Hope of Earth (11 page)

L
IN HELD UP THE FINISHED
skirt, pleased. It was a fine piece of work, consisting of a waist cord made of tendon, and long sections of leaves descending from it, with a pattern of alternating colors. She was still a child, but no one could tie leaves as prettily as she could.

“Put it on,” Bry said.

Lin put the cord around her slender hips, and wrapped it twice around her small waist before tying it, so that the leaves overlapped, forming the skirt. She adjusted them so that the layers complemented each other. The colors brightened in the sunlight.

“It’s good,” he said. “Make it move.”

She flexed her knees and did a bit of a dance, making the skirt swish aside, showing flashes of her thighs and bottom. Her body wasn’t grown yet, so this lacked something, but she enjoyed pretending.

“You must model it at the gathering,” he said.

“I couldn’t,” she said quickly.

“But you made it,” he protested. “You should show it. You’re pretty enough.”

She held up her left hand, the fingers splayed. All six of them.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “I forgot. But it’s too bad.
Someone
will have to show off that skirt, so we can trade it well.”

Lin shrugged, eyes downcast as she removed the skirt. There had been a time when Bry teased her about her hand, and they had fought, and she had flung dirt in his face. But Flo had talked to him, about the need for siblings to defend each other, and Ned had remarked on misfortune, which was Bry’s own private dread. Bry believed that each member of their sibling group was cursed in some way, and that his curse was to suffer bad luck in whatever was really important to him. He had taken heed of their concerns, recognizing his affinity with Lin, and now he helped her hide her embarrassment. He had become socially conscious in a hurry, and she appreciated it. She needed a friend who really understood, and he had become that friend. Just as Ned and Jes were friends as well as siblings, and Sam and Flo. The distinction was important, just as it was between friends and lovers.

“FU ask Ned,” he said, and ran off to find their band brother.

Lin carefully coiled the skirt, making it look like a simple bundle of leaves. She was proud of her handiwork, but had never been able to present her art in public. It was hard enough just foraging. It was all right with Sam’s band, though Sam’s wife Wona would stare deliberately. But when they encountered folk of other bands, Lin always withdrew, even if she had to go hungry. It just wasn’t worth the humiliation.

Bry came running back. “Ned says cover your hands! With skirts.”

“Skirts?” she asked blankly.

“Little ones to match the big one. It will be a nice ploy. They will laugh, but like it.”

Lin went still, which was her way when a revelation came upon her. She could cover her hands with miniature skirts, and her extra finger would not show! Then she could appear in public without embarrassment. Ned, always the smartest member of their band, had come through again.

She took some scraps of tendon left over from prior projects and tied small leaves to them, alternating colors. She wrapped them around her fingers, pinning them with thorns. Now she had two temporary little skirts that would conceal the main parts of her hands, leaving only the thumbs free.

Then she realized that this wouldn’t do. “Why should I cover my hands, if there’s nothing wrong with them?” she asked rhetorically.

Bry took off again. Lin gazed at her impromptu gloves, wishing she could use them, covering both hands so as not to draw attention to the defective one. She couldn’t weave with her fingers covered, she couldn’t eat, she couldn’t forage, but she could model skirts, and she could even make gloves to match what she modeled, enhancing the effect. It could be so nice, if only she had some obvious reason that wasn’t the real one.

Bry came charging back. “Ned says because your fingers are stained with dye, and you don’t want to ruin the impression.” He gulped a breath. “Also, make them match the skirt, for the art of it.”

And she did use dye, gathered from berries and roots and different kinds of dirt. It was no good for leaves, but it could make the fur clothing distinct, and that appealed to many people. She usually made the body paint for this family, too. It was a job to find out what wouldn’t wash out the first time it rained, but some juices worked better than others. And the best ones did stain her fingers for several days. The stain did not wipe off on other things, but most folk would not know that, and anyway, different dyes were different; some might wipe off. So Ned had given her another good answer. And a good backup answer, using the hand skirts to enhance the main skirt. She had actually thought of that aspect herself, before Ned suggested it, which made her feel extremely smart. She could be in public.

She grabbed Bry by the head and kissed him hard on the cheek. “Hey, what’s that for?” he demanded.

“For Ned,” she replied. “Take it to him.”

He laughed. “You’ll have to do that yourself. I don’t do kisses.”

“I will,” she said, and set out to find Ned.

They were all there at the gathering: the members of Sam’s band, and the members of two other larger bands. Joe’s and Bub’s bands. Joe’s folk were generally all right, but Bub’s could at times be mean. Dirk and Wona, the mates of Flo and Sam, had come from Joe’s band, so they knew most of the people there. But Bub’s Green Feather band had a private grudge against Sam’s band, and especially against Ned and Jes, who had outmaneuvered them on a trading deal. So there might be trouble, though there was supposed to be no fighting at gatherings.

The trading was brisk. Bub’s band had assorted flints, chipped into serviceable knives and tools. Joe’s band had fine pelts from unusual animals, worked until they were quite soft and flexible. Sam’s band had assorted dyed hides, leaf skirts, and reed-woven baskets. Lin walked around, with one of her skirts on her torso, and the miniature matching skirts on her hands, and when someone wished to trade for one, Jes would remove the one Lin wore and hand it over, and put another on her. “You are doing well,” Jes murmured to her. “You make the skirts look better.”

Lin was pleased, because if she could do this well as a child, how much better she should be able to do when she was grown. She was pretty now, and would be lovely then, if she could hide her hand. This was the first time she had been able to model the skirts for trade, instead of letting Wona do it. That was a real satisfaction.

But there was another purpose to these gatherings: women. Young women needed to find new homes, and men needed to obtain mates. So there was a good deal of looking around. Lin looked around too. She was as yet too young, but not by all that much, so she had an interest. Of course no man would consider her, once he saw her hand, so speculation about the future was idle. Still, it was nice to pretend.

As evening came, the trading slacked off, and Lin no longer modeled the skirts. She removed her hand skirts, closed her left hand tight, and looked around. The nudity of her body did not bother her; it was standard for children, but her hand was always a concern. She saw that someone had started a large fire. It seemed to be a boy, which surprised her, because this was normally a man’s job. So she went over for a closer look—and was further surprised. It was a girl! Rather, a woman, for she had her baby parked nearby.

The woman saw Lin looking. “Hello, girl,” she called. “Do you like fire?”

“Yes,” Lin confessed.

“Well, come help me build this up,” the woman said. “It needs to be big enough for everyone to sit around.”

But if she started using her hands, her extra finger would show. So Lin tried to demur. “I—”

“Or would you like to hold Crystal while I fetch in more wood? I don’t like to leave her alone.”

“Oh, yes,” Lin agreed. She loved holding babies. Then, belatedly, she introduced herself. “I’m Lin, of Sam’s band.”

“I’m Ember, of Joe’s band,” the woman replied. She picked up the baby, passed her to Lin, and followed a path out to forage for more wood.

Lin sat holding the baby girl, gazing into the fire. She liked Ember, because Ember trusted her with her precious child. And babies didn’t care how many fingers a person had.

But there was a woman staring at her. Lin knew who she was, from memory and descriptions: the notorious Sis, Bub’s sister or consort; it wasn’t quite clear which. That was one case where the distinctions between sibling, friend, and lover seemed seriously blurred. By all accounts Sis was a beautiful but sharp-edged creature, who would do whatever she thought she had to, to get her way or her brother’s way. She must have noticed Lin’s hand, and was contemplating some mischief. But she did not approach, and after a while went elsewhere, to Lin’s relief.

A man advanced to the fire, carrying a huge armful of wood. He dumped it down beside the sticks already there. He glanced at Lin. “Why, hello, Ember,” he said.

“Oh, I’m not Ember,” Lin protested quickly. “She went to fetch wood.”

He paused, seeming surprised, looking at her more closely. “Oh, I thought you must be Ember, because you are holding Crystal.”

“No, I’m Lin, of Sam’s band. This isn’t my baby. I’m not old enough to have one.”

“But pretty enough,” he said. “Are you looking for a man?”

“No!” she exclaimed, fearing a frightful misunderstanding. Didn’t he see that she was a naked child?

But he laughed. “I shouldn’t tease you, Lin. I am Scorch—Crystal’s father. I am glad to see you taking good care of her.”

Lin just stared at him, flushing, not knowing what to say.

Ember returned with more wood. “Are you teasing innocent girls again, Scorch?” she asked as she set down her load.

“Only the pretty ones,” Scorch said. “See what a fine baby this one has.”

“But I’m not pretty,” Lin said, hopelessly flustered. “My hand—” Worse yet. She shouldn’t have mentioned that.

Scorch glanced at his wife, evidently realizing that his teasing had gone awry. Ember squatted before Lin, but didn’t take the baby. “Look at this,” she said, stretching out one arm. There was a long ugly burn-scar on it. “And this.” She showed a knee, blotched with scar tissue. “I have such marks all over my body, because of my trade. Does that make me ugly?”