Seeking the Dream
Brother
Ni-lach
Book IV
Marcia J. Bennett
A Del Rey Book
Published by Ballantine Books
Copyright © 1989 by Marcia J. Bennett
ISBN 0-345-36001-X
First Edition: June 1989
Cover Art by David B. Mattingly
CONTENT
Chapter l
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Chapter l
A LONE FIGURE waded up out of the water at the edge of Lake Haddrach and paused on the shore. The warm morning breeze blew in from the west and smelled of sweet kansa blossoms.
Dhalvad shaded his crystal-gray eyes with a hand and glanced up at the unclouded mint-green sky of the world called Lach, which men named Ver-draak or Green Dragon. Ra-shun, the larger of the twin suns, had just cleared the eastern horizon, heralding the beginning of another beautiful summer day. Ra-gar, her smaller sister, would not appear for several hours. The sharp cry of a neeva caught his attention, and he watched the diving bird plummet into the water with all the force of a thrown rock. Several moments later it fluttered up out of the water with a fish in its bill.
Farther down the shoreline, a group of Ni stood waist deep in the water net fishing. Lake Haddrach was a large lake fed by the rivers and streams of the Chen-Garry Mountains, an area that was home to a large percentage of the Ni-lach population. Jjaan-bi, the seat of Ni government, was situated at the southeastern edge of the lake. Though the population of Jjaan-bi numbered in the thousands, it was not a city like those of men, a place of towers, walls, and paved roads; rather it was a city of tree homes and buildings that were artfully hidden in the dense foliage of the woods.
Dhalvad shook his head sadly, wishing that his human foster father, Haradan, had lived long enough to reach Jjaan-bi and see him settled among his own people. He sat down on a large flat rock near the edge of the water, and while his body air-dried in the sun, he squeezed water out of his long, dark-green hair and plaited it in a loose braid that he tied off with a narrow band of draak hide. Once dry, he dressed in tunic, pants, and soft leather boots and stepped down to the edge of the lake. He had done some net fishing himself that morning before taking his usual early swim and had caught five large stoa, a common freshwater fish. He retrieved the fish and net from the shallows and started back up a narrow dirt path that led into the tree-shaded woods.
Upon reaching the giant aban tree that housed his small family, he paused and looked up. The lower arms of the tree spread outward, interlocking with other aban trees nearby and forming an overhead walkway from one tree home to another. Aban trees were the largest in the satinleaf family and a favorite building place for the Ni because they were wide of girth and rose to overtop the mighty rilror pines, making them a safe haven even against an attack by the largest of land draak who, unlike their water cousins, did not take kindly to being tamed.
Dhalvad readjusted the net over his shoulder and started up the main trunk using the convenient hand- and footholds made from branches spliced into the tree by earlier residents. Three meters off the ground he reached a rope ladder and climbed up easily to the first great branch a full seven meters from the ground. Another wide branch served as a slanting stairway up to the porch of the house, which rested on a pair of large branches stretching out toward the lake shore.
It was a beautiful place for a home. Dhalvad loved it because it reminded him of his old home in the forests of the Deep, of happy childhood years he had spent with Haradan. All those years he had thought he was human, a wilder by profession, a gatherer of wild herbs and spices, a son of the forest who had a unique gift for healing… until one day he had healed a child with what men termed Ni magic and had attracted the wrath of the powerful and greedy Sarissa. Only then had Haradan finally told him the truth of his origin, and together they had fled the holdings of men to seek out Dhalvad’s own people, the Ni-lach. But Haradan had been killed, leaving Dhalvad with an emptiness that would never be filled by another.
He dropped his catch on the front porch and looked up just as Poco, his life-mate and the mother of his son Jiam, stepped out through the doorway. “Morning,” he said.
“Good morning yourself,” she replied, smiling. “I’m glad you’re back. I’ve left Gi and Screech with Jiam, but you know how they like to argue. You’ll probably be needed as a referee.”
Pocalina-fel-Jamba was an attractive woman with even features, light-blue eyes, and a face that mirrored wisdom gained the hard way. Her long black hair, the most striking evidence of her half-human, half-Ni heritage, was caught at the back of her neck with a thin strip of bright-blue cloth, the tails of which were woven into the thick braid hanging down her back. She was dressed in a loose-fitting, knee-length tunic that effectively hid the extra weight she had been unable to lose after the birth of her son.
“Where are you off to?” Dhalvad asked. “The Learning Arc?”
“Yes. I’m to meet Niifan and we’re going to practice several songs together.” Poco was a Ni singer, capable of opening both lesser and world gates, a phenomenon that had to do with sound, reality, and the ability to shift molecular patterns to create invisible doorways to other places and other worlds. Now that, along with Dhalvad, she had found her home among her own people, she was learning to hone her talent. “I’ll be back before lunch. I may even get in some walking this morning. I’ve got to get this weight off one way or another. I’ll see you later.”
Dhalvad leaned forward and brushed his lips to hers as she passed by. “Take your time,” he said to her back. “I’ll keep an eye on things here.”
As Poco disappeared down the rope ladder, Dhalvad picked up his fish and went inside. He took the fish to the kitchen, but before he could begin cutting them up, he heard a sharp whistle. He stepped to the kitchen doorway and listened as Gi-arobi’s whistle-clicks came in rapid succession. The olvaar sounded really angry, which was unusual for the small, even-tempered fur child.
Following the sound, Dhalvad passed through the spacious living room with its comfortable chairs, woven wall decorations, and grass floor mats, and paused in the doorway to the bedrooms.
Another whistle-click drew Dhalvad to Jiam’s room. It sounded as if the olvaar were arguing with someone, and Dhalvad could guess who that someone was—Screech and Gi seemed to delight in teasing one another. He knew he had guessed right when he hesitated in the doorway and saw Screech facing Gi, his furred arms cradling Jiam.
Screech was a derkat. A good head taller than Dhalvad and much broader in the chest, he was gray furred from clawed toes to tufted ears. Two overlapping layers of light and dark fur surrounded a pair of piercing yellow eyes and a long, prehensile tail brushed the floor, its tip flipping back and forth in short quick movements.
“The little one is in my care today,” Screech signed to the olvaar. Derkat were not able to speak as men and Ni did. Instead they used signs, emphasized by coughs and growls.
Gi-arobi stood in the chair next to the baby’s bed. He was the size of a small child with a too-large stomach. Short, soft rust-colored fur covered him fully; both ears and nose were all but los
t in fur, leaving his large golden eyes as his most prominent feature. The whistle-click language of the olvaar was rarely learned by men or Ni; Gi could also speak trader and did so now.
“Gi not ask to care for little one! Only want to hold a little while.”
“Little Fur too small. Arms too short to hold baby.”
“Gi’s arms not short!” Gi responded indignantly. “Just right for olvaar!”
Screech growled softly. “Little Fur’s voice too shrill. Frighten Jiam. Go away.”
“Big Fur be hard head!”
Dhalvad grinned and stepped through the doorway, deciding to stop the argument before it got any worse. “Avto, you two, What goes on here?”
Gi’s eyes lighted with pleasure when he saw Dhalvad. He jumped down from the chair and waddled across the floor as fast as his stubby legs would allow, his argument with Screech forgotten for the moment. “Avto, Dhal. Happy to see you.”
Dhalvad caught the olvaar in midleap and brought him up to straddle his left shoulder.
As Dhalvad crossed the room, Screech coughed softly in greeting, the dark pupils in his eyes growing large and round as he turned from the window light.
Dhalvad imitated the cough, returning the derkat’s greeting. He smiled as he looked down at his son lying quietly in the gray-furred arms, listening to everything as if he understood it all.
His glance shifted to Screech. “All is well here?”
“Not well!” Gi responded before Screech could sign a reply. “Big Fur not nice. Him shellfish. Not let Gi hold baa-bee.”
Dhalvad drew the olvaar down into his arms. “It’s not shellfish, Gi. It’s selfish.”
“Shellfish wears hard head,” Gi said firmly. “Big Fur be hard head. Same shellfish. Yes?”
“I guess you’re right, Gi.” Dhalvad laughed. “This time.” It was not always easy to follow Gi-arobi’s logic. His slight lisp and broken speech often left one guessing, but long ago Dhalvad had discovered that olvaar were far more intelligent than most people realized.
“Dhal let Gi hold baa-bee?” Gi pleaded.
Dhalvad rubbed the olvaar’s soft, plump stomach with his thumb. “It’s not baa-bee, Gi. It’s bay-bee. Say it right.”
“Baa-bee sound right to Gi,” the olvaar said.
Dhalvad’s right eyebrow lifted. “Going to be stubborn today, are you? Well, in that case, I guess Screech can continue to hold the baby, and you can come and help me gut fish.”
Gi’s small fingers caught at Dhalvad’s shirt. “Dhal not fair,” he piped in the olvaar whistle tongue. “Gi can say baby.”
“Say it then, in trader,” Dhalvad pressed, setting the olvaar down in the chair.
Gi glanced at Screech, then very clearly said, “Baby.”
Screech made a soft humphing noise, a derkat’s form of laughter, and carefully set the baby into Gi’s outstretched arms. The olvaar took the bundled child and gently rearranged his own position until he was comfortable.
Jiam gurgled with pleasure as he touched Gi’s furred face.
Dhalvad satisfied himself that Gi-arobi was all settled and turned to Screech. “Care to help me gut some fish for dinner?”
The derkat nodded and padded soundlessly to the doorway. Dhalvad followed, then paused near the door. “If you need any help, Gi, just whistle.”
Gi looked up from nuzzling the child. “Dhal not worry. Baa-bee be safe with Gi.”
“There’s no arguing with you, is there?” Dhalvad laughed.
“Only if Dhal want to lose,” Gi responded, thrumming amusement.
Dhalvad shook his head and smiled as he went to join Screech in the small kitchen off the main living room. Screech was already at work slitting the fish open using an extremely sharp finger claw.
Screech paused as Dhalvad appeared. “You help Nar-il draw up a route around the lake today?” he signed.
“Yes. This afternoon.”
“I may come and watch?”
“I’d be pleased to have you come,” Dhalvad responded politely.
The derkat studied Dhalvad’s face a moment, eyeing the delicate bonework, the straight nose and high cheekbones, the thin lips, the slightly winged eyebrows, and the crystal-gray eyes that held steady under his stare. “You go to heal soon?”
“To heal and learn more about healing. There’s a lot I still don’t know about my gift, Screech. Nar-il thinks that if I travel with him on this new route for a few months, I’ll be better able to use my own healing power without tiring myself so deeply each time.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“Three months at least.”
“Poco knows?”
“She knows I’m going, but not for how long.”
Screech wrinkled his flat, blunt nose. “She will not be pleased.”
Dhalvad nodded. The derkat was right. Poco was not going to like being left behind even if she did have her hands full tending the baby and learning the bounds of her own Ni gifts. Like himself, she had wielded raw Ni power for years without fully realizing what she was doing. For her it had begun with chalk pictures on pavement, pictures that envisioned other places one could visit if possessed of a Seeker crystal. Now, with training, she was able to hold those scenes without the aid of her chalk pictures.
Niifan, another female singer, had assured Dhalvad that with discipline and practice, Poco’s talent would grow and firm, and that some day she would be able to make his work as a Seeker and Healer much easier and far safer.
“By opening the Lesser Gates for you,” Niifan had explained, “she will allow you, as a Seeker, to better envision your destination. The better the singer, the clearer the vision. There are over one hundred and eighty-five lesser gates on record today, and each year brings us more. It will take her a long time to learn them all, but she’s quick, she has a good ear for sound, and she has talent. Given time, she’ll be the best I’ve ever trained.”
Screech tapped Dhalvad’s arm to get his attention.
Dhalvad focused on the derkat, realizing that his mind had been wandering.
“Poco comes,” Screech signed, indicating the doorway with a glance.
“Poco? What’s she doing back?” Dhal said, turning. “Forget something?” he asked her as she stepped through the doorway.
“No,” Poco replied flatly, holding his gaze.
For a moment Dhalvad thought she had overheard his conversation with Screech and was angry about his trip. “Poco, if you are…” His words trailed off as another person stepped into view behind Poco.
Screech growled in the back of his throat when he saw who had entered the house. It was Amet, Speaker for the Tamorlee, a Ni who wielded great power in Jjaan-bi. Screech did not like Amet, though he had never said exactly why, and because Dhalvad shared some of the derkat’s animosity toward the older Ni, he had never pressed Screech for explanations. There was something about Amet that rubbed him the wrong way, an aggressive and self-righteous attitude that always made Dhalvad feel defensive. Part of it, he knew, stemmed from the way Amet looked down on Poco because of her half-blood ancestry; he also knew that Amet did not approve of their keeping a half-tamed derkat under their roof.
Amet was older than Dhalvad by a good thirty years, but by Ni reckoning he was still considered young. Amet’s light-green hair had a white-gold cast that made him appear paler than most Ni. His lips were thin, his mouth wide; a small scar trailed from his left cheekbone down to his jawline, a token of the days he had spent fighting Sarissans during the height of the war and the fall of Val-hrodhur, then the seat of Ni government.
Dhalvad gave Screech an unobtrusive poke in the side as he stepped forward to greet Amet. The derkat’s growling subsided, but the look he gave Amet was anything but friendly.
Dhalvad greeted Amet with hands together, palms up in the Ni custom. “Avto, Amet. Be welcome. I believe this is the first time you’ve visited our home,” he said, feigning pleasure he did not feel.
Amet was not fooled by the cordial greeting. “I have muc
h to do these days and don’t have much time for visiting.” The words were not offered as an excuse. They were simply stated as fact.
Poco moved to stand beside Dhalvad. “Amet caught me on the way to the Learning Arc and told me it was imperative that he speak to you immediately. He wouldn’t tell me what it was about, but he wanted me to come back with him.”
“Dhalvad, I need you to come with me for a short time,” Amet announced, “and I thought it best if Pocalina returned home to tend your child.”
Poco’s face flushed red in anger at the admonishing tone in Amet’s voice.
Dhalvad saw the look on Poco’s face and knew there was going to be trouble if he did not intervene. “What did you want with me?” he asked, turning his full attention on the Speaker.
“It concerns the Tamorlee,” Amet answered. “It’s asked to speak to you.”
Dhalvad was surprised. It was not like the Tamorlee to make such requests. Almost a half year had gone by since he had last gifted the crystalline life-form known as the Tamorlee, the One Who Never Forgets.
“You want me to come right now?” Dhalvad asked. “It can’t wait?”
“The Tamorlee’s request is unusual, so I’d appreciate it if you’d come along with me now,” Amet said firmly.
“Is something wrong with the crystal?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to want to confide in me. It wants you!” There was more than a hint of vexation in Amet’s tone. “Will you come, or not?”
“I can come, yes.” Dhalvad looked at Poco. “Jiam will be all right with Gi and Screech for a little while, and I won’t be gone long. Why don’t you go and meet with Niifan as you’d planned?”
“I’ll think about it,” Poco said flatly.
Amet glanced at Pocalina, then turned and headed back through the living-room entrance.
“We’ll talk later, Poco,” Dhalvad promised as he followed Amet out.
Poco nodded, her anger changing to worry as she watched Dhalvad trail in the wake of the Speaker. One did not get a summons from the Tamorlee unless something was drastically wrong, and the only something she could think of was her own half blood, the taint of which she had passed on to Dhalvad’s child.
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