by Martha Wells
The spark of self-preservation that had brought him here flared just enough to keep him from shifting. The groundling was saying, “This is our house now. What have you got to pay for—” when Moon took his hand and bent it back at the wrist. He twisted the arm around and put the groundling on the floor.
He expected the others to attack him, but when he looked up they were all standing around watching, some concerned, others resentful. One, a short groundling with dark leathery skin and long white hair, said, “It’s not your house, Ventl. You, stranger, did you come here to trade?”
Moon said, “I’m traveling. The flags said this was a caravanserai.” His voice came out rough and thick; when he had growled at the movement in the brush, it had been the first time he had spoken in days.
The others muttered in a language that wasn’t Altanic. The one Moon was standing on who was apparently called Ventl said, “It’s for trade.”
The white-haired one said, “You shut your face, Ventl.” He added to Moon, “It’s a caravanserai.”
Moon released Ventl and stepped back. Ventl leapt to his feet and snarled, but kept carefully out of arm’s reach. He said, apparently not to Moon, “One traveler doesn’t make this a caravanserai, Ghatli!”
Ghatli told him, “Take your stupid face and your stupid relatives and get out, Ventl. Go back to your camp before the miners eat you.”
Ventl snarled again and made menacing grabbing gestures at Ghatli. Moon felt a growl building in his throat and managed to swallow it back; Ventl was just posturing, trying to save his pride. Some of the other furred ones urged him away, and the whole group moved toward the door. Other green-furred ones stayed, wandering off now that the fight was over.
Ghatli watched them go, narrow-eyed. Looking at him more closely, Moon realized he was actually female, or some gender close to female. The dark color and roughened texture of her skin made detail hard to see, but there were breasts under the clumps of white hair trailing down her chest and shoulders. Her fingers didn’t have the blunt claws of the others, but were long and delicate. She wore the same kind of loose wrap kilt, with decorative bits of polished shell sewn on fabric that looked as if it might be made from pounded reed. She turned to Moon and looked him up and down. “You’ve come a long way?”
Being reticent about where you came from was never a good idea, and Moon answered automatically, “From Saraseil. Going toward Kish.”
“Ah.” The hair tufts above Ghatli’s ears twitched. “We’ve had word of refugees.”
One of the others said, “They said terrible things happened there. That it was the Fell. Is it true?”
Moon conquered the impulse to shift and tear his way out through the wall but managed to make himself just step back instead. He didn’t want to talk about Saraseil. “Is it a caravanserai or not?”
“That is actually a long story—” Ghatli paused, squinted at him and continued, “Perhaps later. You want food?”
Yes, Moon wanted food.
When Moon woke he lay there for a time, sensing the change in the air that told him the sun had risen over the hills, feeling the faint vibrations through the reed floors and walls as the other inhabitants moved around in the rooms below. He felt more than heard their voices, and the mix of their scents blended with the sweet reeds in the damp air. His head was clear, or at least more clear than it had been last night. He just had no idea what he was going to do now.
He had slept unevenly, all his dreams too close to the surface. He had heard Fell voices on the wind, over and over again, and woke in a flush of panic to find the night outside calm and filled with nothing but the chorus of insects and frogs and treelings. He knew the Fell could do things to the minds of groundlings; he had seen the horrific results at close quarters. And he knew Liheas, the Fell ruler who had captured him, had been able to affect him to some extent. He had thought he had broken free of it when he had broken Liheas’ neck, but maybe some influence still lingered.
It was lucky he had found the caravanserai, a relatively safe and private place to have his nightmares. Maybe some day when Moon could appreciate still being alive he would feel grateful for that.
After the encounter with Ventl, he hadn’t expected anything to be easy, but Ghatli had been surprisingly hospitable and no one else in the place had seemed hostile. Moon had still had a small bag of agate chips, which Saraseil had used for currency, and Ghatli had taken half of them in exchange for a pan of a rice mixture with nuts and pieces of fish that had been warming in another metal ball oven in the next room. Moon had eaten it standing beside the oven and wasn’t really aware of anything else until Ghatli handed him another pan. It was enough to take the edge off, though Moon was going to have to hunt soon. He wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t stopped to hunt before reaching the shallow lake, but then he wasn’t entirely sure how long he had been traveling.
He had followed Ghatli through another roomful of groundlings who were having some earnest discussion about something and to a winding ladder that led up to the sleeping rooms, which were just small but private cubbies stacked on the third and fourth levels of the structure. Moon had stayed awake long enough after Ghatli left to find an emergency way out, an opening in the roof at the top of the ladderwell meant for ventilation. He had also stopped to look at the lights, and saw they were made of some very thin clear bladder-like substance with a little glowing mass inside that looked like coral. It must be harvested from whatever caused the occasional glowing spots in the lake.
When he had finally retreated to his cubby he was so exhausted he didn’t even unroll the blanket, just curled up around it and sank into sleep.
Now he sighed and rubbed his face. He knew what he should do, what he always did. Leave the caravanserai and keep going … whichever direction he had been going. North, towards Kish? He was definitely west of what was left of the city of Saraseil. Maybe one day he would travel far enough and find a place that had never heard of the Fell, and where shapeshifters weren’t regarded as vicious predators. Since every shapeshifter he had encountered other than his own family had been a vicious predator, this seemed unlikely.
Even more unlikely now that he had seen the Fell for himself. At least now he knew why groundlings always mistook his shifted form for one. When he shifted, his body grew taller and his shoulders broader. He was stronger but much lighter, and his skin grew overlapping matte black scales with an under sheen of bronze. He grew retractable claws on his hands and feet and a long tail, and a mane of flexible frills and spines around his head that ran down to his lower back. He didn’t look exactly like a Fell ruler, but it was more than close enough for terrified groundlings.
Moon dragged himself out of the too-warm cubby. Ghatli had said last night that there was a latrine and bathing area on the lowest level of the house. He climbed down to the main level and wandered through, ignoring the curious looks from the groundlings who either lived here or seemed to use this place as a general gathering area.
Most were similar in shape and color to the green-gray-furred ones he had seen last night, but there was also a party of more unusual ones clearly preparing to leave. They were about waist-high to Moon and had heavy armored shells, rounded over where their heads should be, multiple dark eyes peering out from under a rim implanted with polished stones. They had tied their packs in front around their middles, so very little of the rest of them was visible, but they had several arms and large arrays of delicate fingers. Ghatli was speaking to them in a language Moon didn’t understand, but she seemed to be trying to convince them to stay.
Moon found the half-ladder half-stair down near the front entrance. The latrine and separate bathing room had been dug out of the hill and there were several small basins, a large round metal bath with a pump to fill it, a stove with a supply of wood to warm the water, oily soap, and old blanket remnants to use as towels. The stove had a banked fire that must be from use earlier this morning. There was no one else here now, and Moon thought the gray-furred groundlings wh
o seemed to congregate here probably had no need for it. Their fur looked like it was water-resistant and they would have other ways to clean themselves. The bath would probably be for Ghatli and any groundling travelers who preferred water for washing.
Moon built the fire up and was able to wash enough to feel vaguely awake again. He kept checking himself for wounds and not finding any; his dark bronze skin was smooth and unmarked. He hadn’t been hurt during his escape from Saraseil, but some part of his brain was still convinced he was covered with burns or deep tears and punctures from claws.
When he was trying to get the ground-in dirt of the past several days out of his skin and scalp, the scent of smoke filled his lungs. It was memory, not a real lingering scent, and he stuck his head under the warm water until lack of air forced it away.
He made himself think about practical matters. He had taken nothing with him when he left Saraseil, except the clothes he was wearing and the agate chips which had been in a bag in his pocket. It was part of the magic of shifting that he could take fabric and a few other objects with him between forms, but he hadn’t been paying attention over the last few days and it was just lucky he hadn’t lost them. The light material of the shirt and pants had been fine for city living but had gotten increasingly stained the few times he had had to shift to his groundling form to sleep. But he wasn’t committed enough to washing them to bother finding out if the groundlings here would care if he was naked while they dried. And he didn’t want to stay here that long.
He went back up to the main level, where Ghatli stood in the outer door watching the short armored groundlings trundle away across the caravanserai’s yard. They were heading down the path toward the lake. The sky was overcast and it made the ferns and heavy foliage around the clearing look an even deeper green than they already were.
Ghatli saw Moon and said, with a sigh, “Even the Agun-teil are afraid.”
“Of the Fell?” Moon said, the words out before he could stop them.
“Ah!” Ghatli shuddered, making her sparse fur shake. “No, not the Fell. Not yet. Not ever, please.” She made a complicated gesture which might be a ward against bad luck, or death, or Fell, or anything in general. “No, it’s the miners. They have been attacking anyone who tries to go along the hill trade route. They haven’t come down to the shore yet, but they’ve already frightened off a great many traders.”
Moon considered leaving. The conversation, the caravanserai. If it wasn’t the Fell, he didn’t care. But it was a habit and an ingrained survival skill to pretend to show interest in things that groundlings were interested in, so he said, “The what?”
“You haven’t heard of the miners? You must not have stopped at any of the trade camps along the Lacessian Way, I thought the word had spread—” She eyed him again. “Well, I suppose you didn’t. The miners appeared here three cycles ago. We call them miners because they dig into the hills.”
A vague spark of real interest stirred and Moon squinted up at the rising terrain behind the caravanserai. It was all heavily cloaked in jungle. It looked more like hunting country, or a good spot for gathering fruit and roots. “What are they mining?”
“We have no idea. No one lives up there. It’s good country, and the trade route is right there, but there’s been no settlements, as far as the fishers can remember. Of course there are tales of ghosts, but there always are, in empty places.” Ghatli moved her shoulders uneasily. “There is obviously something the miners want up there, but we don’t know if it is something natural, like metal ore or gemstone, or something buried under the ground.” She lowered her voice. “Perhaps something left by some ancient species.”
Moon nodded absently. One thing that had become obvious in his travels was that the Three Worlds had been home to many and varied peoples over uncounted turns. The hills and the jungle might conceal anything; there were a great many things the miners could be digging for.
Ghatli had apparently been hoping for a reaction of astonishment because she drooped a little. “We thought it a good theory. It’s at least the most interesting theory.”
Moon shrugged, noncommittal.
“Anyway, this place is a major route for the trade along the Lacessian and the Vaganian, which cross on the other side of the heights, but the miners have frightened almost everyone off, and the trader caravans are taking other routes.” She scuffed at the dirt with the horny pads of one foot. “That’s Ventl’s problem. He and the other fishers can’t get anyone to cart his reeds and the traders aren’t here to buy their fish anymore, and it’s made him angry, and he thinks taking over the caravanserai from me will somehow …” She sighed. “We are friends, still, I hope. But he’s afraid and it’s made him strange.”
It took Moon a moment to remember that Ventl was the one who had tried to attack him when he had arrived. It hadn’t been much of an attack. Moon’s lack of interest in the trading difficulties of strange groundlings was in danger of overcoming him, but Ghatli said, “We can’t even talk to the miners. Trader caravans don’t want to mine, they want to trade. Fishers want to fish. The miners have no reason to think anyone here might impinge on … whatever it is they’re doing.”
“They speak a different language?” Moon asked, looking toward the jungle again. He needed to hunt, and he could hear more groundlings plodding and stamping up the path from the lake. This place was getting crowded.
“They don’t speak anything, at least not to us. The fishers who went up into the hills to try to talk to them disappeared.” Ghatli quivered, a mix of anger and disgust. “We think they ate them.”
Moon swallowed the urge to hiss. “They usually do,” he said, bitterly.
“It’s a common problem?” Ghatli asked, startled, “Because—Oh, joy, here’s Ventl again.”
Ventl was coming up the path from the lake. With him were a couple of his green-gray-furred cronies and a new group of groundlings. They were taller and broader than the stocky fishers and had boney square skulls. They wore light leather armor and carried heavy metal weapons: javelins and sickle-like curved blades slung across their backs. That was always a bad sign, in Moon’s experience. Ghatli’s too, evidently, as she muttered, “I hope they don’t want rooms. They’ll go right through the floors.”
The first armored one strode up to them and looked between Moon and Ghatli, as if equally dissatisfied with both Moon’s tattered half-starved look and Ghatli’s appearance in general. Ghatli gave a frustrated twitch and said, “What is this, Ventl? I didn’t know you knew any Cedar-rin.”
Ventl moved his big flat head in a way Moon interpreted as embarrassment or reluctance. He said, “They want to see the miners.”
Ghatli’s ears lifted. “See them in what sense?”
“That’s our concern,” the Cedar-rin said, his voice deep and grating. The skin of his face was oddly pale, but it caught the light as he turned his head and Moon saw it was coated with small pearly scales, and must be as tough as lizard-hide, though not as thick as Moon’s scales in his other form. There was a distinct resemblance to the scales on the broken statue at the old lake dock.
From this angle Moon saw the leader had horns curling out from the back of his skull and the others didn’t. They were all a little smaller, their heads not as large and boney. They might be female, or another gender, or even a variant of the species. The horned Cedar-rin said, “Why is this one here?”
He was talking about Moon. Moon didn’t answer, just continued to stare unblinking at him. Normally he believed in being more circumspect, but his patience for it seemed to have stayed behind when he left Saraseil.
Ghatli said, “He’s just a lodger. If you want to see the miners, just go up that road—” She turned to point toward the wide path that curved up the hill at the far end of the clearing.
The Cedar-rin reached to grab her arm and his hand bounced off Moon’s chest. Moon had stepped in front of Ghatli almost before he knew he was going to do it. He had no idea why, except that the Cedar-rin was large and Ghatli w
as small, even if she did seem tough and wiry. He looked into the Cedar-rin’s little pale eyes and said, “Tell her what you want. Don’t touch her.”
The Cedar-rin stared, emotion hard to read on its boney face. The others drew their sickles. Ventl came up on the balls of his big feet and Moon could hear reeds creak as the inhabitants of the caravanserai crowded out the doorway.
His voice calm and a little curious, the big Cedar-rin said, “You’re brave for a soft-skin. Do you think you can best us?”
Soft-skin, Moon thought, feeling his upper lip curl. He knew he could best them. He also knew Ghatli and the others wouldn’t much care for him after they saw him do it. His back fangs itched and his fingertips hurt and his pulse pounded through his body with the urge to shift.
Ghatli peered out from behind his elbow. She said, “We’re all friends here, hey? My good friend Ventl brought you here, didn’t he?” The look she directed Ventl’s way must have been poisonous because he rocked back on his heels from the force of it. “Do as my friend here says, and tell me what you want of us.”
The Cedar-rin considered it, then finally said, “Take us to the excavation.”
“It’s easy to find,” Ghatli said. “You take the path there up through the hills to the trade route—”
The Cedar-rin grabbed Ventl by the back of his head, drew a knife curved into a half-circle, and held it to the fur at Ventl’s throat. Ghatli flinched and the other groundlings in the caravanserai gasped in dismay.
If that was as fast as the Cedar-rin could move, Moon wasn’t impressed. But he would have to shift to stop them and he didn’t want to do that yet. He thought they would probably end up leading the Cedar-rin into the hills and it was best to get on with it.
Ghatli held up her hands. “There is no reason to get violent! Of course I’ll take you.”