by Jo Clayton
She caught it, sat gazing down at it, her face expressionless. Shadtih got to her feet and went to look over the streetsinger's shoulder at the picture. The daughter was a pretty child, seven, perhaps eight, with her mother's coarse black hair and intensely blue eyes; the way she was scowling from the print, she also shared her mother's temperament. Shadith could see almost nothing of the room the child was in, it was a featureless out-offocus blur. Deliberately so, she thought. Though she knew Miowee wouldn't welcome her sympathy, she closed her hand on the singer's shoulder, just to let her know she was there if she was needed. She looked up, met Makwahkik's streaky gaze. Oh, you miserable buuk! You and Ginny deserve each other, If there's ANY way I can make you hurt, I'll leap at it.
The Nish'mok got to his feet. "Exquisite little creature, hard to believe she's yours. It'd be a sad thing to scar that delicate skin. Perhaps we wouldn't have to, I know a certain person here in Iril who'd find her enchanting. For a while, at least." When he reached the door, he turned. "Singer, your training begins this day, the first hour after noon. The two of you will be escorted to the Kisa Misthakan where you'll be measured for your robes, then taken to the Choirmaster and the Paleka Kitskew. Be diligent, Singer, or your companion will suffer for it."
"I want my harp."
"I don't like the tone of your voice, Singer. Must I already have your surrogate punished?"
"Don't be a bigger fool than you were born to be. Push me too hard and I say hell with it, find yourself another Avatar."
"Push me too hard and I might."
Shadith shrugged. "My pleasure. I hereby resign."
"cipapiu,
"Yes, Makwahkik Sa-pe." A slight man with dead eyes moved around the Nish'mok and crossed to Shadith; he put his gun to her head and waited for the order to shoot.
"There's only one way to resign, Singer. Say the word and,the thing is done."
"I've a feeling I'd make one hell of a mess out of your plans if I said yes; wouldn't do my plans much good either… hnun… alive is marginally better than dead. I'll be polite in public, in private's another thing altogether. That enough?"
"Now that you've got that out of you, shall we proceed?"
"My harp."
"No. I don't want you wasting your time with it."
"I won't waste time with it, but I want it."
"I'll consider it. After today's session is finished. Be diligent, Singer and you'll get your reward."
WATCHER 10
CELL 4
Jotting angry impatient notes on his scratch pad, Makwahkik listened to the tiny insect voices, his face growing grimmer and grimmer.
… a play. A drama. All you Kiskaids
… turn and twist for the amusement of an audience you'll never see…
… Asteplikota told me about the plague
… he did it, him sitting up there now
… it was him planted plague on you…
… Ginny's stuck his thumb in your rebellion and he's still beavering away on both sides…
… Ginny's afraid of them… I'm afraid
… because of us… as soon as he gets the pictures he wants.. boom!.. Good-bye Kiskal
Makwahkik stopped the playback, slapped down the intercom toggle.
"Nahwac, get Cipapll here, then I want to see Kinanipli, I don't care what the bastard's doing."
Grim as Makwahkik, Ginbiryol Seyrishi watched the scene play out, then he dumped the contents of Cells 1 and 4 in the throwaway, making sure no hint of those events were left in the showstock. It was as well both Puk and Ajeri were still resting after the Praisesong, though they would have to know something about this debacle soon enough. That girl, that cursed girl, she was a bomb that kept exploding. The Makh Hen was going rabid; he was beyond their control now. There comes a point when bribes can't buy. And Kinanipli was apt to spend the scant remainder of his life on a kana interrogation table. Fortunately they didn't need him any longer; still, he was one of Puk's lot, his key agent in Aina'iril, and when the Lute found out about his loss, the situation onboard was going to be very shaky indeed.
Ginbiryol settled back in his chair and sat stroking his jaw. After a short spell of brooding, he freed up a section of screen, keyed in the closeEYE sensied to Pukanuk Pousli. The Lute was curled into a fetal knot, sweating and snoring, his face puffed from his exertions in the Praisesong; otherwise he was more or less intact, thanks to the ministrations of the O:doc. "Yes." Ginbiryol tapped a code into the pad and watched with satisfaction as a tranx web coiled about the sleeper. "Better he sleeps for the next several weeks."
Chapter 20: Scrambling and scratching
Sassa circled above the city, seeking out and riding the thermals that rose from the barricade fires, slipping sideways to avoid the prowling kana flits and the streetlights with their straying pellets and catapulted stones. It was the gray, clear firstlight of morning and even the fires were tired, though the fighters didn't seem to be, the clashes went on and on, breaking off and starting again or shifting from one winding alley to another, from one decaying structure to another.
For a short while longer he flew for the pleasure of soaring, then he began to get nervous at the length of his absence from Rohant and swung out across the bay. He was a curious mix of raptor lines, a construct rather than a hybrid; Shadith thought of him as hawk mostly because he looked like one of the larger buteos, but his capacities were much more extensive than the natural strains. He'd take ground targets and birds in flight, but preferred fish when he could get it; he liked savannahs for hunting and rocky shorelines for breeding, but he'd tolerate heavy forests and take prey from treelimbs if he had to. This morning he was after fish and he got one on his second stoop; with it flapping in his talons, he flew back to the perch he'd established on the roof above the cell where Rohant was.
Shadith sat up, blinked. The hate and rage she'd picked up through Sassa lingered like a foul taste. Ginny might have sparked the overt rebellion, but the explosion must have been building for years, even generations. This boil was going to be a bloody mess when it broke open. She shivered, started to lie down again and pull the quilts over her, but her bladder felt like a balloon so she dragged herself over the edge, went down the ladder, and trotted into the bathroom.
When she finished her business and stood, she saw the smear of blood on the seat and swore fervently. "Of all the things I didn't need…" She washed off the seat and went into the bedroom to fetch a tampon and another of the sleeping shifts the infirmary had sent along with her gear; the one she had on was a mess. Her body'd been telling her for days she was due, her breasts were sore and there was a dull floating ache around tile base of her stomach, but she'd been too distracted to notice these signs. So many things happening, wrong body-weight (not much difference in the gravity but enough to throw her reactions off), days the wrong length, getting shot and drugged and fever ridden, no wonder she'd lost track of her cycle.
She rinsed out the bloody shift and hung it from a hook, then stepped into the shower and let the hot water beat on her back, breathing in the steam that rose around her, reveling in the warmth-until the water turned tepid and ended her brief heat orgy.
When she came back, Miowee was awake, watching her from the lowest bunk.
Shadith hesitated; she'd provoked scathing comment when she'd lifted Miowee onto the bunk without waiting to be asked for her help; the streetsinger was touchy about doing for herself. "Use a hand?" she said finally, nodding at the bathroom.
"No. Later, maybe." Miowee frowned. "You're an oddity, you really are, I can't make you out. Sometimes you're a child, sometimes you act like you're older than time. How old are you?"
"Consider me an old soul. Um. I just thought of something. Some cultures like yours, a menstruating woman is unclean, taboo, supposed to sit in her house and hide till it's over."
Miowee smiled. "Wa-hyeh, there're some touches of that about, in the fervent and the male like our high and holy Gospah. You going to tell him?"
"Unfortun
ately it rather proclaims itself, first two days, I gush like someone stuck a pin in me. Have to change tampons every hour on the hour. Blasted nuisance, times like this."
"Even you starpeople with all your klem?"
"Klem? I don't think I know that word."
"Maka word, street talk. Take what you call hi-tech, mash that in with all the things you know we don't."
"Ah. Yes. There're drugs that'll suppress the cycle. I don't fool with them, don't want to mess myself up case I want to have kids later. I don't know if I do or not, but it's a bit soon to be foreclosing options. My body's sixteen standard, somewhere round that anyway, I couldn't say exactly, time gets royally • twisted traveling 'tween worlds, you never know exactly when you are even if you do know where."
"De-ah, de-ah." Miowee pulled herself up, grinned at Shadith. "What a wise child it is."
"De-ah, de-ah, what a crock." Shadith yawned, stretched. 'Well, well, maybe it's not so bad after all, buys us more time. Weasel-face can't blame me for this delay."
"That's what you think."
"Naaa. Even he must know the blood comes when it comes."
Miowee laughed, then shook her head. "There are drugs on this world too, Shadow. Drugs that can dry you up faster than a summer drought. And he'll use them if he takes a notion to. You have no say in it."
"I'm not local flesh, Miowee. He might find himself with a corpse on his hands if he gets too busy. I swear, some of the things they shoved into me when I was shot came closer to killing me than that pellet did. They had to pump my stomach twice and restart my heart at least once. The good Doctor Meskew was a lot more careful after the heart thing."
"And the Nish'mok knows about that?"
"Oh, yes; that slimebag doctor was sweating rivers when I opened my eyes after my heart quit. Weasel-face was standing behind him looking like he could chew nails."
"Then you're right, you've bought some time. You can't go to the Chambers while you're in blood. Oppla's teeth, that'd be a sight, Ay-no-wit would have a stroke on the spot, they'd have to reconsecrate the whole damn place, himself included. Sheeht Talk about your evil omens." She laughed until she started coughing. Shadith pounded her on the back, then brought her a glass of water. Her giggles finally trailed off into bubbles in the water.
Once again Shadith hesitated, but she was tied in knots as long as the Nish'mok had that child. She had to try prying her loose. Once that was done, she could see about breaking out of here. The thing now was to get this across to Miowee without the listeners knowing what she was after.
She thought a minute, then dug out her notebook, brought it to the bunk. "Look, you can't sleep, I can't sleep, might as well not waste this time." She knelt beside Miowee and flattened the notebook on the covers. "Do you think this might make a song? Min mudda aksira ana ajuana ana a'ishashana ana asukninana. That's how it sounds, what it means… come along here, what would be the best way of saying this in Kiskaidish?" She scribbled at the page for a short time. "Look here. This is what it means…" She pretended to read what she'd written: "A short time ago I was hungry, I was thirsty, I burned with fever."
Miowee looked astounded, then gasped as she understood what was happening. She wriggled around and crawled along the mattress until she was hunched over the notebook. She read what Shadith had actually written: My Talent-mindriding beasts-seeing, hearing, feeling what they see, hear, feel. It will take time but I think I can find your daughter-if she's anywhere in the city-would that help?-could you get her away?
Her voice steady, her face expressionless, Miowee said, "I like the way it sounds in the original, you could use that as a refrain of sorts; it's meant to be a love song?"
"Yes. The rhythm though, the two langues are very different… I don't know…"
Miowee took the stylus, wrote: Yes. Yes. Yes. I can. I will. Don't ask how. Not even you. If you are playing games with me, I will strangle you. Or something. Somehow. How long?
"If you can shorten the phrase," she said, "Break it into different repeats. Like this maybe." She wrote more, read aloud: Min mudda aksira My saklimo-heh strayed from me A short time ago, an eternity Min Mudda aksira ana ajuana My saklimo-heh sets my soul on fire I thirst for him, I perish from desire
Shadith took the notebook. "I see. Yes, it can be done that way and the phrases would still make sense. But wouldn't the repetition get terribly monotonous? Or… I just had a thought, why not exaggerate that monotony?"
She wrote: No games-don't know how long-depends where she is and how much beastlife there is about-need eyes to look through-can move from mind to mind-can't linger long without base-or see without actual physical eyes-if don't find her before mens. over, be limited to sleeptime search-take lots longer. With luck, could be tomorrow-without, who knows?-want something for this-help to hide-if manage to get away-till rescue. Three of us.
She wrote more, read aloud: Min mudda aksira-o A short time ago Min mudda aksira-i My saklimo-heh strayed from me A short while ago, an eternity Min mudda aksira-o A little week ago Min ana ajuananee Thirst consum-ed me Min ana a'ishashana aree a'rire My saklimo-heh set my soul on fire I thirst for him, I perish from desire
Miowee looked up, smiling, made the Kiskaidish formal-sign for agreement (a pressing of the palms together, a dip of the head), then she reread the last lines. "No, no, Shadow, you've gone over the edge, it just doesn't work." She yawned. "I'm tired, even if we're not going to be working today, let's get some sleep." She pushed the notebook at Shadith. "I think you need to change again. You're showing through that shift."
"Ahhh! What it is to be a woman." Shadith grinned at Miowee, gave her a thumbs-up and took the notebook into the bathroom where she shredded the pages and flushed them away.
Seven days later seven women came for Shadith, gray-haired matrons dressed in heavy black robes, black gloves, black veils thrown over their heads and held in place by a crown of jayshi antlers, the ends fluttering about their knees. They circled her, singing a dirgelike chant, closed in on her and stripped her. They whipped her with soft wool straps the color of fresh blood, a ceremonial scourging. They wrapped her in a bright red blanket, pulled over her head a white jayshi skin painted with sacred patterns and deeply fringed, the fringes splitting over her arms and hanging to mid thigh in front and back. They spun her round and round, then took her from the room. Seven prepubescent girls lifted the kitskew from its case and carried it after the matrons. Seven unmarried maidens wearing long yellow cloths wound about their breasts and loins brought in buckets of purified water and began scrubbing every inch of the cell.
The matrons took Shadith to the Kisa Misthakan and drove her at a trot around the outside of the Great Wall, scourging her as she ran with the red wool straps.
Wearing only thick black blindfolds and black loincloths, two Kam priests swung open the postern gate and stood with their backs to the opening, their faces to the wall, as the matrons led Shadith inside the Purification Court.
At the far end of the octagonal court a large wooden tub steamed gently into the brilliant morning air. The matrons stripped Shadith again, bathed her, stood her on the blanket and anointed skin and hair with perfumed oils, then one of them took black and white paints and soft wood sticks and drew geometric patterns on her face and on her arms and down along her body to her feet. Another unfolded a shift, its fine white cloth billowing in the wind. Three drew it over her head and tied the laces that snugged the bodice against her slight form while the loose skirt fluttered about her legs, brushed against her bare and painted feet. In silence with the others silently following behind, two matrons took her wrists and led her from the court into a lightless maze-she could hear bare feet pattering, hands sliding against stone, siss, siss, the women around her breathing in unison.
This whole thing was beginning to have an odd effect on Shadith. Ancient and rational, of a species able to manipulate such things, fully aware of the way these rituals develop and the reasons behind them, yet she was catching awe and wonder from the women and
the girls-perhaps it was the impact of their deep belief in what they were doing, perhaps some sense of the antiquity of this rite. It made her uncomfortable, that feeling, yet it was close to irresistible because there was a part of her that NEEDED to belong to something which would reach out and enfold her. She was lonely; she hadn't let herself think about that, but it was part of her fear of University, of being alone on a whole world with no one who knew her history, no one she could talk to without holding back… she tried to shake off the malaise, but it ate deeper and deeper into her… made her all too susceptible to the power of the rite…
A door boomed open ahead, with the sound of the crashing of thunder, more thunder came, the beat of huge drums, their boom-doom vibrating in the bone.
The matrons brought Shadith into an immense hall, three stories tall, galleries rising rank on rank along the sides, sunbeams slanting into torchlight from twin rows of clerestory windows while incense drifted lazily down from silver censers dangling on silver chains bolted to the ceiling beams. Na-priests in black leather and black wool stood shoulder to shoulder, silent and ominous, filling the lowest gallery, five hundred of them, staring down at her. Above them the second gallery was crowded with Kisar judges and scholars, the wealthiest of the Kawa merchants. Women-Kisar, Kawa, and Plicik-each in their own sections, filled the third gallery. On the floor, Plicik males like beaded peacocks stared with easy arrogance at Shadith and her retinue.