BACK

She knew that her father would be searching for her after he'd gotten the Lord Holder into position. But fortunately for her, Juden was a fan of wines and cheeses, and there were plenty of those in the Gather grounds scattered among the many tents and lean-tos. It took a while for Landry to locate the man, and then of course quite a while longer to persuade him to go back up to Lord Holder Heuro's chambers for their meeting. He was having altogether too much fun down here.

He was throwing money around, almost literally. If Faralona had been there to spy upon them, one of the young men that she'd driven off by her mad ravings earlier in the day clucked his tongue and admitted that she was probably right: here was the guy that would have all that money to buy whoever he wanted.

But Faralona was reasonably far away by then. The sun was heading down, the sky was lit from below as the cloud cover brilliantly illuminated the land in golds and reds. Faralona left her home, the place she'd grown up and loved, and did not dare look back.

Her meager pack included small bits of food that she swiped from the kitchens in the Hold on her way out. Never let it be said that in her anger or ruffled state was she impractical! Everything could lead to something better, she reminded herself. She could take this anger and mold it into something new.

She would be doing it alone, on a stolen runner, with two shirts and three pairs of pants and very, very little else. And an angry father who would be sure to pursue her. Well one thing she knew for sure, she was going to stay one step ahead of him. If she could, she'd find a map. A proper map, not one of those little scribbled ones that the tavern keeper had tacked to his wall, but one which showed Weyrs and Holds and roads.

Faralona had been out to other holds before. She thought about where to head, it would have to be south because she knew that winter in the hills to the north would kill both her and her runner. And, she'd have to ... well, perhaps she shouldn't sell the mare. Backy was a middle aged mare, still able to bear, and was fairly distinctive in her coloration - she had dark red fur with black across her back in a large swath. The kind of marking that would be easily recognized from a height, and almost everything around here had a hill nearby it to look down from.

So that was out. She had to keep the mare, until at least she got a fair distance away. And besides, this runner had been foaled while Faralona watched, she was a responsibility as well as a good mount. With that thought, Faralona eased up on her pace and allowed Backy to slow up and rest. The road was filled with hoofprints, cart wheel runnels and the like. There would be no way to see this horse's prints among that many others. People came and went along this gravelly road every day. For the Gather, they would do so more than once a day, too, since the next cothold past their border had an inn worth staying at.

Faralona had to avoid it, its allure and its friendly light. She'd stayed there once with her mother, and again with her father.

It was the owner's daughter - who he had that affair with. It was this girl who was barely over a decade older than Faralona herself, that had born another child. Her half-brother. A strange sick feeling gripped Faralona's throat. What if she did go in. What if she saw him? Was he like her? Did he have their father's nose? (What a pity, someone once said, that a girl should inherit such a nose!) Did he tend the bar while his mother and grandfather were out at the Gather nearby or getting their rooms cleaned?

No, she refused to take the small side path toward the inn. She saw the metal rooftop and the chimney smoke, and imagined she heard laughter from within even at this distance. She stared at the road ahead, and continued on in her own silent world well into night.

***

Fortunately at the first sign of daybreak, Faralona'd reached a bridge, and decided that it was time for her and Backy to quit for the day and rest. There was shelter below, this river wouldn't see water rushing below the bridge for a good two months or more, and it had been a warm, dry summer so maybe even longer. The bridge had stone surrounding two long metal beams - something she'd heard of but had never seen up close. It was marvelous to her, to see such workmanship.

Faralona wondered when it had been made. As she tethered Backy to the bottom of a tree that grew halfway under the water line, she hoped that no one would come by this far away from the gather, this soon. She would have to sleep, and so would Backy. The soft sandy bottom of the river bed was still cool from the night, but would warm up with the day and that brought a little happiness into the girl. Her cheek stung so badly though, that she had to sleep sitting up, which also wasn't a terrible thing in her mind. If someone did approach, she was already haflway on her feet.

Faralona was the kind of person that when asked 'is the glass half full or half empty' - the first thing she'd do is blurt out empty. But then she'd think about it. In fact she had thought about it. If only the glass were smaller...

She (and Backy, who munched on river grass for an hour first) drifted to sleep as the sun came up. Her dreams were chaotic, filled with faces and emotions. But they were inconclusive - she wasn't sure whether she felt so bad about leaving her mother alone with an angry Landry, or glad that she'd managed to escape. She did dwell on Polldyn's face. So much hurt, but so much love.

So what if they were both women?

They were essentially both adults, weren't they? Couldn't they love whoever they wished? In a perfect world, perhaps. Fara woke when Backy nibbled at her hair. The day had turned to mid-afternoon, and it was time for her to get moving again. She only hoped that Backy's hooves were going to be okay on this route, for she had nothing to trade for new shoes.

Faralona could see the bruise on her face was so big and swollen now, after two days, that she had to remain hidden until it went down. There would be no mistaking her identity, her father would be smart enough to ask about a girl with a bruise or a half-hidden face. All along her left cheek she could feel it, fortunately it hadn't been a high hit, otherwise her eye would be shut from it. And fortunately too, her father hadn't used his fist. This was merely a slap from him.

It was more than enough to make her realize that every bad thing she'd ever heard about men who struck their wives was true. They were horrible people - not all men were like that. But enough that everyone had heard those stories. And it always seemed those stories ended one of three ways. The woman sat and did nothing, she took it quietly and died from it. The woman up and killed him, and was jailed for her 'murder'. Or she found someone else to do that work for her. Of course, usually, that meant bedding another abusive man who would be willing to fight her husband for her - and later do the same bloody thing to her again.

"Men," Faralona spat.

Backy nickered, and Fara laughed for the first time in days.

***

Faralona considered herself lucky that she knew how to read. With trade as brisk as it was in their cothold, everyone had to be able to spot a deal, read numbers and signs, put up a placard with their name on it at an auction. She knew, then, that the better place for her to ride to when the road split, was the smaller of the two towns which she'd heard people speaking of.

But then... no. She got half a mile down that road, when she reconsidered. She doubled back, found the fork in the road, and while eating the last of her breaded meat, headed toward the big city instead.  The road was better, for one thing. There was shade in the afternoon, which was a blessing because otherwise her face would be bruised as well as burnt. She hadn't bothered to bathe or wash her clothing in three days now, and was starting to think highly of the goat back home... But she actually smelled more of horse than anything else, which any traveller did.

When she finally did reach the city, it was bigger than she'd imagined it would be. There must be a strong Weyr nearby, she thought. Overlooking this city was a snow capped mount, and true - there were small specks in the sky which meant ... dragons.

Well that was good! A large Hold this close to a Weyr could be the best thing for her!

Faralona still didn't think it was a good idea to relinquish her runner, even this place could spread rumor or point her out in a crowd quickly. She didn't know whether this was a trade port, or an insular Hold. Her home hold had perhaps three hundred, perhaps 350 people in it at most. They were spread around, but clumped into villages. Here, her eyes swam trying to count rooftops. It was a sheltered bowl shape that surrounded the whole city, with fields above it to the north, where she'd ridden. Steppes formed like a pyramid inverted, with row upon row of buildings. The way she understood it, there were roads behind the buildings, perhaps even dug into the ground, where people could be sheltered if Thread did break through.

Even so, there were places she could clearly see people and beasts walking about, out in the open. There were laundry lines between roofs, flags with the local Hold symbol on them flying frequently. The road led to the highest step, and Faralona's heart fluttered a little. There were guards, big men with long spears, at the gates.

"Excuse me, sirs," Faralona said, "is there... Do you ..."

"Spit it out girl, what do you want? Come closer, it's getting on evening, you should be coming in for the night." Said one, the other nodded.

"There is no... there's no fee, is there?" She asked, urging Backy just a few feet closer.

The guards looked at one another and then burst out laughing. "Why would there be a fee, missy? You must not be from anywhere around here!"

"I'm not, I'm..." She faltered, sighed, "I'm from Kulban," she lied, that was the little town she'd avoided earlier. "This place is so very different!"

"Aye," said the other guard, still chuckling. "A fee. Come along, girly, inside. We'll be getting more picky about who comes in after dark." He got a strange look, "you traveled here alone? And - you were safe this far - consider yourself lucky, there's bandits and dangers aplenty out there."

"Aye," Said the first guard who motioned her in with his hand, leaving his spear pointing away. "This Weyr protects the woods and us, but those woods grow thick enough to house the biggest tunnel snakes you've ever seen. It's a wonder you and your runner weren't food!"

Though she'd hardly felt that she was in danger these last few days, Faralona's hand impulsively went to her neck, and her expression betrayed concern. The same look came from the guard nearest.

"Your face miss, that's a bad bruise. I hope that's from a fall. You might want to see one of the healers, we've quite a few here. Spiral Hold has a good number of crafts here."

He was ... he was avoiding talking about the subject like he knew it too well. Faralona thanked him, honestly, and nudged Backy to walk between the gate posts. The city beckoned, but... what would she do now? She was a runaway. Or, worse, homeless wanderer. Some of those folks had come through her cothold years ago and they were run off like bandits would be. She wondered... If they'd only taken them in? It was possible they'd have become bandits just to survive.

Her heart went out to those folks, even though they were imagined, and very possibly she would have felt differently if she'd felt eyes on her while she traveled.

A pack of children ran up the ramp nearby, she noticed now there were two rows of buildings, one set into the higher wall and the other just a few feet lower. They scampered from the end of one to the start of another, pulling to the walls when they saw her.

"Where is the nearest healer?" She asked of them, and one pointed to a wall which had the edge of a sign on it. "Thank you, very much. Is there somewhere I can house my runner?"

"My dad's got a stable," one child said, "but it's full right now. We got other barns, they're down in the circle." He waved his hand, meaning apparently, farther into the city and down the spiral. The city was indeed built like a curved line, ever lower toward the center. There was a lake, down there, she was certain but hadn't seen it from her vantage outside.

She chose to head toward the healer, and hope that perhaps he'd have room for her and a runner.

Faralona dismounted, and realized with a start while she passed her own armpit that she reeked. While she was tomboyish enough to dress in trousers and wear boys' shirts, she at least knew when she smelled. But - she realized that a healer had to have smelled and seen more than their share of such things! Right?

She pulled Backy to the wall, and pulled on the little cord which led (plainly) to a bell inside. Waiting for a moment, hoping that the healer was home, Faralona brushed a few stray leaves and bits of dirt from herself, and then--

"May I help you - oh dear child what a bruise." The voice at the door was a woman's? Faralona looked up from her half-crouch, and then stood more firmly up. She loosened her pack from the runner's saddle, and uncinched that to provide some relief for Backy.

"... I know, it's pretty bad. But -" she said holding both hands up slightly, "I've ... I've got no money, I'm afraid. I'd make something up about what happened, but... I ran away, my father did this, and I've nothing but my clothes and runner. I'm willing to work for whatever might be needed." Her head swam. Why had she just said that? Why not say that she'd been beaten by bandits when she knew they were near?

The woman with the dark blue-violet robe and greying hair stuck up in a loose messy bun had an odd expression. Her curved eyebrows went up, and she blinked, and then she chuckled.

"Well don't let that stop you, come on in girl. I'm afraid your runner will have to find another place, I'll send for someone to take it." She was lean, but her face was round like the bun of hair, and she sounded like she relished company.

"I would think this close to the gates, you'd have a lot of visitors," Faralona said. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean to--"

"Oh no, no," the healer said. "I'm usually needed for birthing and the like, emergencies by the road. I moved here by choice. Most of the action is down near the circle, here it's not nearly as exciting as all that." She picked up her head, and looked around the dim room. She whistled softly twice, and said, "Pelan, Pelan where are you?"

"You don't have to send for a currier, I can--" Faralona said, but then a shape flapped into view from another room, a brown firelizard! Faralona had never seen one up close, like this! "Oh - I see!"

"Pelan, fetch Carson. Carson - you know him, with the braid." The brown flitter cheeped, flapped a few times, and then vanished in midair between.

"They really do ... that!" Faralona said, staring at the place where the flitter had been moments before. "I've never... wow."

This seemed to make the healer even more mirthful than she had been a moment before. "Flitters are fairly common here, with the weyr having sands for dragons, you can believe that they've got beaches for the flitters. Mine didn't come from here, but he's sired half a dozen nests I'm sure. Now, while he's off fetching the smith, let's have a look at you."

After half a moment of appraisal looking up and down on the grimy girl, she added, "which will be far easier once you've had a bath and get into some clean robes. It'll take Carson some time to get here, if he's able to come."

"But how will he know? I mean..." Faralona asked, as she was led into a back room. Glows lit a wide hall that split to reveal at least three private rooms and a bath at the end.

"Oh, Carson has a few students and helpers. He sends them to me when they manage to burn themselves or smack their hand with a hammer. Besides," she chuckled again, and Faralona decided she rather liked this woman. "When you're a healer your patients get to know ways to contact you whether you mean them to or not."

Faralona tiredly stripped down to her skin and kicked the clothing into a basket that the healer provided.

She heard from the other side of the privacy curtain, "dear, what's your name, I'm Emba, by the way."

"Faralona," she said, "my clothes are so dirty, I can't even believe ..."

"Are you all right?" Emba asked, poking her head into the room and seeing the girl clutching her shoulders and sobbing gently. "Oh, there there, we'll set things right. For now, let's draw you a bath and let you relax. I've plenty of spare robes to put on you when you're done." She bent over and started pumping a water handle, and to Faralona's surprise the water coming from it was already hot!

"... How in the world! We've a well where I'm from but it's chilled!"

"Well there's a big reservoir around the north arc," Emba explained while continuing to get warm water into the tub nearby. "They pull the water from the lake in the Circle, and hold it in big tanks."

"Uphill?" Faralona stood unashamed by the healer, naked and covered only in dirt, "uphill? And then warmed?"

"Well they've got some kind of oxen pulling a big..." She rolled her eyes, waved her hand, and laughed. "Shard it girl, I'm a healer, not a pipefitter! Get in there and clean up! Relax, but don't fall to sleep in here. I don't want you going under."

She left Faralona and puttered about presumably setting out robes and a towel. Fara put one foot into the bath, it was warm and inviting in the way that her family's bath basin had never been. Theirs was a round barrel cut in half, and lined with oiled skin of some kind. You had to take water from halfway across the plot to get it there, and heat it one pot at a time if you really wanted it warm. Faralona had never known this kind of luxury, even when she'd stayed overnight with Polly.

She didn't even know whether Polldyn had ever had a bath this nice. She scrubbed at her nails, neck, every place she could reach and then discovered a cloth meant to apply soaps. She readily took to that, cleaning her hair which was so badly tangled that she barely could get her fingers through it. Concentrating on her efforts to clean instead of thinking allowed her to make it almost all the way through the bath before she started sobbing again.

She heard a muffled noise outside the room, and tried to stop crying, but Emba cleared her throat to announce, "Carson's working with your runner, she'll be in good hands. Now, can I come in and see what's the matter?"

"If you want," Faralona said, staring at the water which was now filthy and slightly cooler than she'd like. If only the water could remain hot - hot - hot.

"Well now that's much better isn't it?" Emba said, holding the towel out and shaking it gently to encourage Fara to rise. The girl did so and let the healer pat her mostly dry. Emba tisked her tongue, "your hair, it's like you've never seen a brush before. I'll go get one."

"Get a scissors instead," Faralona said, flatly. "I don't want to deal with it. I don't even want to look at it."

"Now now, that's a bit hasty," Emba tried to say, but Faralona snarled.

"I want it off, I want to forget who I was. Put it behind me, except it's there ... reminding me of ... me." She gritted her teeth, and looked away.

"Well if you're serious, I have some scissors of course." The elder woman put her eyebrow up again, "how short do you think you'll want it?"

Why was this woman she'd hardly met being so kind - she was a healer, sure, but it didn't mean she had to be so.... nice. Anyone else doing something like this Faralona would have suspected of having some kind of other motive - usually to trick her or play a prank. But she got none of that from Emba, and for no real good reason she resented it.

But this time, before saying something idiotic like 'just cut it all off' she paused in thought. She remembered the fork in the road. "... Maybe short - like boys get, I always dress like a boy anyway."

"You can't pass for a boy with those," Emba nodded with a little grin at Fara's small but obvious breasts.

"Not trying to, I just want to be who I am, instead of who my family wants me to be." She said, simply. It was more of a relief than she realized, by not just saying this, but by allowing Emba to try and talk her out of it. She could get a grip on what she really wanted, now. She was calm, she splashed the last of the clean water on her face again and toweled off. Finding the robes that Emba wore to be far too long but nice and warm, she wrapped one around herself and stepped into the more well-lit hall, where Emba beckoned to a seat.

She had the scissors in one hand and a comb in the other, so she meant business. Faralona almost had a flipflop second thought - but suppressed it. Now she was really going to have to live her own life, she'd never been allowed to before, and it looked as though this woman would help.

She sat down, and Emba began snipping. When at last she could reach the shorter tangles with the comb she slowed down. During all this, though, they spoke quietly of what Faralona had done and what she expected to do next. Emba assured her that she'd be safe at least with her, and she was welcome to remain as a guest - but she would find work, there was always work. She didn't have to be here to do it, Emba explained. Just that she did something for someone.

"How did you get to be here, Emba? You're a master healer, aren't you? Why aren't you ... I don't know, teaching or up with some holder?" Faralona asked. The elderly woman sighed, and kept combing Fara's hair.

"Well once I was a weyr healer, I mainly did birthings, some Threadscore sewing. Almost twelve years, I spent in the Weyr right near here. I've seen plenty of strife. The last thing I need is more intrigue - the kind you've come to escape."

"But... why, why us, Emba? Polly and I love each other. It's like they're afraid of us. Like we've got a sickness to spread or something." Faralona slumped, and Emba prodded her to sit up straight.

"I saw plenty of sad love stories in the weyr too, you know," Emba stated, clipping a few stray hairs. "More men than women, certainly, but not all starcrossed lovers end in tragedy. Some live on, happy." She swept the last strands of Fara's pale brown hair off her shoulders, and onto the stone floor where she'd clean up later. Or more likely, one of the stray flitters that her errant brown brought in would use it for a nest...

"And most of them were dragon riders," Emba finished, "green and brown riders, blues and even a bronze. Saw a pair of women, one wound up on a brown and the other a green - after one's dragon couldn't fly Thread much any more they began fostering children for the weyr, training them for dragon duties. Clever of them. And the bronze and blue riders... now that was a pair of men any woman would want to bed. Probably even you," Emba laughed.

"Well... I doubt that," Fara chuckled back. Her eyes widened, "my neck is cold," she said. Reaching up behind her head she found that the mop of hair that she often kept in a ragged tail was gone. Instead, she tossed her fingers through the straight, short and fairly fine strands. "And light, my head isn't... heavy?"

"Silly girl. Now, let me look at that cheek properly." She turned Faralona around, but instead of being able to examine her face, Faralona threw her arms around the woman's shoulders and gave a long, half-sob half-laugh.

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