The Burning Ground tst-2

by Jo Clayton

  “Vumah vumay, so be it. Follow the wall around the corner, you’ll see a corral with some milkers in it. There’s a well by the fence. You can get water from there. And don’t worry, we won’t interfere with you.”

  Luca stayed back, the rifle she’d taken from the thieves held visible. The anyas and the children waited with her while Nyen and Xaca led the packers over to join Wintshikan. More villagers joined the men on the wall and stood silently watching them as they worked, watering the stock and filling the skins.

  As they started to leave, the man who’d spoken before raised his voice again. “There’s a river about a day’s ride north of here, be sure to fill up good when you get there, it’s five days to Linojin from there and you won’t find more. It’s all salt marsh and sand. Go with God, Pilgrims. Pray for us as well as your own. And pray with us all for peace and destruction to the Fence.”

  As the sun went down behind the rounded hills, Luca stood on a patch of grass that grew near the top of a dune and stared out across the sea at the golden glimmer that turned copper where it pulled down red from the sunset sky.

  Wintshikan joined her. “What are you thinking?”

  “About that.” She jabbed her thumb at the Fence. “About one of those songs that fem sang. The one that calls us puppets dancing to the jerk of Ptakkan strings. Do you think that’s it, Heka? Do you think that’s why we’re dying?”

  “I don’t know. The war’s gone on so long. It’s hard to know why.”

  Luca moved her shoulders impatiently. “I can’t remember when I knew what I wanted or why I was born. I’ve been looking at that thing out there and I think I do know.

  Now. I’m going to pull it down, Heka. I don’t know how, but that’s what I’m going to do.”

  3. Song and riddle

  Yseyl shifted position again, ignoring, the glare from the mal sitting on the bench beside her. That bench was hard on the tailbones and she’d been sitting there since the door opened, sliding up inch by inch as one of Noxabo’s aides talked to those ahead of them, arranged appointments for later, or waved the petitioner on to the next hoop to jump through before he got to see the Arbiter himself.

  She’d gone first to listen to the Prophet Speaker preach. He was good, he’d gotten that crowd stirred up and seeing visions. He even won through her defenses, started her blood pounding until her mind broke through the glitter of the words and the force that shone from the man, and she remembered how much she didn’t believe the things he was saying.

  Still, this was what she needed, if she could just trust him-and get him to believe her.

  Yseyl left the meeting and went to find Zot.

  “Word is he’s dumb as a rock. It’s his anya that writes those things and tells him what to do. I know one of the girls that clean the Tent. Weird calling that big mess of stone a tent, but there it is. Anyway this Beritha, she says Anya Hukhu’s got the teeth of a shark and a blob of iron where xe’s heart should be. Only thing xe cares about is that wikiwic.”

  “So I should get to xe.”

  “No use trying unless it’s somethin’ big. And somethin’ that’s gonna make him look real good.”

  “It just might be.”

  ***

  When she went back to the Tent the next morning, there was chaos. People huddling in little groups, shocked, angry, grieved. Others clung to each other, sobbing and wailing.

  Anya Hukhu was dead, the Blessed Kuxagan was having hysterics somewhere, no mistaking that voice.

  She listened, slipped in a question here, a question there, and built a picture of what had happened.

  There’d been some sort of warning about assassins and Hukhu had set up a ring of anyas to screen out all strangers and two rings of armed guards, but the assassins had come through the roof somehow and gotten past the outer ring before they were discovered. Two of them were dead, offworld women they were, and why they tried it no one had a clue. The third had almost gotten to Kuxagan, but Hukhu threw xeself between them and stabbed the stranger with a poison knife at the very moment she was killing xe.

  Yseyl slipped away, angry and frustrated. It seemed almost as if the Ptaks had known what she was planning and had struck to stop it. In her calmer moments she knew that couldn’t be true, but the realization didn’t help quiet her stomachs.

  Before nightfall the city was buzzing with the news that there were three attempts at assassination, all expected, all thwarted. Six offworlders were dead, the rest had gotten away. And everything was closed down. No suppliants allowed anywhere except the petitioners in the Arbiter’s Office. Noxabo wasn’t there, of course; like the other targets he’d gone to ground. There was speculation about where he was, but it was all wild rumor. Those who knew weren’t talking.

  Another four petitioners were called into the Aides’ cubicles. Yseyl slid along the bench, then thrust her feet out over the braided rush matting that covered the floor. She opened her feet into a wide vee, brought the toes tapping together. Did it again. And again. Till the mal beside her dug his elbow into her side.

  “Stop that, fern. You’re driving me crazy.”

  She scowled at him, shifted the scowl to the far wall.

  Assassins. Cerex said the Ptak wanted the war to go on and on till all Imps and Pixa were dead. Until now Linojin’s been out of the war. They’re trying to change that. On the radio… I-need a radio, I’m missing too much just listening to people talk… the news… phelas attacking the neutral cities… they want it all, the Ptaks do, that’s what it is. They want it all. I’ve got the way… if only someone would listen to me… I’ve got the way out… God… I wish I believed… I wish I could pray and feel like it meant something… God! Any god that allows this obscenity…

  Three armed mals came from the back room beyond the Aides’ cubicles. They stood by the door looking grim and ready for anything. She’d seen phelas like that, waiting in ambush as she used her gift to slip round them. Those mals were ready to kill anyone in this hallway, to shoot at a cross-eyed look, an unconsidered scuff of a foot.

  The oldest of the Aides came out of his cubicle. “Petition time is over,” he said. “Give your names to the scribe at the door. You’ll be first in tomorrow.”

  As Yseyl stepped onto the walkway, Zot came from an alley and began walking along beside her. “No joy?”

  “Scribe took down names. Aide said those’d be first in tomorrow.”

  “Bribe’s two ounces silver to make sure your name stays on that list.”

  “It isn’t on there now. I didn’t bother.” She wrinkled her nose at the crimson glow in the west. “One day wasted is more than enough. Want some dinner? I’ll buy.”

  “Won’t say no to that. Plenty of time. Mehl] wants to see you, but not till seventh hour.”

  “Why?”

  “Xe din’t say.”

  Zot dragged the piece of bread through the gravy, popped it in her mouth. After she swallowed, she said, “Mehll doesn’t like me talking to you. Xe said I should stay away from you, you’re a killer.”

  “Xe’s right.”

  “Who’d you kill?”

  “You told me once go find a whore, I’ll tell you the same.”

  Zot giggled. “That’d be a sight, that would.” The giggles trailed to a sigh. “This place is a dead bore. Mehll says you’re a thief, too. Howdya get to be one? I’m dying to get outta here.”

  “You wouldn’t want to try my route, young Zot. I ran away and the first mal who found me was a thief. He taught me about locks and planning. He also had some peculiar tastes.” She blinked, looked into the wide eyes of the child. Not innocent eyes. Zot had already seen more of the evil that people do to each other than any child should. “He was impotent, you know about that? Yes, I see you do. But he could still get those feelings when the setup was right. He liked to watch rough mals beat me and have sex with me. Sometimes two or three a night. He taught me a lot. You wanted to know who I killed. Well, he was the first. There are things a lot worse than being bored, Zot. And
if you go where you don’t have friends, you’re going to find them. Real fast.”

  Zot’s eyes went wide, then she smiled.

  It was easy enough to read what was going through her head.

  Not me. Wouldn’t happen to me. I been around, not like some dumb femlit never been out of the mountains.

  Yseyl shook her head, but said nothing. Pain and loathing were the only teachers for some lessons.

  Yseyl smoothed her hand across the front of her tunic; the stunrod was in place, basted to the waistband of her trousers by threads she could break with a quick jerk if she had to get it out fast. She circled the house, checking out potential ambushes; with the city in such uproar, she wasn’t taking chances.

  When she was satisfied, she slipped one hand under her tunic and took hold of the rod, used the other to knock on the door.

  +Who?+

  “Who you sent for.”

  Yseyl shook her head, but said nothing. Pain and loathing were the only teachers for some lessons.

  Mehll took Yseyl into xe’s parlor, seated her in a comfortable armchair and poured tea for her, gave her a plate with some triangles of buttered toast, all the while keeping up a stream of chatter about the assassinations and the fishboat that got blown into the Fence and the need for rain.

  The old anya settled in xe’s own chair. +I believe you don’t have your own radio.+

  “No.”

  +Ah ah ah. I’m not going to ask questions. And I don’t want answers. What you do is your own business.+ Xe pointed to the large black receiver on the mantel above the fireplace. Xe signed, +Turn that on, will you? It’s set and ready to go.+

  Yseyl shook her head, but said nothing. Pain and loathing were the only teachers for some lessons.

  The sound of strings filled the room, a dance tune Yseyl didn’t recognize. She returned to her chair and folded her hands. “Why did you call me here? I doubt it was to listen to pretty music.”

  +Your name’s Yseyl, isn’t it. No. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. Xe snapped xe’s fingers. +My curiosity does get away from me sometimes. Yes. I wanted you to hear a song. It’ll be on soon. They broadcast it every day about now. I thought a while and a while about send-ing Zot, telling myself yes then no then yes then no, but this assassination thing, that convinced me. Something has to be done. I think there’s a chance you’ll be the one who’ll do it. In any case, at least you’re new. The rest I wouldn’t trust with a week dead fish. Ah. There’s the announcement. Listen.+

  Yseyl shook her head, but said nothing. Pain and loathing were the only teachers for some lessons.

  The singer startled Yseyl. There was no oddity to the accent, the words might have been spoken by any midrange Impix or Pixa, but the quality of the voice was alien. Offworlder. How did she come to be singing at the Linojin station?

  Yesyl found herself nodding as the cycle progressed-and wondering how the stranger had caught her feelings so precisely, that mixture of rage/sadness and the frustration that was not quite despair. She lifted the cup when the “Song for Yseyl” was announced, sipped steadily at the lukewarm liquid as the words flowed into the room.

  Yseyl shook her head, but said nothing. Pain and loathing were the only teachers for some lessons.

  “A ghost little gray ghost reaches out her hand her fatal hand an arms dealer cries an arms dealer dies

  Yseyl, your tears are red

  Yseyl, do you weep heart’s blood?

  A ghost little gray ghost gazes at her land her tortured land

  How can I end this?

  Or is it endless?

  Yseyl, your tears are red.

  Yseyl, do you weep heart’s blood?

  A ghost little gray ghost searches the stars the cold proud stars

  To free her land

  Her anguished land.

  Yseyl, your tears are red.

  Yseyl, do you weep heart’s blood?

  A ghost little gray ghost

  Holds the key the piercing key.

  Who would be free?

  Who will follow me?

  Yseyl, 1 hear your call.

  Yseyl, hear me, 1 know it all.

  O ghost little gray ghost

  You look the wrong way

  You take the wrong road

  Hear what I say

  Let me lighten your load.

  Look to the peaks Not to the sea.

  Where feet become holy

  There will I be.

  Unravel this rhyme

  Your heart’s wish to find.”

  Mehll pushed onto her feet and went to turn off the radio herself. +If I knew what that’s about, I’d have to act on my knowledge. I don’t want to know. We’ll finish our tea, then you can leave.+

  Yseyl walked to the end of the dock and stood gazing across the dark water at the Fencelight.

  A short distance away Bond Sisters and Anyas of Mercy were kneeling and murmuring through shimbil after shimbil, twelve upon twelve upon twelve, in a litany of pleas to God to open the way, bring down the Fence.

  She listened a moment and felt a vast impatience. If she marched over to them right now and said she could open the way for them, that they didn’t have to wait for God to act, they’d probably drown her for impiety.

  People. She scraped her hand across her eyes. Those like Mehll, they didn’t want to know. Others… vumah vumay, playing by the rules had never gotten her anywhere, nor had not-doing something ever kept her safe. The offworld woman-she said she had the answer. No need to believe her, just bargain with her. Might be a Sunflower agent sent to fetch back the disruptor. That didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was stopping this misery.

  Might as well listen to her. She’s standing on my road not hers. And she wouldn’t be taking the trouble if she didn’t mean to deal. Do me down if she can. Hah! They think they’re so clever these star-fliers, just because they can get away. But they’re only using what other folks built for them… those arms smugglers… so stupid sometimes it was almost embarrassing to do them. Look to the peaks… hm… where feet become holy… probably means the Outlook where the Pilgrim Road starts… I’ll need food… gear… be out there a while… wonder if I can find her before she finds me… it’s a thought… she’s a grand singer… it’s almost worth… ya la, don’t you get stupid, fern… listen to the words she says and forget the voice.

  She left the religious to their chant and went to the room she rented to do some concentrated thinking.

  10

  Wings cup the air and go where they will. Things volatile and unsteady change at the puff of a breath.

  Chapter 10

  1. Setup

  Shadith touched the test sensor and triggered the holo, then stepped back and walked in a slow circle about it, checking the smoothness of its turn, how the eyes followed her and the way the leaf-shadow flickered over and through it without obscuring the basic shape. She stopped where she’d begun the circle, said, “Speak.”

  The image smiled, lifted a hand. Its translucent lips moved, and sound came forth. “Because you see this, I know you are Yseyl, thief and assassin. Your face and form trigger the image. I want to make a deal with you. I can help you take the whole Fence down instead of just blowing a few holes in it. In return…”

  Shadith listened critically while the speech played to a finish, ending with the date of her return, then she reset the projector. “Well, little gray ghost, it’s time to lay down more bait. Can’t take a chance you’re somewhere else entirely. Sar! I hope Digby appreciates the beating my tailbone’s going to get. They could rent out those miniskip seats to a torture museum.”

  2. Yaqshowal: under siege

  The land around the harbor at Yaqshowal was grass from horizon to horizon, grass dotted with herds of ruminants whose thick loose skin fell from their spines in folds that shifted with every step they took as they wandered about on their own, their herdmals dead or fled. Dark red glows marked the places where carcasses roasted in huge pits to feed the Pixa phelas whic
h had gathered there to attack the city.

  Big guns boomed continually. Those belonging to the phelas were mounted on massive wagons pulled by teams of lumbering red and white skazz; smaller wagons moved with them, piled with shells almost as large as the mals loading them into the guns.

  Guns inside the city answered them, the shells rarely dangerous to the phelas though, as Shadith lingered in the clouds above the city, she saw one munitions pile go up and take a gun wagon with it.

  The harbor was lit with strings of naked lightbulbs; the harsh shadows they cast seemed to breed swarms of Yaqshowans shouting and shoving, waving bags of coin as they tried to buy their way onto the few ships that were tied up there.

  The radio station was deserted except for a single nervous mal who twitched at every loud noise, but kept a close eye on the spools as the wire snaked past the heads, sending out a mix of music, messages, and pleas for help.

  He squealed as Shadith burst in, took a look at the rifle she held, and sat where he was, sweat popping out on his temples. In the recent past his crest must have been a bright orange and green, but the hair paint was flaking off, and now it simply looked diseased. His face was thin and pinched, with a network of tiny lines across it that deepened about his eyes and mouth.

  The lines deepened even further when Shadith pushed back the hood of the robe and he saw her face.

  “I have some songs I want you to record and play,” she said. With her free hand she dug into a belt pouch, pulled out half a dozen heavy silver coins and, one at a time, tossed them at, his feet, the metallic chinks as they landed loud in the small room.

  “Ah. I think I know which you mean. A sailor I met had a song wire that got rather a lot of attention.” He glanced at the coins, his mouth curving in a tight, sardonic smile. “Happy to do business with you, kazi.”