Up the back channel, the air grew still and hot, and the water clear. Huge elderberry bushes leaned over the banks, their branches heavy with thick clusters of green fruit slowly acquiring a promising rosy blush; in another month the berries would be black and ripe, and Fawn could easily see how a boy might gather them from a boat like this one. A shiny sunfish jumped right into their boat at Dag’s feet; Dag, laughing at Fawn’s startled squeal, scooped the flopping creature gently back into the water and denied that he had enticed it by Lakewalker persuasion. “Much too small, Spark!”
Rounding a tangle of wrack and cattails where red-winged blackbirds traded barking chirps and hoarse whistles, they came at last upon a broad open space crowded with flat lily pads, their white flowers wide to the sun. Thin, iridescent blue dragonflies, and thicker scarlet ones, stitched the air above the marsh, and rows of turtles sunned themselves on logs, yellow-striped necks stretched out, brown backs gleaming like polished stones. A blue heron stalked slowly along the farther shore; it froze briefly, then darted its long yellow beak into the water. A silvery minnow flashed as the heron twisted its neck around, gulped, then stood folded for a moment looking smug. Fawn hardly knew whether it made her happier to watch the flowers or the contented look on Dag’s face. Dag sighed in satisfaction, but then frowned.
“I thought this was the same place, but it seems smaller. This water is a lot shallower, too. I remember it as being well over my head. Did I take a wrong turn somewhere?”
“It looks plenty deep to me. Um…how old were you, again, first time you found this place?”
“Eight.”
“And how tall?”
Dag began to open his mouth, then grinned sheepishly. “Shorter than you, Spark.”
“Well, then.”
“Well, indeed.” He laid his paddle across his lap and just gazed around.
The water lilies, though beautiful, were the same common variety Fawn had sometimes seen in quiet backwaters around West Blue, she decided. She had seen cattails, dragonflies, turtles, blackbirds, and herons before. There was nothing new here, and yet…this place is magical. The silence in the warm, moist air, broken only by the little noises of the marsh, seemed holy in her ears, as if she were hearing a sound beneath all sound. This is what having groundsense must be like, all the time. The thought awed her.
They sat quietly in the narrow boat, beyond all need of words, until the heat of the sun began to grow uncomfortable; with a sigh, Dag took up his paddle once more and turned them around. His stroke left a glossy whirlpool spiraling down into the clear water, and Fawn’s eye followed it. This is where his heart is anchored. I can see why.
They had almost rounded the corner into the main arm of the lake when Dag paused again. Fawn twisted around; he held his finger to his lips and grinned at her. His eyes half-lidded, he sat there with an absentminded, sleepy look on his face that didn’t reassure her a bit. So she didn’t quite fall out of the boat when a sudden splash and movement resolved into a huge black bass, twisting in the air and trailing sparkling drops. It fell into the bottom of the narrow boat with a resounding thud, flopped and flapped like mad, then at last lay still, bright gills flexing.
“There’s a better size for dinner,” said Dag in satisfaction, and thrust his paddle into the water once more.
“Now, that’s persuasion. Is that how you folks fish all the time?” asked Fawn in amazement. “I wondered why I didn’t see any poles or lines lying around.”
“Something like that. Actually, we usually use hand-nets. You ever see old Cattagus lying on the dock looking as if he’s dozing, with one hand trailing over the side, that’s what he’s likely doing.”
“It seems almost like cheating. Why are there any fish left in this lake?”
“Well, not everyone has the knack.”
As they pulled into the dock, sunburned and happy, Fawn made plans for begging some herbs from Sarri’s garden and grilling Dag’s catch worthily. She managed to clamber onto the weathered gray planks from the wobbly boat without taking an inadvertent swimming lesson, and let Dag hand her up his prize before he tied off the boat’s lines. Clutching the bass, she turned her face up to Dag for a quick kiss and hug, and they climbed the stone steps up the steep bank.
His arm around her waist gave her an abrupt squeeze, then fell away. She looked up to follow his glance.
Dar waited in the shade at the top of the bank, frowning like a bit of rainy dark detached from winter and walking around. As they crested the rise, he said to Dag, “I need to talk to you.”
“Do you? Why?” Dag inquired, but he gestured toward their tent and the log seats around their fire pit.
“Alone, if you please,” Dar said stiffly.
“Mm,” said Dag, without enthusiasm, but he gave his brother a short nod. He saw Fawn back to the tent and left her to deal with the fish. Fawn watched uneasily as the pair strolled away out of the campsite and turned onto the road, leaning a little away from each other.
7
T hey turned left onto the shady road between the shore campsites and the woods. Dag was tired enough not to need to shorten his steps to match his brother’s, and not yet annoyed enough to lengthen them to his full patroller’s stride and make Dar hurry to keep up. On the whole, he wouldn’t bet on that remaining the case. What is he about? It didn’t take groundsense to see that although Dar had come to Dag, conciliation and apology were not strong in his mood.
“And so?” Dag prodded, although it would have been better tactics to wait Dar out, make him start. This isn’t supposed to be a war.
“You’re the talk of the lake, you know,” Dar said curtly.
“Talk passes. There will be some other novelty along soon enough.” Dag set his jaw to keep himself from asking, What are they saying? He was glumly sure Dar was about to tell him anyway.
“It’s a pretty unsavory match. Not only is that girl you dragged home a farmer, she’s scarcely more than an infant!”
Dag shrugged. “In some ways Fawn’s a child; in others not. In grief and guilt, she’s fully grown.” And I am surely qualified to judge. “In knowing how to go on, I’d call her an apprentice adult. Basic tasks aren’t yet routine for her, but when all that energy and attention get freed up at last, watch out! She’s ferociously bright, and learns fast. Main thing about the age difference, I reckon, is that it hands me a special burden not to betray her trust.” His eyebrows pinched. “Except that the same is true of anyone at any age, so maybe it’s not so special after all.”
“Betrayal? You’ve shamed our tent! Mama’s become a laughingstock to the ill willed over this, and she hates it. You know how she values her dignity.”
Dag tilted his head. “Huh. Well, I’m sorry to hear it, but I suspect she brought that on herself. I’m afraid what she calls dignity others see as conceit.” On the other hand, perhaps it was the accident of Cumbia’s having so few children that made her insist on their particular value, to hold her head up against women friends who could parade a more numerous get. Although it was plain fact that Dar’s skills were rare and extraordinary. Remembering to placate, Dag added, “Some of it is pride in you, to be fair.”
“It could have been in you, too, if you’d bestirred yourself,” Dar grumbled. “Still just a patroller, after forty years? You should have been a commander by now. Anything that Mama and Mari agree on must be true, or the sky’s like to fall.”