time, and flung him down in the leaves with a jolt that knocked the breath from him. And slapped him after.
"Breathe, dammit, breathe."
He tried. He gasped. And Duun lay down on him and panted. Their hearts jolted one against the other and the pain kept time with it.
Another climb. Duun had gotten him on his feet again. Thorn had no memory how. "The road's not far," Duun said. "They won't come above it.
Come on."
And sitting then, sitting on a flat roadside stone where Duun set him, Duun holding him with one hand about his arms and the other against his chest. There was color in the world. It was dawn.
56
Cuckoo's Egg
"Breathe. You've got to walk again."
"Yes," he said. He questioned nothing. Duun was Duun, source and force.
Like the sun, the wind. He sat a moment and got up again, his heart hammering, his body swaying in the height of the world, with the treetops like black water whispering below them.
They walked. He and Duun. Duun's hand in his belt; Duun dragged his sound arm about his ribs and held it by the wrist. Going was easier on the road. Thorn's feet discovered pain, lacerations that small stones wore at.
His mouth was dry as the silken dust. The wind was cold on his bare skin and Duun was warm.
Another rest. "Sit down," Duun said. "Sit down." And drew him against him and held him in his arms.
"Why did they shoot?" Thorn asked, because that answer eluded him.
"Duun, why?"
"You scared them," Duun said. "They thought you'd harm them."
Scared them. Scared them. Thorn recalled the children. He shivered.
Duun's arms clenched him hard.
"Fool," Duun said. He deserved it. He was ashamed.
He slept. He opened his eyes on the ceiling of the big room in the house with no memory how he had gotten from the road. He heard Duun coming and going. (Guard your sleep, minnow. Dared he sleep?)
"Drink," Duun ordered him, lifting his head, setting a cup to his lips. He turned his head away, not wanting to be twice victim. (Fool. Won't you learn?) " Drink, damn you, Thorn."
He blinked, all hazy. "Livhl—"
"Dammit, no. I'm telling you drink, this time."
57
Cuckoo's Egg
He drank. It was sweetened tea. It hit his stomach and lay there inert and he was glad to have his head down at level again before it should come up.
"I lost," he said. "You beat me, Duun."
"Be still." Duun's maimed hand brushed at his hair. (Duun holding him, Duun playing games, Duun touching him that way long, long ago.) "Meds are on their way. I called them. Hear?"
"Don't want meds." (Ellud standing in the room. An old friend, Duun said.
Be polite.) "Duun, tell them don't."
"Hush. Be still." The touch came at his hair again. At his face. "Rest.
Sleep. It's all right. Hear?"
(Duun in the bedroom door at night. Go to sleep, little fish. There were no black threads in the doorway. No games. Go to sleep now, minnow.) 58
Cuckoo's Egg
V
"They'll pay for it," Ellud said. Ellud had come with the meds. The house stank of disinfectants, of bandage and gel and blood. And Thorn's distress.
Duun folded his arms and gazed at the hearthstones. At dead ash. "They have to," Ellud said. "Don't they?"
There was criticism implied. Duun looked around at Ellud and stared.
Ellud flinched as Ellud had done sixteen years ago. But it took longer.
There was wrath in Ellud now. There was offended justice. "Anything,"
Duun reminded him hoarsely. "But no. Don't charge them."
"You've left me with no choice. They fired on you."
"Did they? I don't remember that."
"They called the magistrate. They confessed. They know what they did."
"So." Duun walked away toward the closed door. The medicinal smells offended his nostrils. His ears lay down. He limped. Every muscle he owned was strained. Ellud wore his city clothes, immaculate. Duun wore nothing but a small-kilt. And let the scars show. He might have worn the hatani cloak. He had left it hanging. "I'll talk to them, Ellud. No charges."
"They can't do a thing like that and get away with
"Breathe, dammit, breathe."
He tried. He gasped. And Duun lay down on him and panted. Their hearts jolted one against the other and the pain kept time with it.
Another climb. Duun had gotten him on his feet again. Thorn had no memory how. "The road's not far," Duun said. "They won't come above it.
Come on."
And sitting then, sitting on a flat roadside stone where Duun set him, Duun holding him with one hand about his arms and the other against his chest. There was color in the world. It was dawn.
56
Cuckoo's Egg
"Breathe. You've got to walk again."
"Yes," he said. He questioned nothing. Duun was Duun, source and force.
Like the sun, the wind. He sat a moment and got up again, his heart hammering, his body swaying in the height of the world, with the treetops like black water whispering below them.
They walked. He and Duun. Duun's hand in his belt; Duun dragged his sound arm about his ribs and held it by the wrist. Going was easier on the road. Thorn's feet discovered pain, lacerations that small stones wore at.
His mouth was dry as the silken dust. The wind was cold on his bare skin and Duun was warm.
Another rest. "Sit down," Duun said. "Sit down." And drew him against him and held him in his arms.
"Why did they shoot?" Thorn asked, because that answer eluded him.
"Duun, why?"
"You scared them," Duun said. "They thought you'd harm them."
Scared them. Scared them. Thorn recalled the children. He shivered.
Duun's arms clenched him hard.
"Fool," Duun said. He deserved it. He was ashamed.
He slept. He opened his eyes on the ceiling of the big room in the house with no memory how he had gotten from the road. He heard Duun coming and going. (Guard your sleep, minnow. Dared he sleep?)
"Drink," Duun ordered him, lifting his head, setting a cup to his lips. He turned his head away, not wanting to be twice victim. (Fool. Won't you learn?) " Drink, damn you, Thorn."
He blinked, all hazy. "Livhl—"
"Dammit, no. I'm telling you drink, this time."
57
Cuckoo's Egg
He drank. It was sweetened tea. It hit his stomach and lay there inert and he was glad to have his head down at level again before it should come up.
"I lost," he said. "You beat me, Duun."
"Be still." Duun's maimed hand brushed at his hair. (Duun holding him, Duun playing games, Duun touching him that way long, long ago.) "Meds are on their way. I called them. Hear?"
"Don't want meds." (Ellud standing in the room. An old friend, Duun said.
Be polite.) "Duun, tell them don't."
"Hush. Be still." The touch came at his hair again. At his face. "Rest.
Sleep. It's all right. Hear?"
(Duun in the bedroom door at night. Go to sleep, little fish. There were no black threads in the doorway. No games. Go to sleep now, minnow.) 58
Cuckoo's Egg
V
"They'll pay for it," Ellud said. Ellud had come with the meds. The house stank of disinfectants, of bandage and gel and blood. And Thorn's distress.
Duun folded his arms and gazed at the hearthstones. At dead ash. "They have to," Ellud said. "Don't they?"
There was criticism implied. Duun looked around at Ellud and stared.
Ellud flinched as Ellud had done sixteen years ago. But it took longer.
There was wrath in Ellud now. There was offended justice. "Anything,"
Duun reminded him hoarsely. "But no. Don't charge them."
"You've left me with no choice. They fired on you."
"Did they? I don't remember that."
"They called the magistrate. They confessed. They know what they did."
"So." Duun walked away toward the closed door. The medicinal smells offended his nostrils. His ears lay down. He limped. Every muscle he owned was strained. Ellud wore his city clothes, immaculate. Duun wore nothing but a small-kilt. And let the scars show. He might have worn the hatani cloak. He had left it hanging. "I'll talk to them, Ellud. No charges."
"They can't do a thing like that and get away with
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