Powers That Be

by Anne McCaffrey

  “I’ve seen that sort of thing a time or two. And where you’d least expect it.”

  Her pack settled, Sinead entered the lean-to and emerged with two sets of snowshoes, handing a pair to Yana. She knelt to attach hers and then they were both ready, Sinead leading the way into the dense forest, only slightly illuminated by the rising sun.

  They had traveled about half an hour, Yana judged, when Sinead stopped to kneel by a heavy evergreen bush. Hauling the skirt of branches to one side, she pulled out the oddest-looking wicker contraption Yana had ever seen, with the smaller end turning back inside itself. It held two gray-furred long-eared animals of good size.

  “Thank you, friends,” Sinead murmured, and then with a deft twist of strong gloved hands she wrung their necks.

  Yana was startled. “They weren’t dead yet?” she asked, surprised more by that than by Sinead’s quick dispatch of them.

  Sinead shrugged. “They came to die.” She hummed—though Yana was certain she caught the sounds of words, as well—while with quick movements she wound cord from an outside pocket about their hind legs and secured them to a hook protruding from her pack.

  Then, continuing her odd humming, she put a handful of pellets in the oddly shaped trap and replaced it under the bush. By then Yana had figured out that the trap let the creatures in through the clever inverted neck, which, apparently, couldn’t expand as an exit. Like a fish trap she had once seen, where fish could swim in, but not out.

  “You don’t trap them dead?” Yana asked when Sinead fell silent. She had the oddest notion that Sinead had been singing some sort of a ritual requiem.

  Sinead shook her head. “No, we live-trap. It is our way. But it means I must run the trapline every three, four days, or they would also starve.”

  Yana shook her head, surprised. “You said it was a good time to die? Were those rabbits waiting here for you to kill them?”

  “So it would appear.” Then Sinead rose and started off to the left again.

  They had emptied ten similar traps, and Yana now carried a share of the catch, when Sinead, holding up her hand for Yana to tread more warily, stole toward a thicket. Parting the branches so carefully that only a few grains of snow fell, she motioned for Yana to look into the small clearing. A large buff-colored reindeer stood there—on three legs, the fourth broken at the knee and hanging at an obscene angle. The deer had been cropping the bushes around it, and the snow had turned to muddy slush where it had trampled the clearing in its food circuit.

  Sinead moved back, holding up one gloved hand to indicate Yana was to stay put. She slipped out of her pack, laying it quietly in the snow, and with spear in hand she crept around the thicket. Yana watched as she disappeared into another portion of the undergrowth. Then she heard a grunt, a whirring noise, and a thunk as the spear found its target and then an uninhibited crashing of bushes.

  “Okay, Yana,” Sinead called cheerily, and Yana pushed through the thicket and saw the spear sticking out of the deer’s head, right between its eyes. “Grand pelt on this buck,” Sinead said, running her hand down the side and back of the dead beast.

  “This isn’t one of your humane traps, is it?” Yana asked, looking about the clearing as she hunkered down beside the hunter.

  “Not a trap, but I’ve seen does have their young in places like this.”

  “You’re a mighty hunter, Nimrod,” Yana went on, observing how much of the spear’s metal point had entered the beast’s skull. “That was some throw.”

  “The idea is to cause as little pain as possible. Skull’s thinnest right between the eyes. Minute the point hit its brain it was dead. Which it wanted to be with a break like that,” Sinead said, pointing to the broken leg. “Hadn’t done it but a day or two ago, either. Bone ends not frozen through. ‘Nother thing about a head kill is the skin isn’t marred. C’mon. We got real work to do now.”

  To Yana’s surprise, Sinead had her help drag the carcass from the little clearing. “Doe might need it come spring, and it don’t do to leave death scent around.”

  They gutted the animal, a procedure Yana found somewhat less distasteful than dissections of alien creatures she had witnessed during her search-and-discover days with company expeditionary parties. Sinead demonstrated the technique with almost ritualistic care and put the offal in a sack she had obviously brought for the need. She kept out the liver.

  “Lunch,” she said, “but I’ll just put the rest of this—which we can use—where nothing can reach it.” She hung the sack high on the branch beside the carcass, which was already stiffening with cold. “We’ll come back for it. Gotta finish the line.”

  Then Sinead beckoned Yana to follow her as she took up her trapline again. They had acquired several more animals, two already dead in the live traps, when Sinead decided it was time to eat. She built a little fire and, with sharpened twigs, skewered slices of the liver.

  The cooking smelled as good as the eating tasted. Yana licked her fingers, shoving them into her parka to dry them on her shirt when she had finished eating.

  Sinead heated a pan of water and made some tea, which they took turns drinking.

  “So,” Yana said. “So far these all seem to be fairly standard critters, the kind that would have occurred in the northernmost parts of Earth back in the old days. I had kind of hoped for something a little more unusual.”

  Sinead looked across at her, a slight smile on her face. “Day’s early.”

  “Do you ever catch those freshwater seals?” The shock of Sinead’s reaction to that casual question made Yana try a hasty apology. “What’d I say wrong? You’re the one asked me had I seen them.”

  “You see a seal, dama, and you be respectful.” And there was no question of the menace in Sinead’s manner.

  Yana held her hands up in surrender and laughed shakily. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to put both feet in my mouth. Are seals special?”

  “Very,” Sinead said in an unequivocal tone. Then she, too, lightened up, the tension draining out of her body. “Petaybean seals are one of the more unusual beasts: on the surface they may look like the ordinary Earth species, but they’re very much a product of the planet and they must be protected. Not many people ever get to see a Petaybean seal.” Unexpectedly Sinead grinned, her eyes intent on Yana’s face. “You see one, you be respectful,” she repeated pleasantly.

  “You can count on that!” Yana said fervently.

  Sinead rose and neatly covered their small fire with snow; and then they were on their way again.

  Nine traps later, with some carcasses whose pelts had caused Sinead’s eyes to glisten with pleasure, Yana realized that Sinead was swinging to her right. Maybe they were on the homeward leg. Yana hoped so. Her back and calf muscles were beginning to protest: individually the dead animals weighed little, but she had fifteen dangling from the pack now, and her legs were feeling the strain of unaccustomed snowshoeing.

  There was no way she would complain, but she was tiring. Still and all, she had surprised herself with the day’s work. Far cry from what she had been like first off Andromeda. A healthy life in the outdoors, with untainted air to breathe and decent food to eat, was certainly providing cures never found in an Intergal medical cabinet.

  Yana heard the cracking sound almost as soon as Sinead, who dropped to her knees. Yana did likewise and watched with bated breath as Sinead crept forward. She motioned for Yana to come up, but also signaled her to proceed quietly. Yana had done her share of stalking—of beasts in her expeditionary days, of people in her days as an investigator—and moved appropriately. The cracking continued, a cracking and a thumping. Again Sinead moved forward, stepping with extra care, inserting herself into one of the ubiquitous thickets that grew everywhere. Yana let the branches close around her as she followed Sinead. Instead of peering up over the thicket, Sinead began to part the lower branches, crouching down to look through. She waved Yana to a point beside her, and Yana realized that she could almost see through to what looked like a riverbed. With e
xquisite caution, she slowly made an obscured peek hole in the branches and barely stifled her gasp of astonishment.

  Animals that she first thought were some of Sean’s curly-coated horses were standing about on the frozen river. One was butting at the ice, obviously determined to make a hole from which it and its companions could drink—and it was butting with a short, stumpy curled horn that grew out of the end of its nose bone. The critter was putting its all into the exercise, sometimes dropping to its knees with the force of its blows, then heaving back to all fours and springing from powerful hindquarters to beat again at the ice. The rear view exposed some obvious male appendages; checking the others of the group, Yana came to the conclusion that the horn seemed to be a perquisite of the male of the species. Suddenly it gave a triumphant bellow and began rearing up, coming down hard to stomp at the ice with its sharp hooves. The others in the small herd did likewise and then backpedaled as a black hole appeared in the white surface.

  Sinead turned to grin broadly at Yana and then signaled her to withdraw. They jogged quite a ways down the track before Sinead stopped.

  “Was that a unicorn I saw?” Yana asked, panting and wheezing just a bit from the exertion.

  Sinead grinned with humorous malice. “There ain’t no such animal and neither of us is virgin, though me more than you, I guess.”

  “I didn’t see any in Sean’s herd. And he showed me the stallion.”

  “This is a wild curly. They need the horn to get water in the winter.”

  “Does the horn fall off in the summer then?”

  “Don’t know. Never saw a horned curly trying to break ice in the summer.” Sinead was off down the track before Yana could press her for more information. Well, she had been promised unusual animals—and she’d got ’em.

  To Yana’s surprise they were back at the lean-to much sooner than she had anticipated. She helped Sinead hitch up the team to the sled and deposited the frozen small animals on the sled bench, and then they made a straight line back to where the deer was hung. Nothing had touched it.

  By the time they reached Kilcoole, Yana taking turns with Sinead to ride the sled runners, it looked the same as it had when they left: no one about on the frozen track and lights coming up in the cabins as they passed.

  “Need help skinning any of these?” Sinead asked as she deposited a fair half of the produce at Yana’s feet.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Yana admitted. “Though I could probably figure it out, I’ve never really done it before. I have done a little trapping and hunting, but seldom for food; mostly it was for specimens that needed to remain intact for examination and analyses.”

  Sinead took charge, demonstrating the technique of placing the slits and peeling the coats back, stripping away connective tissue. “Ruining the hide wastes part of the critter’s gift to you, so you want to do it right. Sharp knife helps.” She helped Yana skin out her share, watching until she was satisfied that Yana had the knack. Yana found she learned skinning with a lot more ease than she did cooking.

  Sinead pointed up to the crossbeams. “If you tie your catch up high out here on the porch, nothing’ll get ’em. I’ll bring back your share of the reindeer when we’ve butchered it. And its hide. You have more need of it than we do.”

  With Yana’s profuse thanks trailing after them, Sinead and her dogs went on up the track to the cabin she and Aisling shared.

  9

  A week later, Yana noticed unusual activity at the Kilcoole meeting hall. When she went up to investigate, she was put to work by a laughing Clodagh, who was organizing every available body to assist in the good work. By midday the place had been swept clean, the floor washed, the trestle tables set up, and the chairs placed around the walls. The platform was erected where singers and players could be seen, and heat was pouring forth from the two fireplaces and the big fuel-drum stove. The breakup betting board had been hung from its accustomed hook, the dates and two-hour sections newly inscribed, waiting for folk to place their wagers as to the day and the approximate hour when spring would crack winter’s ice and the rivers would once again begin to flow with wet water.

  The latchkay stewpot, the biggest kettle in Kilcoole, occupied its burner, and every time the lid rattled with steam, a delicious odor wafted free. The big coffeepot was ready to go on—no need to do it yet or the coffee would walk out of the pot and demand dancing space. Mugs waited in platoons, and someone had donated a whole pail of sweetener. Soon the cakes and pies and other baked goods would arrive, and the other dishes the village’s best cooks would provide.

  With the hall set up, Yana hurried back to her cabin to complete the rest of her civic duty and prepare her hot dish. Bunny had suggested beans, probably because they were relatively foolproof, Yana suspected. However Yana, who felt she was doing quite well with the cooking lessons, not only seasoned them with the pepper Bunny had recommended, but actually got cocky enough to add garlic, just because she liked the flavor. She also threw in a heaping handful of dried tomato and capsicum flakes, because the dash of color made the plain beans look more festive.

  She had just taken the beans off the stove when, rather to her surprise, Aisling and Sinead came by with the finished blouses. She was amazed that they had finished the garments so quickly, especially considering the intricacy of the ornamentation. Hers fit beautifully. Its V neck was tastefully decorated with beads cunningly sewn on to the material’s design, a sort of appliqué. The full sleeves were gathered into a tight cuff, also beaded, and the bodice of the shirt fit close to Yana’s lean frame, but not so close that it didn’t soften the spare lines of her thin body. And there were pockets, also bead-trimmed, into which Yana could stuff her hands when she didn’t know what else to do with them. The open collar was also cleverly decorated, with beads made from segments of some of the wires Yana, had seen in the store. In exchange for the blouse, Aisling gratefully accepted Yana’s proffered bags of those spices Bunny had said the two could most use.

  By the time the other women left, it was time to bathe and dress for the main event. Usually, Yana just took a spit bath in kettle-heated water, but she wasn’t about to put her new blouse on without a proper bath. The hot springs, while a few miles away, was not an impossible walk, and on several occasions since Sean had introduced her to it, Yana had trekked there for a dip. Usually there were other people enjoying the water, so she wasn’t surprised not to encounter the “special” seal she must treat with respect. Had she been properly respectful that first time? she wondered. On this latchkay morning, the entire village was in and out of the pool, sprucing themselves up for the long-awaited celebration. There were such splashings and carryings-on that the communal bathing deteriorated into a sporting event. At which time Yana left, wrapping up well for the walk back to her cabin.

  “Sláinte, Yana,” Bunny called cheerfully as Yana reached her porch. “Want you to meet Diego,” she said, pointing to the well-wrapped figure in her sled. “Here, give this to the major . . .” Bunny shoved a water thermos into his hands. “Major Yanaba Maddock, this is Diego Metaxos.” She gestured with her hands for Diego to get a move on.

  Yana felt for the boy, knowing how stiff a body could be after one of Bunny’s sled rides, as he unfolded, a little awkwardly, balancing the water thermos.

  “How’s your father doing?” Yana asked, walking to the front of the porch to take the thermos from the boy. Seeing his haunted expression, she felt even sorrier for him.

  “She”—and he jerked his mittened hand over his shoulder at Bunny—“said you’d made them get Steve.”

  “I didn’t make anybody do anything, Diego,” Yana said with a self-deprecating laugh, “but I did suggest—to someone who has the power to authorize such things—that it might reassure your father and improve his condition. And yours.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He started to turn back, noted Bunny’s frown, and turned back, a halfway smile tugging his cold and cracked lips. “I mean it, Major Maddock.”

  Now Yana could see why
Bunny could be interested in the boy. Not only was he around her age, but he was tall and well built, with longish wavy black hair and intense dark eyes with curling lashes any girl would envy. And that little smile of his held a certain charm. It was certainly an improvement on his lost, haunted look. What had he seen in the caves that had produced that effect? Not that Petaybee wasn’t daunting to anyone suddenly plonked down on its surface.

  The two turned to go, but Yana suddenly remembered the blouse. “Wait! You’ll want this for the latchkay,” she said, ducking back inside. In a moment she handed the blouse to the girl.

  Tears sprang up in Bunny’s eyes. “Oh, Yana! For me? It’s so beautiful!” She held it up in front of her parka and swung around to show Diego, who pretended indifference, but Yana thought she saw a flicker of admiration behind the boy’s nonchalance.

  Bunny hugged her. “Thank you! I’ll go get dressed right now.”

  Yana watched Bunny, with Diego walking beside her, jump onto her sled and skim down the street, the plume tails of the dogs wagging as they knew themselves near home, and food.

  With a satisfied smile, Yana went inside her nice warm house, to dry her hair and get ready for the latchkay.

  To Yana’s surprise, there was a knock on her door just as she was about to leave. She had been hearing people going past her door, on foot and with dogsleds, for the past half hour, though it was only midafternoon. She spent the time primping, trying to make her own appearance worthy of the blouse, admiring the way the garment added sparkle to her eyes and brought out highlights in her hair, even making her skin glow with unaccustomed color. The knock startled her. Bunny, probably.

  Before she could reach the latch, the door swung slowly open and a well-snowed figure—for it had begun to snow again—stood in the doorway. She recognized the finely decorated gloves as Sean Shongili lifted his hands to push back the hood of his parka.