No lesser joy can dim the spell
Of quietly enchanted hours;
When the sea wore reflected stars
Upon a breast like flowers.
She took the glass and gave a sigh of contentment as the other curled up beside her and they laid their heads together, kissing and murmuring into each other's ears.
"Yes, dinner was like a feast of kinfolk," Swindapa said, after a minute. "It's a lot like being a part of a lineage, being in the Guard."
Brine-scented dawns-seafaring dreams
How richly these have dowered me;
That I should go through all my days
Companioned by the sea…
"That's the way I wanted it, 'dapa," Alston replied. Band of brothers, she thought-a bit sexist, but traditional. "Mmmm, that's good," she added.
"The whiskey, or this?" Swindapa chuckled, as she undid the buttons of the other's shirt and moved her hands inside.
"Both," Marian said, and finished off the glass. It was due that much respect, part of her last stock of Maker's Mark. Then she pulled her partner to her, trailing lips down her neck, to the breasts warm in her hands, shadow-black fingers against pearl-white skin. The Fiernan gave a shivering cry of delight. Marian raised her head with a chuckle and said:
"The only question is, shall we make out here and scandalize the night-watch with the sound effects, or move over to the bed?"
Swindapa's hands were on her belt buckle. "Both, of course," she said, grinning affectionately. Solemnly for a moment: "It may be our last time to share ourselves."
The forecastle was silent now, and there was a harsher music in the background; one of the Sun People war bands on shore, roaring out the tune to the squeal of a primitive bagpipe and a bohdran and something shatteringly like a Lamberg drum. It was an ancient battle chant, with verses that were new since the Eagle People came to Alba:
Axes flash, longswords swing
Shining armor's piercing ring;
Horses run with a polished shield
Fight those bastards 'till they yield!
Midnight mare and golden roan
Strike for the lands we call our own;
Sound the horn, and shout the cry-
How many of them can we make die?
"Whooooooppp!" Heather Alston-Kurlelo screeched, and let go of the rope, yodeling as she flew across the barn. "Whoooooooo!"
For a moment she hung suspended at the top of her arc, feeling the floating sensation of it lifting her stomach and watching the inside of the barn roof through a mist of her own red hair. Then she fell screeching in delicious fear into the soft prickliness of the hay, smelling the dried memory of flowers. It closed over her head and she swam upright in it, wading her way to the beam where the others sat and hitching herself up to sit astraddle it, kicking her bare feet and giggling.
"That was fun" she said.
"Yeah, but you shouldn't yell so loud," Chuck Hollard said.
He looked down to the ground floor of the barn. It was mostly stalls, with the sweet-musky smell of horses; and leather, tack oil, oats, the beery smell of silage in the troughs. The horses made sort of wet crunching sounds as they munched, snorting now and then, or shifting weight from one foot to another with a clomp sound as the hollow hoof hit the packed dirt and straw. The newcomers had already helped him curry and feed them; grudgingly, he admitted to himself that they seemed to know what they were doing despite being townies. Jared Jr. was still down there.
"We aren't supposed to toss like that by ourselves without someone to check on us," he said. "Dad'll burn my butt if he finds out."
"Yeah, Uncle Jared would be mad, too." Lucy sighed. She got up and ran out on one of the narrower beams that spanned the waist of the barn and then back. "But he doesn't spank nearly's hard as our mom. Mom Marian," she added. " 'Specially when we do something we shouldn't on shipboard. Then she really gets mad."
"Oh, yeah," Heather said, rolling her eyes. "Like, really mad. ZHOtopo."
"You actually get to go sailing! Really sailing-far foreign?" Chuck asked. Raw envy freighted his voice.
Heather dangled her feet over the edge of the hayloft. The hay behind her had a smell that made her want to sneeze, and to throw herself into it again like they'd been doing. She picked pieces of it out of her hair and looked at the rope that ran along the pulleyway down the center of the barn's ridgepole.
"Oh, yeah," she said casually, enjoying herself. "All around the world-lots of times. Even when there's fights."
"Only once," Lucy pointed out.
I hate it when she does that. She always spoils a story, Heather thought, and stuck out her tongue at her sister, who went on maddeningly:
"And she didn't expect there was going to be a fight then. It just sort of happened. We stay home when she expects trouble. Like now."
"Nothing happens here," Chuck said, sick with envy. "Jesus Christ"-he sounded very like his father at that moment-"but I wish I could sail away and see all those places… and all the fights…"
"Fights are scary," Lucy said. "Looks like there are cool things to do here, though. Riding."
"Yeah," Heather said. "Ponies of our own."
"There's hunting, too," Chuck said. "Dad says I can have a hunting gun of my own soon. Dad and Mom and the other grown-ups hunt all sorts of things. Wolves, bears, white-tails, turkeys."
"We shot an elephant last year," Heather said nonchalantly.
"Oh," Chuck replied, crushed.
"We ate the elephant," Lucy said. "It was our moms shot it."
"Yeah, and then all these little brown people, locals-
"Sort of yellow-brown-not just brown like me-
"Real little, they were all grown-up and only a bit taller than us-
"With funny-looking faces. They chopped up the elephant. Some of them went right inside it," Lucy said. "And chopped bits up."
"Like butchering a cow?" Chuck asked curiously, his eyes alight. A boy didn't grow up on a farm with any excess of squeamishness.
"Yeah," Heather said, "but it was big. Tall as this barn!"
"Well, tall as the place we're sitting on right now."
"Lucy, stop doing that! You're spoiling it!"
"No I'm not! It's better if you tell it just the way it was!"
"Hey!" Chuck held up his hands. "Hey, I want to hear about this bit."
"Oh," Heather said. "Well, then we built big fires on the beach, and the little people all put grass skirts and stuff on-
"… and they painted themselves, sort of like Indians-
"-and they put bone rattles on their ankles-
"-and we did too-
"And we all danced."
"And ate the elephant and all sorts of stuff."
"Raw?" Chuck asked in ghoulish enthusiasm.
"No, stupid. Toasted over the fires. All the grown-ups were dancing too… well, a lot of them. The sailors. And that's when the Tartessian boat came. Mom-