Part 6 (1/2)

The olden days were bad ones. First all of the things that make life good went away. Then for a time everything was sterile and made of not-real materials. Trees had leaves on them that were not alive and bark on them that was not alive, and they did not grow from the ground, for it was not alive either. Underfoot was hard and unyielding stuff, and between one and the sky were barriers. At first, some real air was allowed to pa.s.s through them but later, only light, and sometimes that light was not real, either. This was bad enough while it was clean and free of any tiny living things, but in time, the Earth became filthy, as well as dead. Finally, one of our kind had the sense to make certain that she and a male of her acquaintance were included in the manifest when creatures were chosen from our lands.

”What an odd story,” Goat-dung said, and added severely, as the women did to her when she told them something they thought to be a lie, ”That is not how the Shepherd Howling talks of old Earth.”

The Shepherd Howling, the cat said, was.h.i.+ng her long sharp claws one by one, eats his young.

Goat-dung considered this for a moment. True. Go on. Did the old male give your ancestress any details at all?”

Yes. I will tell it to you as it was told to her. Coaxtl gave a slight cough that was half a growl and began.

Long ago, in the time when our ancestors wore tawny coats, we lived in the mountains, not mountains like these all jagged and icy cold, but smooth mountains with hot and fragrant jungles most of the way up their ridges. In that time, the skies were filled with layers of leaves and fronds in which to hide.

”What's a jungle?” Goat-dung asked.

A place of great heat and many trees, sometimes much rain and bright flowers.

”Like summer in the lowlands?”

No, for this is much hotter and lasts year-round. You would not be able to stand such heat and neither would I. Many kinds of animals and plants existed then that no longer exist, at least not here. Not yet.

”What do you mean, not yet?”

Our Home, the cat said, has plans.

”What's the matter, Sean?” Yana asked about the fifth time she caught Sean looking back over his shoulder. Nanook had done so twice, as well.

”I dunno,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders and giving her a sheepish grin. They should be safe enough with the Connellys. And we'd better get moving if we want to sleep warm tonight.” His grin broadened. ”Air's cooler up here than it is down below. I'd forgot that not everywhere would be enjoying the unseasonable warmth that Kilcoole is.”

Once out of the forest and on slopes covered with lichen like plants and mosses, they had to dismount and lead the ponies over several stretches where the narrow pathway daunted Yana, even habituated to rough going as she had been prior to her injury at Bremport. The curly-coats seemed oblivious to any danger, though it gave her some comfort to note that their ears wig-wagged constantly, their tails sometimes acted like propellers-for balance, the way Nanook used his-and they snorted frequently, as if exchanging information.

They got over the rocky top and down into forest again by the time it was full dark. The forest was denser than the one around Kilcoole. and the trees larger, with thicker trunks. The branches dripped constantly from the melting snow, so that it might as well have been raining. Yana was very tired, so Sean made her tend the little fire he started while he saw to the horses and then skinned the rabbits Nanook caught. The cat ate his raw, but with such relish that Yana could barely wait till theirs was cooked. At last, with Sean on one side of her and Nanook on the other, she slept warmly and dreamlessly. She awakened the next morning to the smell of coffee under her nose and the sight of a cup with its handle turned toward her. Sean slipped back into the bag, grinning at her, and they both suppressed chuckles at Nanook's soft snores.

The morning was well advanced when, abruptly, they reached the plateau that tilted toward the other half to the Fjord. It was as if a giant ax had neatly bisected the cliff to allow the waters through a narrowing cut to the main body of the continent. The split sloped abruptly down, where a river ended its path to the sea and tumbled in a graceful, medium-sized waterfall into the end of Harrison's Fjord.

”Who was Harrison?” Yana asked as they made their way down the incline toward smoke that rose from unseen chimneys, Nanook bounding on ahead.

”Harrison? He was one of grandfather's old buddies. Retired here from the Dear knows where,” Sean said. ”He had a droll sense of humor and loved early s.p.a.ce adventure stories.”

”Oh?”

”The name of the place,” Sean explained, looking over his shoulder as if Yana should instantly comprehend his reference. When she obviously didn't, he shrugged and continued his briefing. ”Folks are mainly Eskirish-fishermen and boat builders.”

”Boat builders?” Yana was amazed: they'd left the forested slopes behind when they'd crossed over the pa.s.s from McGee's and the other side of the fjord was just as bare as this one. Builders of anything would have to go miles for timber.

''More than wood makes good boats,'' he said.

”By the way, Sean love,” Yana began, taking her opportunity while she had it, ”how many people know you're a selkie?”

”As few as possible.” But he grinned at her. Many people have seen a selkie. It can't always have been me, because I know I wasn't anywhere near there at that particular point in time, and so far as I know n.o.body else has my-er-versatility. Some Petaybeans have great imaginations.”

”I'd noticed.”

”I thought you might. We can ride now, and I'd rather we made the last leg of our journey before we lose the good light.”

They mounted and proceeded at the marvelously easy pacing gait the curly-coats did so effortlessly at various speeds. Yana's little mare kept her nose right against Sean's gelding's tail. The pace was rather breath taking, but she wasn't as nervous about this as she had been on the narrow uphill climb.

Curly-coats could also stop-like right now! Only the bunching of the forehand muscles under her legs gave her warning enough to tighten her hold on the thick mane. One moment they'd been flying along, the next, dead stop! Yana measured the length of her torso on the mare's neck before she struggled upright. Then she dismounted when she saw that Sean had . . . and was leading his pony right over the edge? No, she realized as she caught her breath. Nanook's head was just visible to the right, and Sean was turning in that direction, too, and the trio proceeded down.

Sighing at a reluctance to repeat down what she had only recently gone up, Yana was agreeably surprised to find a broad, rutted gra.s.sy road leading down in an easy gradient, switching back and forth down the side of the cliff to the village that was Harrison's Fjord. This trail had to have been man-made. Nanook, tail tip idly twitching, padded on ahead of them, acting advance guard as usual.

”Harrison,” Sean said. ''He hated climbing, had problems with balance. I don't know who he bribed of the original TerraB group, but he got the road done and the village settled, the harbor carved the way he wanted it.”

”Where did your sister and her husband enter caves-” Yana broke off, seeing that the rock formation along the road side did not lend itself to caves.

As Sean pointed toward the waterfall, Yana was surprised to see Nanook look in the direction he was pointing and sneeze. ”Near that, slightly to the left on the far side, is where the fjord cave opens.”

Suddenly dogs began to bark and, while Yana made a private bet with herself, several orange cats wandered up to greet them, lifting themselves to their hind legs to exchange sniffs, nose to nose. She won. The cats immediately moved on to greet the travelers, who had undoubtedly been vouched for by Nanook.

”Wherever we go? she asked Sean, who was bending to run a hand down an orange back. Yana could hear the purr from where she was, seven paces behind.

”Not everywhere,” Sean said, lightly stressing the first word, ”but they get about.” He stroked another one and then fondled the ears of a s.h.a.ggy black dog, with light brown and white face markings, who presented itself for similar attentions.

Going from purr to full voice, the first cat stropped itself about Yana's ankles, and she had the oddest feeling that she was welcomed for herself and not just as Sean's companion. She bent to scratch the cat under the chin and heard the vibrations of a renewed purr. More barking dogs came trotting up to greet them, weaving an adroit and skillful way among the cats.

”Who comes?” called a rasping ba.s.s voice.

”Sean Shongili and Yanaba Maddock!” Sean shouted back.

”Sean, is it? And his lady, no less? Thrice welcome!

Hurry on down! A gla.s.s of the warm awaits you!”

There was no way to ”hurry” down, with cats and dogs insisting on sniffing, receiving caresses, and generally impeding their progress. Nanook had leapt down and disappeared, a movement that caused Yana to scrutinize the odd arrangement of the houses: each of the twelve or fourteen had been carefully inserted on an earthen terrace, with the cliff for a back wall, and the terrace jutting out far enough to provide a small garden or yard complete with benches. The houses were perched on each side of the road as it ribboned down to the final broad terrace, which was wharf, as well-and high above the fjord water. Boats were neatly propped up on racks; nets hung from racks of high poles, drying in the last of the sun. At the farthest end of this wide terrace there was a large wooden hall where, Yana supposed, boats could be built. But the water looked an awfully long way down to make Harrison's Fjord a practical fis.h.i.+ng port.

”Low tide,” Sean said to her when he heard her exclamation of surprise. ”When the tide turns, the water comes up here like a herd of running moose. Everything had better be stored high, dry, and safe. Ah, Fingaard, good to see you!” And suddenly Sean, who was no small man, was engulfed in the embrace of one of the largest men Yana had seen on this planet.

”And I, you, Shongili!” the man replied, grinning over Sean's shoulder at Yana. ”This is your woman?” And he swung away, to advance on Yana. She held her ground but had to keep looking up and up as the giant approached, until she was in danger of falling backward.

Suddenly he bent his knees so his face was on her level and placed pitchfork-sized hands on her shoulders with remarkable gentleness. He peered into her eyes, with as kindly and searching a gaze as Clodagh's, and smiled. ”Ah, yes, of course.”

With one movement, he had taken the reins of the curly-coat from her, and placed his huge hand on her back like a prop against which she could safely lean during the rest of the switch back way to the village.

By then, others had emerged from their houses. Every house seemed to have its own set of stairs to reach the roadway, and another, she discovered, to get down to the next level.

”We heard you'd be coming,” Fingaard said jovially. ”You can tell us how to help Petaybee!”

”Fingaaaaaard, where are your manners, you great oaf?” A woman, nearly the size of him, clambered up to the road-way, smiling at Yana before she continued to berate her husband. ”Drink, first: eat, second, and you've all the night to talk and get the needful done. Don't mind him, missus. He means well.” This was directed at Yana. A hand, not quite as large as Fingaard's, was shoved at Yana, who gripped it, steeling herself for a viselike crush; but the fingers only pressed gently and withdrew. ”I'm Ardis Sounik, and wife to Fingaard. Welcome, Yanaba Maddock.”

It was no surprise to Yana to see the cats cl.u.s.tering around Ardis's feet, somehow avoiding being trampled on or swept away by the leather skirts the woman wore. They were beautiful1y tooled with remarkable patterns, all inter-linked in a way that looked so familiar to Yana that she tried to remember what the design was called.