Free The Outskirter's Secret by Rosemary Kirstein Page B

elements: given name,
matronym, line name. "Perhaps," she mused aloud, "I should choose
two more names for myself. Anya was my mother, which makes me
Anyasdotter; and for a line name—" She stopped, catching Bel's
expression.
    The Outskirter sat stiffly, her face all
glower. "That's not a good idea."
    Rowan recovered. "I'm sorry." Then: "But why
isn't it?"
    Bel wavered, then returned to eating. "If you
name yourself as an Outskirter," she said, her words barely
comprehensible around a mouthful of snake, "you're saying that you
are an Outskirter. People will expect you to act like one, and they
won't forgive you any mistakes you make in proper behavior." She
paused, then continued reluctantly, and more clearly. "And making
up a line name out of the air would be saying that our lines mean
nothing. It's an insult."
    The steerswoman was contrite. "I didn't
intend it that way."
    "I know. But they won't. Don't try it."
     
    The greengrass vanished.
    It was as subtle a process as Bel had first
described to the Prime: first one noticed occasional patches of
redgrass, then more, and eventually one realized that for some
indeterminate length of time no greengrass had been seen at all.
Certain other green plants remained, however: thistle, with
autumn-brown stems, and purple blossoms faded to white; milkweed,
sending up drifting silk into the air on mornings of less rain; and
dandelion, heads ghostly gray, rain-beaten to damp drab blots. All
of them, Rowan noted, plants with airborne seeds.
    The redgrass surprised her by growing taller
than ever it had in the Inner Lands, where it was routinely pulled
as soon as it appeared. Here, it became knee-high, then waist-high,
stiff tall reeds with abrasive blades growing in a three-ranked
pattern, and fat beardless seed heads. At first Rowan thought it a
different plant altogether; rain seemed to dull its colors, soaking
and darkening the bright red faces of the blades to dull brownish
brick. They waded through it, its blades clutching and tugging at
their clothing.
    They came to a place where a patch of grass
had strangely faded to gray. Bel passed it by, but Rowan lingered,
curious. She touched one pale blade, and it disintegrated, leaving
sooty smears on her fingers; she touched a shaft, and it split,
oozing clear fluid that stank with a foul, greasy odor.
    Bel paused and looked back at her. "Don't
bother with that," she advised.
    "What is it?" Rowan parted the grass to peer
into the center of the patch, despite the stench. There was a
clearing within.
    "It's probably a corpse," Bel said,
approaching. "Or part of one. It looks like someone's been cast
there."
    Rowan drew up short. "Oh," she said, now
disinclined to investigate. But she had already reached the center,
and it held no human remains. "It's a fox."
    It was long dead, desiccated skin over
delicate bones, fine fur faded, sprawled under a tangle of rotted
reeds. No scavengers had dined on it; natural corruption had had
its way, and the only breaks in the crusted pelt were the result of
the more unpleasant internal stages of decay, long past, when the
body had swelled and burst.
    "One of those animals we heard by the raider
camp?" Bel moved closer to study it, tilt-headed. "It's a
strange-looking creature."
    They left the gray patch behind, Rowan
brushing her fingers across the wet grass tops as she walked, to
clear off the scent and the fluid. "The fox is a small predator,"
she said, falling into a steerswoman's explanation. "It's shaped
like a dog, and graceful as a cat. It's beautiful when alive, and
its pelt is highly prized. I wonder how it died?" Then she answered
herself, body continuing to walk as her mind stopped short,
surprised. "It starved to death. It must have wandered too far from
the Inner Lands, and found nothing to eat . . ."
    "What does a fox eat?"
    "Everything we'd like to, but can't
find."
     
    Three days later, they found signs of a
tribe.
    They had crested a rise and stood looking
down into a shallow, rolling