Chapter 5
Days passed, then weeks.
With some idea of finding her mother’s people, Nianki put the morning sun on her left, the setting sun on her right, and followed ancient trails across plain and woodland. She was going where she had never been, which Oto had taught her was never wise, and she was alone. Walking by night under a vault of stars, she felt at times like the last woman alive. She passed dark campsites under the white moon’s gleam, finding nothing in them but broken weapons and scraps of clothing stained with blood. Hidden eyes seemed to follow her progress, but no one attacked her. Pakito’s short spear saw to that.
Twenty times she saw Soli rise and set, and on the twenty-first morning she came to a wide river she couldn’t easily ford. It flowed west to east, unlike the rivers in her home range. More proof the world was upside down! Nianki tracked along the river bank a full day without finding a place to cross, then gave up and swam to the other side.
The river turned south, so Nianki followed it until she came to the sea. She’d heard about the sea from Kinar, who’d seen it often as a child. Kinar described it as an endless lake, stretching from horizon to horizon, so vast one could not see the opposite shore. She also shared the stories of her coastal ancestors, stories of fearsome monsters that dwelled in the depths, and of massive, deadly tempests lasting for days, scourging the sea and land.
One hot day in late summer, Nianki arrived at a high headland and beheld the sea. Though it was fully as big as she’d been told, she saw no sign on its calm green-blue waters of sea monsters or storms.
There were, however, many people. She began to encounter increasing numbers of strangers — almost thirty by the time she reached the sea. This was more human company than Nianki had ever seen at one time in her life. The climate was mild, and the local folk seemed placid and accepting. Small hands of centaurs moved among them without rancor, a state of affairs new to Nianki. On the high savanna, plainsfolk and centaurs were competitors, and both were wary of strangers. Unnerved by the crowds, Nianki kept to herself, making contact only when she needed to barter for food.
The coast was rich in forage and game, even with the large number of people about. Much of the provender was strange to her. Fish she knew, but some of the other things the locals ate — like shellfish, crabs, and seaweed — disgusted her. For some days she subsisted on rabbit and wild strawberries, supplemented by fish she obtained in return for mending a local man’s nets.
Gradually her wounds healed, her body grew strong, and she was able to hunt. As the seaside sun baked her skin even darker, the scars stood out as bold streaks and splotches. Nianki wore her marks with pride. She’d won them by surviving, surpassing even her father’s toughness.
Her harsh appearance proved to be an asset in dealing with others. People saw the scars on her face, neck, and arm and knew they were in the presence of a hunter and fighter, not merely some man’s abandoned mate. For herself, the scars also served as tangible memorials of her lost family. Each healed bite, each ragged tear, kept the memory of her father, mother, and brothers alive.
Despite the easy climate and plentiful food here on the coastal plain, every day Nianki saw families large and small leaving, trudging north. At first she gave it no thought, but when she realized they moved even during the punishing heat of midday when sensible folk took their ease, she began to wonder at the reason.
She was sleeping one night within sight of the beach when the sound of footfalls woke her. Snatching up her spear, Nianki rose swiftly to one knee, ready to strike. Instead of marauding four-footed beasts, she found herself faced by a family of four — an old, white-bearded man, a stocky woman of some thirty seasons, and two children — a boy and girl of six and eight. They carried food and water on a pair of willow-withe travois, the woman dragging one, the children the other.
“Peace to you,” said the old man, holding up both hands to show they were empty. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Where are you going?” Nianki asked.
“The mountains,” said the woman, eyeing the scarred girl warily. “As we must every summer.”
Nianki lowered her spear. “Now? There are beasts abroad in the night.”
“We should have left days ago, but the boy was sick with a flux.” As she spoke, the woman kept sidling away. Nianki moved in front of her, blocking her path.
“I’m a stranger to these parts,” said Nianki. “If there’s danger, I want to know.”
The woman’s eyes darted back and forth. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“When I arrived, people were thick as tadpoles here. Now everyone’s leaving. What are you frightened of?”
“The Good People,” chimed the girl child.
“Shh!” hissed the old man. “Don’t speak their name!”
“Who are ‘the good people’?” Nianki demanded.
The woman tried to barge past. Nianki grabbed her arm. The old man moved to break Nianki’s hold, but he found her spear point pressed into his throat. The young boy dropped his side of the travois and started to cry.
“Be still!” Nianki barked. Her fierce shout startled the boy enough that he subsided to a sniffle. The woman remained rooted where she stood, eyes downcast.
“You,” Nianki said to the old man. “Talk.”
His jaw worked. “Every summer, the Good People come here from the east. They are powerful in spirit, but difficult to deal with. Some use their wisdom to help and heal us. Others treat us like game and hunt us for sport, so every summer we leave the shore and travel to the mountains.”
“What do they look like?”
“They are comely people, graceful and lightly made, yet strong. Their color is not like ours — their skin is very fair, and their hair like a dandelion’s. They wear strange bright clothing and command beasts to do their bidding.”
It sounded like a fable, but they were obviously terrified of something. Nianki moved her spear from the old man’s neck.
“Be off,” she said.
“You’d best leave, too,” the woman warned. “The Good People are not to be trusted. They could take your head for a trophy, as they did my poor mate’s three summers past.”
“I’m fairly warned. Go.”
The children picked up their poles and tugged the travois. Their mother bent her back and pushed on ahead, breaking the trail for them. The old man lingered.
“Fifteen summers past I’d have fought you for this,” he said, fingering the mark on his throat Nianki’s spear made.
“Fifteen summers past I fought only for my mother’s milk.”
He scowled as he hurried after his family. The old man limped badly, hips rocking from side to side as he walked. He must have taken a bad fall once, and the bones had never set properly.
Nianki moved her camp in case the old hunter decided to double back and visit her while she slept. She laid a circle of twigs on the ground around her, overlapping them. If anyone tried to creep up on her, she’d hear them when they trod on the brittle wood.
The remainder of the night passed peacefully. Dawn broke hot and hazy, and Nianki was awakened by itching all over her body. From the welts on her ribs and legs, she knew she’d been found by a host of sand fleas.
She searched wide and far for a stream to bathe in, but fresh water was sadly lacking in the pine barrens above the beach. Scratching furiously, she resolved to wash in the sea. She had never before dared immerse herself in the sea, but it was the only body of water around large enough to cover her, and she couldn’t bear the terrible burning itch — the fleas had even invaded her hair.
Down to the beach she went, shedding her clothes. The cold surf felt wonderful on her tormented skin, and she plunged in head first.
Surfacing, she spat water, surprised by the salty tang. The bites stung a bit, but the itching rapidly subsided. She held her head under for as long as she could stand to drown the miserable insects. When she popped up again,
