Shadowplay sq-1

by Jo Clayton

  Standing at the rail, waiting to go overside, Shadith was surprised by the look of the town spread along the horns of the bag, rising up the slope of the mountain behind, street lanterns of translucent shell hung on high poles, shining pale green pale amber on fogwet pavement. It was a larger and more complex settlement than she'd expected, her notions colored by the feudalism of the Main. Atehana, Lipatchin called this place. Atehana on the island Wakisoe.

  The Tipli Lipatchin decanted his passengers with obvious relief and upped anchor as if he'd put into a plague port.

  A group of locals, mostly men, a small knot of women to one side, waited for the two boats on the central wharf; the Tipli had been on the corn with the island for the past two hours, exchanging cryptic clipped phrases with them, spaced at longish intervals. The aura of wariness and secrecy was thick enough to cut.

  As the first longboat nudged against the piles and two of the rowers locked it steady with boathooks, the locals lowered a sling. Rohant and the doctor eased Asteplikota into it and steadied it as the men working the davits drew it up.

  The boat Shadith was in swung up against a ladder and two of the rowers hooked it in place while she and Kikun got their gear together and hauled it up the ladder onto the wharf. She thought the cats were going to be a problem, but the moment she and Kikun were clear, Magimeez batted Nagafog out of her way, leaped from the boat, hit the ladder, crouched and sprang, flying onto the wharf; Nagafog landed beside her a moment later. They sat on their haunches grinning at Shadith. She grinned back, then strolled over to watch as a small group of the locals transferred Asteplikota to a stretcher on wheels and went running off with him. She backed up against Rohant. "We need to talk," she muttered.

  He touched her hair, his hands were hot and trembling. "I'm at the end of my string, Shadow."

  "All right, but I have this, feeling. We wait too long, we're going to be so bogged down we'll never get loose."

  A young woman with, fine blonde hair floating like fog about her face and shoulders broke from the small crowd of locals and came across to them, followed by two other women, both of them considerably older than she was.

  She flickered a smile at Rohant and Kikun, then turned its full glow on Shadith and held out her hands. "Singer, one is… I am Uiaras your servant, of the House of Judge Wakisoe-Matwesie. It's very late, you must be exhausted. Come, a bath and a meal and a bed and you'll feel more like you're alive."

  The invitation was for her alone and she didn't like the idea of being drawn away from Rohant and Kikun.

  Kikun touched her arm. "Go on, twiceborn. Tomorrow's soon enough to start again."

  "Meet here?"

  "Here it is."

  A wave of warmth ran through her; this time she didn't bother wondering where it came from, she needed it too badly. "All right," she told the woman. "I must admit I could use a bath."

  The Woman's Hostel was halfway up the mountain, a large dark bulk built from the same fieldstone that, cracked and set in concrete, paved the streets. Its fogwetted, precipitous roof glistened in the starlight, rounded slices of slate overlapped like the scales of a fish, punctuated by half a dozen chimneys putting out threads of fragrant smoke. Golden lamplight glowed through the intricate stone lace that filled the pointed windows ranked on both sides of an open, ogeed archway cut into the wallstone with a massive bronze door at the end, its patina shimmering greenish gold in the light of twin lanterns of shell and bronze. Stone everywhere. Appears to me this place has more rock than trees. Come the winter, what you bet it's cold as a ottogyne's finger.

  At the foot of the wide shallow steps leading to the entrance, Uiaras touched Shadith's arm. "Wait here a moment, it's late, they want you, but they'll want to make sure it is you." She smiled suddenly, the high-voltage grin that did a lot to convince Shadith to come with her. "Don't worry, I won't be long." She ran up the stairs and into the entranceway, punched a wide button beside the door. A hatch opened in the wall beside her and the shadow behind the grill murmured something. It was a woman's voice. Shadith couldn't make out the words.

  She slid the strap of the harpcase off her shoulder and eased it to the pavement, then turned to the woman beside her, the one who carried her travel pouch, a short, square figure with coarse silver hair and an ugly-attractive, intelligent face. "Is it always this difficult?"

  The woman looked startled, then smiled tentatively, her gray-blue eyes sinking into a nest of laugh-wrinkles. "Curfew," she said. "Uiaras," a wave of a small hand at the blonde woman arguing with the grill, "and we," another wave that took in herself and the silent woman beside her, "we generally do not stay there." She ran fingers over the bracelet on her left wrist, silver shaped into a broad band, inlaid with copper wire and turquoise beads, the design a bird form curved about a cat. When she saw Shadith looking at it, she said, "My marriage band." There was both pride and sadness in her voice, her face. "Do you know the custom? No? Ah well, no doubt you'd discover it soon enough. One wears, A! I keep forgetting, I… I wear the band on my left arm because I am cast off; my liwa, he repudiated me for a younger woman, one… I had no sons, you see, only daughters; I live here with my youngest daughter and her lover."

  Shadith shifted uneasily from foot to foot, embarrassed by this unasked-for soul-baring.

  The woman shook her head. "Don't waste your time on pity, Singer, I much prefer this life." Her eyes gleamed with laughing malice. "And with a little luck I'll see my exla skinned; he's the head of the Nistam's Guard. Such a lovely man he is, the charm of a rabid amskir with the intelligence of a gnat. The Pakoseo works for us; even if the other Nistams come against us afterward as they always do, we'll hold Wapaskwen long enough to make a sweep of the bloody landlords and their lackeys of which my exia is the chief. Word is you are Nikamo-Oskinin, the ninth incarnate."

  "Don't believe everything you hear, especially nonsense like that."

  "I don't, you know. Nonsense?"

  "My word on it."

  "But could you tell? No no, don't bother answering. It doesn't matter what you are, only what people think you are."

  Shadith opened her mouth to repudiate that, then closed it again. The woman was right, people would most likely believe what they wanted to believe, no matter what she tried to tell them. She sighed, shivered. Her clothing protected what it covered from the chill wind sliding down the mountain, but her ears and nose were losing all feeling; she glanced at Uiaras, then at the woman beside her. Try again, old Shadow, if you can get one to buy it, maybe the word'll spread.

  "My name is Shadith; my people are dead, my guardian was sending me to University to study music when all this.." running through the familiar litany with no more energy behind the words than she could find for them last time, she swept her hand in a looping gesture meant to take in the world and the events that brought her there, "… happened. Listen, my being here means nothing. It's chance, that's all. I have no connection with any of you or with this place. The others either."

  The woman patted.her arm. "Yes, yes," she said, mama soothing the hurt and angry child, slipping the child's words into the internal wasteslot adults kept for such things. "One… hah! habit, oh habit, sad habit. I am Kati Mola."

  Shadith blinked. "Mola? If I hear right, that means no one."

  "It's the name my daughter took when she left her father's home." She smiled again, more easily this time, a smile that trembled on the edge of laughter. "Exploded away might be more apt, she is a passionate creature, my Uiaras, I never knew where she got it. When I… left, I took that name myself as a matter of pride, you understand."

  Shadith glanced from Kati Mola to the younger woman in the entranceway slapping her hand on the ledge but keeping her voice too low for her words to reach them. Family affair, huh? And trying to make me one of them. No way. Ahlahlah, I begin to see Lee's problem clearer, it's so tempting to follow one's passions… You could help, you know. You've seen these things a thousand times. Why not slip them a little advice, show them where they're weak? Y
eh, a thousand thousand times, enough to know if they don't do it themselves it's worthless. It's their world, let them spend their own blood and sweat on it.

  With thumps and creaking behind her as the gate warder opened the great door, Uiaras came running down the steps. "Come in, come. It's, cold out here."

  ***

  The foyer opened into a huge common room, wood-paneled, hung with tapestries worked in rich earth colors, the forms in them reminding Shadith of the animal carvings in the treelodge where she woke… what? three days ago, four? Seemed like a year.. Except for a few areas lit by shell-shaded oval bulbs putting out a brilliant white light where individuals were reading or working at needlepoint or embroidery, most of the lighting came from oil lamps (bronze straps and plates of amber shell) that spread a rich golden shimmer over the room. There were thick soft rugs on a polished wood floor, plump tapestry pillows scattered about among low divans set up by smaller fireplaces of red brick that were spaced along the walls; in the center of the room there was a round basin of red brick with a crackling fire in it, an inverted funnel over it to catch the smoke and lead it out. There were women in small groups and girls (young but not prepubescent, so they might be considered technically adult in this culture), sitting on the cushions, stretched out on the divans; they wore long robes in dark jewel colors with bands of embroidery about the hems, neck and sleeve edges.

  Polite and disciplined inside the boundaries of their culture and courtesy, the women didn't stare at Shadith as she stood in the doorway, but glanced at her, glanced away again, eyes flickering like bi-colored leaves flipping in the wind, turning and turning as they went on with their conversations, their voices a whispering like the leaves of the whisper trees; the air was so thick with curiosity-fear-suppressed anger-hope-awe and lesser emotions that she found it difficult to breathe. She turned to Uiaras. "You said something about a bath?"

  Uiaras laughed, clapped her hands. "Sitwa, the Singer NEEDS a bath."

  Having been given permission by this to exercise their curiosity, the women and girls came swarming round Shadith, hanging back just long enough to let the housemother greet her, a tall, woman with a stem ascetic face that changed completely when she smiled and a black' mane liberally streaked with gray and white that fell in crimped undulations down past her waist. "Welcome, Singer, we had hoped you would come to us. Leave your things here if you will, the water's hot and waiting."

  The bath room was fragrant and steamy, tiled over floor, walls, ceiling, the bath a tiled pool large enough for swimming races. The women stripped off their robes and fell into the steaming water with her, splashing and laughing, treating her like a baby, soaping her lavishly, stroking the hawk outline acid-burned into her cheek, asking a thousand questions about it, never pausing for an answer; they shampooed her hair, exclaiming at its soft springy texture, they stroked her skin wondering at its warm brown, several shades darker than the darkest of them. They wanted to know how old she was, where she came from, what her family was, why she'd come to Kiskai. They clucked and cried out over the sad tale of her abduction, hugged her and told her she was welcome, they'd take care of her. They were curious about Rohant, they wanted to know if he was her lover or what. They were both fascinated and repelled by Kikun, what was he? where did he come from? What kind of world could birth such an oddity? They hustled her from the water, ran her under a warm shower, toweled her vigorously and enveloped her in a loose robe of a dark amber velvet with olive and emerald embroidery. Then they took her off to a meal of thick hot soup, fresh rolls, and the local tea.

  Shadith inspected the fingernail she'd glued on to replace the broken one, then drew her hand in a sweep along the strings. "Help me with this," she said/sang. "When I play so…" she demonstrated, "… clap your hands with me, thus and thus. Ah… yes yes, that's the way, thus and thus." She sang: Happiness came by me again

  (clap your hands, oh yes oh yes) Yesterday

  (clap your hands, my dears) He wouldn't stay I wrapped him in my arms Displayed my charms Like smoke he slipped away.

  She played a lively tune, brought them onto their feet swaying and clapping a counterrhythm, then calmed them down and sang: Sorrow came by me again

  (clap your hands, o softly softly) And stayed awhile

  (clap your hands, my dears) To caress and beguile Bittersweet Is better neat And tastier Than honey I would not let him go But he faded so Like smoke he blew away.

  They sang for her when her song was done, then danced with her while some played flute and some played drums and one plucked strings on a round-bellied gourd.

  Time passed unnoticed, until it was very late indeed and they fell into bed pleased with themselves and each other and slept away the remnant of the night.

  She woke with a thick head, a throat someone had used a grater on, a burning cut on her palm from the fake fingernail she'd forgotten, to take off last night-and a lazy good feeling that rolled like warm water back and forth along her body.

  She yawned and stretched and the silence began to seep in on her; the more she thought about it, the emptier the building felt. Her leg twitched and began to itch, she curled round under the quilts and scratched at the side of her calf, sighing, with pleasure at the relief. The skin between her shoulder blades began to itch. With an explosion of impatience she flung the quilts aside and rolled out onto her feet.

  Someone had washed and ironed her underclothing, laid it out on a chair; the same someone had sponged off her shirt and trousers and hung them over a hook screwed into the door; her boots had been polished until they gleamed and were standing by the foot of the bed, looking better than they had in years. On a table beside the bed there was a tray with a pot on it swathed in a towel, an overturned cup and a plate with a warmer lid over it.

  She dressed quickly, ate a little, then left the room.

  A girl was mopping the hall outside, swinging the mop in damp sweeps that barely moistened the flags, elbows flying, narrow body working with explosive energy to finish a job she detested, her distaste so evident it was almost a separate thing walking beside her. After a moment's effort Shadith dredged up her name. "Hasski," she called. "The tray, what shall I do about it?"

  The girl halted her furious progress, looked back at Shadith. "Leave it. I'll take it down when I'm finished with this."

  "I'll do it if you point me in the right direction."

  "Just leave it." Hasski pushed impatiently at hair straggling into her eyes. "I don't have time to fool with you, I'm due at work like now." She snapped her head around and went back to her mopping.

  Shadith raised her brows; she leaned against the jamb and watched thoughtfully as Hasski mopped her way round the corner. Mood's a bit different come the morning, it seems. Work? She can't be more than fourteen, fifteen. What was it Aste said? The Islanders tolerate no one who cannot earn his way either with a skill or as a weapon against the Priests and the Plicik.s. Ever. children, it seems. Wonder if they know about unions, maybe I should drop a hint. Na, keep your nose out of this, Shadow, you're not going to be here long enough to spit on the floor. If you're lucky. Children, though. Maybe they're in school. Early for school, isn't it? Not that I know much about schools, don't want to know, either. Hmm. Let's get out of here and see if we can find old Lion or Kikun.

  It was earlier than she'd thought, the sun barely clear of the horizon, wispy patches of mist lingering in the shadows, damp glittering on every surface, an erratic breeze blowing from an icebox somewhere, licking at her ears and fingers. She hesitated on the steps, decided she might as well trundle on down to the harbor and wait for the others to show up.

  Though this was the heart of the town, the street and the structures along it seemed as empty as the Hostel, as if everyone that lived there had poured forth with the rising of the sun and been swept away. Her Talent confirmed what her ears and eyes told her. No one there. Like Hasski said, work. What work?. Who knows. She began walking downhill, the heels of her boots loud on the paving.

  Several
large buildings had an official look; their doors (with totem forms in circular cartouches carved in deep relief) were closed and shades were pulled across the windows. The other structures were small rowhouses each sharing a common wall with the next, all of them turning a blind blank face to the street, one single window in each facade, round and set with stained glass and lead canes; it was opaque and tarry, like a mole on the brow of the house. The doors were painted in bright colors with a vertical row of black glyphs along the left side, announcing the family lines of those residing behind that door. If there were gardens or outside living areas, they were around back. There were no shops, no sign of a produce or fish market, not here. Kiskai had motorized vehicles of all sorts, as well as lift sleds and other fliers. No traffic on this street-though she could hear motors grinding in the distance and subdued noises of city living that came to her like sounds in a dream.

  Halfway down she heard a child yell, then children's laughter, then silence. At least they weren't all working. She thought about that, shook her head. Maybe so maybe not.

  This walk was a paradigm of her experience so far on Kiskai. Outside looking in, with never a clue to what was really happening. Despite the wide variety of her experience with almost-alien cultures, apparent similarities were still traps, and unless you were very careful indeed, it was so easy to misread everything. What you thought was happening, wasn't. In an odd way, it was easier to deal with complete strangeness.

  She continued along her paradigm, nervously amused at the conceit but increasingly unhappy, cold inside and out. Alone. She didn't like being alone. When Ginny left her alone all that time, she walked out on him, herself, everything. She tucked her hands into her armpits in search of warmth. It was a large town, there must be ten, twenty thousand people here. Where were they?