Rift by Kay Kenyon

and then.”
    “What deeper things might those be?” Marie sat a couple yards away, mesmerized by the seascape.
    Spar looked sharply over at her, squinting suspiciously. After a moment he said, as though to himself: “See, Lithia’s got her own life, same as you or me. What you see on the surface … well, that’s just the expression on her face, so to speak. You think you’re seein’ everything on this here hilltop. But underneath you got the live muscle of the Lady herself.”
    “The Lady?” Marie’s raised eyebrow and doubtful voice threw Spar into agitation.
    “Yes, the Lady! The planet herself, you damn fool! Solid ground, you think. But nothin’s solid. It’s all in flux. Terra firma turned to terra deforma. Heh!”
    “Basic geology, I would say,” Marie commented dryly.
    “Geology!” Spar grew agitated. “You and your big tech! You don’t understand a thing, old woman. The stony world is alive, I say. And she’s turnin’ over a new leaf.” He nodded a few times, looking at Marie. “You arrived just in time to watch her flex her muscles.”
    “You have a charming way of seeing the world, Mr. Spar,” Marie said with elaborate politeness.
    Downslope a few feet sat Loon, arms wrapped about her knees, looking out at the sea. Tired of Spar’smutterings, and wishing to rest from the morning’s hike, Reeve joined her.
    Loon was marginally cleaner, he noted, than in the first days of their acquaintance. The heavy rain had peeled at least a few layers of grease and dirt from her body. Her hair—what there was of it—proved to be pale blond. One evening Reeve had seen Spar use a dagger to saw off her hair in short, artless clumps. Then she used the side of a blade on Spar’s beard, giving the pair the look of chimps grooming each other. But the girl still smelled like a gym, never availing herself of a bath at the streams they encountered.
    Her hand was idly scratching in the soil by her side, where her fingers had traced two deep grooves. She held up a pinch of soil to Reeve’s lips.
    He turned his face away, but she scooted in front of him, hazel eyes intent upon his mouth. “I don’t eat dirt,” he said, annoyed by her habit of proffering tidbits of dirt, then acting hurt if they weren’t accepted.
    Unfazed, she poked at his clenched teeth.
    “I
said
, no dirt!”
    Something hit him hard in the back and he toppled over. Spar stood above him.
    “Mind your manners, boyo.” His voice was calm, but his foolish, superior attitude needed shaking down.
    Reeve sprang to his feet. “Teach the
brat
some manners then! And don’t call me boyo.” He stepped forward, reaching out to shove Spar in the chest.
    Spar snatched his arm, twisting it and forcing Reeve to his knees. Reeve butted his head into Spar’s groin, wrenching his own arm in the process but causing Spar to stagger on the slope. Reeve was on top of the fellow in an instant, meaning just to cuff him a time or two, but his swing hit home, square on Spar’s jaw.
    Despite sitting on Spar with his full weight, he felt himself heaved up and over as Spar leapt from theground, tossing Reeve downhill, where he rolled, smashing his head into rocks for several full turns. Then Spar was skidding down the hill after him, leaving Reeve one ineffectual, flailing kick before Spar had him by the shoulder, shaking him until his head rang.
    Spittle flew from Spar’s mouth as he sneered, “I could crack your head like an egg, boyo, and see what comes out besides feathers.” His long, skinny hands formed a circlet around Reeve’s neck, cinching to the choking point. “Or you could choose the easy way, and say sorry to Mam.”
    Reeve managed to shove out the words: “Mam’s a filthy animal, and crazy too!”
    Spar smiled, showing his few good teeth. “Good choice,” he said. When the blow came, it knocked Reeve senseless. As Spar stepped off him, he rolled downslope a few turns and couldn’t stop himself from tumbling off a ledge of rock. He