Mitchell Smith - Moonrise

"We're between Sparrow country and Thrush country." Richard fed the fire a light ration, huge dark fingers deft with twigs and splinters. "- almost up into Map-Kentucky. And if the Sparrows owe us something, the Thrushes owe us less. The Robins, farther north, will owe us nothing."

"Why stay in these tribesmen's hills at all?" Baj said. "Why not go east, into lower country and easier traveling, where there are farms – then north to the ice?"

"One of us makes too much noise traveling, anyway." Nancy, sitting across the fire, smiled at Baj as she said it, apparently no longer angered by whatever had angered her. – Proof, it seemed to him, that no mixture of fox's blood, or any blood, could dilute a woman's to anything but a woman's.

"I know I'm noisy through the woods – and I'm slow, and get tired. But I'll become quieter, and quicker, and soon I won't tire so easily."

"You do well enough." Richard leaned forward to prod the roasting cony with a huge forefinger. "We stay in the hills, at least for a Warm-time week or two, for good reason. Boston finds information in the villages, and from farmers… ranchers in the lowlands, east and farther east to the Ocean Atlantic." He leaned forward, sniffed at the cooking meat. "Boston finds friends there, too, since the Guard is their only protection when the tribes come raiding down… Though there are villages that the tribesmen leave alone. That all leave alone."

"We'd prefer no pigeons flew to Cambridge to mention where we are," Nancy said. "Sylvia Wolf-General already knows where to meet us."

"Wolf-General?"

"She commands the First Regiment of the Guard," Richard

said. "- Or did, when I served in it."

"And has some wolf mixed in her? No offense____________________"

Richard smiled his disturbing smile. "Better say she has some human mixed in her."

"It's the Guard we seek," Nancy said. "But only those – so, carefully."

"Boston-Patience to deal with the Shrikes," Richard said, "- and we, the Guard."

"To bring harm to Boston."

"Oh, yes, Baj. A final harm."

"And if neither is persuaded to be with us – not those tribesmen, not the Guard?"

Richard shook his head. "Then, Baj, the Shrikes will do to us… much the same as the Guard will do to us."

"But if they agree – then to harm Boston how?"

"How," Richard said, "is secret, and will be as sailing Patience advised us. She sews all together." He leaned to poke the cooking cony again, and Baj saw he was drooling – clear saliva running down a half-furred jaw in glistening strands, making an odd contrast with the rich voice, its excellent book-English… Considering that contrast, it occurred to Baj that traveling with fanged companions had its dubious side, best dealt with by frequent feedings.

"There must be deer in these mountains. I'll try for one, tommorow."

Richard rumbled an "Ummm…" of appetite.

"If not a deer," Baj said, "- something." And looked up to see a look of gleeful amusement on the Made-girl's face.

"He thinks -" Nancy giggled like a child.

"I think what?" Baj said.

"Nothing…" More giggles.

"What?" Richard stopped poking the meager meat, sucked his finger for the juices.

Baj gave the girl a let-it-go look – but she instantly betrayed him. "He thinks we'll eat him." Giggles grew to laughing, her sharp white teeth reflecting firelight.

Beside Baj, Errol woke smiling at the sound of her laughter, and Richard's booming "Certainly a possibility…"

Later, the big Person dug into his pack, set a small book aside, and brought out a little folding peg-chess set. "Do you play, boy?"

"I play," Baj said, "and am not a boy."

"Forgive me."

… But it seemed Baj was a boy, at least regarding employment of bishops, and ended the evening humiliated, after a desperate battle in which those nasty slanting pieces ruined him.

"Oh, dear," Richard had said. "Bad luck…"

So strange, it seemed to Baj, as he turned beneath his blanket, the ground's roots and stones soft enough for exhausted sleep. So strange to find this odd occasion, this odd company – frightening company in its way, and all of them journeying to no-doubt worse, to more knots in an already knotted cord of trouble. Strange to have some knots untied by nothing but laughter around a small camp-fire, then a lost game of chess.

Still… a deer tomorrow.

But the summer deer still winter-hid in deep forest, deep hollows between the hills. Lady Weather's daughter, tragic Summer, had not yet sung to lure them out into meadows.

"I smell them," Richard said, at the perfect middle of the next day, lifting his head to test the breeze when they stopped to drink water, chew strips of the jelly underbark of birches. "- But not close."

Baj supposed Nancy had smelled them also, but preferred not to say so. "If not a deer," he said, "then something else." They'd seen two black bears at dawn – but those at a distance, going south and away. And Baj, stalking around a beaver pond later, had approached in time for an animal to slap its tail on the water, and dive out of sight and out of reach of an arrow.

Richard nodded. "Oh, in time, something else."

Something else already gathered – five small song-birds – Errol had killed with thrown sticks. They hung at his belt like feathered decorations.

… The day was beautiful, with cloud-shadows mottling the mountains' soft green. Soft green, soft mountains – though becoming greater. They humped up high along the northern horizon, so low clouds lay draped at their shoulders, spinning out on the wind in misty sunshine.

That beauty made better traveling for Baj, as if the country cupped him in green hands, drifting the warming perfume of growing things as he labored to keep up with the others – keeping up made easier, as he needed to mind only that, while his past and future napped like tired children, and were quiet.

In after-noon, they wended down steep slopes where waterfalls came drumming, splashing over stone. These were something Baj had never seen – clear water churned to white water as it fell from heights, and fell heavily. He saw even Richard stagger as he went shouldering beneath the only one with passage after – and was instantly drenched so his furred pack, his own fur crest and the tufts down his long arms turned soaked and stringy as the big Person lunged out from under the fall, and found dry stone beyond it. He checked his pack and possibles – then shook himself like a wet hunting dog.

Nancy went next, snaking under the bright, rumbling weight of water. She struggled through in spray… then climbed the rock beyond to find a lie of sunshine, and sit stripping wet from her scimitar's bright blade for fear of rust.

Baj – his quiver's leather cover tied over – went through, and enjoyed it despite the icy battering the falling water gave him as he managed his footing beneath it… In sodden buckskins, sloshing half-boots, he climbed across slippery stone to Nancy's boulder, and stood beside her, whiping water from his bow-stave… whipping rapier and knife blades thrumming through the air to dry them.

"You greased that sword, Nancy?"

"With horse-meat fat a while ago."

"Not enough; you need to coat the steel." Baj dug in his pack, found his little cake of tallow only damp. "Use this – but be careful along the edge."

She gave him the slantwise yellow glance he should have expected. "I don't cut myself, Who-was-a-prince."

"Neither do I – never – but somehow I bleed, every now and then, handling sharp steel."

Nancy said nothing to that, but bent over the scimitar's beautiful blade – an interesting pattern of descending dark bands marking the metal – and began to tallow it… but carefully along the gently curving edge.