The Outskirter's Secret by Rosemary Kirstein Page A
Authors: Rosemary Kirstein
Tags: Rowan, bel, inner lands, outskirter, steerswoman, steerswomen, blackgrass, guidestar, outskirts, redgrass, slado
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tracked off
into the night, leaving Rowan to follow. Behind, the warriors
dispersed, one by one.
5
" H ow safe is
it, traveling in the dark like this?"
Bel was long in answering. "Not at all."
They had walked some time in silence. The
raider tribe's camp was already two miles behind, hidden by low
brush and a small copse of spruce. Looking back, Rowan saw no
light; the fire was either blocked by trees, or had been finally
extinguished.
Before them, the landscape was a vague
starlit sweep of hilly meadow, with a dark loom of forest to the
north, smaller blots of trees scattered to the east. Rowan followed
Bel, a half step behind and to the Outskirter's left. The
steerswoman realized that they had exactly reversed their usual
positions. In the Inner Lands, Rowan had always led, a half step
ahead, on the right.
"Do you know this area?"
Bel replied with an expressionless "No."
Rowan's step faltered. "How are you guiding
us?"
"By my ears." The Outskirter paused, and both
women listened.
A breeze rose, and the meadow grass hissed
and visibly undulated, rolling black shadows like fleeing beasts.
Behind, the spruce and brush gave out muted rattles, branches
cushioned by leaves and green needles. Ahead: a series of harsh
high clatterings, like brittle brush bare of leaves. Three sources
of this sound: one nearby to the right, one farther away and
straight ahead, one distant and slightly to the left. When the wind
shifted, Rowan could hear from the forest to the north the sound of
water over stones.
Eventually, Rowan asked, "What does a goblin
sound like?" Near the raiders' familiar fire, the threat had seemed
abstract, unlikely; here, nearly blind, in unknown territory with
both Guidestars weirdly shifted west, she found the possibility
disturbingly believable.
Bel provided the information reluctantly.
"Alone, like a man walking quickly." She led on, angling to the
right. "In a group, they call to each other." She stumbled on an
unseen tussock, and Rowan managed to catch at her arm and prevent
her from falling.
"What sort of call?"
Bel recovered, readjusted her pack, and
continued. "A sort of rasping squeal, and a rattle." A pause. "I'd
imitate it, but I might draw one."
Rowan drew up short. "Not that rattle we're
moving toward?"
"No. That's tanglebrush."
The Outskirter was disinclined to converse.
Rowan left her friend to silence, and the two continued together
into the quiet night.
Informed that Bel was depending on hearing,
Rowan did the same, and at once began feeling more and more at
ease. This was not yet the dangerous, unknown Outskirts; it was
hill and grass and forest such as she had walked on and through all
her adult life. Her night-traveling skills reasserted themselves,
and she began listening for movement, not of goblins, but of
animals large and small, of the echoless loom of unseen bushes, and
of stealthily approaching strangers. She heard the call of a
nightjar, the rustling of field mice, and once, in a lull of the
breeze, sensed the sudden breathless hush of owl's wings above. The
rattling tanglebrush was a tantalizing oddity, and she struggled
internally, resisting the impulse to approach one and kindle a
small fire by which to examine it.
A chorus of yelps rose in the distance, and
Bel startled. "What was that?"
"Foxes." Rowan discovered that without
noticing, the women had exchanged positions: Rowan was again
leading, comfortably. "They like this sort of land." In Bel's
months of traveling the Inner Lands alone, she could easily have
missed that particular sound. "They'll stay away. They don't like
humans."
Bel made no reply. They walked on, as the
land began to slope.
Rowan wished to find something to say, some
way to remove from Bel the dishonor of the raider tribe's
treatment. It seemed impossible.
She searched and considered—and soon found
herself mired in speculations based on incomplete knowledge of
Outskirter traditions and codes. She tried to form an analogy by
reference to
into the night, leaving Rowan to follow. Behind, the warriors
dispersed, one by one.
5
" H ow safe is
it, traveling in the dark like this?"
Bel was long in answering. "Not at all."
They had walked some time in silence. The
raider tribe's camp was already two miles behind, hidden by low
brush and a small copse of spruce. Looking back, Rowan saw no
light; the fire was either blocked by trees, or had been finally
extinguished.
Before them, the landscape was a vague
starlit sweep of hilly meadow, with a dark loom of forest to the
north, smaller blots of trees scattered to the east. Rowan followed
Bel, a half step behind and to the Outskirter's left. The
steerswoman realized that they had exactly reversed their usual
positions. In the Inner Lands, Rowan had always led, a half step
ahead, on the right.
"Do you know this area?"
Bel replied with an expressionless "No."
Rowan's step faltered. "How are you guiding
us?"
"By my ears." The Outskirter paused, and both
women listened.
A breeze rose, and the meadow grass hissed
and visibly undulated, rolling black shadows like fleeing beasts.
Behind, the spruce and brush gave out muted rattles, branches
cushioned by leaves and green needles. Ahead: a series of harsh
high clatterings, like brittle brush bare of leaves. Three sources
of this sound: one nearby to the right, one farther away and
straight ahead, one distant and slightly to the left. When the wind
shifted, Rowan could hear from the forest to the north the sound of
water over stones.
Eventually, Rowan asked, "What does a goblin
sound like?" Near the raiders' familiar fire, the threat had seemed
abstract, unlikely; here, nearly blind, in unknown territory with
both Guidestars weirdly shifted west, she found the possibility
disturbingly believable.
Bel provided the information reluctantly.
"Alone, like a man walking quickly." She led on, angling to the
right. "In a group, they call to each other." She stumbled on an
unseen tussock, and Rowan managed to catch at her arm and prevent
her from falling.
"What sort of call?"
Bel recovered, readjusted her pack, and
continued. "A sort of rasping squeal, and a rattle." A pause. "I'd
imitate it, but I might draw one."
Rowan drew up short. "Not that rattle we're
moving toward?"
"No. That's tanglebrush."
The Outskirter was disinclined to converse.
Rowan left her friend to silence, and the two continued together
into the quiet night.
Informed that Bel was depending on hearing,
Rowan did the same, and at once began feeling more and more at
ease. This was not yet the dangerous, unknown Outskirts; it was
hill and grass and forest such as she had walked on and through all
her adult life. Her night-traveling skills reasserted themselves,
and she began listening for movement, not of goblins, but of
animals large and small, of the echoless loom of unseen bushes, and
of stealthily approaching strangers. She heard the call of a
nightjar, the rustling of field mice, and once, in a lull of the
breeze, sensed the sudden breathless hush of owl's wings above. The
rattling tanglebrush was a tantalizing oddity, and she struggled
internally, resisting the impulse to approach one and kindle a
small fire by which to examine it.
A chorus of yelps rose in the distance, and
Bel startled. "What was that?"
"Foxes." Rowan discovered that without
noticing, the women had exchanged positions: Rowan was again
leading, comfortably. "They like this sort of land." In Bel's
months of traveling the Inner Lands alone, she could easily have
missed that particular sound. "They'll stay away. They don't like
humans."
Bel made no reply. They walked on, as the
land began to slope.
Rowan wished to find something to say, some
way to remove from Bel the dishonor of the raider tribe's
treatment. It seemed impossible.
She searched and considered—and soon found
herself mired in speculations based on incomplete knowledge of
Outskirter traditions and codes. She tried to form an analogy by
reference to
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