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The Sharing Knife Volume Three Passage Lois McMaster Bujold Contents Map Chapter Dag was riding up the lane thinking only of the… Chapter In the pressure of a short-handed harvest and a run… Chapter While Sorrel and Tril might have been dubious about letting… Chapter Even in the late afternoon, the straight road approaching Glassforge… Chapter Back aboard Copperhead, Dag rode close to the second wagon… Chapter Fifty paces up the slope from the Pearl Bend wharf… Chapter The afternoon was waning when Dag at last caught up… Chapter Dag had the most unsettled look on his face, downright… Chapter Fawn kept an eye out, but Dag did not return… Chapter 10 The oil lantern burning low on the kitchen table was… Chapter 11 The Fetch made thirty river miles before the dank autumn… Chapter 12 Despite the delay from Dag’s fruitless errand, the Fetch made… Chapter 13 To the excitement of everyone aboard—although Fawn thought that Dag… Chapter 14 To Fawn’s bemusement, Remo tagged along on the trip to… Chapter 15 Dag was reassured early the next morning of the health… Chapter 16 Fawn watched in alarm as Remo took up the lantern… Chapter 17 Though the weather stayed cloudy and chilly, the Fetch made… Chapter 18 During an easy stretch of river in the morning, Berry… Chapter 19 Berry’s radiant joy seemed to light up the air around… Chapter 20 Dag braced one knee on a fallen log, checked the… Chapter 21 What Dag most wanted to was question Crane: Fawn… Chapter 22 Flanked by Remo, Dag exited the cave and dragged his… Chapter 23 Her face carefully held stiff to hide how her stomach… Chapter 24 The next day the Fetch floated through yet more of… Author’s Note About the Author Other Books by Lois McMaster Bujold Credits Copyright About the Publisher Map Dag was riding up the lane thinking only of the chances of a Bluefield farm lunch, and his likelihood of needing a nap afterwards, when the arrow hissed past his face Panic washing through him, he reached out his right arm and snatched his wife from her saddle He fell left, dragging them both off and behind the shield of their horses, snapping his sputtering ground-sense open wide— range still barely a hundred paces, blight it—torn between thoughts of Fawn, of the knife at his belt, of the unstrung bow at his back, of how many, where? All of it was blotted out in the lightning flash of pain as he landed with both their weights on his healing left leg His cry of “Spark, get behind me!” transmuted to “Agh! Blight it!” as his leg folded under him Fawn’s mare bolted His horse Copperhead shied and jerked at the reins still wrapped around the hook that served in place of Dag’s left hand; only that, and Fawn’s support under his arm as she found her feet, kept him upright “Dag!” Fawn yelped as his weight bent her Dag straightened, abandoning his twisting reach for his bow, as he at last identified the source of the attack—not with his groundsense, but with his eyes and ears His brother-in-law Whit Bluefield came running across the yard below the old barn, waving a bow in the air and calling, “Oh, sorry! Sorry!” Only then did Dag’s eye take in the rag target tacked to a red oak tree on the other side of the lane Well…he assumed it was a target, though the only arrow nearby was stuck in the bark about two feet below it Other spent arrows lay loose on the ground well beyond The one that had nearly clipped off his nose had plowed into the soil a good twenty paces downslope Dag let out his pent breath in exasperation, then inhaled deeply, willing his hammering heart to slow “Whit, you ham-fisted fool!” cried Fawn, rising on tiptoe to peer over her restive horse-fort “You nearly shot my husband!” Whit arrived breathless, repeating, “Sorry! I was so surprised to see you, my hand slipped.” Fawn’s mare Grace, who had skittered only a few steps before getting over her alarm at this unusual dismount, put her head down and began tearing at the grass clumps Whit, familiar with Copperhead’s unsociable character, made a wide circle around the horse to his sister’s side Dag let the reins unwrap from his hook and allowed Copperhead to go join Grace, which the chestnut gelding did after a few desultory bucks and cow-kicks, just to register his opinion of the proceedings Dag sympathized “I wasn’t aiming at you!” Whit declared anxiously “I’m right glad to hear that,” drawled Dag “I know I annoyed a few people around here when I married your sister, but I didn’t think you were one of ’em.” His lips compressed in a grimmer line Whit might well have hit Fawn Whit flushed A head shorter than Dag, he was still a head taller than Fawn, whom, after an awkward hesitation, he now embraced Fawn grimaced, but hugged him back Both Bluefield heads were crowned with loosely curling black hair, both faces fair-skinned, but while Fawn was nicely rounded, with a captivating sometimes-dimple when she smirked, Whit was skinny and angular, his hands and feet a trifle too big for his body Still growing into himself even past age twenty, as the length of wrist sticking from the sleeve of his homespun shirt testified Or perhaps, with no younger brother to hand them down to, he was just condemned to wear out his older clothes Dag took a step forward, then hissed, hook-hand clapping to his buckling left thigh He straightened again with an effort “Maybe I want my stick after all, Spark.” “Of course,” said Fawn, and darted across the lane to retrieve the hickory staff from under Copperhead’s saddle flap “Are you all right? I know I didn’t hit you,” Whit protested His mouth bent down “I don’t hit anything, much.” Dag smiled tightly “I’m fine Don’t worry about it.” “He is not fine,” Fawn amended sternly, returning with the stick “He got knocked around something fearsome last month when his company rode to put down that awful malice over in Raintree He hasn’t nearly healed up yet.” “Oh, was that your folks, Dag? Was it really a blight bogle—malice,” Whit corrected himself to the Lakewalker term, with a duck of his head at Dag “We heard some pretty wild rumors about a ruckus up by Farmer’s Flats—” Fawn overrode this in concern “That scar didn’t break open when you landed so hard, did it, Dag?” Dag glanced down at the tan fabric of his riding trousers No blood leaked through, and the flashes of pain were fading out “No.” He took the stick and leaned on it gratefully “It’ll be fine,” he added to allay Whit’s wide-eyed look He squinted in new curiosity at the bow still clutched in Whit’s left hand “What’s this? I didn’t think you were an archer.” Whit shrugged “I’m not, yet But you said you would teach me when—if —you came back So I was getting ready, getting in some practice and all Just in case.” He held out his bow as if in evidence Dag blinked He had quite forgotten that casual comment from his first visit to West Blue, and was astonished that the boy had apparently taken it so to heart Dag stared closely, but not a trace of Whit’s usual annoying foolery appeared in his face Huh Guess I made more of an impression on him than I’d thought Whit shook off his embarrassment over his straying shaft, and asked cheerfully, “So, why are you two back so soon? Is your patrol nearby? They could all come up too, you know Papa wouldn’t mind Or are you on a mission for your Lakewalkers, like that courier fellow who brought your letters and the horses and presents?” Blight Crane “I don’t think we anticipated the Fetch at all, nor Berry, nor Bo and Hawthorn and Chicory and Wain and all those others, but I’m glad to have met them Even Remo and Barr turned out pretty good, in the end I’ve learned so many new things I’ve lost count, which I wouldn’t want to give back nohow.” She hesitated, searching for the right words to ease his misplaced fear of disappointing her, without pretending that the cave hadn’t mattered “Mama used to say to me, when I was young and pining for my birthday or some other treat to come quick, right now, Don’t go wishing your life away.” She tightened her grip on his hand “Don’t you go wishing my life away, either.” He smiled a little, although she was afraid it was half for amusement at that when I was young part “There’s a point, Spark.” “You’d best believe it.” Firmly, she pulled him down the slope Hawthorn already had his shoes and socks stripped off and trouser legs rolled up, and was prancing about in the foam that bubbled and hissed around his feet Barr and Remo watched him rather enviously They set down their baskets beside a likely-looking mess of driftwood and all walked up the beach together Everyone including Dag bent to collect seashells and marvel at the strange shapes and colors Fawn was especially taken with the round, hollow ones, like sugar cookies with flower patterns pressed in the center, trying to imagine what wondrous creatures had made them or lived in them Noting that no blood-sucking tentacles had yet reached out to grab Hawthorn’s ankles, she took off her shoes and socks, too, gave them to Dag to carry, and walked through the tickling foam despite the chill She scooped up a handful of the water and, not that she hadn’t been warned, tasted it— salty, metallic, and vile! But for all that, not regretted She spat it out and made a face that made Dag grin, or at least smirk A half-mile on, they came upon a huge dead fish washed ashore It was even bigger than Dag’s channel cat, sleek gray with a pale belly, with an ugly underslung mouth lined with far too many sharp, triangular teeth It had teeth in rows It had evidently been there awhile, because it also stank to the sky, which at least saved any argument about its edibility and whether Fawn should be made to attempt to cook it Hawthorn, Remo, and Barr were delighted by it, especially the jaws Dag and Fawn walked on, leaving them crouching down trying to cut out the jawbones from the smelly carcass to carry off for a souvenir, possibly to work the teeth later into some sort of Lakewalker hair ornaments There certainly seemed to be plenty of teeth to go around Berry and Whit wrinkled their noses at the aroma wafting up from this process and retreated as well, to walk side by side along the top of the dunes Fawn and Dag held hands and strolled on, though after the fish with the teeth Fawn put her shoes back on and kept her feet safely to the damp sand You just never could tell about Bo’s stories Fawn glanced up to find Dag’s brows had pinched again She thought of shaking him out of his abstraction, or making him wade in the water to wake up, or something Instead, she simply asked, “What’s weighing so heavy on your mind?” He pressed her hand, smiled too briefly “Too much It’s all a tangle, in my head.” “Start somewhere Doesn’t matter which end.” Whatever had bit him was still gnawing, that was plain He shook his head, but drew a long breath, so he wasn’t going to go all surly-quiet, anyhow “My healing work, for one I saved two fellows in the cave If there’d been three or more hurt that bad, the rest would have died all the same How can I set myself up as a medicine maker for farmers when I know it’d be a cruel false promise for all but the first-comers?” “Even Lakewalker medicine makers have helpers,” Fawn pointed out He frowned thoughtfully “I sure understand now why they leave as much to heal on its own as they can.” “Two’s still more than none And most days they wouldn’t come in mobs like that.” “But on days they did, it could sure get ugly.” His frown did not lift “There were other problems came clear to me at the cave, ones I hadn’t thought of Justice, for one How can Lakewalkers and farmers live together if they have to have separate justice? Because there’s bound to be clashes, that’s what justice is all about, dealing with clashes folks can’t settle for themselves.” Now it was Fawn’s turn to say, “Hm.” “Crane said…” He hesitated “You shouldn’t let Crane’s lies get under your skin.” “Isn’t his lies that bother me It’s his truths.” “Did he tell any?” “A few You are what you eat, for one.” Fawn sucked her lower lip “All folks learn from the folks around them Good behavior and bad behavior both You can’t hardly help it.” He ducked his head “Lakewalkers tend to think themselves above that, when they’re amongst farmers Takes ’em by surprise to be taught anything, it does.” He added after a moment, “It did me, leastways But the other thing he said…” Sudden silence Now we’re getting down to it “Mm…?” “About Lakewalkers rising to the top One way or another Whether they want to or not That, I’m afraid I’ve seen On her own boat, Berry defers to me!” Fawn wrinkled her nose in doubt “You’re also a man near three times her age,” she pointed out “You’d be a leader amongst Lakewalkers You wouldn’t expect to be less a leader amongst farmers.” “Amongst Lakewalkers, there would be others to keep me in line.” “Well…Wain didn’t defer so easy, for one.” “Oh, yeah, Wain I sure settled him down, didn’t I?” His hand waved and clenched in a gesture of disgust—or self-disgust? “Um…before the attack, you mean, when the boat bosses were all arguing?” “You spotted that, did you? Yes, I persuaded him What Barr tried to to Berry but was too clumsy to bring off.” His face seemed to set in a permanent grimace, contemplating this “Though at least I didn’t leave him beguiled.” “It was an emergency,” Fawn offered “There will always be another emergency along How long before a need becomes a habit becomes a corruption? Lordship comes too easy, for some And it was lordship near slew the world.” His stride, scrunching through the sand, had lengthened Fawn quickened her steps to keep up He continued, “Unless we keep separate lives Did we come all this way down that long river just to find out the folks we were arguing with back at Hickory Lake were right all along?” “Slow down, Dag!” Fawn panted He stopped She gripped his sleeve and turned him to face her, looking up into his troubled gold eyes “If that’s the truth, then that is what we came all this way to find, yes And we’ll need to face it square But I can’t believe it’s a truth so solid that there’s no cracks at all with space left for us to fit in.” “As long as malices exist, then the patrol must be maintained, and everything that backs it.” “Nobody’s arguing with that But making farmers less ignorant and Lakewalkers less obnoxious doesn’t have to mean turning the whole world tail over teakettle You made a good start on the way down here, I thought!” “Yeah?” He dug his toe in the sand, bent, scooped up a smoothed rock lying there, swung back, and flung it out over the waves It vanished with a faint plop “I made a start like throwing a rock into this sea I could stand here and throw for years and never make a difference you could tell.” Fawn straightened her spine and scowled up at him “You’re not fretting because you couldn’t keep your promise to show me the sea You’re fretting because somewhere in that murky head of yours you were hoping to have the whole problem solved by now, and hand it to me tied up in a bow for my birthday present!” His long silence after that broke in a rueful chuckle “Oh, Spark I’m afraid so.” “I should have thought a patroller would be more patient.” He snorted “You should have met me at age nineteen I was going to save the whole world that year, I was Patience and exhaustion turn out to have a lot in common.” “Well, then, you ought to be real patient right now!” He laughed out loud, a real laugh finally, and hugged her in tight “You would think so, wouldn’t you?” They turned around and started walking back toward the distant carcass Fawn was pleased to see that Barr and Remo had finally taken their boots off and were wading around in the surf with Hawthorn, even if they were only washing up after the fish-butchery But there was a suspicious amount of splashing going on for such a practical purpose They collected the boys and their prizes—Fawn was fascinated to handle the sculpted teeth with their strange serrated edges, once the blood and smelly gristly bits had been cleaned off—and made their way back to their cache, where the men built a driftwood fire Hawthorn made Dag light it while he watched closely, venting hoots of delight Fawn was grateful for the orange heat on her face, because the breeze was still chilly and damp Even the patrollers thought the colors licking up around the bleached wood—blues, greens, spurts of deep red—were magical At length, Berry and Whit came back Only now they walked up the wet sand not just side by side, but holding hands tightly As they came near, Fawn saw that Berry looked wistful, and Whit looked sappy She and Dag, sharing a blanket like a cloak, glanced at each other and grinned in recognition As the pair came up to the fire, Dag leaned back, eyes crinkling, and called, “Congratulations!” Whit looked faintly horrified “Lakewalkers,” sighed Berry “Dag!” Fawn poked him in reproof “At least let them say it for themselves!” “Well, um…” said Whit Berry scraped a strand of sea-blown hair out of her eyes “Whit’s asked me to marry him.” “And she said yes!” put in Whit, in a tone of wonder It made the ensuing picnic properly celebratory, to be sure Hawthorn was quite taken with the notion that he would now have a tent-brother, in the Lakewalker style Whit glanced at Hawthorn, glanced at Dag, and looked quite thoughtful all of a sudden Later, handing around the food, Fawn murmured to Whit, “Good work, but you sure took a chance You were real lucky to bring it off so soon!” He whispered back, “Well, you said I ought to wait till I was as far from that cave as it was possible to get.” He stared out at the gleaming sea “You can’t get any farther than this.” They ate, drank, rested—in some cases, napped—and watched the repeating miracle of the waves and the turning of the tide The sun sloped down to the west, lighting distant clouds that towered peach and blue above the lavender horizon, making Fawn think of the tales of the great shining cities of the lost Lake League on a drowned shore halfway across the continent On a lake so wide you could not see across, so it had to be something like this I should like to see that lake, someday Dag was asleep with his head on her lap when a white speck out to sea resolved into a familiar sail Distant figures waved at them from the deck as the fishing boat rode the tide and breeze into the estuary’s mouth She awoke him with a kiss, and they packed up and climbed the line of dunes to meet it at their landing place At the top, Whit turned to walk backward, then stopped “This is the end of the world, all right.” I once said I would follow Dag to the end of the world Well, here we are… Whit continued, “Sure is impressive But just too big I think the river will be enough water for me, from now on.” He smiled at his river lady and tried to steal a kiss, thwarted because she gave him one first Hawthorn only wrinkled his nose a little “The Fetch won’t go upstream,” Berry reminded him “We’ll be walking home.” “And all uphill, too,” said Whit, making a wry face “That’ll be one long walk,” said Remo, to which Barr added, “Yeah, I need to get me some new boots.” Fawn turned from the sea to look out over the flat marsh, fading into immense hidden distances, and felt dizzy for a moment, imagining the wide green world tilting up before her feet “You know, Whit, it all depends which way you’re facing This way around, it looks to me more like the world’s beginning.” Dag’s grip on her hand tightened convulsively, though he said nothing Together, they all slid down the slope of sand to meet the boat AUTHOR’S NOTE Feeling that my memories of houseboating on the Ohio River in my youth weren’t quite enough to support my tale, I turned with great reading pleasure to additional sources I quickly found that while material on steamboating ran the length of the Mississippi, the earlier era of keelboats, flatboats, and muscle power was much less widely documented Especially worth sharing with the reader curious for more are: The Keelboat Age on Western Waters (1941) by L.D Baldwin; Old Times on the Upper Mississippi: The recollections of a steamboat pilot from 1854 to 1863 (1909) by George Byron Merrick; A-Rafting on the Mississip’ (1928) by Charles Edward Russell; A Narrative of the Life of David Crockett, by Himself (1834) (Bison Books facsimile reprint 1987); and, rather a prize because it was only printed in a limited edition of 750 copies, The Adventures of T.C Collins—Boatman: Twenty-four Years on the Western Waters, 1849– 1873, (1985) compiled and edited by Herbert L Roush, Sr The Merrick, the Russell, the Crockett, and the Collins were all authentic firsthand accounts, immensely valuable for the kind of detail that cannot be found in general histories I owe Russell for Whit’s memorable phrase when falling in love at first sight with a great river because I could not sum up those feelings any more perfectly and Crockett, not only for the flatboatsinking incident, for inspiration for the charming character of Ford Chicory— himself I heartily recommend this autobiography, which seems to have been penned as an early political memoir; its politics have been pared away by time, but its personal aspects remain riveting to this day About the Author OIS C ASTER UJOLD One of the most respected writers in the field of speculative fiction, L M M B burst onto the scene in 1986 with Shards of Honor, the first of her tremendously popular Vorkosigan Saga novels She has received numerous accolades and prizes, including, for best novel, two Nebula Awards (Falling Free and Paladin of Souls), four Hugo Awards for Best Novel (Paladin of Souls, The Vor Game, Barrayar, and Mirror Dance), as well as the Hugo and Nebula Awards for her novella The Mountains of Mourning Her work has been translated into twenty-one languages The mother of two, Bujold lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota www.dendarii.com Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author ALSO BY LOIS MCMASTER BUJOLD The Spirit Ring Falling Free Shards of Honor Barrayar The Warrior’s Apprentice The Vor Game Cetaganda Ethan of Athos Borders of Infinity Brothers in Arms Mirror Dance Memory Komarr A Civil Campaign Diplomatic Immunity The Curse of Chalion Paladin of Souls The Hallowed Hunt The Sharing Knife: Beguilement The Sharing Knife: Legacy Credits Jacket design by Ervin Serrano Jacket illustration by Julie Bell Copyright This book is a work of fiction The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental THE SHARING KNIFE, VOLUME THREE: PASSAGE Copyright © 2008 by Lois McMaster Bujold All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books ePub Edition © MARCH 2008 ISBN: 9780061798221 10 About the Publisher Australia HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty Ltd 25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321) Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au Canada HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900 Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca New Zealand HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited P.O Box Auckland, New Zealand http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.nz United Kingdom HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 77-85 Fulham Palace Road London, W6 8JB, UK http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk United States HarperCollins Publishers Inc 10 East 53rd Street New York, NY 10022 http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com Table of Contents Cover Title Page Contents Map Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Author's Note About the Author Other Books by Lois McMaster Bujold Credits Copyright About the Publisher ...The Sharing Knife Volume Three Passage Lois McMaster Bujold Contents Map Chapter Dag was riding up the lane thinking only of the…... Glassforge Charge five copper crays for the ride, and ten for the box lunch And the lecture for free It would get folks talking when they got home, too—What did you see in Glassforge, dear? It... not to be merely from his complete lack of training; his little hoard of arrows, picked up for free somewhere, was ill-made and ill-balanced When Whit had asked plaintively if Dag couldn’t fix