Authors: Michael Siemsen
“You find us some more men, Doctor?” Peter asked as he, Matt, and Tuni filed in.
“Oh… excuse me. Um, ah, no—no more men. Just discussing distant plans.”
“Well, nothing wrong with keeping an eye to the future, but we might have just hit the motherlode right here in this spot.”
“Right,” Rheese replied, looking a bit distracted. “If you’ll excuse me…” And he stepped out the door.
“Okay, buddy, you ready for this?” Peter said to Matt.
“I’ll do a minute just see what it’s all about,” Matt said as he pulled on his timer and set it.
“Great,” said Peter, eager to get started. “Let’s see what we’ve got!”
“Y
OU ARE TOO NEW, LITTLE ONE,”
Olo said as she rolled the cutter from side to side in the cloth. She could still feel the heat from it.
“I won’t touch the sharp part, Mama,” Opwot said, bouncing impatiently.
Looking at her daughter, Olo marveled at how similar they were. When she was new, she, too, had always wanted what she could not have.
“Well, even if I were to let you hold it, it’s too hot to touch right now. Your skin will burn, and you’ll cry.”
“I won’t cry, Mama. Boys play with cutters at the Clothes House all the time!”
“Watch…” Olo dipped her fingers in the waterbowl and splashed a few drops onto the blade. The water popped and sizzled and disappeared.
Opwot jumped and laughed. “I want to do that!” she cried. And plunging her whole hand into the waterbowl, she shook it over the blade, getting more water on her mother than on the metal.
Her mother frowned and wiped her eye with her shoulder strap.
“You got it in my eye, Opwot—be more careful.”
“Why don’t we just put the cutter in the water so it’s not hot anymore?”
“Because it will break the blade, newest. We can put it in the water in a little while. Now, why don’t you go play with Gleyer and Pret? Let Mama work.”
“They just throw rocks at other rocks. It’s stupid.”
Tapping the blade with her finger, Olo determined that it was nearly cool enough. She let it slide into the waterbowl.
“Can I touch this one?” Opwot asked, pointing at a complete cutter with a handle attached. Not wait for an answer, she wrapped her fingers tightly around the blade, then shrieked as she felt the razor edge slice deeply into her fingers.
“No! Opwot! What did you… ?” She grasped her daughter’s hand and squeezed it into a tight fist. Opwot screamed again from the pain as Olo’s eyes darted over the room, looking for a bit of cloth.
M
ATT SHUT OFF HIS TIMER.
He gave his two companions a perplexed frown and shook his head. “Nothing we can use right away,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Peter asked.
“It’s too far back. I mean, there’s probably plenty of stuff on the way to where we are now, but this is years and years before Irin was even
born.
”
“How do you know?” Tuni asked.
“I was this woman I’ve never seen before—she must be long dead by now—and her daughter is Opwot. She was just a little girl, maybe six years old.”
“And who’s Opwot?” Peter asked impatiently.
“Sorry, one of the oldest women—blind—she makes the k’yots. She made the middle—the shirt—that we have a piece of. The imprint goes all the way back to her mother making this blade. It could take months going through it all just to get to where I am now with the k’yot.”
“Right—got it,” Peter said, giving the table a slap. “Well, probably plenty of fascinating data we could get from it after you’ve run out of k’yot stories, right?”
“I’m sure,” Matt sighed. “Speaking of which…”
“Ah, so eager now,” Peter said, “but it’s going to be dark soon and you need to get your tents squared away. I have to go help out in the pit for a few—it’s going to rain again tonight and maybe all day tomorrow.”
Tuni gave Matt a look of chagrin. “Bloody
torture,
” she moaned. “I think there are laws against this.” Matt loved the way her words sounded: “. . .
lors agaynst this.
”
“I know. Let’s go handle our tents before we beg Dr. Rheese to get it out for us.”
They left the RV, and Matt went to the back of the van, where he had seen Rodney pitch the new tent, back when he and Tuni were boarding the chopper. He looked fondly at all the beautifully sealed, brand-new equipment: air mattress, sleeping bag, tent, pillow, pillowcase, even sheets! Grabbing what he could in his arms, he went to where Tuni’s tent and poles lay strewn on the ground, and dropped his burden. He peeled the tape from the tent box, opened the flaps, and inhaled the pleasant smell of the new nylon fabric.
In minutes he had the tent up and the rain fly staked down. He threw his sleeping gear inside and went back to the van for the pillow. Beneath it lay a shopping bag with a stack of new jeans, assorted turtlenecks, T-shirts, underwear, and socks. He shook his head in surprise. How could Peter know he wore boxer briefs? And the jeans: twenty-nines with button fly—just what he would have bought.
Turning, he saw Peter looking at him. Matt raised the bag in acknowledgment, and Peter gave him a knowing look before ducking under the awning of tarps that covered the pit.
Tuni was trying to slide a shock-corded pole through a sleeve in her tent and cursing under her breath. Matt tossed the bag in his tent, then grabbed the other end of the tent pole, pulling it down and seating it over the pin. Then he pinned the other pole in place while Tuni figured out what to do on her side. The tent popped into shape, and Matt put the stakes and hammer at her feet while he shook out the rain fly and flung it over the top.
After pounding in the last stake, she said, “See? Now, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
“Yeah,” he said drily. “I don’t know what my problem was.”
The equatorial night came on quickly, and stars winked through the patchwork of scattered clouds as the team gathered under the food tent. Now there were twenty or more at the site, conversing and joking with the ease of people who had known one another for years. Matt noted how different this felt from the quiet awkwardness when it was just the five of them at the site. The energy of such a large and voluble group overshadowed even Dr. Rheese’s annoying superciliousness.
“Tell me, Matt,” an American girl named Felicia said to him from across the table, “What makes you so important here? What’s your degree even in?”
Tuni turned to Matt, and he felt her look but decided not to return it.
“I’m just here for the food,” he replied.
Felicia looked thrown, apparently unsure if he was trying to be funny, was simply a jerk, and whether he was actually going to answer the question. A retort neared her lips when Matt interrupted.
“Hey Pete.”
Peter finished his sentence to Flip, at another table, and raised his eyebrows in inquiry to Matt.
“So, think we can
chat
in the RV again?” he said to Peter as soon as they were a few yards from the mess tent. “We didn’t turn that whirlybird around to just hang out… as awesome as all of you guys seem.”
“Of course, of course. You’re not going to eat dinner, though?”
Matt made a face. “Seriously?”
“Doesn’t appeal to you, huh?” Peter laughed. “Well, yeah… then, how about you and Tuni—if she’s not interested in eating, either—head back in there for a little bit.”
Matt looked uncomfortable. “Uh… ,” then he mouthed, “can you have Rheese get it out?”
“Oh…” Pete smiled, realizing no one seemed to want to ask Rheese for anything.
“W
HAT WAS THIS VISION,
W
IL?”
I
RIN
asked as they headed toward the next rise.
Wil looked around, but no one was within listening distance. “It was about you.”
Irin looked at him from the corner of his eye. “What about me?”
“I saw it… that is, I saw what happens, and…” He paused and rubbed at a face spot on his cheek.
“Say it, Wil—say what you saw.”
“I saw… your death. It was a vision, too, not a dream—I know the difference.”
Irin looked ahead of him as he walked, wondering whether he wanted to hear any more. He held the new fear in his belly and kept his voice strong and confident.
“Only tell me one thing, Wil,” Irin said, still not looking at him. “Is it soon? I don’t want to know when, but is it soon?”
Wil was silent. Irin turned, and the expression on his friend’s face gave him his answer. They remained silent to the top of the hill and long after.
The group snaked its way through the mountain pass, where they came across more screamer droppings, though most were dried out and clearly very old. Irin began to realize that they may have passed the screamers’ burrows or caves or dens or wherever they slept. Why, they may have been as close as five house-lengths away when his people walked through the diamond-shaped opening.
How much more time in the night remained? They would need to find a suitable encampment soon. The procession moved slowly, and it would take time to make safe with whatever perimeter they could throw up to protect themselves as they slept. He would keep fighters awake, a few at a time, taking turns guarding.
This thin strip of a trail with walls on both sides would be a good make-safe for a couple of reasons, Irin thought. First, they would have to protect only two sides, front and back. They could use n’wips, turned up and lashed together, as fences. Second, the high walls would keep it mostly dark during the daylight. Babies and new would be better able to sleep, along with anyone else who had a difficult time withstanding the brightness.
There was only one problem: they were far too close to the screamer-frequented area they had passed. Their scent would likely be picked up quickly, and he had seen how fast the killers could run. They would also see how their droppings were disturbed and would know at once that people had been there. He needed to keep everyone moving a while longer, but they would need enough time before dawn to find a suitable area, get everyone fed, and make safe.
And what about Wil’s new vision? Irin wondered. Would his death come to him as he tried to defend the encampment of his people? He wanted to know more, but he feared doing something in his own interest instead of his people’s. He thought of Orin and realized he had not checked on her for a while.
He stopped walking and leaned against the hard rock wall while the procession plodded past. They looked tired and probably hungry, and he realized that his own belly was complaining. Would everyone wait for his word before even asking to stop? A woman passed him, holding her new as she walked. She looked haggard and only half awake, but she smiled at him with a look of gratitude. He was surprised she could still feel so kindly toward him despite all he was putting her through.
Orin was talking to one of the men pulling a n’wip, and they passed Irin without noticing him. Irin let them pass, then fell in behind to listen to the conversation. The man was complaining about his shoulders.
“I think you should let your k’yot middle hang off your arms,” Orin suggested. “The solid is tearing at your skin—let your clothes straps be your cushion.”
“It’s a good idea, thank you,” he replied. “But Nilpen has fallen behind, and I can’t stop and hold up everyone behind us.”
“Here,” she said to him as she put her hand on one of the n’wip poles. “I’ll pull it as best I can while you take your k’yot down.”
The man looked at her strangely, then started to hand her the long poles, when Irin stepped in front of them.
“Here, let me,” he said.
“Oh, Irin… ,” the man said in surprise.
“It is all right, Irin. I can pull it for a moment while he fixes his k’yot,” Orin persisted.
“You are a good woman, Orin, but I would not be a good man if I allowed it. Go ahead, my friend,” Irin said, taking the poles.
Orin looked at him with frustration. “Well,” she added, “I think you’ll need to let all the n’wip men make this adjustment, for the k’yots chafe the skin and will rub their shoulders raw before much longer.”
“A good thought,” Irin said as the other man fumbled with the holdstrip. He had clearly never worn a k’yot before this journey. “How do you feel? Are you in need of food?”
“Yes, I think everyone is, but they will continue until you think it safe.”
“Yes, but they’ll slow,” Irin sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t know what is best: stop and let everyone eat as the daylight draws near, or push on and eat when we arrive.”
“When do we arrive?” Orin asked him.
“I don’t know,” he replied. He glanced at the other man, who now had his k’yot middle down and was poking tentatively at his shoulders and grimacing. Irin felt the way the k’yot threads rubbed against his own shoulders, and realized that it had been a mistake to have them don the protective wear. How many other decisions had been mistakes? There had been so many, he couldn’t think of them all.
“Orin,” he said, “please go quickly down the line and tell every man pulling a n’wip to open his k’yot as he has done.” And moving aside, he let the man back under the n’wip poles.