Jo Clayton - Moongather

“Meie thinks you can keep your mouth shut when you have to.” He eyed her coldly. “I wonder.”

She started to protest, saw the look in his eyes, caught back her words and nodded.

His mouth curved in a sour tight smile. “Good enough. You want something to eat?”

She tried smiling. “I am hungry.”

He gazed at her a moment longer, then picked up the tray and left. She moved to the door and listened to the stairs creak as he went down. When she heard the downstairs door slam, she stepped quickly into the hall and crossed to the meie’s room.

The meie’s pack and weaponbelt were on the table. The bed was unmade, the covers tossed about as if the meie had spent a restless night. Dinafar plumped the pillows and tugged at the sheets until they were tight. She smoothed the quilts up until the bed looked right to her. She started to take the weaponbelt, stood with her hand on it, feeling abandoned and useless; this was all she could do for the meie now, this and keeping her mouth shut, keeping away from the guards. Slowly, unhappily, she left the room as Coperic came up the stairs. He saw, her, raised an eyebrow, then followed her into her bedroom.

“I fixed her bed.”

“I didn’t ask.” He set the tray down on the table, fished in an apron pocket, pulled out a handful of copper coins. “When, you’re wandering about, you might like to buy yourself something.” He dropped the coins with short musical clinks beside the cha mug.

“Thanks.”

He turned to go, then stopped and leaned against the door, his deepset eyes moving over her a last time, a fugitive twinkle in them, a twitch to the ends of his mouth. She sat up straight, smiled tentatively, waited.

“Want to do some work for me?”

She shook the hair out of her eyes, her smile widening to a grin. “Sure.”

“Keep your eyes open while you’re rambling about. Count the Norim and Sleykynin you see. Listen to what the Sons of the Flame are saying, what the pilgrims are saying. Don’t ask questions. Don’t stick around too long any one place, don’t be obvious about listening. Don’t press. Just pick up what comes your way. Got that?”

She frowned thoughtfully. “Anything special you want?”

He grunted. “You heard me. Meie says you’re intelligent. Anything that catches your attention. How’s your memory?”

“Good enough.”

He scratched at an eyebrow. “Got some prayer beads?”

“Huh? No. Why?”

“Local color.” He pulled out of his pocket a string of worn wooden beads. She took them and held them, as his mouth went grim. “If anyone seems to be taking too much notice of you, head right for the Temple and spend the rest of the day there. Don’t let yourself be followed back here if you can help it, but don’t let it bother you too much if you are. Just let me know and I’ll take care of anyone who sticks his nose in unasked.” He scowled at her. “You be careful, you hear. Meie’ll have my skin in small pieces if you get hurt.” He started to leave, glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t you talk to anyone, you hear?” Dinafar nodded, hiding a grin behind her hand. He snorted and walked out.

Dinafar drifted through the crowds on the main street, bought a mooncake, strolled on, crunching on the crisp sweet pastry, watching with wide eyes the colorful and varied life swarming around her. She wriggled through circling clumps of pilgrims to watch jugglers and street singers, her ears open to what people around her were saying. She looked into shops, fascinated by the marvelous array of things she could buy. The coins burned through her skirt, even through the handkerchief she’d tied around them. She itched to spend them but there was so much that she couldn’t make up her mind what to buy. Everything she saw seemed more desirable than the thing before, and there was always something more. She was enjoying herself so much she felt, occasional small bites of guilt. With the meie maybe in danger, how can I feel like this? Then she gasped as a snake charmer wound a long serpent about her painted body while her partner played an eerie tune on a flute.

As the morning passed, she began to lose some of her earlier euphoria. There was an undercurrent of uneasiness about the pilgrims that they covered by talking and laughing too loudly. She never heard this formless anxiety mentioned in any of the fragments of conversation she overheard, was not even sure that the pilgrims themselves were aware of it, but it was most evident among the chanting, ranting groups of black-clad men and women sporting a circled silver flame. She knew little about these Followers of the Flame-they had no place at all in the fisher village where she’d grown up-but she knew how scornful the meie was when she spoke of them and she saw the way the pilgrims edged around them and began to feel a cold knot in her stomach.

The Norim were thick in Oras. Already she’d counted half a dozen of the ominous black figures. The street was silent and twitchy a good five minutes each time one of them passed. When she counted her sixteenth Sleykyn, she rubbed at her stomach, feeling the coldness spreading.

She was buying a meat pie and a shaved ice drink when she saw Tesc and his family ambling toward her. She paid the vendor then ducked hastily down a side street. Coperic had said not to talk to anyone and anyway she didn’t feel like answering questions. The twins could cram more questions into a single breath than anyone could answer in fifty. She sighed and began circling back to the main street.

Sucking at the ice, chewing on the hot juicy pie, she wandered on until she came to the Plaza. She strolled around the great pile of stone, staring up at the towers. When she came to the small alley of the meie’s story, she looked down it, curiosity itching at her.

Three Sleykynin were leaning against the corral fence, watching her. Another lounged against a building near the entrance. Forcing herself to move slowly and calmly, she went back toward the main street.

She glanced back once, saw nothing, walked on, weaving herself into the crowds strolling the main streets. When she stopped to watch a troupe of acrobats performing, she felt the silence grow behind her, looked around, saw a Sleykyn watching the troupe. He was not looking at her, very carefully not looking at her.

Dinafar moved on, sweat beading on her forehead, her heart in her throat. Remembering how the meie had stayed calm and waited for an opening, she walked slowly toward the Temple, winding about pilgrims, trying to keep several of them between her and the Sleykyn. Though he paid no attention to her, he was always there, always about the same distance behind her; she didn’t know what had provoked his interest, perhaps it was simply the fact that she’d bothered to look down that particular small alley, but she couldn’t waste attention on that puzzle; she had a greater worry. When she saw the gate of the Temple, she had to stop herself from running in panic toward it, but the clot of Followers there was enough to cool the heat in her blood. Imitating the meie without being aware of it, she attached herself to a large pilgrim family and slipped inside.

Standing behind one of the pillars, her prayer beads dangling from shaking fingers, she watched the Sleykyn stroll past the great gate. He couldn’t come in without leaving his weapons behind, so he wouldn’t come in. She sighed with relief, blessed Coperic, wiped the trickling sweat from her face and arms. The peace of the Temple beginning to calm her racing heart, she began wandering about, marveling at the ever-changing Maiden figures.

As the afternoon wore on, more and more pilgrims moved into the Temple. By the time the sun went down, Dinafar was wedged in between several large families, mothers hissing children to silence and respect, fathers clouting those who refused to listen. One family brought out their prayer beads and began to chant the Praises. Another family took up the chant; the murmur spread quickly through the forest of columns. For the first time Dinafar felt a deep sense of the Maiden’s presence; her fear and her anxiety forgotten, she quivered with an awe that grew into an exaltation of the spirit that lifted her momentarily out of herself.