Fish Tails by Sheri S. Tepper Page B

I’m almost sure we’re the only two females in the valley who do.”
    Needly hugged her and promised to remember. And there Needly’s future rested. Until a later time.

 
    Chapter 2
    The Dreaming of
Abasio the Traveler
    A T A SLIGHTLY LATER TIME, ONE RANGE WEST of the place called Hench Valley, Abasio Cermit, Abasio the Dyer, Abasio: First Father of the Sea-­Children of the Future, Abasio who is much married to the Princess Xulai and who is the supposed owner of the horse Blue—­a horse who knows very well he is not owned by anyone save himself—­that particular Abasio is nodding on the wagon seat and is, yet again, in the midst of a recurrent dream that has been visiting both his night’s sleep and his daytime dozes on the wagon seat.
    Xulai murmured, “He’s asleep again, Blue. And he’s been making those troubled noises. I don’t know what to do . . .”
    â€œWhat you do,” said Blue, “is make him tell you what he’s dreaming about.”
    â€œHe won’t want to.”
    â€œHe doesn’t want to do a lot of things you make him do. Like come in out of the rain or eat green vegetables. Now me, I like green—­”
    Rags, Blue’s partner in harness, interrupted. “She’s not worried about what you like. Xulai, really, you do need to make him tell you. Tell him it’s in your . . . wedding vows. I’ve heard about them. You did have vows, didn’t you?”
    â€œI don’t think he was paying attention.”
    â€œSo much the better,” the mare said, with the equine equivalent of a giggle.
    â€œWhat?” demanded Abasio, suddenly wakening. “What?”
    Xulai breathed in deeply, gripped the wagon seat with both hands, and squeezed it, noting with some dismay that all four ears were cocked to listen. “Where does the dream take place?” she asked, in as casual a voice as she could manage.”
    â€œNot on Earth,” he murmured, still drowsy. “I know that much. The trees are all wrong.”
    â€œThe trees?”
    â€œThe leaves are more blue and purple than green. And they group themselves differently. And I’ll swear they talk to one another. When the wind blows, I get this feeling it’s one grove speaking to another grove. And then there’s the tower. I’ve never seen one like it here.”
    â€œThat’s interesting, Abasio. Can you describe it?” Before her, Rags’s ears twitched in what Xulai believed to be the equivalent of a pat on the shoulder.
    â€œIt’s white. Tall. It has arches all the way around the bottom except for one space where there’s a spiral staircase going up to the balcony. Way up there. The balcony goes all the way around the walls of the tower, lighted by another set of arches, and, of course, the bell hangs there . . .” His voice trailed away.
    The ears twitched. They were very expressive ears, saying, “Ask a question, stupid.”
    Xulai said, “The bell. Is it a . . . large bell?”
    â€œOh, yes. Large, silver. Beautiful tone. They strike it morning and evening with a long kind of rod with a leather-­covered tip. Makes a soft sound, but it goes out of the tower like a flight of birds. I imagine they can hear it . . . all the way to the edges—­”
    â€œEdges?”
    â€œOf Lom. The Edges of Lom. That’s what the place is called. And I know that because the women in the tower are talking about it. Two of them. They’re always the same women. The older one is named Silkhands, the other is named Jinian. Then there are two children. Jinian’s children. The boy—­possibly seven or eight years old—­is Crash, and the little girl, perhaps a year or so younger than Crash, is Crumpet.”
    â€œVery odd names!”
    â€œNicknames. Obviously. When the women get irritated they call the children something else, something