Chapter 13
The council was made up of men and women, some of them quite young, some very old. They all sat on the ground in an informal circle. Anyone else who wanted to hear sat outside the circle. Ondre’s wife, Ellie, escorted Is to the circle and showed her where to sit. Everyone was sitting in the same manner, on their knees with their buttocks resting on their heels, so Is sat that way too. It wasn't uncomfortable and it gave her a feeling of stability which helped her find some sense of calm.
Ellie took a place beside her. John sat directly across from her. He smiled at her but it wasn't a real smile. He was very tense and Is realized how important this meeting was to him. He had given the council the note Amil had written, but there were a lot of things Is could tell them that might help. There were also countless things she could possibly do wrong without even knowing.
They had gotten Lark situated with Celeste and one of Ondre’s wise old mares in a gorge far from the other herds. He would not get into trouble with the other stallions and even if the herders could not control Lark they could keep the mares in the canyon and Lark would not leave without them.
An old woman opened the meeting, addressing Is directly.
"We have seen you ride with John. We have heard that Ondre has extended family rites to you. On the strength of our trust in these two men, we wish also to welcome you. We have read the note John brought us, but much has happened that he cannot tell us. It would be a great help if you would tell us what you know."
Is glanced at Ondre who sat next to the woman, but his expression remained serious and remote.
Is was not sure of the protocol here. She was not sure whom she was addressing, but the woman seemed to be some sort of leader.
"I’m glad to help if I can," she said honestly and then thought how rude her words sounded after the woman's. Embarrassed she looked at John and he gave her another tense smile and made a small go-ahead hand motion.
Is started by explaining how she'd found John, which led her to telling why she had been in the Boundary, which led her to explaining why she had stolen the war horse in the first place. Then she realized she was going backward. What they wanted to know about was John. Flustered, she took up the tale again and tried to tell it all in order and coherently.
She was aware of John watching her acutely while she spoke. She had the feeling he was dying to say something, perhaps to disagree with some of her memories. She couldn't look at him at all. She tried to emulate Ondre's poise and calm while speaking in front of all these strangers, but she didn't know if she succeeded. They gave her virtually no feedback, their expressions remaining composed to the point of being unreadable. Some of the old people especially seemed to stare into the space around her without looking directly at her. No one made any comments or asked any questions. When she was done there was a long period of silence. Then one of the elders thanked her.
Is thought the meeting was over. She would be escorted away and the real talking would begin. Instead, a kind of free-for-all discussion began. Within the circle people spoke to their neighbors in quick, low voices that reminded Is of the almost-voices of the wind. She caught the words “herd fog” and “Dark Bodies” and “Mirror” passed around. The people beyond the circle remained silent.
One of the elders leaned over and spoke to John. Suddenly everyone was quiet again. Is had missed whatever signal had silenced them.
Everyone's attention focused on the elder. He looked older than anyone Is had ever seen before. His head was entirely bare of hair. The flesh of his face stretched tight across his prominent cheekbones and hooked nose. His eyes were sunken, giving his head a death skull's appearance. The top of his head was freckled with age spots. His hands, also spotted with age, rested on his thighs. There was no flesh left on those hands at all, just the bones and sinews, crisscrossed by protruding blue veins.
The elder dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of the respect the people showed by their silence.
"What they have done to John is very sophisticated." His voice creaked with age. "They have not taken away his ability to speak. As Isadora testified, he can speak. What he cannot do is form what he wants to say into words. They have disconnected that one ability without, apparently, harming anything else about his mind or body. That is extremely skillful tampering." The elder fell silent.
People began to speak quietly among themselves again.
Is found herself trying to understand what this must be like for John. She had lived years with only her animals and no real need for speech. But for John it was different. He had something very important to say to his people. But now that Is had seen his people, she suspected that even if there had been no message to deliver, John would not have been happy without speech. Speech was a part of who he was, and how he related to all these people. Also, he had been a scholar. Words and books, poetry and songs must be to him like her riding was to her - art, the essence of what his life was about. Unexpectedly tears welled up in her eyes. If suddenly she could not ride again it would be more than the loss of something she liked to do. It would be the loss of who she was, and of what was important about her, and to her. It would not be like the loss of an arm or a leg; it would be the loss of what was inside her. For John, what he had lost must feel like that.
Is missed whatever signal was given to end the meeting. People were getting up. Ellie stood beside her waiting. Is scrambled to her feet and nearly fell over. Two men caught her as she almost careened into them. For a wild moment she couldn't understand what was happening to her. She had lost control of her legs and there was no feeling in her feet. Through her own rising panic she realized that everyone was looking at her. But their eyes were shining and a few of them laughed out loud.
"Your feet have gone to sleep," said one of the men holding her.
"Happens when you're not used to sitting that way," the other man explained.
"You could have sat cross-legged," a woman offered. "It would have been all right." But Is had not seen anyone else sitting that way.
The feeling was coming back into her feet with a sensation like a million hot needles being jabbed into her skin.
"You should walk," one of the men instructed and he began to walk her around.
Is tried to make her legs work. Her knees wanted to buckle at odd moments and her feet couldn't feel the ground. Without feedback from them it was hard to keep her balance. She didn't want to lean against this strange man but she had no choice. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.
Fortunately it only took a few minutes before she could navigate on her own again. Ellie took her in charge.
They walked through the village which was made up of about eighty dome-shaped tents. They were similar to John's tent, but larger. Is had lost track of John. She supposed he had gone with the woman who had kissed him.
The inside of Ellie's tent was warm and glowed with a reddish cast from a small wood stove in the center. It smelled of a delicious sweet tea Ondre was brewing for them. Is had not realized how tense she was until she had a moment to sit in that warm quiet place. The tea seemed to be a mild stimulant and with Ondre’s gentle prodding Is found herself recounting her story all over again.
Unlike the people at the council, Ondre kept stopping her and making her back up and remember details. All the things she had not thought the council wanted to hear began to come out.
When she told Ondre about riding Lark for the Blueskins, she said, "I wanted them to think he was a dangerous war horse and I was their only way of controlling him, but he isn't, and they must have seen that. They treated me like dirt. I guess I would have been a slave, or something, if John hadn't rescued me."
"My god, child," Ellie interrupted. "If they didn't rape you, they must have thought you were the next thing to a god!"
"And you kept up with them walking all night," Ondre said. "That's not easy." But his eyes said something different to his
wife and Is felt a little shudder of warning run through her as she went on with her tale.
Ondre laughed when she told him how John had beaten Chest. He made her recount every detail of that odd fight. But Is couldn't tell him much.
"It was like magic. John barely seemed to touch the Blueskin. But he must have done something I couldn't see." Her description sparked an animated discussion between Ondre and his wife and eventually Is understood that they were discussing what "techniques" John had used to throw and disarm Chest.
“You know what he did?” she asked Ondre. “You know how to fight like that too?”
“Yes,” Ondre assured her. “We all know how to fight like that.”
Is wondered if she might be able to learn too, but she was too well trained in Alliance protocol to ask, or to even dare hope for it.
Ondre laughed gleefully when she told him about the outlaws who had attacked John. She could see that he loved and admired his brother. Some place in her heart woke and hurt. She would never have family like this.
They were intensely interested in the old man, Amil, and the whip-thin dog that had followed them but must have shied away when the other men appeared. No one had seen the dog since. Again she felt that something passed between Ondre and his wife, a question from one and an answer from the other, all without words or overt looks.
When Is came to the part about how she'd gotten separated from John in the fog - which she had barely mentioned to the council because it seemed so confusing and unlikely - Ondre was fascinated. This time she saw him openly catch his wife's eye.
"A herd fog? In the first valley? I've never heard of one that close before."
Then Is found herself telling them about the dark figures that had come around John that one night by the fire.
"You heard them speak?" Ellie asked, implying that she believed Is had seen something. "You heard words?"
"Yes, but I couldn't understand them. They all talked at once, over each other."
"They touched John?" Ondre asked. "You're sure?"
"Yes. Was that bad?"
"Not necessarily. They can be frightening. But there have been times when they seem to have acted to help someone too."
"When you were lost, you said the fog was blown away. That could have been them," Ellie put in. "The fog sometimes takes travelers miles off their route. Some people have died because of it."
Is felt the stirring of a very deep fear. "I thought it was all a dream. Inside the fog I was on foot. Then suddenly, I was with John again like nothing had happened. And he spoke, but in a riddle, and then he was gone, but Lark was there. I thought it was all a dream, but . . ." She held out her arm, showing the long, partially healed scrapes. Ondre took her hand and examined the arm carefully. Is knew what he was thinking. Those cuts were too well healed to be only three days old, the three days it had taken them to ride from what he called the first valley to the village. He exchanged a glance with Ellie. Neither one said anything.
"I don't know what really happened." It was the first time Is had confessed that, even to herself. She saw Ondre meet his wife's eyes again before he answered.
"If you want to find out, we probably can help," Ondre said. But Is saw the look of alarm in Ellie's eyes.
Is felt the hair stir on her arms. "Is it important to know?"
"It might be," Ondre said, "especially if you go with John."
"Why would I do that?" Is blurted, surprised by the idea. She had understood that John was going to look for the Mirror/non-mirror thing, but that had not seemed to concern her. As far as Amil had understood the message, John seemed to expect her to stay with his people.
"You might be able to help John."
"Ond . . ." his wife rebuked him.
"No, Ellie, she needs to know."
"Yes, but Ondre, she is Alliance trained." Ellie's voice sank to an urgent whisper, intensely uncomfortable talking about Is in front of her.
"I'm sorry," Ondre said. "I understand some of what the Alliance does to its people. But she’s here now. She’ll have to learn to make decisions and take responsibility for herself." There was a touch of surliness in his voice Is hadn't heard before. People had always been angry with her for wanting to know too much. Now it seemed that he was getting mad because she didn't know enough.
They were interrupted by a girl's voice outside the tent. Ellie answered and the tent flap lifted and a young woman entered. She smiled shyly at Is. She had the beautiful blond hair and blue eyes of many of John's people. She acknowledged Ondre with a smile and spoke to Ellie.
"Mother wanted me to tell you, we are going to have a feast. You will bring Isadora?"
Ellie laughed. "Of course," she said as though she should have expected this. "Of course we will come."
Is felt her heart sink. She dreaded facing so many people but she tried to tell herself it couldn't be worse than being thrown into the government school. In fact, it was bound to be better.
Ondre left with the girl and Is was alone with Ellie.
Is was suddenly aware of how dirty she was. She had only her patched-together part-cloth part-animal-skin clothing and although she had washed in streams whenever she could tolerate the cold water, the dirt and smoke from the cook fires was ingrained in her clothes, skin, and hair.
Ellie chatted pleasantly while she brought out soap and shampoo. Water was heated by dropping the hot stones that lined the stove into a bucket. It made the water a degree more bearable than the snow-melt streams Is had been using.
"There is a hot spring we often use," Ellie said apologetically. "But it is a two-hour ride."
Ellie's clothes fit Is well enough. The coolcloth onesuit was undoubtedly stolen. Only people high in the government wore coolcloth. It molded to Is's body but without binding. She could move in any direction without hindrance. It felt wonderful. But she was shy to wear it in front of people until she saw what Ellie was going to wear.
Ellie's skirt hung low on her ample hips and reached to her ankles. It was also coolcloth, but patterned like a field in flower where Is's onesuit was all one shade of deep blue. Ellie's breasts were bare. Her blond hair was pulled to the side and braided so it fell over one shoulder. She had woven a string of black polished river stones into it. Her feet were bare. Is thought Ellie was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.
She began to feel less conspicuous in her onesuit. It covered her breasts quite modestly and was in no way interesting to look at.
She allowed Ellie to braid her thick dark hair and tie it up in an intricate knot on top of her head, until only a few wisps fell about her ears and neck. She didn't see Ellie braid a string of glistening white shells into it.
They were walking toward the area where the feast would be held when John came out of a tent. The moment he saw Is he hurried to her. She was unprepared for the leap of joy her heart felt. He came right up to her, clasped her arms to her sides and looked deep into her eyes. Feeling overwhelmed by everything, she was afraid she would cry. When he pulled her against him she didn't resist. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him. She stood feeling his body against hers, amazed at how her body responded. She smelled the clean male smell of him, different from the sweat and smoke smell she'd known. For a long moment everyone else might as well have ceased to exist.
When John let go of her, he took Ellie in his arms and hugged her too. Is felt confused and disappointed. It was just his way of greeting people.
He seemed to have his own direction to go. Is let Ellie lead her away.
Somewhere ahead drums began beating like a pulse. People had collected around a big pit full of coals. Meat was being roasted on spits and tubers were cooking in the ashes. People sat gossiping while they tended their cooking. Children raced around chasing each other and playing with hoops they rolled on the ground and tossed through the air.
The drumbeat drew Is.
Ellie excused herself to go help with t
he cooking and Is went closer to the musicians. Some people were already dancing on the bare hard-packed ground where the drummers played. Is was fascinated by the sound. The drum players moved their hands in sensuous and delightful ways producing an amazing variation in sound by using the heels of their hands, the flat, or the fingers. The beats interwove with one another in impossibly intricate patterns. Is couldn't imagine being so in tune with other people as to be able to make music like that with them. She imagined it to be like the magic that could happen between a horse and rider, only with other people. She had never thought about the possibility. She looked from one player to the next and thought, they must love each other in a special way to play together like this.
One of the women began to sing. Sustained, mournful vowel sounds issued from her open throat, startling, and yet perfect. A man's voice joined hers, working a pattern of deeper, shorter notes through her song. Enraptured by the music, Is didn't see Petre approach.
He stood with her awhile, watching her enjoy the music. He didn't speak until she noticed him.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Is felt suddenly flushed and confused as though she had been caught doing something too private to be shared.
Petre's words somehow cheapened the music. Beautiful? It was so much more than that. But Is also recognized that he was trying to be friendly. He was trying to reach out to her the way people did, through words.
"Yes." She had to clear her throat. "Yes. It is."
His smile said more than any words.
"I hoped you would let me show you around. This must be very different from what you are used to. I would like to help you feel at home."
Is's mind whirled. Was he offering her protection? He was much more polite than the boys at the government school, or the men at the Equestrienne, but it could be the same thing. Was he claiming her? If she went with him, what was she agreeing to? She meant to confront him but there was such an earnest hopefulness in his face, Is hesitated. There was no trace of the calculating, victorious, demeaning things she was expecting to see.
He took her eye contact for consent and a smile came up from deep within him, joy-filled.
She went with him, despite feeling more unsure and off balance than ever. He introduced her to his friends, fielded questions whenever she didn't know how to answer, and made her feel . . . protected.
She studied the interactions between people. There were obvious couples. Yet they were different from the couples Is was used to. There was no blatant possessiveness. The men did not dominate the encounters. The women were as likely to speak to her as the men were, and without jealousy or any obvious attempt to show her up.
Not everyone was coupled. There were groups of unattached men. Is felt them looking at her, obviously sizing her up in sexual terms not unlike the boys at the government school.
What surprised her were the groups of unclaimed women. In the government school they would have belonged to one man or another. Perhaps it was just more subtle here, but Is couldn't see it.
No one seemed to be making a serious challenge to Petre's claim on her. That could only mean he was very powerful and feared. If that were the case, he must have other women and maybe men under his "protection." Is tried to discover who else belonged to Petre, but again she couldn't tell.
No one seemed afraid of him. In fact there was much humor at his expense. But Petre never seemed to take offense. Is was becoming more perplexed by the minute. Nothing she had learned about people seemed to apply.
The Hluit wore a great variety of clothing. Most people went bare above the waist, but not all. Some had painted themselves, or wore polished stones, shells, or feathers for decoration. Others seemed not to have bothered to change from clothes they had worked in that day. There was an intermixing of everything from tanned animal hides, to woven plant fiber cloth, to the expensive exotic Alliance coolcloth. Most of the men wore their hair as long as most of the women did, and some of the women wore theirs short. Many of the men had taken as much care with their dressing and body ornaments as the women had.
Petre had covered himself more than most men his age, who seemed to delight in displaying their bodies. Is felt shy, scared and fascinated all at the same time by the nudity of their upper bodies. She was glad Petre was more covered.
She caught people looking her over when they didn't think she was noticing. Her dark skin and hair must seem exotic to them. Perhaps no one contested Petre's claim because they found her ugly. But in the government schools that wouldn't have mattered. Ugly or not, fighting over her would have been a way for someone to prove, or lose, their power. The more beautiful or sexy a girl was, the more power could be had by owning her. But even an ugly or flat-chested girl could make herself an item in the power struggle if she played the game right. Other than Is, the only people who hadn't been worth anything to anyone were a few kids who were too retarded, mentally or physically, to fit in. But Petre did not seem to be like those rejected ones, and the way some of the men looked at her, Is knew she hadn't been immediately dumped into that category either.
One of Petre's friends offered her a juice fruit with a hollow stick stuck into it. Is had noticed that other people were sucking on them. It had a strangely bitter aftertaste. When Is made a face, Petre explained it had alcohol in it. Is had never drunk alcohol before. In the government schools you had to be highly connected to get such a contraband substance.
Food was set out on blankets and everyone helped themselves. If there was any order or etiquette Is couldn't detect it. Somehow Petre was always near, unobtrusively guiding her.
Through it all, the drums continued like a heartbeat. People began to gravitate over to the players. Is watched them dance. Dances taught in the government schools had intricate footwork, but people held their bodies stiffly. Here the steps could be as simple as a shuffling of the feet, but the body movements were fluid and gorgeous. Some people were elegant dancers. While they hardly appeared to move, they somehow conveyed the music through their bodies so gracefully Is was fascinated. Other people moved energetically, spinning around, jumping in the air, doing back bends and splits and hand stands that seemed impossible.
Some couples danced together, bringing their bodies close with sensual movements that made Is feel funny inside. In the government school, half that amount of touching would have brought swift punishment.
Not everyone danced in couples. Groups formed, dancing together and then drifting apart. Sometimes one person or group would seem to take center stage. Others might stop dancing to watch. The drummers seemed to understand what kind of beat was wanted and then a special thing would happen between the dancer and the drummers.
In all their various styles the people seemed exotic to Is. She was intimidated by their grace and freedom and even by their good spirits. She felt overwhelmingly out of place.
She saw John dancing with the woman he had kissed. He motioned to her as though she should come and join them. But she could not do that.
Ondre and Ellie tried to get her to dance with them too.
Now that the cooking was done, people had built the fire up. It cast an orange glow on the dancers. Blond hair turned to burnished gold, set off by deepening violet shadows.
"May I have the honor of dancing with you?" Petre asked, startling Is. She had forgotten him standing beside her.
“I don't know how," she stammered.
His eyebrows went up. She had surprised him, but in a second he recovered.
"There’s nothing to know. You let the music come into your body and go out again."
Is shook her head, too afraid to speak.
"Look, I will show you."
Is wanted to bolt away from him.
"Look, look," he called to her. "See, the music comes into my foot through the ground." His foot began to tap and then to flop about in a most comical way. Several people stopped to watch. They laughed.
Is did not want to be the center of attention. She felt more intimidated than ever.
"Look," Petre insisted. "It starts in my foot and goes up my leg." His leg began to bounce as if it had a life of its own. More people were stopping to watch.
"Now the other foot is getting it," Petre said, and while his right foot was bouncing and hopping most energetically, his left somehow began to twitch and give an occasional hop. People were forming a circle around them now, laughing and calling encouragement to his backward left foot.
"And the music gets into my right arm," he informed Is, while his right arm began to jerk and wave about.
"Come on, left arm," he said, and with his right hand he picked up his limp left arm and shook it, all the while dancing with his right foot and giving strange little awkward jumps and taps with his left. Slowly, his left arm seemed to get the idea. But when he let go of it, it immediately fell limply to his side. The crowd that had gathered let out a collective "ahhh" of disappointment.
Petre picked up his left arm again and made it dance. This time when he let it go, it danced on a moment before falling to his side. Once more an “ahhh” rose from the watchers and now a much bigger crowd had gathered. So again Petre picked up his arm, and this time it responded. So now he was dancing energetically with his right leg and arm and awkwardly with his left leg and arm. Is couldn't help but laugh. But aside from Petre's clowning she was aware of how athletic he must be.
"And then the music gets into my center," he said, and slapped his belly. Instantly he was transformed. His whole body knew how to dance. He leapt and spun, and the drums went faster and faster. Most of the dancers had stopped to watch. Some called encouragement. Some clapped their hands faster and faster with the music. Finally, throwing his arms wide, Petre gave one last magnificent spinning jump into the air and landed, arms and legs thrown wide, in front of Is. The drums rolled to a stop and then began again, slower.
Petre stood in front of her, grinning and panting for breath. The people applauded by slapping their hands on their thighs. Petre acknowledged them with a funny bow. Then he looked at Is, head cocked to the side.
He began to tap his right foot again pointedly. The people were still surrounding her, watching. The pressure of their eyes made her try.
She tapped her right foot, following Petre’s lead. Encouraged, he began with the left foot. She imitated the best she could. He began waving one arm. She followed suit. He added the other arm. So did she. He began to weave and dance with his body. She tried to imitate and felt awkward and stiff. People laughed and clapped, calling encouragement. She tried to jump the way Petre jumped. It was much harder than he had made it look but now she was having fun. She tried one of his spins and nearly fell down. Hands caught her and set her back on her feet in the circle. She laughed, surprising herself. Petre baited her with all kinds of exotic jumps and spins. Is tried them. Other people tried them too and added their own flourishes. Soon everyone was dancing.
Is found herself dancing with another man and then another woman. Where had Petre gone? And then she was in a line, holding hands with strangers, snaking through the other dancers. Then that formation fell apart and she was coupled with someone else, and then someone else. Sometimes she saw Petre dancing with other people. He always caught her eye and smiled at her.
Is danced until she was exhausted and too out of breath to go on.
Petre reappeared at her side, breathing hard, but grinning. Without warning he threw his arms around her and pulled her against him. The feeling that went through her body was like an electric shock. Her heart got all out of time. Her arms and legs were instantly weak. Her mind tried to tell her several contradictory things at once: He was claiming her. No, it wasn't like that here. He expected her to "pay" him for his protection. No, it wasn't that sort of hug. She couldn't tell, the reaction of her own body was so intense and unexpected. Part of her mind was trying to tell her it was okay to do what Petre wanted. She should try to get along better here than she had in the schools. She should do whatever that took. But she couldn't. She knew she couldn't!
Petre released her as unexpectedly as he had hugged her. She tried to walk away from him. Her legs felt funny and she stumbled. Petre put his arm around her waist and steadied her against his side as she walked. She surprised herself by allowing his support.
"The alcohol," he said. "It creeps up on you." He was sweaty, but Is was enthralled by his smell and touch.
He got her a cup of water from a bucket and they sat on a little rise overlooking what was left of the fire. There were only a few dancers still going, dark silhouettes moving around the glowing coals. Petre didn't touch her any more and Is began to relax. She could feel the beat of the drums as though it were the pulse of the mountains. Half-formed thoughts and small hopes chased through her mind riding that beat. She wouldn't let any of them stay.
They sat while the coals burned down to a dim red glow and one drummer after another dropped out until the last drum fell silent. Only a few people sat around the coals now, their still forms dark against its shimmer-rippling warmth. Where had everyone gone? Is had not noticed them leaving. Had she dozed?
Petre was still sitting beside her. What would he think? What was she supposed to do now?
"May I walk you home?"
Petre's words startled Is into realizing she didn't know where "home" was. Ondre had said she could live with him and Ellie, but Is didn't remember how to get to their tent. She didn't think she could distinguish it from all the others, especially in the dark and it was only one room. They wouldn't want her there, not really.
"I think I’ll just pitch my own tent."
"I'll show you where Ondre put your things."
Is was suddenly afraid that Petre had invited himself to spend the night with her. He insisted on carrying some of her stuff. He showed her which one was Ellie and Ondre's tent and suggested she might want to be close to them. He hesitated a little.
“Would you like help putting it up?”
“Oh, no thanks,” she answered quickly, wanting him to know he was not to stay and also not wanting him to see the crude tent she had made for herself.
"Well, good night."
"Good night." She wondered if the relief she felt showed in her voice.
"I hope you feel welcome here," he said. "I hope you like us."
She wondered if he had wanted to say, "I hope you like me."
In a sudden rush of gratitude, she said, "I do," and added, "Thank you."
He laughed softly. "Thank you," he said and walked away.