Virginia Hamilton (3 page)

“Why be we this standing?” she toned.

“Be straight!” Duster commanded in a deadly tone.

“Am straight!” Glass responded instantly. She toned a triad of duty, attention and respect. There was an undertone of apology for breaking the leader’s order-of-trip.

“Be straight!” Duster toned to Siv.

“Am straight!” At rigid attention, the leggens toned on one note, showing that he need make no apology.

“Be ready!” Duster toned hotly, pitching the sound deep in the low register.

“Am
ready!” Glass trilled.

“Am
ready!” Siv toned in a crisp burst of melody.

“Be still!” Duster sang in his pure tenor. It held such manly force, his packen stopped the last sucking of bones and licking of fingers.

Siv, Glass and the packen made no reply to Duster’s final command. They were now at easy attention. From his tone, they understood he had a message for them. And he began singing a plainsong for them. It was a free-rhythm melody.

To the packen: “Pay attention, all.”

To Siv and Glass: “There comes a fine knowing. Be afraid, nothing.”

To his trip and packen:

“Be strong. Open heads, let in knowing.

Knowing,

Be trying it.

O packen! O smooth and leggens!

This be the one. Be some Graylight, Knowing!”

Duster’s voice quavered. But it found its true strength again as the plainsong ended.

The packen trilled. It used contralto, soprano, tenor and bass ranges in a swift changing from chest-voice to head-voice and falsetto. If Duster’s singing could inspire, the packen’s could mesmerize. The meaning of its hushed trilling was quite clear to the unit listening.

“We be sure of you, O Duster,” the packen intoned. “We be straight at your command. Lead on.”

At the head of trip and packen, Duster waited. The stillness, the murk gathered around him. They all waited patiently for what would come.

T
HE UNIT SEPARATED INTO
four minds. Justice, her brothers, Levi and Thomas, and their friend Dorian Jefferson became their individual selves. Justice was the Watcher and the balance for the unit’s strength. Brother Thomas was the magician who could cloud minds with marvelous and terrible illusions. And he longed to have Justice’s gift of greatest power. Levi was the caring, kind brother. He was not physically strong and had only a limited gift of telepathy. Their pal Dorian was known as healer among them.

It was a half-hour before the four allowed themselves visibility before Duster and his packen.

Thomas was shivering; he tried to shake off the effect of such awesome singing. The vocalizing of Duster and his tribe had touched them all deeply. They were moved by the bravery of these children in the face of unseen power.

It had stunned Justice the way they communicated through vocalizing. And they lived without grown-ups, with the bare minimum for survival.

Using telepathy, she traced to her brothers and Dorian,
Think of the grown-ups, the grims! Off somewhere by themselves, I guess. We could find out more from Duster’s thoughts.

She was eager to see grown-ups. All at once she thought about her folks and felt the pain of longing.

No, I won’t go home yet. Not now.

Justice wore a hooded robe, socks and sandals. The boys were dressed similarly in hooded tunics and comfortable trousers. Absently she touched her arms and feet, the clothing. They felt just as real in Dustland as they did at home in the present. She sighed, forcing her mind away from what was and was not possible here in the future.

They’re no bigger than eleven-year-olds!
Thomas traced, about the packen.

You’d be that little, too, if you had to starve all your life,
Dorian traced back.

Well, you saw ’em bring down those animals. Mostly small beasties,
Thomas traced,
but still food. And they ate it
raw!

But how often do you think they find so much food?
Justice traced.
Not every day, I bet. Maybe only once a month.

Nobody can live eating just once a month,
Levi traced.

They might learn to,
Justice answered.
They lived without water, with only the liquid from animals they killed, before we made the water pool for them.

Are they all really eleven-year-olds?
Dorian interrupted.

They’re fifteen,
Justice traced.
I read that from Duster’s mind
.
They’re all approximately the same age.

They’d have to be the same age, wouldn’t they?
Levi traced. He was staring at the packen with a mixture of disbelief and revulsion.

Huh?
Thomas was the last to see. There was quiet in which they waited for him; they had already seen. A long moment, then Thomas seemed to gather himself in.

It can’t be!
he traced.
I don’t
believe
it!

Well, believe it, it’s true,
Justice traced.
The packen youngens are duplicates of either Duster, Siv or Glass.

They were exact replicas. Thomas could see that when he looked beyond the dust and dirt covering them. There were four Dusters, four Sivs and four Glasses seated in the group. Counting the Duster, Siv and Glass who were standing, there were five of each kind, one of each kind of duplicate in every trip.

I don’t believe it,
Thomas traced again, like a whisper.

We’d better show ourselves,
Justice traced back.

Wait,
he traced.
What are they? Somebody knows how to make people just alike here?

I don’t think so. Not here in Dustland,
she traced.

Then there is an outside!

We knew there had to be, else why would the Slaker beings try to find an end to Dustland?
Levi traced.

When I saw them Slakers with their wings and three legs, I said this place had to be a zoo!

And I said it was a prison,
Justice traced.

Thomas nodded.
I think you’re right. But who put the Slakers and Duster and them here? What have they done?

We’ll have to find that out,
she traced.
Come, we’d better get on with it.

Gradually the four became visible. They were at first separate columns of shade. The columns took on form, shape and color. With coloration came depth and dimension. They became solid, real.

A shudder rippled over the packen. Youngens uttered tones of alarm. Sharp and quick were the soundings. What had been three circles of leaders, leggens and smooth-keeps was now a tight clump of frightened children. They huddled close, touching hands for comfort.

At the sight of the four with power, Glass faltered, stumbling into Duster’s back. Siv nearly jumped out of his skin. Unashamedly they held Duster’s hands tightly.

Glass toned to Duster in a thin, little voice: “Who be them things?”

She had broken Duster’s command for quiet. He forgave her this time, so overwhelming was the moment. He toned excitedly, “Glass, be waiting for leader to settle it.”

“But who be them shadow things, Leader?” she toned.

“They be tight with us, Glass, I be sure of it,” he toned.

Justice smiled at them. “Be tight with you, O Duster,” she sang out in her best voice, startling the packen and Duster and his trip.

Justice’s voice had always been musical. With a little effort, she had come close enough to the right toning to make herself understood.

Carefully Duster came forward to stand before her. “We be tight, then,” he toned, in a fine tremolo of hauteur signifying his leadership. He hand-signaled his trip to be at ease. Siv and Glass had taken a fighting stance—legs apart, arms swinging free—but they came forward now behind their leader.

Duster placed his hands on Justice’s shoulders. He would have lowered his head on his right hand, had she not been nearly as tall as he. To each of the boys also he made this gesture of tightening.

“Be tight, you,” he toned with a fine feeling of caring. “Be tight, me.”

Glass and Siv touched each boy’s chest with their heads. It was as high as their heads reached and their way of taking part in tightening. Despite an extreme effort of self-control, they cringed at contact with such odd-smelling, tall beings.

The packen duplicates hugged one another.

Dorian and Thomas giggled at the packen’s queer behavior. The youngens took part in the tightening by connecting with themselves!

“These be in my dream,” Duster toned, explaining the appearance of the four to his trip and packen.

Siv nodded. Glass looked confused.

“We came here through Duster’s dream,” Justice half-spoke, half-sang in her clearest voice. “We come from far to join you, if you will let us.”

“You be trip—one, two, three and one?” toned Glass. “How be two the same?”—motioning toward the identical twins, Thomas and Levi. And staring at Justice and Dorian, she toned, “You, one-two, be something else.”

“I see what you mean.” Justice spoke this time.

“Well, I don’t,” Thomas muttered. He did not stutter as he did at home. He never stuttered when they were in Dustland or when tracing through telepathy.

The packen set up a furious chattering beneath their breath whenever one of the four spoke. It was beginning to annoy Thomas.
Shut up, you clowns!
he traced.

“Glass means that there are two of us, not five that look alike,” Justice was explaining. “And if we were a trip, none of us would look alike. But we have one too many for a trip, and just two who look alike.”

“So?” Thomas said.

“Well, she finds it curious, that’s all,” Justice said. “Weird, I guess, for her to see Dorian and me with no more like us.”

All at once Glass kicked dust in Justice’s face, catching Thomas in the face also. She moved so swiftly, they could not shield themselves.

“Why, you—” Thomas sputtered.

“Cold on you two!” Dorian shouted, laughing. “Ooh, cold on you guys!”

Glass was a little thing, but lithe and strong. She looked just like a fifteen-year-old girl in miniature. Such a little one, bravely kicking dust in the face of power! That was what Dorian found so funny.

Without warning, Duster swung on Glass. The blow wasn’t vicious. It was hard, purposeful. It knocked her unconscious to the ground.

“Don’t!” Levi grabbed Duster’s arm.

Duster pulled loose. “Be touching leader, wrong!” His eyes glinted like sunlight on ice. He sang fortissimo in an ominous minor tone.

“Look! Look!” Dorian pointed at the packen. Every trip leader had swung on every smooth-keep, knocking them out cold.

“Oh, wow!” said Levi, turning away.

“You want to join up with these clowns?” Thomas asked Justice.

Justice didn’t answer. There was silence in which the Watcher rose in a glow in her eyes. Power rising. All understood words she implanted in each of them.

O Duster, this is no way to begin. Tell me my mistakes.

Through her, Duster’s thoughts were revealed to all.

Duster explained: Glass be saying why you a trip, one, two, three and one. You be singing back nothing. She be fighting over that. And leader be not letting a smooth-keep fight any tightening.

It was my fault,
Justice traced.

Fault? Duster thought.

No, nothing. Why did you strike Glass?
Justice traced.

Glass be not on her own, fighting. Glass be doing what the leader commands.

Oh, I see. So are we still a tightening?

Be still one.

You can call me Justice,
she traced.

Justice, thought Duster.

And call him Thomas, and him Levi, and the last one you can call Dorian.

Thomas … Levi, Duster thought. Dorian.

Good! That’s it,
traced Justice.
Those are our names. We know your names, too. You’re Duster. And that’s Siv and over there is Glass.

Glass was coming to. At the sound of her name, she got up carefully and took her place at Duster’s left side. In the packen, also, smooth-keeps were up and in their circle.

Calm settled over trip and packen. Glass and Duster toned quietly to one another. A thoughtful Siv took in every shade of meaning.

“She be a strong thing,” Glass toned to Duster. “Be not easy, fighting.”

“You be not fighting. She be a leader,” he toned.

“Leader be better that one.” She gazed at Thomas.

“Be more than one leader?” toned Siv, with a trill of apology for intruding. “She be leader and Thomas one be leader?”

“And three be smooth-keep and one be leggens?” Glass sang out.

“That be it,” softly Duster toned. “One, two, three, one.”

Smiling at them, Justice spoke in calm tones. “We are like a trip, but being one, two, three and one, we are called a unit. We can be separate the way Duster is separate from Siv and from Glass. You are a trip. We are a unit. We care to join the packen. Join like a trip, but as a unit. Maybe sometime another one with us. Another one is called Miacis. An animal, Miacis. Having four legs.”

A clamoring arose in the packen. Glass took her fighting stance. Siv was loose, one foot before the other, ready to run an evasive action on command. Duster was poised in silence, ready to do in an instant what must be done.

“My mistake, to talk of this golden animal, Miacis,” Justice said in a soothing voice. “We wish to travel with you, O Duster, we of the unit. We can be our own trip with you and the packen.”

It interested Duster, these tones and levels of pitch the wim out of his dream could tone. And it amused him how terrible her voice could be when it slipped off key. The voice had few pitches that did not, at one time or another, grate on his thinking. Yet he understood her. And now he was silent, wondering about these strange ones who had come from far, yet had walked in from his dreaming.

An animal, she had said. A beast, part of her unit.

Duster thought and thought. Recalled a golden thing in his dreaming, streaking across the land. She had said a golden animal. Whatever kind was the golden animal from his dreaming, it was not a kind for the leggens to bring down on a run. That kind, golden, filled Duster with caring for it. Dreaming, he heard it bark what sounded like words from the distance.