The Outskirter's Secret by Rosemary Kirstein Page B

rose,
and wrung out fistfuls of short hair.
    Four of the bathers upstream had gathered in
a knot, waist-deep in water, to discuss something in low tones,
punctuated by girlish laughter, subdued and decidedly
unwarriorlike. Rowan eyed the group, then suddenly tossed the
gritty soap in their direction, a high lob calculated to land in
their center. "Thank you for the soap," she called out as it
fell.
    One woman instinctively caught it, her
comrades just as instinctively turning and diving away, to leave
her standing alone, surprised, with the lump in her hand. She
looked Rowan full in the eyes, suppressing laughter that seemed not
derisive but friendly. She thought a moment. "No, thank you ," she said, then passed the soap
to another and waded out to dry.
    Rowan considered the tone of the words. "Was
that an insult?"
    "Yes," Bel said, eyes amused. "But a weak
one. Yours was better."
    The steerswoman tried to recall under what
conditions a simple "thank you" might constitute an Outskirter
insult. The rules of behavior were not yet fully organized in her
mind, and she shook her head. "This is going to take some
time."
    "You're doing well so far."
    Rowan laughed. "Purely accidental, I assure
you." She closed her eyes to enjoy the strange scents and the
sunlight.
    Her ears immediately told her that it was
raining, hard. She winced involuntarily, blinked her eyes open
again, and found that for an instant, the world consisted of
fragmented blots that only settled into coherence reluctantly. She
forced herself to look around carefully: the brook, the women, the
veldt, the hills, her guard—"Do you have a guard?"
    Bel tilted her head at the opposite bank of
the brook. "She's being clever. Either for the practice, or just to
show off."
    Rowan looked in the direction indicated, but
saw no one. "Where?" She rose and waded toward the far bank,
curious, then stopped, finding the combination of unsteady vision
and water motion too difficult to manage.
    "Think 'goat,' " Bel called.
    Rowan found three goats, all difficult to
discern among the red-grass motion. The farthest, she decided, was
the warrior: it seemed to move less often, and less naturally. She
considered that if she decided to climb the bank, the warrior would
reveal herself. An effective configuration: one guard on each side
of the brook.
    She returned to Bel's side. "I hope the seyoh
sees us soon. I don't like not clearly knowing what's to happen
next."
    Bel had climbed from the water, stepped to
her clothing, carefully reversed the direction of her sword hilt to
face her new position, and sat on the bank. She tilted her face
back, letting the sun and wind dry her. "In a way, I don't like it
either. But it might be best. The longer the wait, the better for
us."
    "Why is that?" Rowan rearranged her own sword
and lay down in the sand beside her clothing. She shut her eyes
again and tried to ignore the sound of the redgrass.
    Bel changed the subject. "How do you
feel?"
    "Fine." Rowan laughed a bit. "But my eyes
don't like the Outskirts. I suppose I'm just not used to it, the
way the colors move. It seems unreal." Her reaction seemed foolish,
and it embarrassed her to reveal it.
    Bel made a dubious sound.
    Rowan recalled Bel's warning about Outskirter
food and understood her friend's concern. She sat up to speak
reassuringly. "Bel, it's been more than two days—"
    The grassy hill, rising to her right, seemed
to lean over like a wave, ready to topple on her. To her left, the
open land jittered and writhed. She froze and screwed her eyes
closed. "Should it affect my vision?"
    "No. It should affect your digestion."
    "My digestion is fine." It was true. With
eyes closed, she once again felt completely normal: healthy and
fit, with the water cooling delightfully on her skin in the sweet
breeze and the sunlight. She loved the sour spicy scent of the air;
it intrigued her with promises of strangeness, newness. She knew
next to nothing about this land, and beneath the distracting noise
of