Awakeners by Sheri S Tepper

“I can stay here in the owner-house.” She tried to smile. “If the men won’t talk about it.”

They would talk, of course. No way he could prevent it. “You can’t stay cooped up that long. You’d turn all pale, like a mushroom.” He tried a not-very-successful smile. “No. We’ll think of something else.”

When he came back to the owner-house some hours later, he brought the local chart-of-towns with him, laying it on the table under the lantern where she could see it. “I’ve found something,” a tired smile telling her it was the only thing he’d been able to find. “I’d forgotten all about it. Strinder’s Isle.”

He pointed to the chart, the ragged edge of the River at one side, with its endless list of places, products, local idiosyncrasies, religious taboos. There to the south, a good day’s sail out into the World River, lay a long, wide, inky interruption among the careful notes and the River flow. The eastern end of it was behind them, two towns back. The western end was three towns yet ahead. “The only people there are the Strinders,” he said. “And only a few of them left. No guards. No gates. They have a pier here, a little east of Chantry. Chantry’s where we’ll have to get the boat fixed.”

“An island? I never heard of an island in the River.” “There’s many of them. Most of the ones close to shore are so small they’re only rocks on the charts, dots, places to steer clear of. But Strinder’s Isle, well, it’s a good way out. Out of sight of the shore. Blint used to call there every time he came around. Used to bring in flour and cloth and sweetening. Take out dye shells. The thing is, we can run down along the island, drop you off, then pick you up again at the western end after the ship is fixed. All we’ll need is some kind of signal so you can come down to the west end of the island when it’s time. That way we’ll be with the current, taking you in and getting you off.”

He misinterpreted her doubtful look. “It’s safe enough, Pamra. We’ve got time to drop you off. The Gift isn’t going to sink under us.”

“No, no, no,” she said, hating herself for seeming to question his provision for her when that very provision might delay and endanger him. “It just seemed-is it an empty island? I mean, are there still any people there?”

Now he was doubtful himself. “There used to be. Right along here. A bunch of little houses, some of them scattered back in the trees. Of course, the island mostly belongs to the Treeci. They’re a little like the fliers.”

“Servants of Abricor!”

“Not carrion eaters. No. Not the Servants of Abricor. A different kind of creature. I’ve never seen them anywhere but there, on the island. Bigger legs than the Servants. They have beautiful plumage, but they don’t fly. Flat kind of beaks on them, almost like lips only harder, not those hard, hooked beaks the Servants have. From a distance, they look almost human. I’ve only seen them at a distance, of course, but the Strinders got on well with them.” He ran a hand across his face, as though trying to wipe away the tiredness. “If there’s any way to let you stay there, Pam, it’s best. Truly. Even if you had to stay alone in one of the old houses. The people looking for you won’t find you there, I can guarantee. And we can make it safe and reasonably comfortable for you, even if you have to stay alone.”

It sounded like abandonment, and he knew it. She could not help but know it, and it made a slow, burning anger in her that there could not be some other way. There was no other way. The alternatives were worse. The Awakeners would send Laughers after her, they weren’t going to stop looking for her, and even death alone on an island would be far preferable to their finding her. She shook herself, made herself sound cheerful about it.

“I’ll go there, Thrasne. Even if there’s no one there. I’ll take Lila, she’ll be company for me. However long it takes, I’ll wait for your signal.”