Mitchell Smith - Moonrise

"Her children," Baj said, and knew it was a stupid thing to say.

More of that clouded silence.

Baj felt something in him leaning… leaning, and he leaned against it. "We tie her hard to a tree, and leave. It will be a while before they come searching, and find her. Time enough for us to be well gone."

"Unless they come searching soon," Nancy said. "Unless other women come after her to pick blueberries."

"Chance enough to take," Baj said.

"No, Baj," Richard shook his head. "A chance too much to take."

"We tie her," Baj said, "- and leave her."

"No." Richard, looking sorrowful, weary as a festival's dancing bear, took his ax from his shoulder.

As if he were dreaming, Baj recalled his sword's engraving – With Good Cause – and drew it. He faced Richard, stepped out a little for room.

Richard said, "Oh, dear," looked even sadder, and held his ax now with both hands.

"We tie her, and leave her." Baj was surprised how steady his voice sounded… and how, as he spoke, he was considering what best chance he might have against this so formidable Person – formidable and, of course, a friend. A poor chance. A poor chance no matter what, though perhaps time and space, if he was fast enough, for one thrust only before the great ax caught him… There was the oddest feeling of freedom.

"No no no!" Nancy came bounding, shifting in between them as if she were dancing. Baj was pleased to see she hadn't drawn the scimitar. There was not enough of him to kill the girl… to save the woman.

He stood still and on guard in the sunshine, as if to let his decent sword decide. The left-hand dagger wouldn't care.

Nancy stood panting before him. He smelled her sweet vulpine odor in the sunshine warmth. "No… " she said.

"Stand away, dear." Richard took a step.

Baj, though he felt like weeping, also thought he'd been correct to leave matters to the steel, since the rapier turned a little with his wrist for flatter thrusting through massive ribs, its hilt settling into his hand, unafraid, with a slight flourish of the needle tip.

Nancy, standing between them, turned to Richard as he came pacing on. "Worse! Worse than the chance of tying her! This is certain badness!"

Baj barely heard. Past her – almost, it seemed, through her – he saw Richard quite clearly… noticed every motion of the ax. "Remember an ax has a heavy handle, that may also strike." Some previous Master's saying…

"I know why you stand there," Richard said to her. There was a summer insect, perhaps a bee, buzzing through the air – a precious bee, it seemed to Baj, through precious air.

"Still," Richard said, after a moment, "- a chance of badness, is better than badness certain." The double-edged ax swung left… then right and back up onto his heavy shoulder.

And Baj's sword sheathed itself with no regrets.

They camped in early evening, lower again, along a rivulet running a wide, lightly treed valley, with birches in wandering stands where the narrow water turned.

An early, cold camp, with cold venison and a handful of blueberries each. Baj, Nancy, and Richard sat eating as if around a fire – Errol still wandering… Finished with his second chop, the big Person turned to manage the thick roll of tanned leather from his pack.

"Baj," he said, "- give me your boots."

"Why?"

"For measure to make you moccasins," Nancy said, "- is why. Unless you want your toes out in the weather; we'll be north and out of summer soon enough, and your boots are no boots anymore."

"Moccasins…" Baj pulled his boots off. "Thank you, Richard."

Richard grunted, distracted – stretched leather out across his lap, then set the left boot sole to it… marked a close outline with a horny thumbnail.

Errol, with a rustle through tall grass, caught up to the camp ahead of his long, fading shadow – stared at them a moment – then dug in Nancy's pack, found a venison rib, and squatted a way away to gnaw it. He seemed to find a tough tendon along the bone, and drew a knife to slice it free.

Baj noticed the blade was marooned with drying blood. – And knew at once, knew himself a fool, and started to his feet. Nancy caught his arm to hold him.

"Baj, we gave him no order. Richard told him nothing, gave him no sign, either."

"But you knew."

"Yes. We knew… maybe."

"More than maybe. You knew, once she was tied to that fucking tree with a rag of cloth in her mouth – you knew he'd circle back to kill her. It's what the Boston-woman said he likes to do to anyone helpless."

"Yes… sometimes."

"I forgot that, forgot him – but you and Richard didn't forget." Baj felt sick with anger, as if this particular killing stood for all foolish murders. "You acted a lie. And still the Robins will find her!"

"But not soon, Baj. Errol hides what he does, tucks it under logs… under tree roots. They'll find their dead lady late – and by then, not know who or how many or where they went."

Baj thought of killing the boy, saw the sword-thrust very clearly… then decided not. "It was his knife – but your acting a lie allowed it. I'll remember, when trust-time comes again."

Richard drew a bright little curved blade from his belt… began to trace his marking deeper into the leather, deeper, then slowly sliced through along his pattern. "My responsibility, Prince. My fault… We had no more time for the truth, and argument."

"Our responsibility," Nancy said.

"Don't tell me," Baj said. "Go back and tell the woman's people how – when she'd been gathering berries for children's pleasure – you left her tied and gagged-silent, so a beast-boy could go back to cut her throat."

"We are not bad!" Nancy said.

"… So, Richard," Baj sat beside him again, "- how are moccasin-boots made?" And listened with every sign of interest to relieved rumbled explanations of double-soling, of working inside-out for interior stitching, of uppers to be cross-laced to just below the knee, all while Richard finished leather-cutting, then threaded fine tendon sinew to a strong curved needle.

"We are not bad," Nancy said. But Baj paid no attention, and after a while she got up and walked away from camp.

"The toes," Richard said, "- I turn up a little at the tip; to ward mud and puddle-water away. But the secret to moccasins is regular mending, and greasing along the stitching, particularly. Not heavy greasing."

"Regular mending," Baj said, "- and light greasing."

"Yes, and you'll find the foot wraps do better in moccasin-boots than stockings do."

"They'll have to, since my stockings went in the river."

"These will be warmer too, in the north, stuffed with pounded wool… Baj, we are not bad Persons."

"So, greasing – and, I suppose, drying them slowly when they're soaked."

"… Yes." Richard bent his great head to bite through a strand of sinew.

They sat quiet then for a long while, more than a Warm-time hour as the big Person worked, though Baj heard Nancy stomping under birches by the creek while he watched Richard's huge hands set deft stitches, driven as easily through double thicknesses of leather as single. He used a leather square – what Baj had heard called a "palm"- to back the needle.

Darkness was coming slowly down, a cool cloak draped over them. Odd how missed a fire was; without it, they seemed to fall away into the night, where anything might stand waiting… Soon, a sliced moon began to rise as a wind rose, as if flown into the sky like a celebration kite from Island's battlements. Moon-rise, appropriate in company with Moonriser Persons, that gave a clear soft silver light – enough light that Richard seemed to have no difficulty setting his stitches by it, which likely no full-human could have done.