Mitchell Smith - Moonrise

"We have no more salt," Nancy said, and handed the woman a strip of smoked deer.

"I will do without," Patience said, then crammed, chewed, and swallowed. "I do need a bath of water to get the stink and dried blood off me – and you, girl, need the same. You smell like a wet dog and worse; do you have your bloodies?" She bit into the meat, tore more free.

"No, I don't," Nancy said. But Patience paid no attention, only chewed, swallowed, and bit off more.

"This is still Robin country," Richard said, "and will be, well past the Map Gap-Cumberland."

"Yes," Patience swallowed venison, "- but belonging to a different village than the two that chased you, and unlikely to obey their drums." She took another bite, spoke with meat in her mouth. "Did those chase wrongly? Some chief's wife was killed…"

"They didn't chase wrongly," Baj said.

Patience looked at him, the last bit of deer dangling from her fingers. "So – are we speaking of stupidity? Or of something that couldn't be avoided."

"… It might have been avoided," Richard said.

"Mmm." She ate the last bite, munching it slowly, savoring. "Our weasel boy?"

Errol was peeing against a small spruce, and paid no attention.

"My fault," Richard said.

Nancy said it almost with him. "My fault – and we thought… we thought if so, it might save trouble."

"Save trouble?" Patience looked at Baj. "Not your fault, too?"

"We were all careless."

" 'Careless… ' Is there more meat?" Patience took a smaller piece from Nancy, sniffed it for soundness. "Well, none of you have been the fool I've acted." She reached up to tap her bandaged shoulder. "- And I must tell you, if we continue this stupid in the north, we'll die of it." She ate the meat… then looked odd, bruised face draining of color so its dried blood seemed black. She suddenly slumped back to lie stretched out in the grass amid delicate dawn ladies-slippers, beneath a sheltering chestnut oak.

Nancy went to kneel beside her, but Patience shook her head, warded her away… and lay silent for a while, taking slow careful breaths.

"You ate too fast," Nancy said, and received a hard look, though Patience lay where she was, took more deep breaths… After a while, she said, "I saw glitter nearly in our way." She lifted her right hand, pointed north. "Water. I think a beaver pond. I need to wash myself."… And she slowly sat up, looking a little better.

"We'll both go," Nancy said, "- you sailing, I striding; we'll wash ourselves clean."

"I've had few dreams from my son," Patience said, as if someone had asked her. "They'll be interfering with him, trying to force him older…" Then, in a sudden lurching motion, she swung up off the grass as if beginning to stand. But instead, she slid, skidded strangely away just above the ground… faltered, then rose suddenly as if shoved from beneath and sat cross-legged in the air, rocking unsteadily and no higher than a man could reach.

That beginning-to-fly disturbed Baj as if sea-sickness had come upon him with motions his eyes rejected. She hovered there a moment, a small white-haired lady come to mischief… then sailed away, slow swooping off to the north, barefoot, beaten, and bandaged, clutching her curved sword.

Nancy bounded after the fleeting morning shadow, trailing her own. And Errol, attracted to the chase, trotted after them.

Richard dug into his big pack, found his diminished roll of leather, the small kit of needles and spooled sinew. "Little feet," he said, "- so I should have enough, once I measure her." He unrolled the hide. "It's rare for the Robins – any tribesmen – to let captives go. Almost always, they find some use for them. Decoration… something." He sighed. "They skin Persons, sometimes, for what pelt they have."

Baj searched his own pack, found a last slice of venison, smoked black, and sat beside Richard to chew it. "She's hurt, and not what she was."

A honeybee wandered between them, humming to itself. Other bees, their motion amid wildflowers sensed as much as seen, drifted back and forth across the glade, their faint constant buzzing a sort of foundation for other summer-morning sounds, small birds singing in the evergreens, a hawk's thin distant cry, the varying ruffle of the mountain winds.

"No," Richard said, "- she isn't what she was. As we, none of us, will be what we were."

"And us not many, set against Boston."

Richard turned to look at him, brown bear's eyes peering from under the shelf of brow. "No, we are not. The Township's constables could step on us five, crush us, and not even know it was done."

"Encouraging…" Baj finished his venison, reached over, stretching, for his "canteen," pulled the wood stopper and drank long swallows of night-chilled water.

"That we're so few, gives us our best chance." Richard stretched leather across his lap. "- That and the quality of what we intend to do… Look at this hide, tanned so fine and soft. Oil this leather and respect it, and it won't fail until it's old as a Person – or human – grows old."

"Good workmanship."

"Yes," Richard said, "- and something that had to be discovered again, once the cold came down. I know of no copybook found that explains how leather was treated in Warm-times. Not even the Red-blood tribesmen – Mohawk or Abenaki – not even their people remembered how."

"I suppose that's true." A bird was singing in the firs – two sharp-stepped notes.

"Then someone realized anew that, of all things, piss and dung were required for tanning – though perhaps in Warm-times they'd found sweeter-smelling ways." Richard selected a curved needle from his kit, and threaded sinew through its tiny eye in one easy motion. "What's true of leather, is true of free being. The rawhide of hostage-taking and ruling battles must be worked – even if unpleasantly – worked at last to suppleness, and decent understanding." He set down his needle and thread. "We, who have the forms of beasts bred into us, see very clearly the beast that Sunrisers conceal."

Listening to Richard, as often, slightly altered the previous "Richard" in Baj's mind. "That is craft philosophies," he said, "and sounds more sensible than most to me. But as to that 'even if unpleasantly,' how many women are held in Boston's ice?"

"At least – Patience says – at least hundreds still kept alive."

"Mountain Jesus…"

Richard measured a length of rawhide lacing in half, then in half again, and snapped the strands in his great hands. "Yes, young Who-was-a-prince, that number of girls and women and old women – all once daughters of important tribesmen… and now, mothers of important officers and soldiers of the Person Guard."

"And will the Guard and the tribesmen be grateful to us, Richard – once we slaughter those mothers and daughters, to set their sons and fathers free?"

Richard shook his head. "I thought you realized, Baj. We'll surely be killed for what we do. The Shrikes – some at least – we hope will understand the necessity, and a few come with us. The Guard will have other tasks."

"But 'understanding' will make no difference."

"You see," Richard smiled a sad and toothy smile, "you have a prince's wisdom of costs. Of course understanding will make no difference." He measured and snapped more lacing. "Many tribesmen – and some of the Guard – will never accept such killings, however necessary, without revenge. We are talking about women loved and lost and dreamed of for many years."

"Yes… of course. Too loved, too dreamed of, to allow their murderers – in whatever good cause – to stroll smiling through the country, afterward. I see that."

Richard nodded. "If we succeed in killing the hostage women – 'a large if,' I believe the copybooks say – if we succeed, there will be no place between the Oceans Atlantic and Pacific where we may rest for long with throats un-cut." He set his rawhide laces aside. "Hard news, I know, for Sunriser-Baj."