Singer From the Sea

by Sheri S. Tepper

  “Drop it,” said Joncaster in an angry voice. “Sit on him, Etain, while I find something to tie him up. Gilber, you and Jorub get Aufors Leys into the cave where it’s cooler.”

  There was a momentary confusion, threats from the Marshal, imprecations from Joncaster, moaning from Aufors, which caused a freshet of tears from Genevieve, after which they all returned to the cool of the cave, this time with the Marshal trussed up like a pig on its way to market. Genevieve immediately huddled over Aufors, willing him to open his eyes while Awhero bathed his face, arms, and chest with cool water from the spring.

  “I heard Joncaster’s sled,” said Gilber to Melanie, in answer to a question. “So I ran down the shore to catch him before the Marshal heard him. We’d no sooner come up outside than you all came out!”

  Aufors groaned and opened his eyes. He blinked several times and murmured, “Jenny?”

  “Oh, yes, love. I’m here.”

  “Dovidi …”

  “He’s here, too.”

  “Ah,” he said, licking his lips. “Dry …”

  “Here’s water, love.”

  “Tea,” he whispered. “I want lemon tea …” He tried to smile, failed, managed to get his hand onto hers, squeezed it, then lapsed into sleep once more.

  She rose at once and went to the supplies, to search for tea. Meantime, Jorub and Etain dragged the Marshal back through the open area into the lengthy branch of the cavern that led to the crevasse used as a privy. They returned as Joncaster was saying:

  “Among us and the other sleds, I’d guess we’ve moved all the bodies. What we don’t have is any information about where the stock of the stuff was kept …”

  “Oh, yes,” murmured Awhero. “I know where P’naki was kept! So do Genevieve, and Aufors.”

  Aufors, hearing his name, opened his eyes. “What?” he cried. “Jenny? What did she say?”

  Genevieve was still across the cavern, and unthinkingly she called, “She said I know where the stuff is kept.” She put her hand over her mouth, guiltily, looking toward the back of the cavern.

  Joncaster laid a finger over his lips, whispering, “What do you see happening in Haven?”

  She replied softly. “I see nothing about P’naki. For some time I caught glimpses of the Lord Paramount. He was down in the caverns, singing to himself and eating something out of a jar. Licking it off his fingers. Now I see him curled in a dark corner somewhere, sleeping. I’ve seen him in that same position for a long time. As though he were carved. He doesn’t move.”

  “Carved, eh?” said Awhero. “Now that’s odd and interestin’ …”

  “Could it have been P’naki? A whole jar full?” wondered Joncaster in almost a whisper. “I’ve been wondering if too much of the stuff at once would do the same thing Aufors told us about.”

  Genevieve rose, bringing the cup of tea she had brewed to Aufors’s side. “Awhero told Aufors about it, but she didn’t know it was men’s blood that did it.”

  “How did you know?” Melanie asked Awhero. “And why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Never had a chance until now,” said Awhero, going on to tell her story about the Old Friend, while Joncaster and Melanie listened with their mouths open, and Genevieve knelt above Aufors, feeding him sips of tea and pondering the existence of Old Friends with great concentration. She was about to ask Awhero an important question when a call from the entrance interrupted her. Jorub.

  “Joncaster,” he cried, “Melanie! Come look! It’s a Frangían ship sailing down the coast. They don’t do that! They stay east of the Stone Trail, always …”

  Joncaster went to the entrance, and except for Genevieve, who was holding the cup to Aufors’s lips, he was joined there by the rest of the group. Intrigued by the appearance of the ship, they moved down to the shore where they stood with the waves washing their toes, shading their eyes from the setting sun and murmuring among themselves. Since the hovercraft behind the ship was low on the water, lost in the dazzle of the sun-splashed waves, they did not notice when the craft left the cover of the ship, slipped across the narrow strip of water to the land, hidden from them by protruding stones.

  They were still standing, still watching, when Terceth, Dunnel and the other Trackers arrived, dragging behind them an unwilling Prince Delganor. It was the Prince’s curses that spun them around.

  “Well,” said Terceth, upon seeing Awhero and the boy. “We’ve met before, madam.”

  “We have,” she assented with some discomfort. “And no reason to meet again, so far as I can see.”

  “Happens we’re looking for your son, madam. Or the man you claimed was your son. He left a mystery behind him. One we’d mightily like to solve.”

  “Taipa? What mystery to him? Oh, he’s done bit of thievery, but that was just to save baby’s life …”

  “Where is the child?” asked Dunnel. “I don’t see a child.”

  Awhero’s response was aborted by a wail from the cave. She shook her head in irritation. “Up there. I’ll get him….”

  But Dunnel was already halfway to the cavern, where he immediately discovered Genevieve and Aufors. His shout brought the others, who arrived to find Genevieve speaking indignantly to him.

  “… we’re Havenites come to Mahahm to trade for P’naki, which is a medicine against the fevers. This is my husband, Aufors Leys, and he was wounded when he went back into the city to rescue our child.”

  “What’s your name?” demanded Terceth from the cave entrance.

  “Genevieve, Marchioness of Wantresse,” she said, drawing herself up and glaring at him, the red light of sunset glittering in her eyes. Between him and herself was a roiling of shadows, a vortex of images. Events were spinning out of control. She took a deep breath. There was danger coming. She could only see shadows, but they were full of danger.

  “Well, Marchioness. What do you know about long-life stuff?”

  She swallowed, saying slowly, “Long-life stuff? I know it is something the Lord Paramount gets from off-planet.”

  “The Lord Paramount,” he mused. “And the Shah?”

  “I suppose the Shah could too,” she answered. “They use it to keep their subjects in line. If men don’t behave, they don’t live long.”

  Terceth seated himself on a stone and crossed his legs, leaning forward intently. “And what do they give for this drug?”

  Genevieve shrugged, watching the shadows move and gather. She could say this, which was dark, or that, which was lighter. “Women, it’s said. I thought everyone knew that.”

  “And the stuff is called P’naki,” said Terceth, as though thinking aloud, though he watched her closely.

  “No, no,” corrected Genevieve. “I’ve taken P’naki myself as a preventive against batfly fever, but only men take the long-life drug.”

  This accorded completely with what the Frangians on the ship had said, but it was not what Terceth wanted to hear. He snarled in irritation. “What does it look like, this P’naki?”

  Genevieve shrugged. “I don’t think I ever saw it except stirred into fruit juice.”

  “Well then, what world does the long-life drug come from?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Do you know, Melanie?”

  “I imagine the Lord Paramount and the Shah keep it a secret,” said Melanie demurely, her eyes on her feet.

  Aufors moaned, opened his eyes, blinked, and tried to sit up. Genevieve was beside him at once, but so was Dunnel, turning out his pockets and feeling for weapons.

  “Prince Terceth,” said Dunnel, drawing the packet from Aufors’s breast pocket, “Here’s more of the stuff he gave you.”

  “Which he said he stole from the palace,” mused Terceth.

  “Well, and he did,” asserted Awhero. “We needed food for baby, and I told him that was only place I knew of we could get it. He told me all about it.”

  Terceth demanded, “What did he tell you?”

  “He said he found food, and then he found weapon, and then he went into b
ig room, like bedroom, and there were boxes with packets in, and he took two packets, just curious. And you took one packet from him in Mahahm-qum.”

  “Indeed I did. I still have it.” He took it from his pocket and held it with the other, musing. “We searched the palace for more of it, but we found none. What is the stuff for?”

  “Who knows! Locked up stuff in fancy boxes, usually that kind of thing is worth something, isn’t it? I told him to try to take something light, something we could trade on our way south.”

  Dunnel murmured, “He could have given some of it to Obrang, sir. In return for being set loose.”

  “What’s an Obrang?” asked Awhero, looking up suspiciously.

  “One of my men. Seemingly turned to stone.”

  Awhero licked dry lips and swallowed. “Well, likely he got into some bonebush.”

  “Why would he have done that?” asked Dunnel, curiously.

  “Well,” she said, wildly concocting, “here you are, hunting high, hunting low, looking for long-life stuff, and here’s this funny-looking bush, so some idiot in your army tells some other idiot in your army to taste it and see if that’s it.”

  “And you don’t know what this stuff is?” murmured Terceth. “Well, we can test it on the Prince. Bring him.”

  Dunnel departed. Aufors struggled to sit up, and Awhero and Genevieve propped him against the wall, where he blinked owlishly, feeling the top of his head, where the excruciating pain of the last few days had been succeeded by a dull ache. Outside, night had fallen. Dunnel returned carrying a lantern and leading Delganor by his shackles. On seeing Genevieve and Aufors, Delganor’s lips thinned.

  “At last,” he quavered. “My runaway bride. And her faithless husband. I am gratified to see you looking unwell, sir!”

  In her shock at his appearance, Genevieve ignored what the man said. Delganor stooped; his face was deeply wrinkled and darkly spotted with age.

  “We’ve brought you here for a purpose,” said Terceth. “This man was carrying something we’re eager to know about.” He held out the two packets of powder, dangling them before the Prince’s eyes. “This man stole these from the Shah’s palace.”

  Genevieve, who was at one side, saw the tightened jaw, the very slight motion the Prince made toward the packet. Awhero, who had been alerted by the story of Obrang to the realization the packets might not be identical, virtually stopped breathing.

  With great effort, Delganor managed to keep his voice uninterested as he said, “What is it?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “How would I know?”

  “It isn’t P’naki?”

  “No,” he said craftily. “I buy P’naki from the Mahahmbi all the time. P’naki is gray. And more granular.”

  “Could it be the health drug your Lord Paramount gives to his faithful supporters?”

  Delganor frowned. “That drug is a similar color, though it is usually a much finer powder.”

  “You wouldn’t mind trying this, then?”

  “For what reason?”

  Again, Genevieve saw the tightness at the jaw, the eager flicker of the eyes toward the packet as he struggled for self-control. The whirling shadows still hung between her and the others in the cave, a vision of the near future where events spun madly, sucking her in, sucking her down …

  Awhero had been holding her breath. She gasped, covering it up with a coughing fit.

  “Take the stuff because I say so,” Terceth said to the Prince.

  Dunnel poured a cup of water and brought it to Delganor. Terceth handed over the packets, and the Prince sprinkled the contents of one packet on the water and drank it. The others watched him closely. He did not move but merely glared at them.

  “How do you feel?” asked Terceth.

  “It’s not … not … not &” Delganor murmured. “Not … P’naki.”

  “So you said,” Terceth agreed, cocking his head in wonder.

  The Prince took a deep breath. He stood straighter. The weariness in his face smoothed away. His eyes cleared.

  “Now, that must be your ‘health drug,’” Terceth crowed, his eyes alight.

  “Yes,” said the Prince. “That’s what it feels like.” He spoke as though he were drugged or drunk, but his fingers curled around the unused packet.

  A sound came from the darkness at the back of the cavern, a rock falling, a scraping. They all started.

  “Dunnel,” murmured Terceth, jerking his head in that direction.

  Dunnel took a torch from his belt and followed its beam into darkness. Genevieve glanced meaningfully at Awhero. Awhero pinched Dövidi, making him wail in pain and surprise. Genevieve exclaimed and took the baby from her, put him on her shoulder, and began walking to and fro, patting him into quiet. Each time she turned, she came closer to the cave entrance.

  Dunnel called, “There’s a man back here, sir. Bound and gagged.”

  “Bring him here!”

  Genevieve said in a casual tone, “The captive is my father. He planned to take me from my husband and ctúld, and give me to Prince Delganor. Prince Delganor planned to sell me in return for the drug. My father was dragging me away by force when my friends stopped him. That’s why he’s tied up!”

  “So you’re one of the women who was going to be sold, are you?” asked Terceth in an interested voice.

  “I am not the Prince’s property to dispose of,” she said. “Neither my husband nor I belong to Prince Delganor!”

  “All the Prince’s subjects belong to the Prince!” the Marshal shouted, staggering into the lamplight, his face contorted with rage.

  “I am not the Prince’s subject,” retorted Genevieve. “Nor are you. We are both subjects of the Lord Paramount. You seem inclined to forget that, Father.”

  “You know the Lord Paramount?” Terceth asked her, in a deceptively casual manner.

  “I have met him, yes,” she said, looking over the Marshal’s shoulder at Aufors. Joncaster had helped him rise, and he stood in the shadows.

  “And what else might you know about long-life stuff?” Terceth asked.

  “Just what I’ve told you,” she said. “It’s given only to men, and it’s expensive, and they get it from off-planet.”

  “Hah!” shouted the Marshal, his rage outrunning his good sense. “The presumptuous chit knows more than that. I heard them talking out here! She knows where a supply of the stuff is, a great supply!”

  Genevieve’s spinning shadows collapsed upon themselves, and she waited for nothing more. Even as Terceth turned toward her with a triumphant shout, she darted out the entrance and down the slope, Dovidi on her shoulder. On the pebbled beach she evaded the astonished group of Trackers and raced out along the serpent’s tail. The tide was low. She splashed through the shallow water that led to the hump, then over the hump through deeper water to climb up the neck of the serpent and onto its head, where she grasped the horn and stood silhouetted against the last of the light.

  Terceth stalked angrily down the slope, gathered the Trackers, and went out onto the tail stone.

  “She’ll jump if you threaten her,” Awhero screamed from up the hill. “She will!”

  “She won’t jump with the child,” growled Terceth to his men, staring up at Genevieve. The neck stone was the height of five or six tall men, and it was slick with spray. Genevieve stood with one arm clutching Dovidi, the other grasping the stone horn, her face turned outward to the sea and her body leaning dangerously above the deep.

  Terceth snarled at two of his men, “Go up there and get her.”

  They began to splash toward the neck stone.

  At the first splash, Genevieve opened her mouth and called. The great sound went out of her visibly, plangent and sonorous, the air wavering as though from rising heat, the cry undiminished by distance. Even when she closed her lips, the air throbbed vibrantly for an endless time. Before the sound faded, a wave leapt up from the deep and came swiftly toward the shore to wash the Trackers from the stone and tumble them in the
surf. Another, larger wave threatened all those on the shore, and they fled before it.

  Terceth turned as the water slithered away in runnels of foam and saw a sun rerisen in the west, monstrous and golden, with huge dark shapes arcing before it. The dark shapes leapt and soared from fountains of foam, jumping again and again, higher and higher. A wail arose from the Frangians on the ship. “Whatever! Oh, Whatever!”

  Terceth snarled, strode back down the slope, thrust himself through the waves to the bottom of the neckstone and began to climb.

  Above, Genevieve turned and sought Aufors, where he stood in the cave entrance, supported by Joncaster, his eyes fixed on hers. She lifted her hand.

  “Aufors,” she cried in that great voice. “Aufors wait for me …”

  And she threw herself out into space; folding the child between her arms, bending her head to cover his, she arrowed down, slipping into the water as into a silken gown, and was gone.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The Covenants of Haven

  “WHAT WAS THAT?” CRIED TERCETH, STARING AT THE HOrizon where the rerisen sun had just disappeared into the sea. “What in the universe was it!”

  The Frangían ship was close enough that its captain heard him. “Whatever,” he shouted exultantly. “Oh, whatever.”

  “Te wairua taiao,” sang the malghaste, as they poured down from the cavern above. “Oh, wairua taiao!”

  “What are they going on about,” Terceth angrily demanded from Dunnel.

  “I don’t know, sir,” Dunnel whispered, his eyes still moving between the horizon and the spot where Genevieve had fallen.

  All those from the cave came down the hill, including Aufors, supported by Joncaster and Jorub. Lagging behind were the Prince and the Marshal, keeping a considerable distance from the others.