Climate of Change (30 page)

But each had a problem. Risk had almost died at birth, and remained somewhat infirm. Tour had seemed healthy, but recently had started twitching unpredictably. It seemed harmless, and family members understood, but could incite ridicule by outsiders. Maybe it would go away. But until it did, Crenelle did not like to expose her daughter to the cynosure of strangers. Haven hardly blamed her.

But they were in crisis. Crenelle and Harbinger knew the ways of their people, as Haven's siblings did not. It should be possible to find refuge among the Traders, while it would be very difficult elsewhere.

“It really doesn't show much,” Haven murmured. “And we can shield her. It actually doesn't bother most folk, once they understand.”

“Not among our people. They would call it spirit possession, and seek to kill her.”

“Your people are so backward?”

“They think they are forward. They try to clean out bad spirits.”

Haven shook her head. “Maybe if we swathe her in cloth, as for the chills, when she is in public. She's a smart girl; she'll cooperate.”

Crenelle sighed. “We'll have to risk it.”

It would be up to the men to make the formal decision, but the informal one had just been made.

Six of them set out for the coast, leaving only Keeper to care for the remaining farm animals and plants. There was food enough to sustain one person, and of course he had unparalleled ability to forage from nature. He would be there when they returned in the spring. Should there be a problem he couldn't handle, the neighbors would help, and
of course he would help the neighbors. A number of them had already departed, driven by the common malaise of the drought. Every farmer understood, and the more who left, the better it would be for those remaining.

They walked from the cleared section of the farming village and entered the deep dark forest that surrounded it. Haven had mixed feelings about the forest. When she had to enter it alone, it frightened her, yet she knew that it served to protect her village from hostile intruders. There were paths through it, but these were deliberately obscure in places, to foil strangers. A clear path would lead to a dead end in a swamp, or terminate at the trunk of a huge tree. The true paths followed patterns that only native villagers knew. Armed strangers could readily be ambushed long before they found the village.

It was a lot of work to slash and burn a section of forest, but the process yielded extremely fertile soil for their fields. But after a time the fertility decreased, and then they had to clear new fields. It was an ongoing process, that meant they could never truly settle down. There were also animals to be hunted, but they too faded after a time. The forest fed them, but made them work hard for that food.

Protection and fear; food and work. The forest was everything. On the whole she liked being in it, if not walking through it. Now they were leaving it. There was a peculiar pain in that, despite the necessity.

Tour was walking beside her. She was a pretty girl, and Haven liked her much as she would have liked her own daughter. She had never had another child; the difficulty of birthing Risk had stopped her body from making more babies. Perhaps that drew her closer to her brother's child.

“It's so big,” Tour said, referring to the forest. “It scares me.”

“Me too, dear,” Haven said. “But it's a good forest.”

Tour made a sound like a hiccup. Haven didn't have to look; she knew the girl was having a fit. They tended to come on her when she was nervous or uncomfortable or afraid. Spirit possession? No, just something wrong with her body. Haven reached out with her right arm and caught the girl's right shoulder, bringing her in close. Nothing needed to be said. Comforting the girl also made Haven feel less depressed.

By nightfall they were on a wider path, forming into a trail that was used by several villages. They camped at a shelter that was for common use. There was a stream nearby, and a raised platform that enabled them to sleep off the ground. They made a fire and sat around it, three men, three women and two children, and Harbinger and Crenelle played music and sang, making them all feel better. None of them liked leaving home.

In two more days they reached the coast, where there was a town. Haven felt an eerie familiarity, as if she had been here before, though of course she hadn't. She had visited neighboring villages, but never seen the sea or any settlement this size. She didn't like it.

“Now I've been away from town for most of a decade,” Crenelle said. She was explaining to the women, while her brother was explaining to the men. “But there are things that don't change. We'll have to check in with the chief.”

“The chief?” Haven asked. The Farmers had no such offices, but knew that the Traders did.

“His head of staff. Or whatever official is delegated to harass newcomers. The chief himself is seldom ever seen; his officials do the routine work. Now here's the thing: those men have power. They can pick a man out of an immigrant family and kill him, and nobody can tell them no. They can pick a woman out and rape her, and she had better not offer any resistance. So we don't want to look attractive.”

Haven was beginning to appreciate why Harbinger and Crenelle had preferred to live at the fringe of the Trader culture, and marry Farmers. Crenelle was attractive enough to attract male eyes, and when she was younger she would have been a prize to be used.

“So we'll be plain,” Rebel said, adjusting her hair to be more messy.

“Be plain, not ugly,” Crenelle said. “We want to pass unnoticed. Mostly they don't bother with immigrants; I just wanted you to know the risk. This is not the occasion to assert oneself.”

“Is it really necessary to go to the chief?” Haven asked. “Couldn't we go to a smaller town?”

“We could, but the Traders have suffered the same drought the Farmers have, so there's not much there. The capital town has the supplies
from the ships, so is independent of the drought. Besides, there are advantages.”

“There need to be, if we risk execution or rape,” Rebel said dryly.

“If we pass muster, we'll have good lodgings and good jobs, and will be under the protection of the chief. That could make for a nice winter.”

“And there are more jobs for foreigners,” Harbinger called across to them.

So they had to take a risk, to achieve a better situation. That was ever the way of life. But Haven wished they could have stayed on the farm.

“There will be a language problem,” Crenelle continued. “You know how much trouble we had understanding each other at the beginning, until my brother and I learned more of your language. Now you'll have to speak Trader, and that will be awkward.”

“We do know enough words to make ourselves understood,” Haven reminded her.

“Yes. But you will never speak fluently, so it's best to avoid speaking whenever you can. There are those who would take advantage of you.”

“Cheating us,” Haven agreed.

Crenelle looked thoughtful. “That, too.” She looked at the children. “You kids speak it more fluently than your elders do. But maybe better not to let on.”

The two children nodded. Crenelle had spoken her language to them from the outset, and they had learned it readily. The rationale had been straightforward: in case they ever faced the situation they did today.

The road wound up to the palace, which was a huge rambling wooden structure braced by stone pillars and angled posts. It wasn't aesthetic, but Haven could see that it was solid; it would not blow down in any likely storm. It was surrounded by a palisade, and there were guards watching from towers buttressing the wall of pointed stakes. She was beginning to appreciate the security provided by the protection of the chief.

They approached the front gate. There were two guards armed with copper swords. That suggested the wealth of this establishment. She knew that a stone ax was more effective than a copper sword, but much easier to obtain, so of course a chief would look down on it. So this was
ostentation rather than defense. If there were a real attack, they would surely bring out the axes and bows and spears soon enough.

“Halt!” a guard cried, assuming a stance that barred the entrance.

They stopped. A man came out of the gate tower. He was unarmed, but well garbed, evidently an authority. “What is your business here?”

Harbinger took one step forward. “Sir, we are Farmers looking for work for the winter.”

“You're no Farmer,” the Trader retorted. “You're Trader.”

“I am a Trader married to a Farmer,” Harbinger said. “Here is my wife.” He gestured, and Haven stepped forward, her head bowed. “And son.” Risk stepped forward, similarly submissive.

The Trader peered at Haven. “Peel back that cloak, woman; let me get a look at you.”

“Do it,” Harbinger murmured tightly.

Haven opened her cloak, revealing her bloused bosom. She knew she was a well-formed woman; she would arouse suspicion if she tried to conceal it.

The Trader nodded. “I see why you married Out. She's solid.” He glanced around. “Who are the others?”

“My sister.” Harbinger gestured again.

Crenelle stepped forward, looking the guard in the eye. “Yes, I am Trader, married to a Farmer. Here is my husband.” Hero stepped up. “And daughter.” Tour joined them.

“Open your cloak, girl.”

This was bad business. Tour was only seven, but was a very pretty girl, promising to be a lovely woman. She could be attractive to a certain type of man. Crenelle was keeping a straight face, but Haven knew she was nervous and angry. And if Tour suffered a twitching fit, what then?

Fortunately the Trader's attention was already moving on. “And these others?”

“Brother and sister of our spouses,” Harbinger said. “We are entitled to bring them, because they are blood kin to our children.”

“How many will work?”

“Five. One will mind the children.”

“Which one?”

Haven indicated herself. “I.”

The man nodded. “Wait outside. I will send a party to guide you to your quarters and acquaint you with the nature of your work.” He glanced across all of them. “You will work hard and well, of course.”

“Of course,” Harbinger agreed quickly.

They retreated from the gate somewhat. They did not speak to each other, as the guards or supervisor could have sharp hearing. They were being admitted, but Haven was by no means sure that all was well. Why had the Trader wanted to look at her? And at Tour? To assess them as prospects? Or just to show his power? Maybe it was just as well that he hadn't gotten a good look at Rebel; she had managed to remain inconspicuous.

In due course two men came out. One was massively muscular, the other lean. These would be the guides. Haven hoped that was all they were.

“Hello,” the lean man said, in passable Farmer language. “Do you understand me?”

Surprised, all of them nodded. “You have been among our kind,” Craft said.

“Yes. When we needed food, and had things to trade. We have always gotten along well. Your folk have always treated us fairly. I am Ned, and this is my big brother Sam.”

Haven could appreciate why they had gotten along well; Ned was being very nice.

“Two of us were Traders,” Harbinger said. “We married Out.”

“So did I,” Sam said. “My wife Snow is a Farmer.”

This was looking better yet. “From what village?” Haven asked.

Sam named the village. It was a distant one they had had no contact with. Still, Haven felt encouraged.

“You will have to be in the newcomers' lodgings at first,” Ned said. “They aren't good. But our sisters will help you get settled. Follow us.”

They followed him to a different, smaller gate, and through it. This time the guards did not challenge; the group had been checked in.

Within the guarded compound was a cluster of large buildings close to the larger palace. They entered one. Inside was a huge array of posts
and sections, with women working in many. There was the smell of smoke; there were a number of hearth fires burning, with the smoke wending to the ceiling and finding its way out through vents. There were other smells, as seemed inevitable when this many people were in close quarters.

“This is yours, for now,” Ned said, indicating a dirty alcove. “You should be able to get better quarters in a few days; it depends on the favor of the authorities, which in turn depends on how well you work.”

“I was afraid of this,” Crenelle muttered. “This is the stinkiest hole. But we won't stay here long.”

“I'll fetch our sisters,” Sam said, evidently feeling awkward about the matter. He departed.

“Tomorrow Sam and I will take you to the grave,” Ned said.

“The grave!” Haven exclaimed, appalled.

He smiled. “You misunderstand. The chief is old, and looking toward his death. We are building a burial vault, for him and all his attendants. It will be a rare privilege to be interred there. But first it has to be constructed. I helped design it, and Sam and I are working on it. We need more manpower, so are glad to see you folk arrive.”