Return to the Whorl (The Book of the Short Sun #3)

Return to the Whorl (The Book of the Short Sun #3) Page 5

He faced about again. "Now, Oreb, I want to keep going the way I was before I turned around. Am I headed right?" He tapped the ground before him with the staff as he spoke.

"Good. Good."

"There isn't a pit at my feet, by any chance? Or a tree that I'm about to knock my head against?"

"Road go."

"And so will I." He stepped forward confidently, cutting and thrusting as he walked-and seemed to hear the staff that slashed the air tapping the roadway still. Stopping, he called, "Hello!"

A distant voice answered, "Heard me, did yer?"

"Yes. Yes, I did. I heard your stick."

The methodical tapping continued, but there was no further reply.

Under his breath he asked, "Can you see him, Oreb?"

"Bird see."

"That's the way. Keep your voice down. One man alone?"

"Big man. No men."

"Does he have a slug gun, or anything of that nature?"

"No see."

Deep and rough and somewhat nearer now, the distant voice said, "Dinna have such. Yer neither, bucky."

"You're right," he said. There was a faint, metallic rattle, and he added, "What was that?"

"Yer got gude h'ears."

"Tolerably so."

Nearer still. "How's yer een, bucky?"

"My eyes?"

Oreb muttered, "Man big. Watch out."

"Ho! Won't hurt him." The roughness of the approaching voice suggested a second night chough hopping along the road, its depth a huge bird as tall as a man.

"I heard something that sounded almost like the sling swivels of slug gun."

"Did yet, bucky?" A second rattle followed the final word.

"Yes," he said. "What is it?"

"How's yer een?"

"My vision, is that what you mean? Good enough." Recalling the spectacles he had found in his pocket, he added, "A little worse than most, perhaps, for reading."

"For readin', bucky?" The rough voice was close now. "Yer can read." A deep chuckle. "H'only ther wind's blowed yer candle h'out." Wind rhymed with fiend in the stranger's mouth.

"You're not from Viron, I take it."

"Nae from naewhere." The chuckle came again, followed by the rattle.

"I believe I recognized that sound this time-a sword blade in a brass scabbard. Am I correct?"

"Smack h'on, bucky."

Something-hard leather-touched his fingers, and he was reminded again of Xiphias's pressing the sword upon him, although the hand that gripped his arm was far larger than Xiphias's had been.

"Want ter feel a' her?"

"Yes, I do. May I draw it?" His hands had found the throat of the scabbard, a throat that was covered with leather too, like the rudimentary guard and the rest of the hilt.

"Canna see me whin, can yet, bucky?"

"No. But I'll be able to-to weigh it in my hand, without the scabbard. I needn't, if you'd prefer I wouldn't."

"Yer a h'officer, bucky?"

"A military officer, you mean? No. Nothing of the sort."

"Yer talks like such. Aye, pluck."

The blade hissed from the scabbard, heavier than the knobbed staff and nearly as long. He made a few cuts, ran his fingers gingerly over the flat, then wiped it on the sleeve of his tunic.

"Got h'it h'off a dead coof," the rough voice confided. "He dinna want h'it nae mair."

"But you do, I'm sure." He sheathed it again and held it out, touching something large and solid: leather again, soft old canvas, and cool metal that seemed to be a belt buckle nearly as high as his chin.

" 'Tis me." Taking back the sword, the stranger's outsized hands brushed his. "Want ter feel a' me clock?"

"Watch out!" Oreb fidgeted apprehensively on his shoulder.

"No," he told the stranger. "Certainly not."

"Craw, ain't h'it? Thought 'twas a man. H'on me hunkers sae yer can reach. Have yer feel, bucky." His left wrist was caught between fingers as thick and hard as the staff, and guided toward a mat of coarse hair. He was conscious of a faint reek of sour sweat.

"You have a beard," he said. "So do I." The nose was wide and prominent, the cheekbones high and gaunt, framed in shaggy hair that fell to the stranger's shoulders.

"Took me rag h'off." His hand was freed, then caught again. "Here's me e'e. Stick in yer finger."

"I'd rather not," he said; two fingers were forced into the empty socket nevertheless.

"H'other's ther same. Feel a' her?"

He was forced to. "You're blind," he said. "I-I know how banal it sounds, but I'm sorry."

"Wait till me rag's back h'on," the stranger rumbled. "Want ter feel a' yern. Got ter, an' yer ken why. Yer get a notion a' me clock?"

"Yes," he said, afraid that he would be forced to touch the stranger's face again. "I should warn you, though, that Oreb doesn't like being held. He'll probably fly if you attempt it."

Oreb contradicted him. "Touch bird!"

"Dinna think he never did, not nae live 'un."

"Touch bird!"

"Seen lots, 'fore me een was took. H'oreb's his name?"

"It's what I call him, at least. A friend I had long ago-the friend for whom I'm searching-had a pet night chough he called that. I'm afraid I've given this one the same name to save the trouble of thinking of a new one." He felt Oreb leave his shoulder and added, "He's going to you, I think."

"Lit h'on me whin. A fin'er, H'oreb, an' speak h'up h'if h'it pains yer."

"No hurt."

He felt a pang of jealousy that he quickly suppressed. "I've already introduced Oreb, so I ought to introduce myself as well. My name is Horn."

"Horn. An' H'oreb."

"Yes," he said, and felt Oreb return to his shoulder.

"What would yer say me h'own name might be, bucky?"

"Your name? I just met you. I have no idea."

The tapping resumed. "We might's well walk Was talk. Never heard nae name like Horn. Nor H'oreb neither."

"It means raven," he explained as he strode after the steady tapping of the stranger's sword. "It's from the Chrasmologic Writings. Calde Silk, the friend I spoke of, was an augur."

"H'oreb. Horn. Silk. Common names, like? Maybe me h'own might be Cotton, here."

"Why no, that's a woman's name." He felt vague frustration. "Surely it would be better if we called you as your mother did."

" 'Twas Freak, mostly."

"I see-understand, I mean. No doubt you're right; it would be better if you had a new name among us."

"Aye."

"You asked whether Oreb, Horn, and Silk were common names. Oreb is very unusual-I've never known a man with that name. Silk is fairly unusual, too, although certainly not unheard-of. Horn is common enough."

"Huh!"

"Here in Viron, men are named after animals or parts of animals. Silk is a male name, just as Milk is, because Silk comes from an animal, the silkworm. Addax, Alpaca, and Antbear are all common names. Do you like any of those?"

"H'ox fer me, maybe. Might do. H'or Bull. What h'about 'em, bucky?"

He smiled. "People would think we were related, but I've no objection to that."

"Gie me some mair."

"Well, let me see. Silk had a friend named Auk. An auk is a kind of water bird, as you probably know."

"Me h'own could be H'owl, maybe. Blind Was a h'owl by daylight, dinna they say?"

"Yes, it could, if you wish it; also there are the various kinds of owls-Hawkowl, for example. I was about to say that Auk had a friend named Gib. A gib is a tomcat, so that's a male name, too. Gib was a large and powerful man, as you are."

"Pig," the stranger rumbled.

"Good name!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Said me name's Pig, bucky. H'oreb, he likes h'it. Dinna yer, H'oreb?"

"Like Pig!"

Pig laughed deep in his chest, clearly pleased. "Never heard a' nae blind pig, bucky?"

"I don't think so, but I suppose there must be some."

"Have ter have a new name when me een's found. H'eagle, h'it could be, h'or Hawk."

"Did you say something about finding eyes?" He was startled.

"Aye. Why Pig come, bucky, doon h'out a' ther light lands. Have een ter gie h'in this Viron, bucky? Een fer me? 'Tis ther muckle place hereabouts? Yer talk like h'it."

"Yes, Viron's the city. It owns, or at least it controls, this land, and all the farms and villages for fifty leagues and more. But as to whether there is any physician in Viron skillful enough to restore your sight, I really have no way of knowing. I doubt that there was when I was here last, but that was about twenty years ago."

Pig seemed not to have heard. "Dinna drink nae mair."

"I seldom do myself. A little wine, occasionally. But I wanted to say that this is an extraordinary coincidence. You're looking for eyes, as you put it. Because I'm looking for eyes also. For one at-"

Pig had caught his shoulder, causing Oreb to flee with a terrified squawk. "Had een, yer said." Questing thumbs found them and pressed gently. "Read, yer said."

"Yes, sometimes. Not lately."

"Gude een, yer got." Fingers and thumbs traversed his cheeks, found the corners of his mouth and the point of his chin under his beard. "Snog clock, bucky. Liked ther girls, dinna yer? When yer was younger?"

"Only one, actually."

The tapping of the leather-covered brass scabbard resumed. "Them that can winna, an' 'em that wad canna. 'Tis a hard grind fer ther h'axe, bucky."

"A hard life, you mean. Yes, it is."

"Een noo. Yer lookin' fer een, yer said."

"Eyes for a chem. I have a friend-a chem who was a co-worker when I was younger-who's gone blind."

"Like auld Pig."

"Yes, precisely, except that she's a chem. Her name is Maytera Marble, and before I left Blue I promised I would find new eyes for her if I could. She gave me one of her old ones to use as a pattern, but I no longer have it."

"Yer lost it?"

"Not exactly. I was forced to leave it behind. I remember how it looked, however, or at least I believe I do; and I'd like very much to find replacements, if I can. Maytera was my teacher when I was a child, you see. I mean-"

"No talk!"

"Dinna fash auld Pig, H'oreb. Bucky, would yer make mock a' me fer h'offerin' me fin'ers ter help yer look?"

"Certainly not."

"Dinna think h'it. Yer nae ther kind. Yer lookin' fer a mon, yer said. Silk's ther name?"

"Yes, Calde Silk. Or Patera Silk. I intend to find him, and to bring him to Blue. That's what I swore to accomplish, and I will not break my oath."

"Ho, aye. An' Silk's cauld?"

"Dead? Then I'll find new eyes for Maytera Marble and return home, if I can."

There was a silence.

"Pig? Is that what you want me to call you?"

"Aye."

"Pig, would you mind if I walked closer to you? If-if I touched you, sometimes, as I walked?"

"Shuttin' yer h'in, h'is h'it? Touch Nall yer want."

"The darkness. This dark. Yes. Yes it is."

"Like dark!"

"I know you do, Oreb. But I don't. Not this, particularly. At home-on Blue, I mean. May I talk about the way it feels, Pig? I certainly don't mean to be offensive, but I believe it might make me feel better."

"Blue's h'outside, bucky?"

"Yes. Yes, it is. It has a-the Short Sun. A round gold sun that walks across the sky during the course of the day, and vanishes into the sea at shadelow. At shadeup it reappears in the mountains and climbs up the sky like a man climbing a hill of blue glass. But before it begins to climb, there's a silent shout-"

Pig chuckled, the good-humored rumble of men rolling empty barrels.

"It's a silly phrase, I realize; but I don't know another way to express it. It's as though the whole whorl, the whorl that we call Blue and say we own, were welcoming the Short Sun with tumultuous joy. I'm making myself ridiculous, I know."

Pig's hand, twice the size of his own, found his shoulder. "Dinna naebody but yer hear what dinna make nae noise, bucky?"

He did not answer.

"Partners?"

"Surely. Partners, if you don't object to having a fool for a partner."

"Yer misses yer Short Sun."

"I do. It would be a relief, a very great relief to me, to see a light of any kind. A lantern, say. Or a candle. But most of all, the sun. Daylight."

"Aye."

"You must feel the same way. I should have realized it sooner. And if we were to encounter someone with a lantern, I would see it and see him. Even now, even in this terrible darkness, I remain singularly blessed. I should pray, Pig, and I should have thought of that much sooner."

Far away, a wolf howled.

"Yer got 'em h'on yer whorl?" Pig inquired.

"Yes, we do. Ordinary wolves, such as you have here, and fel- wolves, too, which have eight legs and are much larger and more dangerous. But, Pig..."

"H'out wi' h'it."

"That whorl, Blue, had people living upon it long before we came-people who may still be there, some of them at least. One seldom sees them. Most of us never have, and we call them the Vanished People, or the Neighbors, and children are taught that they're wholly legendary; but I've seen them more than once, and even spoken with them. I don't believe I will again, because I've lost something-a silver ring with a white stone-that was left behind with Maytera Marble's eye."

"Huh! "

"But once when I did-when I spoke with the Neighbors-I asked what they had called the whorl we call Blue, what their name for it had been. And they said, `Ours.' "

"No cry!"

"I'm sorry, Oreb." He tried to dry his eyes on the sleeve of his tunic, then clamped the knobbed staff beneath his arm to search himself for a handkerchief. Pig's elbow brushed his ear, and he cor rected his position slightly and began to tap the roadway before him as Pig was.