The Outskirter's Secret (45 page)

Just before evening meal, with all the tribe
gathered around the temporary fire pit, Efraim addressed the
warriors and mertutials. Rowan and Bel were also present; no one
protested, and the steerswoman understood that she and her
companion, although outsiders, were held in very high regard
indeed.

"I am Efraim, Krisson, Damita," the Face
Person began. He paused, gazing about at the watching faces. "I
came from Kriss and Alsander; my sibling is Evandar." Another
pause. "Kriss came from Lan and Serranys; her sibling was Halsadyn.
Lan came from Risa and Orryn; her siblings were Kara and Melannys.
Risa came from Ren and Larrano—"

Rowan stirred; Bel stilled her with a
gesture. "You mustn't stand up," the Outskirter whispered.

Rowan leaned close to Bel's ear. "To how far
back will he recite his ancestors?"

"All the way to his first, to Damita."

"I should get my logbook. I should be writing
this down."

Bel turned a glower on her. "No." Then she
became less decided. "Ask Efraim to repeat it, later. But I don't
think this should be written."

Efraim had reached the eighth generation
previous to his own. He continued to recite, pausing after each
generation, as Rowan listened, fascinated. Around her, each
Outskirter was paying careful attention, some leaning forward
intensely.

By the twenty-fifth generation, Rowan began
to notice an increase in the number of siblings in each generation:
one or two children had been usual before; three to six became more
common.

At the thirty-first generation, Efraim
recited, "Lena came from Genna and Klidan; her siblings were Jona
and Dess," and in the pause that followed, Orranyn stood.

The recitation halted. The two men gazed at
each other across the seated crowd, and Orranyn waited calmly.
Efraim's face revealed that he knew he ought to have expected this,
but had not dared to hope for it.

Rowan asked a question quietly, and Bel
replied, "Orranyn is Damita, as well. His line must branch from
this generation, from either Jona or Dess. From here on, all the
way back, his lineage and Efraim's are the same."

When Efraim spoke again, Orranyn spoke, as
well. They spoke the same names together: "Genna came from Koa and
Dennys; her siblings were Chirro, Lana, and Tallin." And the two
men continued, each generation a confirmation of shared heritage.
Efraim's weathered face became tracked with tears, but he did not
suppress them, and so kept his voice clear and steady.

Eight generations further along, far to the
back of the crowd, Quinnan stood. Efraim turned his face of weeping
joy to the scout; but when the reciting continued, Quinnan did not
join, but only remained standing.

"Quinnan isn't of Damita line," Rowan said to
Bel.

"No. But he found the name of a male ancestor
as a mate in Efraim's line." Someone who had fathered children by
more than one woman, so that his name would appear as a mate in
both lines.

By the steerswoman's counting, Efraim had
reached the forty-first generation previous to his own. Rowan
became amazed at the man's memory.

She was not surprised when later, at opposite
sides of the crowd, Mander and Chess stood simultaneously. The four
Outskirters spoke together the names of their female ancestors, the
ancestors' mates and siblings, for twenty more generations.

And at last Rowan heard the names of Damita,
Damita's mate, their six children. Four voices finished, together:
"And Damita was first."

Efraim looked about him, with eyes blind to
everything but the four standing figures. He swallowed. "I am
Efraim," he said again, his voice nearly escaping control,
"Krisson, Damita."

Orranyn spoke, "Orranyn, Diason, Damita."

"Quinnan, Tilson, Sabine," the scout
said.

Mander grinned. "Mander, Chesson,
Damita."

Old Chess managed to grin and glower
simultaneously. "Chess. Simsdotter. Damita."

Efraim looked at each, one by one. They were
his family.

From his seat, Kammeryn spoke up. "Efraim is
a warrior. Whose band will be his?"

Orranyn did not hesitate. "Mine."

And Kammeryn rose to stand beside the new
tribe member. "This is Efraim, Krisson, Damita, a warrior of
Orranyn's band, and our tribe-mate." Then he threw one hand in the
air, and the people gave a single great shout of joy and surged to
their feet, with glad laughter and cries of welcome. Those nearby
came to Efraim to touch him, take his hand, or embrace him.

When Mander approached, Efraim wrapped him in
a bear hug that caused the healer to laugh in pain. "Ho, don't
break the arm!"

Chess received a look of amazement, and the
comment "You are so old!"

"Ha. I'll get plenty older yet."

To Orranyn, Efraim said, as he looked up at
the chief's great height, "I will serve you well."

"I know it," Orranyn replied, and offered his
hand.

Standing at the edge of the crowd, with her
good comrades beside her, Rowan suddenly felt sad and solitary. Her
people, her true family, were her fellow steerswomen; but
steerswomen traveled far, alone. Meetings were rare. Nevertheless,
each chance encounter between steerswomen was like a homecoming,
with these same joyful greetings and embraces. She missed her
sisters.

She had not realized that she had leaned back
against Fletcher as she thought; and he had wrapped his long arms
around her. "You should have been here when they took me in," he
said, from over her head. "Took all of about five seconds.
'Fletcher, Susannason,' I said. 'I came from Susanna and Davis,' I
said. 'Susanna came from Luisa and Grennalyn,' which is a good
Outskirter name, for all the good it did me. That was it. Everyone
sat around, waiting for the rest."

In the center of the crowd, Quinnan had
reached Efraim's side and asked him a question; Efraim replied, and
they were soon deep in what appeared, from their gestures, to be a
discussion of the techniques of moving in hiding.

"And one day," Fletcher continued, "I'll just
be a name in someone's line." He rocked a bit in place, musing,
Rowan rocking with him. "Some poor fool will have to memorize
me."

"Some fool or fools," Averryl amended.

Fletcher stopped in surprise. "Now, there's
an idea. With some hard work, a little luck, and good timing, I
could show up in twenty different lines."

The steerswoman interrupted his dreams of
glory. "Please wait until I leave the Outskirts to begin your
campaign."

He leaned down to her ear. "Ha. What you
don't know won't hurt you."

She played along. "But what I discover could
prove to be your undoing," she said archly, then elbowed him in the
stomach.

The next day, Rowan asked Efraim to repeat
his line to her, so that she might copy it into her logbook. The
steerswoman found it first necessary to explain to Efraim what
writing was. She showed him examples and then explained that only
persons who could read would be able to discern the names of his
ancestors; and among Outskirters, only Fletcher and Bel had that
skill. Then she pointed out that the book itself would ultimately
return to the Inner Lands, where only steerswomen in research would
study it.

He agreed; Bel remained disapproving, purely
on principle.

But between time spent traveling, Efraim's
new duties, and the impossibility of Rowan writing and walking
simultaneously, it took several days for her to complete the
written list of Efraim's line. During his dictation, Efraim was
subject to not a few jibes from his new tribe-mates; generally,
Outskirters only spoke their full lines when joining the tribe as a
new member, as a new adult, or when comparing lineage with a person
with whom they wished to have children. Seizing this explanation,
Fletcher made a great pretense of jealousy, fooling no one but
entertaining many.

" 'And Damita was first,' " Rowan finished
one morning over breakfast. She paused, then continued writing:
Chanly, Gena, Alace, Sabine . . .

Bel had been reading over Rowan's shoulder as
she worked. "What's that?" The Outskirter's literacy was still
tenuous.

"The line names. Those that I've heard."

"There are only ten or so in this tribe," Bel
pointed out. "You'd have to ask every new Outskirter you meet for
his or her line. It would take forever to get them all."

Rowan sighed. "Yes."

Efraim was interested. "The line names?"

"Yes," Rowan said. "The names of all the
first ancestors."

"The foremothers." Efraim nodded and composed
himself. "Alace, Amanda, Belinn, Bernadie—"

Rowan sat an instant with her jaw dropped,
then dipped her pen, rushing to keep pace.

"Carla, Carmen, Chanly, Corrinn," Efraim
continued. A few people nearby turned puzzled glances and shifted
closer to listen. "Debba, Damita, Dian, Dollore—" When the list was
finished, Rowan had in her possession the names of one hundred and
twelve women, each the first of the line that bore her name.

Bel leaned toward Efraim, fascinated. "I've
never heard that."

"It is ancient lore. We learn it with our
lines."

"Will you teach it to me?"

"Bel," the steerswoman said, "look at
this."

The Outskirter puzzled over the writing, her
finger following the air over the wet ink. She paused, and smiled.
"There's my line: Chanly."

"But can you see how it's organized?"

Bel shook her head.

"This list," Rowan said, "is in nearly
perfect alphabetical order."

Bel traced along the list, singing under her
breath a little tune Rowan had taught her, the one Inner Landers
used to remind themselves of the correct order of letters. "Yes . .
. I see it."

Rowan sat back, thinking. "When we first
arrived in this tribe, Kester told me that at one time Outskirters
wrote. I had decided that he was mistaken, or boasting." Kester was
dead; Rowan resolved to ask other mertutials, at the next
opportunity.

Bel's fingers had stopped. "What's that
one?"

"Lessa. It's the only one out of sequence, in
among the M's." She looked at Efraim, speculatively. "Is it always
said that way? 'Marta, Maryan, Lessa, Mourah?' It seems more
logical that Lessa begin with a different sound." She demonstrated:
"Mmm . . ."

He repeated the noise, held it, and the name
evolved. "Malessa," he said then, definitely. "There was a man of
my old tribe, whose grandmother was brought from another tribe. He
was of Lessa line, but always he said it `Malessa.' He grew angry
when we disagreed."

Rowan dipped her pen, then wrote the new name
in the cramped margin above the old. Then she crossed it out. "It's
still wrong . . ." With her eyes narrowed in thought, she wrote:
Melessa, then crossed out again, rewrote it. "Melissa," she said.
"That's a common name in the Inner Lands." She scanned the list
again. Some of the names were already acceptable Inner Lands names;
some became recognizable with slight alteration; others remained
entirely strange. "Chanly . . ." Rowan mused. "I wonder what that
used to be . . ."

Bel was not pleased. " 'Used to be'?"

"Yes." Rowan looked up at her companion and
indicated the book with the blunt end of her pen. "Outskirters once
wrote, perhaps a thousand years ago. And people's names from that
time, given the natural alterations from being handed down orally
across the centuries—those names are not much different from Inner
Lands names. Long ago, your people and mine were one. You came from
the Inner Lands."

Bel was definite. "No."

Rowan tapped the book. "Here's the proof.
Writing isn't useful in the Outskirts; you need paper, you
accumulate books. That's useless baggage to a wandering people. You
keep books when you have a place to keep them, a home."

"We've always been in the Outskirts."

"The Outskirts were once much closer to the
Inner Lands."

Efraim spoke up. "We are the first
people."

"Outskirters were the first human beings,"
Bel confirmed.

"And how do you know that?"

Bel became even more annoyed at this doubting
of her people's truths. She said, using the phrase Efraim had used,
"It is ancient lore."

Rowan was too interested in the facts at hand
to be concerned about insulting her friend. "Lore changes," she
said, "across years, from mouth to ear, the way the names of your
foremothers altered." She thought a moment. It was Outskirter lore
that had provided her these clues; perhaps Outskirter lore could
provide yet more. "How do you believe humankind originated?"

Bel was suspicious. "There are different
legends. They don't agree, but they all say something true, in
different ways."

"Legends such as?"

Bel thought. "The gods became lonely and
created the first humans as company. But the humans wanted to be
equal to the gods, so the gods turned against them."

Rowan smiled. "Fletcher would recognize that
one; it's not much different from the Christer version. A legend
from the Inner Lands. Tell another."

Bel was reluctant to cooperate in the
undermining of her culture's beliefs. "Across time, some animals
grew more intelligent, and eventually changed into people."

"I've heard that one, as well. Bel, think of
the wood gnomes."

"Those horrible creatures that live around
the Archives?" Bel's distaste was immense; and the wood gnomes had
found her equally unadmirable.

"They stand halfway between humans and
animals. They resemble humans more than they do other animals. They
have their own language. And they exist only in the Inner
Lands."

Efraim drew himself up to speak. "As the gods
went about their doings," he said, "their power was such that it
spilled over, spreading across the worlds. They did not care that
this happened. But it caused much damage, and many strange things
to occur. The spilled power entered objects, and they became alive:
all the plants, the animals, and humankind. But of all living
things, only humans could think and know. When the gods noticed
this, they hated the humans for being aware, and seek always to
destroy us. They tell us to lie down and die; but we will not. We
fight them."