THE ACTORS
by ELEANOR ARNASON
A Hwarhath Historical Romance
THERE WERE TWO WOMEN who fell in love. At first this was no problem. Their families were allies and trading partners whose ships plied the narrow ocean between the coast of Sorg and the Great Southern Continent.
The northern family was Sorg itself. Numerous, prosperous, clever and arrogant, these folk gave their name to an entire region.
In recent centuries the coast of Sorg has been improved in many ways: land drained and turned to agriculture, canals dug to carry away excess water and for transportation. The coastal people still prefer boats to the railroad, which they claim is noisy, dirty and unnatural. "If the Goddess had meant us to ride
on iron rails, she would not have given us so much water."
Most of the year a steady wind blows off the ocean. Modem silent windmills stand everywhere, their metal blades flashing "like a flock of little suns" in the words of a famous poem. These power the country's many drainage pumps and the even more numerous air cooling machines, which make the climate of Sorg tolerable to foreigners as long as they remain indoors.
In ancient times the coast was a place of brackish marshes, slow rivers, shallow bays and heat. The inhabitants would have been gray if they'd kept all their fur, as they do now, being influenced by air conditioning and the opinions of other cultures. In those days, however, both men and woman cropped their outer layers of hair, leaving only the soft white undercoat; and many decorated themselves by shaving certain areas down to the bare dark skin.
Imagine a folk with snowy fur so short that it hides no detail of the bodies underneath. Dark lines zigzag or coil over their angular shoulders and long narrow backs. (The Sorg have always been a tall and bony people.) Often their faces are partially shaved as well, becoming patterned masks from which stare
eyes as blue as the ocean. Savages, we'd call them now. In their time they were matriarchs, warriors, explorers and merchants.
Their country was rich, providing them with fish, shellfish, birds of many kinds and luatin, which came into the coastal bays to breed. Though it is never easy to kill these massive animals, lust makes them less wary than usual; and many of the bays could be turned into traps. In the coastal marshes the wis plant
bloomed, red as blood or fire. Its sap made (and makes) a famous scarlet dye.
The southern family was Helwar. Their home was an island which lies off the northeast corner of the Great Southern Continent. A polar current runs up the continent's eastern coast and coils around the island, bringing cold water, cool air, rain, and fog. The rain nourished the Helwar forests; the icy current gave
them fish; the cool air made their flocks grow long thick wool. The family wealth, such as it was, came from these four sources: fish, wool, lumber, and ships. At the time of this story the Helwar made the best ships in the world.
It was the Helwar ships, seen in their own harbors and other places, which drew the Sorg south, traveling in wide wallowing barges better fit for rivers than the ocean. As rich as they were, they lacked the Helwar skill. To gain it, or at least the use of it, they offered an alliance.
How could the Helwar refuse these towering white and black people? An agreement was made and confirmed with gifts, though the Sorg did not offer the one gift that makes an alliance unbreakable: their men as fathers for Helwar children. No
bond is stronger than kinship. The offspring of such a mating would connect the two families as long as they and their descendants lived.
The Helwar made hints, which the Sorg pretended not to understand. Growing desperate, for they really wanted this alliance, the Helwar matriarchs made an offer of their own. They would send the five best and most promising young men in their lineage north to father children among the Sorg. The Helwar's new allies hesitated and consulted among each other, while the Helwar waited anxiously; and some of the islanders began to mutter that this might not be such a good deal. Maybe they ought to find more willing trading partners. Finally the Sorg agreed, though in a way that seemed grudging and reluctant.
"This is a beginning," said the Helwar matriarchs to each other. "Once they have our ships, they will understand the appeal of a stronger alliance."
When the Sorg left, five Helwar men -- sturdy warriors -- traveled with them.
The motion of the Sorg barges was terrible, they reported later. "No wonder these folk want our ships. And the heat of their homeland! We're surprised that we didn't shrivel up like fish in a smoke house. But the job is done. All five women are pregnant."
Reassured, the Helwar built ships for their new allies: deep-hulled ocean flyers. When the ships were finished, sailors had to be trained; and this is how this story's heroine came to Helwar. She arrived in the southern autumn, along with other young folk, female and male. All had short hair. Many shaved. What a sight they must have been among the furry, fog-gray southerners!
The Helwar divided them, assigning each gender to the proper kind of ship. Like most of the peoples of the narrow ocean, they had both male and female vessels. The former explored new regions and traded in areas known to be dangerous. The latter kept to established routes, doing business with allies.
Sorg Ahl ended on the Foam Bird. The captain -- Helwar Ki -- was short, sturdy, and as gray as the winter ocean or the cloud-wrapped peaks of her island home.
Now we have brought together the story's first pair of lovers, as gangling Ahl walks up the gangway of the Bird, carrying her journey bag over one shoulder. Ki looks down at her, admiring the foreign woman's grace and evident confidence, but despising the unfamiliar haircut.
There are dark triangles below Ahl's eyes, both pointing down. A third triangle, this one pointing up, occupies most of her forehead. Rows of dark squares go down her arms. A final downward-pointing triangle rests between her upper pair of breasts, in no way concealed by her vest, which seems scanty to Ki.
The ship had two private cabins. One was for the captain. Ki put the foreigner in the other one, safely away from the test of the crew. She was the only daughter of Sorg on board.
At first, as might be expected, Ahl kept herself aloof, though she was a hard worker and eager to learn. Then one day Ki noticed Ahl had stopped shaving. She asked about this,
"It's not easy to shave on board a ship," the northerner answered. "Especially in the weather we've been having; and I don't enjoy the feeling that ice-cold rain and spray produce when they beat against my bare skin. Finally --" She gave Ki a sideways glance. "I'm tired of looking like a foreigner."
After that Ahl became more friendly. By midwinter she'd stopped cutting her fur. "You people look so comfortable," she told Ki and ran a hand along the other woman's arm, ruffling, then smoothing the winter-thick hair. Ki noticed she was falling in love, but kept quiet, having no idea how to court a person who came from so far away.
In early spring they carried a cargo of pickled fish to a harbor on the eastern coast of the Great Southern Continent. The trip was stormy. By the time they reached land and tied up in protected water, all of them were exhausted. Nonetheless most of the crew went on shore. The lineage that held this part of the coast was connected to the Helwar by generations of interbreeding. They all had relatives in the houses that lined the harbor town's narrow, winding streets.
Ki and Ahl stayed on board, Ahl because she was not kin to anyone in the town, Ki out of courtesy and affection. The storm had blown out to sea, and the sky in the east was black; but where their ship rested, the sun shone, and the clouds were mostly white. Farther west, above low hills covered by a semitropical forest, the sky was clear. Hah! It was pleasant tolie on the Foam Bird's deck, sharing sunlight and a jug of halin. Ahl had unfastened her vest. Her four breasts were visible: rather flat, especially the lower pair, but with prominent nipples and large oval areolae so dark that they seemed black. Ki felt desire, stronger than before. Something about the day-- the stillness, the brightness, their fatigue, the jug of halin -- made it possible for her to speak. Voice