ch 9 | Leda

Leda limped back along the river road. So much had happened, and hardly past breakfast time. The sun was bright; the storm had scrubbed the air and left it fresh. She was hardly that: her neck ached from sleeping on concrete, her hands still stung from the ride through the brambles on the pony, and she had a pebble in her boot. Her stomach growled. But, an airship! She had finally ridden in an airship! The words had become a chant as she left the Market. The interior of the ship was an elegant contrast to the rough woodwork and hand-forged hardware with which she had grown up. The certainty that she could not share it with her father was souring the memory in her heart.

Gull's face kept intruding in her mind, but she thrust it away. He was much older than she, and anyway, he'd probably not even remember her at all, the shape he'd been in. What was she supposed to do, show up at the settlement like a neighbor borrowing a bit of honey- 'Oh, I was just passing by, and how is your son, anyway?

By the time she reached her door she was, as the saying went, lower than swamp water in the Badlands. She waited for a moment under the eaves, but the house was quiet. Lifting the latch, she eased the heavy door open, thankful that the hinges were liberally treated with tallow. Her father was asleep in the desk chair, his head sunk on his chest. The guttered remains of several candles and the scattered pages of more old documents indicated that it had been a lete night. Leda tiptoed to her room, avoiding the loose board in the floor. Her thorn-tattered outfit went into the hamper- since she did the washing and mending, with any luck an accounting of this morning's events could be avoided. Splashing some water on her face and arms in the small bathroom, she discovered that the fire under the washing tank had not been set last night.

She paused at the doorway, making sure that the Settlers' necklace was hidden underneath her shirt. A snore drifted up from her father's chair as she stood looking over his shoulder. What had Chicago brought that was so interesting? An ancient magazine, the cheap paper yellowed and brittle displayed the faded yet gorgeous adverts of the vanished world's consumer society. The publication was one of the more prestigious of the news magazines of those times, and by the dateline she saw why her father had stayed up so late with it. It had been released very close to the end of the Bad Years. A block of type caught her eye. Aside from a slight variation in spelling and syntax from two hundred years of literary drift, it was easy to decipher.

Twin Mesa, Colorado. Over the weekend, over two hundred and fifty anti-government protesters gathered at the gates of the newly opened federal Life Research Institute. Among the groups protesting were members of the Native American Coalition, who claim the 100-acre installation encroaches on Indian burial grounds. Animal rights activists were also present, complaining that the LRI's work on longevity treatments and AIDS research is done at the expense of lab animals. A third group, who refused to be identified, began making claims that LRI, which is a cooperative effort between the World Health Organization and the Federal Department of Medicine, and is highly classified, is in fact developing biological weapons. A spokesman for the LRI denied the charges.

'These accusations are the product of fanatical opponents of our new world order,' said George Mathes, assistant director of LRI's public information office. After his press conference, the demonstration became violent. Police made twenty three arrests. Seventeen of those detained were found to be without personal ID implants.

She stopped reading as her father stirred, and went to start the morning meal before he awoke. She restarted the fire in the cookstove with a sliver of turpentine-smelling fatlighter and a deftly arranged fan of pine and oak. Slices of bacon and then some eggs went into the battered stainless steel frypan, which had been in the family for generations. The aroma began to infiltrate the house, and as Leda set slices of bread on the stovetop to toast, her father sat up, with a groan.

"Oh, hello Leda," he yawned. "That smells like heaven! I must have nodded off. Chicago brought some really exciting documents back from the interior. It's a bit frustrating, actually. Toward the end of the last century PC, most of the technical data moved by computer disk. The various disasters and just plain age have degraded nearly everything. Not to mention that almost every major city was either bombed or flooded. Your average farm didn't keep much in the way of technical blueprints lying about. We-"

Leda kissed him on the cheek, and handed him a washcloth and towel. "Tell me after you wash for breakfast, Daddy."

She smiled over the eggs as his howl told her he had discovered the state of the wash water. The morning went well, with no questions about the past night. She practiced her Hebrew and did a lesson in trigonometry. It was after a trip to the market for some supplies that the trouble began.

She entered the house to find Mitch, and a taller, heavier version of him seated at the table with her father.

"Hello, Leda," said Chicago.

"Uh, hello guys." She carried her bag past them to the kitchen and began transferring things to shelves and containers.

"I see you got some of the Sea People's rice," observed Chicago.

"Yes, and some tips on cooking it from the booth. They had a stack of flyers there- printed on rice paper, of all things!" she darted a glance at her father, but he seemed placid enough, sipping on some tea, gnarled fingers wrapped around his cup.

"They brought a little of that back too. I had the Richard crank up the press for us; I figured people were out of practice using the grain."

Chicago picked a steaming cup from the table. "Now that we know about the Sea People, we'll be getting regular shipments. Now the question is, where do we go on our next trip? Any suggestions, Mister Istoria?"

Leda felt a little strange about the honorific. Chicago was almost her father's age, though he saw nothing wrong with taking advantage of the Tree, and was the picture of youthful health. Nicolai sat up and ran a hand through his thinning hair.

"As a matter of fact, I came across some clues in the coppy of CNNMag. Of course it depends where the western shores of the Inland sea are. Do the Sea People have maps?"

"Yes," Chicago's tone was guarded. "But we have to be careful. Asking for specific information might give clues to one's intentions. Using common knowlege is fine, but navigational charts are the property of what they call the Pilots' Guild. They are jealously guarded."

"Well, if you can get over to the old high desert area- what used to be Nevada, Colorado, Utah, we might find old government installations. Maybe we could get hold of some of the old Science."

"It'd be a lot easier if we could fly out there, wouldn't it?" asked Mitch. "Don't the Continentals go out west?"

Nicolai's jaw hardened at the mention of the Settlers. Chicago clarified the situation for his little brother.

"The Continentals are putting their settlements up and down the Atlantic seaboard, but so far, they're staying to this side of the Sea. The City watches tech pretty close. We pretty much escape their notice because we're a quaint little primitive community- we don't even use the methanol bug on our garbage, even though it was developed by humans, because the City produces the digesters and motors. If we took to the air, well, they'd ask a lot of questions."

"They won't let us revive the old industry," Nicolai said bitterly "They'd require us to use their machinery, and then they'd control us."

"What we need is a long term presence on the Sea People's ship, and a chance to make our own maps." Chicago stroked his well-trimmed beard.

"From what Sasha was saying yesterday," Mitch suggested, "They wouldn't be against the idea. She told Blade they needed carpenters to keep their big boat in shape."

"Carpenters... musicians, storytellers- they are mad for entertainment, too. It could be arranged. We'll have to bring some extra folk out but we could use the boats and animals for cargo on the return trip..."

"You need someone who can use a sextant, to take positions of landmarks," suggested Nicolai, animated at the thought of expanding his charts. The older men talked and planned, while Mitch and Leda sat on the periphery and watched.

"I was in the middle of aranging terms for the next shipment of rice with John Howard this morning when the Meeting Bell rang," Chicago was saying.

"The Meeting Bell?" queried Nicolai. "I'm afraid that I slept through it. What happened?"

"I'm surprised Leda hasn't told you, though perhaps she's too modest. She's quite the little heroine."

"Yeah! There was a Settler boy lost in the Badlands, and Leda rescued him!" Mitch was bursting to contribute to the conversation, quickly sketching out the events, while Leda made frantic shushing motions to him from behind her father. A thunderous expression clouded Nicholai's face; Mitch faltered in his account, but not before he had mentioned the airship ride.

"Gentlemen, you will please excuse us. My daughter and I have things to discuss." He escorted them to the cabin door, and as it swung shut, rounded on Leda, who sat frozen in her chair.

"My own daughter! Sneaking around behind my back, consorting with Settlers- and after I told you to stay away!"

"I didn't mean- I was just going after the pony, father!"

Spots of color shone in his pale cheeks. "Better you had left him to the Badlands! I will not have you defy me too! Now get to your room and stay there until I decide what to do with you." He pointed a clawed finger at her door and jerked her from her chair.

The door slammed behind her, and she collapsed on the bed, still neatly made from the morning before. She wasn't sure if her father had meant for her to leave the pony or Gull to the Badlands, and just who else had defied him. She heard the front door, and the house grew very quiet. She heard birds singing outside through the gauze, the bleating of the goats in their pen. The nannys would be needing to be milked soon, but she wan't going to stir outside. The thought of chores undone gave her a confused sense of satisfaction and guilt. Her father had hardly ever spoken harshly to her, even after she had scribbled in some of his precious old books, years ago. But for some reason, things connected to the Settlers set him off. It had something to do with her mother, she surmised. She had vague memories of auburn hair and the smell of lilacs, but her mother had left when she was two or three. Her father never spoke of her, at least not since she had gotten old enough to remember. Leda had never been able to work up the courage to broach the subject.

After a while, Leda got up and took a stringed instrument off the wall. A cross between a banjo and a lute, it had a back-flexed head and a pear shaped body faced with parchment. It was an experiment by Tommy Tunes; successful, as far as she was concerned. It had a sweet, if unusual tone. Her father had gotten it for her tenth birthday. She practiced privately, but lately had begun to bring it to the Music Tree, playing along with the locals. She strummed a minor chord, and then began a progression that suggested a lullaby.

She sat tailor fashion on the bed and continued to play, imagining what life would have been like with a mother. Her father had brought her up as best he could, teaching her to read from the encyclopedia; her drawing and math had come as she helped him make his maps and tally up the trading stats from the other native settlements as year by year more were found or established. Dolls and other toys had come from the other women in the small community. Life was low-key and placid in Chak village. It was as Chicago had said; the City left them alone, offering their gifts, which were generally declined, with the notable exception of the Tree, in return for alleigance pledged to the Firstborn at the yearly summer Feast. Leda looked foreward to the Feast, still several months off, when even her father would attend, leaving quietly before the final ceremony.

A tapping on the frame of her window drew her attention. Leda scrambled off her bed and stood tip-toe to peer over the sash. Chicago's brother was clinging like a lizard to the rough logs.

"Mitch! What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you the same question. Yor dad practically threw us out, and he's down at the Hilton with my brother right now."

"Well, I'm supposed to stay here until he decides what to do with me- whatever that means. Father is really protective of me- I guess he doesn't want me corrupted by the Continentals, or something."

"Well, Dad and the council are thrilled, I can tell you- they grilled me for hours this morning about what was said on the airship. I mean- hey, our village saved the Settlers' bacon. To them, that might be worth, I don't know, maybe a new water system?"

Leda blinked in amazement. "That's so- so cynical!"

"Welcome to the real world, Leda. Listen, as much as I like hanging on the side of your house, I'd better not stay. You know you've got some uncomfortable goats out here. I'll take care of them before I go."

"Thaks a lot." Leda reached out under the edge of the gauze and they clasped fingertips in the old club handshake. Mitch grinned and jumped to the ground. Leda returned to sit on her bed, wondering why her fingers were tingling.

Nicolai returned at dusk. Her door swung open, and he gruffly thrust out a cloth covered basket.

"Here's some supper. Go on out to the table, and we'll talk."

Leda drew back the Howard's blue bordered napkin, found rolls and a dish of rice and venison casserole kept warm by a heated soapstone. Her father fussed with the lamps until they were lit and burning smoothly. He sat down abruptly across from her and clasped his hands together.

"Leda, I'm going to send you away."

The food turned to clay in her mouth. "Send me away! Why?"

He made settling motions with his hands. "Now, now, it's for the best. I've arranged for you to go with the next trading party when they leave in a week or two. It'll be like an apprenticeship."

"You've arranged- without talking to me?" Indignation warred with the thought of a canoe shared with Mitch, and her voice was less sharp than it might have been.

"Now watch your tone, girl. Even the Nobles agree that I'm responsible for you untill you're an adult."

"But it's so sudden- are you punishing me for saving someone's life?" The thought of leaving the familiar surroundings of Chak village suddenly filled her with dread, and her eyes brimmed. Her father shifted uncomfortably.

"No, of course not,. I just don't want to lose you too-" he stopped abruptly.

"Loose me too, Father? Please- who else?" She saw him drop his eyes and square his thin shoulders under the homespun jacket.

"I lost your mother to the Continentals, Leda." He said it in a rush. "God- I've had a decade to think of how to tell you, and I still have no idea. When I met her, she was wild and independent, and thought that my studies were romantic and exciting, like a tragic fairytale. She even went along with my refusal to take the Tree for several years. But she changed, Leda, your mother changed. Especially after you were born. Not that she wasn't a good mother, an obedient wife. But she came from a small community further inland. I met her at a trading concord one spring." Nicolai's eyes became distant. "She was like a sweet flower, and even then Chak village was like a city to her. I should have seen it coming."

"Seen what, Father?" Leda waited, frozen. She had imagined an accident, some unknown cataclysm. She had not imagined desertion. The image of her mother began to tarnish. Sorrow and anger aged her father's face even more, deepening the lines.

"She would watch their ships, too. She would slip away to visit the camp, when they were building the big hangar, and tried to explain what she had seen. At first I tried to reason with her, remind her that we had to be strong, not to be seduced by an easy soft slavery to the City. That failed. I tried to forbid her, and we quarreled. She gave in, and there was peace- at least that's what I thought. Then, that summer, before the Feast, she appeared before the Nobles and called for a divorcement."

Leda gasped. Divorce was almost unheard of, both because of the small size of communities and because of the attitude of the City, which elevated the concept of the family to almost a sacred status. Marriages were entered into after a long courtship, or were arranged, and were seldom broken. Leda began to view her own actions with suspicion, feeling the shadow of her mother casting itself over hers.

"Of course I couldn't protest it," her father continued, painfully. "Not only did I have little standing with the City because of my refusal of communion, but Ariana could have told them too much about my studies, even then. It was... uncomfortable. Surprisingly, even though they granted her the divorcement, they wouldn't let her take you."

Leda imagined the scene. Each year, the Nobles officiating at the Feast blessed the children born the previous year and performed weddings. The Feast was a climactic celebration to it all. At its end, the Nobles distributed the Tree and recognised those who had reached adulthood. Before the festivities, they held court, hearing any disagreements that the community had been unable to resolve the previous year. Usually, the spectacle of the Nobles' arrival was enough to put a dispute about straying livestock or some such into its proper perspective. A request for a divorce would have rocked the community and soured the Festival's atmosphere.

"You were barely toddling when it all fell apart. The hearing took most of the day, and she was gone that evening. She cleared out what was hers, and the Nobles called in one of the Settlers' ships and she flew away." His voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands.

Leda began to see her own ride on the airship as a thing of shame, an act of disloyalty to her father. He moved closer to him and stroked his hair.

"I'm so sorry, daddy."

"It's certainly not your fault, my little swan. And I don't want you to think that I'm sending you away for a punishment. It's just that I've realised you're ready for more responsibility. You're destined for greater things than this little village holds." He took hold of her hands. "I'd like to go with Chicago, but that's not possible. Please go in my place."

Leda closed her eyes, and tried to sort out her feelings. It wasn't as if she hadn't thought about doing just what her father asked. She just imagined herself... older, or something.

"I'm asking Chicago and Mitch to keep an eye on you- and Blade. He's going too."

"All right, but what am I going to do on the trip- I'm too small to be much help with the canoes."

"Ah!" Her father held up one finger. "But you can help around the camp, and you know as much about the topography of the old world as I do. You can find your position by the sun or stars. Help me make my maps, little swan. Help me find the secrets of the old world!"

She agreed, and for the next two weeks he coached her on navigation, how to read the old charts and allow for the shift in the earth's magnetic field, several degrees closer to true north since the Bad Years. This difference was compounded by the crustal shifts and distortions produced by the effect of the City's pass. She also learned what to be on the alert for, what types of computers and data storage had been developed in the last years of the old world.

"If you find any small disks with a rainbow sheen to them, keep them- most are just music recordings, but some may have computer data on them. Above all, try to find a reader. The Librarians will show you what to look for. We had one, but a component went down that we couldn't repair.

The night before the band was scheduled to leave, her father took her aside down in the common room of the Hilton. Leda was nervous and uncomfortable in her stiff new buckskin leggings, but Sasha had given her one of her soft tunics, a deep blue that suited her coloring. Nicolai gave her a package, wrapped in a suede pouch. Opening it, she found a bound book, with clean. stiff pages of good paper.

"It's a journal, daughter, for you to record your thoughts and discoveries."

"Thank you, father." Leda examined the book; it was well made, with a stiff back cover and a supple front cover scored to fold neatly out of the way.

"I have something to tell you that you must never reveal to anyone else. You know how I feel about the City. I obey because I must, since they are more powerful than we. But there are others that feel as I do, even in Jerusalem itself. One day we hope to make the Nobles recognise that we mere men can order our own affairs. Perhaps even leave the planet."

Leda considered this, approaching the idea from several directions as if it were a dangerous reptile. Something Blade had said came back to her.

"But Father, isn't the Firstborn God, himself?"

Nicolai lowered his voice still more, the firelight reddening the skin of his face, throwing the wrinkles into sharp relief. "But what if he isn't? What if we are obeying an impostor? And what else might he be? Just think on it, daughter. I know this is a heavy burden for one so young, but you are strong. For now, we obey, we watch, we wait. Now, promise me your silence. Speak of this only to me, or Chicago. He can be trusted." He reached out and gripped her hands, his papery skin soft against her young flesh.

"I- I swear, Father." He released her hands and sat back.

"It is well. Now, let us enjoy the evening. Tomorrow is the beginning of a long, exciting journey!"

Chapter 10