Wild Magic

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“Careful, Desa! I don’t know if you can swim, but I surely cannot.”

The sail lay limp and fluttering against the mast as Desantro struggled with the rope coming off the boom. It was hitched about a cleat with a knot she didn’t know; it seemed to have swelled in place and might as well have been glued there.

She swore as she knocked another knuckle against the cleat and ripped off more skin. “Another minute a this and I take a knife to the jeggin’ thing. Ahhhh.” The knot suddenly came apart in her fingers, she turned to grin at Penhari and nearly got kicked in the head as the rope rushed through her fingers and the boom went crashing around. The sail filled as she closed her hand on the rope and they were suddenly going backward, heading for the far bank.

Penhari leaned on the tiller, yelled, “Desa! bring it round like it was before. Sting!” Hastily she shoved the tiller the other way as the turn to land grew sharper.

The sail began to slat and shudder as Desantro fought with the rope, then it seemed to vomit the air and go limp. The current took them again and they drifted back the way they’d come.

“Choo-ee, Zaz, maybe we’d better let River take us. We don’t either a us have a clue ‘bout handling this thing.”

“Nayo, we can’t afford the delay. Hang onto the rope, wrap it round your hand or put the end under your knee or something. And let the boom swing out a little, other side this time, just a little, till the end’s about halfway between the mast and the side. Vema, vema, good, that’s it, there we go, little more. Hall! nothing like learn by doing, eh, Desa?”

They went downRiver in a series of jags and jerks and almost disasters, the bends in the River, the shifts in direction the changing winds all giving them moments of high terror and equally high exhilaration when they survived.

The land on both sides of the River was parched, dead and empty, the small landings they came across were deserted and starting to fall apart under the punishing sun. There was no shade in the boat; Desantro dug into Penhari’s bundle and tore up one of her spare skirts, dipped the cloth into the River and fashioned turbans for them which she kept wet by filling Hahlaz’s copper pot and splashing the water over her head and Penhari’s.

Sundown.

Penhari moved her aching shoulders. “Well, Desa, what do you think? It’s Moondark still and the wind’s picking up. You want to stop for the night, or shall we take a chance?”

Desantro unwound her turban, dropped the damp cloth into her lap and ran her hands through her thick curly hair. “We could take turns sleeping… mmm… I have a feeling… le’s keep going, far as we can.”

Chapter 21. Honcychild Sees The High City Dying

Curled up in the windowseat at one end of the long, narrow parlor, waiting for Dossan and Ma’teesee to finish packing their baskets in the kitchen, Faan stroked her hand along Ailiki’s back and watched with satisfaction tempered by anxiety as the rain hissed down on the small garden outside. It would keep the pests in shelter, chase them away from the Beehouse. Most of them anyway. They weren’t THAT eager for her company. Though sometimes she wondered how far they’d go. Women, a lot of them, waving beadstrings for her to bless, waggling their children at her. Bless, them, she thought, more likely I’ll get them killed.

One good thing, rain meant Abeyhamal was too busy herding clouds to start the Dance again. Anyway SHE’d been quiet for over a week now-as if she were waiting for something.

Faan scratched behind Ailiki’s ears and let her irritation flow away. Rain was rest, but if the downpour didn’t let up soon, she and the others would get wet and that was the same as shouting they’d come out of the Low City, which wasn’t healthy in the Northbank Edge.

Such a stupid thing. Just because the Mums were slaves and their owners wouldn’t bring them or give them leave to come, they couldn’t cross the Wood Bridge. The Barrier stopped them. Like it stopped Reyna and Dawa. Stupid!

She sighed. Reyna was right. Nothing you could do about it. Abeyhamal was horribly powerful, but thick as a rock. Arguing with her was like butting your head against a mud wall. “You knock off a little dust,” she told the mahsar curled in her lap, “but the wall just sits there and all you get for your trouble is a roaring headache.”

She made a face, wiped the back of her hand along the window glass where her breath was making a patch of fog. Ailiki pushed at her arm with her cold nose, made sounds like more more more. Faan laughed and smoothed her hand along the mahsar’s back.

Tai had prowled the Southbank Edge until she found this house and moved them in. The Low City squatters were annoyed with her for refusing a fancier place near the largest of the Sacred Groves, but Tai paid no attention to their grousing. Control, she told Faan, that’s what they want. They want us surrounded, where they can get their hands on us any time they feel like it. Especially you, child. Well, let them want.

The new Beehouse was a low rambling structure with rooms like beads on a string laid out in a double spiral with pocket gardens of trees and flowers and grass, more grass with mossrose borders along the paths. Faan didn’t like it much. Having to walk along arcs to go from room to room irritated her. And she missed Reyna and the others. Jea she never saw; she didn’t know why, maybe because he was shamed that he was here, safe, while Rayna and Dawa were kept out. Sometimes when she lay in bed at night and the loneliness got to her, she thought about trying to find him and talk to him, but she never did.

Loneliness. Dossan and Ma’teesee were her best friends, but they weren’t part of the Beehouse like the Salagaum had been; they just lived here and went out to work at the same kind of thing they’d been doing on the Northbank. And there was SO much she couldn’t talk to them about. And they were changing. Ma’teesee’s jokes weren’t that funny any more; they were getting mean. Dossy was out a lot, running around with farmboys; she didn’t listen even when she was here. Always thinking about something else. And lki was always busy. Besides, talking to her was like talking to the god; it turned Faan’s stomach when she thought about it. Why did everything have to go so rotten!

The rain lost force, diminished to an intermittent drip.

Dossan came in, followed by Ma’teesee.

“Fa, you ready?” Dossan’s voice was hoarse io the remnants, of the cold she’d got from dancing in the rain with that Miugi she was so dotty about these days; she was tired and in a temper. She jabbed her elbow toward Ma’teesee’s ribs. “This one would dawdle on her deathbed.”

Ma’teesee winked at Faan, pulled her wide mouth into an inverted curve. “Moon’s got her, huh. ‘Fakes her temper out to sea.”

Faan slid off the seat, Ailiki flowing down beside her; she reached back, thrust her arm through the basket of fresh greens and herbs she was taking to Reyna. “Just as well you took more time,” she said as she crossed the room. “The rain’s stopping.”