Rebel Ice (14 page)

Reever was accustomed to establishing crude telepathic links with other species in order to tap into the language centers and absorb their lexica. This individual's mind was not as alien as those others, however. It was as close to a Terran's mind as he had ever encountered away from his native planet.

—
Daneeb headwoman Skjæera vral skela Enafa ensleg rebels outcast love shame anger guilt fear
—

He tried to strengthen the link, but failed. The vral's mind was regimented in odd ways, and it had developed some rather menacing thought disciplines to prevent any access to any but her most recent memories. Daneeb, as she thought of herself, lived only for the day.

There was also an extreme amount of strong emotion Daneeb was presently experiencing, which jumbled language with images and sensations. That, in turn, tugged at the mental connections Reever had established between them. It was all he could do to wade through the turmoil and tap into her language centers. Once he had enough for his uses, he drew back, removing the memory of his intrusion as he left.

He released Daneeb's hand and used what he had absorbed. "I am a Terran, as your people once were. My name is Reever."

Daneeb staggered back a step. The smaller showed no reaction.

"I mean neither of you harm," Reever said. "I need your help."

"You will harm; you won't harm. Which is it?" Daneeb rubbed her hand. "Why did you not speak like this before now?"

"I will not harm you." He realized that explaining his talent might frighten them. "I am out of practice speaking your language. It took a moment for me to remember." He nodded toward the smaller vral, who had removed its heavier mitts and had donned medical gloves. "Who is this?"

"She is vral." Daneeb jerked on her glove. "That is all you need know."

The smaller vral brought a soft piece of warm, damp gauze to Reever's face and carefully wiped the blood from it. The gloves she wore were thin enough to allow him to feel the heat of her skin.

She was approximately the same height as Cherijo. She had a Lok-teel. But if she was his wife, why did she not acknowledge him? Would they be in some danger if she did?

Daneeb became agitated. "Hurry." To Reever, she said, "When she has fixed you, can you fly your vessel and return to the place you belong?"

No such place existed. "If I have time to make repairs, I can," Reever said. "But I will not leave until I find the woman for whom I search."

"You came here for a
woman
?" Daneeb sputtered in disbelief. "Are you such a nothing that you could not find one among your own kind?"

"This woman is special." He only wished he could tell her how, but that, too, might create a hazardous situation. He looked at the smaller vral. "She belongs to me."

Despite the mask over her face, Skjæera seemed to stare at him for a moment, and then dropped the bloody gauze into a small bag, which she tucked into her pack. "So?" Daneeb made a scathing sound. "You are a man. You can always find another one." "Have you seen a Terran woman anywhere during your travels?" he asked. "No," Daneeb snapped. "Our kind are not permitted near the living, only the wounded or dead." Skjæera applied a topical anesthetic, and then used the suture laser to close the bolt wound.

"You must keep your face dry and clean if it is to heal," Daneeb told him. "I will. Thank you." Reever saw the Iisleg were growing restless again. He wanted to stay with Daneeb and Skjæera, but the restrictions under which they lived would make his search impossible. "What happens now?"

Daneeb eyed the Iisleg. "We tell the hunters that you have a soul, and are honorable, so they will not kill you here. You will keep your word and do no harm, so they do not kill all of us."

The smaller vral replaced the supplies in her pack. "They will take you with them to their camp, or perhaps to the nearest iiskar," Daneeb continued. "If you make no trouble, they may let you live. I will talk to them now." She left them and went to the hunters, who watched her approach with visible terror.

Skjæera moved the pack under her robe and hung it from her shoulder. She seemed to notice him at last, and lifted one hand, perhaps in a gesture of farewell. She had not said a single word the entire time she was treating him.

"Cherijo."

The smaller vral didn't respond. Reever wasn't willing to leave it at that, not without being sure, so he reached out and grasped her wrist. "Cherijo, is it you?" She said nothing. "I'm going to remove your glove." He exposed her hand and pressed his palm to hers. "No one can hear

our thoughts." He reached into her mind. One thing became immediately evident: Skjæera was not Cherijo. The woman's thoughts were as blank and smooth as the mask covering her face. If Daneeb lived in the

day, her companion seemed to live in the moment. She thought only of walking back across the ice field.

There was nothing before that, and nothing after. Reever had left no impression on her mind whatsoever. Despite his disappointment, Reever realized that the vral was in some manner gravely mentally ill, and immediately broke the link.

"Forgive me," he asked, although he didn't know why. She had been completely unaware of his mental

intrusion. As, on most levels, she was indifferent to him.
What happened to her, to destroy her mind so thoroughly
? If she had known anything about Reever's wife, whatever had been done to her had destroyed those memories.

Daneeb rejoined them. "They have agreed to take you back to their iiskar, which is not far from here. Stay with Hathor, the hunter in the gray outfurs. He will see that you are not harmed. We must go. Farewell."

Skjæera said nothing, but simply walked away with her companion.

As the hunters surrounded him, Reever stood watching the vral crossing the empty ice, walking into nothingness. The nothingness disturbed him almost as much as the smaller vral. A woman as small as Cherijo, with a mask possibly made of Lok-teel. Cherijo had carried a Lok-teel. But that blankness—that terrible emptiness in her mind—to have no memories…

No memories.

He looked at the hunter wearing predominantly gray furs and pointed to the vral. "I must follow them."

Hathor shook his head.

Reever took Aledver's chain and crystal from around his neck and offered them to the hunter. "Take this as payment."

The hunter hesitated, then took the crystal and tossed it to another man. "You follow them, ensleg—you go alone."

Reever nodded and set out to track the vral.

A week after Resa came to work in the salvage sheds, she had learned enough of the people's words to communicate. Ygrelda, who had been kind to her from the first day, helped by correcting her words and explaining many things. Like the name Hurgot had given her.

"What do Resa mean?"

Ygrelda looked up from the pile of small salvaged parts she was sorting. "What
does
Resa mean?"

Resa nodded.

"It is from the Time Before stories, when we lived on another world. Our people would beseech their gods when a person died, and sometimes that person's spirit was returned to their flesh. When that happened, the person could live again. Spirit made flesh. The word for such a person brought back from death was
resa
."

Resa frowned. "I was not death."

"You were not
dead
, but…" Ygrelda sighed and went back to sorting. "It is not good luck to speak of such things. You are here, and you have a name."

Not good luck prevented the people from doing many things. It was not good luck to eat with the hand on the left, or to spill soup, or to touch a sleeping person. It was not good luck to say why. Some of it made a little sense, such as the spilling of soup, for the people never had much food. Not spilling it prevented waste.

Mlap stopped by their table and eyed Resa's pile of sorted salvage. It was twice the size of the other

"Leave her alone," Ygrelda said. "She can work as she likes."

"Not for long." The heavy-bodied woman gave Resa an unpleasant smile. "The winds whisper that someone wishes a particular thorn removed."

"Someone?" Ygrelda stopped working to turn and glare. "Who?"

Mlap snorted. "Who cannot bear it if she is not the barb embedded in everyone's ass?"

"I know that," Resa said, happy that she had the answer from hearing two women discussing the same thing. "Sogayi."

"Resa." Ygrelda made a silencing gesture. To Mlap she said, "She has done nothing wrong. She has been obedient. She has worked hard. She keeps clean and modest. Why should she be punished?"

Resa had the feeling that her friend was no longer speaking of the headman's woman.

"Why?" Mlap gave the younger woman an incredulous look, and then lowered her voice to demand, "Why do you care? You know what will happen if you cross her. Do you wish to strip dead bodies for the remainder of your miserable life?"

Resa looked from one woman to the other. The woman called Sogayi was the one who belonged to the rasakt. Ygrelda had made her understand a little of how important the headman was, and that to be his woman was a great honor. The puzzling thing about it was that Sogayi's name was never mentioned except in whispers colored by fear or anger. That, too, was how Hurgot had responded to her presence—Resa had never forgotten that. She had felt pity for Sogayi, for despite her privileged position among the people, it seemed she had few friends.

Resa had to be more worried about her own position now, for as Ygrelda and Mlap continued to speak, it became apparent that they were talking about Resa being taken from the salvage sheds and driven from the camp.

It was not fair. She had tried very hard to learn the people's ways, because she did not want them to make her leave the iiskar. She did not think she could return to the ice now, not after living here with Ygrelda and the other women. Even Mlap, who never showed kindness to her, was better than facing that emptiness again.

"I am sorry," Resa interrupted the conversation between the two women, and put a hand on Mlap's arm. "I do better, work harder, Sogayi not be angry, yes?"

"Idiot ensleg." For once Mlap didn't look upon her through angry eyes. "You have no choice in the matter." She glared at Ygrelda. "Neither do you, so you had better prepare her."

"Where?" Ygrelda asked.

"Where do you think? Only watch or Sogayi might flick fresh blood on her first." Mlap trudged back over to her own table and went back to work.

Ygrelda gave Resa a sober look. "Resa, this is trouble."

"I make bad luck?" Maybe by being with the people she had violated one of their customs.

Resa worked in silence, excusing herself only to void her bladder once. Had she been with the cats, she would have done so outside the cave, in a hole she would dig in the ice, as the cats did. The people had a special shelter for their needs, which stood over two deep pits, one for urine, the other for feces. Plank benches were propped over each pit and, like the shelter, could be moved to a new spot when the pits were full. Fresh hides and skins were kept for a time in the urine pit, where they soaked for many suns in the collected fluids. Resa had thought this practice odd until Ygrelda explained it was part of the process of making them ready for use.

As Resa left the privy, she walked slowly back toward the salvage sheds. Ygrelda had told her never to look directly at any of the people, especially the males, as it was discourteous. But her trips to the privy were the only chance she had to see anything but the women who sorted salvage, so she could not resist looking around.

There was always much activity within the iiskar. Men moved freely among the rows of shelters, usually in pairs. Those who were hunters often brought heavy sacks of meat into camp, and were greeted with admiration by the other men. Others carried tools and building materials as they went to repair or build onto the shelters. Every man carried a crossbow and a blade. Several carried other, strange devices that resembled some of the salvage Resa sorted.

Although she wasn't supposed to watch the men, Resa enjoyed doing so. Most seemed to like their work and talked openly as they went about it, which allowed her to pick up more words.

The women of the camp always kept their heads wrapped outside the shelters, and did not speak to anyone unless first addressed by a man. They carried water, food, or clothing. None of them possessed any sort of weapon, and Resa had already figured out that women were not permitted to do so. They did not show happiness or any other emotion, but rather behaved in a furtive manner, as if not wishing to attract attention.

Resa paused when she saw a woman chasing after a little boy who had run out of one of the shelters. A big man intercepted and scooped up the child, tossed him into the air a few times, and then set him into the waiting woman's arms. The man then did something Resa had never seen done before among the people: He tugged away a fold of the woman's head wrap, and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. The two said nothing, but their affection for each other needed no words. After rubbing her cheek against the man's hand, the woman wrapped her face and took the squirming boy back into the shelter.

It happened so quickly that Resa doubted anyone but her had noticed it.

Resa's scalp prickled and felt cold. Ygrelda had cut off most of her hair during the first night she had spent among the women. Resa hadn't liked that, because her hair kept her head and neck warm, but she knew it was to make her look like all the other women.

A passing hunter scowled at her. "Get back to work, ensleg."

Resa hurried back to the salvage sheds. Only when she had stepped through the flap did she release her breath.

Ygrelda came over to her. "What is the matter?" She looked all over her. "Resa, you are shaking."

"Cold outside." Resa made a show of rubbing her hands together. Her wrist was throbbing again, as it had done when she had first come to the people.

Resa examined the object Ygrelda had given her. It was a small circle of flat, square metal links. The metal was scratched, and exposure to the elements had taken away most of the shine the object must have once had, but it was pretty. "What this?"