by Ann Maxwell
The jungle whispered among itself, then began tearing itself root from branch, flower from stem, vine from trunk. Illusions blurred and reformed until Rheba was dizzy from trying to sort out what came from which and belonged to whom. Many illusions vanished entirely from the hall, but many more stayed, voting for rebellion.
Rheba would have felt better if Tske were not among them.
XII
Whatever Tske’s personal defects were, he was an efficient organizer. When he gave orders, illusions jumped. The scent of bruised flowers filled the air as Yaocoon after Yaocoon trampled petals underfoot, crowding forward to listen to the many-mouthed vine.
Rheba and Kirtn turned their heads slowly, counting illusions. “Fifty-two?” Her voice was hesitant.
“Sixty-four?” His voice was equally unsure. Neither one of them had much skill at numbering impossibilities.
F’lTiri overheard them. He leaned toward her and whispered, “Seventy-seven.”
She sighed. “Right.” Her voice echoed Scavenger Scuvee of the planet Daemen, brusque and resigned at the same time.
Kirtn smiled. Scuvee had been unpolished but likeable all the same. At least she had not tried to kill them, which was more than could be said of most Daemenites.
“Some are good illusionists,” continued f’lTiri. “Young, for the most part, but strong. They don’t like Tske leading the raid they’ve been planning, but they’ll take orders. He’s the best illusion they have right now.”
With a grimace, Ara looked away. “I don’t trust Tske.”
“If I were you, neither would I,” said i’sNara with a curt laugh. “But with this many Yaocoons as witness, he’ll behave.”
Fssa poured a running commentary into Rheba’s ear. Most of it had to do with personalities and processes alien to her. Her lines rippled and winked restlessly, telling of energy held within her. She curbed her impatience, not wanting to provoke a similar—and more dangerous—impatience in her Bre’n.
“Eleven groups of seven,” whistled Fssa. “Tske will lead our group. I don’t know the name of the other Yaocoon who will be the seventh in our group. We’ll be the last out the gate, holding the illusion of shadows and street over us.
Easier than invisibility and nearly as good. The other groups will project various illusions. Each will have a flower, leaf or fruit somewhere in it. That’s more for us than for them. Clanmates can peel each other’s illusions the way I peel new languages.”
Rheba made a grudging sound of appreciation. It was thoughtful of Tske to provide for nonillusionists. It might also be a bit risky for the Yaocoons to openly wear a badge of their affiliation. Perhaps outsiders could not strip away illusions with the facility of clanmates. She hoped so. She would hate to be responsible for putting Yaocoons in uniform so that the enemy could find them more easily.
“Tske wants the first three groups to go out and reconnoiter. He wanted just one group, actually, but they talked him out of it. Seven people aren’t enough if they run into the Soldiers of Ecstasy.”
“Ecstasy? Stupidity is more like it,” muttered Rheba.
A second Fssireeme mouth formed, hissing agreement, while the first one continued translating without missing a syllable. Rheba listened, unconsciously tracing the outlines of the worry stones concealed within her pocket.
“If it’s clear to the veil, they’ll send back a messenger,” continued Fssa. “Groups will leave at fifteen-second intervals. That should be far enough apart to keep the images from overlapping but not so far that we can’t cover for each other.”
“Overlapping images?” said Rheba doubtfully.
“Right,” said the Fssireeme, in exact reproduction of Scuvee’s voice. Then, “They didn’t explain, so I don’t know any more than you.”
She shrugged like a Bre’n. The strategy and tactics of illusory raids were something she was forced to leave to the apparition in charge. “And after the veil?”
“They’re still arguing about that one. Three groups want the honor of being first into the Redis hall.”
“Fools.”
“Probably.” Silence from the snake, but not from the Yaocoons crowding around the vine that was Tske.
“What are they saying?”
“Insults. Redundant and unimaginative.”
“Let me know if you hear a good one.”
Fssa made a flatulent sound. Except for i’sNara, who had been a slave to the Loo-chim, illusionists confined their originality to their appearance. “Tske settled it. The groups are numbered now, one through eleven. We’re eleven. Last in. They’ll create the diversion and we’ll do the sneaking and stealing.”
“How?”
“That hasn’t come up yet.”
Rheba closed her eyes. When she opened them, Kirtn was watching her. “I’ll bet it ends up a burn job,” she said to him.
He smiled crookedly. “Most things do, when you’re around.” He worked his long fingers into the hair seething about her face. “That’s why I Chose you, dancer. Even in your cradle you burned.”
She leaned into his touch, stretching and rubbing against his hand. The resonances he set off within the energy she held were as enjoyable as the physical contact itself. It also kept her from thinking about the impossible theft they had volunteered to attempt. Ecstasy Stones. She had no use for them. She had her Bre’n.
A tendril of her hair curled out and settled around his muscular forearm. It was a touch that would have burned anyone except Kirtn. To him, it was a sharing of fire that went through him in an expanding wave of pleasure, marshaling and releasing the random energies that would otherwise eat away at his rationality until he dissolved into rez. Dancers danced because they could; Bre’ns shared that dance because they must, or die.
“The first group is gone,” whistled the snake.
“What? Just like that?” said Kirtn. “No more planning than a few arguments and Tske’s yapping vine?”
“The Yaocoons have been planning and arguing since their Ecstasy Stones were stolen years ago. They’ve run out of plans.”
“But not arguments?” suggested the Bre’n.
“How did you guess?” said the snake acidly.
“They’re Fourth People. The last thing we run out of is argument.”
Kirtn’s voice was haunted, remembering the verbal battles that had raged on Deva over whether it was better to flee the planet or stay and ride out the sun’s unstable period. Ten years, twenty. No more than fifty at most. Then the sun would be benevolent again. But it had not happened the way Senyasi and Bre’ns had planned.
He was too young to remember much more than the last fifteen years on Deva. His Senyas and Bre’n parents had remembered, though. Now some of their memories were his. He laid his cheek on a burning strand of dancer hair, grateful that Rheba was too young to have his memories. Her own were bad enough.
Deva? It was both question and statement, spoken in his mind, wrapped in a complex of her emotions.
He curled a tendril of hot gold around his finger, letting Deva recede into the past again. “We’re on Yhelle now. That’s enough trouble without looking for more to burn.”
Her eyes watched him, sad and wise and too gold for a dancer her age.
“At least they’re going to untie you,” said Fssa.
As one, Bre’n and Senyas looked at their wrists. Though they saw only a flicker of shadow and light, they felt the cool touch of a knife as it slid through their bonds.
“Thanks, whoever you are,” said Rheba.
A fern no taller than her waist appeared. The fronds shivered and thinned, revealing a boy beneath. Rheba was so shocked to see a child rather than an adult that she forgot to return the boy’s smile.
“Did you see that?” she asked in Senyas.
“Yes.” Kirtn’s voice was matter-of-fact.
“He’s too young to risk his life on a raid against a tyrant that a whole clan couldn’t touch!”
“The first time I sent you out against Deva’s sun, you were you
nger than that boy.” His voice was still neutral, but his eyes were like hammered metal.
“That’s different. I was a dancer. I was bred for fire.”
“And he’s an illusionist, born and bred. I suspect the difference between your situation on Deva and his on Yhelle is more apparent than real.”
“But the life of our people was at stake!” objected Rheba hotly. “We sent children against the sun because we had no choice!”
“It’s the same with him.” When she would have argued more, he cut her off roughly. “Think of what we’ve heard, dancer. No one who goes into the Redis clan hall comes back. And one by one, everyone in Serriolia is being drawn into that hall.”
She thought about it. She did not like any of her thoughts. She rubbed her wrists absently. The bonds had peeled off some skin despite the zoolipt’s efforts to keep its host whole.
Or perhaps it was just that even zoolipt-healed skin itched with newness.
“I’ve got a nasty feeling that my zoolipt is going to earn its keep,” she said finally.
“Don’t count on the zoolipt too much,” cautioned Kirtn. “I’m sure it has limits.”
“Wonder what they are?”
“I don’t want either of us to find out the hard way. Don’t be careless, dancer.”
“Me? You’re the one that’s a target as big as a spaceship. Nobody will even see me hiding behind you.”
“Then you must have figured out a way to burn invisibly,” smiled Kirtn, tugging gently on the electric tendril of hair he had wrapped around his finger.
Laughter ran brightly along her akhenet lines.
“The messenger just came back,” said Fssa softly. “It’s clear to the veil. Not a Soldier of Ecstasy in sight.”
Groups of illusionists moved toward the door. As they moved, they changed. One group of trees, ferns and hanging flowers merged into the illusion of a single child batting a bright leaf from hand to hand.
Though Rheba knew there were eleven people in the group, she could not see them . . . unless they were that indefinable blurring of floor and wall, the not-quite-shadows gliding soundlessly out the door.
A cat condensed out of another group. Long-tailed, tawny, it turned to look at her. Its eyes were purple flowers carved out of gems. It stretched and moved with insolent ease after the boy.
“Beautiful,” murmured Kirtn. “But I thought var-cats were legends.”
“There’s a lot of the Equality we haven’t seen,” said Rheba.
“Var-cats are real,” whistled Fssa. “They were bred as a kind of mobile money in the Third Cycle. There aren’t many left. Unstable.”
Another group left the room wearing the illusion of an animal that even Fssa could not name. The beast was small and wore a pink flower tied to its tail. More child illusions left, quarreling over a ball that looked like a ripe melon. A woman walked away, tiny and black, wrapped in sensuality.
“Satin,” breathed Kirtn.
Rheba’s mouth thinned. Satin was the owner of the Black Whole, the worst gambling dive in Nontondondo, which was the most licentious city on an utterly immoral planet. Satin was a psi master. She had sold them their Equality navtrix. She had also wanted Kirtn as a lover. And Kirtn had not said no as firmly as Rheba could have wished, for above all, Satin was alluring.
The woman turned. Between her breasts was a black orchid.
“Not quite Satin,” sighed the Bre’n. “Satin is more . . . alive. But a woman of her race, definitely. I wonder where that planet is.”
Rheba glanced sideways at him, a hot comment ready on her lips. Then she saw his yellow eyes watching her with unusual intensity. She bit her lip and said only, “And I wonder what we’ll look like when we leave the room.”
F’lTiri left the vine to writhe and yammer with its many mouths. He and i’sNara came over to Rheba.
“How much of that muddle did your snake pick up?” asked f’lTiri.
“Eleven groups of seven. We’re number eleven. They’ll provide a distraction while we snatch the Stones,” summarized Rheba. “If anything was decided about our disguise or how in the name of the Inmost Fire we’re going to pull off the theft, I didn’t hear about it.”
“Neither did I,” said i’sNara grimly. She flapped her narrow white hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Just stay with me and f’lTiri. We’ll peel the Redis hall illusions and get to the Stones faster than any clumsy Yaocoon. As for your disguises, you won’t need any. Tske says that after your appearance on Reality Street, dancer and Bre’n pairs will be popping up all over Serriolia.”
“He’s probably right,” said F’lTiri. “In any case, a good illusion for you two would take too much of our energy. Of course, you could stay here,” he added with a hopeful lift of his voice.
“We never would have let you off the ship if we had known what would happen,” put in i’sNara.
“We never would have let you off the ship either,” retorted Kirtn. “But we did and you did. So let the dance begin.” As he spoke, he pressed the harness stud that was also a transceiver. The stud remained inactive, telling him that no message was waiting to be deciphered by him.
Rheba saw him touch the stud, whistled a question and received a quick reassurance. No message. That meant that all was well on board the Devalon, because messages were reserved for emergencies. She was surprised to realize that she had been away from the ship for less than a half day. It seemed like a Loo week. Yhelle’s illusions nibbled at the foundations of time as well as other perceptions.
The illusionists blurred. They reformed as a vague thickness between Rheba and the door.
“How can I follow that?” asked Rheba sharply. “If the Redis go in for textured glowstrips, I wouldn’t be able to see you if you were standing on my feet.”
“Watch,” whispered f’lTiri.
Shadow shifted. Brightness turned and sparked at its center. Motes twisted and formed into a familiar shape, a Fssireeme with mouth open. It was a deft performance, done with only a few lines of illusion. Even Fssa was impressed.
“If you get lost, whistle and watch for the snake,” murmured f’lTiri. Then, even more softly, “Be ready to burn, fire dancer.”
Rheba’s hair seethed and crackled, throwing off hot glints in the nearly empty hall. She let her lines gorge with energy, fierce gold racing over her body until it looked as though she wore a lacework of fire beneath her brief clothes. “I’m always ready to burn,” she said quietly.
“If we get separated,” i’sNara said, “go to the nearest veil. You can sense the direction of the veils, can’t you? Their energies?”
Rheba remembered the discordant veil energies combing through her. She closed her eyes and tried to visualize the energy patterns of the hall, the compound, and finally the surrounding streets and residences. Then, like a distant disturbance, the curdling veil. “Yes . . . it’s there. I don’t like it.”
I’sNara made a relieved sound. “See? I told you she could do it,” she said to f’lTiri. “They’ll be all right if something happens to us.”
“But how do we use the veil once we find it?” asked Kirtn.
“Hurry up,” snapped the vine that was Tske.
“All possible destinations appear one after the other,” said f’lTiri quickly. “Just wait for Reality Street to cycle in. It’s slower than our method of using the veil, but you don’t have time to learn the other way.”
The vine made a rude sound and turned into a shadow. “Follow me. Now!”
Rheba looked at her Bre’n. He shrugged, but his eyes had a feral gleam. Her akhenet lines echoed her heartbeat, a rhythmic pulse that grew brighter with each unit of deadly energy stored.
Side by side, dancer and Bre’n followed shadows out into the thickening night.
XIII
The gate swung shut heavily on its hinges, turning the wall into a seamless whole once again. In the deepening gloom outside the Yaocoon clan compound, Rheba flamed like a torch. She damped her burning somewhat but could not fade from s
ight unless she released a lot more energy, too much, in fact. She did not want to be caught cold if an ambush came.
Night seemed to conceal rather than cool the humid heat of day. She was too hot to sweat. Akhenet lines rather than perspiration carried away her body heat now. Kirtn’s coppery skin/fur, however, was almost black with sweat. Where his weapon harness and Rainbow rubbed against his fur, traces of lather showed in pale streaks. Rainbow reflected dancer fire in every crystal facet, a molten necklace rippling against his broad chest.
“We’re about as inconspicuous as a nova at midnight,” said Kirtn grimly.
Ahead of them, various illusions merged invisibly with the night. A child’s laughter, a cat’s purple eyes, a flash of the black woman’s fingernails, those were all Kirtn had to mark the unknown trail. Their own group was invisible to him.
“I’m glad the veil isn’t far,” he said very softly as the land dipped beneath his feet.
His empty weapon harness annoyed him. In Serriolia, guns were an admission of failed illusions. Except for a few pragmatic Yaocoon rebels, only Soldiers of Ecstasy carried guns. There had been no weapon for him. It was a situation he planned to remedy with the first soldier he got his hands on.
They scrambled down the decline to the stream, using Rheba’s akhenet lines to see by. She would have made a ball of cold energy and sent it ahead to light their way, but feared being even more conspicuous than nature had made her.
When they got to the edge of the stream, they stopped. Kirtn watched the night with wide yellow eyes that were better adapted to darkness than gold-veined dancer eyes. He neither saw nor heard anything, not even the footsteps of the rest of their group. Calling out to them was tempting but foolish. So was blundering blindly up the opposite bank of the stream.
“Do you sense anything, snake?” whispered Kirtn.
“Water. Shallow, only a few strides across. Incline. Something at the top that could be trees.”