"May peace be with you," Duwan said, although he was bristling at the threat. He took Jai's arm and she looked up at him wide-eyed. He turned, stepped over the legs of a seated elder, and made his way into the sunlight. Before him the males of the runners were gathered, some with bows in hand. With a snarl, he drew his weapons.
"I came in peace, to give you hope," he said. "I am cast out. It is up to you whether or not I go in peace."
He thrust Jai behind him and holding his two swords at the ready, moved forward at a swift walk. The males of the runners melted from his path in silence. As he exited the valley through the narrow, rocky cleft, walking on stones protruding from the streambed, a volley of crooked, ineffectual arrows fell to his rear, causing Jai to scream in fear. Duwan, who had seen the runner males creeping among the tall brothers, did not even glance back.
Chapter Eight
Duwan sat moodily on a carpet of fallen needles. A storm was brewing, and its advance winds sighed through the upper branches of the tall brothers. The fire flickered and eddied in the gusts. A dead limb fell quite near the fire and, although she had seen before how certain trees seemed to give to Duwan of their deadwood, Jai started. They had halted only with the coming of darkness, having by then put several ridges and valleys between them and the valley of the free runners.
"Master, are you angry with me?" Jai asked.
Duwan shook his head without looking at her.
"You have not spoken to me, have not called my name since we left those weak ones."
"Forgive me," Duwan said. "I have much to ponder." Jai broke up the fallen limb and placed some of it on the fire. From a distance came the warm, sweet smell of rain. "We will have a wet camp tonight," she said.
Duwan had not spread his sleep covering. Jai lifted his pack and began to unfold the material. Duwan remained silent, staring into the flickering flames, as she used dead sticks to form the covering into a canopy.
"There," she said, "you will sleep dry." A patter of large drops made a soft murmur on the trees. It was a whispering grove, and the distant, sighing communications of ancient Drinkers mixed in Duwan's mind with the sound of the wind, the patter of raindrops. Then the storm was upon them. Jai cringed with the flash and rumble of it, and the rain penetrated the overhead foliage and began to wet them. Duwan, aroused from his thoughts, crawled underneath the canopy. Jai sat huddled by the hissing fire as it fought to survive in the increasing rainfall.
"Come," Duwan said, motioning to her to join him. She came gladly, curled herself, being careful not to touch him.
"You will have a wet backside," Duwan said, with a chuckle, as he observed that her rear protruded into the rain. She moved closer to him and they touched.
"Forgive me," she whispered, drawing back.
"Come," he said, putting his hand on her waist to pull her into cover. She edged closer, felt his body heat on her flank.
She was shivering. He could feel it as his arm lay loosely across her waist. "You're cold," he said.
"Yes, Master," she whispered, although her shivering was not from cold.
"We must think about getting some proper clothing," he said.
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
"Give me your back," he said, pushing her into turning onto her side. "I will warm you." He pulled her to him, spoon fashion, and held her tightly with his arm. "Better?"
"Thank you, Master," she said.
"It is time we made something clear," he said. "You are no longer a slave. No one is your master. It does not please me to be called master."
"Yes," she said, still shivering. Then, to distract her mind from his closeness, "If you will kill animals I can make us garments from their fur. I have never done it, but I noted that the women of the runners wore such garments and perhaps I can learn to make them."
"We will not take life," he said.
"As you will it," she said.
"You're still cold?"
"Yes." Then, after a pause, "No."
"No?"
"Your touch—the feel of your body—"
Duwan felt his face grow warm. He started to push her away, but did not. "These things affect you?"
"You are very beautiful, Mas—" She paused. "Do you feel it?"
"I feel the warmth of you," he said.
"Shall I make you feel more?"
"This is a newness to me," he said. "I cannot will the heat of ripeness."
"Ah," she said.
"And you, is the feeling of ripeness with you always?"
"Not always."
"But you can graft without the ripeness?"
"With the ripeness, there is fruiting. Without the ripeness only pleasure."
"Very strange," Duwan said.
She turned in his arms, lay facing him. Her soft arms went around him.
"You saved me," she whispered, "and I have nothing to give you in return except myself. If I can give you pleasure—"
He felt her bud point swelling, opening, a ripe, warm, soft pressing against his stomach. He felt his body stir and his blood sing in excitement. He told himself that it was the custom among these strange Drinkers in the Land of Many Brothers. He was alone, far from home. He was discouraged. He was warmed by her, and he felt himself begin to open and then, as if by signal, the whisperings came to him from the ancient brothers, a mixed, incomprehensible murmuring that grew and grew until, not in words but in pictures, he saw a flowering land of virgin green, saw Drinkers, strong, active, happy, and he knew that he was looking into the distant past.
Then, as his body burned, as Jai pressed herself closer, as her face touched his and her lips were warm and moist on his, he saw a vision of the endless tall brothers of the far north, and, as if he were a bird, he was soaring over the land of the snows, the land of the big waters, into the barrens and in the distance he saw the smokes of the land of fires and soared past them, high, to look down into the valley in the time of the long light. There were his father, his mother, his grandmother, all the Drinkers. And there, sitting alone, was Alning.
He clung to the vision and communicated with his mind. "Brothers," he said, "who among you has seen this? How can you show me this?" And from the whisperings in his mind there emerged a clear voice.
"None have seen save you, brother."
And then the whisperings were incomprehensible again and he was gently pushing Jai away. "You have offered me something of great value. Do not be insulted."
She, trembling, tried to touch him at the bud point and he caught her wrist and held her hand away. "Sister," he said, "I do not reject you, for you are sweet and precious. I reject an act that is against my code, my teachings."
"I understand, Master," she said, trying to pull away.
"No," he said, "stay. Give me your back so that we can share warmth, for after the rain the night will be chill."
He awoke with the light of Du strong, with birds singing in the tall brothers overhead, but it had been a noise not in keeping with the grove that had awakened him. Jai lay by his side, facing him, one of her legs thrown across his thighs. He pushed her away gently so as not to awaken her, rose silently, reached for his weapons. Again there came the sound, and he flowed in smooth, silent motions toward it. Someone was coming toward him, not being too careful about being quiet. He hid himself behind a large tall brother and waited. The intruder was walking swiftly and as he neared Duwan sprang out, longsword raised. He halted the downstroke in time to avoid splitting the head of Tambol the Hunter.
"Master," Tambol gasped.
"You have narrowly escaped death," Duwan said. "In future, should such a need arise, it would be best to announce your coming."
"Forgive me, Master," Tambol said. "I have traveled hard, and throughout most of the night to overtake you."