me up on her slippery back, I hold her scant mane and she tiptoes me down to a lean-to at the edge of town.
They set me up with the tarp hanging down across the front and leave to go back to get the lamp and the food. I hear the mule moving around outside. Having her there cheers me. I wish they’d left the tarp open so I could watch her. I curl and collapse into my pain. They’ll bring me something for that. It won’t be long.
But then the tarp swings open and there’s a man, a quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow slung across his shoulders. He’s dressed like some sort of Daniel Boone. A mountain man. A scraggly beard, another mop of hair. They
have
gone wild.
I sit up. I wonder if I still have my knife or did Allush or maybe that woman take it? I don’t dare check my pockets. He hasn’t said anything, but I keep my hands in view.
If he wanted to kill me before, he’ll no doubt want to now. I’m in no shape to fight. And he’s one of us, so just as strong as I am.
He says something in our old language, but I’ve forgotten it.
“I can’t speak Betasha anymore.”
But he goes on in our language.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
I start to get up. I don’t want him attacking me while I’m sitting down.
He kicks me. I should have grabbed his foot and pulled him over, but he kicked my wounded shoulder. I gasp and fall back. I say, “I’m one of you,” though he’s knows that. Maybe that’s why he hates me.
I turn on all fours and try to get up, but he kicks me again and I’m flat on my back.
Last time I used the freeze it didn’t work on my own kind, they just laughed, but I can’t think of anything else to do.
I stare into his eyes. I hold stone still. Eyes…. That’s all I see. All I know. It’s as if I’m looking through a dark tunnel with his eyes at the end of it.
First I see surprise there, and then nothing… a blank. He tries to turn away. It takes a moment but then he’s stone still, too. Two stones facing each other. I, breaking the rule of lesson number one not to ever do this on this world. Except this is my own kind.
I mustn’t let go. How long will it take? How long
can
it take?
F INALLY A LLUSH AND THAT OLD ONE COME . I LET GO and he falls back with an angry shout and more of our language. And then they’re all jabbering away in our language. I’m exhausted and he looks to be, not only angry, but as drained as I am. He’s shaking. Could be with rage. If he wanted to kill me before, he wants to even more now.
I interrupt. In English. I say I’ll leave as soon as I can. Just let me rest a couple of days and I’ll get out of here.
They talk more in our language. I recognize a word or two here and there but useless ones like “and” and “maybe” and “tomorrow.” I notice, too, that Allush and the man sprinkle their talk with a lot of native words as if they weren’t that good in their own language either.
Finally the old one says, “All right. Long as you’re gone within a week.”
I didn’t think they’d give me even that much time.
Then the old one says, “The freeze…. That was unfair. Haven’t you been trained not use it?”
“There wasn’t anything else to do—that I could see. He wants to kill me.”
Then she talks to the man, again in our language. Scolding him. (I remember, but, and, therefore, and the little fill in words all languages have: “for,” “uh,” “like,” “you know” … things like that.)
Finally he leaves. The old one and Allush set out the things they’ve brought. The little smoky pot of fire and the broth, blankets, a sleeping pad.
I feel as if I’ve never been this tired in my life. I fall asleep before the soup is heated.
I WAKE TO SHOUTS … WAILS, ACTUALLY … OF horror. I jump up, almost trip over the fire pot and the soup heating there and rush out. Allush and the old one are outside and before them is a limp pile of red and white. My God, it’s the mule. The beautiful white mule with
They set me up with the tarp hanging down across the front and leave to go back to get the lamp and the food. I hear the mule moving around outside. Having her there cheers me. I wish they’d left the tarp open so I could watch her. I curl and collapse into my pain. They’ll bring me something for that. It won’t be long.
But then the tarp swings open and there’s a man, a quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow slung across his shoulders. He’s dressed like some sort of Daniel Boone. A mountain man. A scraggly beard, another mop of hair. They
have
gone wild.
I sit up. I wonder if I still have my knife or did Allush or maybe that woman take it? I don’t dare check my pockets. He hasn’t said anything, but I keep my hands in view.
If he wanted to kill me before, he’ll no doubt want to now. I’m in no shape to fight. And he’s one of us, so just as strong as I am.
He says something in our old language, but I’ve forgotten it.
“I can’t speak Betasha anymore.”
But he goes on in our language.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”
I start to get up. I don’t want him attacking me while I’m sitting down.
He kicks me. I should have grabbed his foot and pulled him over, but he kicked my wounded shoulder. I gasp and fall back. I say, “I’m one of you,” though he’s knows that. Maybe that’s why he hates me.
I turn on all fours and try to get up, but he kicks me again and I’m flat on my back.
Last time I used the freeze it didn’t work on my own kind, they just laughed, but I can’t think of anything else to do.
I stare into his eyes. I hold stone still. Eyes…. That’s all I see. All I know. It’s as if I’m looking through a dark tunnel with his eyes at the end of it.
First I see surprise there, and then nothing… a blank. He tries to turn away. It takes a moment but then he’s stone still, too. Two stones facing each other. I, breaking the rule of lesson number one not to ever do this on this world. Except this is my own kind.
I mustn’t let go. How long will it take? How long
can
it take?
F INALLY A LLUSH AND THAT OLD ONE COME . I LET GO and he falls back with an angry shout and more of our language. And then they’re all jabbering away in our language. I’m exhausted and he looks to be, not only angry, but as drained as I am. He’s shaking. Could be with rage. If he wanted to kill me before, he wants to even more now.
I interrupt. In English. I say I’ll leave as soon as I can. Just let me rest a couple of days and I’ll get out of here.
They talk more in our language. I recognize a word or two here and there but useless ones like “and” and “maybe” and “tomorrow.” I notice, too, that Allush and the man sprinkle their talk with a lot of native words as if they weren’t that good in their own language either.
Finally the old one says, “All right. Long as you’re gone within a week.”
I didn’t think they’d give me even that much time.
Then the old one says, “The freeze…. That was unfair. Haven’t you been trained not use it?”
“There wasn’t anything else to do—that I could see. He wants to kill me.”
Then she talks to the man, again in our language. Scolding him. (I remember, but, and, therefore, and the little fill in words all languages have: “for,” “uh,” “like,” “you know” … things like that.)
Finally he leaves. The old one and Allush set out the things they’ve brought. The little smoky pot of fire and the broth, blankets, a sleeping pad.
I feel as if I’ve never been this tired in my life. I fall asleep before the soup is heated.
I WAKE TO SHOUTS … WAILS, ACTUALLY … OF horror. I jump up, almost trip over the fire pot and the soup heating there and rush out. Allush and the old one are outside and before them is a limp pile of red and white. My God, it’s the mule. The beautiful white mule with
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