Maeve (5 page)

“Mmm.” She stretched and yawned. “I'm not pressed for time. Not that much, anyway. We'd better stick to the stream as long as it goes where we want.”

Chapter V

Gwynnor knelt beside the smoky fire, automatically moving to avoid the straying aromatic puffs of smoke billowing from the damp wood. He watched the starwoman groan as she sat up, throwing off her blanket and stretching, yawning, running hands over her rumpled hair. Then her face went slack as her attention was directed inward.

“On your feet, freyka.” Swardheld's black eyes snapped good-humored command at her.

Aleytys stifled another yawn. “What the hell …”

“Your training starts today.” The face floating in the blackness scowled at her. “We barely made it down that mountain. You're soft as butter, Aleytys.”

Groaning as sore muscles protested, Aleytys staggered to her feet and kicked the blanket aside. “I know you mean it when you use my full name. What do I do?”

“Warm up first.” His voice was a comfortable burring in her head. “Then we walk through a few exercises. You need to build up arm and leg strength. And flexibility. And wind, love.”

Gwynnor watched as she bent and strained, hopped and swung, pressing her body through a series of gyrations that poured sweat down her face and breath whistling through her teeth. Then the cha water boiled. He snatched the pot off the fire and poured the steaming water over the curling cha leaves. Then he watched her again, wondering again why she did it. She was flat on her back, arms stretched out straight from her shoulders, then she wrenched her body into a vee, fingers reaching to touch toes, with her buttocks as fulcrum. It made his middle hurt just watching. Shaking his head, he poured the cha into two mugs.

Aleytys came over to the fire, rubbing her arms. “And I have to walk after all that.” She accepted a cup and gulped gratefully at the hot liquid.

“Why do it, then?” As she drank more cha he unfolded waxed cloth from around some loaves of waybread. “Why tire yourself out before a long day even begins?”

She rubbed a finger beside her nose. “Have to get my body back in shape. A couple of times on the cliff I didn't think I'd make bottom.”

A large insect with greenish-gray wings flapped unconcernedly past her shoulder and landed on a waxy knob surrounded by a star-shaped complex of leaves. It settled close to her shoulder, head-high. She tore off a chunk of bread and chewed at the resilient mouthful while she watched the insect poise on black-thread legs and nuzzle at the bud.

Its wings had a dark green base with a gray flaky powder spread in concentric whorls over the top surface. On the side of the bulbous head she saw two deep pits that at first she mistook for eyes. But they were sensory patches filled with thousands of fine, fine hairs. As she watched, the side-moving jaws pierced the bud, letting loose a flood of spicy scent. She bent closer. “Gwynnor?”

He dumped water on the coals, then scraped dirt over the fire, meticulously returning the forest floor to its natural state. When he was quite ready, he walked across to her where she fidgeted, bending over the opening-closing wings as the bug sucked greedily at the strong-smelling fluid oozing from the pierced bud. “We should be starting on,” he said, voice low and unhappy.

“Look. It doesn't have eyes.”

He looked instead at the solid canopy of leaves that kept the forest floor in a constant state of greenish twilight, keeping out the clean, honest light of the sun. “What's to look at in hare?”

“This.” She curved her hand over the bug. “What is it?” As she asked the question she turned her head, wondering what had brought on his fit of sullens. She saw him staring upward hungrily. Maes, she thought, that means plains. I suppose this place gives him claustrophobia.

He bent closer, finally looking down at the insect. Then he straightened and shrugged. “I live on the plains,” he said, unconsciously echoing her thought. He broke the branch free from the bush and flipped it and the bug into the gloom under the trees. “It's just a bug. What does it matter what it is?”

Aleytys pulled back the hand that had gone out to stop him. Anger flared in her at the thoughtless destruction, and blasted out from her like flame.

Gwynnor saw the starwoman's face redden then turn pale, eyes blue-green ice glittering, then flames red and blue licked out from her, leaped at him, seared his body. He shrieked, batting at his face and body with frantic hands.

Hastily, Aleytys wheeled, turning her back on him until she could control herself. When she turned around again, his face still twitched with the memory of pain. “You're all right,” she said coldly. “I suppose I should be sorry.”

“It was only a bug.”

She sighed. “Never mind. Just don't do that again.”

They followed the stream. Over the water, the leaves were a little thinner, so the walking was easier because it was easier to see where to put their feet.

Aleytys stooped down and put her hands flat on the earth in front of her toes, then she straightened and flung out her arms, then swung her body vigorously, first to the right then to the left. Meeting Gwynnor's startled gaze, she smiled. “I'm not crazy. Just stiff with walking.”

He shrugged and was silent, waiting for her.

“You're quiet today.”

“I've got nothing to say.”

She dropped on a tree root. “So you say nothing. How wise. Let's stop awhile.” She leaned back against the tree. “Your days are too long for me.”

“You said that before. Several times.” Gwynnor sat some distance from her, staring into the hurrying water, cool green tumbling down small steps with a muted musical murmur. “Why did you have to come here?”

She scratched her wrist while she watched her toes wiggle. “Haven't you ever stopped in a place where you didn't mean to stay, a halt, say, where you change from kaffa to boat?”

“Yes.”

“The smuggler captain brought me as far as he could on my way. Now he goes back and I go on.” She moved lazily, her shoulders grating against the grainy bark. “I told you that.”

“I know.”

“I appear to be fascinating you with my conversation.”

His head turned quickly toward her, then away. “So you go to that place.”

“Huh?”

“Caer Seramdun. That city.”

“I don't know how else I'd get offworld.”

“You told Dylaw you wanted to go to the sea.”

She sighed. “Gwynnor, it just seemed simpler. You wouldn't go to the city anyway. So why ask?” She stood up and was beside him before he could move. “Take my hand.”

He shied away from her, shaking his head in quick denial.

“Take my hand!”

Aleytys sighed at the queasy mixture of terror and repulsion that flooded from him. “I don't bite. And my flesh won't leave a stain on you.”

Gwynnor trembled, frightened and angry at himself for wanting to touch her. Her scent billowed around him until he felt close to drowning in it. He saw her again naked, kneeling in the mud, her hair loose like a flow of silk. And he saw her slack-faced, talking to her demons, and he saw the demon taking her body. Hand shaking, despising himself for being afraid to touch her, he reached out. Her fingers were warm and vital, smooth and strong, closing around his with a firm grip.

Aleytys almost dropped the hand, but hung on and felt the painful confusion finally diminish. Felt something else. “You're a sensitive?”

“What?”

“You
see?
”

“I did. Once.”

“It's not something you lose, like your baby teeth.”

He moved his hand but didn't quite jerk loose. “I lost it,” he said tensely.

“Hai Madar.” With a sigh she gathered the remnants of her patience. “It doesn't work.”

“I told you.”

“No, no. What I meant was you can't deny what you are. I tried it and I know. Never mind. Gwynnor, I swear to you I will say nothing of you or your people or the smuggler or the weapons or anything at all that could bring harm to you.” She concentrated on projecting her intense belief in that.

This time he did snatch his hand away. He jumped to his feet. “Don't.” After putting a couple meters between them, he said hoarsely, “You rested enough?”

“Just enough to get stiff again. I'll be all right once we start moving.”

“It's another two hours till noon.” He walked nervously on without waiting for her answer.

Aleytys rubbed her stomach. “Damn. I could eat now.” She followed Gwynnor along the stream, keeping as close as she could to the water's edge. The going was difficult, tree roots bursting from the soil at irregular intervals, the awkward spaces between the rocks threatening to trap a foot or break an ankle. When the banks were wider, there was grass and the walking was easier. By the time the position of the sun announced the noon hour, Aleytys was too exhausted to bother about Gwynnor's puzzling reactions. She dropped onto a patch of grass and pulled her boots off. As she sat rubbing her numb toes, he stopped and came back. “Can you go farther?”

She stretched her feet out in front of her, wiggling her toes as she frowned at the constricting boots. “Give me awhile. I have to think.”

He scowled, then sat down some way off, turning his back to her as if he was unwilling to look at her.

Aleytys closed her eyes. “Harskari?”

The narrow, pale face with the big amber eyes developed from the darkness. “What is it, Aleytys?”

“I just wanted to see a friendly face.”

A thin eyebrow flicked up toward the tumbling silver curls. “So your little friend doesn't appreciate you.”

Aleytys frowned. “I pushed a wrong button somewhere. I wish I knew what I said. Or did.”

“Give him time. He's in a strange place and uneasy about it.”

Aleytys rubbed her nose thoughtfully. “And he doesn't like any of us starfolk.” She chuckled. “My god, Harskari, did you hear what I just said?”

“A truth you've taken a long time to acknowledge.” Harskari hesitated, her amber eyes narrowing. “You're still dreaming of going back to Vajd.”

Aleytys fidgeted. “I don't want to talk about that.”

“Obviously. However, you'd better think about it.” The face faded and she was alone again.

Stretching her aching limbs, Aleytys leaned back against the tree, letting the black waters of her symbolic river run in healing waves over her, working out the poisons of fatigue, washing away the muscle aches. The soothing water ebbed and she jumped to her feet, yawned, grinned at Gwynnor's stubborn back. “I'm starved.”

He rose and walked silently into the forest, leaving Aleytys staring in surprise. As she was making up her mind whether to follow him or wait by the water, he came back to her holding out a large green fruit with a thick, pithy rind. Tentatively, he smiled, a mere twitching of his lips. “A few minutes ago you couldn't move.”

After tearing the rind off the fruit, she sank her teeth into the juicy pink-crimson flesh. She smiled with delight at the taste. “This is good, Gwynnor.”

“We call it chwech.”

“So, you're talking to me again.” She wiped away the juice that trickled down her chin, then rubbed her hand clean on a thick patch of grass by her feet. She sat. “Come here and tell me about your maes.”

After a half-hour's rest they went on. Sluggishly, the sun crept down toward the western horizon, its descent marked by a dimming of the greenish glow and the gradually decreasing brightness in the bits of sky visible over the center of the stream. They seldom spoke but shared a kind of tentative friendliness that made the going easier. Aleytys burned with curiosity to know why he'd changed so oddly, but she liked the results too much to wish to initiate another alteration in his behavior.

She looked around curiously and found what seemed a safe subject. “Does anyone live here or are the trees left to themselves?”

“The forest people. Call themselves cludair. We trade with them a little. Cloth and metal goods for spices, perfumes, scented woods, beads and carvings.”

“What do they look like? Like you?”

“No!”

Before she could pursue the cause of his indignation, a crackling, crashing sound brought her head around. She heard a scream and caught hold of Gwynnor's shoulder. “What was that?”

She felt his muscles shrink from her rough touch. “It's none of our business. All we're here for is to get to the river.”

“Sounds like someone's hurt.” Ahead and to the right she heard a frightened wailing. “A child!” She ran toward the raw blat of pain.

Gwynnor heard the scream and the whimpering but shrugged it off. In the forest, bad things were always happening. Too many secret things here. But, at least, no cerdd was hurting. This wasn't like the maes where men saw each other's faces open under an honest sun. Reluctantly he went into the forest, following the crashing of the starwoman's reckless plunge. She gets involved with anyone, he thought. No discrimination. Whore! No. That's not right. I don't know. A low limb smashed into his head, knocking him out of his abstraction. Moving more warily, he followed the sound of the moaning.

When he came up with her, she was bending over the tumbled stick figure of a cludair child whose greenish-brown fur was matted and bloody, its big red-brown eyes glazed and lifeless. The starwoman had one hand pressed against a deep wound in the child's lower abdomen and the other hand curved around its head where blood was gushing out, staining her fingers. Her face was black with the intensity of her concentration. The air steamed around her, shivering at the power pouring through her. Gwynnor felt it tremble along his nerves, opening doors in his mind he wanted closed. He looked away from her.

The corpse of a greenish furred cat lay sprawled beside the intent pair, the rosettes of darker green spots making it still hard to see. He caught hold of the beast's hind leg and dragged it deeper into the darkness under the trees. There was no blood, just a small scorched puncture wound drilling through the round, blunt head. Once again, he felt a frustration close to anger at not having access to those powerful energy weapons.