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Authors: Kij Johnson
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silk cords, each a different note to make the different commands. They were not as convenient as whistling the notes between my teeth but they carried. I whistled everyone out and alert , and dawnward . The dogs loped off, dark shapes galloping through the pale grass to meet the handful of man-shapes coming.
The foremost rode under a banner but we could not see the color. I fingered my whistles, watching Ricard for direction. We had twenty dogs and eight adults. I would lose some dogs but we could stop these men in the unlikely event we needed to.
“White,” my brother’s wife Jena said.
Trading color: barter and news. Ricard relaxed and smiled and the armed ones lowered their weapons. My brother was new to his role and still likely to take the hard road to any decision. There are not many people on Ping; in the time it took for my sister Meg to get pregnant and bear her daughter Mara, I never saw strangers. This was our first contact since before our father had died and Ricard had assumed the family’s leadership: better that this be an easy meeting.
“Peace,” he said.
Jena nodded. “I’ll make the tea for the greetings.” She walked to the cooking fires, my nephews complaining beside her.
“They might not be peaceful,” my uncle Den said.
Ricard turned. “Why not? They ride under white.”
“Still, better to—”
Ricard laughed, “Den, we are nine and they’re six. They ride under white and no one would betray that. We’re not fighters but we’ll defend ourselves if we have to. What could they do?”
“Ricard—” Den said sourly.
“All right.” Ricard gestured impatiently. “Katia, send one of the dogs out to bring in Lara and Willem from the gelding herd. The geldings won’t wander far before they return. Satisfied?”
I nodded and whistled for the young black bitch, and other herd . She loped away to the north. She did not know enough yet to be useful here, but my cousin and her husband would see her and know she was sent to summon them.
“Let’s get the children out of the way,” my sister Meg said. “Rob, Mara, Stivan, into the sleep tent.” But no one moved. The children clung to their parents: tiny Stivan and Rob clutching Jena’s skirts, Mara holding Meg’s hand tightly. We stood there as though trapped out of time, flies hanging in honey.
And then—the trick grassland plays on us—they were suddenly present. Time began again: the camp was flooded with noise and motion. The dogs whirled around the horsemen, jumping and barking. The strange horses flinched away from them. Several of the riders looked no more happy. One man had a whip with which he flailed around his horse’s flanks. The dogs thought this was a game, and danced away, grinning as dogs do.
I whistled everyone and back . Obediently the dogs moved away. When they were far enough away not to make the strange horses nervous, I whistled drop , and they collapsed panting in the trampled grass.
I had never seen such large horses. They stood so tall that I could barely see over their backs, with long rangy legs and rough coats. They all looked sick and exhausted, as though they had been ridden harder than they should. I recognized prayer flags, scraps of fabric and paper and hide that had been woven into tight little patterns and hung from their bridles.
And I had never seen strangers like these: no surprise on Ping, where one might never see members of the same group twice in a lifetime. The barbarians—for so I thought them—were gold-skinned and flat-faced. The four men had shaved heads; the two women had long black braids that fell to their heels as they rode. They were dressed identically in knee-length dark quilted tunics split front and back for riding. The tunics would fold closed and secure with plain gold buttons close to the throat, but it was too hot for that; they wore them gaping open to show sweat-darkened shirts and trousers of undyed Pingworm silk.
They were all warriors. Hung from their
The foremost rode under a banner but we could not see the color. I fingered my whistles, watching Ricard for direction. We had twenty dogs and eight adults. I would lose some dogs but we could stop these men in the unlikely event we needed to.
“White,” my brother’s wife Jena said.
Trading color: barter and news. Ricard relaxed and smiled and the armed ones lowered their weapons. My brother was new to his role and still likely to take the hard road to any decision. There are not many people on Ping; in the time it took for my sister Meg to get pregnant and bear her daughter Mara, I never saw strangers. This was our first contact since before our father had died and Ricard had assumed the family’s leadership: better that this be an easy meeting.
“Peace,” he said.
Jena nodded. “I’ll make the tea for the greetings.” She walked to the cooking fires, my nephews complaining beside her.
“They might not be peaceful,” my uncle Den said.
Ricard turned. “Why not? They ride under white.”
“Still, better to—”
Ricard laughed, “Den, we are nine and they’re six. They ride under white and no one would betray that. We’re not fighters but we’ll defend ourselves if we have to. What could they do?”
“Ricard—” Den said sourly.
“All right.” Ricard gestured impatiently. “Katia, send one of the dogs out to bring in Lara and Willem from the gelding herd. The geldings won’t wander far before they return. Satisfied?”
I nodded and whistled for the young black bitch, and other herd . She loped away to the north. She did not know enough yet to be useful here, but my cousin and her husband would see her and know she was sent to summon them.
“Let’s get the children out of the way,” my sister Meg said. “Rob, Mara, Stivan, into the sleep tent.” But no one moved. The children clung to their parents: tiny Stivan and Rob clutching Jena’s skirts, Mara holding Meg’s hand tightly. We stood there as though trapped out of time, flies hanging in honey.
And then—the trick grassland plays on us—they were suddenly present. Time began again: the camp was flooded with noise and motion. The dogs whirled around the horsemen, jumping and barking. The strange horses flinched away from them. Several of the riders looked no more happy. One man had a whip with which he flailed around his horse’s flanks. The dogs thought this was a game, and danced away, grinning as dogs do.
I whistled everyone and back . Obediently the dogs moved away. When they were far enough away not to make the strange horses nervous, I whistled drop , and they collapsed panting in the trampled grass.
I had never seen such large horses. They stood so tall that I could barely see over their backs, with long rangy legs and rough coats. They all looked sick and exhausted, as though they had been ridden harder than they should. I recognized prayer flags, scraps of fabric and paper and hide that had been woven into tight little patterns and hung from their bridles.
And I had never seen strangers like these: no surprise on Ping, where one might never see members of the same group twice in a lifetime. The barbarians—for so I thought them—were gold-skinned and flat-faced. The four men had shaved heads; the two women had long black braids that fell to their heels as they rode. They were dressed identically in knee-length dark quilted tunics split front and back for riding. The tunics would fold closed and secure with plain gold buttons close to the throat, but it was too hot for that; they wore them gaping open to show sweat-darkened shirts and trousers of undyed Pingworm silk.
They were all warriors. Hung from their
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