The Tomorrow Log and Dragon Tide

by Sharon Lee

  He took a deep breath and strove to clear his mind, to set aside his irritation with First of the Telios, his worry for Corbinye, his terror that this might not work, that she would die after all, in spite of the best he could do. He, who had killed her once already.

  Deliberately, he shut each of those concerns off, making his mind a clear white space, where he seemed to hang, weightless, the universe narrowed to the generator, seen between the barring of the tines.

  Within the white space of his mind, he spoke: I want that operating.

  It seemed to him that his words echoed, as if they went far beyond himself and his mind, into a region unthinkably vast.

  Faintly, really much too faintly for it to be more than the trickery of one's own tired ears, he heard a trill of laughter. Then nothing.

  Frustration spiked, and fear of failing. He felt the Trident warm in his hands, saw Sarialdan glow to surly life—and deliberately closed his eyes, breathing deeply and evenly, clearing his mind of everything. He must consider his emotions tools, so First of the Telios had taught him. But what did he know of emotion? It had been Edreth's care to show his apprentice the path around such things, so limiting to a thief's success.

  Never give your name to the roomgirl. Never, never ask hers. Keep all at arm's length, or further. Trust no one. Reserve your care for your craft and for your spiders. A thief is always outside—an intelligent observer—aloof, uninvolved. . ..

  "Corbinye," Gem whispered, unaware that he spoke aloud. "Linzer. Shilban. Edreth. Edreth, you lied. . .." For what but love explained sacrifices made on behalf of a child not of his body, the son of his soul, the heir of all his worldly goods? What but love had forced Edreth into that last mad scheme, when he might as easily have followed his own advice, stayed aloof and turned his wayward 'prentice loose. . .. The scheme where he had taken his death, yes, and never a word of blame . . .

  The Trident had warmed his fingers to the point of discomfort. He gripped it tighter, seeing only the past, where Edreth was busy weaving protections around the only thing he had ever loved, striving to make it invulnerable. . ..

  Gem gasped, shuddering as the tears came, bent his head—and felt the flare of heat, saw through closed eyes the flare of light—

  And heard, in the sudden, fire-shot darkness, the hum of a generator, coming to life.

  * * *

  Ria had her walkabout and Milt had woken from his nap. They'd wandered down to the canteen and puzzled out the sequence for drawing rations, and they'd dawdled over the meal, talking some, and then not, with the din of the life support system all around.

  Ria finally pushed back from the table and looked at the kid, seeing her worries plain in his eyes.

  "Let's find comm," she said. "See what's taking Dez all year."

  "All right," said Milt and came with her, down the rickety halls to the core, and up a couple levels to dead center.

  Ria grunted satisfaction and hit the prime chair, fingers flashing over the antiquated board, calling up the lights. Milt wilted into the assistant's chair and leaned back, watching her and surreptitiously wiping the sweat off his lip.

  "Out line?" Ria muttered to herself, and a second later: "got 'er. Now for beam-adjust. And now for Dez." She punched the buttons with assurance, taking a tick to send Milt a grin.

  The line crackled live and Ria sang out their ID and their position, adding a: "So, Dez, what's keeping the party? You fall asleep?"

  No answer.

  Milt stiffened at that, and Ria frowned. "Must have wrong line," she muttered and went through the routine again, running the translations in her head.

  "Yo, Dez! InRing crew three-three-six on GenShip attention required quicktime! Get us outta here, man. Vacation's over."

  Only line-crackle came back to them. Milt ran a shaking hand over his face, fingertips coming away wet.

  "Try General Alert," he said, but Ria's fingers were already on the board, slapping up the emergency numbers, chanting the Company's Mayday with the precision of a prayer.

  The lines buzzed empty.

  Ria sat back hard in her chair, staring at the old board, seeing the places where the metal was worn dull, and where toggles had been replaced with wood, rather than plastic; the places where the colors had worn right off, so you needed to know the drill by rote. . ..

  "They did it," the kid whispered next to her. "They've got the Big Ship."

  "Shit," said Ria, and bit her lip, thinking about a long, mostly misspent life. Thinking about ending it here, on a ship so old it gave her the spooks. . .. She put her hands on the arm rests and levered herself out of the chair.

  "Where're you going now?" asked Milt.

  "Engine room," Ria said grimly. "Going to see if we can get this buggy moving."

  Chapter Sixty-Nine

  It was a four day walk to the Grotto of the Telios, though Finchet thought Borgin Vo Riss and his group of hearties could have quartered the time, left on their own.

  Still, they set an old man's pace, and after the first day Finchet was glad of it—and glad of the Grounder custom that dictated he be waited on by those younger. There was no wood-chopping and assorted camp tasks for him, though Veln drew a man's share of those.

  The boy brought him a horn cup, full to the brim with water, and Finchet had seen enough of the land by now to know how great a gift that brimming cupful was.

  "Thank you," he said and took a sip of the tepid liquid before asking, "You doing well, are you, young Veln?"

  The boy grinned at him out of a grimy, exalted face. "Well and more than well, Uncle. Have you ever dreamed of such a place?"

  "No," said Finchet, with perfect truth, and took another sip, holding it in his parched mouth before swallowing. "You still have the Book?"

  Veln looked, Finchet thought, a little hurt. "Of course."

  "That's fine," he said. "You keep that close, hear me? If something untoward comes my way, you get the Book to the Captain. That's my rede."

  The boy straightened, face losing a little of its heedless joy. "Yes, Uncle."

  Finchet smiled and reached out to grip the thin young arm. "You're a good lad. Go on with the rest of your chores, now."

  He was left then, with his water and his thoughts, but not for as long as that. Another shadow found him where he sat on a rock out of the way of the bustle of mid-day camp and he looked up to see Borgin, hands clasped diffidently before him.

  " 'day to you, lad."

  "Fine day to you, father," the warrior said in the gentle voice he reserved for Finchet and for his chief. He hesitated. "It is permitted that one sit and converse?"

  "Sit away," Finchet returned, waving a hand at the various rocks nearby.

  Those, however, would have put Borgin on a level with the old one. He made one of the complicated hand-signs he was prone to and sat himself down on the ground.

  Looking up at Finchet he said, "We will be with the Telios this evening, father. But I feel you should know that it is likely that Shlorba's Eyes—Witness for the Telios, your friend—may not be with them. His duty is such that he may, indeed, be very far away."

  "Your chief told me that," Finchet said unworriedly. "We'll take the chance of him not being to home. Mayhap his folk will know how to get a grip on him. Unless you're thinking the Telios won't let us in."

  Another flash of those big fingers. "The Telios gladly house any seeker. It is my duty to say that, though we come to the Telios this evening, your seeking may not yet be done."

  "Understood. The Crew's been seeking for centuries, so the logs say. Reckon the boy and me can seek a little while longer."

  "The old one is wise." Borgin bent his head, looked up. "What shall become of the growing things?"

  "Good question," Finchet said and then stared off into the never-never, rubbing his fingers absently down the satin finish of the cup.

  He came to himself with a start and glanced down at the warrior, patiently waiting. "Land hereabouts is dry," he offered.

  "Old one, it
is so."

  "Been that way since when, you know?"

  "Since The Combine came and broke the backs of the Bindalche," Borgin said in a flat voice, as if it were something he had by rote, "hurling us down into barbarism and building the Dam to be Hated upon Traitor's Point, just beneath the polar ice cap." He blinked and added in a more normal tone. "The Telios will know more, father. I have only the tales."

  "Hm. Saw that dam on the way in. Better for everybody, she was gone. . .."

  Borgin looked up, pure joy in his eyes. "The old one will show us the way to kill it? To free the land and renew the Bindalche?" He came to his knees, yanked the big knife out of his belt and laid it flat across Finchet's knees. "I am yours!"

  "No," said Finchet firmly, "you aren't. Bless you, child, I'm no Captain. You want to be swearing knife service, you wait 'til you talk to Captain Kristefyon—he's the one for knowing how to go on with things and how to get broke mended. Now take that up and put it away. I'm too old a fellow for such foolishness."

  Borgin looked crestfallen, but he picked up his knife and stowed it and sat back on his heels.

  "Father?"

  "Eh?"

  "How shall I find this—Captain Kristefyon? If he is so great a chief as you say, I will cede him the use of my blade."

  Finchet sipped the last dregs of the water gratefully and put the cup aside. "We're hoping to find him with Witness for the Telios," he said slowly. "He's the one who needs to decide about the green things, too, see it? Hoping he'll be in shape to decide it soon. Though, truth said, he's a bit fond of chancy adventures. If we find him dead, then we're on our own, for the Garden will never lift again, that's certain."

  The other man frowned. "Why does your Captain travel with Shlorba's Eyes, O aged one?"

  "Because my Captain is promised to carry around something called a Smiter or a Trident and where he goes—"

  "So goes the Eyes of Shlorba," Borgin breathed reverently. "Your Captain is Trident Bearer, old one?"

  "Just said so, didn't I?"

  "Indeed, indeed, you did!" Borgin leapt to his feet so suddenly Finchet flinched on his rock. But the warrior simply stood for a moment, back bowed, face tipped open to the sky, arms outstretched. The moment passed, and he was as suddenly bent forward, hands moving incomprehensibly.

  "Father, your instruction is most excellent. Accept thanks from the center of this one's heart. You bring tidings of greatness for all Bindalche." He straightened, a grin that had nothing to do with humor illuminating his face. "That it should happen in my lifetime!" He collected himself with an effort. "The boy approaches with your meal. Eat well. A blanket shall be brought to you, so that you may rest for the final stage of the journey. O joyous—" He turned away and strode back toward his mates.

  Finchet shook his head and took the slab of dried meat and the handful of small sweet fruits from Veln and then sat with the meal in his hand, staring very hard at nothing.

  * * *

  The book was old—as old as the oldest he had seen in Shilban's house—bound in heavy leather. A picture had once been painted on the front cover—the chips of color that remained were purple, and green, and gold. The edges of the pages were gilded and those pages were not, as Gem had expected, thinner, more supple leather, but a thick, fine-grained paper that had taken the ink well and held it without fading.

  "The second of the Books of the Telios," said First from her station at his shoulder. "We have lost the secret of that ink, alas, and later books are not so easy to read as this."

  Gem ran his fingers lightly over the pages, noting the ridges where the pen had scored the paper. "And the first Book of the Telios?" he asked.

  "Is written on rock walls and on tablets of marble, malachite and gold. It may not be brought to you. You must go to it. If you think it will avail you. The Seeker must know that we have those among us who have devoted long lifetimes to the study of that single Book."

  "Hm," said Gem, more than half-concerned with the study of the Book within his hands. "And is the Smiter spoken of from the very beginning?"

  First of the Telios moved away, tucking her hands into her sleeves. Witness, watching the Trident in its resting place across the room, spared a moment of his attention to look at her face.

  "The Bindalche," she said slowly, "were without the Smiter for many years. So the Books teach us."

  Gem looked up sharply. "So the Books teach you," he repeated. "In what Book does the Smiter first appear?"

  She avoided his gaze. "The old writing—you understand, it is very dense, very difficult to follow. The Books that come after this one are faded, some pages impossible to read. . .." She squared her shoulders and looked at him straightly. "The first clear mention of the Smiter is in the third Book," she said. "There was a battle . . ."

  "Between the god and his children, the goddess and the younger god," said Gem and Witness for the Telios came to his feet, staring.

  First of the Telios also stared; regained her composure. "You have that tale from the Smiter?"

  "No," said Gem, "from a very old book, on a planet called Henron . . ." He glanced over and Witness saw humor in the depths of the large, fey eyes. "A fragment only—the kernel myth. Never any clue of what the myth might mean—or if the god had a name."

  Witness for the Telios sank back to his seat upon the floor and disciplined his mind for duty.

  Gem turned back to the Book before him, looked to First. "I will study this and consider what best is to be done from here," he said, in tones eloquent of dismissal. "Please, if you will, let me know when the other volumes arrive."

  She stiffened, but retained enough sense of what was due the Trident Bearer to bow with courtesy and retire.

  Gem ran his fingers once again over the fine paper with its ridges where the pen had passed over. He opened to the middle and studied a page there; opened to the end and did the same. He inspected the binding and frowned at the remains of the illumination upon the cover.

  Then he laid the Book carefully back down upon the table and stood. Without a word to Witness, he passed from the room into the second chamber, where Corbinye slept off the effects of her wound and its healing.

  The healing had not been as complete as he had hoped for—she was still weak, exhausted—but the learned of the Telios and the physician incarcerated with the Vornet crew both agreed that she was out of any danger. Rest and nourishment, they all had counseled, quietude and exposure to the kindness of those who loved her.

  This last had been from the youngest of the Telios healers and Gem had thanked her most profoundly, while he wondered in his heart where there were any who cared for Corbinye, besides himself, inept at love, and Witness, who bowed to duty first.

  He was forced to hope that his ineptness would not hinder her progress and he visited hourly, speaking with her if she were wakeful; just watching, if she were asleep.

  Presently, she was restless, tossing and twisting under the fur covers, as if she could find no easeful position.

  Gem leaned over and smoothed her hair, murmuring her name, bidding her, softly, to lie still. She did quiet somewhat, to his surprise, and he straightened the furs over her and turned to go.

  A slim hand caught his and he looked up to see her eyes open and bright.

  "I put you to a great deal of trouble, cousin."

  "No trouble," he protested and then grinned wryly. "Less trouble than the damned Trident, at least, and not nearly so much as First of the Telios."

  She chuckled, her fingers stroking the hand she held him by, so that he nearly snatched it away before forcing himself to be patient with the touch and ignore the flame it ignited.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked her. "Thirsty? I can send for something. . .."

  "Only wakeful," she said and pulled on his hand, urging him down to sit beside her on the bed. "Talk to me, Anjemalti. What have you been about while I've been sleeping the day away?"

  "There's a book," he began, meaning to tell her the tale of the Books of the Bindalch
e, but he got no further than that before the mat was thrust back from the door and one of the servants of the Bindalche burst into the room.

  "Trident Bearer, your pardon! There is come several of the warriors of the Bindalche, escorting an old man and a boy. They say they belong to you, Trident Bearer, and send the names Finchet and Veln."

  Chapter Seventy

  Finchet followed the short green robe down the stone corridor. He kept one hand firm on Veln's shoulder and one ear on the comforting slight sounds made by Borgin and his mates, keeping pace behind.

  They traversed several corridors, going deeper and deeper into the mountain. Finchet took care to memorize the turns: Right, right, right, left, right, left, left and—

  "This is the place," the robe said, sweeping a leather curtain back and stepping hastily aside. "The Trident Bearer is within."

  Finchet sent a sharp look into the depths of the hood, finding a pair of wide brown eyes in a face no older than Veln's.

  "Huh," he said and pulled Veln close, so they both went over the threshold together.

  The first thing he saw within the room was the Captain's trident, gems all a-gleaming in the firelight. And sitting before it, bland-faced as ever, was Witness for the Telios.

  Finchet stopped and raised a hand. "Good to see you, lad."

  Witness inclined his head. "Gardener. Veln Kristefyon. A man is joyful to see you both well."

  "Very nearly didn't," Finchet said. "Captain about?"

  Witness turned his head and Finchet followed his gaze to the right and middle of the room, to where a stone table stood, with a gaudy big book upon it, and a slender man in a dark gray robe standing behind both, his long yellow hair neatly tied in a tail down his neck and his eyes Crew-sized and blue.

  "Well, now, there's a sight for worried eyes," said Finchet, letting Veln go at last and coming straight across the room. "Feared we'd find you in several odd pieces. Happy to know an old man can be as wrong as a young one."