Much later that afternoon, I presented myself at Colonel Haren’s office. After I’d reburied the unfortunate trooper I’d hauled bucket after bucket of water and scrubbed myself raw, but the stink of death clung to me. I wanted to throw away the clothing I’d been wearing, but I did not have that luxury. Instead, I washed it and left it dripping on my newly strung clothesline. I avoided Ebrooks and Kesey entirely. I didn’t want to speak to anyone about my encounter with the Specks, but thought that perhaps I must report it to Colonel Haren.
The sergeant kept me waiting. I had learned that the person I really had to wear down was his sergeant, not the colonel. So I stood before his desk and watched him shuffle his papers. “You could leave and come back later,” he suggested to me sharply at one point.
“I’ve nothing more demanding to do. And I feel I should make my report to the colonel as soon as possible.”
“You can simply give me your information to pass on.”
“I could, Sergeant, of course. It’s rather detailed. But if you wish to write it down for the colonel, I could come back tomorrow for his response.”
I don’t know why he didn’t simply order me to leave. Perhaps because he knew I would come back. There were a few chairs along the wall of the office, but I had observed that my standing seemed to chafe his nerves more than if I withdrew quietly. He sorted his way through a stack of dispatches, assigning them to different piles. Then he looked up at me, sighed, and said, “I’ll see if he can see you now.”
Despite the spring weather, the colonel still lounged in his chair by the blazing hearth fire. No ray of daylight penetrated his chamber. I wondered if he ever left this room.
He turned his head as I entered and sighed. “Trooper Burve. You again! What is it now?”
“Specks stole a body out of the graveyard last night, sir. I had to enter the forest to recover it. I had contact there with a Speck man and woman.”
“Did you? That’s the only part of your story that is unusual. Did you antagonize them?”
I considered his question. “I took the body back. They didn’t seem to approve, but I simply did it.”
“Well done.” He nodded sharply. “We’ve found that to be the best way to deal with them. Approach what must be done calmly, inform them of it, and then do it. They soon come to understand that we know what we’re doing and it’s for the best. For the most part, they’re a passive people. The only time they’ve ever attacked us, we had shed Speck blood first. They became very distressed about the road construction and tried to interfere with it. Instead of talking to them, some fool lost his head and shot one. Instead of fleeing, the Specks charged at us. Well. We had no choice except to use our weapons then. A lot of Specks died. Such a one-sided battle was unfairly called a massacre. The papers in Old Thares published a very biased account, and all the officers involved were rebuked. What should they have told their men? ‘Don’t shoot until they’ve killed some of us?’”
His indignation had brought two bright spots of color to his cheeks. He took a deep breath to calm himself. “So. We don’t want a situation like that again. Do as you’ve been doing. Simply bring the bodies back. Don’t make threats. Don’t shoot at Specks. Just do your duty, but don’t provoke them to bloodshed. Remember I assigned you to the cemetery to prevent this, not so you could come here and complain about it. You did recover the corpse and rebury it?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Sir, I thought I should report my contact with the Specks.”
He lifted a wine glass from a table at his elbow and sipped from it. The liquid was a dark crimson. “It’s of no consequence. It’s spring, trooper. Spring always brings the Specks down to trade. Soon it will be summer. Then it will be high summer, and people will die of plague. Lots of them. And as fast as you bury them, the Specks will try to dig them up. By the end of summer, if you don’t die of the plague, you’ll be like all the rest of us. Praying for winter to come and cursing it when it gets here.”
He spoke with absolute certainty. When he was finished, he resumed staring into this fire.
“Sir. It seems to me I might better serve in my post if I could find a way to prevent the Specks from stealing bodies before summer and the plague season hits.”
I waited for a response from him. When he didn’t give me one, I took it as permission to speak on. “I’d like to acquire a dog, sir, with your permission. He could serve in two capacities: he could keep watch in the graveyard by night and bark to warn me of intruders. And if a body was stolen, a hound could help me track the culprits and bring the corpse back sooner.”
He made no response. I tried again. “I’d like to keep a dog, sir.”
He gave a sudden harrumph of laughter. “So should we all, trooper. But tell me this. Where would you get one? Have you seen any dogs in Gettys since you arrived?”
It was such an obvious lack, I wondered how I had missed it before. “Perhaps dogs could be brought from the west?” I ventured, certain that this had already been tried.
“Dogs disappear from Gettys. Dogs do not seem to like Specks and Specks certainly do not like dogs. Except in stew. So. You will not be getting a dog to help you fulfill your duties.” He glanced away from the fire to look at me, and when I didn’t move, he demanded testily, “Was there anything else, trooper?”
“May I attempt to build a wall around the cemetery, sir? Or at least along the side of it that is closest to the woods? It might not prevent all such incidents, but I should like to make stealing bodies as difficult as possible for them.”
He shook his head. The neck of the bottle chinked against the lip of his wineglass as he poured. “Did you pay any attention when I let you sign on? I told you that I’ve requested a shipment of stone for a wall. I’ve asked for it several times now, and each time I’ve been put off.” He took another sip from his wine. “Obviously, the King’s Road is far more important than our troopers resting in dignity after they die in this forsaken place.”
A silence fell between us. I made a final unwilling effort. “I could build a fence, sir.”
He did not turn his head toward me but only shifted his eyes. “From wood, I assume.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And where do you plan to get it? Not from our supplies. Wood, ironically, is hard to come by. We can harvest it only from the edges of the forest because…because, well, you know how difficult it is for our crews to enter the actual forest. So how would you build a fence without wood?”
Some stubbornness I had thought long vanquished from me reared its head. I did not point out that he seemed overly generous with his own supply of firewood. “I’ll get my own wood, sir.”
He leaned deeper into his chair and considered me. “Taking wood from that forest is not as easy as it might appear. Have you attempted it, soldier?”
“I’ve been in the forest twice, sir. I know its challenges.”
“Yet you’d willingly attempt such a thing”
Perhaps he weighed my courage against the appearance of my body. I felt as if he were seeing me for the first time rather than just the flesh that enclosed me. I spoke the truth. “I’d rather try to take wood from that forest than have to hunt down stolen corpses in it, sir.”
“I suppose you would. Very well, then. Feel free to attempt it. But don’t neglect your other duties. I’ve had good reports of your predigging the graves. Continue with that effort. But in your spare time, you may attempt to build a fence as well.”
“Thank you, sir.” I felt anything but thankful as I left. I emerged into the dusky streets of Gettys. The colonel had kept me waiting for longer than I thought. Evening was coming on.
What had I been thinking, volunteering to fence in the cemetery? I had enough work to do, and with no dog to help me, I might have to start keeping a night watch over the fresh graves. I thought of the long boundary the cemetery shared with the forest, and tried to picture a fence. A tall fence of solid wood plank would be the most effective. A rail fence would do little more than slow the graverobbers. I considered a palisade of logs and rejected the notion. The idea of cutting that many substantial logs, digging the holes, and erecting them was beyond a lone man.
Clove awaited me patiently at the hitching rail. I stared at it, and at the weeds that grew vigorously at the base of its supports. It reminded me of my father’s hedgerows, founded on lines of rough stones hauled from the surrounding fields. I’d encountered no sizable stones while digging graves. The largest ones were no bigger than my head. But even those, set in a row, could provide a demarcation. And if I planted thorny or densely growing bushes, I might make a barrier of the very stuff of the forest that so daunted me.
The moment the idea came to me, I recognized the rightness of it. It would take time to grow, of course. So I’d erect a rail fence to begin with, and any stones I encountered in my gravedigging could go along the bottom of it. The Specks went naked. I’d plant brambles and briers along it. Yes.
Clove’s reins were loose in my hands. He tugged at them, reminding me that I’d been standing there, lost in thought, for some time. I realized abruptly that I appeared to be staring at two women approaching me on the sidewalk. In an effort to counteract that rudeness, I smiled affably and gave a friendly nod. One gave a squeak of fear and her hand darted to seize the brass whistle she wore on a chain around her neck. The other woman abruptly took her companion’s elbow and steered her quickly out and across the street. They walked briskly and glanced back at me once, whispering together. My cheeks burned in embarrassment, but I also felt a tinge of anger. I knew, with absolute certainty, that if those women had so encountered me two years ago, they would have smiled and returned my greeting. I resented that the shape of my body made them judge me so hastily. Within, I was the same man I’d always been.
Almost. I realized I was still staring after the women, and mentally contrasting their figures to the naked Speck woman I’d glimpsed earlier. Walking about clad only in her flesh, she had still been less self-conscious and more confident than either of them. And she had been aggressive, as Hitch had warned me that all Speck women were. He’d said that his Speck woman had simply chosen him and that he’d had no say in it, then or since. I wondered what that would be like, and caught my breath at the idea. It didn’t displease me.
I hadn’t planned to go back to Sarla Moggam’s. Yet I found myself there, and tying Clove to the railing. It was stupid of me, I thought. Did I really want to spend what little remained of my month’s pay on this? Fala was gone, I reminded myself as I knocked at the door, and the other whores had appeared uninterested in my trade. I’d be wiser to go straight back to my cottage.
Stiddick opened the door to my knock. “You!” he exclaimed the moment he opened it. Over his shoulder, he said to someone, “The cemetery guard is back.” He stood solidly in the door opening. I could not pass, nor even look inside.
Before I could say anything, he was thrust to one side and Sarla herself darted out. She wore a red dress with many little white bows on the skirt of it. A layer of lace inadequately concealed her shoulders and the top of her bosom. She fairly quivered with anger. “You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here!” she exclaimed. “After what you did to Fala!”
“I didn’t do anything to Fala,” I protested, but my voice went soft and guilty on the last words. I had done something to Fala, I just couldn’t explain what.
“Then where is she?” Sarla demanded angrily. “Where does a woman go in Gettys in the dead of winter? You come here, you spend the whole night with her, something Fala never did with anyone. Then you’re gone, and she just isn’t herself. Turns away every man who comes to her for two days, and then just disappears. Where?”
“I don’t know!” I’d heard Sarla was angry with me over Fala’s leaving her employ. I hadn’t expected her angry questions.
Her harsh smile of vindictive triumph deepened the lines in her face and flaked the powder from the corners of her mouth. “You don’t know? Then why didn’t you ever come back to see her? Everyone saw how satisfied you were. You come to my establishment just once, spend the whole night with one of my girls, and then she vanishes. But you never come back looking for her. Because you knew she was gone, didn’t you? And you knew she wasn’t ever coming back. And how does a man know that unless he makes sure of it himself?”
I was dumbstruck for a moment. Then, with all the dignity I could muster in the face of her outrageous words, I said carefully, “Are you accusing me of something, madam? And if you are, would you state it plainly?”
If I had thought a blunt response would rattle her, I was wrong. She leaned forward from the waist toward me, her hands on her hips, thrusting her breasts at me like weapons. “I say Fala came to a bad end. That’s what I say. And I think that you know just how. Is that plain enough for you?”
“It is.” Cold anger was building in me. “I only knew Fala for a few hours. But, as you say, I was a satisfied man. I had no reason to wish her harm, and every reason to be grateful to her. If she has met with foul play, I will be very grieved to hear of it. But it will have been none of my doing. Good day, madam.”
I turned, seething with anger, to depart from her door. When I turned my back, Stiddick struck. It was a doltish schoolboy attack. He punched me squarely in the back, between my shoulder blades. I don’t know what he thought would happen. Perhaps he thought that because I was fat, I must also be weak or cowardly. I do know he wasn’t expecting it when I spun around and gave him a straight-from-the-shoulder fist to the face.
His head snapped back on his neck. Then he dropped like a rock. Time seemed to observe a long silence while he lay there, flat on his back and still. For one aching instant, I thought I’d killed him. Then he made a terrible retching sound, rolled over on his side, and curled up in a ball. Blood was flooding from his face, through his cupped hands and curled fingers. He yelled wordlessly, and Sarla began shrieking. I turned and walked away. As I mounted Clove, my hands started to shake. I’d never struck a man that hard. Gravedigging builds up a man’s back and shoulders and arms. I thought of my defense: “I didn’t know my own strength.” Oh, that sounded good. I rode away, knowing that what I’d done was justified, but also that I felt queasy about it.
All the way home, I wondered what consequences I might expect. An official rebuke was the least of my worries. I had no witnesses who’d take my part in telling the story. They could say anything. Sarla had already as much as accused me of killing Fala. Dropping her doorman scarcely made me look more innocent. I berated myself for rising to such a schoolboy goad. I could have walked away.
But by the time I reached my cottage, I knew the truth.
No. I couldn’t have.
If I’d walked away once, those sorts of attacks would have become a constant in my life. I’d done nothing wrong. I hadn’t killed Fala, and when Stiddick had struck me, I’d only struck him back.
The night was mild, the air calm. I put Clove up and went to my cottage, thinking only that I’d wake the fire, eat something, and go to bed. When I reached my doorstep, I was alarmed to see the door ajar and light issuing from within. I reached for the door handle and almost fell over the basket there. It was a curious sort of basket, with a frame and handle of hard wood, but the sides woven of fresh green creeper, with leaves and flowers still on it. It looked very pretty and yet it filled me with dread. It could have come from only one place. I looked over my shoulder, across the graves to the forest edge. But no lone figure waited there in the dim shadows for me to find her gift. At least, my eyes could not pick out anyone.
I looked at the door. But surely if she were inside, she would not have left the basket outside? Cautiously, I eased the door open. I could see no one. After a few moments of hesitation, I picked up the basket and entered my cottage.
The fire had burned down to coals. I did not have many possessions, and as a result, they were kept in precise locations. Someone had explored my home. My journal and writing supplies were undisturbed, but my clothing seemed to have been examined. One of my more frequently darned socks still lay in the middle of the floor.
Several items in my limited pantry had been sampled and rejected. I set the basket down on my table next to the remains. The basket of cold biscuits on the shelf was to have been part of my dinner. Those she had apparently enjoyed. The napkin that had enfolded them held only crumbs.
I filled my tea kettle and swung it over the fire on its hook. Then, as gingerly as if it were a basket of snakes, I opened the woven cover of the basket. Incredible smells, earthy and rich, wafted up from it.
I ate everything that was in the basket.
I didn’t recognize any of it in a specific way. I knew that there were mushrooms, roots, fleshy leaves, and scarlet gobbets of fruit that were sweet as honey yet stung the tongue with tartness, too. Almost everything I devoured was exactly as it had been harvested, uncooked in any way. But wrapped in leaves were a stack of golden flat cakes. I could taste honey in them, but whatever else they were made from, I did not know. I only knew that they were particularly satisfying, as if this were food I’d been seeking for a long time.
The basket was the size of a book satchel. When I was finished, I sat back, almost moaning with satiation. The skin of my belly was stretched tight. I didn’t remember loosening my belt, but I obviously had. My conscience fussed at me that I had been both greedy and foolish; the food could have been poisonous. In all my days of travel and at Gettys, my circumstances had protected me from gluttony. My low pay had not permitted me to indulge in huge meals on my own, and my pride kept me from excess when I was eating in the mess hall where others could see me. This was the first time that I’d had access to a quantity of food that did not have to be rationed out over weeks, food that I could devour in privacy. I’d thought I’d had self-control. I’d just proved I did not.
But louder than my conscience was the satisfaction of my body. I felt nourished as I had not in months. Waves of well-being washed through me. The rightness of consuming it overpowered all my doubts, as did my sudden urge to sleep, nay, almost hibernate. I walked from my table to my bed, pausing only to latch my door. I dropped clothing as I went, and by the time I reached my blankets had nothing more to do than crawl in and close my eyes. I slept the sort of sleep that one never gets as an adult, a deep, dreamless repose.
I awoke the same way, between one breath and the next, feeling alert and rested. For several long moments, I lay there, taking simple pleasure in the comfort of my bed and the cool gray light of dawn that found its way through my loosely closed shutters. No list of daily tasks pressed upon me. All the things that usually weighted my soul, that I was fat, alone, without prospects, that I had left my sister in terrible circumstances, uncertain of my survival, that my life was as completely different from how I imagined it would as it could possibly be—in short, all of the things that always flavored my mornings with defeat and despair were absent.
I sat up, swinging my bare feet to the wooden floor. And then those things did come to me, but they came without teeth. So my life was different from what I’d planned. Or, I thought to myself, more accurately, what my father had planned for me. It was still a life. Even the thought that Yaril believed me dead did not rend me as it usually did. I might as well be dead to her, I thought, for I could not, in good conscience, ever bring her to a place like Gettys. My father would attempt to oppress her, but from her letters to Epiny, I had the feeling that she would stand up to him if she finally believed that she had no other choice. Perhaps she could now begin to govern her own life without hoping for rescue from someone else.
As for myself, I could now rise as I was, unencumbered by clothing or shackles of any kind, and walk away from this ridiculous life of regulations and expectations. I could go to the forest and live in freedom, learning to serve my magic and my people.
I stood up to leave.
And my real life engulfed me like a wave washing over me. The dread, the sadness, and the frustration rose like walls around me, cutting me off from the peace and optimism that I’d briefly enjoyed. I struggled against it. Was the bleakness that now enveloped me the miasma of magic that Epiny had claimed to sense, or was the bright beckoning dream an illusion that could not withstand the light of day? For a moment, I teetered on a fence between the two realities, almost as if I could choose which world I would step into. Almost.
Habit made me stoop and pick up my worn trousers from the floor. I put my familiar life on with them. I grunted as I stepped into them, and cursed myself for being greedy when they proved hard to fasten. By the time I had dressed myself, brewed my morning tea, and decided to punish myself by going without breakfast, I heard the sounds of Ebrooks and Kesey arriving. They would soon be at my door, expecting to be invited in. I couldn’t face them. They were too sharp a contrast with the world I’d briefly visited and too much an affirmation of the world I now felt trapped in. I seized my jacket from its hook and hurried out of the door. By the time they arrived, I had strapped a selection of tools onto Clove and was leading him toward the forest.
“Where you going?” Ebrooks called after me. I could hear the disappointment in his voice. A hot cup of tea or coffee together before starting the day’s work had just begun to be a habit among us.
“Forest!” I called back to them. “I’m going to start my fence today.”
“Ya, sure you are!” Kesey mocked me. “We’ll see you back before noon.”
I made no reply. I half-suspected he was right. The forest exuded a dark mix of terror and discouragement today. I steeled myself to it, and led Clove into it.
We toiled up the wooded hillside through the young forest. Immediately the sensation of being watched by hostile eyes flooded me. I took a deep breath and tried to focus my mind on what I needed. I wanted a stout, straight tree to cut into lengths for a corner post and my first few fenceposts. I resolved that I’d set the uprights first, and then use smaller poles for the rails.
The deeper I went into the woods, the more futile my task seemed. It would take me ages to cut enough wood to fence even one side of the cemetery. The trees here were all softwood. My posts would rot through in no time at all. Why had I volunteered for such a senseless task? And none of the trees seemed suitable. This one was too skinny, that one too thick, this one forked, that one bent. In despair, I finally chose one at random, telling myself that once it was cut down and limbed, Clove would drag it out of the woods for me and I’d at least be away from the darkest part of the woods’ magic.
I unpacked my ax from Clove and selected where I would begin my cut. I lifted my ax to begin my swing.
“What are you doing?”
The voice didn’t startle me. I turned to look at the same Speck I’d seen the day before.
“I’m cutting this tree down. I’m going to build a fence around the cemetery, so that our dead can rest in peace.”
“Fence.” His tongue twisted the foreign word painfully.
“Pieces of trees all in a line. With limbs blocking the path. Other plants and bushes will grow along it.” I searched the Speck language for words that would approximate what I was doing. I had no qualms at all about letting them know I was setting a boundary.
He frowned at me, slowly taking the meaning from my words. Then a great smile dawned on his face. “You will put trees for your dead? Trees will grow on the hill that was made bare.” I heard him draw in a great breath before he exclaimed, “This is an excellent idea, Great One! It would take one such as you to see this resolution that could be made.”
“I’m glad you approve,” I said. I wondered if he could sense the sarcasm behind my words. I readied my ax again.
“But that is not the right kind of tree to take, Great One.” His tone made it clear that he was very reluctant to point out my error.
I lowered my ax again. “What sort of tree do you think I should use, then?” I asked with cautious curiosity. I’d heard rumors that the Specks were very territorial of certain groves of trees. Perhaps the tree I’d chosen was precious to him. I was willing to take a different tree. I was going to have to cut a lot of trees before I had a fence. There was no sense in antagonizing the man any more than I must. Besides, that was Colonel Haren’s order.
He turned his head at a slight angle and almost smiled. “You know! These trees will not bring the dead peace or hold them properly.”
We were talking past one another again. I tried to find a clear question for him. “What trees should I use then?”
Again, he cocked his head at me. It was hard to read his expression. Perhaps it was only the colors that interrupted his face that made him look quizzical. “You know this. Only kaembra trees will enfold the dead.”
“Guide me to the kaembra trees that I may take,” I suggested to him.
“Guide you? Oh, Great One, I should not so presume. But I will accompany you.”
He was as good as his word. I soon realized that in his presence, the power of the forest to sway my mood waned. I did not know if he distracted me from it, or if his presence neutralized the evil magic of the place. In either case, it was a great relief to me. Despite his words, he did take the lead. I followed him, with Clove lumbering along behind me, his heavy tread nearly silent in the deep turf of the forest. “Why do you call me Great One?” I asked when the silence had stretched too long.
He looked back at me over his shoulder. “You are filled with the magic. Today you shine with it. You are a Great One, and so I address you.”
I glanced down at the swell of my belly and experimented with the notion that I was not fat, but instead was filled with a power I did not completely understand. What if my size were not a weakness, not an indicator of lack of self-control or sloth, but a sign of strength? This Speck, at least, seemed to regard me with respect and treat me with deference. I shook my head. His reverence for me only made me uncomfortable, for I felt I deceived him. We walked on, going ever uphill. Clove’s big hooves scored the forest floor; even if my guide abandoned me, I’d easily track my way back. Birds sang and darted overhead. A short distance away, a rabbit thumped an abrupt warning and then fled. My perception of the forest shifted; it was a pleasantly mild spring day. The young forest around me was leafy and sunlit and smelled wonderful. A sense of well-being smoothed away all my anxiety. I relaxed my shoulders even though I resolved to maintain my wariness. I became aware of the silence and said awkwardly, “My name is Nevare.”
“I am called Kilikurra. Olikea is my daughter.”
“She was with you yesterday.”
“I was with her yesterday,” he confirmed.
I glanced around at the surrounding forest. “And is she near today?”
“Perhaps,” he said uncomfortably. “It is not for me to say where she is.”
Ahead of us, the forest grew thicker and darker. We passed through an intermediate zone of mixed trees, some youngsters and others fire-scorched giants, before the morning sunlight gave way to the eternal dusk of old forest. Single shafts of sunshine intermittently penetrated the canopy. Insects and motes of dust danced in those beams, and where the light struck the forest floor, flowering plants or patches of brush grew. One bush was already bejeweled with hanging drupes of scarlet fruit. I recognized it as the same luscious fruit that had been in the basket the night before. The fast I had maintained since dawn suddenly seemed a hollow and foolish thing to do. Denying myself food would not change the shape of my body. All it did was torment me with hunger, and make me both irritable and sad. “Shall we stop and eat the berries?” I asked my guide.
He looked back at me with a smile. For the first time, I realized that one reason his face looked so strange was that his lips were as black as a cat’s. “As you will, Great One,” he said, but he spoke as if I’d honored him with a royal invitation.
The drupes hung heavy on the twigs. Perhaps it was the open air or the freshness of the fruit or simply the enhancement of greater hunger, but the flavor exceeded anything I’d ever tasted. The bush was not large, but it was laden with berries. They were a glowing scarlet in the sunlight, with thin skins, almost liquid flesh, and a single pip in each. We shared what was there, unhurrying, savoring the simple pleasure of absolutely ripe fruit. When the last berry was gone, I sighed. “I do not know why I find these so delicious and satisfying,” I said. It was true. Two handfuls of the berries had been my sole meal that day, and yet my hunger was sated.
“They are a powerful food, Great One, and the rightful food of the mage. You feed your magic as well as your body when you eat them. Everything that comes from the forest is your rightful food, and all of it will nourish what you are. But some foods are especially yours and fuel for your growth. I am honored that you have allowed me to partake of these alongside you. Already I feel my awareness unfold. I hear the kaembra trees whispering even though we have not yet reached them.”
“Food for a mage,” I said. I wondered if I had eaten something that would give me hallucinations. I recalled my experience with Dewara and the gore frogs. Yet…had that been a hallucination brought on by poison, or a true journey? If it had not been a true journey, would I be here now? Again, I walked a thin line between realities. A disturbing thought came to me. I could not straddle this boundary forever. Soon I would have to choose one of these worlds and walk in it for the rest of my days.
If Kilikurra sensed my distraction, he did not show it. “Certainly, a mage food. Some, such as the reddrops, an ordinary man like me can enjoy when invited. Others, as you know, are food for mages alone. Certain mushrooms may be harvested only if they are to be taken to a Great One.”
I had to smile at how carefully he spoke to me. “You are telling me many things that I have not known. Earlier you said that I must know these things. Now I think you realize that I do not, and therefore you instruct me.”
His hands fluttered in a subservient gesture, one that shooed my words away, but respectfully. “Great One, I would never presume to think I knew anything that you did not. I am a talkative, foolish fellow. Anyone will tell you that I am known for saying that which needs no saying, and for repeating what all folk already know. It is a tiresome trait, I know. I beg that you will tolerate it in me.”
The forms of another courtesy, unknown and yet known to me, niggled at my mind. The proper sort of response came to me. “I shall enjoy your conversation, I am sure. These many things are known to me, but it is helpful of you to recall them for me.”
As I said it, I felt it was truer than I had intended it to be. That other self, taught by Tree Woman, rippled through my awareness, like a fish seen silver in the murky depths of a river. His knowledge was in me, and the longer I walked in this world, the clearer it would come to me. We reached the shoulder of the hill, went into a brief steep fold of valley, and then climbed again. “I do not wish to go much farther,” I warned him. “I would rather find suitable trees at a lower level, so that I do not have to haul them so far.”
He looked at me oddly. “But what you wish differs from what is, Great One. The trees you must use do not grow lower down. So you are jesting with me?”
I could not think of a reply. So I said only, “When we get to these trees, then I shall decide.”
Whether it was the berries or Kilikurra’s presence or simply that I was becoming accustomed to the forest, I began to enjoy my journey. I was not nearly as weary as I should have been. The light under the trees was gentle and restful to my eyes. No wind stirred there. The deep moss muted not just Clove’s hoof-thuds but also seemed to absorb our voices and to cushion my footfalls gently. I was looking directly at a tall stump when Olikea stepped out from its shelter. She had not been behind it, but merged against it. She was naked except for several strands of red-and-black beads around her waist and a tight necklace of blue beads around her throat. She was so comfortable with her nudity that I felt no embarrassment for her. Rabbits and birds were naked in the same way she was. Kilikurra’s nudity had not even registered with my mind as something important to notice. I was considering that as she came towards us. She smiled when she spoke. “You are looking much better today, Great Man. The food I brought replenished you.”
“Thank you,” I replied awkwardly. I was not accustomed to compliments from women. She approached me until she was standing less than an arm’s length away. She was almost my height. When she lifted her chin to look me in the eyes, it was almost as if she were inviting me to kiss her. I noticed now that she had dressed her hair. She had bound it back from her eyes with a bark-cloth strip. Wooden beads secured several tiny thin braids that hung down just in front of her ears. She smelled wonderful. When she licked her lips, I noticed that her tongue was both dark and pink, as mottled as the rest of her. She smiled wider, and I knew she was enjoying my awareness of her, and my physical reaction to that awareness.
“I hope you enjoyed all of it.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She shook her braids back from her face. “The basket of food I left for you. I hoped you would be in your shelter, but you were not, so I left it for you to find. I hope that you ate it all with great pleasure.”
“That I did.”
“Good.” She lifted her arms and stretched like a cat. Her eyes never left my face.
My mouth went dry. I cleared my throat and then said, “Your father, Kilikurra, is helping me to find trees I can use to build a fence around the cemetery, so that our dead may rest in peace.”
“Is he?” She glanced around, and when her gaze came back to her face, her smile was secretive. “But he seems to be gone now. And you know there are no trees here that can be cut. So. Shall we occupy our time another way?”
While my attention had been focused on her, Kilikurra had vanished. I now wondered if everything he had said and done had been a ploy to lure me to his daughter. But why would any father conduct a stranger to his waiting daughter and then abandon her to him?
I tried to awaken a sense of wariness in myself, but all I could recall was how brazenly she had touched me on our first meeting. She reached a hand toward me now and fingered the fabric of my shirt. “These garments look uncomfortable. And ridiculous.”
I stepped back from her. “They protect me…my skin. From scratches, and cold, and insect bites. Among my people, they are required. For courtesy.”
She puffed her cheeks briefly, the Speck gesture for denial. “I am your people. I do not require them. How do these work?” She had stepped up as she spoke and seized the front of my shirt. The first button went flying. Her eyes followed its flight and she laughed delightedly. “They jump like frogs!” she exclaimed. Before I could react, a sharp tug had sent a second and third to join the first.
With every fiber of my being, I longed to tumble her immediately on the mossy forest floor. What held me back was not morality or modesty, or even a reluctance to couple with a Speck. Rather, it was simple shame at showing my body to her. This was different from seeking out a whore. A prostitute took money and had small right to quibble about her customer’s appearance. The last thing I wanted to do was to have this young creature see me naked, and react with either horror or laughter.
And so I stepped back from her, catching at the flapping front of my shirt. “Stop!” I bade her. “This is unseemly. I scarcely know you.” My embarrassment put a starch in my words that I did not intend.
I needn’t have worried about offending her. She laughed merrily at my reluctance and advanced on me, unabashed. “You will scarcely come to know me by fleeing from me! Why do you hesitate? Is the mossy floor of the forest not soft enough for you?” She cocked her head as she looked into my eyes. Her hands were on my chest again. “Or do you find me undesirable?”
“Oh, never that,” I assured her, but one questing hand had already assured herself of just how desirable I did find her. I could scarcely get my breath. “But your father…will he not…object?”
She puffed her cheeks at me. “My father has gone about his business. Why should he care what I do? Am I not grown, and a woman? He will be pleased if his daughter should have a Great One at her hearth; all my wide family will take a share of this honor.” My belt buckle gave way to her fingers. The buttons on my trousers were more stoutly sewn than my shirt buttons. One by tantalizing one she undid them. I scarcely heard what she said anymore. “But mind you that my sisters and cousins take no more from you than the honor of your presence. In all else, you will be mine. Oh. Yes. You are ready. Here. Give me your hand. Touch me.”
I did. Her nipples were erect. She deliberately brushed them against me. I wanted to howl in frustration. My great bulging belly was a barrier between us. I pulled her close against me, but found the longed-for contact denied. Shame coursed through me, strong enough that I tried to pull away from her. She let me go, but then caught my hand and pulled me down on the moss beside her. “Sit,” she bade me. “Let me free you from all this.”
“Olikea, I am too fat. I don’t know how—”
She hushed my mouth with her fingers. “Sshhh. I do.” She stripped my clothing away from me. Shirt, boots, socks, trousers were all flung aside. Then, to my dismay, she leaned back and looked at me. I expected her to recoil, but to my amazement, she gazed on me greedily, as if she were a child contemplating a feast. She licked her dark lips with her dappled tongue. Then she put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me back to recline in the moss. “This is what you must do,” she whispered. “Lie on your back. And resist me as long as you can.”
“Resist you?” I was puzzled.
“Stay hard,” she clarified.
In that long afternoon and early evening, I learned about women and sensuality. She was not to be rushed in her enjoyment. She spoke plainly of exactly what she desired of me, with blunt words and a frankness that went beyond anything I’d ever heard men say about sex. She found multiple ways to fit our bodies together and used me shamelessly for her own pleasure. It felt strange to be explored and exploited. At one point, as she was posting along on top of me while I stared at the blue sky through the branches overhead, it occurred to me to wonder if this was how women sometimes felt when men mounted them and took what they wished, as they wished it.
She was noisy in her enjoyment of me, and once even Clove came wandering over to see what the fuss was about. She pushed his muzzle away, laughing where another woman might have been horrified at his animal curiosity.
I lost all sense of time. The third time that we dozed off together, I awoke to find it so dark that I could not see my hand in front of my face. Overhead, only a few stars managed to show themselves in patches of sky. I was shivering. “Olikea,” I whispered, and she drew a great sighing breath and moved against me. “Are you cold?” After all she had done for me, I suddenly wanted to shelter her from every discomfort.
“It’s night. It’s supposed to be cold,” she told me. “Accept it. Or, if it pleases you, use your magic to change it.” She plastered her body against mine once more. Where we touched, I was warm. She seemed to go back to sleep.
I thought about it. “I want to be warmer,” I told the night. But it was my own body that answered me. I felt my skin slowly flush with warmth. Olikea murmured with satisfaction. We slept.