Moonscatter

by Jo Clayton

  In the cold austere moonlight, softly rounded in the stark black and white angles of the landscape, she sees her body draped over Hern’s, the stubby shafts of spears growing from both their backs. She gasps and is back hovering over herself. She sees the trampled dust around the two bodies, the prints of many macain circling them. Her weaponbelt is gone. Their mounts are gone. Hern’s sword is gone. The Sleykynin have left them for dead, she knows suddenly. She looks back at Reiki. “Am I dead?”

  “Not yet. Not quite.” The janja’s voice is quiet, reassuring.

  Serroi kneels. The janja is right. There is life burning in both the bodies, in her abandoned body and Hern’s, though the fire is flickering low. She takes hold of the spear shaft, intending to pull it from her body, but there is no strength in her hands. Reiki is beside her as she takes her hands away. “Reach deep,” the janja says.

  “How?” Serroi looks helplessly at the shaft. “I don’t understand.”

  Reiki kneels beside her, getting down with difficulty and many muttered complaints, presses her hands on Serroi’s green glass feet. “Reach into earth for the strength you need.”

  Her body knowing what to do though her mind is clouded with confusion, Serroi reaches deep and quivers as a surge of warmth comes from earth into her.

  Reiki takes her hands away and grunts herself leg by leg back on her feet. “You know what to do,” she says. “The knowledge was born in you.”

  Serroi sets her hands on the spear shaft again. Before she can gather herself to try pulling it out, it moves of itself and begins working out of her body’s back. As it comes loose, blood surges from her back. She lets the spear fall and drops to her knees, flattening her hands on the wound. At first the blood flows through her hands, then the warmth flows out of them. Her hands sink into the lacerated muscle. She doesn’t know what is happening, but the warmth knows, her body knows—how to heal itself is what it knows. She realizes this almost immediately and relaxes, letting what is happening happen of itself. Her body uses the warmth to make new flesh, new blood, pushing her hands up as it repairs itself, layer by layer. When her hands emerge from her body, she stares at them. Her dream-flesh is translucent green glass and there is no blood on it.

  “You want to hurry a little or Hern will die on you.” Reiki’s grave voice breaks into her wonder.

  Dream-Serroi nods. She tugs at her body but can’t budge it even when the warmth surges back into her. Reiki pushes her aside and lifts Serroi and lays her flat, face up, on the ground. Dream-Serroi flits to Hern. She roots herself in the earth again, the feeling is like extruding tendrils from her dream body, she sees them growing down deep deep into earth’s heart. She grasps the spear shaft, feels it come alive and begin working up through the thicker meatier muscle of Hern’s back. When it is out, she lets it topple and presses her hands into Hern’s flesh. Again the body knows its business. She doesn’t have to fuss, just provide the energy and let it work. She is much more confident this time, feels a great serenity, a happiness that is partly joy that Hern will not die and partly the joy she finds in the healing itself. Again the flesh knits under her palms, little by little pushing her out. When the wound is closed and healed except for a faint pinkness of the skin, she sinks back on her heels and looks thoughtfully at the delicate green glass of her hands. She turns and smiles at Reiki janja, weary but happy with it.

  The janja smiles a bit distractedly, waves her big hand at Serroi. “Back home, little one. You’ve been out long enough.”

  Serroi drifts across to her body. She stands looking down at it for a moment. Her body’s eyes are closed. There is a half-smile on her face. She looks quietly happy and at rest at long last as if all her agonizing has been washed away. Dream-Serroi hesitates. But—in spite of the pain she knows is waiting for her—she isn’t quite ready to die yet. Rest is seductive, but there is too much left for her to do to succumb to that seduction. She steps onto her body and merges with it.

  She sat up. Hern was still out, his body recovering from its strenuous business. She felt some of the same weariness, a dragging tiredness as if she’d been heaving forkloads of wet hay all day long. She pulled her legs up, wrapped her arms around them. Her herbs and drugs and other small supplies were gone with her weaponbelt, the macain were gone and all the food and water with them. The gold was gone. She sighed as she thought of Yael-mri’s annoyance when she heard this. Gone to Sleykynin, that was the worst of it. She propped her elbows, on her knees, dropped her chin into her hands and contemplated Hern. He was sleeping, no longer unconscious, she realized that when she heard a faint snore. Left for dead, she thought. They’ll regret that, probably are already with the Prime of the local Chapter House chewing their ears off about not bringing the bodies back. Wonder what time it is. She dropped her hands and looked up. Most of the moons had already set, though the three Dancers were still up, their light touching the face of the scarp and illuminating the rotten ragged stone. They’ll be coming back. She spared a moment’s thankfulness for the wash she’d cursed so fervently before. Without that, without the Sleykyn fear they’d escape, she’d be back in the trap she’d been in before at the well, facing a course of rape and torture, this time with less—far less—chance of escaping it. She touched the side of her boot, felt the long slim hardness of the hideout, blessed the tajicho. She watched Hern snore for a few minutes then turned to search for Reiki expecting to see nothing, thinking that the old woman had vanished with the ending of the dream, but the janja sat quietly, waiting with wordless patience for Serroi to finish her musings, passing a soft leather bag from hand to hand, the long drawstring draped over her thick wrist.

  “Take off your boots, little one,” Reiki said softly. “For a while now you must keep touch with the Mother.”

  Serroi touched her boots, outlined the small round of the tajicho. “I can’t. I dare not.”

  Reiki tossed her the small pouch. “Put it in this. Wear it around your neck.”

  Serroi fished out the tajicho, looked up to meet Reiki’s smiling eyes. “You shouldn’t be able … how …?”

  “I couldn’t if I wished you harm.”

  “The sprite … Hern.…”

  “I know. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Oh.” The tajicho was warm in Serroi’s hand but not burning. She slipped it into the pouch and hung the pouch around her neck.

  She pulled off her boots and sat rubbing her feet. She looked at the boots, pulled the hideout from its sheath. She set the knife on the ground beside her and dug into the other boot for the silver box and the lockpicks stowed there. She set the picks and the box beside the knife, looked at them a long moment, sighed, restored them to their pockets and set the boots on the ground. She got to her feet, feeling bones and muscles creak. She stretched, working her sore muscles until they protested, then strolled over to smile down at Hern.

  Still deeply asleep, he looked uncomfortable but there was nothing much she could do about that. Even back in her body she wasn’t strong enough to lift him. Stepping back, her foot touched something. She looked down. The spear. She bent and picked it up, rubbed her thumb along the dried blood on the point, pounded the shaft against the ground. It was long enough to serve as a walking staff. She dug the bloody point repeatedly into the hard earth to scrub the blood away. Good for digging too, she thought. She stopped and stared at the spear. Digging? She shrugged, cleaned the second spear and laid them both out beside Hern. She scratched at her nose, twisted her mouth, went back to her boots. Holding them in her hands, she gazed at Reiki. “Digging?”

  “You know already.”

  “I know nothing. I understand nothing. What’s happening to me?”

  “You’re changing. Shifting from his hand to mine.”

  “Who are you?”

  “You know me.”

  “I thought I did. I’m not sure now.”

  “I’m Reiki, janja of the pehiir. What did you think?”

  “That only?”

  Reiki shrugged, spread ou
t her hands palms up. “Sometimes I think so, sometimes not.”

  “Now?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. What is he to you?”

  “He has made himself my enemy.”

  “Does he know what we’re after? Do you?”

  “I know. He doesn’t yet. He thinks you’re running from him, trying to pull his attention from the Valley. And he’s worried about you.”

  Serroi looked down at the boots in her hand; she lifted them and smoothed the tops over her arm. “Why is he doing this?”

  Broad hands palm down on her thighs, Reiki janja sighed. “An end to uncertainty. He’s tired of seeing things and people he cares about darting out of control, out of his control. He’s not an evil man.”

  Serroi echoed Reiki’s sigh. “I know. He doesn’t understand anything.”

  Silence. The whisper of dust on dust, the acrid taste of dust in her mouth. The soft regular puffs of Hern’s breath. Serroi flattened her feet on the earth, feeling the currents passing between earth and her, understanding now a little why she must walk barefoot for a while. She wiped her face with the sleeve of Beyl’s shirt. “What else do I need to know?”

  “Eat no meat up on the plateau.”

  “Hern won’t like that.”

  “That’s not laid on him, just you.”

  Serroi grimaced. “For always?”

  “No. Only on the plateau.”

  “So. What can I eat?”

  “Learn to listen.”

  “That’s a big help. Will you be coming with us?”

  “No, little one. I’m not here.”

  “Am I still dreaming?”

  “No. Yes. Does it matter?”

  Serroi rubbed her feet back and forth in the slippery dust. “We’ve got no water, no food, nothing.”

  “Learn to be still. Empty yourself and listen to the voice of the Mother.”

  “Words. Can’t eat words. You won’t help us.”

  “You’re survived before and in worse case. The plateau’s no desert. You don’t need help.” Reiki got heavily to her feet, grinned at Serroi and was suddenly not there.

  Serroi blinked. Somehow what she knew as reality and what she thought of as dream blended so completely that she had no idea where one began and the other left off. She closed fingers about the soft leather bag hanging between her breasts. That was real, it was here, she could touch and see and smell it, even taste it if she wished. She slid her feet back and forth in the cold dust, feeling morning in the air, something about the darkness and heaviness in the wind pressing against her back, the extra chill in the dust beneath her feet. She went back to Hern, knelt beside him.

  She reached out to shake him awake, instead drew her fingers very softly across his broad low brow, brushing the sweaty strands of hair off it, drew her fingers down along the side of his face, smiling as she touched short stiff whiskers. His razors were gone with his gear. He wouldn’t like that. He was fussy about his person. Fastidious. The quest had already been hard on him that way, it would be worse now. She smiled tenderly as she traced the outline of his lips, leaned down, kissed him lightly, straightened to find his eyes open watching her, a twinkle of amusement shining in them. She sat back on her heels. “Sneak.”

  “Viper.” He sat up stiffly, rubbed his hands together, moved his shoulders. “Thought I was dead.”

  “Not quite.”

  He moved his shoulders again, caught sight of the two spears lying beside him. “Another little talent?”

  “So it seems. Newly acquired.”

  “Good timing.” He lifted the spears, examined the points, raised his brows when he saw traces of blood on both points and on the shafts near the points. He got to his feet, gave her a hand, swung her around so he could examine her back. “Got you too.”

  “Uh-huh.” She pulled free, stooped, picked up one of the spears, straightened, scanned the sky just above the top of the scarp. It seemed to her she could see a faint lightening just above the dark ragged top of the cliff looming over them, though it could have been imagination only.

  Hern’s hand dropped on her shoulder. “You thinking what I think you’re thinking?”

  “Yah, Dom.”

  “Why?”

  She leaned back against him. His arms closed around her, holding her quietly, without fuss. She sighed. “I have to. Don’t ask why because I damn well don’t know.” She rested against him, reluctant to go on. “Wild magic up there. The Sleykynin are afraid of it,” she said. “You don’t have to come with me. There’s a river not too far north of here. You could steal a boat and ride in comfort down to Shinka.”

  He said nothing for several minutes, only stood holding her, his chin resting warm on her head. Then, laughing, he turned her around and gazed down at her, his hands on her shoulders. “You won’t take orders even when you know I’m right, you won’t answer questions until you’re ready, you’re bad-tempered, intolerant, self-centered, annoying.” Still laughing he left her, collected her boots and the other spear. “Let’s go.”

  The ascent of the scarp face was more exasperating than difficult, a crawl from crack to crack with rock that seemed solid splitting away from under hand or foot, every hold tested and not excessively trusted. By the time they reached the top Serroi’s hands and feet were bleeding, Hern’s hands. The sun was just coming up, a red dot on the flat line of the horizon. The morning was cool and fresh, an erratic breeze stirring the grit and the clumps of limp dry grass, the low scraggly brush. Serroi dug her spear point into the hard earth, left the spear standing as she turned to Hern and took his hands.

  “What …?”

  “Be still.” Healing is not so easy in the body. She feels his startled resistance, his subsequent relaxation, as she roots herself into the earth and lets the warmth of the Mother surge up through her and into him. He feels it and shies but she is holding him tight and he can’t pull away without hurting her. He grows quiet as the healing drains his strength a little, not much this time; the wounds are minor, but she has an urge to do something about that small weakness. She fills him with the strength of earth herself then takes her hands away. He stares down at his hands as she is noting that she has, without intending it, healed herself. She meets his eyes, sees his brows raise, sees also that scar on his face is gone, though the break in his whiskers remains to show where it was. She backs away to the spear, takes hold of the shaft, feeling a brief euphoria, a high that slowly leaks away as she faces the sun and starts walking.

  She took a few steps, turned. Hern was watching her with an odd expression on his face. He brushed his hands across his shirt front, shook his head, came up with her, asking no questions.

  They walked in that companionable silence for some time. The plateau near the edge of the scarp was mostly rock with scatters of thin soil, a few patches of wispy sun-dried grass, small crawlers disturbed by the passing feet. As they got farther from the edge the soil got deeper, the grass thicker, the brush taller, a new kind of brush with a dusty, pleasantly pungent odor. Short crooked limbs with a smooth leathery bark so darkly red it was nearly black, teardrop-shaped leaves of a dusty grey green. She stepped over a dried-out vine with a few touches of green left in the ropy stems and leaves, dried out fruits, wrinkled, dark purple, clinging to desiccated yellow stalks. She felt a sudden bite in the soles of her feet, lifted first one foot then the other, brushed hastily at her soles, trotted after Hern.

  A second vine. The prickle again. She stopped. Listen, she thought. Reiki said listen. She slipped one boot from under her belt, knelt beside the vine, stripped the dried fruits into the boot. Hern watched a moment, walked on, impatient, growling in his stomach, thirsty already and getting thirstier. She knew what he was feeling but at the moment she didn’t know quite what to do about it except keep gathering roots and anything else she found edible. She rose and walked after him, listening at last, listening through the soles of her feet.

  A lappet scurried across in front of them. With an explosive ex
clamation, Hern was after it, the spear reversed, poised for the throw. He disappeared between clumps of brush, running with a speed and energy that surprised her, though she wasn’t surprised to see that he could use that spear, he seemed to know something about any weapon she could think of. She forgot about him and began “listening” to the earth again, digging up crooked yellow tubers, dropping them into her boot with the fruits. She found a patch of tulpa, broke off the thick crisp stalks and added them to her collection. She was prodding thoughtfully at the soil with the point of her spear when he came back, three lappets not one dangling from his left hand, a wide grin marking his delight with himself. He mopped at his face with his sleeve. “Think you could find us some water?”

  She leaned heavily on the spear, wondering what she could do. Not needing his prodding, she’d already sent her outreach searching for water. As far as she could tell, there was none on the surface of the plateau. Water, she thought, and as she thought of water now, she had an itching on the soles of her feet, a writhing wriggling feel as if immaterial roots were struggling to break through the skin. Alarmed, she lifted one foot, felt a pressure on her back and neck. “Wait here,” she said, “let me see.” The push driving her, she struggled to keep some kind of control over her body, to avoid the snatching thorns on the brush; she felt confused, ignorant, helpless in her ignorance.