by Sharon Shinn
Still, he found he liked pausing in front of a vendor’s table and picking up a bolt of cloth, imagining it against Susannah’s dark skin and black hair. Some of the brighter, busier patterns struck him as too jarring for her taste, but he was drawn to a length of figured coral cotton, and he stretched it between his hands to examine it.
“Oh, that is just the prettiest color. I was admiring it this morning but I couldn’t convince Ahio to buy it for me,” said an excited voice in his ear. Keren, of course. He should have come here looking for her. “But, see? Isn’t it perfect against my hair?” And she took the fabric from his hands and swathed her head with it. He had to admit it looked beautiful.
The shopkeeper (probably familiar with Keren by now as the best customer he’d had in a decade) hurried over with a smile on his thin face. “All Edori women look their most gorgeous in these deep, dark colors,” the man purred. “See, and here is an apricot-gold silk—also most alluring against that skin and that hair.”
Keren obligingly unwrapped a few yards of the apricot silk and draped this over her shoulders like a shawl. The two colors, gold and coral, did not look so well together, but Gaaron liked them both equally. He pulled the cotton from Keren’s head and studied the effect of the unadorned silk.
“How much would someone need to make a dress?” he asked.
“It depends on the dress,” Keren said promptly. “Several yards, at least. Were you thinking of buying some for me?”
“No, you wretch, I was thinking of buying some for Susannah.”
She clapped her hands together and looked just as pleased as if he’d offered to buy out the stall for her pleasure. “Oh, that will make her so happy! Susannah is quite a seamstress, you know, but she doesn’t have much time to sew these days.”
“We have seamstresses at the hold who can make clothes for her.”
Keren turned back to the vendor’s table and began sorting through piles. “Well, I would definitely get both the gold and the coral, but I saw something the other day that I think she would like. It was red, but a very dark red, almost wine-colored, but redder than that. I wanted it, but then I decided I already had two red dresses, I didn’t need more.”
Gaaron grinned, because that was patently untrue, and watched as she deftly separated out the inferior fabrics from the preferred ones. “Aha!” she exclaimed, and pulled out a folded scrap of red. Even Gaaron could tell there was not enough fabric there to make a dress or even, probably, a shirt, but it was a gorgeous color, somewhere between flame and sunset. It was woven of some heavy thread that Gaaron (no seamstress) could not identify, but it felt heavy and substantial in his hands.
“What would she do with this—this little piece?” he asked.
Keren took it from him. “Oh, she could make a scarf, or a belt, or a headband. She could sew it into a panel of another dress, here, right at the bodice, wouldn’t that be pretty? Or she could just fold it up and lay it across her pillow at night, because I think it would give her happy dreams to put her head on such a lovely color.”
He could not help it; her fanciful words made him smile. “And you think she would like it?”
“Yes, and the gold silk and the bolt of cotton. You must buy all three so she is really impressed.”
“I could wrap them for the angelo now,” the vendor interposed.
Gaaron spread his hands, and his bracelets flashed sapphire sparks as they caught the late-afternoon sunlight. “Very well. All of the red cloth, and enough of the other two fabrics to make a suitable dress from each.”
Keren clapped her hands together again, and then flew over to give him a kiss on the cheek. He laughed down at her. “I haven’t bought you a present,” he teased.
“Yes, but Susannah will let me borrow her dresses or at least she will give me all the leftover scraps, so it is just as if you have bought me something,” she replied earnestly.
He laughed again and tousled her hair. She gave a little shriek and pulled back, crying, “Don’t muss me up!” He laughed harder and ruffled her hair even more. She laughed, too, and backed away from him, one hand on top of her head, the other extended as if to fend him off. But when the vendor reappeared with the packages neatly wrapped in brown paper and twine, she extended both hands with alacrity.
“Thank you, sir. And thank you, Gaaron,” she said primly.
Before he could say, “Don’t forget that those are not for you,” her attention was caught by something just ahead of them down the row of stalls.
“Susannah! Susannah!” she cried, and went skipping forward toward the other Edori woman, whom Gaaron had not even noticed coming toward them. His head snapped around and he had a smile at the ready—but it was clear she had seen them first, and she was nowhere near smiling. Momentarily confused and disappointed, he felt his mind do a quick backward scan of the most recent few minutes, and realized that she must have thought he was buying gifts for Keren, someone who did not need any more gifts from anyone. How to explain that away without looking ridiculous?
But in this, at least, Keren was his ally. “Look what Gaaron has bought you!” Keren was exclaiming, tearing back an edge of the paper to show off the apricot silk. “Oh, and there’s more, this lovely sort of orange color and a red square. I wanted the red for me, but he said I could not have it,” Keren added artlessly. “But I told him you would give me any pieces that were left over, and you will, won’t you?”
Now Susannah’s face was a little flushed, and some confusion showed in her own expression as well. “What? Oh, of course, you can have what you—but are you sure Gaaron intended this all for me?”
By this time Gaaron had arrived beside them, and he bestowed a serious, searching look upon his intended. “I know your years of Edori frugality have made you reluctant to spend money recklessly,” he said, attempting to invest his words with some humor. “So I thought I would nudge you along a little. Keren helped me choose the items, and I trusted her taste more than mine.”
“Thank you—they are quite beautiful—no, Keren, I do not believe there will be even a ribbon’s length of red left over for you,” Susannah said. She, too, seemed to be attempting lightness, though that confusion and—could it be?—embarrassment still lingered at the corners of her eyes and made her voice somewhat unsteady. “How kind of you, Gaaron. You chose quite well.”
“I am so thirsty,” Keren announced. “There is a little shop, up around the corner, do you know it? We could get something to drink.”
“I’m sure Gaaron has much to do—”
“No, I am at your disposal,” he interrupted. “Keren’s right. Let’s get something to drink.”
So Susannah smiled and acquiesced, and they walked the three blocks through the bright awnings to the little coffee shop that enjoyed Keren’s patronage. But Gaaron could not rid himself of the sensation that Susannah was not happy with something that had transpired, though she pretended to be at ease and in her usual good humor. It took some of his own pleasure out of the purchase and the chance-met encounter, and it made Keren’s aimless chatter grate on his nerves much more than it usually did. He considered handing over to her his sapphire bracelets and inviting her to go buy whatever she liked, if she would only leave him alone with Susannah for ten minutes, but he was afraid that that gesture, like the purchase of the fabric, might be misconstrued. So they had a pleasant little respite, sipping drinks, eating pastries, and talking over the events of the day—but of the three of them, although all of them laughed and smiled, only Keren was truly merry.
C hapter T wenty
Once the coughing sickness finally left their camp, the Lohoras packed their tents and moved on. They were following the backbone of the Caitanas now, the looping mountain range caught all the humidity of the cloud masses as they swept east across Samaria and dumped it out as rain before it could reach the desert around Breven. So it was wet, and it was cold, and Miriam was thoroughly miserable the first day that they were back on the road.
They camped for the
night, intending to move on in the morning but putting up tents anyway just for shelter against the weather. The wood burned badly, so supper was slow, and no one really had the heart or the energy to sing after the meal. Miriam was one of the first to turn in, though her tentmates followed within the hour. She scooted over close to Tirza to soak up a little of the other woman’s body heat, and Tirza reached out to pat her on the shoulder. The small gesture of comfort helped send Miriam off the ledge into a floating sleep.
The morning dawned absolutely clear and absolutely frigid. The flat brown stalks of grass around the camp were weighed down with patterns of frost; the air itself felt spiked with pinpoints of ice. Miriam stepped from the tent and inhaled great cold gusts of air while the sun stared down at her, mercilessly bright, and she smiled. Beautiful morning, spectacular day. She could not wait to set out into that limitless light and see what the world might offer.
Tirza emerged to stand beside her, and she, too, lifted her face to the hard sunlight and took in deep breaths of that cleansed, cold air. The older woman turned to her, smiling, but all she said was, “Have you had time to start the fire?”
“Not yet,” Miriam said, striding forward. “I’ll get to it now.”
The weather held fine for the next two days, though it continued cold. Miriam learned how to dress for walking against the wind, and she also learned—rather to her surprise—how quickly she could adapt to the lower temperatures. In fact, she rarely felt cold while they were on the move, since her layers of woolens and outer garments trapped her body heat and kept her skin almost rosy. Her toes and fingers grew numb, but once she complained about this, Anna lent her a pair of wool socks for her feet and made her a pair of gloves for her hands. And after that, the only weather she minded was the rain, and everybody hated traveling in the rain.
They were still heading north and west, aiming for the great circle of mountains that ringed the Plain of Sharon. Miriam had trouble envisioning their route, so one evening after they’d camped, Dathan drew it out for her, using a stick to scratch lines and ovals in a patch of dirt. She was rather impressed by the distance they had covered, more than half the length of Jordana. She would not have thought she would be able to walk so far.
“If we turned east, we’d pass Windy Point and then, eventually, come upon the ocean,” Dathan told her, sketching in these details as well. “And if we could build boats and sail across the sea, eventually we’d come to Ysral.”
Miriam laughed at him. “Ysral does not exist,” she told him. “It’s a place the Edori have made up.”
He grinned at her. His stick made undulating lines in the dirt by the coastline; she supposed these were meant to indicate the waves of the ocean. On the other side of the squiggly lines he drew a roundish mass, roughly half the size of Samaria. “It exists,” he told her. “It is right here. We think. Or maybe a little north. Or a little south. But if we built boats and sailed for days, we would eventually find it. And someday we will build boats and sail away, all the Edori, and live in the land that Yovah has set aside especially for us.”
She shrugged and came to her feet, brushing the mud from her knees. “I figure I’m having quite enough travel as it is, just moving around Jordana with the Lohoras,” she said. “I don’t need to go off in any boat and try to find some mythical continent. But you go ahead and look for it.”
He smiled and reached out a hand so she could pull him to his feet. “Someday,” he said with mock solemnity. “Someday you will see.”
She laughed and left him, going down to the river to wash herself as thoroughly as the cold weather would allow. They had camped by water for two days running, but they might be a day or two on the road before they intersected their next major waterway—the Galilee River—and Miriam wanted to bathe while the chance was there. She’d become a pretty efficient washer, able to get herself and her clothes clean in something under fifteen minutes, though to really wash her hair took a little longer. Keeping in mind the scarcity of opportunities in the upcoming week, today she took the extra time to soap and rinse her hair, then braided it back still wet to keep it out of her face.
It was getting so long. She had always worn her hair a little past shoulder length, but now it was more than halfway down her back. And a great nuisance, even when it was clean, when she let it hang free while they were traveling, so mostly she kept it in a single braid. She wondered every once in a while how the severe style suited her face. She was used to curling her hair and arranging it carefully so that it framed her face just so. But she didn’t have a mirror. She had no idea what she looked like. Good enough for the Lohoras to like her; good enough for Daniel to kiss her. That was enough for Miriam.
They made it to the Galilee River three days later. They were a little north of Semorrah, which disappointed Miriam. She had rather wanted to see the fabulous, fanciful city again, for, from the stories she had heard, amazing new architecture was being added every day, changing the skyline and the legendary status of the city almost as you watched.
But the Edori avoided cities, except for Luminaux, preferring to trade in small towns used to itinerant travelers and unpretentious goods. Semorrah was too fine for them. Miriam looked down at her now rather ragged blue dress, sighed, and had to agree.
They camped by the great river that more or less bisected Samaria, the one it would take a couple of rafts and maybe a day to cross here so close to its source. Down by Luminaux it was broader and gentler, though still not an easy ford. There were only a few places along its whole single-minded southward course that the Galilee was an unadventurous river to cross. The Lohoras had navigated it once just a few days outside of Luminaux; they might not pass over it again until spring, preferring to stay in Jordana for the winter.
Then again, they just might traverse the Plain of Sharon, exit into eastern Gaza, and meander on down the western coast of Bethel. They hadn’t decided yet. They would camp a few days here, camp a few days near Mount Galo, and talk things over. Eventually a plan would emerge, and they would all be happy with it, and they would move forward as they had agreed—until a chance-met band of fellow travelers, or an unexpectedly good campsite, or illness, or some other random factor occurred to change their plans again.
They set up their tents a little distance from the river, but its incessant self-important rumbling was still audible in the camp. It sounded like nothing so much as a council of Manadavvi come to tell Gaaron what they had decided about something stupid, Miriam thought. The idea amused her; she had never given the river, any inanimate thing, a personality before.
Her disdain for the river’s personality did not keep her from heading downstream immediately, however, to get herself completely clean and, in the process, completely chilled.
She hurried back up the riverbank, slipping a little on the icy mud, and dressed herself with hands that felt numb to the bone. As usual, she had taken her bath alone, since she couldn’t quite overcome the modesty of her early training enough to strip down in front of everyone else in camp. No one seemed to think it strange; in fact, Anna often took advantage of the fact that Miriam bathed earlier or later than the others to have her fetch back another bucket of water or wash out just one more forgotten shirt.
Her cold feet felt too lumpish to fit back into her shoes but she forced them, and then tied the laces with clumsy fingers. She was more tired than she had realized, or maybe the cold water had made her tired. She almost didn’t want to go to the effort of putting back on every layer of clothing, retying her shawl around her waist, settling her empty bag over her shoulder and using it to hold whatever interesting items she might gather as she trudged back to camp. But this much she had learned during her two months traveling with the Edori: Never leave anything behind that you might someday want again, and never miss an opportunity to pick up something that might be useful in the future.
So she knotted the shawl at her hip and settled the bag over her shoulder, and dumped in a handful of river rocks, since she was there
and they were there and they were the smooth, round kind that she liked best. And—what a find, at this time of year—there was a little stubby shrub of marrowroot, its leaves shriveled and brown by now but still (she had discovered) tasty in stew. So she stripped the branch and tucked the leaves into a small pocket on the outside of the bag. Not ten steps from the river and she’d already picked up a couple of treasures. Always on the lookout. That was the Edori way.
She walked back slowly, hoping some sensation would come back into her feet, picking up a couple more throwing stones and the dry spiny skeleton of a dead sapling. It would make good kindling, something else that was always useful, though it was a rather cumbersome item to carry. She hooked one of the spindly little branches through the knot at her waist and let the sapling dangle down her side. Now she had both hands free again. Another Edori goal. As long as you had one hand free, you could pick up one more item. The very thing you might discover that you needed the most.
The only other thing Miriam found on her way back, though, was another rock, hard and black and sharp-edged, but shaped perfectly for her hand. She didn’t immediately put it in her bag, but walked along holding it so she could admire its glittery color and jagged contours. She would have to ask Dathan where it came from, or what special minerals it contained. He often knew the answers to questions like that. He could tell her if a stone was good enough and hard enough to chip down to a spear point, or if it was too soft to make into a useful weapon. This one looked like a weapon, she thought. Dathan would like it.
She was only a dozen yards from camp, and still admiring her rock, when she looked up and saw the black strangers spying on the Lohoras.
She came to a dead halt before her mind had even processed the picture. Three black-clad men in strange shiny hats, kneeling behind a boulder and watching the Lohoras put up their tents. They sat so still that they looked like shadows crouched behind the rock, just as insubstantial, just as harmless. She did not even know why she had bothered to glance over at them, what abbreviated gesture or glint of sunlight on unfamiliar material had caught her attention. For they made no motion. They made no sound. They merely sat and watched.