Jo Clayton: Moongather

She caught his hand and pulled it down. “You distract me.”

“Mmmmh.”

“Hah! That’s no compliment.”

“Point of view, little one.”

“My name’s Serroi.” She freed her hand, pulled away from him and started toward the exit. The Sleykyn was around the corner, sprawled on the stone under a guttering candle. She stepped over his legs and trotted on, anxious to get out of the passage.

The rain was coming down in sheets. Serroi stopped in the wall opening, catching the heavy cloak close to her body. “The Gather is complete,” she said quietly.

Hern’s hand dropped on her shoulder. “Now the Scatter.”

Serroi rested her cheek a moment on his hand then stepped out, lifted her face to the rain, letting the cold water bite away some of her fatigue. “Keep close,” she said. “I’m taking a long way to the tavern. Don’t want to bring Floarin down on Din’s uncle.” Don’t want you to know too much either. She moved quickly across the garden, firmly shutting out memories of the last time she’d been here with Tayyan, helped in that by the rain that blanked out everything but the cold wet roar of its fall.

Outside the wall the rain slanted more, the wind driving it into them as they stumbled through puddles, sloshing the scummy water over boot tops. Serroi moved through a maze of side streets and alleys, deliberately choosing a complicated route to the tavern, nearly losing herself before she found the dark decaying structure.

The tavern was almost afloat, water a foot deep lapping at the walls. She splashed across the street, mounted the stairs and tugged at the bell pull. The Domnor was close behind her. She could smell the damp wool of his cloak, could feel his solid body, though he wasn’t touching her. The wind was howling, the rain hissing down. Biting at her lip, her hand flat on the door, she hesitated, then she twisted around, slid a hand behind his neck, pulled his head down until his ear was close to her lips. “He thinks I’m a boy,” she said. “Let me do the talking.”

“Right.” She sensed rather than heard his chuckle. He turned his head farther, kissed her lightly.

She pulled back. “Idiot!”

The door swung open. Hern put his hands on her shoulders, turned her around and pushed her inside, following close behind her, hand on the hilt of his sword.

Coperic was waiting in the dim red glow of the single lantern. He looked sourly at them, cradling a crossbow in his arms. “Where you been, boy?” He scowled at the dark figure beside her. “Who’s that?”

“A man who needs a room and can pay for it.”

“Pay? How much?” Coperic leaned forward, peering at the Domnor, trying to make out his features. “Ain’t no inn, this.”

“He don’t want an inn, uncle. Three decsets the night?”

“Can’t he talk for himself?” Coperic shrugged. “No matter, it’s enough.”

“I’m wet to the skin and freezing, uncle. Let us up.”

Coperic stepped back, waved them past and followed them up the creaking stairs. Serroi pushed open the door to her room. A single candle burned on the table, only an inch high now, the flame flickering and uncertain. She smiled affectionately at it. Dina. Still trying to take care of me.

The Domnor looked around. “Hole is right.”

“Don’t like it, then git,” Coperic snarled.

Shrugging, the Domnor crossed the room, swung the chair around, sat. He let his cloak fall, slipped the pouch strap off his shoulder, dipped into the pouch and pulled out the three decsets. He tossed them one by one onto the bed.

Coperic ignored him. “Talk with you, boy. Outside.”

Serroi nodded. Outside in the hall she led the way to Coperic’s filthy hole. He followed her in, dusted off a chair, watched as she shut the door. “Why bring him here? What happened?”

“You know who he is?” She dropped into the chair, crossed her legs, smiled up at him.

“Damn right I do. What the hell were you thinking about bringing him here?”

“Far as he knows, you’re Dina’s uncle, a disreputable tavern keeper.” She pushed at her hair, plucked at her sodden clothing. “Maiden bless, I’m tired. Pero, things sort of blew up in my face. Floarin has the Plaz, the whole city, for all I know. The Nearga-nor owns the Daughter.”

Coperic tossed the crossbow onto the tumbled bed. “I see. You’re loose now. What are you going to do?”

“Get out of Oras. Nothing more I can do here.” Her mouth twitched into a brief weary smile. “Take care of yourself, Pero. Don’t hang around here out of stubbornness or because you happen to like taking crazy chances. They’re going to be bad, these next few years.” She laughed at the wry twist of his face, then said with a forced vigor, “Get me a boat and supplies. I want Dina and me out of the city before sunup.”

“Ready and waiting.” His thin mouth curved into a smile as he waved at the wall. “You can go out through there, down a rope ladder. Boat don’t look like much, but she’s a goer.” He jerked his head toward the hall. “What about him?”

“Don’t worry, Pero, I won’t leave him on your hands. If he’ll come, I’ll take him south with me. South to the Biserica. Maiden bless, that sounds good-going home. I’m so damned tired of scrambling.” She started toward the door. “The sooner we get away the better. Floarin was having twenty fits last time I saw her.” She paused in the doorway, tugged at her ragged, sodden trousers. “I was going to change. No point in that, I suppose, just get soaked again.” She raised an eyebrow. “Any chance of some hot cha?”

Coperic chuckled. “Get your party on its feet; I’ll see to a warm meal. And collect a damned good fee from our distinguished guest.”

Laughing together, they started back down the hall.

The Child: 14

Serroi stroked her palm over the leathery shell, feeling a quiet joy as the foal moved under her hand. Across the stall, the mare craned her neck around, uneasy because her egg was near to hatching. She’d been fighting the sling for days; Serroi was there to keep her from hurting herself in her agitation. The mare kicked at the partition with her uninjured foreleg, waggled the splinted one, began swaying in dangerous arcs that came close to pulling her off her hind feet and that made the supporting beam groan as her shifting weight put new pressures on it. Serroi jumped to her feet and ran to her, soothing her with voice and eye-spot. Whispering soft nonsense, she scratched at the loose skin under the mare’s chin until she calmed a little, patted and scratched her a little longer, then returned to the egg.

When she touched the leathery sac, it leaped under her hand. Behind her the mare began kicking and groaning, wanting to get to her egg. Hastily Serroi dug it out of the nest of blankets and straw and staggered with it across the stall. She set it down on the straw under the mare’s nose, knelt beside it, holding it steady as a small yellow tooth drove through the tough skin. The egg ripped apart and the tiny foal tumbled out, kicking clumsily with all four feet, the curved egg-tooth like a tiny horn in the middle of its soft nose. A moment later it was staggering onto wobbly legs, falling, staggering up again. It whimpered, a high hooting whinny, its head moving blindly about, searching for the mother just in front of it.

The mare was hooting desperately, stretching her neck trying to reach down to the hatchling. Serroi wrapped her arms about the foal’s velvety trembling body and lifted it until mother and son could nuzzle each other. When her back got tired, she set the foal on its feet and urged it along the mare’s body until it found the teat and began suckling eagerly. She brushed herself off and sat back on the straw, deeply content as she watched mare and foal.