Medieval Rain

by J. D. Sonne

  “Tell me about garlock. I have asked Loward and Shad, but all they told me is that it is the ‘forgetter.’”

  The tall female looked uneasily at her companions, then straightened and said, “That is right. That is what we call it, and that is what it does. It makes those who use it forget.”

  ‘“Those who use it,’” Rane repeated. “Doesn’t everyone use it?”

  Two of the girls faces reflected shock which seemed to say, “Of course, not everyone uses it; the other two, including the tall Spokeslead looked shifty, guilt in their eyes: “We shouldn’t use it, but it feels good to forget!”

  “Not everyone uses it, and it is not allowed. But no one who uses it is punished,” the tall girl said, the guilt still in her features.

  Rane nodded, seeming to consider the information, but having guessed the nature of garlock and its effect on the camp already, pushed on to the subject she really wanted to broach with the females.

  “I watched you yesterday.” Rane said, and at their confusion, she added, “At the base of the cliff, before the contest. I watched you just sit there. Why didn’t you try to climb like the viruls?”

  The females retreated into their previous mistrust, looking at each other, their expressions attempting slackness.

  Rane waited, intense interest filling her. There were some in her sector who were beginning to study the mind, emotions, reactions and everything that went into the mental state of servaquans. She had never participated in the new classes offered at Study, but now she wished she had. What would make these females so docile? What had the viruls of camp done to them to inspire such submission?

  The tall one replied, this time with no coaxing from the others, “We are not used to doing such things.”

  “What, like climbing?” Rane ventured, keeping judgment out of her voice. She wanted full and truthful answers from these females.

  “We would rather work at our hearths, learning to sew and cook from our sisters.” The tall one looked at her companions to see if her answer passed muster with them.

  At their nods, she went on. “It is hard to do what the men do. They are strong and fast. We would rather do easy things like sew a shift or a jerkin, or cook bread or meat. We let them do the hard things like build and lift and. . .climb.”

  “Well,” said Rane, not wanting to create impatience with what the females might regard as silly questions, “any time you would like to climb or do anything that you think you haven’t the strength for, come to me. Did you see me climb against Chun yesterday?”

  The females nodded and Rane rejoiced when she saw the obvious question in their faces: is that possible for us?

  “I am a female. I am a Lead. Am I not strong and fast? I want you to think about that.” Rane couched her next statement to be a dismissal as she did not want to jaw on with redundancies. “Thank you for answering my questions. If you have any questions about me or even about you and your place on this world, do not hesitate to ask!”

  The girls sauntered away, giving her one last questioning stare before huddling together and whispering to one another.

  As she watched them go, she hoped they would approach her with follow-up concerns and that their curiosity would displace their submissive tendencies. She did not want to initiate the next contact so as not to appear too eager. They would need to come to her.

  Having arced over the camp, the sun no longer illumined the huts and hearths and was hidden by the western perimeter of foliage by the time Rane had dressed and walked to the work site. It would be interesting to see how the viruls reacted to her after the spectacle yesterday. Would they resent her even more than before the contest? Would Chun’s word prove true, now treating her as if she belonged? Perhaps rat would even have softened toward her. Well, there was only one way to find out. There was also the problem of burying Murman. She was sure that his resting place would be quite rank now. She would bury him after her shift at the worksite.

  She walked onto the site and deliberately avoided everyone’s eyes, deciding to test their reactions in their treatment of her. As she walked past the first group of viruls, she felt their gazes, but no one said anything until a youngster new to the site said, “Welcome, Lead Rane!”

  It seemed that the first friendly greeting punctured the barrier of uncertainty and more and more added their warm salutations to the Lead of the waterwork. “Good climb!” “Your god is powerful!” “Chun was always a part of the crystal! You must be too!” Many more such exhortations followed and Rane realized that she hadn’t realized just how powerful the result of her victory would be. Many even extended their hands to touch hers in solidarity. Then she came to rat, who actually grabbed her hand, although not in friendship, but rather threat.

  “You may have fooled all of these, but I know who you are,” he whispered to her. Then aloud to the others, he said, “She does not belong with us, you know! She will make certain that the end that comes to this camp is a hard one. When her fellow leads and titleds come to rescue her, you will know that her lot was always with them, not with us!”

  The angry murmurs of “Shut up, Scout!” “She won fair and square.” “Leave it be, Scout.” And on and on, until Chun and Landman pushed between them, more in an effort to protect rat than Rane, and forced rat to stand down.

  “Scout! That’s enough!” Chun said. “She saved my life, just as she will save all of our lives with the harnessing of the water. Whatever the problem you have with her, you must put it by!”

  Landman had his eyes on Rane and nodded at her apparent restraint and said, “Scout! That will be enough. Chun is right! The waterwork is the most important thing to this colony. It is even more important than any problem you may have with a lead in our midst. We need you and everyone here, especially Rane. Now shut up.”

  Rat did shut up, but did not look happy about it, and he shot Rane such a look of hatred that she wondered if she were just putting off the inevitable by not killing him then and there. At least, he seemed to be the only threat. Before Chun’s friendship, imposed though it was by her victory, she had to watch her front and back; with Chun now on her side, she would only have to watch her back.

  That night, she listened to the rustle of night creatures outside her tent and pondered. Perhaps she should have killed rat. It would have made things a lot easier. Of course, it would have made the second killing that week, but so what? She only killed viruls when it was really necessary—when they disrespected or threatened her. She did not feel bad about killing Murman—she really had no choice. And she would not have felt bad about killing rat, although a public killing could have been problematic. She had left the worksite early after rat’s outburst, using the moment as an excuse to get away in order to properly bury Murman. She had hoped the body had not decomposed too badly in the two days since the killing, but that hope dissipated with the wafture that assaulted her when she approached the inadequate pile of leaves and mulch over the corpse. Luckily, she had been able to spirit a shovel from the site, everyone too busy with their various chores to think anything amiss about the Lead with a digging tool. It took her two hours to dig a hole deep enough to dissuade scavengers from unearthing the remains, even putting rocks directly on the body itself with the dirt on top as a further deterrent. The smell of decay endured even after the task was complete, the worry that her leathers may retain the scent inducing her to wrangle through some radical measures when she returned to camp.

  Changing into one of the hated shifts, she had hung her jerkin and trousers in some branches outside of her tent, hoping that Shad would take no notice. She returned to the leathers occasionally until bedtime, sniffing them repeatedly for the stench. Well, she reasoned, if the animals of the wood were able to resist them until morning, it would likely mean that the scent had been neutralized by the wet night air. She could only hope so. She could tell Shad was working on a new, more elaborate buckskin for her, but the garment was not ready for wear, yet. She didn’t not relish wearing a stupid shift in
the meantime.

  But, as she felt herself succumb to sleep, she found herself reliving the scene of rat’s verbal assault and expression of hatred: Landman watching her, nodding at her, standing up for her. Landman.

  Chapter Twelve

  Rat made his distrust of Rane obvious every day that he saw her. It didn’t matter that she had refrained from killing him for his insult or dressing him down about the turning joist the previous day, for he was unaware of her inner struggle. His unmistakable scowl became the sole aspect of their relationship, but Rane refused to be baited. She made sure she was unerringly polite no matter how offstanding his behavior. The three other viruls, however, were more receptive to her attempts at friendship. She even found them to be amiable companions, especially Chun, her brother. Working on the waterwork became more and more enjoyable as the raconteur between her, Landman, Bruse and Chun flourished. Rat even joined in occasionally, although begrudging.

  She didn’t know why it was easier to enjoy the company of these viruls over the other drones at the waterwork. She supposed that Landman had found these, along with Scout, to have intelligence and leadership traits that most of the viruls lacked. Rane still deemed herself superior in every way to these viruls, as well as all the others, but her grudging admiration of their capabilities increased every day.

  The disappearance of Murman receded deep into her mind. She barely thought of the incident as no one—no one mentioned his absence. Gadrick was acting as counter, barely, as figures and numbers were obviously not his strong suit, but Murman’s absence simply did not seem to be an issue with anyone, even his wife.

  One day as she hunched over the plans, replotting some of the skews of the trough sectors, she heard distant laughing. She couldn’t see its origin, but the direction of the sound came from the new sector being built out toward the lake. Attempting to ignore the distraction, she leaned on her elbows over the print, even putting her hands over her ears to shut out the sound. She wanted to get the math right on this angle and she was having trouble concentrating on the formulas as it was. Instead of spending itself, as shrill laughter of this type usually did, the sound crescendoed as if a troop of clowns were making its way into the center of the site.

  Finally, she unstopped her ears—it wasn’t working anyway—and looked up. The laughing had morphed into an actual roar as the viruls in her vicinity had added their noise to the sound.

  A jaunty group was making for the main site and seemed thrilled to be receiving all the attention. Rane saw two viruls—upon looking closer, Chun and Landman—carrying a post from one’s shoulder to the other’s, with an animal trussed underneath. It was swinging back and forth with the motion, its legs tied. It was a normal way to carry a kill, so why all the laughter?

  Curious, she abandoned her plans and ventured closer to get a better look. Then she understood and added her laughter to the roar. It was no trussed animal hanging from the pole, but the virul rat, or as they knew him, Scout, definitely not sharing in the others amusement, the fury in his face one reason, a gag in his mouth the other.

  The outer rim of the swelling crowd of viruls seemed the best place for her, aloof as a Lead and forewoman of the project, and she adjusted her face to assume that gravitas, but as the scene before her unfolded, it became harder and harder to keep the smile away. Especially since rat was the recipient of the hazing.

  Landman was saying something, and she strained her ears to hear.

  “. . .Oh, don’t tell me that you are having second thoughts about what you said? Now that would be interesting!” He poked rat’s hanging behind with his staff. “I bet now you would like to take it back!”

  “How can he?” Chun said easily, lounging against one of the scaffolding trestles holding up the F sector of troughs. “You have not removed the gag!” He laughed and went on, “Although, maybe his hot air could melt the gag away!”

  This brought chuckles from all around and Bruse added, “I think his eyes could melt all of us! Look at that glare! I think he may turn us all to stone, or flames!”

  Rane fought the impulse to become involved, for she wanted to hear more and see how this crowd of viruls would handle the situation, but as a leader, she decided she had to step in and quell the conflict before the thing escalated. After all, viruls were known to have trouble keeping their emotions under control—that was why they had to have a lot of structure and leadership wherever they were working.

  “All right, all right!” She heard herself say. “That’s enough. All of you get back to work! And you three!” She fought the smile with everything she had. “Untie him! But I would suggest that you move away swiftly after you’ve done so. There is murder in his look.”

  “I’ll untie him,” Landman said, “but I’ll not run away. He has to take back what he said, and I think it is good that you are here. I would like you to hear it.”

  As they untied him, Rane said, “I cannot imagine being interested in anything this one has to say!”

  Landman turned and winked at her. “Oh, I think you will change your mind when you hear it! Wait! Don’t take any more rope off. Let me take the gag out first and give him a chance to recant.”

  Bruse and Chun looked uncertain, but did as he said, Chun removing the gag that was now soaked in rat’s slobber. He daintily pulled it away from the mouth with a claw of thumb and forefinger to avoid contact with his saliva.

  “So?” Landman said. “I shall not untie you until I have heard you say it!”

  Rat was still trying to rid his mouth of the surplus moisture by making sucking and spitting sounds, and even trying to wipe his mouth on his shoulder. “But you know it’s true!” he said. “Everything has changed since she came!”

  “She is the reason the waterwork is getting built, you idiot!” Landman said. “What was built when you left on the last mission?” His voice rose. “Go on! Tell me!”

  “Nothing,” Scout muttered, a hard grudge in his tone.

  “That’s right! Nothing! She is responsible for our getting this thing constructed when none of us had any idea how to do it! So, you will shut your stupid mouth about her! I am sick of it!”

  “But she is a lead!” Rat roared, a panicked desperation heightening his words. “How can you forget how they all treated us! We were slaves, for the Creator’s sake! And they murdered us for the most trifling slights! How can you forget?”

  By now, rat was sobbing as he went on. “I watched my little brother get slashed by his lead. I saw my other brother sent away to the Outlands for—I can’t even remember what he took, but it was some little thing from the pantry because he was hungry! I was stripped, beaten and—” He paused, embarrassed. “Well, the leads in my household did unspeakable things to me, humiliating things—” he trailed off, the sobs overtaking him.

  Landman stooped and gently pulled at the lashes on Scout’s wrists and ankles. He murmured, “We have all suffered at lead hands. But if we are going to make our way in this new life of ours, we have to leave behind the thought of ourselves as victims. This lead is different; I feel it. And if this lead is different, I know there are others who are, too.” He looked up at Rane, and his eyes met hers. “This lead is different.”

  Rane turned and walked swiftly away from the waterworks. She did not want to go back to camp, but instead headed into a thick section of wood that she knew well, having fled there a few times for calm and to ponder her situation in this camp of viruls. She climbed her favorite rock, her perch facing away from the camp and construction, so she could hear and prepare for an approaching virul or animal. She sat and looked through the dense sylvan stands , a patch of sky making her yearn for what, escape? Clarity? What?

  She knew Landman was wrong about her. She was no different from the Leads that Scout described. She had slashed, beaten and worse (Murman and others), and knew generally what rat’s humiliation had been. She had beaten him, yes, and she was surprised he didn’t use that moment to identify her as the offending Lead. But she wondered about the other
humiliation he mentioned. She had heard of Leads taking such liberty with the viruls, but she had never seen it done and the thought of such a thing repelled and nauseated her. Her tool of strength was always violence, never sex. Which estate had kept rat as a virul? The various estates would loan slaves to the waterwork where Rane was a Watcher, but she had never known nor cared where rat had worked and had had little to do with him until his insubordination at her sector of the waterwork after which she had used violence to teach him a lesson. Her heart was always fully into discipline, never thinking twice about striking a virul or submitting him to the Titled authorities for punishment, until, that is, she came across the half-drowned virul among the rushes in the lake.

  She beat her hand against the rock. She did not like this feeling! It was weak! It was wobbly! It was virulent! Rane raged against the insidious vulnerability that she felt creeping into her innards and wanted to rid herself of it! She looked at her hand. The rock had done its work—an ugly scrape surrounded by a bruise was starting and she rubbed it, cursing. Don’t take it out on yourself! Take it out on one of the stupid viruls! She vowed she would do so. She began clambering off her perch, her mind full of scenarios that all ended in the death of a virul, any virul, preferably rat. It would be easy. She would return to the site and start the new section of troughwork. The viruls always made serious mistakes when a new section was begun. All it would take was a misplaced joist or errant trestle and she could make short work of the punishment, be it a beating or death.

  She reached the ground and pounded off toward the site, then stopped as it came into view. She saw them all. Landman. Chun. Bruse. Shrono. Even rat. She saw their kind, if bewildered, faces and knew she could not do it. She had changed. The camaraderie she experienced in this camp with these viruls had changed her and she realized that she would never be able to do violence to another one of them. She backed into the forest again and had a real cry, the stupid sobs coming and coming and there was nothing she could do until they decided to stop. The spell lasted for a long time and when she at last was done, spent and lying on the ground, Rane wondered what she would do. There was no resolve, no solution, even. Confusion ruled her. The only thing she knew is that she was in real trouble. Everything she had experienced in her life so far had no foundation. It was as if someone had changed the course of the great river of her existence, not creating a new fulsome and productive direction, but rather turning everything she knew into scraggy piles of detritus and debris. Gods, what was she going to do?