Return To The Whorl Part 3

"That'd be enough?"

"Yes, I'd be very grateful."

The woman asked, "How'd you get back?"

"I don't know." He found that he was staring at the wide, warped boards of the floor, his head between his hands; he forced himself to straighten up and look at her. "The Neighbors did it. The Neighbors are the Vanished People, the people who used to live on Blue a thousand years ago. They brought me here in some fas.h.i.+on, but I don't know how."

"When did you get here?"

"Yesterday. At least, I've slept once since I got here." He strove to remember. "There was sunlight when I arrived. I'm quite certain of that."

The husband nodded. "Days don't matter much. It's sun, or no sun. If you find Silk, how're you going to take him back?"

"In a lander, I suppose. You said the G.o.ds were trying to make you go."

Both nodded, their faces grim.

"So there must be landers left, perhaps landers that have come back for more people. The G.o.ds wouldn't try to force you out if there were no way for you to leave."

The husband spat out the window again. "They don't work. That's what I hear."

"I've had some experience of that on Green." He crossed the kitchen, finding his legs stronger than he had antic.i.p.ated, and picked up his stick.

The woman said, "I'm going to fry some bacon. Haven't done it much on account of the heat. But I'm going to fry some soon as I get the stove going."

"That's very kind of you." As he spoke, he realized that he was more sincere than he had imagined. "I'm grateful--really I am. But I don't need food, and certainly don't need luxuries."

She had pushed back a curtain that had once been a sheet to search nearly empty shelves, and seemed not to have heard him. "I'll make coffee, too. Coffee's dear, but there's enough left for another pot."

He recalled the beverage of his childhood. "Mate, please. I'd like some. I haven't drunk mate in a long while."

Her husband said, "You want that seed corn? We got to fetch it out of the barn." He held a stick of his own, a thick staff more like a club than a cane.

"Yes, I do. Very much."

"All right." The husband leaned his staff against a chair, and rummaged under the table.

The woman asked him to pump, and he did so, heaving the big iron handle up and down until the rusty water was past and she had enough clean water to fill her coffeepot.

The husband pulled out a clumsy tin lantern and lit it from the lamp. "We'll go now. That'll take her a bit." An inclination of his head indicated the stove.

The woman murmured, "Coffee, bacon, and bread." She turned to face them. "That be enough?"

"More than enough. And I'd prefer mate, I really would."

The husband opened the door (letting in the ink-black dark), retrieved his staff, and raised his lantern. "Come on," he said, and they went out together.

"Is it dangerous out here? When the sun has gone out, I mean." He was thinking of the husband's staff.

"Sometimes. Horn, that's your name?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm afraid I didn't catch yours."

"Didn't throw it." The husband paused, chuckling at his joke. "You want that seed?"

"Very much." Something or someone was watching them, he felt--some cool intelligence greater than his own who could see in darkness as in daylight. He pushed the thought aside, and followed the husband, walking rapidly across dry, uneven soil as hard as iron.

"Know how to grow corn?"

"No." He hesitated, fearful that the admission would cost him the seed. "I tried once, and learned that I didn't--I had thought I did. But the seeds you give me will be planted by men who know a great deal. My task is to bring it to them."

"Won't grow in the dark."

He recalled speculating that those denied the Aureate Path might grow crops, and smiled. "Nothing does, I suppose."

"Oh, there's things. But not corn." The husband opened a wide wooden door, evoking scandalized protests from chickens. "Sun don't come back, that's the end for us. You comin'?"

He was staring upward into the pitch-black sky. "There's a point of light up there. One very small point of red light. Is it in the skylands? You have skylands here."

"That's right."

"On Blue the night sky is full of stars, thousands upon thousands of them. I'm surprised to see even one here."

"That's a city burnin'."

He looked down, horrified.

"Some city burns up there just about every time they blow the sun out. You want that corn? You come along."

He hurried into the barn.

"I grow my own seed. Two kinds. You can't let 'em cross. Or cross with any other kind, either. You know about that?"

He nodded humbly. "I think so."

"Cross 'em, and you'll get good seed. Plant it to grind and feed the stock. Don't plant the next, though. You got to go back to these old kinds and cross again. Six, you said."

"Yes. I believe that should be sufficient."

"I'm going to give you twelve. Six ain't enough." b.u.t.ter-yellow lantern light revealed dry ears hanging in bunches.

"This is very, very kind of you."

"See here? This black kind?" The husband had detached an ear.

"Yes. I thought at first that it only looked black because it's so dark; but it really is black, isn't it?"

"You take it and pull off six. Not no more. I need it."

The ear was small and rough, the seeds small too, but smooth and hard. He rubbed and tugged six free.

The husband retrieved the black ear. "See this?" It was a second ear, slightly bigger and much lighter in color. "This's the other kind I got. Red and white. You see that?"

He nodded.

"The red ones and the white ones are both the same. Don't matter what color you take."

"I understand."

"You can have three red and three white, if you want 'em. Make you feel better. Color don't make no difference though."

"I will, just to be on the safe side."

"Figured. You plant 'em in the same hill so they'll cross. You don't feed that or grind it either. Plant it. Corn'll be yellow or white. Not never red nor black."

He nodded, struggling to detach the first grain.

"Plant it, and next year you'll have a real good crop."

"Thank you. I pray that I can get this seed you're giving me back to Blue safely."

"Your lookout. Thing is, every year you got to grow some black and some red-and-white off by themselves. Got to keep 'em apart and don't let no other corn near 'em. Do like that, and you can grow more seed next year for the year after."

"I understand." He held his hand closer to the lantern, seeing in the mingled grains waving green fields, sleek horses both black and white, and fat red cattle.

The husband retrieved the seed ear. "We're goin' out now."

"All right." Carefully depositing the twelve grains of corn in a pocket, he helped the husband close the big door.

"Wolves come in closer, darkdays," the husband said almost conversationally. "Kill my sheep. Not many left."

He said, "I'm sorry to hear that," and meant it.

"Got two dogs watchin' them. Good dogs. Kick up a fuss if there's wolves around, but I don't hear 'em. Now this Silk."

It had come too suddenly. "Yes. Yes--Silk."

"He was their head man down in the city."

"Calde. Yes, he was."

"He was good out here. Got my slug gun off him. Years ago it was. Still got it, and three sh.e.l.ls I'm savin'. He's not there no more. City people run him out."

"I see. Do you know where he went? Please--this is very important to me."

"Nope." The husband set the lantern on the ground between them. "He was head man a long time. Had a wife. Pretty woman's what I heard."

"Yes, she was. Beautiful."

"Wh.o.r.e, too. That's what they said. That why you want to find him?"

"No, I want him. I want to take him to New Viron, as I said--and Hyacinth too, if she'll come. Don't you have any idea where they are?"

The husband shook his head.

"I'm sure you'd tell me if you knew. You and your wife have been extremely kind to me. Is there anything that I can for you in return? Some sort of work I could do?"

The husband said nothing, standing in silence with legs slightly separated. His heavy, k.n.o.bbed staff, grasped in his right hand at the balance, tapped the thickly callused palm of his left. The odors of coffee and frying bacon diffused from the open window of the kitchen, tantalizing them both.

"You want me to leave."

The husband nodded. "Go. Go or fight, old man. You got your stick. I got mine, and I'm tellin' you. You goin'?"

"Yes, I am." He held up the dead branch he had picked up the night before and flexed it between his hands. "I certainly won't fight you--it would be the height of ingrat.i.tude, and I've offered to leave several times already. I would greatly prefer to leave in friends.h.i.+p."

"Get!"

"I see. Then I must tell you something. I could defeat you with this, and beat you with it afterward if I chose. I won't--but I could."

The husband took a measured step toward him. "It'd break, and you're older than me."

"Yes, I suppose I am. But this stick wouldn't break, not the way I'd use it. And if you really believe the difference in our ages would give me an insurmountable handicap, it is base--very base--of you to threaten me."

When the better part of a minute had pa.s.sed, he took a step backward. "Thank your wife for me, please; she was kind to a stranger in need. So were you. Tell her, if you will, that I left of my own accord, having no wish to deplete your meager store of food."

He turned to go.

He could not have said afterward whether he had heard the blow or merely known that it would come. He swayed to his right. Whistling down, the k.n.o.bbed head sc.r.a.ped his arm and bruised the side of his knee. He pivoted as it struck the ground beside his left foot, pinned it with his foot, thrust his bloodstained stick into the husband's face and threw it aside. Half a second and the k.n.o.bbed staff was in his hands. A quick, measured blow knocked the husband flat. Another put out the lantern.

Once he turned back to look at the lighted windows of the farmhouse he was leaving; but only once.

"Need practice!" exclaimed a man older than himself who popped unbidden into his mind. "Ruins you, fighting! Spoils your technique!"

He had white whiskers and jumped about in an alarming way, but his thrusts and cuts were as precise as a surgeon's with lancet and scalpel, and incomparably faster.

I can't practice now, Master Xiphias. I need this to feel my way along.

That had been the old man's name. He repeated it under his breath, then said more loudly, "Xiphias. Master Xiphias."

Some distance away, a bird called, "Silk? Silk?" "Silk? Silk?"--its hoa.r.s.e cry shaped by chance or, as was more probable, his own mind, into the familiar name.

"Yes," he said aloud. "Silk. Patera Silk. And old Patera Pike, who must have been eighty. Also the sibyls, Maytera Rose, Maytera Marble, and General Mint."

The whorl had turned upside down, and suddenly--ever so suddenly--there had been Patera Quetzal, Patera Gulo, and Patera Incus; and Auk and Chenille, Hammerstone, Mucor, Willet, the lovely Hyacinth, and dozens of others. Running and shooting for Maytera Mint, who had continued to wear her sibyl's black bombazine gown, with a needler and an azoth in the big side pockets in which she had carried chalk.

Ginger's hand blown off, and Maytera Marble's cut off. "My mind's slipping," he confided aloud; it was comforting to hear a human voice, even if it was only his own. This rutted, gra.s.sless ground on which he walked was probably a road, a road going who-knew-where.