Authors: Kate Elliott
“Careful, now,” said Bai as they approached the River Hayi. “Listen.”
A shallow river sings with a different voice from one at flood: water babbles over smoothed rocks along the bank, purls above barely submerged sandbars, shushes through a backwater of reeds. Through the gaps between houses he saw the ford. Where the water rippled and lightened, poles had been hammered into sandbars that almost breached the surface. Where the current dug
deep, the water ran dark and swift, and from this bank that gap looked wide and dangerous.
“I wonder where they came from,” said Bai as the ginnies bobbed their heads.
Four people stood on the bank, two adults and two children.
Kesh choked down a yelp. “You said no one was here.”
“Those are refugees. I'm surprised they're not running. Here, now, fetch those skiffs pulled up on the bank. I'll take your leads.”
“What do we need a skiff for?”
“Those children can't swim the ford.”
“We're not going to slow ourselves down by
helping
them?”
Bai called. “Do you need our help getting over the water?”
She strode away. With a curse he trudged over to the skiffs. Most were dragged well up onto the shore, but two had been shifted down to the waterline and left there, sterns rocking. He checked around nervously but saw no sign of a struggle, of any poor townsman struck down while attempting to escape, of goods and possessions abandoned midflight. He grabbed the towline of the smaller skiff and shoved it around until the water lifted it; here in the shallows the current wasn't overwhelming and he could haul it upstream toward Bai.
What was she about? She had halted a prudent distance from the ragged group: two young women not much more than girls with dusty clothes and hair matted with leaf and twig, and a pair of grubby children. The littlest, likely a girl, was very young, old enough to walk but small enough to need carrying most of the time.
The young boy's piping voice raised as Kesh splashed within hearing. “They can't be thieves,” he was saying indignantly to his elders, “for no person can steal the holy ones. She must be a holy one, too. Maybe she ran away from a temple to get away from the bad people.”
Bai laughed, rubbing the jowls of the ginnies. “The offer is sincerely meant, but I can see you've had trouble, so if you've a wish for us to move on without bothering you, we'll just ford the river and leave you be.”
“Where are you going?” demanded the elder of the young women.
Magic lifted his crest and opened his mouth to show teeth, a mild warning. Bai's smile sharpened, just like the ginny's. “We're going away from the place we came from. Where are you going?”
“Our village was burned down. We'll take your help. I'm called Nallo. These are my children: Avisha, Jerad, and Zianna.”
“We'll take your help with
thanks,
” said the pretty one, Avisha, as she flashed a hesitant smile.
“Can I touch them?” asked the boy.
Mischief tilted her head and gave the boy a keen and almost flirtatious look. There was no accounting for the taste of those animals.
“These two are Magic and Mischief, and yes, if you move slowly, and follow my directions, you can greet them. I'm Zubaidit. This is my brother Keshad. Kesh, get the boat in and load it. Put our gear in as well. The horses will do better without the burden.”
“Those can't be your children,” said Kesh to the elder girl. “You're far too young.”
“I'm the second wife. Their mother's dead three years past. Died bearing Zianna, or how else do you suppose the poor little girl got such a name?”
She was the kind who bit first!
“Where's your husband, then?” he retorted.
As soon as he uttered the words, he felt shame. Avisha looked at the ground, a spasm of grief twisting her expression. The cursed ginnies eyed him, as if saying
Kesh, you stupid idiot! Change the subject, already!
The boy said, “I want to touch the holy ones!”
“Keep your mouth shut!” snapped Nallo. She flicked a glance at Bai and then, oddly, flushed. “Here, now, Jer,”
she added in a voice meant to be kindlier but which only sounded curt, “just get in the boat.”
Cursing the wasted time and his own stupid mouth and the pointless bother of stopping to assist useless refugees who were no doubt doomed despite whatever help they might receive, Kesh untied the others' gear and settled it in the skiff. Their possessions seemed to consist of an impressive coil of heavy-duty rope and a single large bronze washtub carefully packed with scraps and oddments: cloth tied around a scant tey of rice; a few scraggly bundles of herbs; a stand for making cord; a pot of sesame oil; an iron knife with a charred wood handle; an iron cooking pot; and two whole leather bottles grimy with ash. He peeked inside a singed leather case to find, within, a dozen untouched first-quality silk braids, colorful work suitable for fancy cloaks, festival jackets, or temple banners.
In they all must go. The little girl woke and cried, then subsided. The boy trembled with excitement. Bai peeled the ginny lizards off her shoulders, introduced them to the boy, and draped them over the mound of gear. They chirped, and Jerad, in imitation, chirped back. Zianna scooted to the bow of the boat as far away from the ginnies as possible; she sucked on her thumb, her gaze troubled.
Bai said, “We'll need to string rope along those poles to give us a handhold. That's what they're there for. The water's come up some with the rains, I'm guessing, so with everything we've got to get across I want that rope for a safe hold.”
“I can swim,” said Nallo. “I'll help you. We've got enough rope to string across the ford.”
Bai grinned at her. “Good. You can strip down if you don't want your taloos wet. Although it'll dry quickly in this heat. And you might be cooler afterward for leaving it on.”
The young woman blushed again. “I'll leave it on. Vish, put my pack in the boat.”
“You're limping. What happened?” Bai asked.
“Turned my ankle on the road.”
Bai glanced at Kesh and shrugged. She waded into the river with the coiled rope. Reaching the first pole, she tied a loop and placed the line. The sun's light flooded the horizon as true dawn raised. The two women plunged into the deeper current.
Avisha sidled over to Kesh, where he waited beside the horses. “Do you know who those soldiers were? Those locusts swarmed into the village one morning. We were lucky to escape.”
“They marched out of the north, that's all I know,” he said reluctantly, not wanting to be drawn into this conversation.
“We hid in the woods.” She hesitated, as if waiting for him to reply, and then went on. “Our house was burned down. My father's dead. We're going to the Soha Hills where Nallo's family comes from, only she doesn't think they'll want to take us in because they never liked her much anyway because of her bad temper. She does have a bad temper, not like my dad. He never loses his temper. He's the kindest and gentlest man. Everyone said that's the only way he could stand her, Nallo that is, my mother talked a lot but she never lost her temper at anyone.”
“You'll want to consider how much you tell to strangers, who might not have your best interests at heart. That army was taking slaves. You're a good age for it. Pretty enough to be of interest. Worth a few cheyt on the open market.”
She stepped away, then looked at the little children, measuring her chances to run.
“Eiya! My sister was a hierodule. She'd never go against the law.”
A woman shrieked. In the deepest part of the river, where the current ran hard in chest-high water, Nallo had lost her footing.
“Nallo!” screamed Avisha. She choked out wordless yelps and started to cry.
“Here, now. Bai's got her.”
Bai hauled her into shallower water. Nallo sputtered, coughed, spat, and both women began laughing. Bai looped the rope around the farthest pole and with Nallo's help tugged it taut, then tied it off. Holding on to the rope, they crossed back.
“That's good-quality rope,” Bai was saying as they dripped up onto the pebbled shore beside Kesh and Avisha.
“My husband made it,” said Nallo with evident pride. “He only made best-quality rope, and for the temples, too, and for festival banners and all manner of ornament. Everyone said he was the best ropemaker on West Track.”
“I was so scared when you slipped,” said Avisha in a gulping wet voice. “I thought we lost you.”
“Well, you didn't!”
There was the temper. It made even Kesh stand up straight.
Bai said sweetly, “Kesh, you swim the horses across. I'll take the boat. You two follow. Best we get moving in case anyone else is on the road.”
The crossing went swiftly and without incident.
While Kesh slung panniers and bags back on the packhorse, Bai and Nallo waded back into the river to recover the precious rope. On this side of the river, someone had abandoned a pile of refuse since battered by wind and rain. Avisha ripped through the pile, but except for sodden cloth and a bronze bucket she found nothing worth keeping.
“Where are you two going now?” Avisha asked as she rolled up the cloth.
He shrugged, hoping she would leave him alone.
“It's true what you said,” she added with a catch in her voice. “We walked a long way to get to Candra Crossing. It's the only place you can cross the river for days and days. We had to hide a few days after we left the village because there was a group of soldiers, marching Horn-ward on West Track, back the way they'd come. They
had tens of children roped up like beasts. Eiya! Just like beasts.” She grimaced, wiped her eyes and her nose, and sucked in breath to keep talking. “We could see from where we were hiding. There was one child who stumbled and another child who helped him up, and then the soldiers come and beat that child to death, the one who helped.”
Kesh had seen such a company of children being marched away as slaves, and he had no desire to relive the memory. If only she would stop talking!
“Just for helping, you know. Just for helping.” She began to rock back and forth like a sweet-smoke addict.
Kesh grabbed her wrist. “Listen! If you want to survive, you have to keep walking. There's nothing any of us can do for those children.”
A glance from fine, tear-filled eyes could make the world bright, if you were the kind of man who liked pretty girls made tense by a touch of fear. He'd worked as a debt slave in Master Feden's house for twelve years, and he'd seen men, and women, who did enjoy forcing sex on reluctant slaves. He'd hated them especially. He released her arm as though it burned him and turned away, but the cursed girl would keep talking.
“I thought Nallo was going to abandon us, too, when we got back to the village to find my father dead and everyone deadâyou know Dad and the rest, they ran out with their shovels and hoes to try to hold off the soldiers so us children could run away. Afterward, the landlady wanted to sell us as slaves. Nallo wouldn't let her.”
“Can you tighten that rope for me?” he asked, to shut her up. “We need to get moving.”
Bai splashed through the shallows and jogged up the slope, Nallo limping behind. He recognized the grim look on Bai's face.
“Get moving.” She slung the rope over the packhorse's neck, fixing it to the panniers. “Kesh, put the girl in the basket, and tie the boy up on the mare. Nallo, you'll ride
the gelding. Avisha, you'll either have to leave the wash-tub or carry it at the pace we'll set. There's something coming into town. I want everyone out of sight before it gets to the riverbank and spots us. Move! I'll meet you.” She settled the ginnies into the sling tied to her saddle.
Nallo mounted awkwardly, stomach over the saddle, then pumping her legs until she got the left one over. Thanks to the gods, the horse remained quiescent despite her obvious lack of experience. Swearing under his breath, Keshad lashed the horses into a line and set out at a brisk pace. Avisha hurried after, lugging the washtub. On the mare, Jerad was grinning at the ginnies.
As Bai crossed the river back into town, all Kesh could think of was his old friends Rabbit, Twist, and Pehar, the worst companions a man might fear to have. He hoped they were all dead now, but he was sure they weren't. How anyone could defeat the army that had been descending on Olossi he couldn't imagine, which was why he and Bai had left and more honorable or foolhardy people had stayed behind. Like she was doing now. The road cut into the woodland, and he lost sight of the far shore.
“What about your sister?” said Avisha with an anxious look.
“Shut up. Keep moving.”
No one spoke as they strode along. For the longest time he just walked, thoughts shut down. The horses were obedient, the children quiet, the girl steady.
After a long time he heard hurried footsteps pattering on the earth, coming up from behind. He drew his sword. Avisha started to cry.
But it was Bai, loping like a wolf chasing prey. She was wiping her hands on a scrap of cloth, and although she threw away the cloth before she reached them, he was sure it was bloody.
Nallo knew the tales, how the persistent, fortunate, clever child fought past obstacles and won through to a good life in the end. But she'd never believed in them. She'd watched three older brothers die, too weakened with diarrhea to do more than stare mutely at those tending them. She'd been sent to Old Cross market with her uncle and littlest niece, both girls meant for debt slavery, but although her little niece's labor had been bought up quickly, not one soul had bid on Nallo. Too thin, too sour-looking, too tall, too old, not pretty. There were plenty of desperate folk on the roads, farms failing, laborers out of work, too many children and not enough food to feed them all. The folk who could afford to purchase the labor of those unfortunate enough to be selling had the leisure to be choosy.