The Gate to Women's Country (35 page)

“Which argues people close by, don't you agree, Stavia? That's what we all think. We don't think they're wild survivals. We think they belong to people. Not bandits. Not Gypsies. Settled people, somewhere.”

“There was a showman came to do carnival in Marthatown, Septemius Bird. He'd traveled down this way years and years ago. He told me there were settled people south of here. In the valleys, beyond the badlands. But that would be quite a long way south. They shouldn't be within miles of you.”

“I was told to stay out of there and keep the flocks out of there, but no one ever said….”

“According to Septemius, the people living there are not the kind of people we'd want to… well… take in.”

“Ah. From the way you sound, not the kind we'd like to take over, either.”

Stavia nodded. “I gathered their way of life wouldn't be anything we could either change or much approve of. I'm trying to remember what Septemius said. Something like ‘sparse and unprofitable.' Whatever he meant by that.”

“It tells me where the spies are probably from.”

Stavia nodded, thinking hard. If people from the south were within spying distance of the sheep camp, it would be foolish for her to make a two-man foray in that direction. An immediate report on the spies should go to Emmaburg, for the Town Council, and to Marthatown, for the Joint Council. Probably the dogs should be sent as well. Women's Country couldn't lose this chance to add other animals to the limited number available to them. Septemius would be arriving within the next few days, and she could probably get him to carry both reports and dogs.

Chernon would leave the wagon before it came within sight of the camp, go east, and make a smoke to guide her to him. She had told those at the camp she was meeting her co-explorer elsewhere. Even though he would be disguised as a servitor, it would be better if no one from the camp actually saw him. She didn't want his name mentioned in some future report, or for someone to be so put off by his manner that it would cause problems later—when she was back in Marthatown and he in the garrison.

Or, later, when he'd returned to them through the gate. He might. It was possible. After the few weeks or months of traveling together, he might stop this garrison-but-no-garrison flailing about and come back. As for her, it wasn't really a breach of trust. She'd be doing the job she'd been sent to do. No guilt, she assured herself. No one cheated. The exploration would get done, just as she'd promised. Her mind ran over this well-worn track without convincing herself. If she were being honest, she'd admit the whole thing was a risky, possibly dangerous bit of foolishness.

Meantime, however, since it would probably be several days before Septemius would arrive, she could spend a day or two reconnoitering the lands south, edging up on the badlands, getting some ideas. Something was going on here. Something the Council would need to know about.

S
USANNAH'S THREE TEENAGED BOYS
, C
APABLE
, Dutiful, and Reliable—known to themselves as Cappy, Doots, and Rel—were committing one of the major sins known to the Holylanders, that of going out into the devil's country on a bit of exploration and pillage. Though, as they had pretty much convinced themselves, they might well be doing All Father's work of justice and recovery. Three of the dogs were gone and it was likely the devil-spawn women had taken them for demonish reasons of their own.

Their determination covered no small amount of guilt. It was they who had taken the dogs with them in a previous foray, which had included spying on a sizable herd of sheep and making off with one good little he-lamb, not even weaned yet. They'd been milking one of their own mama sheep for the critter ever since, though they'd about got him onto grass by now. Hard though it had been for the Elders to accept, Holyland ewes bred by the rams from devil's country had healthier lambs than they did when dutifully served by Holyland rams. Everyone just had to admit it because it was true. Just the last five or ten years there'd been all these sterile ewes or ewes dropping dead lambs. Then Retribution had found a young ram wandering around in the badlands. He'd brought it back, there'd been this big yelling match among the Elders about whether they could use it or not, and finally they'd put it in a pen with just a few of Elder Brome's ewes to see what happened. What happened was healthy
lambs, and another yelling match about whether the devil was trying to trick the Holylanders or not.

Well, Elder Brome won that one. Since then it'd got to the point the Elders didn't even fuss about using outside rams anymore. Whoever brought one in got rewarded; the Elders did a service over the ram to make it fit and dedicate it to All Father's purposes. Evidently the devil's country rams hadn't caught any demonish diseases, because they got the job done. The general opinion among the Elders now was that all animals were made divinely immune to devilishness because they couldn't sin anyhow.

Which wouldn't help the boys any if the Elders found out the dogs were gone. The dogs might be immune from wickedness, but the boys weren't; the scars on their backs attested to that fact. Trouble was, they hadn't even known the dogs were gone until the three of them got back. Cappy thought Rel had them. Rel thought Doots had them. Doots hadn't even thought about them, and nobody saw where they went.

“I'll bet they got into that flock,” Cappy had admitted at last, after they'd spent most of one evening denying it could have happened. “I'll bet they did.”

“We wasn't supposed to take 'em,” said Doots. “We wasn't supposed to go ourselfs and we sure wasn't supposed to take those dogs. Papa's gonna chastise us half to death.”

“Well I wasn't exactly gonna tell Papa what we done,” Cappy said. “I may be wicked, but I ain't dumb.”

“Everbody's wicked,” Rel announced. “Everbody's got the devil in him, specially women. We ain't no wickeder than anybody else. Specially not if we get 'em back.”

They lay now behind a long ridge of wind-gnawed stone at the northern edge of the badlands, observing the sheep which moved on the grasslands below. There were three flocks, each guarded by three or four shepherds with horns hung around their necks for sounding alarms, spindles twirling constantly in their hands. The flocks were tight as a virgin's duty place. The dogs might be right down there in the middle of a flock, but from here nobody could tell. All they could see from where they were were the flowing blots of dirty white and the dark figures of the guards, robed down to their feet and with
their hoods up over their heads, hiding their faces. Could be devil women. Could be some of their captives—cursed men bound as servitors to the devil forever. Nothing to do with one of those but kill him, if you caught one and had the chance. Devil women, though, you could tie them down and tame them after a while. Drive the devil out with duty and chastisement, so the Elders said.

A motion to the west, toward the fortified camp, drew their attention, and they saw a woman striding toward the flocks, leading a donkey along behind. No question about this one being a woman. Hair halfway down her back, uncovered, little light shirt on her showing her shape, no decency to her at all. Decent women didn't permit themselves to do anything that'd stir a man, and they sure didn't do it on purpose. Decent women hid themselves and shaved their heads and walked kind of bent over. Not this one. She stopped at the westernmost flock and spoke for a time with one of the shepherds, then moved eastward to stop at each of the others before leading her pack animal on toward the east and north.

“Holy All Father,” breathed Cappy. “Wouldn't you like to have the chastisement of that one?”

“Have to keep her hid,” whispered Doots. “Papa'd have her in a wife-house before you'd even got your cock up.”

“Would not,” Cappy snarled, pointing at himself. “Got it up already, just watchin' her walk across there.”

“That's wickedness in you comin' out,” Rel commented, adding hopefully, “you think she's comin' back?”

“Probly. I think if she's around, she's probly lookin' for somethin' out there. Probly be lookin' for whatever it is tomorrow. Next day maybe. Maybe for days. We could get out there, ahet of her.”

Doots shifted uncomfortably. “Have to keep her hid!”

“Well, sure,” Cappy acknowledged breathlessly. “I may be wicked, but I ain't dumb.”

S
TAVIA FELT EYES ON HER
. I
T WAS A PRICKLING
, unpleasant feeling, and she wanted to turn and scan the stony ridge to the south of her to see who might be watching from there. However, if she did so, particularly if she used her field glasses (for exploration use only, and heaven help the woman who broke a pair), whoever it was would know that she knew. Better pretend she was unaware, scout off away from them, circle to the north, and reenter the camp well before dark. She moved purposefully on, eyes on the ground, stopping here and there to dig up things that looked either collectible or totally unfamiliar. There was a particular weed the shepherds had recommended as a possible insecticide, and another one that sick sheep seemed to seek out. A vermifuge, perhaps? These she took with plenty of soil, wrapping the entire plant in oiled paper to retain moisture. She'd pot them up when she got back to camp and have the next wagon transfer them to the botanical officer in Emmaburg, if any. If not, they could go on to Marthatown.

Morgot had told her to keep her eyes open for something called “costimy.” Triangular leaf, yellow cinquefoil blossom, trailing habit, reputed to be an excellent treatment for lung congestion. It was also, from what she had been able to find so far, invisible and possibly nonexistent. Or it bloomed in the early spring or late fall when no one was around looking for it.

She still felt eyes. Resolutely, not looking behind her, she moved toward the north. Away from them. She had gone a full mile before her skin stopped prickling. Either
they couldn't see her at this distance or they had gone away. She turned, casually, scanning the horizon. Nothing there. She moved behind a bush and used her glasses. Still nothing. No movement. There could have been an army up there in those pinnacles, completely unobserved. Canyons, towers, boulders—everything wind-smoothed and carved into fantastic shapes. She tucked the glasses away and went back to the donkey.

Enough for today. She'd head back to the camp and confirm the manager's opinion that somebody… somebodies were watching.

I
T WAS TWO DAYS LATER THAT
S
EPTEMIUS
B
IRD AR-
rived at the sheep camp, Kostia and Tonia on either side of him on the seat of the wagon, the doors open to allow Bowough a view of the passing countryside, and Septemius himself more cheerful than at any time in the past several days. He had, as a matter of fact, brightened up considerably when Chernon left them, half a day's travel back.