by Glen Cook
Marika reached out and touched her arm lightly.
Chapter Twenty-four
I
The vehicle selected for Marika’s use proved to be a huge steam-powered carriage capable of carrying twelve meth in extraordinary comfort. Silth began climbing aboard. Marika snapped, “Leave room for my companions. Barlog, you sit with the driver.”
She hustled the bath and Grauel inside, climbed aboard herself. The coach’s appointments were the richest she had ever seen. She waited indifferently while the silth jockied for seats. She intervened only to make certain her TelleRai deputy in the antirogue program found a place. She confined her conversation to business while the coach huffed along TelleRai’s granite-cobbled streets at a pace no faster than a brisk walk. Grauel watched the world outside for signs of any special interest in the coach. Marika occasionally did the same, ducking through her loophole to capture a ghost. She would flutter with it briefly, trying to catch the emotional auras of passersby.
She detected nothing that warranted excessive caution.
The Redoriad were the largest of all sisterhoods as well as the oldest upon the New Continent. Their cloister showed it. It was a city in itself in an ornate, tall architectural style similar to that of the Reugge cloister.
The steam vehicle chugged to a gate thirty feet high and nearly as wide. The gate opened immediately. The vehicle pulled through, halted. Silth in dress slightly different from the Reugge formed an honor guard. An old female with the hard, tough look of the wild greeted Marika as she descended from the coach.
“They told me you were young. I did not expect you to be this young.”
“You have a beautiful cloister. Mistress...?”
“Kiljar.”
Marika’s local companions made small sounds of surprise.
“You honor me, mistress.” She was surprised herself. The Kiljar whose name she knew would be second or third of the Redoriad, depending upon one’s information source.
“You know me, then?”
“I am familiar with the name, mistress. I did not expect to be snowed under with notables on a simple visit to a museum.”
“Simple visit?” The Redoriad silth began walking. Marika followed, staying just far enough away to allow Grauel and Barlog room. Kiljar was not pleased but pretended not to notice. “Do you really expect anyone to believe that?”
“Why not? It is true. I wakened this morning feeling restless, recalled an old instructress’s wonder at the Redoriad museum, decided to come see it for myself. It was sheer impulse. Yet everyone is behaving as though my visit has some sort of apocalyptic portent.”
“Perhaps it does not, after all. Nevertheless, the name can be the thing. What is expected is what is believed. Recent times have made it seem that the fate of the Reugge Community may revolve around you. Your name has become known and discussed. Always twinned with that of Most Senior Gradwohl, as strange and unorthodox a silth as ever became a most senior.”
“I will agree with that. A most unusual female.”
Kiljar ignored that remark. “Young, ambitious silth everywhere are militating for agencies similar to that you created within the Reugge. Old silth who have had brushes with you or yours follow your every move and wonder what each means. Brethren beg the All to render you less a threat than you appear.”
Marika stopped walking. The column of Reugge and Redoriad halted. She faced Kiljar. “Are you serious?”
“Extremely. There has not been a day in months when I have not heard your name mentioned in connection with some speculation. Usually it is on the order of, ‘Is Marika the Reugge behind this?’ Or, ‘What is Marika the Reugge’s next move?’ Or, ‘How does Marika the Reugge know things as though she were in the room when they were discussed?’”
Marika had had some success with her signal intercepts, but not that much. Or so she had thought. Penetrating the various secret languages was very difficult, with the results often unreliable. “I am just one young silth trying to help her Community survive in the face of the most foul conspiracy of the century,” she replied. She awaited a response with both normal and silth senses alert.
“Yes. To have a future you must have a Community in which to enjoy it. But I have heard whispers that say the Serke made a proposal in that regard.”
Marika did not miss a step or feel a flicker of off-beat heart, but she was startled. Word of her encounter with the Serke and brethren had gotten out? “That is not quite true. The Serke approached me once, in their usual hammer-fisted way. They tried to compel me to turn upon my sisters. Nevertheless, the Reugge are stronger today, and the Serke are more frightened.”
“Do they have cause?”
“Of course. A thief must be ready to pay the price of getting caught.”
“Yes. So. But these are thieves with considerable resources, not all of which have entered the game yet.”
“Bestrei?”
“Especially Bestrei.”
“Bestrei is getting old, they say.”
“She can still deal with any two Mistresses of the Ship from any other Community.”
“Perhaps. Who can tell? But that is moot. The Reugge will not challenge her. And how could the Serke challenge us? Would that not amount to a public admission that the Reugge have a right to leave the surface of this planet? I would so argue before the convention on behalf of all those sisterhoods denied access to space.” Carefully, Marika admonished herself. This old silth speaks for a Community of darkfarers at least as powerful as the Serke.
“There is that. This thing you have about rogue males. This campaign you have undertaken in the rural territories. I wish to understand it better. In modern times the Redoriad have concentrated their attention offworld. We have leased our home territories to other sisterhoods and paid little attention to what is happening here.”
“Are the Redoriad still calling for censure because the Reugge allow such flouting of the law within their provinces?” Marika lifted her upper lip enough to make it clear she was being facetious.
“Hardly. Today there is a fear that you may be going too far in the opposite direction. That you may be drawing the brethren in. Particularly since several Communities have begun emulating you.”
“With less success.”
“To be sure. But that is not the point. Marika, some of the Communities have become very uneasy with this.”
“Because all paths lead one way?”
“Pardon?”
“Because each path through the rogue tangle eventually leads to a brethren enclave?”
“Exactly.” Kiljar seemed reluctant to admit it.
“They are trying to destroy the sisterhoods, Mistress Kiljar. Nothing less than that. There is no doubt about it, much as so many would blind themselves to the fact. There is ample evidence. Even this winter that is devouring the world has become a weapon with which they weaken silthdom. They are manipulating the Communities, trying to bring on feuds like the one the Reugge have smoldering with the Serke. They are trying to gain control of natural resources properly belonging to the sisterhoods. They are doing everything within their power, if subtly, to crush us. We would be fools not to push back.”
“The brethren are —”
“Essential to society as we know it? That is one of their weapons, too. That belief. They think that belief will stay our paws till it is too late for us. Come into the museum with me, Mistress Kiljar. Let me show you what you Redoriad have had here all the time. Nothing less than proof that silth can exist without the brethren.”
“Marika...”
“I do not propose that they be destroyed. Not at all. But I believe they should be disarmed and controlled before they destroy us.”
“Mistress?” Grauel said from behind Marika. “May I speak with you a moment? It is important.”
Surprised, Marika dropped back. Barlog dropped even farther, to prevent the column from drawing close enough to overhear. “What? Have you seen something?”
“I have heard something
. You are talking too much, Marika. That is not Barlog or myself, or even the most senior. That is the second of the Redoriad, a Community whose interests are not identical to those of the Reugge.”
“You are right. Thank you for reminding me, Grauel. She’s crafty. She knew just how to goad me. I’ll watch my tongue.” She overtook Kiljar. “My chief voctor reminds me that I did not come here to lay bare the Reugge breast. That we came entirely unofficially, to examine old darkships.”
“I see.” Kiljar seemed amused.
“May we proceed, and perhaps save the discussion for a time when I feel more comfortable with the Redoriad?”
“Certainly. I will remind you, though, that the Redoriad are no friends of the Serke.”
“Mistress?”
“The Serke have been the next thing to rogue among silth for centuries. They have gotten away with it because they have always had a strong champion. They have become intolerable since they developed Bestrei. No sisterhood dares challenge them. There are many of us who follow the Reugge struggle with glee. You have embarrassed them many times.”
“That is because we avoid confronting their strengths. We let them hurt themselves. The most senior is a crafty strategist.”
“Perhaps she outsmarts herself.”
“Mistress?”
“She is preparing a challenger for Bestrei. Buying time till you are ready. Do not argue. What is evident is evident. Certainly, it is possible that when you attain your full strength Bestrei will have aged so much she can no longer best you. It is said you are as strong as she was at your age. Perhaps stronger, because you have a brain and more than one talent. It is whispered that twice you have slain Serke who came from their ruling seven.”
“Mistress, that is not —”
“Do not argue. These things are whispered but they are known. Let me tell you a thing I know. You are alive today only because you belong to a sisterhood without access to space. Because, as you mentioned, there would be extensive legal ramifications to a challenge.”
Marika waited patiently through a long pause while Kiljar ordered her thoughts. They were on the doorstep of the museum. The door was open. She was eager to see what lay beyond, but waited while the old silth found what she wanted to say.
“You cannot hope to best Bestrei at her most senile without learning the ways of the dark, Marika. Handling a darkship out there is not the same as handling one on-planet. You are Reugge. You have no one to teach you those ways. You dare not teach yourself. The Serke will know if you go out on your own. And they will challenge immediately because you will in effect have challenged the sisterhoods who hold the starworlds. They will make it a challenge for the existence of the Reugge. And Bestrei will devour you.”
Involuntarily, Marika glanced at the sky. And sensed the truth of what Kiljar said. She had not thought the situation through.
Had Gradwohl?
“I have a solution,” Kiljar said. “But we will save that for another time. Today you came here only to look at old darkships.” There was a light touch of mockery in her voice.
II
The Redoriad museum was as marvelous as Dorteka had claimed. Marika breezed through most of it, eager to reach the darkships, having saved them for last. She had done that with treats as a pup.
She did stop once to ask about a set of wooden balls. “What are these?”
“In primitive times one test for the presence of silth talents was juggling. All female pups were taught. Those who showed exceptional talent early often were managing the balls unconsciously. They were tested further. Today we have more subtle methods.”
“May I touch them?”
“They are not breakable.”
“I was a very good juggler. My littermate Kublin was, too. We would put on shows for the huntresses when they were in a mood to tolerate pups.” She tossed a ball into the air, then a second and a third. Her muscles no longer recalled the rhythms. Her mind stepped in, made the balls float in slowed motion. She kept them moving for half a minute, then fumbled one and immediately lost them all. “I am a little out of practice.” She returned the balls to the display.
Memories came back. Kublin. Her dam, Skiljan. The Degnan packstead. Juggling. Flute playing. She had been very good with the flute, too. She had not picked one up since fleeing Akard for Maksche. Maybe that deserved some attention. Playing the flute had been as relaxing as flying the darkship or fleeing into the realm of ghosts.
Enough. Thought could be too painful. In this instance it reminded her that her pack remained unMourned.
She went for her treat.
There were a dozen darkships, arranged to show stages of evolution. First a quarter scale model of a darkship similar to the newest flown by the Reugge. Then another, similar yet different. The plaque said it was aluminum. There was only one more metal ship, also of aluminum, incredibly ornate.
“This one never got off the ground,” Kiljar said. “The brethren created an exact copy of a famous golden-fleet darkship of the period, but it would not fly. It takes more effort to lift metal, even titanium, than it does golden-fleet wood. Even though the wood is heavier. There is power in the wood itself. It pleases those-who-dwell. With the metal ships they come only under compulsion.”
“Then why use brethren darkships? Why use a vessel less effective and made by someone we do not control?”
“Because building a wooden darkship, even in its most rudimentary, functional form, is a long and difficult process. Because the brethren can produce all we want almost as fast as we want them. Consider the Reugge experience with the nomads. My sources tell me you lost six darkships in the fighting. In the old days you could not have replaced those in two generations. Generations during which other sisterhoods might have devoured you. These days when you lose a darkship you just order another. The brethren take it out of stock.”
“Sometimes. If you happen to be in favor.”
“That is right. They would not replace yours. That is on the agenda for the next convention. They will be required to defend that decision.”
“They could refuse all the Communities.”
“The convention will sort it out.”
“If there is one.” It took a majority of sisterhoods agreeing one was needed before a convention could actually convene.
Marika moved along the line of darkships. The next was wooden, similar in style to the brethren ship that would not fly. It was a work of art, almost grotesque in its ornateness. She noted almost thronelike seats for the Mistress and bath.
The wooden darkships grew simpler and more primitive, ceased to be crossed. The last three were saddleships, also declining in complexity. The latest looked like an animal with an impossibly elongated neck. The oldest was little more than a pole with fletching at its rear.
Kiljar indicated the fanciest. “In this period silth imitated life. There was an animal called a redhage which was used as a riding beast. It has become extinct since. Saddleships of the period are stylized imitations with the neck elongated. The longer a saddleship was, the more stable it was in flight. As you can see, the oldest were stabilized the same as an arrow.”
“But an arrow spins in flight.”
“So it does. It may have been a clumsy way to travel. We do not know now for certain. The redhage type still gets taken up occasionally, though. Some of our Mistresses enjoy them. And they are much faster than anything in common use. The Mistress can lie on its neck and cut loose. The weakness of the darkship being the obvious: the Mistress is limited by her own endurance.”
“Bath are that important?”
“That important. Well? Are you satisfied?”
“I think so. I have seen what I came to see. I should get back. There is no end to the work that awaits me at Maksche.”
“Think on what I have said about the Serke, Bestrei, and learning the ways of the void. Mention it to Most Senior Gradwohl. Mention that I am interested in speaking with her.”
“I will.”
“There
is, by the way, a voidship that belongs to the museum. An early one, now retired, but still far too big to bring inside. Would you like to see it?”
“Of course.”
Marika followed Kiljar out a side door, into a large courtyard. Barlog and Grauel followed alertly, shading their eyes against the sudden change in lighting, searching for signs of an ambush. Marika reached through her loophole and checked. She made a gesture telling the huntresses all was well.
She stopped cold when she saw the void darkship. Her hopes for walking among the stars almost died. Yes. There was no way she was going to challenge a Bestrei anytime in the near future. “That is a small one, you say?” It was three times the size of the largest Reugge darkship.
“Yes. The voidships the Redoriad use today are twice this size. And the voidship we run in concert with the brethren is bigger still.”
“If it is so difficult to move metal ships, how...?
“Out there those-who-dwell are much bigger, too. And much more powerful. That is one thing you would have to learn before you dared face a Bestrei. How to manipulate the stronger ghosts.”
“Thank you.” Marika closed in upon herself, squeezing a knot of disappointment down into a tiny sphere. “I think I had best be off for Maksche. I have let my duties slide long enough.”
“Very well. Do not forget to tell Gradwohl that Kiljar of the Redoriad wishes to speak with her.”
Marika did not respond. With Grauel and Barlog and her train of bath and TelleRai silth keeping pace, she strode back to the steam coach. She climbed aboard, settled into her seat, and closed in upon herself again.
This required a lot of thinking. And rethinking.
III
I t was very late when Marika returned to the Reugge cloister. She dismissed her bath with a grunt instead of the usual thank-yous, went straight to her quarters. Grauel and Barlog followed and stayed near, but she did not take advantage of their unspoken offer. She went to bed immediately, exhausted from the day’s flights.