On the quiet world of Hani, far beyond the Earther trade routes, where even the missionary ships have seldom been, there was a homely old lady who lived on a tiny farm. The place was lonely and scrub and not much to look at, but it was enough for her.Her cabin was a hovel, though a very clean one, as the old lady worked hard around the place. She'd always been busy her whole life, the crops, bringing up children, taking care of her mate. After Lenul died and the children moved away, there was no one left to plow the fern fields and she had to sell off most of the land. There was no one left to talk to either, except her mule and the birds. That didn't bother her. There were plenty of chores to keep her occupied. She tried not to waste time staring out the window. It was broken anyway, and she couldn't afford to buy the new pane. First there were cinnaberries to gather and pickle, and the shannies to shear for the silk. Then she would sell the jars of cinnaberry and bundles of silk at the market. With the money she would be able to buy all sorts of things she needed for the coming winter. A keg of nails to fix the missing shingles, and copper wire to mend the shanny coop. She needed a big box of candles for her lamps and oil for the stove. The mule needed a new harness. Old Varni had poked his heads through the backing so many times, it was now held together with string. She knew the harness hurt Varni every time he pulled the digger, but the animal was too proud to say anything. That was just like a mule. He'd been on the land long before she and Lenul took over, and stood by many hundreds of farm couples before that. Her heart told her that the mule was the true owner of the place. She was only a tenant. She hoped the people at the market would buy her wares. Last year a fool had called her a witch and some others heard it. As she looked into a small square mirror, she combed her fur and braided her mane before going to bed. Her hair was stringy and gray now, not like when she was young and her braid reached the ground. The once sharp incisors were gone, too, and her snout was shrunken and withered. It was well known that she had never been a beauty, but Lenul loved her and had given her three score children. She certainly was no witch. Old, yes, and not much good for anything, but not a witch. When she was young, the humans came in a ship from Earth and gave her the silver chain and magic amulet. In all her years she never took it off. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She held the amulet close when she said her prayers in the mornings and evenings. These years past when she was lonely for Lemul and wanted to howl, the amulet had given her comfort when she was troubled. Carved in the silver medal was an image of the great invisible man in the sky who watches over everything. He had kept bad spirits away her whole life. Her parents had not raised her to be the kind of person who deals with demons. Their farms were no better than anyone else's. Usually worse. Being a woman of the dirt did not mean she was a fool. She was fully aware that lightning was only sparks in the sky. It was like the tiny sparks that danced up her arms when she sheared the shannies. The mule had explained everything to her. There were still a few people left at the market who knew her. As soon as they felt the fineness of her silks and tasted the heat of her cinnaberries, they would buy her goods, witch or not. The old woman circled the sleeping mat looking for the best spot to lie down. Her mind drifted out to the shed, wondering if she'd remembered to shut everything up tight. The grabbers had been raiding her coop again. The mule's thoughts came into her mind. He always said the same things. Don't worry, old one. Everything is fine. Go to sleep. We have a lot of work to do in the morning. Good night. Why do you call me 'old one'? It is you who are the old one. You, who have two gray beards instead of one. And fur that looks like a dirty rug. How many great-great grandmothers have you buried? I suppose you will bury me, too, when the time comes. Varni, will you bury me properly when the time comes? I promise you, Benar, that I will prepare a lovely place for you. But you shouldn't think about those things. You still have a long way to go before then. I will take care of the coop for you, always. I know you are tired. Now you must try to sleep...sleep... Stop it, mule. You know that doesn't work on me any more. Yes, I am very tired and I will go to sleep by myself. I have the perfect spot now. Good night Varni. Good night...old one. The next morning it was cold outside. The sun was just beginning to show red on the horizon and long, wispy clouds hung high in the sky. The old woman braced herself against the icy wind and pulled the thin coat around her tightly. She glanced up and saw a flock of harptails sailing across the sky. Winter was coming. She must give winter respect or it would be cruel to her. The silver chain felt cold on her neck. It would warm up soon enough when she started her chores. She reached for the amulet and paused for a moment to say her morning prayer. If the invisible man in the sky smiled on her, the cinnaberries would be ripe and her harvest plentiful. She knew that the invisible man in the sky did not look like the human on the amulet. He was a Selon, like her. But what did that matter? The shadows on her circle-of-stones told her that today was harvest day. She watched as the sun rose over her small field. The ferns stretched themselves up into the pearl pink light and slowly uncurled their fronds. At the tip of each feathery branch, a golden cinnaberry waited, daring the old lady to pick it. She would have to work fast. The light only lasted a few minutes. Then the fronds would coil back up like iron snakes and no one could open them for the rest of the year. She cast her thoughts out to the mule. Hurry, mule! Get them before they close. Fill up your sacks. Be quick this time! I will do my work, old one. Make sure that you do yours. Don't scold me,Varni. I'm an old woman and going as fast as I can. I don't have six arms like you. The mule stood tall on two rear limbs and picked the fruits with his other six. His paws were a blur, darting in and out of the fronds, filling up a sack, then moving on to the next fern. There was no doubt they would get the full harvest this year. He turned one his shaggy heads around to look at the old lady. She was doing a good job for someone her age. Benar had always been a hard worker, even as a child. Slow down, old one, and take a rest. We are almost done. I will harvest the last of the berries. Who will pickle them if you break your hip? Are you sure,Varni? Can you get them all? Yes, Benar. I will get them all. Sit down by stream and take a drink. You have earned a rest. The old woman eased herself down on the moss and dipped her hand in the water. She took a small sip and splashed some on her fur. Her breath was coming back to her now. The pain in her back was better. The mule was finishing up on the last fern tree. He worked very quickly and never seemed to tire, while she was left panting in the dirt with her tongue hanging out. They had done it! The sacks were full to bursting. Another year gone by. She wondered how many more times she would get to see the ferns open on harvest morning. Her aching bones told her there would not be many more. The sun climbed higher in the sky on its way to afternoon. The ferns began to close with a chorus of loud crackling sounds that filled the air for several minutes and echoed off the hills as they finally died out. The old woman held the amulet in her hand and said a prayer of thanks. The invisible man in the sky had been good to her. Tonight she would put up the cinnaberry jars using her special recipe. Tomorrow she would shear the shannies and card the silk. Benar would be ready when the snows came. Her chores were all finished. The jars and bundles of silk were piled by the door. She had checked everything three times just to make sure the place was shut up tight. Reaching into her apron pocket, she produced a simple brass key. The old woman lifted up a creaky board on the second step and threw the key underneath. She always hid the key in a different spot each year. By the time she got back from the market, she always forgot where she put it, and it was her yearly quest to find it again. The mule would never tell her and laughed behind her back. The cold air made her hands stiff. It was difficult to lash the heavy packs to the mule's back, but after a few minutes she had them secured. Taking one last look around, she climbed onto the mule's broad haunches and sat down in the clavicle with her feet resting in the V of his two necks. She gave the mule a signal and he started to walk. With every step of his shuffling gait, the cinnaberry jars clanked together in their boxes and the bundles of silk sparkled with pinpoints of fire. Old one, why do you slap my rump when you want me to go? I know when I am ready to begin better than you do. And why do you hold my reins? You are the one who gets lost, not me. Oh, my dear donkey of a thousand fleas, I hit you on your bony arse because I like to. And I hold your reins because I am the master and you are the beast. Do I have to explain everything to you? Ah, I see. Thank you, old one. The facts are clear to me now. Don't mock me,Varni, or I'll hit you with a stick. Please don't mistress. I'm sure the pain would be quite unbearable. Be quiet mule. Stop thinking and let me enjoy the scenery. They walked along the narrow path for hours as it wound through the hills and valleys. Rounding a bend in the road, they passed under an arch of cholumb blossoms and the old woman almost fainted from the sweet smell. They finally reached the bluffs where the ocean comes close to the land and saw the giant blue skimmers sunning themselves on the beach. From there it was only another hour or so to the village. She hoped there would be a good stall for her when she got to the marketplace. Last year she was stuck with a back corner booth and business had been bad. The old lady squeezed the amulet in her hand and brought it to her lips, saying a prayer to help sell her goods. If the great invisible man in the sky would watch over her business just one more time, she would be forever grateful. This year the old lady found a booth at the very front of the market. Her business was brisk and the customers did not haggle too much. She had not seen the fool who had called her a witch last year. By the time afternoon came she was completely sold out. In her apron pocket, a handful of coins jingled gaily. The old woman was happy to have the money, and sad at the same time, knowing that it would soon be spent. Not spent on fine goods, but plain things like nails and black oil. One fine thing she must buy was a new harness for the mule. It would be the best one she could find. She had not forgotten old Varni. Later, when the supplies were packed and they were ready to leave, the old woman looked at Varni and thought how proud he must be of his new harness. Don't gloat over me,old one. You paid too much for the harness. And why did you let the customers haggle you down to nothing? Are you a rich woman that you can give things away? If you don't like the harness tell me now, mule, and I'll take it back and fish the broken one out of the trash for you. As far as the pickle jars. It is better to sell them at any price than to take them back home. What would I do with them? An old lady like me doesn't need the heat of cinnaberry to find a mate. That is true, toothless one. Though in your case, not even the hottest of cinnaberries would be of any help. Hush Varni, you embarrass me. If people see me laugh for no reason, then they will truly think I am a witch. The harness is beautiful, Benar. My heart says thank you. You're welcome, Varni. You deserve it. After all, you are the best mule I ever had. Passing by all the noisy shops with their bright colors and crowds of people and laughter, the old woman was sorry to leave. It was so lonely and quiet on the farm that she missed the company of others. Yet she was also anxious to get home. One day of excitement was enough for her. The fast life of the village was for young people. They had no need for an ugly old woman. Once she thought she saw one of her own brood tending a stall, but hadn't gotten close enough for a good smell. There were children of hers scattered throughout the province. It could have been her child but she wasn't sure. They had their own lives to lead. When her time came to die, the mule would call one of them back to the farm. The coops would be taken care of. At the edge of town there were two roads. The old woman thought the road by the rock looked familiar. So did the other road that led down the hill. She chose the road by the rock. The mule refused to go that way and headed down the hill road instead. Of course he was correct. Now she remembered. The rock road wound in and around the terraced valleys for many miles. That would take them an extra two hours to get home. The light was beginning to fade and she hoped the mule would step a bit faster. Not that she was fool enough to be afraid of the dark. She straightened the amulet on her neck and ran her hands down the heavy length of silver chain. The great invisible one had no trouble dealing with night grabbers. Hearing her thoughts, the mule picked up his pace and ambled quickly down the road. Up ahead the old woman noticed a shape by the side of a cholumb tree. As they approached closer, she saw that it was a young woman holding a baby in her arms. The girl was a pretty thing with a long black mane and sharp teeth. Her fur was matted and dirty, and her legs were scratched and bloody, as though she had walked miles through the scrubs. Her baby was dressed in rags and looked much too thin. His tiny sides were shrunken, and the old lady winced when she saw where his ribs were showing. They both had the look of starvation. When she stroked the child's fur, he did not cry, and even managed a weak smile. The young girl looked up at the homely old woman, at first afraid. Then summoning up her courage, she spoke in a voice that was hoarse with fatigue. "Please good woman, can you spare some food for my baby?" The old lady tried to think. She had nothing in her packs but nails and such. "I'm sorry, little mother. I have no food to give you and my money is all spent. I don't have a single coin left. I wish there was something I could do. What is your name?" "My name is Meree. I have no family and nowhere to go" "What happened? Where is your farm?" " It was a terrible day, mam. My mate, Haldo, and the mule went out plowing and were crushed by a fallen terrace. Both were killed. What am I to do?" The girl threw her head back and howled, then caught herself and looked down at the ground. The old lady's heart was crying. She knew how terrible it was to lose a mate. And to lose her mule, too. That was the most pitiful thing she had ever heard. "Well, pretty one, I don't have any money to give you, but maybe this will help." She reached up slowly and removed the silver chain from her neck. Then she placed the chain in the young girl's palm and closed her fingers around it. "This chain will buy you a warm place to sleep and food to eat until you find some work. I won't need it any more. Now you go back to the village and buy that baby some food." With eyes as wide as moons, Meree backed away, nodding her head in thanks. "Thank you so very much. God bless you mam. God bless you." She waited until she saw the girl disappear around the bend and was sure everything would be all right. Don't say a word, mule. The girl needed it more than I. Now what will you do, old one, when it comes time to say your prayers? You have given away your amulet. Old Varni, must I explain everything to you? You may know about sparks and electrons, but you know nothing about the great invisible man in the sky. He does not live in the amulet. It is only a picture. I don't need a necklace of silver. I will make a new one for myself out of the copper wire. It will be just as powerful as the silver. You'll see. You are right, old one, and very kind to the girl. Benar, would you make a necklace and amulet for me as well? Yes Varni, I'd be happy to make you a necklace. In fact, I'll make you two of them. The old lady smacked the mule on the rump and rode off down the road that led home. The sun was starting to set and a lyrebird was singing in the woods. That was a good sign. The old woman reached up to her neck and automatically felt for the chain that wasn't there. She shrugged her shoulders, said a prayer for the baby, and continued on her journey.
About the author, Dan Gleeman: Dan Gleeman has been a science fiction fan his whole life but only started writing about a year ago. Due to his advanced years he prefers the Golden Age stories though he is open minded about new stuff too. Dan is a musical instrument salesman who lives in beautiful southern California with his lovely wife and two gifted children.
|