A Woman of the Iron People

by Eleanor Arnason

  It gathered another handful of flowers and stuffed them into its mouth.

  “Now,” said Derek.

  The lizard struck, the huge, dark body erupting from the water. The biped screamed and fell. Birds flew out of the trees and bushes along the shore.

  I reined my bowhorn. The bodies rolled in the water. I saw a dark back, a long dark tail, the white underside of the biped.

  The birds flew above me, crying out warning. There was another scream. God! What a sound!

  My bowhorn shivered. I tightened my grip on the reins.

  Nia was beside me. I hadn’t seen her coming. She took hold of my animal’s bridle. “Be calm,” she said. “Be calm.” Her free hand rubbed the furry brown neck.

  I looked back at the water. The thrashing had ended. I could still see the white belly of the biped, floating just below the surface of the water. For a moment it was motionless. Then it jerked—and jerked again. It was moving toward shore. No. It was being moved. The lizard was pulling it. I saw the spiny back. The blunt head lifted. The jaws were clenched around a slender arm.

  “Aiya,” said the oracle. “That is an animal I have never seen before.”

  “Nor I,” said Nia. “Though I’ve heard there are big lizards in the river.”

  “No excrement,” said Derek. “Let’s get moving. I want to get past that thing while it’s still busy.”

  Nia let go of my animal’s bridle. I slapped the reins. The bowhorn moved forward.

  Our trail went around the inlet, leading us toward the lizard, which was entirely out of the water now. It dragged its prey up on the bank, then looked around. God, it was ugly! The dark skin was folded and sagging. The spines that went along the back were bent and torn. Some were missing entirely. These animals must fight. There were splotches on the heavy body: a lot of them, pale gray. A parasite, I decided, a kind of skin disease.

  The lizard stared at us, then took a new grip on the biped, pulling it all the way out of the water. It let go and raised its head, looking at us again.

  We were twenty meters from it with no choice except to go past it. We kept moving, none of us speaking. My bowhorn was flicking its ears. Ahead of me the other bowhorn seemed just as nervous. The short tail twitched back and forth, ready to give a warning sign. Nia stayed next to me, one hand on my animal’s bridle.

  The lizard bent its head and nosed the biped, turning it so it was belly up. Then it bit in.

  It paid no attention to us after that. A couple of times I twisted in the saddle and looked back. The first time the lizard’s head was low. The second time the head was lifted. Bits of flesh hung from the jaws and a long piece of gut was looped over the snout.

  I shivered. My bowhorn snorted. The trail led back into the forest. I turned a final time. The inlet was gone from view.

  “How big was that thing?” I asked.

  Nia said, “The body was the same size as Derek.”

  “Two meters plus the tail,” said Derek in English.

  “Hu!” I said.

  The oracle made the gesture of agreement.

  A little before sundown we reached the bank of the river. The forest ended suddenly. Before us was a wide expanse of water. How far across? A kilometer? It was dotted with low islands. Some were bare: mud banks or sandbars. Others were covered with vegetation. The water ran smoothly, gleaming in the light of the almost-gone sun.

  “This is a sight I have not seen for many winters,” Nia told us. “I crossed it in the winter to the north of here. It was frozen. That is the best time to cross.”

  “I have never seen it before,” the oracle said. “It’s certainly big.”

  We rested for a while. The sun went down. Birds flew over us, heading home.

  “I’m tired,” the oracle said. “Let’s make camp.”

  Nia said, “Not here.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  She pointed north. A line of smoke drifted up into the sky. “We will spend the night with those people—if they are women. If it is a man, it’s better to know that now, before we sleep.”

  We turned toward the smoke, traveling along the edge of the river. I made out a house. No. A tent, shaped like a hemisphere. The door faced the river. In front of the door was a fire, bright in the twilight.

  Nia stopped and shouted, “People come!”

  There was no answer.

  “Is anyone home?”

  A figure came out of the tent. He or she paused by the fire, looking toward us and frowning, trying to see into the darkness. “I can hear you, but I can’t make out what you look like.” The figure made the gesture that meant “come here.”

  I dismounted. So did the oracle. He staggered and Derek put an arm around him. Nia took the reins of the animals. The rest of us moved forward into the firelight.

  “Atcha!” said the person. “You are something to look at!”

  “We are travelers,” said Derek. “Our friend is sick. We need a place to stay for the night.”

  The person was silent. I looked at him or her. I had reached the point where I could usually guess the gender of a native. This person baffled me. The voice was deep. The body was broad and solid. That indicated a male. But the fur was the fur of a woman: sleek and soft with a dull sheen like velvet.

  The person wore a yellow tunic. There was embroidery on the sleeves and hem. The buckle on his belt—her belt?—was silver. He or she wore bracelets of gold or bronze.

  A man, almost certainly. They loved finery. And yet I had never seen a man with fur like that.

  “You can stay here,” the person said.

  Derek made the gesture of gratitude.

  “I have to tell you, I am not willing to share my tent. It is small. I have gotten used to living alone. But I have plenty of blankets and enough food for everyone. I want to know about you. I have never seen people as naked as you are.”

  Derek helped the oracle sit down, then straightened up. For once he was properly dressed in jeans and a shirt. The jeans were dirty. The shirt was torn. His boots were badly scuffed.

  The person said, “I thought at first you were people who’d lost their fur. There are two bad diseases in the marshes to the south of here. One makes a person shake until she dies. The other makes hair fall out in patches. That one does not usually kill. But it certainly embarrasses!” He or she frowned. “Now I see you do not have the bodies of people. You are too thin. Your arms and legs are too long. The way you move does not look right to me. What are you?”

  The oracle lifted his head. “I have traveled with them for many days. They are strange to look at, but they are not demons. Nor are they monsters like the ones the holy children drove out of the world long ago.”

  “That is a story I don’t know,” said the person. “Or at least it doesn’t sound familiar. Where are you from?”

  “My people live to the east of here. They are the Copper People of the Plain. I am their oracle. I travel with these folk”—he waved at Derek and me—“because my spirit told me to.

  “The other person with us, the woman who stands in the darkness, was raised among the Iron People.”

  “Atcha.” The person looked at Nia. “Many of your people come here. I ferry them across the river. What is your name?”

  Nia said nothing.

  “You are ashamed,” said the person in yellow. “I can understand that. You are traveling with some very peculiar people. I will tell you something. I don’t care. Everyone must come to me, even those who’d rather hide and keep what they do a secret. I have seen men who travel together. I have seen women who like to travel alone. I take them from one side of the river to the other. I keep my mouth shut. I do not criticize.”

  “My name is Nia. I am not ashamed of these people.”

  The person looked at us again. “I must say, they are strange. I am Tanajin. I grew up south of here. My people—the people who raised me—live in the marshes where the Great River goes into the plain of salt water. Their gift is leather, which is made from the sk
in of the umazi, which are lizards bigger than any found in the river.”

  “Aiya!” said the oracle.

  “I am Lixia,” I said. “This one is Derek. My people are the Hawaiians. His are the Angelinos.”

  “He is a man.” Tanajin stared at Derek. “I had not realized. Are you a woman?”

  I made the gesture of affirmation.

  “You are welcome. Tether your animals in back of my tent. They’ll be safe there. The lizards do not hunt out of the water, and the killers of the forest do not like to leave the shadows of the trees.”

  Nia made the gesture of acknowledgment. She led the animals away. Derek followed.

  There was a large flat stone next to the fire. Tanajin pushed it into the flames, then took a stick and raked coals around the stone. A cooking surface. He or she made the gesture that meant “just a minute” and went in the tent.

  “Is that a man or a woman?” I asked the oracle.

  “A woman. Can’t you tell?”

  “No. And the name does not have an ending I recognize.”

  “I have gotten used to you,” he said. “I keep forgetting that you are entirely out of the ordinary. It takes other people to remind me of that.”

  She came back out, carrying something that she put on the cooking stone.

  I leaned forward.

  “It’s bread.” She lifted the top piece off the stack. It was flat and round like a pancake or a tortilla.

  “Not a kind I know,” said the oracle.

  “I make it from the roots of the talina plant. It grows in marshes. The people in the south use it. And I add flour which travelers give me when I take them across the river.”

  “You have a boat?” I asked.

  “A raft. These people of the plain insist on taking their animals everywhere. I cannot carry a bowhorn in a canoe—even a big one, like the ones the men use in the marshes. They have no other home—no tents like the men carry here on the plain and pitch when they make camp. When it rains the men in the marshes prop up a pair of spears. They stretch a cloak of umazi skin over the spears, and that is their shelter.”

  “It sounds uncomfortable,” the oracle said.

  “It isn’t bad. I lived that way when I came up the river. But when I decided to settle here, I got a tent. A woman likes a home that does not rock.”

  She got up and went back in the tent. This time she brought out a bowl and a pan. The pan was shallow with a long handle. It looked to be made out of iron. She put it on the stone next to the stack of bread. The bowl went on the ground. It was full of a whitish liquid.

  “I found eggs by the river this morning. Some fool of a lizard made her nest at the wrong time of year. If the young had hatched, they would have died.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Look at the leaves! They are changing color.” She tapped the side of the bowl. “By the time these little ones were ready to hatch, their mother would have been gone. There would have been no one to guard them. No one to care for them.”

  The lizards were maternal. Funny, they didn’t look maternal.

  “Where does the mother go?”

  “South along the river. All the big ones do. They keep going till they reach a place where the water does not freeze. A lot of them end up in the marshes. The umazi eat them and get fat and slow, and then it is possible to hunt the umazi.”

  “Aiya!” said the oracle.

  “What about the little ones? Do they go south?”

  Tanajin made the gesture that meant “no.” “They dig holes in the mud at the edge of the river. They curl up and go to sleep and wake in the spring. You ask a lot of questions.”

  I made the gesture of agreement. “Do you mind?”

  “If I don’t want to answer you, I won’t.” She emptied the bowl into the pan. The liquid began to sizzle.

  Derek and Nia came out of the darkness, our bags over their shoulders. Derek dropped the ones he carried. “I think I’ll take another look at your arm.”

  “Good,” said the oracle. “It hurts, and I am not entirely sure that your magic will work here by the river. The spirits here cannot be the same ones as in your country or my country. Tanajin does not know about the holy children.”

  “Neither do I,” I said.

  “Later,” said Derek. He got out the medical kit.

  The liquid in the pan was bubbling. Tanajin pulled a spoon out of her belt. She lifted the edges of whatever it was. Scrambled eggs? An omelette? The liquid on top flowed underneath. Using her free hand, she made the gesture of satisfaction.

  “How did you get here?” I asked. “Why did you leave your home?”

  “That is a long story. I don’t like to tell it.” She glanced at Nia. “Do you like to explain how you got so far from the village of your people?”

  “No,” said Nia.

  Tanajin stood. “I need to get one other thing. Keep an eye on the eggs.”

  After she was gone Nia said, “I don’t know what I am supposed to be looking for. What are the eggs supposed to be doing?”

  I moved closer to the fire. Now I could see the pan clearly. The handle was inlaid with a gray metal: an animal pattern, two creatures with long bodies that wound around each other like ribbons in a braid. They grasped each other with clawed feet. Their heads confronted next to the pan, mouths open and almost touching, tongues curling out between rows of sharp teeth. What were they? The umazi? Tanajin had left the spoon. I used it to lift the edges of the omelette. Almost done.

  “It looks as if the wound has been bleeding a little,” said Derek. “But it isn’t anything serious. There is no sign of any kind of rot.”

  “Good,” said the oracle. “I do not want to die.”

  “Not many do,” said Nia.

  The oracle flexed his arm. Derek had put a new bandage on. “It still hurts. I hope I do not meet any more spirits like those in the cave. I don’t like to give blood.”

  The eggs looked done. I lifted the pan from the fire, then put it down and waved my hand in the air. “Ouch!”

  “I should have told you,” Tanajin said. “The handle gets hot. Give me the spoon.”

  She knelt and divided the omelette in four, then took a piece of bread and laid a quarter of the omelette on it, folding the bread over. An egg sandwich. She handed it to me. “The jug on the ground is full of beer. I made it. It isn’t as good as the beer the travelers bring. There are disadvantages to living alone.”

  I took the jug and moved away from the fire. The bread I held was warm and soft. It felt greasy. I took a bite. It was greasy—and tasty. The eggs had a strong flavor. Like what? Fish maybe. The beer was sour. I liked it.

  My comrades got their sandwiches. We ate and drank. Tanajin watched us.

  When we were done, Nia said, “There is a lake to the south of here.”

  Tanajin made the gesture of agreement.

  “We need to get there.”

  Tanajin frowned. “There is no easy way. The trail goes across the river. It leads from the country of the Amber People to the country of your people, Nia. Before I came, travelers had to camp at the edge of the river and cut down trees. They made rafts to carry them across the river and then had to leave the rafts behind them to rot. A waste of good timber!

  “And they did not know what to do, once they were on the water. They drifted downriver. They got caught on snags. Lizards came after them. I heard about this.

  “I thought—here is something I can do which is useful. Here is a gift that people will appreciate.

  “There is no trail that goes along the river. The way is hard. There are marshes and bogs. It will take you many days.”

  Derek said, “We have to get there soon.”

  “It cannot be done.”

  Derek leaned forward. “This is important. We are meeting with people. We have promised to be there.”

  Tanajin drank beer. She handed the jug to me, then wrapped her arms around her knees and stared at the fire. “I could take you downriver on my raft. But I’d
lose it. The current is too strong. I could not get the raft back upriver. And there is a place where the water goes down rapidly. You could get through in a boat. But I am not certain that a raft could make it.” She paused. “Let me think. Maybe in the morning I will know what to do.” She stood up. “I told you I had blankets. They are piled outside my door. Rest well.”

  Tanajin went in the tent. I took a blanket, too exhausted to examine it, though I noticed—lying underneath—that it was heavy and warm.

  “Lixia?” It was Derek.

  “Uh?”

  “I called the ship.”

  I lifted my head. He was sitting by the fire. The ruddy light outlined a cheekbone and made an eye gleam.

  “Yes?” I said.

  “We aren’t going to get our conversation with a doctor.”

  “What? You had it figured out. You were certain.”

  “Uh-huh.” He smiled. I saw the corner of his mouth curl up. “Ivanova decided it would hurt their position if they voted for any kind of intervention before the big meeting. And the Chinese abstained. Every one.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t ask me. I haven’t the first idea.”

  “Do you really care so much?”

  “Lixia, you will never get anywhere until you understand the importance of politics.”

  “Huh,” I said and lay back down.

  “One other thing,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “Gregory has been pulled out. He wasn’t learning enough, sitting alone in his cabin, and the cabin stank, and the food was boring. We are the only people left on this continent.”

  “Eddie still wants us to leave?”

  “He wants the option. If his side wins, he intends to quarantine the planet.”

  “Shit.”

  Derek smiled. “Yvonne is going up to join his faction in the big fight. Santha and Meiling are staying where they are, for the time being.”

  “Huh,” I said again.

  I woke at sunrise, stood and stretched, then walked down the bank till I found a cluster of bushes, peed, and washed my hands in the river. There was a flock of birds on the nearest island, roosting in the trees. They were large and white. They kept moving, flapping from one tree to another or leaving the island entirely, flying out over the river. One went over me. It was high enough up to be in sunlight. How splendid it was! How brilliantly white!