Jo Clayton - Shadowkill

“Uh-huh.”

“Done it before?”

“Yeh. Was years ago, though.”

“Any good?”

“Not bad.”

Jhapuki twisted her body around. “Ommla, get the bay gelding, the rocking chair, huh?”

Shadith slipped the strap of the arranga over her head, hung the instrument from the nearest upright, swung onto the bay’s back-grabbed a handful of mane as he quickstepped away. She’d forgotten how wide a horse was when you had to straddle the creature-and how quickly you felt his backbone in your tenderer parts.

With the Jinasu giggling with glee at her clumsy efforts, but patiently helping her to recover her form, she walked the bay around in circles. The girl whose body she wore now had ridden almost from the day she was born, so the body knew in muscle and bone what she had to relearn.

It didn’t take long.

By dusk she had her balance back and her feel for the horse’s rhythm; she couldn’t come near the skill of the Jinasu, but she was racing with them, laughing with them, enjoying the play of muscles in the beasts, the sting of the mane against her face, the thunder of their hooves.

When she slid off the bay’s back, her legs had no strength left, she crumpled to the ground, sitting splat in a pile of droppings.

The Jinasu held their sides and laughed so hard they nearly fell off their mounts.

She shook her head, laughing with them as she slid sideways onto a clean tuft of grass, wriggled back and forth to wipe her bottom off, then rolled onto her knees and staggered up. “Oh, god,” she groaned. “Oh, god, I hurt.”

She waddled bowlegged to the fence, crawled over it, collected the arranga and tottered back to the House.

Slowly, laboriously the Kuysstead recovered from the terror. New gardens were planted, ditches dug, and a waterwheel erected by the river to bring water to the plants. It was dry season, high summer, it wouldn’t rain again until fall.

Matja Allina nursed her son and worked tirelessly to restore the Kuysstead, alive only when Pirs called.

Shadith continued her riding lessons and began gathering supplies for her flight to Nirtajai.

Aghilo came into the Matja’s sitting room, stood quietly beside the door, waiting for Allina to look up from the account books.

The minute she saw the chal, Shadith knew what was coming; she set the arranga aside, crossed the room to Matja Allina. She touched the Matja’s arm.

Allina yawned, stretched. “What is it, Kizra?”

“Aghilo.”

“Oh.” She set the stylus down, flattened her hands on the table. “Aghilo chal, come.”

Aghilo walked slowly across the room, stopped beside the table. “I…”

“Tell me quickly. Don’t make me wait.”

“My half sister, you know, Tribbi. She called to warn us. Mingas is… is bringing the Arring’s body home.”

Allina closed her eyes, moved her tongue over her lips. “Amurra…” she said finally. “And the chals?”

“No. The Artwa must be keeping them. Tribbi says the only men with Mingas are his own guards.”

“Aaaaah…” Allina’s hands twitched on the pages of the account books. “Mingas. The Artwa isn’t bothering to come.”

“So it seems. Um, Matja Allina, there’s something else Tribbi said.”

“About Mingas?”

“Yes. He got drunk with his men and started boasting. He’s turned off his wife, sent her back to her parents. He says he’s going to get him a new one, a young one. Unspoiled. Ingva.”

“I see.”

“And… um…”

“You don’t have to tell me what he plans for me.”

“Tribbi says he went into lots of detail what he was going to get out of you. She didn’t repeat any of it, just said it was enough to make a goat sick. She called soon as she could, he’s still drinking, him and his men. They won’t leave the aynti until tomorrow sunhigh at the earliest which means it’ll be round sunset tomorrow before he’s here.”

“Yes. The word was hardly more than a whisper. Allina shook herself, scrubbed her hands across her face. “Find Ingva, will you, dear? Send her to me.”

“That is what waits, daughter.” Matja Allina leaned back into Shadith’s hands, closed her eyes a moment, sinking into the calm Shadith was feeding her.

Ingva was more angry than afraid. She ran her hands through her hair, caught up a china ornament, flung it against the wall, hissed through her teeth as it crashed to the rug, shouted curses she’d learned from the Brushies. “H’Ra! Nguntik! No!”

The Matja straightened. “Listen to me. I want you to think carefully, Ingvalirri. You have three choices. You can wed Mingas. No. Listen to me. You’ll have rights as a wife you don’t have as an unmarried girl and if you’re clever enough, you’ll learn to manage him. You are clever enough, you know. He’s full of spite and anger and he’s apt to take out his frustrations on you, but he’s stupid, stupider than the Artwa without any of the Artwa’s charm; you understand what that means.”

Quieter now, Ingva twisted her face into a grimace of distaste. “Gah!”

“You’d be comfortable, you’d have a place to be, plenty of food, clothes.”

“No.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. The thought of him…” Matja Allina sighed and let Shadith once more soothe away her tensions. “I can send you to foster with one of my mother’s brothers. They’ll take you, find a husband for you when the time comes for that. And I’ll see you have a proper dowry.”

“H’ra! No.” She snatched up another ornament, caught her mother’s eye and set it gently down. “My uncles are… No!”

Mina smiled. “They are, aren’t they. You’ll be safe there, but you’ll have to be what they want. Are you sure?”

“Amurra! yes.”

“You know what the third choice is, luv. Go Brushie. It’ll be a hard life and a brutal one. You’ve seen enough of it to understand that, I think. I’ll tell you this, Ingvalirri, if I hadn’t met your father at just the right time, I’d be out there myself.”

“Come with me now.” Ingva rushed to her mother, dropped to her knees, caught hold of Allina’s hands. “We can both go, take Yla with us. Just leave.”

“I can’t, luv. There’s Paji. This is his Kuyyot, I have to hold it for him. Yla? She’d be miserable out there, she’s not like you. And I’m too old to bend, daughter, I’d be a drag on you and the Brushies. And a danger. You’ll be neither.”

Ingva dropped her head, rested her cheek a moment against her mother’s hands. “I’ll come back and see you when he’s gone.”

“If you go, luv, don’t yearn for what you’ve left behind. That’s a chart for disaster. Believe me.”

“I don’t yearn for things.” Ingva gave her mother’s hand a last squeeze, got to her feet. “Only for people. Still,” she rubbed at her forehead, frowned at the wall without seeing it, “I’m going to need things. What can I take with me?”

“Well.” Matja Allina got to her feet, resettled the sleeping Paji. “Kizra, would you spend the next hour, please, with the convalescents? After that, do what you want for until an hour before supper, then I want to see you and Tinoopa in the Arring’s study.” She crossed to Ingva who was waiting by the door. “You’ll want horses and gear, Ingvalli. I’m going to give you your father’s Blacks. I can’t stand the thought of Mingas getting his hands on them. I’ll tell him they were killed in the Terror. Sugar and cloth, guns…” Her voice faded as she went out and up the stairs with her daughter.

Shadith wrinkled her nose, got the arranga and went out. Singing for the maimed and the sick depressed her, but it was only an hour, then she could go riding for the rest of the afternoon. She was sore and stiff yet, but it was wearing off.