A Woman of the Iron People

by Eleanor Arnason

“There are times when I think so.”

  “You do not like him.”

  “Not much.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he does everything well. For me nothing is easy. I envy him.”

  Nia frowned and looked at the fire. “I had a brother like that. Anasu. He did everything that was expected, and he did it better than most. By this time he is a big man. I am sure of it. He wasn’t the kind to stay in the hills with the young men, with the men like Enshi. By this time he must have a territory close to the village and many women in the season for mating.” Nia scratched her nose. “There was another one. Angai. A friend of mine. She was hard to get along with when she was young. People didn’t like her. But she turned out well. She is the shamaness in my village. She has my children.” She looked up. I was staring right into her orange eyes. “I do not understand what has happened to me. But I know this. It is wrong to feel envy. Hakht did. It burned in her like fire under the ground. It made her into something disgusting. I will not envy other people.” She got up and went to get her cloak. “Now I am going to sleep.”

  She lay down. I stayed up. The big moon was visible in the west: high up and half-full, a bright lemon yellow. It lit new clouds. They were large and billowing. A new weather system? I grew drowsy. My mind wandered from subject to subject: envy, then Nia’s brother. What was he like? What was it like to have a brother in her culture? I remembered the junior members of my family. Leon. Clarissa. Charlie. Maia. Mark. Fumiko.

  Fumiko was the youngest by far. At the time I left she had been finishing college, getting ready for her wander year or years. I had gone early, at the age of twenty. I’d quit school and gone to the Big Island to cut sugarcane. Then I’d worked my way to Asia on one of the new freighters. I cooked and learned to operate the computer that controlled the sails. That was easy. The computer damn near ran itself. But I nearly went crazy, trying to cook in the tiny galley while everything around me moved.

  Well, that was long ago and on another planet. I got my poncho and settled down to sleep.

  I was awakened by an ululating scream: high-pitched, eerie, inhuman. A moment later I was upright. I didn’t remember how I’d gotten into that position. On the other side of the fire was Nia. She was standing, too. Her eyes were wide open, and her knife was in her hand.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  I realized I knew and that I had been wrong. The sound wasn’t inhuman. It was the battle cry of a California aborigine. I looked around. “Derek?”

  Out of the darkness came another sound, a cry of fear in the language of gifts. “Help! Help! A demon!”

  I turned and ran downhill. Nia followed. We scrambled through the pseudo-grass. Below us the voice repeated, “Help! Help!”

  Derek shouted, “Stop fighting me!”

  I saw them, a thrashing mass, barely visible in the moonlight. I stopped. Two bodies rolled back and forth. Derek was on top. I saw his blond hair flipping. The person on the bottom cried, “Help me!”

  Nia said, “If you are peaceful, stop struggling. The other person will not harm you. He is not a demon.”

  “No?” The body on the bottom stopped moving. “Are you sure?”

  Derek climbed off the other person and pulled him or her up.

  “Aiya! What a thing to happen! Are you absolutely certain that this being is not a demon?”

  “Yes,” said Nia. “Who are you?”

  “I am the Voice of the Waterfall.”

  “You cannot be! I know about him. He spends his whole life next to the waterfall. When he dies and the people find his body, they throw it into the river. His bones lie among the rocks at the bottom of the waterfall.”

  “That is true. Can’t we talk by the fire? I am afraid to be out here in the dark. And can’t this being with the strong hands let go of me?”

  “Lixia?” asked Derek.

  “It’s okay. Let go of him.”

  We walked up the hill. When we got close to the fire I looked at the oracle. This time he had clothing on: a ragged kilt. I couldn’t make out the color. Gray or brown. Around his neck was a necklace: gold beads and big, uneven lumps of turquoise. The turquoise was blue and blue-green. The necklace was magnificent. The man rubbed his arms. “Hu! What a grip that being has!” He looked at Derek. “Another hairless one! What is happening to the world?”

  “Why are you here?” asked Derek.

  “Can’t we sit down? I’m tired. I have walked for days. My feet hurt, and I am so thirsty that I can barely talk.”

  Nia got her water bag. He drank and then sat down. “Aiya! That is better. Do you have anything to eat?”

  Nia gave him a piece of bread. He ate it.

  Derek asked, “Why have you been following us?”

  “That is a long story. Sit down. All of you. But not too close. I am not used to people.”

  We sat down. The man took another drink of water. Then he stared at me. “You are the one I met.”

  “Yes.”

  “You went to the village. After that my mother came with other women. She—my mother—brought food and a new blanket, a fine, thick, soft one. She told me I wasn’t taking care of myself. I would freeze in the winter. I told her, ‘Old woman, you are as crazy as I am. Don’t worry about me. I belong to the waterfall. The waterfall will take care of me.’ She gave me a medicine that is good for a sore throat and for a feeling of thickness in the chest. Then she went on. She came back with that one.” He pointed at Nia. “After everyone was gone I had a dream. The Spirit of the Waterfall came to me. It was like a person, except that it was gray like silver, and I couldn’t tell if it was male or female. It told me, ‘Something important is going on, and it concerns the person without hair. Follow that person. Watch that person. Listen to what that person says.’

  “I tried to argue. ‘I belong here. The Voice of the Waterfall never leaves this place.’ The spirit began to look angry. ‘You are my voice. Don’t talk back to me.’ Then I began to shake. The spirit went on. ‘I do not belong to any one place, though I like this canyon and this waterfall. As for you, you belong where I tell you to be. Now go! And don’t argue. Remember whose voice you are.’

  “I woke up. What could I do? Only what the spirit told me. I went to the village. You”—he pointed at me—“were inside. I waited. I ate whatever I could find. When people came near I hid in the bushes. Finally you came out, and I followed you onto the plain.

  “What a journey! It took—how many days? Five or six. I wasn’t able to keep you in sight. But I knew you would follow the trail. After a day or so one of my sandals broke. I threw both of them away. My feet began to hurt and I was hungry. I dug up the root of the spiny rukha plant. It gave me food and water, but I stung my fingers on the spines.

  “After four days I came to a river. Hu! What a pleasure! I drank water and gathered bugs. I made a fire and roasted them. How sweet! How delicious! I ate until I was sick, then rested and then crossed the river.

  “The next night was terrible.” He stopped for a moment and shivered. “I was lying on the plain—alone, with no cloak to cover me. An animal came. I heard the sound of its breath. Oo-ha! Oo-ha! I could smell it. It stank of rotten meat. It prowled around me. It sniffed and made a humming noise. I thought, I know what this is. A killer of the plain, and it is going to eat me. I didn’t move. I was too frightened.

  “The creature went around me a second time, humming all the while. I felt it. Aiya!” He shivered and blinked. “I felt it take one of my legs between its teeth. It lifted up my leg, then it let go. I let my leg fall as if I were dead already. The spirit must have guided me. The spirit must have told me what to do.”

  Nia leaned forward. “I have heard of this. They attack if you move. Or if they smell blood. But if a person remains motionless, they will leave her alone.”

  The oracle frowned. “This is my story. Let me finish it.”

  “Okay,” said Nia.

  “What?”


  “Go on.”

  “After that the animal went away. I stayed where I was and thanked the spirit. In the morning I looked at my leg. There was no blood. The animal hadn’t broken the skin. Aiya! What luck!”

  Derek made the gesture of agreement.

  “I got up and went on. What else could I do? I hurried. I was afraid of spending another night alone on the plain. The sun went down. I saw your fire shining in the darkness. I came near and that person”—he pointed at Derek—“jumped on me. I thought, I have met up with a demon. I am going to die, and I only hope the Spirit of the Waterfall is happy with this turn of events.

  “But I didn’t die and here I am. This is the end of my story.”

  Derek spoke in English. “Who is this?”

  “He’s an oracle. I met him after Nia was injured. His mother is the shamaness of the Copper People of the Plain. I think he’s a little crazy, though I’m not sure. How does one judge insanity in an alien culture?”

  “And how does one tell the difference between craziness and holiness?” Derek changed to the language of gifts. “What next? Do you want to travel with us?”

  “Yes. Of course. That is the will of the spirit. I am going to sleep now. You can discuss whether or not you want me as a companion. But I warn you—no matter what you decide, I will follow you.” He got up and moved away from the fire to the edge of the darkness. He lay down, his back to the plain, and curled up in a fetal position. After a moment he moved one arm, so it covered his face.

  Nia said, “Truly, the world is changing. I meet people who mate in summer, and a holy man now appears, who is willing to leave his holy location and travel with ordinary folk. No.” She looked at me and Derek. “I don’t mean ordinary folk. I mean, people who aren’t holy.”

  “Well,” said Derek in English. “Does he travel with us?”

  “Why not?” I looked at Nia and spoke in the language of gifts. “What do you think about him?”

  “We can’t leave him alone on the plain. He’s as helpless as a child or an old woman. Moreover, he is holy. If we abandon him, the spirits will be angry. There is no question about it. He must come with us.”

  Derek nodded and got up. “I’m going back up to watch. Get some sleep, Lixia. I’ll wake you later.”

  He woke me after midnight, and I kept watch. It was cool and still except for the noise the bugs made in the pseudo-grass. Toward morning I woke Nia. She got up, and I went back to sleep.

  In the morning we went on. Nia and the oracle rode. I joined Derek on the ground. The trail wound among hills. There was plenty of rock here: cliffs and outcroppings and boulders, all black and rough. The valleys were grassy. Now and then we saw a flock of bipeds: the pseudo-dinosaurs. Most were about a meter tall and bright turquoise-blue.

  “It’s a beautiful planet,” Derek said as he walked next to me.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s the line from Donne? ‘O my America, my newfound land!’ Of course, he was talking about a woman. A new mistress.

  “License my roving hands, and let them go,

  Before, behind, between, above, below.

  O my America! My newfound land,

  My kingdom, safest when with one man manned.

  My mine of precious stones, my empirie.

  How blest am I in thus discovering thee.”

  “Derek, how do you manage to be so literate?”

  He glanced over, grinning. “Hard work, my love. And a very high intelligence.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  He laughed. “Anyway, I feel the way Columbus must have. Or stout Cortez, silent on his peak in Darien. What a discovery! What a planet!” He swept out one hand, waving at the hills and the blue-green sky. A pseudo-dinosaur screamed and ran away.

  Nia looked back. “What is it?”

  “Nothing. Derek likes this country.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She stopped and glanced around. “I don’t remember it. I have taken a wrong turn somewhere. This isn’t the trail I wanted.”

  The oracle made the gesture that meant “don’t worry.” “The spirit will guide us.”

  “That may be.”

  In the afternoon the sky got cloudy. Toward evening rain began to fall: a light drizzle. We made camp in a grove of trees. Derek shot a pseudo-dinosaur. Nia cleaned it. The Voice of the Waterfall and I went looking for wood.

  After dinner I called the ship. A computer answered. It had a cool, pleasant female voice with a very slight Russian accent.

  “No humans are available at present,” it said. “You may report to me.”

  I did.

  The computer thanked me and said the information would be relayed to the appropriate people. “I am a level-six program,” it explained. “My intelligence is a construct and—do I mean or?—an illusion. I am therefore not a person, according to the current definition of the term.”

  “Do you mind?” I asked.

  “That is not a meaningful question, at least when addressed to me. I neither think nor feel. I do what I am told to do.”

  I thought I heard sarcasm in the courteous even voice. But that was hardly likely. Why would anyone write sarcasm into a level-six program?

  I turned the radio off, lay down, and listened to the rain pattering on the leaves above me.

  The morning was overcast. Nia said, “You ride today, Li-sa. I want to find out how my ankle is doing.”

  “My feet still hurt,” the oracle said. “They are covered with blisters.”

  Derek laughed. “Don’t worry. You can have the other bowhorn.”

  Rain began to fall, and mist hid the distances. We traveled through grayness, up a long slope. Sometime around noon we reached the top. There was a level area, then a drop-off. We were on the rim of a valley. I reined my animal. The valley floor was visible in spite of the mist. The ground was bare and bright orange.

  Derek sniffed. “Rotten eggs or sulfur. I think we can assume geothermal activity.” He spoke a mixture of English and the language of gifts. I could understand everything, but our companions looked puzzled.

  After a moment Nia said, “I don’t know what kind of activity you are talking about. But I don’t like the look of this valley. Or the smell for that matter.”

  Derek glanced to the side. “Don’t worry. We aren’t going down. The trail goes along the rim.”

  We followed the trail. The rain stopped. The clouds lifted. I could see the valley clearly. It was shallow and more or less circular. The entire floor was brightly colored: orange, orange-red, and yellow. Here and there plumes of white rose. Steam. The plumes moved, blown by the wind. In the middle of the valley was a lake: round and dark. Derek kept looking at it.

  “Something isn’t right. The lake is peculiar.”

  “I can believe that,” Nia said. “This land is peculiar.” She used the same word Derek had. It meant “unusual,” “unexpected,” “wrong.” After a moment she went on. “I don’t remember any of this. I am certain we’re on the wrong trail, though I don’t know how that is possible. I have a good memory and a good sense of direction. I never get lost.”

  I twisted in the saddle. She was trudging next to me. Her feet were muddy, and her fur was wet. Her tunic clung to her body. “What shall we do?”

  Nia made the gesture of uncertainty.

  “Keep going,” the oracle said from behind me. “The Spirit of the Waterfall will see to it that we arrive in the right place.”

  “What a comfort!” Derek said.

  We came finally to a place where the valley wall was low. A slope led down toward the orange and yellow floor. At the top the slope was covered with vegetation: little bushes and a lot of pseudo-grass. Farther down the ground was bare. A dark line wound across it: another trail, narrower than ours, less well used, going into the valley.

  Derek stopped. I reined my animal.

  The oracle rode up beside me. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I think we ought to make camp.”
>
  “Here?” I asked.

  Derek made the gesture of affirmation.

  I looked around. On one side of me was the slope. On the other side was an outcropping of rock, black and massive. The trail—the main trail—led past it. There was nothing else. No wood except the little bushes and no evidence of water. “Why?” I asked.

  “We aren’t going to make it down off the rim before night, and I haven’t seen any places that are better than this.”

  “He’s right,” said Nia. “That rock has an overhang. It ought to protect us, if it rains, and there is forage for the animals. I admit I would like some fresh water. The water in our bags is getting stale. But when a person travels without her village, she must take what she can get.”

  “And be grateful for it,” said the oracle.

  Nia made the gesture of agreement.

  I dismounted. The oracle did the same. I stretched up as high as I was able, then bent over. I could barely touch the ground. I brushed it with my fingertips and straightened up, breathing in at the same time. More exercise! This expedition was no excuse for getting lazy.

  The oracle said, “He wants to go into the valley.”

  I looked at Derek. He was staring at the view. The sky was clearing. Sunlight edged the clouds, and the colors of the valley were even more brilliant than before. “Why?” I asked.

  He turned. I knew that expression, the lifted eyebrows and the twisted grin. Derek was planning something that was either frivolous or dangerous. And he wanted my approval. The charm had gone on. I had no idea how he did it, but it was as dramatic as a light rod beginning to glow. His smile widened.

  “Derek, stop it! Turn it off!”

  “What?”

  “The masculine beauty, the charm, the sexiness.” I had switched to English. Nia began to frown.

  “I want to take a look at that lake,” Derek said. He was speaking the language of gifts. His voice was low and even. A reasonable voice. The voice of sanity. “I think I can make it there and back before the light is entirely gone.”

  “I doubt it, and I think you’re crazy to try. That is a very active area down there. The ground is probably hot, and it may not be reliable. It may be a crust over something ugly. You could go through. You could end up in the soup, and I am being more literal than metaphoric.”