Reclamation (50 page)

Eric was staring at his ship. It lolled in the crater its impact had made. Its nose was buried in a wall of ash and smoking coals. Water seeped into the depression it made. Behind it a trail of ash and seared sand added its steam to the hazy air. The
U-Kenai’s
wings were streaked with black, pitted by tiny craters and scarred with long grooves. Then she saw that the
U-Kenai’s
whole smooth skin was scarred. Seams of white foam ran in jagged lines around its back and sides. It looked like the ship had been declared Notouch and marked accordingly.

Eric stood like a statue beside his ruined ship. He stared at it. His cheeks were wet and the look on his face was one of fear.

Arla wished she knew something to say. She remembered the Bad Night, when her father had hauled her and her sisters bodily off their mats before the mudslide washed their house down to the Dead Sea. She remembered the boiling, grinding roar and the horror as her home was torn to pieces by the mindless force. Security and sense washed away with it.

She wished she could tell him about that, but her mind wouldn’t hand across the words. It just kept bringing up pictures of Storm Water and Little Eye. Her children were maybe a day away. Maybe only hours, and maybe she hadn’t been gone that long. Maybe Nail had waited for her. Maybe she was still his wife and could still call her children her own. Maybe Eric would understand that what had happened on the ship could not take the place of her being mother to her children.

The strength of that wish made her suck in a breath and Eric must have heard. He tore his gaze away from the hulk of the
U-Kenai
and swept it across the Walls.

“You know where we are? I’ve lost all my geography.”

You lie, Eric. You’re staring straight at the route to First City.

She didn’t say that either. “We’re on the Narroways side of the Dead Sea. That means the Lif marshes are only a few hours off. There’ll be people about. Notouch,” she added, waiting for his reaction.

He looked down at his naked hands. “Well, it should be an interesting time, considering that I’m as bare as a two-day-old baby.”

“It may be for the best,” Arla said. “It’ll mean less outcry, especially if we can find my people. My mother is a force in the clan.” She laughed once. “Some say she’s a force of nature.”

“I can believe that.” There was a trace of humor in his voice, but none in his face. He was looking at his ship again.

“We’d better get going, Eric,” she said as gently as she could manage. “Is it not true that if the Vitae come looking for us, they’ll head straight for the
U-Kenai?”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Cam. Stabilize the ship’s condition as much as possible. Repair the comm lines and monitor transmissions. And”—he ran his hand through his hair—“wait until you hear from me.”

“Yes, Sar,” said the android. Its feet made swishing noises in the damp sand as it climbed back into the crater and aboard the fallen
U-Kenai
and released the catch holding the outer door back.

The door slid down and clanged shut.

Eric turned quickly away. “I’m ready.”

“Very well.” Arla checked her pouch of stones to see that it was firmly knotted. She glanced at the walls again to pick her direction. “Let’s go.”

Side by side they tramped up the beach. They passed salt-crusted hollows filled with miniature versions of the sea. Nothing else broke up the landscape between the dunes and the waterline until Arla heard the faint gurgle of a running river.

Smiling with quiet satisfaction, she angled her path inland until they climbed over a stony dune. On the other side, the Eel Back ran swift and shallow into the Dead Sea. Its winding path cut a swath through the dunes and would, Arla knew, open into the sprawl of the Lif marshes.

She glanced over at Eric, who hadn’t said a word since they’d started. She’d been content to let him be quiet, thinking he needed time to adjust to the fact that he had returned. Now she saw that his eyes seemed to be sunken, looking inside rather than out.

He’s closed himself up as far as he can,
she thought.

She touched his arm wordlessly and he gripped her hand. For a moment they stood like that. He didn’t even look at her, he just took what strength she had to give. Did he know that her heart was wringing inside her? She did not want to be divorced, she did not want to lose her children, and yet she did not want to leave him.

At last, he let her go and she was able to shove her torn emotions down under a layer of practical considerations. She led him down the dune to the side of the Eel Back and they started walking in silence again.

With the influx of fresh water that the river provided, the landscape changed drastically. Before an hour had passed, they were wading through a mix of brown reeds and knee-high grass. When they stopped to share a packet of ration squares, they were able to rest in the shade of a cluster of Crooker trees. Arla gauged the spread of the river and the slant of the land.

“Past the next rise, we’ll hit the marshes,” she said, more to see if Eric would answer her than because she thought he needed her to tell him that. “Wish I knew how far into the season it was. We could be hitting Late Summer. The squatters shift around. Still, where there’s fishing”—she nodded toward the river, now a broad, sluggish swath of green water between the reeds—“there’ll be a clan.”

“Arla.” Eric spoke her name toward the river. “What did you mean when you said there would be less outcry from the Notouch because I had no hand marks?”

Arla felt her mouth twist. She searched for the words to explain.

“Since Narroways started making deals with the Skymen, the Teachers and the Royals have gotten … scared. They got this idea into their heads that the Skymen and the Heretics were using the Notouch to run their messages, hide them in the marshes, get them supplies and information, and the like. It’s true, of course, but they were paying for all of it with food and cloth, some coinage. We’ll do anything for pay, everybody knows that …” She bit her tongue.

It’s the air. Breathe the old comfortable air and get back the old comfortable thoughts.

“So,” she went on, keeping her gaze on the way in front of her, “as the law says, what one Notouch does, all Notouch are responsible for. The Teachers have been laying down that law and exacting flesh-and-blood fines from us. It’s made us wary. Almost nobody will go out of their way to do a Teacher a service now. Especially around Narroways.

“It’s also true that around Narroways a Teacher or an upper rank might … become lost in a night storm more easily than in other places.”

Eric said nothing and this time Arla felt no urge to break the silence. She just got to her feet and started walking again.

It turned out she’d read the landscape right. They topped the final hill and saw the vast, bowllike valley that held the Lif marshes. Arla had heard it speculated that, except for the Dead Sea, this was the largest stretch of open ground in the Realm. Even here, though, she could see the dark, comforting bulk of the World’s Wall on every side.

She sighted on a cluster of Crooker trees. They’d need walking sticks for finding solid ground. She wished she still had her knife, or an ax would have been even better. However, there should be deadwood that hadn’t floated off yet.

She picked up a stick and handed it across to Eric.

“Thank you,” he said, and Arla decided that would be enough for now.

The day must have been a fairly dry one. Green flies and splinter-chasers glided low over the ponds. The earth under the grasses only squished a little. Arla smiled. One thing about the Skymen you had to like—their boots kept a person’s feet good and dry.

They continued on. Eric seemed to be having trouble with his footing. He splashed and stumbled along behind her. Arla made herself ignore him. She had a feeling he would not welcome too much attention right now. Maybe it was nothing more complex than his having gotten used to the unnaturally straight and even flooring the Skymen had. Maybe it had nothing to do with the shattered look she had seen when she handed him the walking stick. But then, even before he’d left, he couldn’t have done much stomping about in raw marsh. The Nobles were used to cobbled roads and wagons and ox-backs. Well, he’d have to get used to this. They wouldn’t be within reach of such luxuries for a while.

Her harsh thoughts startled her a bit. Something was slipping from her. She was a Notouch again, low as she could be. As soon as they hit company, she’d have to fall back into the endless bent-back playacting and wheedling language. She realized she did not want Eric to see her like that.

Despite her gloomy thoughts, part of her could not help but relax. The air was warm enough. Her head sat firmly on her shoulders and her eyes could see clearly without burning in harsh, bare lights. She was using her own legs to get somewhere and, even better, she knew where she was going.

She started whistling.

In a couple of days, she might even see Reed and Trail again, and Mother.

What’s she going to think of what I’ve done ? I haven’t got any idea. And my children?
Her breath caught.
Except, I’ve surely been divorced and so they won’t be my children and Nail in the Beam won’t be … there.
She shoved the thought aside.
Maybe not. Maybe he’ll have held out. Even if he didn’t, I know it must make sense. With what I’m doing what land of wife could I be?
She glanced at Eric.

I know my children are my children and they know it, too, and the Teachers’ law can go drown itself.
She shook her head ruefully.
Right back into it, aren’t I? Keep on like this and I might as well have never left at all.

Eric tripped, splashed, and swore.

“Use your stick,” she prompted. “Swing it in front of you, watch the ground. We may have a long way to go.” She looked for the slant of the shadows. There was maybe half the day left. “And we need to do some serious traveling unless you want to spend the night in a tree.”

“Arla?”

“Hmm?” She cocked one eye toward him. He had stopped dead. Brown-tipped reeds waved around his knees. A small hillock of muck rose at his feet. Arla looked again. It wasn’t muck. It was a shoulder, and a head.

“Nameless Powers preserve …” Arla moved closer. The corpse lay facedown in a pool. It was pale and bloated with water and had been picked at by eels. She swallowed her gorge and laid her hand over her mouth, grateful for once for Lif’s ever-present smell. It covered the corpse stench.

It was a woman, she decided. A Bondless tattoo still showed against her greying hands. Eric, showing no signs of nausea, crouched beside the body. Arla was surprised for a moment, then remembered as a Teacher he had surely dealt with his share of unpleasant corpses. He braced himself and levered the body over onto its back. It splashed into the water and Arla got a look at the face. She gasped.

“Do you know her?” asked Eric.

Arla nodded. “She’s a Skyman. She’s … her name is Cor. She’s the one who took me to … who …” She swallowed hard again. “What did the Servant’s Eyes see here?” she whispered.

“I don’t know.” Eric fingered the waterlogged pouch at Cor’s waist. He gave an experimental yank. The cord snapped and he stood up. “It happened at least a day ago, whatever it was.” He tore the mouth of the pouch open and shook it.

Several coins fell into his palm, along with a translator disk, and a polished piece of pinkish quartz.

Arla’s chest tightened like she’d been hit. She snatched the quartz up. It was a long, ragged chip, carved and polished until it looked like a fat lightning bolt the length of her little finger.

“Trail,” she croaked.

“What?” Eric asked.

“This is my sister’s namestone. My sister, Broken Trail.” She stared at the corpse and the horror inside her redoubled. “Eric, what was she doing with my sister’s namestone!”

She was shaking. She couldn’t help it. The Notouch did not let go of their namestones. Not until they were dead or, at the very least, dying.

Eric laid his hands on her shoulders. “We won’t know until we find your clan, Arla,” said Eric. “She can tell us nothing.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Arla pressed her empty palm against her forehead. “Of course you’re right.” She gripped the stone and pressed her fist against her own pouch, forcing the shaking in her limbs to stop.
I’ve been gone too long. Servant forgive, Powers preserve, I never, ever should have left!

“Arla,” said Eric again, “could … could the Notouch have done this?” He turned her so she could look at him without having to see the body.

Arla shook her head. “No. If we’d killed her, the body would have been properly sunken, and no one would have left Trail’s namestone with her.”

He moved closer to her, and suddenly, she was very aware of his touch. His power-gifted hands, his chest, his arms, his concerned, confused face, all close to her. Too close.

This shouldn’t be, this shouldn’t be, cried out a part of her. Not with Trail’s namestone in her hand and the Lif marshes all around them. They were back. He shouldn’t be touching her. She shouldn’t be touched. She pulled away and something inside her cried out as she did.

His hands fell to his sides and they stood there, doing nothing but stare at each other for a moment, both knowing too well they were back under the World’s Wall.

He picked his stick up again. “Let’s get where we’re going. I don’t think either of us is carrying what we need to sleep in the trees.”

Arla took the lead and they kept on going.

Finally, Arla spotted a smooth, stout stick of wood sticking straight up out of the middle of a pond. A scrap of dirty cloth fluttered in the wind.

“Trap marker,” she said, pointing it out to Eric. “That’s what I’ve been looking for. All we have to do is wait here. Somebody’ll be along to check the catch before dark.” She surveyed the sky again. It was still smooth and even. “We might even stay dry until we get under cover, for a wonder.”

She swung herself up onto the bent trunk of the Crooker tree and tucked her hands under her poncho, getting ready to wait.

Eric began poking the ground restlessly with his stick. Insects rose in tiny clouds around his knees and ankles. Arla watched, absurdly glad for the distance between them.