"I promised you a knife."
A glance upward, wary interest. A stare of white wide eyes.
"The wer-knife. The one you used. That would be a good one for you. You can have it if you like. It's a very good blade. You have to keep it spotless. Even fingers stain it. I'll show you how to keep it."
Thorn picked it up again, by the hilt. Held it.
The gangling boy came up the trail, thinking he was alert: Duun knew. Thorn looked this way and that: his callused feet made very little noise on the dusty track among the rocks.
"Up," Duun hissed. "Look up."
Thorn's head came up. Duun had already moved, lost in the brush.
The boy was still looking up when Duun hit him in the back with a thrown stone. Thorn spun about and threw. Thorn's stone rattled away down among brush and rock. Duun had evaded it with a fluid shift of his hip, and stood untouched.
"Too late," Duun said. "You're dead. I'm not."
Thorn's shoulders slumped. He bent his head in shame.
Whirled and sped another rock underhand.
Duun evaded that one too without more than shifting stance. Thorn did not look surprised, only exhausted. Beaten at last.
Duun grinned. "Better. That did surprise me." The grin faded. "But your choosing this track up didn't. That was your first mistake. How did I know? Can you figure that?"
Thorn gasped for breath. Hunkered down on the path, arms on scabbed knees. "Because I was tired. The climb's easier."
"Better still. You're right. Think ahead next time. And think in all directions. You know this path. You should have seen these rocks in your head before you came to them."
No answer. Thorn knew. Duun knew that he knew. Thorn wiped his forearm across his face and smeared dust across the sweat. Even at this range he stank of heat.
"Also," Duun reminded him with delicacy, "when you came round the mountain the wind was coming at your shoulder, at an angle to the rocks. Do you see why that should have warned you?"
Thorn blinked sweat and wiped again. He had grown rangier, longer of limb. The belly had gone hollow beneath the ribs, ridged with muscle above the wrap about his loins. Brush-scars showed white on his skin. "Scent," he said. He gasped for breath. There was chagrin in his half-drowned face. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Duun."
"Sorry won't save you. Scent-deaf doesn't mean the world is. You're dead, Thorn."
"Yes, Duun." A faint, hoarse voice. Shoulders slumped again. "You won't catch me again."
"Won't I?"
"Duun-I'm hungry, Duun!"
Duun spun around the other side of the tree, leaned there looking at him and scowling. "Hunt, then. Fool. Don't tell me what your needs are. I'll know where to find you. Don't trust me, Thorn."
"I'm not playing, Duun!"
"Then neither will I be." Duun spun round again. Headed downslope. "I'll hurt you this time, Thorn!" "Duun!"
Fire crackled, there in the clearing. They made peace. Thorn nursed bruises. It was Duun's catch Duun divided with him, meat which Thorn took gingerly, dancing it from one hand to the next while it cooled down.
"You do well," Duun said.
"For someone who can't smell," Thorn said hoarsely. "Who falls into traps."
Duun flicked his ears. "Good, you worry about your lacks. You'll think of them. You won't forget again."
"Duun, what's wrong with me?"
The question stopped him. The meat burned Duun's fingers and he shifted it in haste, back and forth again, and laid it on a rock. "Wrong. Who said wrong?"
Silence from the other side of the fire. Grievous silence.
"You're different," Duun said. "Or maybe I am. Does that occur to you?"
It had not. Thorn blinked in shock. Then disbelief crept in. There were the meds. There was Ellud. Thorn was not diverted. Duun was pleased with that, too.
"You're smart," Duun said. "You're quick, you're clever. Brave. All those things. You're Thorn. What if you were the only one? What if? What if I were the only Duun? Would that make a difference? You're all you can be. You don't need anything else. I don't."
"Make sense, Duun!"
"The world's wide, boy. Wide. There's nine seas. There's cities. There's roads and highways. People in a hurry. Cities are full of noise. Sheon's best. That's this place, Sheon. The gods made this whole world and they made Sheon first. You talk to the winds, Thorn. You hear the gods talk back? Do you?"
"I don't know."
"You can't hear that in a city. Cityfolk are scent-deaf. Too many smells. Gives you a headache." Duun tore off a bit of meat and swallowed. "The gods made the world and they made shonunin last, out of the leftovers; and they were missing some. And they were sorry, so one of them gave up a bit and another gave another bit and they filled up the gaps till there were parts enough. That's what we are, all scraps and a bit of the gods' own selves. All patchwork. With good parts and bad. So you can't smell. I've got just six fingers. And you've got five on just one hand."
"How did you-?"
Ah. The fish bit. Duun had thought that bait would lead him astray. Duun shrugged. "I made a mistake. See? Even I make mistakes. And I'm good, Thorn, I'm very good. You don't know how good."
Thorn choked down a bite. He had to chew more than Duun did. Sometimes in his haste he forgot this. He struggled. Stayed silent after. "What happened?" Thorn asked finally. "Duun- what did happen to your-?"
"Ah. Well. I hunted something that bit back, you see?" He held up the maimed hand. "You put your hand into things, young Thorn, you may not get back what you want."
"What was it?"
Duun took another bite. Swallowed. "Eat. It's getting cold."
"Duun."
"Maybe I'll tell you. When you can beat me, fair or foul."
"I never will!"
"Ah. Maybe you won't. But you're several fingers ahead of me. You're younger than I am. My knee aches when it rains."
"Couldn't the meds-?"
"Maybe I didn't want them to."
Thorn's mouth was open. He closed it and stopped asking. His eyes were muddled with unasked questions and too many answers. He had become too wary a hunter to go down a trail that likely to have snares. Thorn took another bite and ate in silence.
"I'll teach you to shoot," Duun said. "You almost hit me with that stone."
Thorn looked up. Distracted again, lured on and promised. (O young fool. Fool who loves me. Thorn.)
"Another sequence," Duun said. "Base ten this time. The numbers are sixteen, forty-nine, fifty-two, ninety-seven, eight and two."
Thorn sat on the back porch of the house. The hiyi flowers bloomed. The insects hummed and made pink petals fall in delirium. Thorn shut his eyes. His brow knit. "Two hundred twenty four."
"Divide by the third in sequence."
Thorn put his hands against his eyes. Pressed hard. "Four point three." He looked up. "Can't we go hunting, Duun? I'm tired of-"
"More decimals."
Another shutting of the eyes. Hands pressed to shut out the light. "Point three zero eight."
"Add nine. Subtract four, eighty-two. Six."
The hands came down. Eyes blinked. "I'm sorry, Duun, I lost it, I forgot-"
"No. You didn't remember. Think. Name me the numbers." "I-"
"Am I about to hear can't?"
"Didn't"
"Didn't. Didn't. There was a nest of maganin; here and here and here! How many were they? Which groups? Where? They've eaten you, fool!"
"Maganin don't come in fifties!"
"I am ashamed." Duun thrust his hands into the waist of his kilt and walked away.
"Duun-"
Duun turned, ears pricked. "You've remembered."
"No! No, I haven't remembered! I can't remember! I don't remember!"
"Then I'm still ashamed." Duun laid his ears back, turned and walked on.
"Duun-"
Duun did not look back. There were tears back there. Rage. It was Thorn's nature.
So was it Thorn's nature to come trailing back into the house, finally, when it was dark, when Duun had made a fire and sat on the sand before the hearth. Duun had cooked food. He had eaten. He had brought Thorn's supper outside and set it wordlessly on the step. Thorn was not to be seen. But it was in Thorn's nature to admit defeat when night came.