by Jo Clayton
He brushed lightly at the short bristly hairs in the middle section of his mustache, then smiled again. “It will make searching for your friend much easier, so I’ll not complain though I’ll miss the conversations we might have had. The little harpist, I hope nothing has happened to her. I heard her play with Ard Maorgan and the Eolt on the day you first came here. She is a wonder, that one, she would be Ard if she weren’t a woman and a mesuch.”
4
Shadith dragged herself from the blankets, huddled shivering and half awake as she tried to get herself together enough to wash her face and give her teeth at least a cursory brush to get the taste of too many nightmares out of her mouth. She looked up as Maorgan came out of the shadow under the trees, Danor leaning heavily on his arm. He helped the older man sit, then went to check the pot of water he had heating on the fire, scowled down at it, touched it with the tip of his forefinger. “Barely warm and it’s boiling.”
“It’s the altitude,” she said. “We won’t have a really hot cup of cha till we’re on the other side of the mountains.” She yawned. “Anyway, I’ll take it however I can get it.”
“Mm. The peep still hanging around?”
She closed her eyes, pressed her palms against her temples and got her mind touch moving, slowly and creakily at first, barely beyond the trees, then more surely as the effort completed her waking. “Yes. Fidgeting. Mm. Two of them, actually. Up ahead. They seem to be watching the road. Road, hunh. Beats me how they get supplies in to Chuta Meredel.”
“Free Eolt carry things when they’re needed.” He finished filling the pot and set it aside to steep. “The Meruus don’t want to make it easy to reach the valley.”
“I see. Thus anyone who comes to them with a complaint has work for his hearing.”
He got to his feet, shrugged. “I suppose. I’ve never thought a lot about it.”
While he fed the moss ponies and gave each of them a mouthful of corn, she lay back on her rumpled blankets and made a wider sweep of the area. There was a blurred response out at the very edge of her reach. She thought it was a band of men, but they never got close enough for her to tease out the various life strands. It bothered her that they seemed to know so much about her abilities. Then her hand closed in a fist and she cursed her stupidity in every language she knew.
That chorek set his ambush in a tree because people just don’t look up. I saw him there. I knew why he did it. I congratulated myself because I wasn’t such a fool. Fool! Gods, I keep forgetting what he said. The Chav spy has a miniskip. And of course he’ll have spotting equipment. He’s been up there in the clouds watching us. Watching me. He knows…
She got to her feet and began twisting through warm-up exercises she’d neglected because she’d been too tired to bother with them. By the end of the day they should be in the pass. Whether that meant more danger or less she wasn’t prepared to say. Still, there should be some sort of guard posts if choreks were as thick in these mountains as everyone said. And I can get some rest.
The day unreeled like the past several, plodding uphill through hot still trees, sweat rolling down the back, matting hair to the head, walk a stretch, ride a stretch, Shadith stumbling along, eyes drooping half closed as she kept the sweep fanning back and forth back and forth, worry rising as the amorphous shape paralleled the track, peaking as the pair ahead of them stopped for whatever reason. Stopped, but always moved on before she decided to go after them.
The three were silent when they stopped to feed and water the ponies, Danor hoarding his strength, Maorgan growing morose as the separation between him and his sioll stretched out, Shadith too tired to bother talking.
Clouds occasionally blew thicker above them but didn’t stay long enough to lessen the sun’s heat, just tore apart and flowed on westward. New clouds came to be shredded in their turn. There was no wind, though, beneath the canopy. The air was still, it felt stale, stagnant, the breaths she took brought no refreshment, as if the air were so old and used up it wasn’t any good any more.
The forest began to thin, the trees grew shorter and more frail, twisted by thin soil and storm winds; their leaves hung limp and the needles of the conifers were still and gray with old dust. A saddle began developing between two peaks, one lower than the other. Thin straggly grass dried yellow by the summer sun began to fill the space between the trees. The fungi were suddenly much smaller, ankle high at best, or climbing the sheltered side of trunks. The lichen webs that hung from tree limbs were paler and more thready.
Danor shriveled as the sunlight strengthened until all that was left of him were bones and a pair of-burning eyes focused without deviation on the saddle ahead where Medon Pass was bound to be.
Maorgan brooded. The opening out of the canopy gave him more sky to watch, a sky without Melech hovering overhead.
Shadith relaxed a little and dropped the frequency of her scans. She could see far enough around to pick out possible ambush sites and probe them at need.
They reached Medon Pass shortly after noon, left the stony, barren slopes to ride along a track between crumbling stone walls, moving carefully past falls of scree. Stone and more stone, lichen, moss and assorted mycoflora she couldn’t put a name to, clumps of yellow wind-dried grass, patches of low-growing twisty brush. The clippety-clip of the moss ponies’ hoofs echoed loudly along, overhead a flier shrieked and plunged out of sight, rose again with wriggling in its talons. On and on they went, the Pass replaying the same themes in their varied permutations.
Shadith stopped Brйou, waited for Maorgan to ride up beside her.
“How long is this Pass?”
“Over a day’s ride. We’ll reach watchtower in about an hour. There’s water and shelter. We’ll camp there and start on again tomorrow morning.”
“Watchtower? That mean guards from the Vale?”
He rubbed at his eyes, gave her a weary smile. “Yes.”
By the time the sun was low in the west, the wind sweeping down from the peaks was cold and piercing, crawling in every crevice in Shadith’s clothing, biting to the bone. Her body was born to a warmer climate, hot and humid with few cold days. Despite the thermal underwear, she was shivering and unhappy by the time the track leveled and they moved into the mouth of the Pass.
Some distance ahead she saw a massive tower built into the side of the mountain. The narrow window slits were a pale yellow against the dark granite of the walls; she brushed at the tower with, the mind touch. Two lives in there. The guards Maorgan mentioned. She sighed with relief, closed her eyes and slumped in the saddle. Just a little longer and we can rest.
After a moment, though, she straightened. Can’t let down too soon. Right, let’s see who’s with us… She swept the mountainsides, reached as high in the air as she could.
No sign of the spy. The blob was behind them now, still too far to count the individuals in it. She swept the mindtouch across the tower again, more energy in it this time, got a clearer picture of those inside…
Without stopping or looking around, she said, “Maorgan, is there any way out of this defile?”
He slipped off the caцpa’s back, tossed the reins to Danor and strode forward to walk at her knee. He looked up at her, one brow raised. “Not that I know of. Why?”
“We’ve got a problem. Ambush. Them in the tower, they’re choreks, not Vale guards. Keep looking at me, hm? I don’t want them getting itchy. They’re that pair who’ve been riding ahead of us.”
“You sure?”
She bit back the snarl, said, “Yes. I’m sure. Waiting for us in the tower because they knew I’d expect someone to be there and not get bothered by it.” She wiped her hand across her face. “We need time…” Still carefully facing forward, she called, “Danor!”
There was silence a moment, then he said wearily, “What?”
“Ambush ahead, they’re watching us, we need an excuse to stop. Throw a fit, scream, whatever you think will do it.”
Silence. The scrape/clop of the caцpas’ hooves on
the gritty track, the whuff of their breathing. A hoarse cry filled with pain and fear.
Shadith gulped though she’d been expecting something, then she swung from the saddle and ran with Maorgan to Danor’s side.
The old man was swaying in the saddle, his mouth stretched wide, his trained voice producing a tortured sound that filled the hollow between the mountains and bounced off the peaks.
Maorgan cut the ropes that bound Danor to the saddle. He and Shadith got the old man down and stretched out on the road.
Shadith squatted beside him, touched his face. “You all right?”
Danor grinned up at her, the first time she’d seen his face lighting with laughter. “You wanted a fuss.”
She grinned back. “Well, I must say it was a noble fuss.” She took the cup Maorgan handed her, held it out. “You can sit up on your own. The caцpas block their view.”
He pushed up, wincing, his face paling at the pain and the pull of his weakness. “You’re sure, Shadowsong?”
“Like a pup knows his mama’s scent. They’ve been with us too many days for me to mistake them. A moment. _I want to check something.”
She reached back along the road, brushed across the blur. It wasn’t a blur any more. A band of men. Mounted. Getting closer. She teased out the different life fires. Ten… fifteen… twenty. Twenty! Gods! And moving up fast. We’ve got an hour. Maybe.
“Those men I told you about? They’ve stopped hovering and are coming at a trot. They’ll have pellet guns and cutters. Both of which outreach my stunner.” She glanced from Maorgan to Danor and saw they were waiting for her to tell them what to do. They were musicians, used to being welcome wherever they went. It was something she’d noted before; ordinarily there’d be a lot to admire about this Eolt and Ard managed peace. Right now, however…
She looked around. The pass had high steep walls. There was a lot of scree right here and some scrubby brush that grew in lines and patches wherever it could get a foothold. That gave her an idea.
“Maorgan,, unpack one of the tents, start putting it up. Danor, start yelling again, throw in a few loud groans, go quiet and repeat.”
“And you?”
“While you’re holding their attention, I’m going to try wiggling through those bits of brush till I’m in stunner range of the tower. I’ll try to take out those choreks so we can get in there alive. The walls will give us some protection from the cutters, especially if they have to stay back, and they’ll-make the pellet guns close to useless. I figure we can hole up there until Medon Vale wakes up and sends help. All right. Let’s get started.” She bent and began pulling off her boots.
Maorgan grimaced. “Your puppets hear and obey.” He began working on the ropes.
Danor gulped at the water in the cup, cleared his throat and yelled again, pain and anger and endless sorrow embedded in the ululating cry.
The sound sent shudders along Shadith’s spine as she shifted the stunner around to the middle of her back and crept away from the road, keeping larger boulders between her and the tower when she could, slipping along in the shadow of the brush.
A fold in the cliff occluded the tower. She got to her feet and moved as quickly and lightly as she could, stepping from boulder to boulder in the long slanting landfall. Pebbles and coarse sand slipped into new slides or bounced down the steep slope. She tried to ignore them since there was nothing she could do about them. When she reached the edge of the outthrust; she dropped to her stomach and eased her head around it. There was a patch of brush in a damp spot snuggled up against a vertical section of mother stone. She snaked round the fold, crouched in the shadow, and scowled at the tower.
The window slits told the tale all too clearly. Thick walls., A good four feet through. She closed her eyes. Two heat sources. No change there. Sense of impatience mixed with gloating. No puzzlement or alarm. Good. That meant they didn’t notice me leaving.
She chewed on her lip a moment, decided she wasn’t close enough. Dropping onto hands and knees, she began edging forward again, moving more carefully now because she had neither distance nor a fold of stone to protect her. Behind her, she could hear Danor creating his noise. He was enjoying himself, but dropping into too much of a pattern. She ground her teeth and tried to hurry. The choreks were bound to see through that any time now.
She set her foot carelessly, shoved against a stone sitting in precarious balance on a smaller stone and sent it rumbling and bouncing down the slope, knocking other stones loose. She swore under her breath and crawled on, hurrying hurrying knocking more stones loose hurrying to get close enough…
A spear of light flashed from a window slit, hit the heartrock just behind her, sending drops of melted granite flying. A drop landed on her leg, she shook it off and scrambled on. The brush behind her started smoking, she could hear flames crackle and pop.
The next try was closer, and the chorek had figured out that he didn’t need to take his finger off the sensor, just wave the rod back and forth. She stayed ahead of the sweep, but just barely, dived behind the largest boulder she could find and brought the stunner around.
She aimed it at the window slit where the cutter’s lance came from, touched the sensor, and smiled when the beam cut off. She swept the tower top to bottom, then reached out with the mindtouch.
One heat source on low, but the other was hopping about like a drop of water on a griddle. She swore and began crawling closer, keeping her attention divided from the ground under hand and knee and the tower. Stones rattled under her, knocked against the scrub sending the tops shivering though she was nowhere near them. The brush was taller and thicker here. The tower had obviously been built near a water source.
She felt the chorek’s flare of anger, rose swiftly to her knees to pin the location, then dropped flat as the beam lanced over her. She thumbed the sensor, played it across the tower, smiled again as the chorek dropped and the beam went out.
“Information,” she said aloud. “It all comes down to who has the data right.”
5
Aslan leaned from the flikit and looked down as Marrin Ola brought it round a half circle over Dumel Alsekum. The tractor and the trailer with their gear was crawling away along the road, Duncan Shears just visible inside the cab. She sighed and straightened. “As any kind of scholarly study, this is a disaster.” She wriggled in the chair until she was settled more comfortably. “Yes, yes, I know. It was set up to be. And we’ve done with admirable efficiency what we were brought in to do.”
In the distance two Eolt floated like golden glass bells, heading on one of their enigmatic errands. She watched them as Marrin flew above the road, following its twists and turns. “I wonder about them, you know. We look at them and enjoy their beauty and listen to their song speech, but what are their stories? What are their lives like?”
“Likely we’ll learn more in Chuta Meredel. You want me to keep on along this road? We know she was all right until they left Dumel Olterau. There’s this big bend coming up, if I cut across it we’ll save about an hour.”
“Go ahead. I’ve got a bad feeling about this so the sooner we catch up with her the better.”
Aslan watched the wide flat riverplain change to small rocky hills with lots of brush, the neat lush farms become ranches with grazing, browsing herds of cabhisha which from above looked like powder puffs with black heads, herds of bladlan, lean leathery beasts with short stubby antlers that were bony imitations of lichen webs.
As the river curved back toward them, she saw a riverbarge gliding with the current, only enough sail to provide steerage way. Bright crimson jib, emerald main reefed to a small triangle. She unclipped the Ridaar, flaked the image, dictated a description along with her own reactions to the colored sails, the broken glitter off the river, the more muted colors on land, then tucked the Ridaar away. “It’s a beautiful world, this.”
“I’ve never been to Picabral or had occasion to study it. Anything like this?”
He shrugged. “Could have been. Pica
bral is harsher world, colder, a little heavier, and almost as isolated. It was settled in the Fifth Wave by a band of game-players with illusions of bringing back royalty, nobility and a rigid caste structure to support them. And rich enough to set up the physical analog to their fantasy world. You could tell me the story, Scholar, it’s that common.”
“Isolated, hm. You broke away.”
“It was easy enough.” The air being steady enough for him to let the autopik handle the flight, he leaned back in the seat, hands laced behind his head, his eyes on the clouds hovering above the mountain peaks. “Enforced ignorance is a splendid way of controlling the peasants, but the rulers can’t afford an equal nescience.” A flicker of a smile on his lean face. “Those among the male heirs who show a certain aptitude are sent to University for their schooling. I simply stayed.” He was silent a moment. “They lose a certain number of us every generation, but I think that’s as calculated as the rest. They weed out the rebels that way, the ones who might cause trouble.”
“That’s not an especially good idea if you want to have a viable society.”
“My adult cousins don’t tend to think that far ahead. Besides, holding onto power is more important and immediate than some illusory thing called society.”
“Yet I think you miss it sometimes.”
“Ah, it’s home. Nothing’s ever home like the place where you were a child.”
“Hm, for you, perhaps. For me, University is home and it has been from the moment I touched ground there.”