The Outskirter's Secret (20 page)

"That's a very simple statement," the seyoh
told Bel, "and true in every way."

Someone behind Rowan caught Kammeryn's eye,
and he made a gesture of formal recognition. The person addressed
Rowan, who turned to face the speaker. "But not everything is
significant, to every person. One learns what one needs to know, to
survive." It was a woman, just past middle age, her hair two sweeps
of dusty crow's wing down her breast.

"There's more to life than survival," Rowan
told her. "Bel sings, for example, and she doesn't do it to
survive."

"I've never heard Bel sing," Kammeryn said,
with a dignified nod in Bel's direction, "but I can tell you this:
She does sing to survive. It keeps her spirit alive."

Rowan smiled. "I learn to keep my spirit
alive. And I give what I know to whomever should need it, and that
keeps my spirit alive, too."

The council considered the statement; then a
young man at Kammeryn's left was granted the floor. "And have you
finished with the Inner Lands," he said, in a challenging tone,
"that now you come to study the Outskirts? Perhaps we don't want to
be studied."

"I don't wish to interfere with your people
in any way. And no, we haven't finished with the Inner Lands; I
don't believe we ever shall."

"But you've come here."

"Yes. For a particular reason," she told him,
then spoke to the assembly at large. "For the most part, the
steerswomen travel along their assigned routes, studying whatever
they encounter. Later, when they're too old to travel well, or if
they so decide at a younger age, they may choose one subject and
try to understand it in depth." She nodded to Bel, who unfastened
the belt she wore and passed it to Kammeryn. "This is what I'm
studying now."

Nine silver disks, with silver links between.
Each disk held an odd, flat jewel of opalescent shades that
fragmented and shifted in the light from the vent flaps: sky blue,
midnight blue, pale water blue, and one jewel showing shades of
rich amethyst. The gems all had thin silver lines crossing their
surface, as if inlaid: some parallel, some branching geometrically
from a central vein.

Kammeryn fastened the catch and held the belt
up, looped around two spread hands. "Beautiful. And a waste of good
metal." He passed the belt to his right. It began to make its way
around the circle. "And I approve," he continued. "Beauty is its
own end."

"Have any of you seen that sort of jewel
before?" Rowan asked.

The grizzled man who now held it shook his
head. "Stolen from the Inner Lands, I would guess. We don't have
jewel-cutters."

"My father made it," Bel told him, "of jewels
found in the Outskirts."

The information inspired puzzlement, and the
belt continued its journey smoothly, each person studying it and
indicating unfamiliarity as it passed through his or her hands. But
Kammeryn's gaze held both Rowan and Bel, and he shook his head, not
at the jewels but at the two women.

"A treasure hunt," he said. His voice held
deep disappointment.

"No," Rowan replied. She leaned forward. "I
want to go to the place where the jewels were found, and see how
they lie, and what might be there with them." She took a breath
before revealing the most startling fact imaginable. "These are the
shattered pieces of a fallen Guidestar."

The jewels' progress stopped, abruptly. They
were now directly behind Rowan, and she could not see who was
holding them; but she saw all around her faces turning toward that
invisible person, bodies leaning, one hand reaching.

The old woman on Kammeryn's right was the
only person to show no surprise. "Something so beautiful could only
come from the sky," she said when the seyoh recognized her, and
then she nodded, slowly, almost sleepily. Her expression was blank
and serene, representing possibly calm wisdom, possibly age-raddled
stupidity.

"No Guidestar has fallen," the youngest
member said, then realized he had spoken without being recognized,
and silenced, flushing in youthful embarrassment. Kammeryn
reassured him with a glance, then made a small gesture that
indicated general discussion was permitted. The young man
continued, hotly, "You Inner Landers think anyone who can't build
an outhouse is a fool. But we have eyes. The Guidestars are still
there."

"Unless—unless there are others we've never
seen." Rowan had to turn to see the speaker: a woman, somewhat
older than Rowan, red hair cropped short, face broad of cheekbones,
pointed of chin. It was she who now held the belt, looped over one
hand. Small blue eyes, pale and bright as diamond chips, flickered
as she thought, blinking as if their owner's mind were moving too
quickly for her to follow.

Rowan was pleased to find herself understood.
"Yes. There ought to be four, as far as I can calculate, with the
other two hanging above the opposite side of the world. The way the
fragments found are distributed, all in a line from the Inner Lands
to the Outskirts, the speed that would be necessary to send them so
far so quickly, the fact that the Outskirts jewels lie imbedded in
the face of a cliff—all these things tell me that they must have
fallen from the sky. And the only things that stand in the sky are
the Guidestars."

"And the true stars," the eldest woman
said.

"True stars are distant suns," someone put
in. "They'll never fall."

"And what does this have to do with us?"
another asked.

"We have to help them, if they need help,"
the young man told the speaker with awkward dignity; he was new to
his position in the circle. "They risked themselves to save
Averryl." And he traded a careful glance with the red-haired woman,
who nodded as if in confirmation—the matter of Averryl, it seemed,
concerned her particularly.

Kammeryn assumed the floor again. "And what
help do you want from my tribe?" he asked Rowan and Bel.

"Bel has told me, and I've learned that it's
true, that traveling alone in the Outskirts is dangerous and
difficult," Rowan said. "If your movements are going to take you
east, then all that we ask is to travel in your company, for as
long as our route lies near your own."

"For as long as that's so," Bel stressed,
then added, "Even if it will be more than seven days."

Rowan turned to her, surprised. "Seven
days?"

Bel did not explain, or look at her; her gaze
held Kammeryn's.

The seyoh studied Bel with narrowed gaze,
then spoke to Rowan. "We must help you, that's true," he informed
her. "But there is a limit to our obligation. A seyoh can extend
the tribe's hospitality for seven days, but no duty can force us to
keep strangers among us beyond that time."

Rowan was taken aback. "I didn't know that."
She looked to her companion again, for explanation of the omission
of this information.

Bel ignored her. "It will have to be for more
than seven days," she reasserted to Kammeryn. "It will have to be
for as long as you're going in our direction."

The seyoh's eyes narrowed. "You cannot demand
this of us."

"You'll want to do it."

"How so?"

Bel turned to the steerswoman. "You didn't
tell him the rest."

"The rest?"

"Tell him about Slado," Bel instructed.

Kammeryn was as perplexed as the steerswoman.
"Slado?"

"The master wizard of the Inner Lands," Bel
told him. "He works in secret, and the other wizards follow his
orders, even when they don't know his motives."

"Why should we care what wizards do? They're
far away from us."

Bel paused to scan the circle, meeting each
gaze individually. She pointed up. "Because their
things
are hanging in our sky." Abruptly, she
turned to Rowan, and addressed her in the Inner Lands form. "Tell
me, lady, what's a Guidestar?" In the past, Bel had used the form
only in half jest.

Rowan was taken aback; but the answer spoke
itself. "A magical object, created and lofted into the sky by
wizards, long ago. It moves, from west to east, and the rate of its
motion is the same as the speed of the world's turning. For this
reason it seems to hang forever motionless above the land." Rowan
became fascinated by Bel's face: the Outskirter's expression was
identical to that she had worn while in wild battle, slaughtering
goblins.

"What is it for?" Bel prompted.

"The wizards use them in certain spells, to
effect purposes beyond my knowledge."

"Why did one fall?"

Possibilities were three. "Either it was made
to fall, or it was permitted to fall, or its fall could not be
prevented."

"Why did Slado know it had fallen, when no
one else did?"

Possibilities were two. "Either he has
sources of information his fellows lack, or he caused it to fall
himself."

"Why would he want it to fall?"

"I don't know." But possibilities were two;
the same two that lay behind every human action. "To make his life
better, or to prevent his life from becoming worse."

"Why would he hide the facts from the other
wizards?"

Two. "Either he does not trust them to
understand the benefits, or they would not benefit, but
suffer."

"Thank you, lady." Bel turned back to
Kammeryn, dismissing Rowan so completely that the steerswoman felt
she had vanished. There was only the wide, rippling chamber; the
bold, primitive pattern of the carpet; the ring of faces, warriors
and past-warriors; and the empty squares of sky above, humming in
the wind.

"Don't you wonder what a wizard likes?" Bel
asked Kammeryn. "What he feels makes his life good? I do. And I
keep thinking: power. And what does he think will make his life
better? More power. If Slado wants more power, when will he stop?
When a harmless steerswoman did nothing more than ask questions
about pretty gems, he sent his underlings to hunt her and kill her.
I know, I was there, and we barely escaped with our lives. And
Slado is spreading his power: he's been making new holdings in the
Inner Lands, and if he keeps on doing it, so that his puppet
wizards are everywhere in that country, what do you think comes
next, Kammeryn?"

Kammeryn spoke without hesitation. "No wizard
can reach us here. They are far away."

Bel held his gaze; she did not speak; she
pointed to the sky.

A man to the left of the circle indicated a
desire to speak. Kammeryn was long in recognizing him; his eyes
were still on Bel's, but they were shuttered, shielding the
thoughts moving behind them.

"Perhaps," the old man began after receiving
permission, "perhaps, as the steerswoman said, this wizard couldn't
stop the Guidestar from falling. Perhaps he's growing weaker, not
stronger."

Bel turned to him. "Then, what does a person
do when he's losing his strength and doesn't want anyone to
know?"

And it was the seyoh who answered,
thoughtfully. "He uses what strength he has more often. More
forcefully. And more visibly."

"Whether he's growing or fading, for us, it's
the same result," Bel said. "He'll come here; or he'll send his
minions; or he'll send his magic. We have to be ready." She drew a
breath. "This is what the steerswoman needs from you: to travel
with this tribe, as long as it moves her nearer to the fallen
Guidestar, and to be free to leave when it doesn't. And this is
what
I
need from you: to come and
go, leave and return freely, anytime I choose."

There was a stir. Several persons wished to
speak, requesting permission by glance or gesture.

Bel spoke louder, as if the flurry were
audible as well as visible. "If we come near another tribe," she
told the council, "I need to speak to them, and tell them
everything we've just told you. It'll do no good for only one tribe
to be prepared. I have to tell them all."

Kammeryn waited as the requests slowly
subsided, until only one member persisted.

It was a dark-haired man past middle age, his
face and neck crossed by scars. "That's too dangerous. We don't
know if we can trust you. You might betray us to another tribe, and
bring them down on our herds."

"I won't."

"They might follow you back to us."

"I won't let that happen."

"How could you stop it?"

"I'm very good."

"If you stay among us, then your duty is to
this tribe, and no other. You follow our laws, abide by the words
of our seyoh, and do nothing that risks our safety."

"There's a higher duty than duty to the
tribe."

"No." The man showed no emotion. "It is the
only duty. If this tribe suffers, if our people die, then what does
it matter what happens to strangers?" He turned to Kammeryn. "Let
them stay for seven days, then send them away. For anything else,
you need a consensus. If you call for a consensus, I will not
agree."

Bel slapped her hand down forcefully on the
carpet. "My people are in danger, or they will be, all tribes, all
Outskirters. If not soon, then one day, and who can say when?" She
faced Kammeryn. "If you don't help them, you're hurting them. Your
tribe. Yourself."

"Can Outskirters fight wizards?" Rowan was
surprised to hear herself asking.

Bel looked at her: the first acknowledgment
of Rowan's presence since Bel had finished asking questions and
cuing answers from a steerswoman. "It doesn't matter if we can. We
will." Then she seemed to speak to herself, but clearly,
definitely. "Everything I know about Slado and his wizards, I hate.
Everything I know about my people, I love. And this is what I love
best about them: They fight."

D
ismissed,
Rowan and Bel left the council to continue its deliberations. Rowan
felt dazed by the turn of events; distractedly, she gazed around
the camp.

A spit was turning over the fire in the
center, tended by an old woman who spoke to a child as she worked,
the child squealing laughter. The two mertutials who had dug the
fire pit were standing to one side of their creation, prodding the
ashes with a stick and shaking their heads in vague
dissatisfaction. A group of warriors lounging outside their tent
were engaged in a discussion that alternated quiet words with
bursts of hilarity. Garvin sat on the bare ground by Averryl's
tent, deep in conversation with the small blond boy who had guarded
the rain fly during the invasion of goats. In the distance, someone
was blowing a series of breathy notes on a flute, with much
experimentation, very little skill, and a few frustrated
curses.