Crossworld of Xai

by Steven Savage

  “Yes, dearest,” the Fang-Shih answered the non-question.

  “It’s going to … come for me one way or another. Everything I avoid will seek me, everything I run towards I find behind me. I’m up to my hips in this now, with you, this world, this … life. I’m not getting away.”

  “No, no you aren’t Jade.”

  “You …”

  HuanJen nodded. “I will be there. You learn in your own time. I can’t force you. Welcome to my world fully. Welcome to the haunts and the balance of things, the Pivot of Tao - and the chaos when people are divided and forget the Fundamental Unity.”

  “Yeah. Obsidians and Ziggurat Jack and boogeymen under the bed. Sneaking up on me.” Jade clutched herself again. HuanJen responded with a warm hug, though his authoritative manner didn’t fully disappear.

  “It’s part of the training. You’ve studied potions and read philosophy, and seen what I do. It’s time to understand the ideas, and things where … parts of the world connect, the root. It’s a good time for it.”

  “Goody.” Jade’s sarcasm flared torch-bright. “It starts with me nearly soiling myself when one of the Men In Black of Xai shows up for word games. Geez, I feel like any moment something’s going to come and . . well, get me. I feel like a kid hiding under bedcovers.”

  HuanJen stood, and sat on the desk again, looking more serious, and thankfully to Jade, less paternal. His presence was comforting, but the moments he became her father and not her lover were annoying, verging on infuriating. He may have been a better father than her own, but that wasn’t his role in her life now.

  “It’ll come if you let it. Perhaps … it is time to think about deeper issues.”

  “I know.” Jade smirked. “I think I jumped in and was afraid when … it jumped back. It never ends.”

  HuanJen leaned over and gave his lover a quick kiss on the lips. “Its life, the cycles never end, but we can stand in the middle of them and understand.”

  “Thanks, that helps. Obscure statements 101 right? I get that next year along with Being Real Mysterious Advanced Study?”

  The mystic crossed his arms and regarded Jade affectionately. “Tomorrow, then, you will begin to peruse the Compendium, and you will be re-introduced to philosophical concepts and meditative study beyond the simple calming exercises you’ve tried.”

  “Yeah, I suppose for the job …”

  “For yourself. If you don’t want to fear what goes bump in the night, you need to be sure nothing haunts you. If you want all that depth you talk of, find it.” HuanJen uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, his summer-strange-scent wafting through Jade’s nose. “And yes, you’re going to ask if I’ll share your bed tonight, I will.”

  The Vulpine scowled. “I utterly loathe it when you do that. I hate being second-guessed. Especially when it’s accurate.”

  “I know you, dearest. I may know when to leave you alone … and I do know when not to. Or at least most of the time. OK, some of the time.”

  The Vulpine stood, hands on her hips. “And maybe I don’t want you there, eh? Maybe I need to face the darkness alone and myself without the big-bad magic man behind me.”

  “Oh, but I like the view from there very, very much.” HuanJen’s face split into an ivory-toothed grin of pure perverse humor.

  “Yes, I imagine you do.” Jade strode off to the study’s exit, hips and tail swinging seductively. “Well, are you coming? I’d like to get some sleep.”

  HuanJen stood, regarding Jade with mock-amusement. “Is that a request? I mean you didn’t specifically ask me … “

  “Oh, come to bed,” Jade spat playfully, “you know you want to.”

  The Fang-Shih stroked his pointed chin and finally answered “Go ahead, I’ll be in in a bit.”

  “Um, no, I’ll wait …” Jade answered unevenly.

  “I figured you would.” HuanJen winked.

  “With a mentor like you, why do I need Obsidians …”

  ELEMENTS

  January 29, 2000 - Xaian Standard Calendar

  Riakka Bale was a Historian, and she was out of her element.

  Some would argue that, being a Historian of the University, that all things were her element. Those that would try to tell her that would likely get a lecture that after moving suddenly, anyone would be out of their own element. Two weeks notice was just not enough, and she didn’t even want to discuss her roommate, her furniture, and her ex-boyfriend.

  Worst of all, there was adapting to a new Zone Cleric. The University had a few, such as were necessary. In Metris proper, however, she had to deal with a hardcore, commitment member of Guild Esoteric’s personal social workers. In Metris, she had to deal with people who were very, very into being involved in other people’s lives.

  In short, she had to deal with HuanJen, who took to his job like a bird to the air.

  Of all of the several hundred different zones in Metris, she had to get him. When Riakka analyzed it rationally, it made sense - his was a larger Zone due to taking over some territory for a dead Zone Cleric, and having an apprentice to help him. It was likely someone from Paldayne’s little project would end up in his Zone.

  Unfortunately it had to be her, and she didn’t feel rational about that.

  Riakka didn’t like Zone Clerics. As far as most younger Historians were concerned, the Zone Clerics of Guild Esoteric were nosy bastards. It could be argued that the Historians were nosy bastards as well, but the Zone Clerics were a different kind of nosy bastard. It was a peculiar kind of territoriality at work, made all the more complicated by the fact the Zone Clerics refused to participate in it.

  Members of Guild Esoteric were always there ahead of you. They’d somehow landed the job of monitoring the vote to make the Communicants Guild public (not that the Messengers and the Gendarmes had much chance). They had a hotline now, a damn hotline, for supernatural and social incidents. They kept butting in. They kept showing up.

  HuanJen and his assistant showed up a lot, in Riakka’s rather bitter opinion.

  Like a trolley stop. In front of her. As she was … observing.

  Riakka tried to blend in with the crowd and with the scenery of the small park near the stop. Out of her Historian’s robes, people would never notice a plain, short, brunette with glasses and green hair-beads marking her as native. In her brown-and-red Guild uniform, hiding was impossible. Her expertise was recent culture, but she figured some moron long ago had decided Historians should stand out like proverbial sore thumbs.

  HuanJen would notice her, she was sure. She’d moved into his Zone recently, and he would probably be over any moment to be terminally friendly and helpful.

  Riakka stood against a carefully-cultivated tree and thought invisible. Part of her still listened and observed, the part trained since she’d gotten her scholarship and shocked her mother into speechlessness. The rest of her just fretted.

  ” … it’s still a lot.”

  That was Jade’s voice. Jade the Vulpine, black fur, green eyes, and lightning for a personality. Jade the apprentice-who-wasn’t-quite. Jade, in dark green, that strange staff strapped to her back, projecting an air of something eerie and powerful.

  “You’re learning, dearest, all things in time. But you are making progress.”

  HuanJen, pillar-tall, built like bamboo and wire. Yellow skin and dark hair with a weird white streak. His clothes never stood out, just as he never did. He was a shadow that keeps showing up, cast by an unknown object.

  “It, ah, takes time, ah, Jade.”

  The young historian squinted, curiosity taking precedence over concern. She didn’t recognize the third person with HuanJen and Jade. Someone short and burly, all in black, with a mop of sandy hair. A gait like HuanJen’s, but more lumbering. There was something about him …

  Another cleric, she could tell. A trinity of spiritual busybodies perhaps ten feet from her; Galcir was in a fine mood today, apparently. Maybe those strange calling devices, the ones the Technologists had created for Guild Esoter
ic, had brought them together - if they were working right yet.

  “Yeah, Rake, thanks. I mean …” Jade tried to speak to the stutterer. HuanJen interrupted in a way that didn’t seem like interruption.

  “Jade, it takes time to grasp the deeper aspects of things.”

  “Well, I’m going to. ” Jade was confident. Riakka smiled a bit - she was always confident in a strange way. Reassuringly bullheaded, unsubtle, solid. “I mean it sort of hit me with all the shit going on lately, with that Obsidian, with everything else.”

  “You’re, ah, a good, ah influence, ah, HuanJen. Live, ah, with it.” Riakka watched the human mound, Rake, stop along side the others. There was a strange serious edge in his voice.

  “He’s a pest,” Jade answered with simulated sourness, looking around. Apparently they were waiting for a Trolley.

  HuanJen laughed, one of the few things about him Riakka found human. “I merely took time where it was due.”

  Riakka made her way to a bench in the park. They were focused on each other, at least. She wanted to ignore them, but she did have her orders, and … Zone Clerics knew things. it wasn’t exactly why she was here, but they could be useful sources of information.

  Jade was talking. ” … well now its due, thanks to everything else. All the damn politics. But it’s everywhere. Don’t even get me started on Brandon.”

  The young Historian closed her eyes. If Jade had her job, ever-recording, ever-collating, logging the history of the Crossworld, she’d be even more sick of it. As if the latest political hadn’t been obvious for years. Connection was the key - the Travelers provided connection, so they went under Guild Council control with an installed Guildhead. The Communicants tried to keep low, but as people got used to their services, especially computer and the Internet, it was their time.

  But people acted like it wasn’t obvious, everyone running around like crazy talking about the future and politics, and change. No perspective on History, none at all. Hopefully that would change, but still …

  ” … I think he’s, ah , tired like all of them.” Rake’s voice sounded strange to Riakka. Stuttering around well-formed words. “The Technologists, ah like, ah, the Messengers and others have, ah, too much involvement in the Communicants. Attachment, ah, as it were.”

  “That’s what I’m focusing on.” Jade sounded unsure, a crack in the iron mirror of her personality. “Subtlety. Egolessness. Non-attachment. Crap like that. Brewing potions is one thing, but … eh, lets face it, there’s more to this.”

  “How nicely put. ‘Crap like that.’” HuanJen’s smile was obvious in his voice. “Reminds me of how you described my job as ‘interesting shit.’”

  “I have a way with words, honey, live with it.” Jade chided playfully. There was a strain in her voice Riakka couldn’t place.

  “‘He who saves his life shall loose it, he who loses his life shall save it.’”

  Riakka felt something jump at the back of her mind. The one called Rake’s voice was different. It sounded like Paldayne’s when he lectured; words as Fact, immovable and irrefutable as sunrise.

  “Oh, thanks,” Jade replied with a scalpel-edge cynicism. “That’s …”

  “The sage has no heart of his own, his hearts are those of other people.” HuanJen joined into the philosophical fray. “You quoted that to me about the time of the ‘interesting crap.’ You understand, don’t go from ignoring to worrying, love.”

  “Oh, great tag-team theology … trolley’s here. Time to get to our next Guild Meeting.” Jade sounded miserable. Riakka smirked - she sounded a lot like herself at a certain time every month.

  “Of course Guild Esoteric and, ah, Guild Medical had to, ah reschedule, ah, the meetings on the same, ah, day.”

  “Yeah. Hey, Huan, Rake, you hear that Joe got it together, right …”

  A green-and-white trolley hummed up to the stop, the noise and its presence cutting off the budding debate. People shuffled, climbed, pushed, and walked their way onto and off of the Trolley. Riakka felt herself untense as the clerical trio vanished into the depths of the trolley, down the street, and out of her life, at least temporarily.

  She sorted their conversation through her mind. Nothing new, everyone knew about the upcoming Guild vote to make the Communicants public. Nothing to write down or record. Back to observing, like she’d been asked - well, ordered. However, there seemed to be little of interest …

  There was the sound of a pencil-on paper, frantic cat-scratches of art being formed.

  Riakka looked at the next bench over. A young boy, native by the green beads in his black hair, was drawing. His speed was impressive for a child of perhaps eight or nine.

  The historian looked around. No parents in sight. One beat Gendarme walking by. The boy was probably local; the neighborhoods of Metris formed tight communities. You never knew who knew who, but it was best to assume everyone did. One deterrent to crime in Metris was people tried to know each other - and familiarity bred protectiveness.

  Forcing her nervousness into a tight ball, Riakka walked over to the child. He smiled up at her in a guarded, buy friendly manner.

  “Hello,” the youngster said, “just drawing. Sorry, it wasn’t you.”

  “No, just curious.” The historian had never felt she was good with children, but people told her otherwise. “I can’t draw myself.”

  The boy nodded. “Yeah, my friend Randhi is like that. I draw for him. But he doesn’t’ like stuff like this.”

  Riakka looked at the pencil sketch. It was a good job for a youngster; a strange figure in a cloak, a baglike mask over his head. The menacing figure held a knife in one hand, while the other clutched a strange weapon, like a pair of brass knuckles with various blades attached.

  “It’s Ziggurat Jack,” the boy said sunnily.

  “I can tell.” Riakka kept her emotions in check. You learned that as a Historain; being a calm observer in the sea of life, so as not to attract the predators of history.

  “I don’t think he’s real.” The future artist’s face clouded over. “My mother said he is, so she doesn’t like me drawing him. I think she believes he’ll get me if I do.”

  Riakka just nodded. Her mind was whirling into a hundred configurations of possibility while her mouth worked automatically. “It’s good.”

  The boy checked a watch. “My trolley is here. Here you go. So mom won’t see it.”

  He pushed the drawing into her hands. Riakka took it gingerly. “Thank you. I just moved here, everyone’s so friendly.”

  “Yeah, I like it. Bye!” The boy tottered off to the Trolley stop.

  Riakka watched the young artist depart, sat down, folded the drawing very carefully, and tucked it into her satchel. A few minutes later, she brought out a notebook and took a few notes very carefully.

  No one noticed a historian taking notes; they did all the time.

  Riakka was in her element.

  DIFFERENT HEARTS

  February 5th, 2000 - Xaian Standard Calendar

  My name is Brandon Thylar of the Technologists’ Guild, and I’m not having a good day. As its only about seven in the morning, I consider this a real bad sign.

  I mean, really, I get some time off of work (not that contracts have been great lately), I go to drop my truck off for Lorne so he can help a coworker move, and bam, potential argument.

  I just got into to the parking lot behind Lorne and Clairice’s apartment complex, gotten out to look for the big guy, and … he was there. Tall guy, skinny, short hair, not native, and a look that just screamed “Communicant” - that pissy, irritated look they’ve all had since the Council decided to vote on what to do with their Guild.

  Of course, I was wearing my Technologist’s diadem and my coveralls - oh, and of course, I’d just done up my native braids. I mean, I could smell the coming conflict, pick your poison; Communicant versus Technologist or native versus immigrant.

  “Hi.” I nod, trying to head anything off. He was probably here waiting for frien
ds or something - I mean, there’s no other sane or legal reason to hang out in a back lot on an early morning. Well-dressed guy, probably going to work. Nothing suspicious.

  “Greetings.” His response is pretty cool. He’s sizing me up, I could tell. You can feel the tension.

  Or I’m getting paranoid again. I don’t want to get that way, everyone warns me about it, but … I don’t know. My family’s long-term native, we’ve got the world in our blood. I know this place, and some folks don’t understand it - you gotta live it.

  It’s gotten uglier here in Metris, and I don’t talk about it much since most people know what’s going on. The Communicants are going down after the Guild Council takes a look at their practices; hell, they control the phones, the televisions, and the internet. They know a lot of people don’t like them - from the Technologists to the University, to the Messengers. It’s a matter of time before the other Guilds take them over, like the Travelers - just a little longer until that damn vote …

  “Waiting for something?” The Communicant asked. I think he was being casually polite.

  “A friend. He’s helping someone move. Lot of my friends doing that lately. Well, the same friend.” I’m going to be civil. I might as well try.

  “Oh, people being careful?”

  OK, I’m not going to be civil. I’m a bit tired, there’s one of those unpredictable cold waves in the air, and I can get incivility on television or Metris Monthly. Being careful? What the hell did he mean?

  “Please, don’t start anything.” I glare at him. He’s a foot taller than me (OK, a lot of people are taller than me) so I try to make the glare extra impressive.

  “Brandon?” A very friendly and very commanding voice interrupts.

  The friendly voice is backed by a very large, friendly guy; Lorne Thompson, the biggest, blondest gay cop you will ever meet. Even out of uniform he looks pretty impressive, and the reaction of the Communicant is instant; silence.

  “Just having a discussion, big guy.” I give Lorne a grin. “Hey, you guys don’t like to hear me talk politics, got to talk to someone.”