Authors: Suzette Haden Elgin
And that was true. The one approaching them, moving over the sand with a gliding step like someone on ice, and at ease on ice, was blinding in its beauty. Much taller than Troublesome, who missed six feet by only a quarter of an inch, copper-skinned and its silver hair like a fall of water in the sun well below its waist, with eyes of purest turquoise, it lacked only wings to make it Angel. Angel of
what
was the question ... and nobody knew.
As nobody knew what substance of bone must be required to support the slender muscular bodies of a race that claimed eight feet as its
average
height. Or how many there were, or what they ate, or why it was they hated all water except the narrow trickle they held sacred.
Another time, Troublesome would have been adding up the bits of data, storing them in her mind to puzzle over later, as she did when faced with any mystery. But not now ... not when the Skerry smiled at them, leaned over the wagon, and lifted Responsible up in its aims and against its slender body, leaving the comforters and pillows behind in the bottom of the wagon; and then it turned, motioning with its head for them to follow.
Troublesome didn’t like that at all, and it distracted her attention completely. That was, after all, her own kin being galloped off with by a being that nobody knew whether it might eat her alive or keep her for a pet or skin her for her hide. But she hadn’t much choice, either, distracted or not; they were outnumbered many times over, even if they’d known what manner of living thing they dealt with ... and they didn’t.
The voice in her mind was gentle enough, but it was firm.
DAUGHTER OF BRIGHTWATER, YOU THAT ARE NAMED TROUBLESOME, it Said, LEAVE THE MULE AND THE WAGON WHERE THEY ARE, AND FOLLOW US. NO HARM WILL COME TO YOUR SISTER OR TO ANY OF YOU—HOW COULD YOU THINK SUCH A THING?
Troublesome was not accustomed to mindspeech, and she didn’t like
that
, either. Two of the indigenous species of Marktwain were telepathic, then. It made sense, when you thought about it ... how else could the treaties have been negotiated? For sure. First Granny and the others had not landed speaking “Skerry,” nor would the Skerrys have been fluent in Ozark English. She’d never thought about it before, and it was only that she was so flustered that she thought of it now. It kept her mind off the possibilities up ahead, that she could in no way predict. But it was said that when the Mules mindspoke anybody they nearly destroyed that person’s mind in the process. The Skerry’s voice in her mind only made her think of bells, chiming. Deep bells.
THAT IS HOW YOU TELL, came the voice again, and she judged that there was laughter in it. THE DEEP BELLS ARE THE MALES, THE MIDDLE ONES OUR FEMALES, THE MIXED ONES THE SHEMALES, AND THE HIGH CHIMES ARE OUR CHILDREN, WHO DID NOT COME ALONG WITH US TODAY.
“Oh, now, that’s not likely!” Troublesome protested aloud. She was impressed, but she would push just so far and no farther. She had no intention of just
thinking
at anything, if it did stand eight feet tall.
YOU ARE QUITE RIGHT, said a different voice, THERE IS CONFUSION OF TRANSLATION. MY FRIEND MEANS THAT THAT IS HOW YOUR HUMAN MIND
INTERPRETS
OUR COMMUNICATION. YOU HAVE BELLS AVAILABLE TO YOU AS A MODE OF PERCEPTION; WE MAKE USE OF THAT MODE, FOR ITS CONVENIENCE ... OTHERWISE, YOU WOULD HEAR... UNPLEASING NOISES.
“Botheration,” said Troublesome, and hurried her pace to keep up. Beside her, Silverweb called ahead to the Skerry.
“She is one that would prefer privacy of mind,” said Silverweb. “You are distressing her with your invasions.”
“I’d live through it,” said Troublesome crossly. “I’ve lived through worse, and I don’t need mollycoddling.”
“There’s no need for it,” Silverweb answered. “I am here, and if they want to use mindspeech they can do it through me. I don’t mind it.”
“Not atall? Having your whole mind naked like that?”
Troublesome said it before she thought; and then she knew a deep shame, remembering the way she had lambasted Lewis Motley Wommack the 33
rd
for expressing a similar dislike. And he had had it to bear, if he spoke the truth, over months—not just a few moments, as she had. It might very well be different with another human, instead of this alien creature; nevertheless, she was ashamed. She had not known what it would be like, nor had she made any attempt to
imagine
it.
“Not a scrap,” said Silverweb of McDaniels. “Anything in my mind, they are welcome to. My only problem is keeping up with youall in this sand—I’m not exactly short, but the rest of you are a good deal longer of leg than I’ll ever be.” She was silent a minute, and then nodded. “They tell me,” she went on, “that it is absolutely necessary for us to hurry—that the crystals charge quickly and we have no time to spare.”
All the Skerrys had in fact gotten far ahead of both the Ozark women, who had had no practice walking over dry sand and were floundering as much as they were stepping.
“If we don’t hurry it up, Silverweb, I’ll wager they’ll just pick us up and carry us, too.” fretted Troublesome, “like a couple of armloads of kindling. You fall down, I’ll smack you, so help me.”
“Your bark,” observed Silverweb, “is much worse than your bite. Why
do
you go on like that?”
Troublesome had the usual answer ready. “I have a reputation to maintain.” She needed it embroidered across her chest.
“Worked hard building it up, too, as I recall.”
“Far too hard to throw it away now, in the middle of a desert.”
Silverweb laughed, and stumbled, and hurried on as best she could. The Skerrys were leading them eastward, toward a line of rocks humped up on the horizon. Darkest gray, almost black, some of them
jet
black, against the sand. Where the sun struck them, rays of light split out like spears. It was hard on the eyes; what would it be like if this were not wintertime?
“The spring is there by those rocks,” said Silverweb. “Or so I have been told.” Her yellow hair was coming down from its usual elegant figure-eight of braid, something Troublesome had never seen happen before; she found that it worried her, and she stopped to coil the heavy weight of it back again, tuck in the stray ends, and anchor it firmly with the ironwood pins.
“Careful, Troublesome of Brightwater,” Silverweb teased her. “It begins with tidying up a friend in the desert, and first thing you know you are seized with a lust for helping people and taking in stray tadlings.”
“Nonsense—I just can’t abide mess.”
Silverweb only laughed at her. “That’s Responsible’s line, my friend,” she said, “not yours. You should see yourself.”
“Silverweb?”
“Yes?”
“What happens when we get there?”
“Whatever happens. Don’t dawdle. Troublesome.”
“It’s farther than it looks.”
“Save your breath, then!”
It was wise counsel; Troublesome hushed and concentrated on closing the gap between them and the rocks. And at last they were there, a few minutes behind the party of Skerrys. When she saw what they were doing, she would have rushed forward to stop them, but Silverweb had a firm and astonishingly powerful grip on her arm, and the voice of a Skerry rang, equally firm, inside her head.
WE ARE SORRY, it Said, TO BE DISCOURTEOUS ... IF ONLY WE HAD MORE TIME, WE WOULD OBSERVE YOUR PREFERENCES, BUT THE CRYSTALS ARE GORGING ABOVE YOUR CITIES. THERE IS NO TIME LEFT FOR NICETIES. TROUBLESOME OF BRIGHTWATER, SILVERWEB OF MCDANIELS, THIS IS WHAT MUST BE DONE ... PAY CLOSE ATTENTION, AND DO NOT FORGET ANYTHING THAT WE TELL YOU. TROUBLESOME, YOU SEE THAT ROCK, THERE WHERE THE WATER OVERFLOWS ITS BASIN?
The rock. Where the water overflows. Where her sister now lay naked, her hair loose in the water and her head pillowed on another rock set gently under it, where the water bubbled up out of some hidden source and poured over the still and lovely body. So frail, she looked!
“I see it.”
TAKE YOUR PLACE THERE, Came the Voice. WE SKERRYS WILL FORM A ... YOU HAVE NO SEMANTIC CONSTRUCT FOR IT, IT IS A SHAPE OF POWER ... HERE AROUND THE HOLY WATER. YOU ARE TO SIT BESIDE YOUR SISTER, ON THAT ROCK. SILVERWEB, YOU OF CASTLE MCDANIELS, YOU WILL KNEEL UPON THE SAND, AND YOU WILL CALL DOWN THE LOVE YOU HAVE LEARNED TO DRAW UPON. YOU WILL ASK THAT THE SLEEPER WAKE, SILVERWEB OF MCDANIELS, WHILE WE SKERRYS SING FOR YOU. PLEASE, TAKE YOUR PLACES!
“I’m dreaming this,” said Troublesome, too worried to be anything but cross and rude, but she did as she was bid, and she went and settled herself on the boulder near Responsible’s head. Behind her, she heard the soft hiss of movement, and she looked over her shoulder and saw Silverweb kneeling on the sand with her arms raised to the sky and her eyes already rapt, even in the scalding sunlight and the constant battering of rays struck from the rocks. The Skerrys had taken up positions that looked to her to lack pattern of any kind, but she was willing to believe it was a congruent shape for them. She was willing to believe almost anything. And now they were going to sing.
And Silverweb was going to pray.
“But what am
I
supposed to do?” she asked hoarsely; there was sand in her throat. “Outside of keeping this child from drowning, that is.”
SHE WILL NOT DROWN, came a voice Troublesome felt was new. Not that it mattered. Bells are bells. THE WATER IS NOT DEEP ENOUGH OR SWIFT ENOUGH. THAT IS NOT THE DANGER.
“Tell me, then.”
IF SILVERWEB OF MCDANIELS IS SUCCESSFUL, IF THINGS GO AS WE EXPECT THEM TO GO, THERE WILL BE ... SUDDENLY, WITH NO WARNING ... A KIND OF TEAR IN THE FABRIC OF THE UNIVERSE. AT THAT INSTANT, WE BELIEVE THAT YOUR SISTER WILL WAKE. AND AT THAT SAME INSTANT, THERE WILL BE A CHANCE FOR SOMETHING EVIL TO COME THROUGH THE TEAR WE HAVE MADE, SOMETHING THAT WATTS ALWAYS FOR JUST SUCH AN OPPORTUNITY, THROUGH AGES UPON AGES OF TIME. YOU ARE TO PREVENT THAT.
Troublesome felt terror in her somewhere; she would have sworn there was none left in her. The voice went on, confident, urgent, soothing her.
YOUR ROLE HERE, THE ROLE FOR WHICH YOU HAVE BEEN LEARNING ALL YOUR LIFE LONG, IS TO RECOGNIZE THAT EVIL THING HOWEVER BEAUTIFULLY IT MAY BE DISGUISED, AND TO STOP IT FROM ENTERING THIS SPACE AND THIS TIME. THAT, TROUBLESOME OF BRIGHTWATER, IS WHAT YOU ARE FOR IN THIS WORLD—WE NEED AN
EXPERT
IN EVIL.
Troublesome felt the terror go, and in its place a fragment of knowledge, as of something forgotten long ago and now remembered for a fraction of time. From the breadth of that scrap of remembrance, she straightened and stared at the Skerry she thought was speaking.
“Silverweb!” she cried out, taut as a bowstring. “What about Silverweb? You know what you leave her open to?”
SILVERWEB OF MCDANIELS IS PROTECTED. THERE ARE FEW SHIELDS SO INDESTRUCTIBLE AS PURITY AND VALOR IN COMBINATION. SHOULD ANYTHING GET NEAR HER WITH STRENGTH ENOUGH TO PASS THOSE SHIELDS, WE ARE MORE THAN ABLE TO DEAL WTTH IT—AND IT IS NOT LIKELY. BUT ALL OUR ATTENTION, AND ALL OF HERS, MUST BE FOCUSED ON A SINGLE POINT. YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE, TROUBLESOME, WHO CAN PROTECT YOUR SISTER. BE READY, NOW! DON’T WATCH US; WATCH THERE, CLOSE BY HER HEAD, WHERE THE ANCIENT EVIL WILL TRY ITS BEST TO BREAK THROUGH... IT IS WEARY PAST BEARING OF LYING TRAPPED BENEATH THAT SACRED SPRING!
Troublesome understood that well enough; she turned and set her eyes to watch, holding her breath, her lower lip caught between her teeth and her strong hands at the ready for ... whatever might come.
And the Skerrys sang.
It was not precisely music, as Troublesome understood music. Nothing to it of fiddle or dulcimer or guitar, nothing of melody or harmony either; not even rhythm. She could make no sense of it, but it rose over the sand and the rocks with an unmistakable power. It was a call to that same Source that Silverweb called upon, and it supported her call, bore it up and carried it on what must have been notes and chords, focused it as Troublesome strained her eyes for anything.
There it was! Lovely in the water, a rose that rocked gently on the surface of the clear water, a single perfect yellow rose the size of her two cupped hands, with a scent that was as seductive as wickedness ever had been in all of time. Troublesome would have known it anywhere. She had it instantly, before it could drift one inch closer to the sands that were its first goal, crushed between her palms, and all her muscles knotted as she struggled with a loathsome squirming Unknown desperately determined to make the world its territory for a change.
“Nasty piece of work that you are,” shouted Troublesome of Brightwater, laughing and exultant, “begone to wherever you came from, crawl back in your hole, you’re no match for me, nor ever could be! Squirm all you like, and foul me all you care to ... not even
trained
, are you? Ah, you’re a sorry excuse for a Holy Terror, let me tell you; I was expecting more of a challenge!”
Occupied as she was, she had no way of knowing that the long silver hair of the Skerrys, and the tunics they wore, were being whipped and buffeted in a wind against which—for all their lives spent in this desert—they could scarcely stand. Or that their singing was being choked by the clouds of sand that had turned the sky black above them. Or that around Silverweb, like a shield shaped to her body, there was a clear space where no wind blew and no sand whirled, and all was still; and where all was radiant with a clear golden light that was the same color the evilness had chosen as a strategy to deceive them. Even the stench as the thing lost its control of scent-of-rose and began to pour out the smell that was natural to it could not break the concentration that poured through Troublesome’s hands as they gripped her adversary by what might have been its throat.