Moongather (5 page)

Once again Serroi straightened her back, squared her shoulders, answering with equal formality, “This I require, Intii of the fishers. A macai from among the abandoned.” She nodded at the dark blotches wandering about the rolling meadow, their shapes lost to the descending night. “A hot meal, a bath, a bed and in the morning supplies for my journey.”

THE CHILD: 2

Letting her short legs swing, Serroi watched the hairy haunches of the vinat ripple as the beast pulled them steadily over the pathless tundra. They were traveling west, cutting across the migration route of the vinat herds and the windrunner clans that followed them. Narrowing her eyes, she sneaked a glance at the tall silent figure sitting beside her, the reins resting loose in lax fingers. He'd been kind enough, but after her first glow faded, she was afraid to trust that kindness without trying it some more. Her five years had been enough to teach her how little she could depend on outside herself. Though she was beginning to understand that the world had patterns she could learn if she watched them long enough, each spring was still a revelation to her; she wasn't sure, even now, that the sun would keep coming back, but could remember enough times when it had to be reasonably certain spring would come again. In the same way, she'd come to expect pain and spite from humankind and see momentary kindness as a trap for her stumbling feet.

Still, she had fallen into hope, seduced by the beauty of the man and the music of his voice. It seemed to her as she continued to sneak looks at him that no one so beautiful could be cruel or indifferent, that the man's outward appearance must reflect his inner nature. She smoothed her hands over the supple leather of the cushions. Smiling timidly; she asked, “How may I call you?”

When he didn't answer, she shrank back into her own silence, afraid she'd offended him. Some moments later he looked around, black eyes coming back from vast distance, warming with visible effort. “Your pardon, child?” The soft deep voice wooed her back from her fear, cradling her in its music. She wanted to snuggle against him, be comforted by him, but she didn't quite dare. There was a barrier unseen and undefined between them; she sensed her affection would not be welcome, at least not now. Later, when she knew more of him, perhaps she could move closer. She needed to be touched, to be given the casual physical affection she'd received from her animals.

“My mind was elsewhere, child.” He shifted the reins into one hand and brushed the wild fleece off her forehead. It should have been a light caress but was not, was too stiff and forced, as if he calculated even the speed and weight of touch required by such a gesture. Deeply disappointed, she forced a quivering smile to hide her confusion. “What did you ask?” he said, looking down at his fingers as if he too didn't know quite what to make of the failed gesture.

“How may I call you?”

“I have no name.” He spoke slowly, thoughtfully; she saw him give his shoulders a small shake like the twitch she sometimes gave to her boots when her feet were swollen and the boots didn't want to slide on as they should. Like the boots, too, he grew easier with wear. When he spoke again, he had relaxed until she could feel the return of the warmth that had made her happy enough to come with him. “I am a Word-master of the Nearga-Nor. You may call me Ser Noris.”

Serroi shook her hair back over her eyes. “Ser Noris, why did you take me from Grandfather?”

“Were you so happy living with him?”

“They're my family.” She didn't want to think about them; after all they were all she had; they made up the greater portion of the only world she knew. She rubbed her hand back and forth over the leather, leaving behind small wet tracks from her sweaty palms, but stopped asking questions, sensing under his calm exterior a warning restiveness.

Ser Noris dropped back into his silence, his body beside her, his mind far away in some world he alone knew. The cart jolted steadily along, the vinat clicking off the hours with the strong rhythmic scissoring of his legs while the long sun rolled around the horizon, the passage of time measured more intimately for Serroi by the growling hunger in her belly. She sat in miserable silence, too shy to speak again.

Perhaps he sensed her need, perhaps it was only a part of his plan, but soon afterward Ser Noris stopped the cart. He fished in the back, gave Serroi a flask of water and some pieces of dried meat. While she ate, he poured water in a basin for the vinat, then stood with his arms crossed over his chest gazing steadily southward while the beast grazed. After a half hour's halt, he remounted the seat and flicked the vinat into a quick walk.

He drove westward until Serroi was dizzy with sleep, clutching desperately at the seat arm beside her, jerking in and out of a light doze, only half aware of it when the cart stopped its bouncing and the seat creaked as he swung down. She sat blinking hazily while he unharnessed and hobbled the beast and came back for her. He lifted her down and carried her around behind the cart, setting her on her feet and placing her hands on the dangling rear gate so she could hold herself up while he lifted out a bulky bundle whose outside wrapping was a finely tanned vinat hide with the long hair still on it; the bundle was nearly as big as she was and weighed heavily in her weary arms when he handed it to her. “Spread these under the cart, child,” he said. “They'll give you some shade.”

“Thank you, Ser Noris.”

“Are you hungry, child?”

“No thank you, Ser Noris. Only sleepy.”

“Then sleep.” He left quietly then, walking off toward one of the ever-present outcroppings of rock. Serroi blinked, yawned, spread out the bed roll and was asleep almost before she pulled the hide over her head.

By the next nooning they came to a river, the first Serroi had ever seen. She stared at the rushing water, wider than a dozen streams, fascinated by the swirls of bright blue and green, the rooster tails of foam, the roar that seemed to merge with something deep inside her.

For several more sleeps they followed the river west, eating fish the water threw out at them when Ser Noris commanded it. She watched the water as it widened, watched the land as it changed its form, even its substance, watched the houses they were beginning to pass, her eyes round with wonder.

They reached the sea on a brilliant day when sunlight danced in shards among the waves and the blue of the water was a promise of delight. Where the river poured into a wide shallow bay there was a huddle of steep-roofed buildings, four or five piers reaching out to deep water, a few ships moored at the piers, visible as pointed dots against the bright blue of the sky. Some men, not many, sat in small groups on the piers, old men with yellow-stained beards and pale blue eyes sunk deep in nests of wrinkles, long lean men very different from her windrunner kind. The pale blue eyes followed them as Ser Noris drove the cart onto the first of the piers and out to the end where a small sailing ship was moored. A hunched grey man came limping from one of the buildings and followed them onto the pier. He took the reins from Ser Noris, stood with dull grey patience as Ser Noris climbed down and moved around the end of the cart to hold out his hand for Serroi.

His flesh was cool and smooth, his life running strong under the skin. Serroi shivered as the hand closed over hers. Once again he'd changed; something about him, she didn't know what, frightened her. He was suddenly the savage animal again, his power visible as a predator's teeth, as if he'd put a part of himself aside when he traveled inland and was only now reclaiming it. She jumped down from the cart, careless in her distraction, wanting so to get free of that disturbing touch that she stumbled and fell against his legs. With a gasp of dismay, she scrambled away and stood with her back against the cart's wheel.

He smiled down at her after a moment, patted her gently on the head, took her hand again and led her toward a narrow gangplank. The grey man took the vinat and cart away; as she trudged onto the deck of the ship, Serroi looked over her shoulder at the animal, watching it trot off with a damp sadness about her heart. For the first time she realized she might never see her people again, that she was being cut off from everything she knew. She looked up at the silent Noris, then down again, closing her teeth hard over her lower lip to fight back the surge of loneliness that made her eyes burn with tears.

“Hold onto the mast—this—and don't be frightened, child.” Ser Noris placed her hand on the smooth wood and waited until she was clutching at the softly humming mast, her cheek pressed against it, then he stepped aside and spoke a WORD.

Invisible hands raised the sails, cast off the mooring lines. Invisible hands held the wheel and turned the ship toward the open sea. Though the wind blew inshore elsewhere, the white sails filled and the ship skimmed over the water, driven by a mage wind that left the old men on the piers gaping.

The humming grew louder in Serroi's ears; the wind flirted past her, tugging at her curls, flattening her tunic against her narrow body. For the first few minutes she was excited enough and pleased enough at this new experience to forget her sorrows, then her stomach began to protest as the deck moved up and down under her feet and the railing beyond tilted up and down up and down. She looked up at Ser Noris, sweat beading her face, one hand pressed over her mouth.

He rushed her to the rail and held her as she voided her stomach. Even through her wretchedness she sensed his distaste; desolation and emptiness of another kind grew in her. Tears dripped from her eyes to mix with the sweat and sour liquid from her stomach as the convulsions diminished and finally stopped. She hung limply over the rail, so weak and distressed she was unable to move.

Ser Noris carried her back to the mast and settled her on the heaving deck. He squatted beside her, frowning. “I'd better leave you in the open air until you're over that.” He touched her cheek with a ghost of his former gentleness. “You may think you're dying, little one, but it will pass. I promise you, it will pass.” He stood briskly, brushed at his sleeves, spoke another WORD.

A rope end snaked from a coil hanging on the mast. Serroi watched it wobble through the air toward her and cringed away, but was prevented from moving far as the Noris squatted again and held her still, his hand on her shoulder. The rope slid around her waist and wove itself into a knot. She stared down at it, then at the other end which was looping itself about the mast. She reached down and touched the knot at her waist, jerked her hand away from the unnatural warmth of the rope fiber. She looked fearfully up at the Noris.

He touched her cheek again. “This for your safety, child. Otherwise you could be swept overboard. My servants will care for you.” With smooth unobtrusive grace he was on his feet and moving away. About a body-length away from the mast, he stopped and faced the sea, spoke a WORD into the wind. When he'd paced out a square around her, speaking a WORD at each corner, the air touching her gentled and turned warm. He came back and stood looking down at her. “Remember, child, if there's anything you need, call for it and my servants will bring it.”

When he'd disappeared below, invisible hands fetched a basin of warm soapy water and bathed her face. They brought her more water to drink and a savory broth to fill some of the emptiness inside her. They tended her neatly and impersonally, went away as soon as they were done. Serroi crouched against the humming mast, the only thing that seemed real and comforting, too sick to care.

Twice more she succumbed to the urgency of her stomach. The hands cleaned her up and left her alone. Finally she managed to sleep and found to her surprise that when she woke, her body had adapted to the dip and fall of the ship. She sat up, pushed aside her blankets, blinking at the sun which shone directly in her eyes as it dipped to its lowest point near the horizon. “Hands,” she called. “I'm starved. Bring me something to eat.”

A moment later she had a platter of steaming rolls with butter and jam, a pot of cha and a dainty small cup with no handle and long thin slices of cream-colored posser flesh. She sniffed, grinned, began eating hungrily. The wind was crisp and fresh even filtered through her invisible walls, the sea jewel blue, singing past the sides, rising and falling like a breathing beast. Fish leaepd in schools from the water making tiny whistling sounds like damp, iridescent birds.

When she finished her meal, she submitted to the invisible hands while they bathed her and brought her fresh clothing, more things her mother had packed away for her. With their usual wordless efficiency they polished her and the deck until both were painfully clean, then they left. Serroi shook out her tether, wrinkled her nose at it, then moved toward the railing, testing how much range of movement she was going to have. The rope proved long enough to let her lean on the rail and stare down at the water hissing past.

A whale broached nearby. Breaking water first, its back was a shining curve of dark grey with black mottles like sooty hand prints. It spouted a rush of steam, then sounded with a comic flirting of its tail flukes. Laughing her delight, Serroi raced back along the rail, the rope whipping behind her until it pulled her to a stop, She leaned out over the rail, still laughing, her eye-spot tingling. She called the whale back, clapped her hands in joy as it played with the ship, loosing it finally when it began to chafe at the restraints she put on it.

Birds flew by overhead, riding the wind that drove the ship. Sometimes they settled around Serroi to preen russet, gold, green, or blue fur with long narrow tongues, to search each other for fur-mites, crunching them between tiny dagger teeth lining the lips of their leathery beaks. Serroi scratched at small heads, coaxed some of the birds into her lap where they twittered with pleasure under the probing of her fingers.

The ship moved south without pause, the days growing shorter and the stars shifted into new patterns. Serroi contented herself with the birds and the creatures of the sea, left utterly alone by Ser Noris. Yet she wasn't lonely; her happiest times had always been when she ran and played with the animals drawn to her by the siren-song of the eye-spot. These days were an endless playtime without the painful and often incomprehensible demands of adults. The rope confined her and at the same time freed her from the need of watching her feet so she ran heedlessly about, tagging the birds, racing the fish that sometimes leaped the rail and slid across the deck into the sea on the far side.