The Outskirter's Secret by Rosemary Kirstein Page A

out of her boots.
Each person's clothing, whether neatly or haphazardly arranged, had
its owner's weapon lying on top, hilt carefully pointing to the
water—handy for quick recovery in case of danger. Rowan followed
their example, wondering to herself if the precaution was
necessary.
    She waded into the cool water, feeling small
stones beneath her feet. "I think I insulted my guard, by asking
his name," she told Bel, then dipped beneath the surface to rinse
the first layer of dirt from her body. Below, sound closed in with
a familiar closeness, and her sight was limited to shafts of sweet
white light, brown creek bed, and a number of blurred naked human
bodies. She had an odd desire to remain there.
    She resurfaced to the incessant hiss and tap
of the redgrass, the rattle of nearby tanglebrush, the shifting red
and brown. On the far side of the creek, some Outskirts plant had
put out a patch of magenta blossoms. The effect was faintly
nauseating.
    "No one will tell you their names, not until
we've been accepted," Bel reminded her, studying a raw spot on her
own stomach, an abrasion from wearing wet clothing for days. Bel
scooped water onto it, then rubbed off a patch of dead skin.
    "Should I tell them mine?"
    "Yes. Every chance you get." Bel raised her
voice to the bathing women. "This is the friend I mentioned, the
steerswoman, Rowan. She only has one name."
    "Ha," someone said, and the women went back
to their business.
    "Will that knife blade buy our way in?"
    "Nothing will buy our way in, and you
shouldn't say it like that. The knife blade was for the goat we
took. And the fact that we bothered to trade for it instead of
stealing it shows them that we mean well."
    Rowan became confused. "Wouldn't they respect
us more if we did steal it?"
    "In a way. But if we want this tribe to
become our tribe, even temporarily, we can't do anything that's
against its interests." Bel moved to the shallower bank and sat
down in the water, leaning back a bit, water slapping against her
breasts. Her short, muscular legs extended before her, half
floating.
    "When do we meet the seyoh?"
    Bel kicked up a few splashes with childlike
pleasure. "I expect they're discussing us right now, and they'll
plan to hear our story sometime this afternoon."
    "That's good. I'd like to get things settled.
I feel a bit odd being half ignored." Rowan imitated her friend and
found the contrast between the cool water and the oddly scented air
refreshing. Because it was natural for her to do so, she gazed at
the longest perspective, out to the horizon. The scene stubbornly
refused to integrate; it became weirder, wavering, and the magenta
flowers jabbed at her vision like a nail in her eye.
    She focused on the creek bank and
concentrated on the conversation. "The people act as if I'm
supposed to be invisible, but don't have the manners to be so
correctly."
    Bel laughed. "That's well said. And it's
true. But the fact is, you are doing it correctly. You're supposed
to act as if you don't have the manners to be invisible. You should
force people to notice you." Bel raised her voice again. "Who has
soap?" There was no reply from the bathers. "Well, I'm used to my
own smell. But it will be a hard time on anyone who has to stand
near me . . ." Something landed with a splash between the two
women. "Ha." Bel retrieved the grayish lump and began vigorously
scrubbing her hair with it, to little visible effect.
    "I'm not accustomed to blatantly drawing
attention to myself." But Rowan found herself liking the Outskirter
approach. It seemed like a game of skill, a small competition of
self-esteem.
    Bel passed the soap to Rowan. "You don't have
to. It's not required. But they'll think better of you, if you
do."
    "I see." The virtue of the soap, Rowan
discovered, lay largely in its abrasive quality. There was much to
abrade. She set to work. "Will it affect our being accepted?"
    "I don't think so." Bel leaned forward and
submerged her head, massaging trail dirt out of her scalp,