Jo Clayton: Wild Magic

“Pan, honey. Pan oh tay. Say it, sweetee, Pan oh tay.”

“Pan oh tay?” She slid her eyes around for a quick peek at Reyna, then sidled closer to him.

He laughed, swept her up. “Come come, Honey-child, I’ll show you how to make a muscle.” Reyna scowled after them.

Jea clicked his tongue. “Jealous? Shame shame, Rey. Come on, it’s time we went.”

Reyna stood twisting his silk face-scarf between his hands, staring at the empty chair. “Sibyl,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. The cave caught the sibilant and hissed it back at him. “Sibyl,” he said, more loudly this time, “Answer me.”

Black smoke stirred in the chair, solidified into the bright eyed old woman. “Ask?”

“I found a child.” He slid his tongue over dry lips. “Tell me who she is.”

“I cannot.”

“Why?”

“Nor that.”

“Is there anything youcan tell me?”

“Cherish her.”

“I will.”

“What comes will come. It is enough.”

The days passed, slow and sweet, Nenna the month changed to Sabba, Sabba to Tikenda, Tikenda to Tamma, Tamma to Jamma as Spring ripened into Summer. Nothing was the same at the Beehouse.

At times Faan was quiet, sad, but her memories of her mother and Jal Virri faded. Even the home dreams came less and less often and finally not at all. She stopped clinging to Reyna, but she was quiet when he was out and crept up to him afterward, touching him over and over again as if she wanted to be sure he was really there. She followed him around whenever he’d let her, went with him when he visited sick women and children, playing quietly in one corner of the room while he talked to them, massaged them, did whatever he could to make them easier.

As soon as Faan picked enough Fadogur to answer questions, Tai talked to her about her mother, trying to get some idea where the child had lived for her first three years. Reyna didn’t want to hear any of it; the longer Faan was with him, the harder it was to face giving her up. He didn’t know if he could do it. Sometimes he wondered about the strength of his feeling, but he didn’t want to question it. No one had ever given him such joy, such intense, uncomplicated love.

After the session was over, he put Faan down for her nap, crooned old songs to her until she was asleep, then he left and with dragging steps went down to Tai.

“So?”

Tai shook her head. “Not much. She lived on an island with her mother, a man called Maksi who I don’t think was her father, she says he’s same color as Panote. There was another man, a pale man with red hair, Sims. Her mother was just mother. She said the panumi took care of her, I couldn’t get a clear idea what they were, invisible spirits of some kind. No other children about so they might be playmates she invented. Nothing to tell us where to find the place.” She set her hand on Reyna’s arm. “Vema, my friend, we’ve done all we can.”

He set his forehead against the window, closed his eyes, and shuddered as tears slid down his face. Thi smoothed her hands over his back, kneaded his shoulders, the warmth of her strong thin hands sinking into him, comforting him, helping him regain control.

Faan talked constantly to herself and to anyone who’d listen, mixing the Fadogur she was learning with her birthtongue in a hash of sound that gradually grew more comprehensible.

With Ailild trotting behind her, she poked her nose everywhere, handled everything; got into every drawer and cabinet she could manage to open and there were few beyond her. She disrupted the Kassian Tai’s meditations, knocked plant pots off the altar when she tried to climb up on it, nearly pulled the Hive over, got Areia One-eye stung by the angry bees. Panote began latching his door when he exercised after he pulled a muscle to keep from stepping on her. Jea put a hook on his door the second time he turned around and found Faan watching with fascination as he put on his makeup. Dawa played with her, sang with her, but even he couldn’t give her all the time and attention she wanted. And every time Reyna went out at night, she howled and screamed until she wore herself out-and everyone else.

Nothing was the same at the Beehouse.

His round of nursing visits finished for the day, Reyna came home and stood shifting from foot to foot as he waited for Panote to answer the bell. He’d made Faan stay home this time because he was going down to Ladroa-vivi Batt and into some tenements where he wouldn’t take a dog, let alone a child. He yanked on the bee again, banged on the door. “Pan, it’s hot out here,” he yelled, “What’s going on?” He kicked at the door and waited.

When Panote drew the slide back and saw Reyna, he twisted his face into a sorry grimace. “It’s Faan, she’s disappeared.” He closed the shutter and pulled the door open. “We looked everywhere except your rooms.”

“My rooms?”

“Couldn’t get in. You must’ve jogged the latch when you went out.”

“I didn’t.” Dropping his basket of remedies, Reyna ran across the entry and up the stairs. He tugged at his door, but the hook was down and it wouldn’t open. “Kick it open.”

They found the mahsar curled nose on tail in front of the lowboy where Reyna kept his clothing. A drawer was open the width of a finger. When Reyna pulled it all the way out, Faan was inside, curled up in a nest of rumpled silk, deep asleep and sucking her thumb, every underrobe Reyna owned damp with drool and smeared with dust. He swore and with exasperated gentleness shook her awake, lifted her from the drawer and stood her on her feet. “Little pest. Punishing me, weren’t you,” he muttered. “Go tell the others, Pan.”

As the beat of Panote’s feet faded, Reyna scowled down at the smudged sleepy child. “Nayo,” he said. “This is a nayo-nay, Faan.” He took one Of the under-robes from the drawer, shook it out, draped it over his arm, and showed her the stains on the silk. “Look at that, Fa. Dirty.”

Faan heaved a sigh. “Dirty.”

“You don’t sleep in drawers, Fa. You sleep in your crib. Say it. I sleep in my crib.”

“Sleep m’ crib.”

“I’m angry with you, baby. I’ve got to wash all these again, maybe I’ve got nothing to wear tonight.”

Faan flung herself at Reyna, wrapped her arms about his waist, crushing the silk of his underrobe. “Mamay Reyna,” she wailed, “Mammy, Mamay, don’ be mad. Din’ mean to. Din’ din’.”

Reyna detached her. “Vema vema, honey. I know. You didn’t think. Just don’t do this again. Oh, we spoil you silly, we do, we do.” He hoisted Faan onto his arm, drew a finger down a tearstreak. “Let’s go wash your face, hmm? What a face.”

Chapter 3. Honeychild Explores And Finds More Than She Wants

On the Day of First Honey, one week before the Midsummer fest, Reyna left before Faan was awake to visit. the hives in the Abey-zaza Grove; lea went with him to collect changa, ponny and bala-ua to flavor the Honey-bread.-

Kassian Tai was on the roof, getting ready to brew next year’s mead. Beside her Areia One-eye was bending over a heavy stoneware pot, moving the paddle through the hot bubbling liquid that would end as chunks of honey taffy they’d hand out to the children of the Edge on Midsummer’s Day.

Panote was at the back door listening to Utsapisha gossip and tell stories while her daughters and granddaughters went like a storm through the House, dusting and straightening, scrubbing floors and windows, bagging everything that needed a washing-except the Salagaums’ clothing, they didn’t do clothing, and the sacred linens which the Kassian cared for herself. Utsapisha was a collection of wrinkles folded about thick old bones and her life had been harder than most, but she hadn’t let age or aches kill her interest in everything going on around her. Panote liked her stories; they were earthy and full of zest and a sly malice that he knew he should deplore, but nevertheless thoroughly enjoyed.