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Crossing the Midland, even riding Butter, presented unexpected challenges. Her mount alone excited a mix of curiosity and fear, and it required fast talking in some hamlets to convince the residents she was, in fact, a Weaver, not an intruder from space, and that Butter, far from being a risk, represented a possible resource as horses gradually became available through the land. Butter’s placid disposition helped; the younger people, especially, were drawn to the beast, and a few clamored for rides.
She’d never thought she’d have to prove her status, though. Usually a light globe did the trick. Had Bryar and Tai encountered similar challenges? And where might Kiril be by now? It had been almost seven nine-days since he’d left with Bryar, half dead from the catastrophe in the hills. She couldn’t swear he was still alive.
Despite it all, she came to Cann, Gwen’s village, a mere two nine-days’ ride from the Motherhouse. Horses certainly had potential for improving communications, although her thighs and butt never stopped aching, and she dreaded the moment each morning when she had to remount. In Cann, at least, there was no prolonged debate over whether she was Weaver or alien. Gwen hugged her like a long lost daughter.
Green skin. She snorted.
Over dinner, a tasty mutton stew, they caught up with gossip and compared notes.
“Just like us. With different customs, of course, and the accent can be hard to decipher. But they probably say the same about us. Ordinary people, Quinn.”
“I’m not surprised. I’ve spent a fair amount of time with both Joss and Kiril. Neither of them is exactly ordinary, but Joss at least fits in here well. Did you know he’s an animal whisperer?”
Gwen nodded. “Rumor carried this far. And the other... changes into a monster? That doesn’t sound like us to me.”
“That wasn’t Kiril’s fault. The hills did it to him. Where the hills are concerned, we’ve been dabbling in things we don’t understand. People have died. And Kiril...” She made a helpless gesture with the hand not holding her spoon. “We sent him west, as far away from the hills as possible. But I can’t predict if that’s good enough, or even if he’s survived. He looked pretty rough when I last saw him. Even Dal and Daren couldn’t do much.”
“Two of our strongest Healers. I miss Dal. We were close.”
“Perhaps, if horses become common, you’ll be able to get to the Motherhouse more easily.”
“How long are you staying, Quinn? I assume you’re here to check out the Terrans.”
Quinn rested her spoon in the bowl and leaned forward. “And learn from them, yes. There’s so much we don’t know about our own history, but we’ve worked out through the others that we must have come from Terra originally. The language similarity couldn’t be a coincidence.”
“Then you’ll love this. Elspeth told me their history speaks of some mysterious ships, kind of like theirs, that left hundreds of years ago and were never heard of again. They figure one of them landed here. Funny to think we arrived the same way they did. And now we have the Midland, the Northlands and Southlands, that place the other side of the hills—”
“Borgonne. That’s what they call it.”
“Borgonne.” Gwen turned it over on her tongue. “It sounds nice.”
“It isn’t. They’re just coming out of a drought, and they’ve been aggressive about getting aid from us. Cooperation isn’t their way. Take care of yourself, and if others starve, too bad.”
Gwen shuddered. “At times it’s work, living cooperatively, not falling into those same habits. But it’s worth it. I’ve always believed that’s part of what we do as Weavers.”
“I agree. So, who’s... Elspeth?” Quinn’s turn to try out an unfamiliar name.
“She’s their leader, now that they’ve landed. Before that, it was a man named Harry. We didn’t see them land the first time. It was at night and woke us all up, gave us the scare of a lifetime.” Gwen chuckled. “They moved their ship to a place not so close to Cann. I wish you’d been here to see it. It just... lifted up and floated. And it’s massive, the size of the village. There are about four hundred people living on it. But Elspeth said the move exhausted their fuel. For good or ill, they’ll stay where they are.”
“And where they are is...?”
“A good place. South of here, near the river, plenty of arable land. They actually grow food on that ship of theirs, Quinn.” Gwen’s information bubbled out, now that she had an audience to share with. “We’ll help them with seed stock, but they’ve got vegetables I’ve never seen before. Animals, too. They’re building fencing so the beasts can leave the ship.”
A child approached carrying two bowls. “Treacle tart, Sisters?”
“We’d love some, Suann,” Gwen said. “Thanks for bringing them over.”
“Happy to, Sister.” The child put the bowls on the table and fled toward the kitchen.
“Cute kid,” Quinn said.
“It’s a good life here. I don’t often feel a need to leave.”
The tarts were swimming in fresh cream. Quinn’s first bite lived up to every bit of her anticipation. “This recipe needs to get back to the Motherhouse.”
“You take it, or transmit it. We trade for beets to refine sugar – not much, but enough for the occasional treat. The abricoe pastries here use different seasonings, though. I miss the ones at the Motherhouse.”
After finishing the tarts and exchanging further information about common acquaintances and varying ways of life, Quinn got down to business. “Tell me about them. Elspeth first, I guess. Anyone else I should know.”
“Can you walk? I’ll have a look at that foot later.”
The night crashed down around them, the sun setting behind the jagged mountains to the west, but Gwen knew the lay of the flat land. After one circuit of the village, they retired to Gwen’s quarters in deference to Quinn’s foot, as she filled Quinn in on everything she’d gleaned about the Terrans. She ended with the mystery of Constance and Richard and what she concluded must be a reaction to the Aura, although she had never heard of such a thing before.
“I have. Joss experienced it mildly, and Bryar – he’s a Bard, my age, you may not remember him – got walloped by it when he tried to go to Borgonne. It’s much stronger there.”
“I never dreamed the Aura could do harm.”
“Neither did anyone. Like with the hills, we’re working with something far more powerful than we ever dreamed – and more dangerous. I’ll look forward to meeting Constance.”
“And screening her, if you can. We need to get her to the Motherhouse for training. But Weavers don’t come through this village that often, so I’ll ask you to stay here for a couple of days. Our people deserve a taste of you.”
Quinn laughed. “Fair enough. I’m worn out from the travel, anyway. I’d like time to sort myself out before I meet our mysterious three-eyed, green-skinned visitors.”
Gwen matched her laugh. “That’s the rumor? Sustainer help us. You’ll like them, you’ll see. As I said, ordinary people.”
~~
THEY LEFT BUTTER IN the capable care of the agriculturists and took a donkey cart across the plain in deference to Quinn’s mangled foot. Barely visible from the village, the ship was by far the largest structure Quinn had ever seen, dwarfing Gauvain’s tower. Its metallic outer coating gleamed in the sunlight. She felt her stomach twist in excited knots, much the way she reacted as a child when a Bard came to Colgate.
A tall woman with a blonde braid and an air of authority, who looked as if she had muscle to spare, met them and signaled one of their agriculturists to take the cart. Gwen introduced her to Elspeth, then left her there to figure it out on her own. It was a short half day’s walk between the village and the ship, and Gwen had responsibilities at home.
Below her, as Quinn stood in the entrance to their ship – Elspeth called it a hatch – almost quivering with the need to see inside, lay a busy, well organized community. Near the base of the ship were the beginnings of a settlement, more foundations than buildings but evolving to a plan. Incipient fields filled the plain between the ship and the river, which she identified by the line of forest following its meandering path. Children ran everywhere, shrieking. Their clothing was far from the tunics ubiquitous in the Midland, but nothing like Gauvain’s finery either. Not suited for farm labor in the late summer heat, she concluded as she noted that several of the men had removed their shirts. None of the women, though.
Will they strip when they jump in the river? She doubted it, given Kiril and Joss’s aversion to being naked.
“The large building will be a barn for sheep, goats, and chickens. We wanted to bring oxen, but there just wasn’t time to find a pair. Plowing was a bitch, but we’ve planted winter crops, favas, rutabagas, kale, and garlic,” Elspeth said. “It’s too late for anything else. Fortunately, we have food on board to barter. We’re all sick of fava beans.”
“I heard you have a farm in here. Hard to believe.”
“This whole adventure’s hard to believe. Making it to this place...” Elspeth shrugged. “Somehow your ancestors found a paradise, and somehow we followed you.”
Quinn laughed. “Wait till winter. You might change your mind about paradise. Can this thing keep you warm?”
Elspeth patted the outer skin of the Adventurer. “Yes. We can’t move her anymore, but the internal power supply’s nearly inexhaustible.”
“I’d like to know more about that power supply.” So far it hadn’t affected the Aura. Perhaps it was different from the power cell. She hoped so. The complications – no, nightmares – the idea conjured...
“I’d like to know more about Weavers and the Aura. We’re getting a picture of the culture from Gwen and the others who come to help or trade or just talk, but the rest of it... it sounds strange to me. Makes me uncomfortable.”
Quinn shook her head and turned to follow her hostess into the ship. “It needn’t.”
“Mysterious hills and men turning into dragons?”
Did she know the man in question was Kiril? “More like an overgrown lizard.” Quinn paused and swallowed. “I was there, and it was bad. But it happened in the hills and was directly tied to them, and you’re a long way from there. In four hundred years, nothing prepared us.”
“I assume you’ve taken steps so it won’t happen again?”
The question made Quinn uneasy. “As much as possible. The Aura is a massive topic. We’re only just realizing the extent of it.”
Elspeth must have noticed her discomfort; she changed the subject. “You’ll want to stay here for a while, I expect?” At Quinn’s nod she said, “I’ll arrange a berth for you. In the meantime, I suggest we begin our shared explorations in the mess hall – sorry, dining hall to you. I think we’ll be talking for a long time.”
Years. They wove their way through rounded metal corridors, into a box that moved them upwards, and out into a large, efficient-looking room that smelled of very good food.
They’d no sooner sat down over cups of what Elspeth called tea, similar to a popular tisane from the Southlands, when she stood and waved to a man just entering the hall. “Harry! Over here.”
The man named Harry smiled and crossed the room to their table. Their eyes met.
Quinn swallowed. He was... well. She hadn’t experienced that instant draw to anyone in a while now. Not since Kiril... but no. She refused to honor whatever it was between Kiril and her with the term attraction. That was something primal. Harry showed every sign of being civilized.
Short brown hair dusted with gray. Those blue eyes again. Elspeth had blue eyes, too, as did many of the people milling around the dining – mess – hall. However unusual they were in the Midland, clearly on Terra they weren’t anomalous.
Elspeth made the introductions. Harry didn’t break the connection as he reached out a hand to shake. “Welcome aboard.”
“Thanks.”
“Quinn’s what they call a Scribe, according to Gwen. A researcher of some sort.”
“And you’re curious about us.” He pulled out a chair and swung into it. A well-worn body, Quinn thought, not too slender, but not heavy. A man comfortable in his skin.
“Very,” she said. “And you were the one responsible for getting this...” She gestured with a hand. “All this from Terra to here? The Commander, like Kiril?”
“We heard a couple of them made it,” Harry answered. “Kiril would be Colonel McKettrick. As a guess, Joss is Sergeant Worthing.”
“Josiah,” Quinn confirmed, remembering that first meeting over a year ago.
“So you already know something about us.”
“Not enough.”
“Tea, Harry?”
He looked at Elspeth and grinned.
“Okay then. One coffee coming up.” Elspeth left them, heading for the serving line.
“We’re determined to grow coffee trees here, if not in the settlement, then further south,” Harry said. “For those of us who are virtually addicted, it’s a staple of life.”
“We have a drink called caff. It’s from a root, not a tree. You’re right about addiction.”
“Bring two,” Harry shouted across the hall. Then he nailed Quinn with that infectious grin again. “Might as well begin your education.”