alternate Earth? or just periodic breaches along the way.
Hell, I could count my blessings. I could have ended up on an earth that had never developed an atmosphere!
How many could that have happened to?
“Tahr, perhaps a few of my kind have come here before, but as you said, there is a lot of land. Also, they may have not wished to be found by your people.”
“What? Why?”
“Think about it.”
“Oh… ” She touched her face. “Our appearance?”
I nodded and she tried to look indignant. “You remember that when I first saw you I did not wait around for introductions. I very nearly left you in that river.”
“But it was my personality that won you over, ah?” She laughed and ran a clawtip along the strip on her side where no fur grew, then rolled on her back, spread eagle. “Am I really that hideous?” she smiled at the sun - her earring glittering as her ear flickered - and stretched.I cleared my throat. From where I was sitting her position was rather… revealing.
She stretched a tawny leg out and ran her bare foot up the inside of my calf, as far as the knee.
“Ahh… no, I would definitely not call you hideous.”
She grinned and rolled again to end up on her stomach, resting her head on her laced fingers; her expression growing serious once more. “K’hy, the last few nights your sleep has been… restless. You have been having those dreams again?”
So, so, so. She had noticed. For a couple of seconds I stared at her, then sighed and said, “I was hoping you had not noticed. Why now?”
“A boat is not the most private of places, and you are… touchy about this. Is it the same dream?”
I shrugged. “Sort of.”
“Ah… what was this dream?”
“Look, Doctor Ruth!” I was starting to feel flustered and threatened by her line of questioning. “Why do you keep prying into my affairs?!”
“I do not understand,” she said; genuinely puzzled. “I just want to help. It can help to discuss your problems with a friend.” She gave me her most endearing human-style smile, exposing pointed white teeth.
It still startled me. Tahr saw me flinch and her face straightened, almost looked hurt. Damnation, she was for real, caring about my problem. I swallowed and relaxed a little. So, now she’s a psychiatrist, okay. Haltingly, embarrassed, I told her about the dream. Nightmare. Whatever.
Afterwards she was silent, looking at me with those eyes the liquid green of ocean depths.
I stared back, all too aware of that gulf between us. So different, she with her fur and claws and teeth and predator’s manners. Her kind used to prey upon mine.
“Tahr,” I choked. “What am I? I mean, when you look at me, what do you see?”
She pondered over that. “A friend, I think,” she said thoughtfully. “Perhaps a tall, clumsy, bald, half-blind and deaf friend, but you are a friend nevertheless. Beside, you have cute fur.”
Cute… I flushed. “What I said before… I hope I did not offend.”
She smiled. “It offends me far less than it embarrasses you, K’hy. Dreams can say a lot about a person: what they are thinking, what they want… Saaa, K’hy.” She cocked her head and asked, “And what am I to you?”
Oh Jeeze! “I… Ah… I have known many females, but you are unique.”
She gave a small snort.
I continued, trying to explain. “You are stronger inside. You are… .There is an animal my people often used to represent grace, power, cunning, and beauty: you strongly resemble this creature.”
“Are you calling me an animal!” she bristled.
“No, no… I… er… that was a… a… ” Damn, I didn’t know the words. It wasn’t necessary.
Her anger evaporated into laughter. She moved over and squatted down beside me. A claw lightly traced long my jawbone. “I know what you meant.” Then she shifted and there was warm breath on my neck and a second later I almost screamed when she bit me lightly on the shoulder, teeth closing, then releasing again.
“Jesus,” I gasped when my heart settled down again. “What was THAT for?!”
She scratched her own neck and looked bewildered. “It shows… affection. Do you not have such a gesture?”
“Uh… yes. It is… uh… ” I didn’t know how to say it. Impulsively I leaned over, placing my lips against her cheek. Just a touch. Her fur was warm from the sun, with that now-familiar musty scent. I hesitated, then impulsively shifted and bit her lightly on her right shoulder; she trembled slightly, then relaxed.
“That touch,” she felt her cheek. “Is that it?”
“A kiss,” I said, embarrassed. “There is more to it, but you… you are not… I do not think it would work.”
Ha! The metal picture of getting into a serious mouth match with a Sathe was both ludicrous and faintly repellent.
“A chiss… We both have a lot to learn,” she murmured; then, more loudly. “Come on. I think it is time we went back.”
I lagged a few steps behind her, discreetly trying to get fur out of my mouth. ******
But for the rowboat, the beach was deserted.
Waves lapped around the dingy where it lay in the surf. Water casks lay upended on the beach with their contents spilled back to the sea. There were also dark stains on the white sand: small droplets and larger patches of a sticky, reddish liquid already drying. Fifty meters out on the ship we could see the crew waving their arms and shouting something swallowed by the distance.
Tahr grabbed me, pushing me back toward the trees, hissing, “Out of here! Move!”
Sathe were waiting with loaded crossbows leveled.
I grabbed for my rifle but Tahr caught my arm and stopped me, “No! K’hy!”
“Submit! Now!” A Sathe snarled. “Do it!”
I hesitated, looked at Tahr in confusion. It almost got me shot: a crossbow bolt whirred past my head. I froze rigid.
“You!” the Sathe growled at Tahr. “Get that thing under control!”
“Like this,” Tahr hissed at me. She hung her arms loosely away from her side and looked up at the sky, exposing her throat. I imitated her example.
Hands grabbed my hair, yanking my head back even further while claws rested at my throat; I broke out in a cold sweat. Others took my gun and tied my hands behind my back: tightly. Tahr was tied likewise, then we were led at crossbow-point into the forest. The crewmembers were there: stripped bodies dumped behind bushes. Well enough hidden so we’d missed them on the way in. Guards pushed me past the corpses, stumbling at a grueling pace through the trees, then uphill. On a windswept hilltop overlooking the bay, I looked back to see the ship still lying at anchor. It looked like a toy. That was how the Sathe had known we were there: they had probably watched the ship sailing in and the rest was easy. How many crew were left? Could they get help? I doubted it.
Wagons and llamas waited on the other side of the hill. In short order Tahr and I were stripped of our clothing, had our ropes replaced by manacles, and were left lying like a couple of sacks of meal in the back of a cart. Right in front of my nose a canvass blanket covered a lumpy pile. A corner had shifted and I caught a glimpse of armour hidden underneath: blood red and coal black.
Tahr glared at the back of wagoner, then went back to staring at her bonds: two small stocks, one for the wrists and another for the ankles, chained together and secured with a crude but efficient lock: like wooden handcuffs. She had limited movement, but me they were taking no chances with.
They’d crammed my hands into the same kind of manacles - too small for my wrists - also they’d hog-tied me: linking my wrist and ankle restraints behind my back with rope, then running another loop of cord up to my neck. If I so much as twitched my hands the noose began to bite into my windpipe.
Perhaps I could’ve coped with that, but the sheer terror when one of the bastards - a female - had jabbed me with a dagger, then held it between my legs and debated amongst her comrades whether or not she should take a trophy was like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
They thought it was hilarious.
Tahr was snarling and spitting in helpless fury as the laughing Sathe poked and prodded and jabbed at me until an officer dispersed them, snarling they didn’t want me damaged too badly.
Now several hours later - cuts and scratches stinging and oozing, my muscles aching from lying on hard wood in the back of the cart, shaking uncontrollably - I wondered what they had in mind for us and why it was every time we moved, someone jumped on us. Tahr must be really important to someone.
The Sathe on the llama behind the wagon had grown tired of jeering at us; laughing at me and making proposals to Tahr, who stolidly ignored them. However, they still kept a close eye on us.
Toward evening we left the road and started through the trees. The jolting while the cart was on the road was bad enough; offroad it was unbelievable. Black and blue, I was almost relieved when we rolled into a campsite. Several small fires were crackling away and shelters were slung between trees. Some were tent shaped, others just a heavy sheet with one end tied to a rope and the other pegged to the ground.
Two Sathe climbed into the back of the cart, two more stood at guard on the ground. One of them cautiously untied my ropes, then gestured to Tahr with sword drawn. “Out.” He looked at me: “That too.”
I got to my feet, my joints popping from being locked in the same position for hours on end, and waited while our captors removed our hobbles. They led us at swordpoint to one of the larger pavilions where our leg shackles were replaced and chained to a stake driven deep into the ground. Guards waited outside.
I looked around. Shabby, water-stained canvass draped over a rope. There were a couple of blankets on the trampled grass, but besides that; nothing.
“They are Gulf Realm?” I asked Tahr.
Unable to sign the affirmative with her hands she nodded human style instead. “Yes, Gulf Realm,” she almost spat. “Warriors of Hraasa, that impotent, fatherless, son-of-a… “
