by Don McQuinn
Flipping away the rock that caught his eye, the trooper turned to examine the canyon wall. He noticed the gap. Calling the man holding his horse, he said, “Look at this; it looks like a hall, or something. Maybe it’s the way to that Door the old woman says the runaway priestess is hunting for.”
The second man laughed, ambled up with horses. He looked into the passageway. “Where d’you think it goes?”
His companion shrugged. “It just stops. Nowhere it can go.” He strode inside.
Nalatan crouched.
Tate thumbed off the safety.
The trooper unbuttoned his fly and relieved himself against the wall.
A body’s length away, razor-edged sword raised, muscles drawn tight as steel bands, Nalatan’s eyes flew open at the unmistakable sound of splattering water.
One more step, and the Kossiar had to see the angled exit to the top of the plateau. It would be the last thing he ever saw, but his friends would come behind him.
Finished, the man walked back out. “Handy. Private. Just like the officers’ latrines at base.”
His companion said, “Except for the rattlesnakes. It’s probably full of them.”
“That’s not funny,” the first man said, swinging up into his saddle. “Why didn’t you say that sooner? Come on, we’re heading back.” They were arguing spiritedly as they departed.
For hours, the group on the plateau endured. Sweltering, taking water in dabs and sips, listening for the sound of renewed pursuit, they held fast.
Dodoy bore it longer than Sylah expected. He’d found a crevice between two boulders, and was cramped into it as far as he could get, hiding from the sun and anything else that might come. His cries for Tate finally grew loud enough to demand her attention. Pulling back from the edge, she crawled to him. “I’m here. We’re all right. It’s going to be all right.”
“It’s not!” The boy screamed in her face, shaking his head. Huge, rounded eyes looked through her, off into a vision of his own. “They’ll be back. They’re going to get me. We can’t get away. I’m thirsty.”
Tate reached for him. He squeezed farther into the crevice. The high voice rose to a screech. “Hide me. Pile rocks in front of me. Dirt. Get some bushes, too. Don’t let them find me.”
The chain axe lay on the ground where he’d dropped it. Tate pushed it aside with her foot. Dodoy heard the faint rattle, saw what she was doing. His desperation turned to cunning. “Get it away. When they come, they’ll think I meant to hurt them. You carry it.”
Tate sighed, detached her canteen, and extended it. He grabbed it, drank greedily. Wiping his face, he said, “How much longer do we have to stay here? Is that all your water?”
“We’ll be leaving soon. We have to be careful. I have to go watch with Nalatan now. Just be calm, honey. We’ll be leaving soon.”
“Stay with me. I need you, not him. He’s big.”
Tate took her canteen back. When she reached for him, Dodoy drew away. Tate left.
Sylah had watched the byplay. Now she made her way to the boy. When she reached in to touch him he snarled. “You’re blocking my air,” he said, pushing at her. Sylah persisted. “Dodoy, we’re all very tired and very frightened. It’s not just you. Tate’s afraid. She’s more afraid for you than for herself, though. That’s the way it is when you love someone. Being brave doesn’t mean you don’t think or you don’t care. Being brave is when you care so much you forget about yourself and only worry about someone else. Being brave is love, Dodoy, and doing what you have to do because you love.”
Dodoy turned his head away. Still, Sylah was sure she’d seen a touch of understanding. She couldn’t know if he’d take it to heart.
Leaving to rejoin Lanta, she jiggled the few drops of water in her waterskin. The boy might not have time to learn.
Chapter 17
Risking movement without the protection of darkness, the group resumed their retreat from the Kossiars in the early evening. A solitary nighthawk provided accompaniment for a while, diving in ruffling explosion, riding sharp wings effortlessly across the sky. Tate, walking between Sylah and Nalatan, gestured at the bird. “I wonder where he gets his water?”
Sylah said, “Nalatan knows. Don’t you?”
He smiled. His cracked lips made it look painful. “I know we won’t reach any before tomorrow evening. At dawn we’ll get you into some shade. I’ll leave what water I have with you, and go ahead for more. I’ll move faster alone.”
Sylah was firm. “We’re not separating.” When Nalatan started to object, she spoke over it. “There’s no need. We’ll be all right. Aren’t we on your people’s land yet?”
Nalatan stopped. “How’d you know that? Lanta? Seeing?”
“Don’t be sacrilegious. You said your village was near Church Home. When the Kossiars came, you moved us west, when you could have gone north. Then, this morning, you insisted we ride west. And you knew exactly where that escape thing was. Do you think we’re all fools?”
Attempting to look offended, Nalatan said, “I was going to tell you.” His eyes went to Tate, an almost imperceptible move. Sylah had the impression he’d been compelled to do it, that he meant his words more for Tate than herself. He went on with no noticeable change in manner. “There are many things I wanted to tell you about my people, but there’s been no time. I’ve been hoping hunters from the tribe would see us, help us. The thing is, there’s no water—not even bad water you can fix—between here and my village. My plan is our only hope.”
“I’m the Flower.” Sylah imbued it with strength. “I’ve prayed. I told the One in All my friends have done all people can do. If He wants His Door found, He better do something about it. Told Him while we escaped.”
Nalatan said, “On horseback? That’s a prayer? That’s making terms.”
“Stating the obvious isn’t terms. Anyhow, are things going to get worse?”
Shaking his head, Nalatan spoke to Tate. “I’m not sure I care if we survive. It might be worth dying just to hear what she has to say when we reach the Land Beyond.”
Sylah smiled at Tate and patted her hand. “They really are undeveloped, you know. Men. When it comes to hard cases, they’re still boys, and all they really have any faith in is their own muscle and whatever iron toy they’re holding at the moment. Comical.”
Laughing, Tate agreed. Nalatan moved ahead huffily. “It’s getting dark. This boy will lead, so you more perfect people don’t break a leg.”
There was little other conversation exchanged after that. Nalatan picked his way through the night at a steady pace that covered ground with minimum energy. Nevertheless, all of them, people and animals, were at the thinnest edge of exhaustion.
Dawn found them in a huddle at the base of a forbidding mountainside that rose away in a jumble of boulders. Tate turned a silent, pleading expression on Nalatan. He understood, spoke resignedly. “Beyond that. Water. The village of my people. I’ll be back day after tomorrow. Midday.”
Sylah pointed. “Would that be one of your people up there?”
Stunned, Nalatan looked. Far above them, a man stood on a boulder. Nalatan waved, made a strangling noise. The watcher waved back. A weird ululation almost like coyote song cascaded down the mountainside. Grabbing a waterskin, Nalatan refreshed his mouth. He threw back his head to yip and yelp as wildly as the first man. When he stopped, his companions were staring at him.
“My people,” he said proudly. “We’re safe. There’s nothing to worry about now.”
From nowhere, men appeared on the mountainside. All but the one who originally made the strange near-coyote sounds were much farther downhill. They’d obviously been ready to attack if necessary. Now they bounded down the hillside, brandishing double-curved bows, soaring from rock to rock so effortlessly, so swiftly, Tate was reminded of the whistling flight of the nighthawk. Dressed in cloth that matched the colors of the earth, their faces were painted in odd, asymmetrical designs.
One of them thrust a waterskin at Tate. Hand
some in spite of his paint, he grinned at her. “It’s fresh.”
Tate reached. “All I need is wet. Thank you.” The words came out rough and thick. The man laughed, an amusement that turned to more serious consideration when she first had him fill her cupped hands for the dog and the horse. Then she allowed herself a long, luxurious swallow and a deep, rib-stretching inhalation. The man was waiting when she finished. “My name’s Canis Minor.”
“Donnacee Tate. Pleased to meet you.”
A man with a gray-flecked beard made his way through the gathered warriors. His step was solidly muscular, but lacked the acrobatic elasticity of the men who’d vaulted down the hillside. The younger warriors cleared a way for him. He went first to Nalatan. They touched fists in formal greeting. Nalatan indicated Sylah.
Stepping forward, she greeted the bearded man with hands, overhead, thumbs and fore fingers joined in the sun symbol. At the man’s return sign, she introduced herself and the others. The man smiled openly. “The Peddlers said anti-Church Kossiars were planning to attack us, and might drive you in our direction. We’ve been looking for you. We are Starwatch People, and my name is Orion.”
Sylah bent forward. “Anti-Church? Peddler?”
“Scum.” Orion made a three-sign. “Normally, we’d have ignored him. They’re all liars and thieves.”
“He told you of the Kossiars?” Sylah’s smile remained firmly fixed on Orion. “Why attack you? Why pursue us?”
“He said you’re riding ahead of the Harvester, making Church Home ready for her. Kossiars need slaves.”
Nalatan blinked, opened his mouth. Tate pretended to choke on a mouthful of water, spun, and slammed him. The resulting confusion allowed Sylah to control the conversation. “Did he say anything of the Flower?”
“No, but everyone knows of her quest.”
Dodoy said, “That’s her.” Everyone looked at him, then where he was pointing. Sylah continued to watch Orion. Her smile swiftly turned apologetic. “I would have spared you knowing that. There’s too much tension within Church; you shouldn’t have to worry about it. If we can have fresh water from you, we’ll be on our way.”
“Absolutely not.” Orion was grim. Tate saw the hurt surprise in Nalatan. She leaned away from his sword arm and lowered her own hand to her pistol. Orion went on, “Starwatch has supported Church since the beginning. We’ll weather this storm, as we have all others. The Flower is most welcome in our tents.”
The broken tension was more refreshing than the water. In minutes, everyone was on the way up the mountain.
Nalatan rode at the head of the column with Orion. The man who’d offered Tate water fell in beside her as they climbed up between huge rocks. She asked, “Are all you men named for stars or constellations or something?”
There was great surprise in his voice, and Tate was glad her face was averted so he couldn’t see her consternation at the enormity of her mistake. “You use our word for star pictures? No one else does. Not Kos, not Church. We heard you and your friends came to the Dog people from an unknown land. Maybe your siah knew ours.”
Tate mumbled. Canis Minor went on. “All Starwatch men are named for a star. It’s our duty to watch it, in honor of the giants who flew there. Women only have woman names, of course, and men who go to First Star brotherhood, like Nalatan, get new names from the brotherhood master.”
Gritting her teeth, Tate ignored “woman names.” “You have legends of people who went to the stars?”
Canis Minor glanced upward as he answered. “Long ago, even before the beginning, the giants went beyond the sky. From the Dry. Here’s where they’ll come back.”
Tate smiled over pain. A world Canis Minor couldn’t imagine built a spaceport in Nevada. Tate couldn’t even remember its name or the name of the nearest city. Canis Minor was saying, “Most tribes live in the Dry because stronger tribes forced them here. Starwatch chose. This is our land.”
Tate looked into Canis Minor’s face. In him she appreciated the hard strength and cruel beauty of his country, the awesome lure of vistas so vast they frightened the viewer. All at once, she understood the love of a place that dared mankind and revealed its beautiful heart only to those bold enough to accept its terms.
Before Tate could express anything, Nalatan turned and smiled back at her. His look at Canis Minor was less than friendly.
The reaction rankled Tate. Nalatan had held back all manner of secrets. He only talked, when he had to, anymore. Who was he to act as if he had some claim on her?
Dodoy noted the reaction with a nervous frown. It only added to his growing conviction that something was seriously wrong with Tate. Sylah said she was afraid. Dodoy was sure the fear had something to do with Nalatan, but he couldn’t figure out how it all worked. They’d both changed. Before, they looked at each other like they were hungry. They still did, in a way, but if Nalatan caught Tate looking at him, she turned her head. He behaved the same way.
Afraid. Maybe that was it. Sylah said being brave came from loving someone, but if you loved someone, you worried about things happening.
If Tate loved Nalatan and was afraid for him, she was that much less afraid for Dodoy.
An image of the Harvester floated across his thinking. She didn’t love anyone. She knew what she wanted, though. Dodoy smiled to himself, thinking back to the way the Chair bullied her. Stupid. He thought he’d won. Even the mighty Chair couldn’t understand a woman like that wasn’t beaten unless she was dead.
The Chair and the Harvester. Tate and Nalatan. Lanta and Conway. No one really cared about anyone. In his own case, they all thought he knew something about where the Door was, knew where somebody like Tate used to live. If it weren’t for those things, they’d have sold him long ago.
A frightening thought. Dodoy wrestled with it. He had to find a place where he belonged soon.
It was all very tiring. He sagged forward in the saddle, lay on the horse’s neck. He never twitched when Tate rode up to lift him off his horse and onto her lap.
When they reached the mountaintop and the trail widened, Sylah rode forward to join Nalatan and Orion. As soon as she did, Orion said, “Actually, we had two Peddlers come to us. Within two days. Usually we don’t see one twice in a year. Common as rats anymore. Said Windband may attack Church Home. Is there something behind the Door to stop them, Priestess?”
“I don’t know. I believe I’m destined to find it, to open it, and claim its secret. But I don’t know what the secret is.”
“Power.” Orion gave the word a peculiar pitch, made it almost obscene. “Everyone seeks that.”
“And no woman has any. I mean to change that.”
Orion’s smile patronized. “When you’re as old as I am, you’ll have opened more than one door you’ll wish had remained closed.”
“The Door was a secret of the Teachers. I have no fear of anything they left us.”
“Us?”
Bridling, Sylah snapped her answer. “Church. Women. Us.”
“Power.” Sadness replaced the earlier cast of the word. Orion clapped his hands, as if dusting them of the whole conversation. “But none of that need trouble us. We’re in good company, living at peace. Isn’t that enough to bring a smile to anyone’s face?”
The following evening the column descended one last hill toward a pleasant valley. A clear, inviting river hurried busily past small pastures and fields. Herds of cattle, horses, sheep, and llamas moved across the valley floor all the way to the ranging hills beyond. Flocks of goats utilized the higher, sparser growth; a young herder shooed his charges out of the column’s way. Once the goats were clear, the boy cupped his hands to his mouth and yelped the same way the warriors had. Far below, people paused in their activities to peer up the mountainside. Some waved. Most merely went back to whatever they were doing.
Nalatan told Sylah, “I should have explained earlier. The howling’s a war language. We can talk without others understanding. All males know it. The goatherd just told the village we’re
coming. How many, how fast. He said we look tired.”
Sylah thanked him. Her thoughts flew to Clas na Bale, remembering the silent hand language of his Dog People.
Square buildings marked the corners of the equally precise camp. At the center of the village’s uniformly spaced conical dwelling tents, however, a taller building dominated the entire settlement. It, too, was square. Two stories, flat-roofed, it was a solid stone-and-timber construction that Sylah understood was the tribe’s defensive heart. She thought of Kos, and wrinkled her nose in distaste.
After the hardships of the Dry, the Starwatch village was dreamlike. Orion introduced them to the chief and the elders. The people smiled and greeted them easily. Considerately, they were soon left to rest.
That first evening, following a massive dinner of spit-roasted turkey and fresh vegetables, the women sat outside, with their backs to the tent Orion had provided for them. Tate suggested they make up a fresh batch of goat cheese for breakfast. Sylah and Lanta took turns thinking up fitting torments for her.
When they were quiet once again, sharing the silent companionship of tested friends, Sylah closed her eyes and marveled at her blessings. Opening them, she realized she was facing the direction of Church Home.
She felt the Door now. The small, secret voice that drove was constant, indistinct, not speaking words, but muttering, letting her know it was there. It thrilled her to think of it.
Frightened her.
Orion’s heavy voice broke her introspection. She looked to see him stepping into the circle of the firelight. It didn’t surprise her that he was alone. She’d already noted that even the chief deferred to him. After some conversation about food and quarters, she asked, “How did your siah decide on this place?”
“He led our ancestors here from the west, but we don’t know where they started. That’s a secret that died with the ancients. We were here when Church Home was born, though; we know that. The first protective brotherhood started with Starwatch men.”