by Sharon Lee
"I train to be a healer," the boy said. "Let me fetch another to watch in my place, Trident Bearer, and I will come with you."
"Brave heart. But I am wounded myself, you know, and bound to rest. I've only come to sit with my cousin, that she not waken kinless." He glanced over at the fur-piled bed. "And if she should die, I would be with her then. Can you permit me these things, healer-in-training?"
The boy hesitated and from behind him, Gem heard the Gatekeeper's soft voice. "How will you stop him, little one?"
The boy's shoulders sagged. "True enough," he allowed, but then he looked sharply up into Gem's face, and snatched at his robe. "Swear to me," he said, "that you will not disturb her rest."
The Gatekeeper's gasp was audible. Gem smiled, seeing for a moment not this small apprentice, but a thin yellow-haired waif, with fierce eyes and demands of his own. For Edreth's sake, he extended his hand and laid it briefly on the child's dark head.
"I swear."
Satisfied, the boy stepped back and Gem walked on to the bed. He thought he heard the Gatekeeper's voice, but failed to note the words. Nor did he note that shortly thereafter she left him to the care of the small apprentice. All his attention was on the bed, and the one who lay there, so still.
Her face was pale against the richness of the furs, the honey skin gone to ivory. Lines there were upon her brow, aside her eyes, around her mouth, as if even in sleep she were pain-full. The long golden hair lay limp and lusterless, snagged here and there like spiderwebbing, and the hand atop the furs looked strengthless, fingers curved and impotent.
Gem sank onto the stool at the bedside, watching the labored rise and fall of her breast, his own breath strangled in his throat. Carefully, he slid his hand over her cold, lifeless one, and intertwined his fingers with hers.
"Corbinye," he murmured, softer than her breathing, "it's Gem."
He sat quiet then, holding her hand, watching her face and thinking of nothing, or so he would have said to any who asked. He may even have entered a doze, for he did not see that her eyes were open until she spoke his name.
"Anjemalti?"
"Yes," he leaned forward, so that she might see him more clearly, and tightened his grip on her hand. "I'm here, Corbinye, and well enough, though I seem to have a gift for getting shot in the shoulder. . .." He fancied he saw a smile quiver on that tight, tired mouth and smiled himself.
"I promised your physician, there, that I would not tire you," he said, nodding to where the boy kept vigil by the fire. "But I hope you won't mind it, if I stay by."
"I will sleep easier for it," she whispered. "Gods keep you, cousin." Her eyes hazed for a moment; cleared. "How fares the Vornet?"
"In the keeping of the Telios," he told her. "I expect we'll have to decide what to do with them eventually. But you must rest."
"In a moment," she said, but then lay still, breath coming in shallow gasps, cold fingers gripping his weakly.
"Corbinye . . ." Fear brought tears to his eyes, and the boy's frantic voice cried from memory: She might die! "We must get you to Hyacinth. The healing unit . . ."
"I doubt I would survive the journey," she whispered, as if it were of no moment. She seemed to wilt further beneath the furs; her fingers slackened in his and her eyes drooped shut. "I am happy you are with me, Anjemalti. . .."
Around the terror in his heart, Gem murmured, "Sleep, Corbinye." He touched her cheek, laid a finger against her lips. "I will be here when you wake."
"Sleep . . ." she murmured, and subsided, breath evening somewhat, her hand curled, resistless, in his.
He leaned back, seeing the signs of death in her, thinking of Hyacinth, so near, yet inaccessible to one in such desperate need. That Corbinye should die for the sake of a kilometer's travel . . .
There was a sound, as of something scrapping against stone, and Gem started, half-turning on the stool—
And bowed his head to the green-robed figure standing at the end of the bed, hood pulled up and hands tucked into wide sleeves.
The figure returned the courtesy, pulled its hands free and set back the hood, revealing the pleasant face of a man of middle years. "Trident Bearer," he said softly. "I am Third of the Five Telios. The Gatekeeper spoke to me of turmoil, and revolt against being chosen. It is for the Telios to teach and for all Bindalche to provide those things the Trident Bearer asks for." He slipped his hands back into his sleeves and stood, apparently willing to wait thus all day.
Gem stared at him. "I ask for the life of this woman."
Third of the Five moved his shoulders, face expressing infinite sadness. "The Trident Bearer is not a child."
"No," Gem agreed. "Nor is he quite a fool. I require the following items, and I require them now: Any and all information regarding the Trident's past deeds, its manufacture and its ultimate purpose."
Third blinked, bowed. "The Trident Bearer need only ask," he said formally. "Runners shall be dispatched this very hour to each of the holy troves. The writings shall be brought you with all haste, though I regret that you may not have any but the current writings now."
"It is sufficient," Gem said. "You will teach me—immediately—the manner in which I may communicate with the Trident."
Third tipped his head, puzzlement showing in his face. "Communicate?"
"Communicate," Gem said sharply. "Play no games with me, sir. I am ill and my cousin is failing before my eyes. Shlorba's Smiter has chosen me, so you say, for partnership in its present endeavor. That is well, I shall be its partner. But I have received the tuition of a master. I have skills and necessities of my own. I am no child to be molded to the Smiter's whim, nor an empty vessel to be filled and, mindless, used. If this is to be a partnership, the will of Gem ser Edreth shall be active within it."
"Ah." The man's eyes were shining, and he bowed most deeply. "The singers shall be told of this!" he cried, and held out his hands. "I had been taught that the Smiter speaks, but the lore you demand is not mine. I will go now, with the Trident Bearer's permission, and send the First of the Telios. She may teach you these mysteries."
"I don't care who teaches me," Gem snapped, his eyes on Corbinye's waning face. "But I will have it taught at once."
"At once," Third reiterated, bowing himself feverishly out of the room. "At once, Trident Bearer."
Gem took a deep breath, closed his eyes—and opened them, startled, at the unexpected pressure of fingers upon his.
Corbinye's eyes were open, watching him with some puzzlement. "It—speaks, Anjemalti?"
He sighed and reached out, cupping her cheek in his hand. "It speaks," he said, and the tears that had pricked at the back of his eyes spilled over. "Corbinye, do not leave me."
* * *
The Grounder's name was Borgin Vo Riss and he professed himself more than willing to lead the way to the Telios. He then offered the information that evening was fast approaching and hinted that perhaps the aged one and his boy would care to bide the night in Borgin's village and set out for the Telios on the morrow.
"Not a bad notion," Finchet allowed. "We're a bit done up, truth told."
Borgin was glad of the old one's wisdom, and said so. He also said that his chief would welcome the opportunity to speak to one who claimed friendship with Witness for the Telios. He waved his hand and two stepped forward from the half-dozen warriors he had brought with him to investigate that which had fallen from the skies. "These may carry your burdens, father."
"Gracious of you," Finchet said. "But we'll carry our own."
Borgin effaced himself, took rapid thought and waved his hand again. Water bottles appeared from among the troop. Borgin offered his to the old one, who drank thirstily. Rifta, his second, gave the child to drink, and for courtesy each of the six then took a mouthful before all moved out, the boy and the old man safely enclosed within a ring of warriors.
* * *
Finchet stumbled, and wished he hadn't been so stiff-necked about the offer of having the axe, at least, taken from him. Still, it wo
uldn't do to be without a weapon, with them far from Ship and not knowing the Captain's estate. Though this Borgin seemed reasonable enough, and as willing to aid them as if they were Shipmates.
The village, come upon abruptly at the base of a hill, was settled in among some scraggly trees—sticks merely, Finchet thought, with thin, ill-nourished leaves—maybe twenty tents and a handful of more permanent structures, all set up in a rectangle, facing in on an cleared space.
In the cleared space there was activity: A group of young ones, each seated before a flat stone. All the stones were the same shape, Finchet saw, as if deliberately worked that way, and on each was an array of smaller stones, twigs and bright bits of pottery.
Finchet stopped. Around him, the ring of warriors stopped and Borgin glanced aside. "Aged one?"
"Like to look over here a tick, if that's permitted." Finchet pointed at the group. Borgin bowed and stepped out of the way.
"Surely."
One person, a bit older, Finchet thought, than the ones at the rocks, sat on a stone in the center of things, from time to time calling out a phrase in what might be these Grounders' native tongue. When she did, each of the other children moved their hands in rapid pattern over their rock, slapping at this twig, or that shard. . ..
"What do you make of this, young Veln?" Finchet asked.
The boy shrugged, barely glancing at the flurry of activity. "Grounder madness, Uncle. Nothing to do with us."
"No? Look again. Seems to me it looks familiar, but I'm further away from my lessons than you are."
The girl on the center stone called out another phrase and quick hands flashed across half-a-dozen rocks. Veln stiffened; stared.
"It's a board test," he said slowly. "She must be calling the drill-patterns. . .."
"Thought so," said Finchet, and nodded to the girl, who had turned to look at them curiously. "Borgin and his mates carry spears, and these younglings are learning their drill-patterns. Wonder why."
"There must be a ship, Uncle," said Veln.
"Must there? Doubtless you're right." He straightened, sighing a little at the complaint of his back muscles. "Well, let's not keep the chief waiting, young Veln. Happen he'll have something fine to feed us."
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Anjemalti the Chosen would travel to the Vornet ship, forsooth, there to demand of the Smiter. Power the Smiter must relinquish, in kind of what had been eaten, to spark the motor that would bring the healing unit to life.
That in turn would save the life of Death's Warrior.
Witness for the Telios could scarce contain his secret heart. This was the way the very oldest Memories went: That Smiter and Seeker were each half of a whole great enough even to shatter event and rework worlds. The very greatest of the Seekers were thus partners of the Smiter. The rest, Witness suspected within his secret heart, were merely toys of the Goddess.
First of the Five was less exultant than Witness' heart. For the twelfth time she said to Anjemalti, "There is no need to put yourself to the strain of travel, to the danger of crossing the Smiter's will. The Smiter itself can be used to animate. The old tales are very clear, Trident Bearer. . .."
"No," Anjemalti said, his dozenth repetition, also, though now not accompanied by the shudder that had wracked him upon first learning of the Trident's power in this wise. He looked hard at First Telios, blue eyes brilliant to the point of insanity. "Understand me. It is not animation I seek, it is Corbinye's life. Do I make myself sufficiently plain?"
First Telios sighed and slid her hands into the wide sleeves of her robe, a gesture of resignation Witness knew well. "Yes, Trident Bearer."
"Good," Anjemalti said and stood, stamping his feet into his boots. He plucked a cloak from the bench, swung it around his shoulders and twisted the brooch shut. "Then let us begin."
* * *
The night was far advanced, but their way was well lighted by the servants of the Telios. The drained Vornet ship was merely an easy stroll down the hillside in the coolness, even for one recently wounded. Gem used the Trident as a staff, as was his habit, and reviewed the instructions he had gained for its proper use.
As he understood it, the Fearstone was the key to communication with the Trident. He had a moment of disorientation and nearly stumbled on the stony path as Shilban's voice chided him out of the night: "Sarialdan isn't alive, it's just a dumb transmitter. All it does is transmit fear, boy. Just fear."
But First of the Telios had taught him that Sarialdan transmitted more than fear. Transmitted, in fact, the whole range of emotive energy. Gathered it, refined it and released it encoded along the various paths swirling around the Trident's length, opening and closing synapses, tripping switches in sequence, to produce a predictable outcome.
All that was needed was practice.
First of the Telios had also taught him that the Trident had become less and less effective over the years. The wise had understood that this indicated a lessening of the quality of those who Sought. But here came Gem ser Edreth, with a Trident made whole, capable again of miracles—she had thanked him for showing her this lesson. She had requested, diffidently, that he allow the singers and the scribes to hear the way of the Trident's mending, so that, if any damage should occur in the future . . .
Gem put that thought away; concentrating instead upon the technique she had given him to clear his mind and smooth his emotions. He must see himself standing at the center of a great peace, so the instructions went, with all of his inner resources spread before him, yet apart from him. He must see his emotions—his anger, his love, his fear—as tools to his hand. Interfaces, he had translated for himself, as the wristlet was the interface between his thought and the spiders' actions.
Still, the spiders had never, for all their faithful service, sent their own thoughts and necessities back along the line to the mind of their creator.
"It speaks," he had said to First of the Telios when she came to him.
She had bowed her head. "I had heard that it was sometimes so, Trident Bearer. But not always. You are indeed among those Chosen for greatness."
Of the mechanism by which it spoke, of the probability of its speaking, she had no wisdom. The old tales told of the Trident speaking, but only the Trident Bearers had ever heard it.
"Delightful," Gem had murmured then, and directed her to teach him what she did know, which, in its way, was considerable. Gem only hoped, for Corbinye's life, that he had learned enough to do what must be done.
* * *
Gem walked up the ramp, leaning heavily on the Trident now, nodded to the Bindalche standing guard at the gaping hatch, and hesitated, caught by the one who stood to the right, flowers and feathers braided into his hair, a wide belt hung with amulets 'round his waist.
"You are the chief now of Tremillan Tribe?" he asked.
The other laid his hand flat over his heart, "I am Ven Cabrise EnTallia, Trident Bearer," he said warily. "I thank you for your notice."
"No trouble," Gem said. "Ven kelBatien Girisco was a great chief. I honor her sacrifice for her people."
In the flickering torch light, the man's face altered, wariness melting. "I will tell the singers so, Trident Bearer." He hesitated, then added, "Joy to you."
"And to you," Gem returned and stepped into the ship.
Torches had been set here and there on the silent bridge, casting dancing shadows. Out of kindness for First Telios and Witness, following him into what must seem to them unrelieved blackness, he plucked one of the torches free and bore it with him down the narrow companionway, past crew quarters, galley, gym and finally into the doc's office. There he pulled a fire extinguisher from its bracket and set the torch in its place, so that the dancing light illuminated all corners of the tiny space—more or less.
He found the emergency generator, bent to get a grip on it—and suddenly gasped as his wound protested. Straightening, he set the Trident on a convenient cot and beckoned to Witness.
"Help me with this."
First of the Telios bridled. "Shlorba's Eyes is bound to watch, and to recall truly for the Telios."
"Yes," said Gem, mustering what patience he could, "and as soon as he helps me hook up this generator, there will be something for him to witness."
"It is not done—" First Telios began, and then clamped her mouth as Witness strode past her and went to the Trident Bearer's side.
"Where must it be, Anjemalti?"
"There." The Trident Bearer pointed. "Cable's not long enough to reach from here."
Shlorba's Eyes bent, grabbed hold of the built-on handle and heaved, a moment later placing the generator in the spot the Trident Bearer had indicated.
"Thank you," said Gem calmly and yanked out a cable, clamped it into place on the healing unit, pulled out another cable and seated it, then bent and flipped several switches set in the face of the generator. He walked over to the cot where he had laid it and picked up the Trident, but he did not immediately go back to the generator.
Instead, he leaned across the cot, catching First Telios' eyes with his. "Understand this: If that generator comes to life, send for Corbinye immediately, place her within the larger unit and seal the door. Wait until a chime sounds and then help her out. Do this first, even if something should seem to have happened to me or to the Trident. Do you understand me?"
She gave him back, stare for stare. "I understand your words," she said coldly.
"Will you obey them?" Gem asked softly, wondering at the note of danger that made the softness hard.
Credit her for toughness and a long life lived imposing her will upon others strong-willed as she. First of the Telios did not drop her eyes. But she did lick her lips. "I will obey them," she said and Gem nodded.
"I am happy to hear you say so," he said, still with that deadly softness; then he turned back to the generator.
He took the stance that had become most natural to him, since First Telios had not been able to teach him one better—Trident-end braced against the deck between his boots, both hands wrapped just below the Fearstone, fingers entwined. He leaned on it slightly, because he was so tired, and looked at the generator between the wickedly sharp tines.