Chapter 3: The Caravan

“Nobody has ever before asked the nuclear family to live all by itself in a box the way we do. With no relatives, no support, we've put it in an impossible situation.” - Margaret Mead


She walked backwards in her mind, step, step, step into the black, into sleep. Two guides appeared – one slender and tall, and black, like oiled leather. His face and hands were mutilated and she recognized him as Mr. Nobody – the strange, Satyr-like being she kept longing for. The other guide was very young, barely out of childhood. Her hair was strange. . . part of it was like Mr. Nobody’s blue-black and coarse. There were patches of off-black fuzz, and parts or the fuzzy sections were intershot with silver. There was an area the size of a dime where her hair was pure white, and Zeremaya knew that there were others. Her face was grained, like wood, dark and light, one hand warm almond, the other deep black. The strange creature was pregnant, and her nose was sharp, like a beak.

“Mother, mother” the girl called out. “Father and I are looking, looking. You must forget us. We’ll drive you away if we have to. Trust us, we will remember that you love us for you, you have to give yourself to this world.” The man and his daughter (Zeremaya knew in the dream that this was true) began to pick up rocks and throw them at her. They hurt, and Zeremaya began to run in bewilderment. She was running along a river bed, she turned her ankle on a rock and fell down, cutting her hands and her knee. In her dream her healing magic worked correctly, and as she could in real life, she got up, smoothed over her burning knees and began to fly away from them.

Karl was running alongside where she flew. He was crying, stumbling. Zeremaya flew along beside him and tried to pull him into the air, to show him that he could fly as easily as she could. She waved her arms and the wind began to beat around them, but as hard as she tried she could not lift Karl. Karl did not fly, though he could run, and could cry.

Zeremaya turned at right angles to the path, and dropped into another setting. They were sitting outside a French stone castle, on a world where there was a huge planet in the sky. That world was dry and red. Hers was green, and small, as if she and Mr. Nobody-girl were sitting on the top of a dome – the horizon was close enough so that she could see the curve of the world, see the sweep of the sky.

“I’m only eighteen years old. This hasn’t happened yet.” Zeremaya told the girl.

“I really shouldn’t be talking to you, you need to go back. You’re hurt and you have to conserve your strength. Please go away, or I’ll have to make you and that will hurt you. I don’t want to have to hurt you, Mom.” The strange girl looked into the flames of the campfire, tried to look anywhere but at her.

Zeremaya held up her arms pleadingly. “If you are my daughter, you are also a mother, I can see that. Could you just leave your child? Just give me a clue, and I’ll go. I love you so much, I need to know where you are and that we are still a family.”

The girl was crying now. “Look, I just came because Jackie is beside herself worrying about you. I’m pregnant, you can see that, I couldn’t be on a world where time stops, even for a little while.

We all love you, we’re fighting like mad to get you back, but you have to assimilate to survive. Do you remember any of your Earth books? You’re on a Yellow planet, like Earth is – well, was. When you left it. You used to have perfect recall. Think about The King in Yellow. You are inside a story like Robert Chambers just like Earth was-is and we have not forgotten you and you have to wait for us to get you. You can’t win this one, Mom – you can only tear yourself to pieces trying. Now please, I don’t want to have to push you away, please, oh please leave, and be safe, and we love you!”

Zeremaya walked over to the girl, tried to kiss her but like in dreams she passed right through her. Zeremaya sighed and stroked her hair.

“Which way is the way out?” she asked the girl. She looked around. “That way.” The girl pointed. There was a black void in the sky as if the whole scene was on a computer screen and the screen had been broken.

Zeremaya walked into the black. She trusted Mr. Nobody-girl, who was perhaps her daughter.

She woke up, spooned between the twins and Karl. Zash was looking at her.

“Did you feel – did I do anything that affected magic?” Zeremaya asked her. Zash opened up her mouth to speak, but as she did the corners of her mouth reach back, touched, and Zash fell over, twitching.

Zeremaya gasped, and woke up again. She looked around more carefully this time. She touched her tongue to the back of her hand, felt the softness. She pinched a fold of the soft flesh between her fingers, then gently pinched her own tongue the same way.

“I am having the most disturbing nightmares.” Said Zeremaya. Zash nodded. “You were whimpering in your sleep. Karl tells me that you often break into sweats, cry, and struggle when he lies with you.”

“I’ve not remembered any nightmares before this one. I’m still all gooseflesh.”

“You’re two weeks away from a really bad physical injury and who knows what sort of magical damage. It’s probably a sign of health that you can remember your dreams.” Said Zash.

“At this point I could stand not to remember dreams like that.” Said Zeremaya. “They’re already fading away. Which is a blessing.”

The door to the vardo had been left open but was covered by a bug net. Zeremaya shuddered, thinking about the quantity and variety if insects that would be hunting her if she was on the other side of the curtain.

The quality of light and life was changing. The little girls were starting to stir. One of them rolled over and sneered.

“So, it’s the great Georgio magic –doctor.”

“My goodness, for a little georgio kid you’ve got a fresh mouth.” Replied Zeremaya.

“I’m a little gypsy girl, not a georgio.”

“Were you so little when you started traveling?” asked Zeremaya. Zash smiled, rolled her eyes.

“I’ve always been here, and I’m a little gypsy, don’t forget that. And I don’t want your dirty magic. Which one of us do you want to kill, anyway?” she scolded.

“I nearly died myself trying to save you and for that matter my mother is Gypsy, for real. She left to marry someone, then went back to her tribe when I was about your age.” Said Zeremaya.

“As if that would ever happen.” She rolled her eyes.

“S’true. And it’s also true that I’m here to help you feel better, but I don’t want to do anything that Karl and Zash don’t want me to do. And I’m sure neither Karl nor Zash would want you to come to harm. Either of you. “

“I hate you. I hate lying Georgios who are rounders and sleep with nice Gypsy men and besides, Karl belongs to Zash. She should cut your throat for what you are doing. You don’t fool me. You’re going to get all hyped up and magical and even if you’ve got Karl and Zash fooled don’t forget that I know you’re just a lying, no trusting georgio rounder.” She ran her tongue over her lips again.

“Rounder, Rounder. “ a deep breath again. “Rounder.” Bitter and halfsmiling, still looking more satisfied, she curled up and from time to time as the two women talked the young girl repeated the word, muffled but clear enough.

“Am I sleeping in your bed, Zash?” asked Zeremaya.

“Me? Oh, no!” Zash reassured her. “Karl has his own vardo, which does belong to my grandmother, Mother Faa. In time I’ll be the women’s leader, so perhaps in that sense you’re in my vardo, but -----“ Zash’s voice trailed off, embarrassed.

“Karl is not Gypsy, no more than the twins are. I would be surprised if you could marry Karl under any situation. What is he, a hostage?” Sometimes unfavored children of powerful people were foisted off on traveling troupes.—babysit our embarrassment, and we’ll let you travel free.

Zash shrugged. “Not the usual, but sort of. Kind of. You’ll have to ask Mother Faa.”

“I had a dream, where I was talking to my daughter – well, it’s possible that I was talking to my daughter. Maybe. I’m so fuddled I can’t tell.” Said Zeremaya.

Zash shook her head. “There’s problems with the magic on this planet. We’ve got a whole system of wards and balances up, you’d have a hard time getting through a message on Georgio magic. And if you’d used Gypsy magic I would know. I’m just beginning my training but knowing when someone’s trying something, sending something long-range – a good quarter of the people in the caravan here would be banging on the side of the Vardo, trying to find out what was going on.” She finished.

The other sister, they realized, was awake.

“Doesn’t she look gross snoring with her mouth open? Sometimes she drools on me. Sometimes I put a booger in her mouth.” Zeremaya and Zash began to giggle.

“Hey, anything hanging open like that.” The little girl shrugged. Karl groaned and shifted “What’s so funny?” He asked. Then,

“I’m starved and parched. Let’s find someone who made something to eat.”

“You should be starved and parched. You’re a pregnant man, eating for three!” teased Zash. Zeremaya smoothed her skirts.

“All right then. I’ll go with you, at least for a little while. I need some real sleep in your Vardo, Karl.”

They peeked out the back door. The caravan was moving, had been for a while. Though they were waking up for “breakfast” it was apparently at least noon and more likely afternoon.
Again Zeremaya had lost a block of time, given up in healing magic but at least this time she was not as depleted – she was merely ready for bed, wretchedly, wrung-out tired.

The Zeremaya saw the horses. The caravan behind her had a quad pulling it, four beautifully matched horses bigger than most Gypsy horses, Drum sized. Karl grinned

“That’s my own forge they are pulling, that’s why we have our four biggest stallions pulling it.” Zeremaya looked out to one side. “And those horses?”

“Some of the geldings, we use them in the shows. That one, he can do counting tricks. He’s dreadful with his temper, though. Don’t get near him – he has me as a friend, my best friend Bondar – that’s the big black on the right – and his abilities to raise money – or the gypsies would sell him for sure, and he’d be fed to the farmer’s dogs for sure if that happened.”

Zeremaya looked over the stallion Karl referred to as his “best friend”. He was part heavy draft horse, certainly, but was a beautiful Drum horse even so.

“Yeah. He’s a bit too black almost a blagdon: solid color with white splashed up from underneath-- for Rom tastes, but he’s so smart, and good natured, and check out that mane and feathers!” Karl let out a long whistle. Bandar shook his mane and knickered to Karl.

“The grumpy gelding – he’s got just beautiful coloring, perfect pinto coloring and feathering all the way to his knees.” Remarked Zeremaya.

“Beauty is as beauty does. Still, I’d stay out of biting range.” Said Karl firmly. “Puzzle is a puzzle. No one knows how he does his counting trick, as smart as he is he is just a soreheaded horse.”

“What does Zash ride?” asked Zeremaya. The pride in Karl’s voice made his pitch waver. “She chose wonderfully. She has the most wonderful six year old little girl, smart, beautiful, she came up when her mother was giving birth and the filly just slid into her arms. The two have been close, so close for years – what a wonderful horse relationship!”

The vardos were rolling along slowly, one by one after each other in the deeply rutted road. Zere’maya stepped off the moving vardo to walk alongside. Never lose the knack, it’s like riding a bicycle, she thought smugly to herself. Karl rolled off and walked beside her, striding with her so that they fell back very slowly.

“Aruin and Inchin ride almost at the front. The forge wagon’s heavy; it keeps the space and smooths out the ride for the others, also the wheels are double as well as the horses so we pack down the road if it’s dusty. My vardo rides second to last, right ahead of the chicken wagon. I can hop you up and into a good many of the wagons, show you around.”

Karl exchanged a quick word with one of the men; he unhitched one of the ponies walking alongside and picked Zere’maya up and put her on it. Zere’maya frowned.

“I don’t know how I just noticed, but you are much stronger than you look.” She commented. Karl froze. "Maybe even stronger than a man. Are you a magical being, like me?” Karl swept his eyes up the vardo they were walking past. The cloud that had gone over his face passed away so quickly Zere’maya was left doubting what she had seen.

“Look at the ironwork, that’s one of my very first caravans I smithed!” Zeremaya looked it over carefully. “That’s some innovative metalwork, that must have taken you some man-hours ----“ she sighed, ran her hand over her hammered earring. “I always wanted to try something that large.”

“Well, my mentor thought I had the time, and better to practice on a roof than on someone’s pots and pans. I hammered every single one of those copper shingles one by one, working to make each one of them just a little different, just a little better. You can lay copper tiles down in just about any plan, so I started with the hole in Mother Faa’s vardo roof, and the project grew – until what you see there. The locals don’t tend to realize that the whole roof is copper – but in the beginning when I was making it, the whole roof glowed -- iridescent pinks, oranges and reds mixed in runny rivulets with brassy yellows, blues, greens and purples. Eventually it turned potato brown, as you can see, and now it’s “mossing up” with more and more streaks of green each year.” Karl sighed, remembering. “From there I moved to other metals, and much of the eighteen wagons came from these hands.”

Zere’maya looked up and down the vardo row. “Is copper very cheap?” she asked. Karl shook his head. “When I say ‘came from these hands’ I mean that I took every bit of copper from the rock it came from.”

“How is that possible?” asked Zere’maya.

“I can’t be burned. Pretty much can’t be hurt. None of the gases do anything to me either, anymore than having my head under water – no damage, none at all.” Admitted Karl. Zere’maya gave a low whistle.

“Man, what a great ability for someone who can smith like you can!” said Zere’maya admiringly. “As long as you have access to ores and fuel, you can make metallic copper – and other metals, I’m sure.”

“Yup. It’s great, not being able to be hurt.” Said Karl. He sounded very unsure of this, though.

Zere’maya took a closer look at the vardos. Although they looked like wood many of them had metal plates over their surfaces, and iron weavings – much lighter and more durable than any wood could have been.

“The gypsies tolerate me better because I can pretty much “make money”. When I came here I was just a little kid – couldn’t be hurt meant that I couldn’t be punished. I’d run wild and done just as I pleased my whole life. A lot of them will remember for their whole lives how I was before I understood why I needed to behave. I’m not too dumb, Zere’maya. Once I knew I had to please people I put my mind to it. Of the people our age Zassh is the only one that even talks to me, really. And the adults – well, you have to be accepted by your agemates before you can be an adult. If I was a Gypsy man I would have been married and had a family years ago.”

“So – you could leave?” asked Zere’maya. “I did. Okay, I did try really hard to get back in. But out is possible. There are other people, there’s no way a caravan this big is performing for other Gypsies.”

“That’s true.” Said Karl. “You haven’t met the people we perform with. Do you have any ideas about who you were sent to help, how they live, or what the problem is yet?” he asked. Zere’maya shook her head.

“My hunch is that the person who goes doesn’t usually know. My nature should be pulling me to the problem – a whole flow of energy going towards one point would do that, but I’m not being pulled anywhere. I’m afraid whatever wasn’t supposed to happen – went down. I lost. Game over, game pieces still on the board, left and lonely. As to the other, it’s a good thing I take notes of what I do remember every night. I have at least some record of what I did recall before even that little bit gets swallowed up. I’m more and more forgetting that I’m not eighteen, that I have a daughter who is older than that. The funny part is that I don’t remember forgetting, I don’t feel like anything is missing, then I listen to my recorder and go ‘huh!’ – I’m glad that I can remember after meeting you fairly well.” Karl laughed.

“Some days of my life I wouldn’t mind not remembering – hey, here’s a vardo you’ll like!” He swung aboard, Zere’maya following.

The inside was clean – operating room clean – and strangely cool. Zere’maya could see the large water basins, portholes that looked like saddles with openings in the middle, and each with a long, slender hose. The other side had a bench with foot rests on each side of a line of holes, with bowls of sawdust in them.

“I’ve never seen a Gypsy portable bathroom before.” She mused. “Why do you need one?”

“Most of the places around here have very shallow topsoil, so both sorts of waste are very valuable. We don’t mix, so we end up at the next farmhouse with clean fertilizer on the one side, “Karl nodded towards the saddles with the hoses, “And we have a worm bin under the other which we change from the outside, leaving worm compost. At the front is a whole-body shower, not as good as washing in running water but sometimes here that isn’t possible. We do collect rainwater on the roof so it’s almost whuzo – and better than dirty skin.” Zeremaya looked it over. “And the roof comes off so you can run the whole vardo under water when you have the opportunity – which being gypsies you would do anyway, we’re ‘people who smell of water’.”

“Just like anywhere,” Karl continued, “we have our ways of keeping separate that which should be separate – cleaning clothes away from cleaning dishes. We have a very nice women’s needs vardo, just for women since we’re a fairly large caravan.”

“Well, since I can’t eat I don’t imagine I will need it, I’ll take your word for that.” Said Zere’maya. She slipped out the vardo, back onto her pony. Karl dropped out and they resumed walking slower than the caravan, slipping back by just moving forward a little less than the group. Each family vardo Karl pointed out in turn, telling where it was made and by whom. Each vardo had its own story, made by nongypsy crafters here. Zere’maya noted that there were other women blacksmiths on the planet.
“I, on my own world – I never met another woman who worked with metal with the exception of women who made jewelry.” She brushed her ears again. “I made these earrings, my uncle taught me mostly, and other smiths outside the community. I’d only met a few even women jewelry makers, and honestly, I would have preferred to work the big irons.” She sighed regretfully. “Of course, cold iron and fire would quickly end all my problems. I can’t risk getting hit by a spark, even, not as I am.” Karl gave her a sympathetic look.

“I can imagine that’s hard.” He commented.

“Sure. I miss water. I can only rinse out my mouth. I can’t eat anything. I can’t be exposed to sunlight for long, and I can’t handle energy like that. If you can imagine, it’s as if I had iron all through my body, implants, batteries. If I wasn’t leaking energy I could do all these normal things – it’s so very frustrating.”

Karl reached up, fingered one of the hoops “You can do this, and now you can’t touch iron, can’t work metal? You must be suffering. Though I’ve been wondering – what’s this hoop made of? “ He fingered the white metal hoop.

“It’s meant to be easy to locate by my people, not stand out too much for yours. It’s palladium – most people assume it’s silver.”
“Not with that strange blue mark on it.” Said Karl. “I’ve been trying to think of what sort of white metal might weather blue, but I haven’t come across any. Very strange.”
“Huh.” Said Zere’maya. That means it got really hot while attached to my ear. I can’t remove it – without tearing my ear – I hope not many other people notice.”
“Did you make that earring, too?” asked Karl.
“No, I think I was in a hurry. I would have had my identification in one of my own earrings, but grabbed a handy one on the way. I think I thought this would be a days job, maybe even an hours job. A lot of little signs point to me not expecting I would be gone long.”

“What does palladium ore look like? I could make some hoops for you to match the little one.” Asked Karl.

“Palladium is lighter than platinum, and greyer, and usually found in the same ore, like rhodium, ruthenium, iridium and osmium are in platinum, like silver is often in gold. I’ll help you if I see some of the host rock. Platinum is a whole ‘nother metal to work than silver, gold, iron or copper though.” Said Zere’maya. “Much harder, much higher melting point.” Karl only grinned.

Zere’maya rode along happily. Karl at least was thriving. She was good for him in some way – he was as happy to find a smithing woman as a comic book geek or gamer would be to find a gamer or comic book girl.

“Ah, here’s another you’ll like.” Said Karl, and Zere’maya swung up behind him. She could already smell the feathery scent – this was the chicken coop.

“Oooh – they’re beautiful!” exclaimed Zere’maya.
“And they perform, too. Don’t they look just like the horses?” said Karl proudly.
“And the puli dogs too – amazing feathers – and so small!” “Makes them easier to travel with, and between their strange looks and small size no one ever thinks we’ve stolen them. No one else has horses, dogs, or chickens like the Gypsies do.” Karl was as proud as if they were his own children.