saw Terje.
She recognized his hands, paler than hers or any of the marked figures’. He wore a face carved out of wood, with a terrible scowl on it. She wanted to laugh at such a fierce mask on Terje’s face, and she realized then how frightened she was. They were together again, close enough to touch each other, but she couldn’t speak to him. He, too, was cloaked in fur, but his hands gathered the fur, closed in front of him, and his shoulders were hunched as though he were still cold. He didn’t know her behind her mask.
Maybe,
she thought,
if I get close enough to him, wecan run.
But all the mask-people merged into a single line, then, with Terje near the front. They began walking on a trail along the cliff that sloped gently toward the River, and Kyreol could do nothing but follow.
She saw boats moored in the distance and cheered up slightly.
We can steal a boat and sail away
. . . They were odd-looking boats, like little quarter-moons in the water. In the distance, she began to hear drums.
For some reason they frightened her more than anything else. Their voices were deep, hard, fast. A reed-face turned to a mud-face then and said something. Kyreol realized for the first time that, like birds, they spoke a different language.
Even her bones felt cold, then. She wondered if the River had tossed them into an entirely different world, if it were a path between two points in the sky, or between two dreams.
How can I say my name?
she thought, panicked.
That I am Kyreol of River-Tree and Turtle-Crossing, a safe place where people don’t wear masks or steal each other away?
Fortunately, no one said anything to her. The trail ended on a sandy shore where the boats were moored. They all clambered into the boats, their big masks bumping together as they knelt down. They faced downriver, and Kyreol wondered if they scared the fish. She watched the dip and circle of oars as they sped through the water toward the deep, violent voices of the drums. In a boat ahead, Terje sat still, his head bent. She wondered what he was thinking.
The boats angled across the river. The dark cliffs rose higher, towering against the sky. They changedas Kyreol looked at them. One moment they were simply stone walls bordering the river, with odd patterns of ridges and holes in them. The next moment, the patterns turned into stairs, walkways, doors, windows, carved into the rock.
They live in the cliffs,
Kyreol thought, and remembered the painting of the cliff-dwelling inside the caves.
More masks met them as they got out of the boats. The drums roared in triumph, then stopped abruptly. The crowd waiting on the shore parted, and a sunmask walked through them.
The mask was a huge, round disk woven of reeds, then painted gold. The Sun had round eyes and a round mouth, and cheeks painted with green growing things. The masks from the boats greeted the Sun, and a woman’s voice spoke in answer. Terje was brought forward. They took off his mask, so Kyreol could see his dirty, startled face. The Sun-Woman touched his hair. Then she took off her own mask.
Her hair was fair as Terje’s. The crowd murmured behind her. The drums sounded again, softly. The woman said something to Terje. He shook his head a little. She snapped her fingers, and people from the crowd moved forward.
They took his fur cloak off, replaced it with a long cloak of tanned hide, painted with a swirl of masks and bodies. They put a spear in one of his hands and a bone knife in the other. When they began painting a moon-flash on his face with dye from a bowl the color of blood, something deep inside Kyreol that responded without words to dreams and the world lurched her whole body forward a step.
The Sun-Woman glanced absently toward the movement. Since she had already taken one step, Kyreol took another. Then another. Reed-Face moved strangely, jerkily toward Sun-Face, who had begun to frown. The bone rattle in Kyreol’s hand dropped to her feet. She moved close enough to
She recognized his hands, paler than hers or any of the marked figures’. He wore a face carved out of wood, with a terrible scowl on it. She wanted to laugh at such a fierce mask on Terje’s face, and she realized then how frightened she was. They were together again, close enough to touch each other, but she couldn’t speak to him. He, too, was cloaked in fur, but his hands gathered the fur, closed in front of him, and his shoulders were hunched as though he were still cold. He didn’t know her behind her mask.
Maybe,
she thought,
if I get close enough to him, wecan run.
But all the mask-people merged into a single line, then, with Terje near the front. They began walking on a trail along the cliff that sloped gently toward the River, and Kyreol could do nothing but follow.
She saw boats moored in the distance and cheered up slightly.
We can steal a boat and sail away
. . . They were odd-looking boats, like little quarter-moons in the water. In the distance, she began to hear drums.
For some reason they frightened her more than anything else. Their voices were deep, hard, fast. A reed-face turned to a mud-face then and said something. Kyreol realized for the first time that, like birds, they spoke a different language.
Even her bones felt cold, then. She wondered if the River had tossed them into an entirely different world, if it were a path between two points in the sky, or between two dreams.
How can I say my name?
she thought, panicked.
That I am Kyreol of River-Tree and Turtle-Crossing, a safe place where people don’t wear masks or steal each other away?
Fortunately, no one said anything to her. The trail ended on a sandy shore where the boats were moored. They all clambered into the boats, their big masks bumping together as they knelt down. They faced downriver, and Kyreol wondered if they scared the fish. She watched the dip and circle of oars as they sped through the water toward the deep, violent voices of the drums. In a boat ahead, Terje sat still, his head bent. She wondered what he was thinking.
The boats angled across the river. The dark cliffs rose higher, towering against the sky. They changedas Kyreol looked at them. One moment they were simply stone walls bordering the river, with odd patterns of ridges and holes in them. The next moment, the patterns turned into stairs, walkways, doors, windows, carved into the rock.
They live in the cliffs,
Kyreol thought, and remembered the painting of the cliff-dwelling inside the caves.
More masks met them as they got out of the boats. The drums roared in triumph, then stopped abruptly. The crowd waiting on the shore parted, and a sunmask walked through them.
The mask was a huge, round disk woven of reeds, then painted gold. The Sun had round eyes and a round mouth, and cheeks painted with green growing things. The masks from the boats greeted the Sun, and a woman’s voice spoke in answer. Terje was brought forward. They took off his mask, so Kyreol could see his dirty, startled face. The Sun-Woman touched his hair. Then she took off her own mask.
Her hair was fair as Terje’s. The crowd murmured behind her. The drums sounded again, softly. The woman said something to Terje. He shook his head a little. She snapped her fingers, and people from the crowd moved forward.
They took his fur cloak off, replaced it with a long cloak of tanned hide, painted with a swirl of masks and bodies. They put a spear in one of his hands and a bone knife in the other. When they began painting a moon-flash on his face with dye from a bowl the color of blood, something deep inside Kyreol that responded without words to dreams and the world lurched her whole body forward a step.
The Sun-Woman glanced absently toward the movement. Since she had already taken one step, Kyreol took another. Then another. Reed-Face moved strangely, jerkily toward Sun-Face, who had begun to frown. The bone rattle in Kyreol’s hand dropped to her feet. She moved close enough to
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