Fish Tails by Sheri S. Tepper

gold? Has he ever held on to anything that can be sold? You saw his hoard!”
    Needly shook her head.
    Grandma’s voice softened. “His father was the same. Gralf had two brothers, they were the same, they had sons, and they are the same. They will give nothing for love or care! Nothing for comfort or beauty! But they will sell anything for gold. For hoarding! Not to spend, mind you. To have. Just to have. Like a dragon’s hoard! All of them the same.”
    â€œThey don’t spend any?”
    â€œYou saw the hoard when we found it, Needly. It had cobwebs and dust on it. Nobody spends it. They trade things they find that a trader will buy. The main trader up there at the pass, he’s called the Gold King. Always pays in gold. The men, they spend silver, but they hoard gold.”
    â€œWhy do they have hoards?”
    â€œWell, next time I meet a dragon, I’ll be sure to ask her. Or him.”
    Needly grinned. Then she sighed. “I don’t understand my Pa.”
    â€œNeedly, you know full well he is not your Pa.”
    Since the child seemed accepting of this idea, Grandma went on: “All the menfolk went away for a hunt a number of years ago, and there was a stranger man around. I think he’s your real . . . I don’t want to say Pa. Any man who can willy-­wag is called Pa around here, and every jackrabbit can breed, so the title’s meaningless. One of my uncles told me of a place north of Wellsport where they raise fine horses. When time comes to breed the mares, they’re bred to the finest stallion they have, because his get will be better than others. Better for the mare, too, so she can take pride!”
    â€œMares take pride? Grandma!”
    â€œMy uncle swore to me they do! And the man who came to live here the summer you were conceived, he was like that fine stallion. That man was a chosen sire, one you’d be proud to claim descent from. He was like the fathers of my children, maybe even more so. If you hadn’t been born, I’d have stayed where I went when Gralf first came into this house, but you were different. So I came back to keep you safe.”
    â€œWhy didn’t you just take me with you, Grandma? Hmm?”
    Grandma frowned at her boots, shook her head. “I don’t know, and that troubles me. I grew up believing my life had a purpose. I was told so, several times, and though I don’t know where the idea came from, I believed it. The things that have happened to me, the children I’ve borne, were purposeful. I thought the same about you, that you were here for a purpose. My raising you here might have been that purpose. Something just told me not to do anything drastic, to wait for it. Wait for something to happen. I don’t know what. Just something.”
    Needly stared, all kinds of ideas clashing together, making strange, chaotic designs that spun into an instant’s beauty and then lost themselves. “But what if nothing happens, Grandma?”
    â€œNeedly, there’s always that chance. I’ve been disappointed before, one way and another. I know you have, too. But, don’t forget, we’ve always kept your pack ready to go, everything in it you’d need. The best thing for you to do, child, is get up the mountain to Findem Pass, and down the far side. That’s the limit of the country called Ghastain. Then you’re in the land of the Artemisians. There’s a woman there known as Wide Mountain Mother. She’s the head person. She would know the way to the House of the Oracles, and one of her ­people could guide you there. The house where my family lives is quite near there. That house is mine now. There’s a little map in my notebook, the one with the plants in it, and the House of the Oracles is one of the landmarks. Tell the ­people in Artemisia that Lillis Show-­the-­way wants you to go there. Don’t giggle. That was my father’s name. The