Eleanor Arnason by A Woman of the Iron People

Author:A Woman of the Iron People
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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Ulzai

After a while Ulzai said, “You are beginning to falter. Give the paddle to the man without hair. I’ll watch him and tell him what he’s doing wrong. You watch the river for logs.”

Derek took the paddle. I rubbed my injured shoulder and looked around.

We were in the main channel: a broad expanse of water, empty except for an occasional bit of floating debris—a branch, a leaf, a mat of vegetation, a tree.

On my left was the eastern shore, covered with forest. The valley wall rose in the distance. It had not changed: a row of bluffs, made of soft rock and deeply eroded, pale yellow in the sunlight.

On my right were islands and sandbars and patches of marsh. Most of the islands were covered with trees. I couldn’t make out the shoreline. There was no neat line between solid ground and water, no way to tell a large island from the riverbank.

Beyond the marsh and forest rose another line of cliffs, marking the western side of the valley. A lot of water must have run through here at some time in the past. Was this evidence for glaciation? A question for the planetologists. I wondered if they’d ever get down here, ever get to see this valley.

Midway through the afternoon Nia opened the food sack and handed out pieces of bread. We drank sour beer.

“There’s our storm,” Derek said.

I looked west. Clouds billowed above the cliffs: cumulonimbus, tall and grayish white. Other clouds—high and thin—extended to the middle of the sky. The sun shone through them, its brilliance barely dimmed.

Ulzai said, “You take the paddle back, o hairless woman. We are going to need whatever skill you have.”

I followed orders. A wind began to blow, and the river grew choppy. Ulzai said, “Turn in.”

“Where?” I asked.

“The island ahead. The big one.”

We paddled toward it. Driftwood was piled on the upriver side: gray branches and roots, trunks worn smooth by water. We skirted the driftwood and came to shore on a little sandy beach. I climbed out. There was a low rumble of thunder in the west.

“Get the boat up on land,” said Ulzai.

We unloaded the boat and pulled it out of the water, then carried it to the edge of the forest.

By this time the sky was dark. Ulzai made the gesture that meant “come along.” We gathered our supplies and followed him into the forest. A path wound among the trees. Above us foliage rustled in the wind. The air smelled of damp earth and the approaching rain.

We reached a clearing. There was a pool in the middle, three meters across, clear and shallow. I could see leaves on the bottom. Last year’s, maybe. They were dull yellow and gray. A dark blue mossy plant grew at the edges of the pool, and orange bugs skittered over the surface.

At the edge of the clearing was an awning, large and made of leather, stretched between four trees. All the debris of the forest floor had been cleared out from under it, and a pile of driftwood lay in the middle of the bare ground.

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