Mearsies Heili Bounces Back (28 page)

No one was on the road. I started up the road at my quickest
saunter, my heart pounding.

Around the hill ...
When is lunch? Maraneh will knock,
they might let me sleep, but sooner or later they’ll go in—

And Rel will be fast.
Triumph and fear chased one
another through my middle, making me feel a little queasy.

So I walked harder, and when I was on the other side of the
hill, I stepped off the road. Now I headed east. I had to go north eventually,
but I’d stupidly stared in that direction the other day in the meadow, so I
knew Rel would search there first—that’s where I’d search, if I was him.

East, then. Into someone’s farmland, between rows of
something green and good-smelling, and out the other side, behind a stable.

On a road behind a poultry yard rolled a hay wagon, with two
kids driving it. They were eating a lunch while the oxen plodded. I sidled
round to the other side of the barn, ghost-footed alongside the chicken fence,
and caught up with the wagon from the back. After climbing carefully onto it I
burrowed under the hay.

The two boys turned about to be the most boring conversationalists
(I thought sourly) in at least a thousand worlds. First they compared their
sandwiches, as in who got more cheese. Since they’d already half-eaten the
sandwiches, that meant arguing about what they’d already eaten. When they’d
pretty much decided that the other got the most, and so each ought to get the
extra tartlet, they argued about that. I was on the verge of popping up and
demanding the tartlet for myself—or suggesting they split it or even throw it
away, just so they’d stop talking about it—when they decided they’d each take a
bite, passing it back and forth, until it was gone.

They argued about who had taken the biggest bite.

I groaned and put my fingers in my ears, counting to one
hundred. Then that bored me so much I decided I may as well listen.

“... and if he gets to the walk too?”

Walk? They argued incomprehensibly about a walk—whether or
not some boy they knew would be sent to ‘the walk’ which, I figured after a
time, was looked to be a treat, because they would get a rare feast afterward,
and escape their regular chores.

The argument only stopped when the wagon did. I realized I
ought to have been paying attention—I certainly didn’t want the boys to
discover my hiding in the hay. But a quick peek showed them both moving to the
oxen to unyoke them and put them in their pen; I scooted to the edge, then
peered out carefully. I’d just clambered out and was brushing off the hay when
an older girl rounded the side of a barn, and stopped in mild surprise when she
saw me. “Pram? Dalkineh? Who’s this you brought?”

I said, as the two boys turned around, “I’m to go to the
walk.”

The girl shrugged, then walked by, a bucket clanking in her
hands as she headed for the cow byre.

The two boys—obviously brothers—looked at me with the same
mild curiosity, then the oldest said, “You were sent for the walk too?”

I nodded.

“Come along.”

I followed, not believing my luck—so far. Only ... what was
‘the walk?’

Around the barn we trudged to a cobble-stone street, where a
lot of people milled about. The boys asked some perfunctory questions, to which
I told a lot of lies, the most boring ones I could think of. I slipped away
from the brothers almost immediately, and ducked my way through the crowd.

My first thought was to get to another type of conveyance,
though I didn’t think I’d be able to sneak into anything again. However, it
might be worth a try.

I reached a huge stable (guided to it by the smell of many
horses) in time to hear a woman’s sharp voice. “I don’t care! I have to get to
town, don’t you see? I’ll pay double.”

And another woman said, “Yes, Trader, so I heard. But today
is the rope walk. The whole town binds rope. We all get paid if we’re fast, and
we’ve a reputation to uphold. Means every pair of hands.”

“Then I am stuck here another night? With my horses eating
their heads off—and me having to pay extra?”

The stable woman shrugged.

The trading woman whirled around, scolding not quite under
her breath, and slammed through the door leading, from the smell that briefly
wafted out, to the kitchens of an inn.

I waited until the stable woman had sniffed, given a small
smile in the direction of the inn, then checked the loose boxes before she too
went inside.

Everyone going to the rope walk ... whatever that was.

I looked at the animals, feeling intense conflict. Rel would
be angry, Raneseh would be worried. I suspected he’d be thinking of Pralineh
out on her own, helpless to do anything for herself outside of sewing and
preserves. He’d turn every servant out to search.

They’d be searching for a black-haired girl in a blue dress,
not a black-haired boy, but what if someone recognized the rag-bag clothes? I
wasn’t sure how good my disguise was; I wanted to believe that Rel was too
stupid to see past it, but I knew that was wishful thinking. Rel was obnoxious,
over-bearing, poker-faced, show-offy, and loathsome in every way—but not
stupid.

So I had to get farther away. Those oxen had been about as
fast as a five year old’s amble, so they couldn’t have brought me much of a
distance.

I moved along the loose boxes, talking softly to the horses.
Seshe had made sure that all we girls knew how to care for horses, once we’d
learned to ride. What I wanted was a friendly one who seemed to want to go out.
It’s not stealing, I thought to myself. I’ll let the horse go as soon as it’s
dark.

Yes.

So at the last box before the door, when a horse lipped my
flat hand, I eased the box open, patted the horse as it walked out of the box.
I used the stall to jump up onto its back—gripped the mane—and soon was walking
the horse up the street through the crowd that was all heading one way.

As soon as I could I turned down a narrow alley that smelled
like sour wine and some kind of herb ... turned again ... found a road ... past
cottages that slowly began to space out, and then I reached the open road.

I clucked, and the horse began to trot.

I rode east, but then started choosing northward turns in
roads as the sky clouded over and soft rain fell, soaking my clothes. The horse
slowed to a walk. Dark fell quickly because of the rain. I kept riding, feeling
more and more morose, but when I saw a row of lights, I slid off, turned the
horse around, patted it until it got the idea and started back. I listened to
its hooves splash through puddles until they were washed out by the sound of
rain, then I slogged toward the lights, discovering—as I had hoped—a farmstead.

It was easy enough to make my way to a barn and climb up
into new-cut, sweet-smelling hay. I burrowed in, curling into a ball with my
forearms pressed across my empty stomach, and fell asleep.

Sort of asleep.

After fifty eternities in that uncomfortable, itchy hay, I
was relieved when the first faint blue of dawn showed in the cracks in the
walls and in the small window. I climbed down and slunk out, feeling tired,
cold, wet, clammy, hungry, and miserable.

But free.

“Yippeeoclinks!” I squeeped, trying to cheer myself up. “Home,
here I come!”

... Except I was on the wrong continent—and halfway across
it at that.

But I knew what to do, and where to go in order to do it.
First Bermund. The queens would of course send me home. Where I would find
everybody. Right? Right? No, I would not think about all of them gone ...

Instead I thought about Rel, in trouble for my escape (I
hoped at least with Kwenz, though it was unlikely Raneseh would get mad at him)
and out slogging through the rain searching—and my mood improved again. Yep,
definitely worth being tired, wet, and hungry. See how Mr. You-Have-No-Skills
likes
that!
Ha ha!

I’ll show you skills, you stench-wazoo,
I thought,
stomping through puddles.

The farmhouse road topped a hill—and below me lay a sizable
town. I bucketed down the road as fast as I could, intending to get lost in its
streets. Then find another stable. Maybe, maybe, maybe I could pinch another
horse?

As it turned out I did not need to be a horse thief. The
stable I reached was so busy there were people everywhere. I counted at least
five languages being spoken before my attention was caught by a man using
Mearsiean. “I just need someone long enough to get through the mountains,” he
explained. “I got my grandson waiting other side. I was supposed to have my
niece, but she got nipped up by the weavers, and—”

I remembered what that boy had said about caravan guiding,
and didn’t even wait. I was too hungry, too desperate.
If you can follow a
road
, he’d said,
the rest is just learning how to keep the animals and
people fed.
I didn’t know much about cooking for people, but Seshe had made
certain we knew about horses’ meals.

So I walked right up and said, “I’m looking for work.”

Both adults looked down at me in surprise.

I stared back up, compressing my lips against a comment at
those goggling eyes. Did I grow a couple of noses?

But the man said doubtfully, “You know how to tend a horse?”

“Sure do.”

“Here.” The stable-man indicated a horse. “That runner who
just came in. You check that gray’s hooves.”

I grinned. Seshe had spent a lot of time telling us about
horses’ feet—how that odd curly thing underneath called the frog, and how the
hoof was actually a giant finger nail ...

I found a hoof pick, and went up cautiously to the gray that
had just been rubbed down and was under a blanket. I talked soothingly until
the flicking ears relaxed, I ran my hand down a foreleg, and then cupped my
hand behind, pressed—

The horse shifted, and up came the hoof. I flipped my leg
over, holding the hoof between my thighs, and checked the hoof, talking to the
horse all the while. I carefully picked out a couple of tiny stones, checked
the fit of the shoe, then let the hoof drop. The horse shifted, I looked up in
triumph.

“Hired,” the man said. “Talk to my wife about your kit and
pay.”

I told them my name was Timov, my latest joke disguise name,
back home. The reminder of Faline convulsed with laughter made my heart
squeeze.

Argh. Well, just let Rel the Rotten figure
that
out.

And so I became part of the trading caravan. And I didn’t
have to cook, for they had someone who did that—but she refused to have
anything to do with horses.

The first day or two I took care to stay out of sight of the
road; several times galloping messengers caught up and passed, and I wondered
if any of them were sent by Raneseh, searching for a black-haired girl in a
blue dress.

But the day we reached the border mountains I relaxed. By
then I’d made friends with the trader’s string of horses, and with the trader
and his wife. I heard more than I ever wanted to about honey and mead, for
their six wagons were full of both. I called the horses secretly after the
girls at home, matching as best I could the names with personalities. I had been
given a quilt, and slept under one of the wagons, near the horse picket.

o0o

The honey and mead traders stopped in Analas, where their
daughter lived; I, now paid off, continued on to Arthla in a travel coach.

But first I got rid of the rag bag clothes and replaced them
with sturdy summer kneepants, which both working boys and girls wore on this
continent as well as at home. I also got a plain summer tunic-shirt. I bought
myself a knapsack. On long tramps or rides, I took to arguing with Rel in my
mind, giving him the benefit of long strings of insults, self-justification for
stealing, and of course gloating that I’d gotten away.

Bermund is a quiet land, mostly trading in flax, rice, and
the spectacularly beautiful weavings that people make with flax that is
sun-lightened longer than ordinary flax, softened almost to silk in texture,
but it lasts far longer than silk. Bermund’s history is shrouded in magical
shiftings, as we’d discovered on the earlier adventure. One queen rules at a
time, swapping off season by season.

Arthla without the enchantment turned out to be a pretty
city. There was all the white stone, including marble, with canals that remind
one of Alsais in Colend, but now the houses all had pretty shutters, and window
boxes, and little gardens everywhere, as well as a lot of flowering trees, some
potted, others not. Shops were open, and people walked and talked and grouped
and rode and did people-things in every direction.

I went straight to the royal palace, glad to see it looking
lively—and not all deserted, like my first visit, the only human forms all the
statues of the would-be ‘royalty’ who’d hoped for some kind or reward, or maybe
a throne, when they came to break the spell over the queens.

As soon as I sent my name in Spring herself came running
through an archway that had paintings of twined blossoms over it, kind of like
at Pralineh’s house. It was her season, so she was in charge.

My first thought was to write a nasty letter to Rel from the
palace—but with my luck, the slob would stomp all the way north just to clamp
his disgusting mitt on the back of my collar and haul me back.

Then Spring said, “Welcome, Cherene!” And I forgot about
Rel. “I’m so happy to see you! I told Winter and Summer that you are here.”
Spring grinned, her curls bouncing on her back as she led me through the
archway to a broad marble-floored outdoorsy kind of room, with potted trees
growing alongside a fountain, and sweetly singing birds flying about.

“These are the ones the big raptors hunt,” she said,
sighing. “So they are safe here. They come in such numbers!” Indicating the
birds.

I nodded politely as we sat on a bench that overlooked the
fountain and pools.