WARP world (46 page)

He stepped toward her. “Do not give me ultimatums.”

“I’ve been charged with getting you to your people and you’re the only hope I have to save my father. If that means giving ultimatums, I’ll damn well give them. Unless you have a better solution?”

“It is not the options that are an issue, it is the attitude and disrespect you’ve become too accustomed to delivering.”

“Because I’m an
Outer
?”

Seg opened his mouth then slapped it shut, they had visited this argument more than once already, in their short time together. It never ended well.

Ama turned on her heels, and headed upriver. “I know you’re scared,” she called out, without looking back.

“I am not scared,” Seg protested, striding to catch up with her.

“You’ve had three experiences with water and they were all pretty terrifying.”

“I hunted rigla, as part of field training. Rigla! Do you have any idea how frightening a rigla is? Your silly water is nothing compared to that.”

“You nearly got eaten by a drexla…”

“Which was your fault.”

“…then you fell off a cliff and traveled to Brin’s house underwater…”

“Necessary, but also your doing.”

“…and finally ended up riding the Largent, which is some serious whitewater…”

“Of my own design, clearly demonstrating a lack of fear.”

“…so no one would blame you for being nervous but…”

“I am not nervous!” He stepped over a log then stopped mid-stride. Ama stood at the edge of a pool of water.

“I’m going to show you that water isn’t always dangerous and frightening.” She backed a few steps into the water and everything about her softened. “So,
please
, will you let me teach you how to swim?”

He turned sideways, his fists clenched and unclenched.

“Eighteen…Fortitude in the face of adversity,” he muttered.

“What?”

“The 47 Virtues of a Citizen. I’ll explain some other time.” He sighed, “Fine. Show me.”

Ama smiled, and beckoned him to her. The water was deep but not over his head, calm and clear.

“Most important rule: control your breath.” She placed her hand on his chest, fingers spread wide, “This is how you stay afloat. When you breathe in, your lungs fill with air, and you rise up, when you breathe out, you lose air and you sink. Control your breathing.”

She backed in further, up to her knees and held out her hand, “Ready?”

“Simple physics,” Seg said, gruffly, as he trod into the water. His first, unexpected, lesson concerned the difference in perspective inherent in looking through clear water, as he stumbled and nearly lost his balance. He grabbed her arm and righted himself as he stared at the untrustworthy liquid rippling around him. “How do you get used to this?”

“I’ve been swimming since I was a baby; I never had to get used to it. Don’t fight it, the water will help you if you let it.”

Ama guided him in deeper, until he was nearly to his waist.

“You’re going to have to trust me, now,” she said. He dug his fingers into her arm. “I’m going to hold you, support you. All you have to do is lean back.”

With a deep breath in, then out, he mastered himself and forced himself to lean backwards. He had already trusted her with a blade and his life. What more was there?

Filthy, stinking water.

As he slowly lowered himself into the water, Ama stepped behind him and slid her hands under his back to steady him.

“Good. Feel that? Feel how the water supports you? Now, take a deep breath in and hold it.”

He did as she instructed, his chest and thighs rose up out of the water.

“Let all the air out slowly. Perfect. Now repeat that, except this time don’t let all the air out. Practice letting out just enough air to breathe without letting your body sink all the way below the water.”

Breathe in, breathe out; his body rose and fell. It took some time but he eventually found a rhythm, a way of breathing that kept him afloat. In, out. Up, down.

“It’s all you now. I’m not even holding you,” she informed him, and he realized she had slipped her hands away while he was focused on his breath.

Floating was a wobbly, precarious state. He understood the physical principles of buoyancy, he had learned that at a much younger age. As so often occurred, though, understanding the theory and being comfortable with the practice were entirely different things. Guild training consisted of a large variety of physical requirements. The many worlds and environments they visited necessitated this. But swimming was not among the disciplines, primarily for lack of facilities and qualified instruction. Cadets received theoretical instruction and one, half day, land-based session of training that everyone had understood was mere technicality. He thought back to that day–standing on one leg while he kicked with the other and paddled with his arms. His training struck him as even more ridiculous now that he was actually in the element.

The water could take him where it willed. He couldn’t guide himself. And if he gave up control of his breath he would plummet under. All very unnerving. But at the same time, floating had a strangely relaxing feature to it. It was comfortable in a way that no bed he had ever lain in had been. He had weight, but no weight.

Floating.

The word had an entirely new and visceral meaning to him now.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he felt fully refreshed now that he was cool.

“When we cross the river,” Ama said, “you’re going to be on your back, just like this. I’m going to tow you; that’s the easiest, safest way—especially with your shoulder as it is—but you’re going to have to help me. We’ll have current to deal with. All you have to do is kick your legs,” she mimicked the action with her fingers. “Don’t bend your knees, keep your legs straight–think of a pair of scissors, like the ones Perla used to cut the cloth she bound your arm with.”

She ducked down, moved her body beneath his, slid her hands under his arms, taking extra care with his injury, and hooked onto him.

“We’ll try crossing to the far end of the pool,” she said, then tilted her head back and kicked with an easy motion as she directed them to their goal.

He experimented with the movement, overdoing it in the fashion of the complete novice. He realized he wasn’t making efficient motions and corrected his strokes. Legs straight, despite the instinct to bend. Fluid motions, not choppy. Power does not equal success.

Ama directed them in a circle and made another pass across the pool. After a few more laps, she stopped and helped him back to a standing position. She swam around in front of him, beaming, “Wow, I didn’t expect you to be so good on your first try. Would you like to try swimming on your own? I can show you a way that won’t hurt your shoulder.”

He stared dubiously at the water. Honestly, he would prefer to just get out of the filthy stuff. But this, he forced himself to concede, was a method of maintaining control of his environment and not being at its mercy–something that might prove invaluable in the future.

“Yes,” he said reluctantly. “Show me.”

“You’re going to lie on your back like you just were, but with your good arm over your head, like this,” Ama rolled onto her back. “You’ll kick just like you were doing, and stroke with your arm like so.” Ama demonstrated the moves for him out of the water first and then in, moving slowly so Seg could see.

The movements come so naturally to her
, he mused.
She belongs in the water.
A ridiculous notion. All humanoid evolutionary paths, across the dimensions, led out of the element, not back into it.

“The good thing about swimming this way is your head is always out of the water. You try and I’ll stay close to help.” She dove under, brushed his leg as she swam by, and popped up behind him. Hands on his shoulders to guide him into position, she waited.

He frowned; he would need a thorough cleaning after paddling around like some sort of sea creature. The thought struck him suddenly. “Is there anything in this water with us? Anything potentially dangerous?”

“You mean like drexla?” Ama asked with a stifled laugh. “No, nothing like that. The only dangers are water hazards–sweepers, holes, pour-overs, that sort of thing. But I scouted and all we’ve got is a few bumps, so no need to worry.” She dove under again and came up in front of him. “Besides, I would never let anything harm you. Never.”

The last came out forcefully, more forcefully than she had intended he guessed, as she immediately looked away.

“Well,” he glanced down and cleared his throat, “I’ll give this a try and then we should keep moving.”

“Yes,” Ama agreed, still facing away from him, “we have to get you home.”

Seg stood on the bank of the river, next to Ama as she surveyed their path one last time. Their clothes were packed in their kits. Since his knapsack was only cloth, she had packed it into hers, which was Kenda-made, soaked in a mixture of oil and wax to waterproof it. The bag was closed in such a way as to trap air inside, to keep it buoyant, and tied around Ama’s waist.

She pointed to the water, moving her finger downriver slowly, “With this current, we can expect to make it to the other side near that widgewood tree hanging over the water but don’t worry if we drift further. I’ll get in first and set you up with me before I push off. It’ll be over before you know it.”

She waded into the water and extended her hand. To his surprise, he stepped forward with no hesitation and let her guide him into place. His swimming skills, he knew, were hardly enough to warrant confidence. It was his trust in her that made him face this threat so willingly.

“Ready?” she asked.

He nodded. This time, he was ready.

A
s the crush of trees opened to the Humish Valley, Dagga brought the thundering procession to a halt. Before him, a grassy plain, dotted with a few cottages, wide pastures and the occasional barn presented a scene of pastoral tranquility. But he knew otherwise.

He raised his spyglass and swept the landscape. His prey would be coming from the north, avoiding the main roads, which left only a few viable routes over the mountain.

Collapsing the glass, he swung his horse in a tight circle to face his men.

“First and second squad, with me. Dismount at the base of the mountain, spread out on foot and lay low.”

He spurred his horse and rode further down the line of men. “Third and fourth squad, get around the south side of the valley. Stay covered.” He gestured in a semi-circle, to indicate the desired formation.

“Gonna set a net around this valley. No one makes a move ‘till the rats are inside.” He turned left, to face the first two squads, “Soon as they pass by us, we close in. If we miss ’em…” he turned right, to the third and fourth squads, “they’ll run right to you.”

He rode up and down the line. Men and horses were huffing and sweating from the hard journey. “No way out this time. Gonna drag their carcasses back to Alisir.”

Up and down the line, the men nodded and muttered their assent.

“Now move!” Dagga shouted, and headed north to set his trap.

A bright purple jinje fruit hung heavy from a branch, Ama jogged ahead to pick it, then stopped and sliced it open—careful to avoid splitting the sac of bitter juice in the center—while she waited for Seg to catch up. The oppressive heat had not subsided but there was shade to be found and, under cover of the trees, Ama had felt safe enough to remove her nove and tuck it into her pocket. The river crossing had been smooth and the last leg of their journey was downhill.

“This is a good omen,” she said, passing Seg a slice. “Jinje are only perfectly ripe for a day before the sac bursts and spoils the meat of the fruit. It was my favourite treat when I was growing up; my brothers and me would fight over it. Do you have fruit like this on your world?”

“Mmm, similar. Not free-growing, and usually reserved for the very wealthy, grown in private gardens. Graduated Theorists get such as befitting our place in society.”

She cut him off another slice and he ate silently. In fact, he had been silent since they had crossed the river and though she could guess why, instead of quiet, she felt the need to fill the awkward space between them with words.