Mitchell Smith - Moonrise

"Hard news," Baj said, "- for Sunriser or Moonriser."

"Yes."

"And there is no way… no way we can free those women, instead?"

Richard sighed. "We may not be given time even for murder – and since the Guard, outnumbered, will surely fail at Boston's gate, we'd only 'free' the women into the hands that already hold them captive."

" 'Not given time…' But I'm too young to die." Baj had intended that as casually humorous, but found it sounded with a plaintive air, after all – which on reflection made it funnier.

"I am, too," Richard said, very seriously.

Baj began to giggle, couldn't help it – and such was hysteria (he supposed it was the old WT hysteria happening) that he couldn't stop, and soon was lying flat on the grass as sick-Patience had, but roaring with laughter.

Richard, a monument of dark skin and fur-tufted muscle, sat staring at him. Then, slowly the broad-muzzled face widened to its fearsome grin, fangs were bared, and a deep-thumping laugh developed, sounding very like belly-rumbles.

Baj, who'd been beginning to recover, was set off again by that, so both ended laughing in the sunny grass, laughing till their aching sides sobered them… It was, for Baj, the most exquisite relief. It brought tears to his eyes – and visions with them, memories of the ones he'd loved, each laughing at whatever small circumstance had prompted it, so Baj saw them very clearly… saw behind them the bannered battlement or cut-stone office, the glassed garden or tower chamber where each stood.

… Laughter over, Baj lay resting in the grass, those memories a gift as sweet as if these mountains' Jesus had drifted by with the humming bees. Feeling older in one way, younger in another, he lay considering the fact of almost certain – no, of certain death, sooner or later – and decided to leave that fact beneath and behind him for the while, as Boston-Patience dismissed the solid earth for flights above it.

… The women – Errol trailing behind – came back late and merry, Boston-Patience flying low and badly, Nancy running beneath her, bounding along, leaping once to catch the hem of the long blue coat, so Patience almost fell, then recovered, swatting gently down at the girl with her sheathed scimitar.

"My nose," Patience said, landing in camp with a stumble, so she almost went to her knees. "Difficult to breathe through. – But I'm clean!" And she was, though her clothes and coat still hung drying on her.

Nancy's damp homespun still clung as well, and Baj noticed – couldn't help it – the print-through of two rows of small nipples down her chest.

She saw him see.

"Handy," Nancy said, through breeze sounds and bee sounds in their glade. "Handy," looking at him golden-eyed, "- if I have pups."

It was a relief for Baj to turn away to the Boston-woman, whose eyes were dark as dug anthracite. "Lady, shall I try to do what our festival wrestlers do?"

"That depends on which of their doings." Patience sat, legs crossed. Her bare feet were almost small as a child's.

"The nose," Baj said.

"Ah – well, I suppose you can't do worse to it…"

"Take a breath." Baj went to kneel before her.

Patience took her breath – her broken nose whistling slightly, like a flute. Baj reached out and pinched it hard, felt a little bone or cartilage shift under his fingers… then yanked it straight to a soft click.

"Christ!" A curse, or prayer, Baj had only heard a few times before. Patience rocked back and forth – almost put her hand up to nurse the nose, then kept it away. "Felt better breaking!" Drops of blood ran down to her mouth.

"Then they use two flat little strips of wood," Baj said, "one along each side to keep the nose straight. Those little strips are tied together at the ends, and both held firm in place with string looped tight around the man's head."

"And must appear charming," Patience said, honking like a goose.

"I can do that," Richard said, and got up to go fashion it.

"If," Patience sniffed at blood-drops, "if I don't come out of this beautiful, Prince, you will need to run faster than from Robins."

"I think," Baj said, ignoring the 'Prince,' "- you will look even more elegant, once the little wood pieces are off. 'Spints,' is what they call them."

"I'm still bleeding." Patience gave Baj a hard look, and spit bright red off her upper lip.

"That will soon stop," Baj said. "… At least, it did with the wrestlers." He received another look, so was relieved when Richard came back with two short little splinters of thin-whittled alder, and a length of sewing sinew – moved Baj aside, and sat before Patience to set them.

"We're told those are 'spints,' Richard."

"Really? Bone-holds, we called them in the Guard. Hold still, dear…"

Supper that night – and, after argument, with a small fire hidden deep in a cleared pit – was the last scraps of venison, and a bird: a grouse, taken by Errol with a thrown stick.

"We'll need more food than this," Patience said, though she'd been given the largest small share, and was finishing it fast. "We can't go tottering on our way. I can't Walk-in-air on nothing… Though now, thanks to our Richard -" she stuck out a small foot, demonstrated her new moccasin-boot, "- thanks to him, I go nicely on the ground."

"Last of my leather," Richard said. "So all be careful of rocks and sharp edges."

"I'll take the bow out ahead, tommorow," Baj said. "I'll find something."

"Watch out for boar." Richard grinned at the Boston-woman. "We had… an adventure, with a boar."

Errol made his tongue-clicking sound, perhaps recalling the taste of wild pig.

"Whatever," Patience said. "Get us something more than this." She finished a little drumstick and chewed the bones… Bent over the fire's changeable yellow light, she appeared to Baj the very type of Warm-time witch he'd seen drawn in a copybook – perhaps originally meant for children; perhaps not. Her small face, once elegant and fine, now puffed, bruised, and beaten, bracketed with spint-sticks and sinew string as with some half-helmet, ceremonial for a sacrifice.

"You'll look much better soon," he said, then thought perhaps he shouldn't have.

Patience glanced at him – then slantwise at Nancy, sitting silent beside her. "Still young, isn't he?… Baj-boy," she said, "never mention possible future improvement in a woman's looks, Person or all human-blood. They will not thank you for the reminder that presently, they look ugly."

"You don't look ugly. You look… interesting."

Richard made an Um-mm sound.

"Boy," Patience said, "leave the subject."

"I will. Yes."

"Thank you." She smiled. "And I also thank you for the wrestlers' cure. An attempt, at least."

Baj nodded, but said no more. Paid attention to the fire's modest flames.

"Still Robins," Richard said, "further along the mountains."

"Yes." Patience nodded. "At least another nest of them… then Pass I-Seven, wide as the Gap-Cumberland. Farmers there."

"Farmers," Richard said, "though too far north, too near the Wall for best growing."

"Farmers to be avoided," Patience said, "is what they are. And well-avoided, since they're insane, with children raised to be insane, and they murder those few who are not."

Richard nodded. "Even the Guard stays clear of those. – Or

did, when I served in it, for fear madness might be catching."

"What madness?" Baj said.

Patience made a face that looked even odder with her spinted nose. "The madness… of longing."

"We'll travel that pass at night," Richard said. "And the lady, Walking-in-air."

A distant chorus commenced… WT miles away.

"Wolves." Baj had heard them closer on the Map-Ohio river-bank, as the royal boat – the small one, Rapid – had skated hissing past by moonlight.