Read Online The Chronicles of Mavin Manyshaped by Sheri S. Tepper - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sheri S. Tepper
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really see for a thousand leagues in every direction.” He hummed again, smiled up at her as though drugged, and trudged on once more. She thought that she herself must seem as drugged as he on the sunlight and the quiet, for she was in a mood of strange and marvelous contentment, so quietly peaceful that she almost missed the sound of hooves behind them on the road.
Mavin moved into the bushes at the side of the road, pulling Mertyn along with her. “Remember,” she cautioned him. “I am your older brother. You may still call me Mavin, for that could be man or woman, but do not for the love of all the powers and freedom call me ‘sister’.” It was easy enough for her to seem male, the changes were superficial and easy; and if Mertyn did not forget, she would pass well enough. The horse sounds came on, more than one animal, and she turned at last to see what moved toward them in the morning.
They were two Tragamors, one male and one female peering through their fanged half helms, and a rough-looking man dressed in a strange garb which Mavin did not recognize. She had been told that the school in Danderbat keep was not good for much except teaching some shifterish skills and policies, and she knew that they had paid little enough attention to the Index. She wished at the moment that they had spent more time upon it, enough time at least to recognize what he might be. Not Tragamor—their fanged helms were unmistakable—therefore probably not having the Tragamor skill of moving things from a distance or tossing mountains about at will. It would probably be some complementary talent. The man was clad in skins and furs, and he had a long glass slung at his shoulder. She had barely time to look him over before the horses pulled up and the male Tragamor leaned from his saddle to hail them in a voice both unpleasant and challenging.
“Hey there, fellow. We are told there is a way into the highlands along this River. Would you know how far?”
Just as Mavin was readying herself to reply, Mertyn spoke, his childish treble firm and positive. “Just before you come to Calihiggy Creek, Gamesman, there is a trail leading back to the southeast onto the heights. Or, if you need a better road than that, there is one which goes south from Pfarb Durim to Betand, but that is many leagues to the north.”
“Ah, a scholarly scut, isn’t it,” drawled the skin-clad man. “And where did you learn so much about the world, small one.” He seemed to be struggling with his face, attempting to keep it in its frowning mold.
“I studied maps ... sir. I’m sorry, but I don’t know what your title should be, Sir Gamesman. I mean no offense ...” Mavin looked at the boy, fascinated, for he was smiling up at the men, a kind of light in his face, and they all smiled back, kindly, with no hint of trouble.
Mavin shook herself, drew herself into the persona she had adopted and said, “Indeed, we mean no offense, Gamesmen. We are country people and see few travelers.”
The skin-clad one turned his eyes from the child to Mavin, face still kindly and happy. “No offense, young man. No offense. I am an Explorer, and there are few enough of my kind among all the Gamesmen in these lands. We go into the high country in search of fabled mines, and we must find a way the wagons can come after, for why should Tragamors delve when pawns can dig? Eh?”
“Why, indeed,” caroled Mertyn. “Well, it is more than one day’s journey to the trail, Gamesmen. We wish you speedy journey and comfortable rest.” And he smiled, and the Gamesmen smiled and rode away, and Mavin was once more trudging in the dust which had been so full of sparkling light and peace.
She shook herself. “What did you do to them?”
“Do?” He was all innocence. “Do?”
“Do, Mertyn. When that Tragamor spoke to us first, his fanged helm practically dripped menace at us, ready to bite us up in one gulp if we did not tell him what he wanted to know.
Mavin moved into the bushes at the side of the road, pulling Mertyn along with her. “Remember,” she cautioned him. “I am your older brother. You may still call me Mavin, for that could be man or woman, but do not for the love of all the powers and freedom call me ‘sister’.” It was easy enough for her to seem male, the changes were superficial and easy; and if Mertyn did not forget, she would pass well enough. The horse sounds came on, more than one animal, and she turned at last to see what moved toward them in the morning.
They were two Tragamors, one male and one female peering through their fanged half helms, and a rough-looking man dressed in a strange garb which Mavin did not recognize. She had been told that the school in Danderbat keep was not good for much except teaching some shifterish skills and policies, and she knew that they had paid little enough attention to the Index. She wished at the moment that they had spent more time upon it, enough time at least to recognize what he might be. Not Tragamor—their fanged helms were unmistakable—therefore probably not having the Tragamor skill of moving things from a distance or tossing mountains about at will. It would probably be some complementary talent. The man was clad in skins and furs, and he had a long glass slung at his shoulder. She had barely time to look him over before the horses pulled up and the male Tragamor leaned from his saddle to hail them in a voice both unpleasant and challenging.
“Hey there, fellow. We are told there is a way into the highlands along this River. Would you know how far?”
Just as Mavin was readying herself to reply, Mertyn spoke, his childish treble firm and positive. “Just before you come to Calihiggy Creek, Gamesman, there is a trail leading back to the southeast onto the heights. Or, if you need a better road than that, there is one which goes south from Pfarb Durim to Betand, but that is many leagues to the north.”
“Ah, a scholarly scut, isn’t it,” drawled the skin-clad man. “And where did you learn so much about the world, small one.” He seemed to be struggling with his face, attempting to keep it in its frowning mold.
“I studied maps ... sir. I’m sorry, but I don’t know what your title should be, Sir Gamesman. I mean no offense ...” Mavin looked at the boy, fascinated, for he was smiling up at the men, a kind of light in his face, and they all smiled back, kindly, with no hint of trouble.
Mavin shook herself, drew herself into the persona she had adopted and said, “Indeed, we mean no offense, Gamesmen. We are country people and see few travelers.”
The skin-clad one turned his eyes from the child to Mavin, face still kindly and happy. “No offense, young man. No offense. I am an Explorer, and there are few enough of my kind among all the Gamesmen in these lands. We go into the high country in search of fabled mines, and we must find a way the wagons can come after, for why should Tragamors delve when pawns can dig? Eh?”
“Why, indeed,” caroled Mertyn. “Well, it is more than one day’s journey to the trail, Gamesmen. We wish you speedy journey and comfortable rest.” And he smiled, and the Gamesmen smiled and rode away, and Mavin was once more trudging in the dust which had been so full of sparkling light and peace.
She shook herself. “What did you do to them?”
“Do?” He was all innocence. “Do?”
“Do, Mertyn. When that Tragamor spoke to us first, his fanged helm practically dripped menace at us, ready to bite us up in one gulp if we did not tell him what he wanted to know.
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