Sheri Tepper - Shapeshifter 01

by King's Blood Four(Lit)

There were times when Huld came, came to argue, remonstrate, dig into my head to see what went on in there. Little enough, the Gameslords knew. There was little enough to find. When I was let alone I made long, dreamy memories of Tossa, summoned her up beside me and made lovers' tales and poems to her. I did not think of Mertyn or of Mavin. I did not think of

  Himaggery or Windlow. I did not think, in fact, more than necessary to keep me alive.

  There were times when the torches went out and I was left in darkness. There was one time when I refused to eat, and they brought men to hold me down while a

  Tragamor forced food down my throat. After that, I ate.

  There was the time that Mandor-no, I do not need to remember that. He had to tie me, and I do not think he got any pleasure of it.

  I will not tell of that time, for it was the same over and over for a long while. Instead, I will tell of what happened at the Bright Demesne. I did not learn of it until later, but it fits the tale here, so why should it not be told:

  When those who captured me turned west down the great valley, they were seen by Yarrel and Windlow from a post high on a canyon wall. When we had gone, they sought Silkhands and Chance, finding them about eventime. They did not wait on morning, but rode swiftly east toward the Bright Demesne. At first light Yarrel told them they rode hard upon the tracks of two other horses, and they knew at once it was Dazzle and Borold.

  The four of them together would have been no match for Dazzle and Borold in a rage, so they took pains not to ride on the heels of those who went before. They left the road and made their way slowly through the forests, arriving warily among the outlyers of the Bright

  Demesne a full day after Dazzle and Borold had come there. This was about at the same time that I rode on the laboring little horse over the highest pass of the

  Hidamans on my way to Bannerwell. Once within

  Himaggery's protection, Silkhands feared no more but went to him as swiftly as she could with the tale of

  Dazzle's perfidy and my capture upon her lips.

  I was told later that Himaggery's meeting with old

  Windlow was joyous, full of tender feeling and gratitude for the old man's safety, the meeting marred only by the story of my capture and of Dazzle's infamy. Dazzle had already been sent away once more by Himaggery, sent into the eastern forests on a contrived "errand" and could not now be found without great effort. As it was, they knew only that I had been seen in company with a pawner and a Demon and some others, riding westward to some unknown destination. The horses had been of the common type which are ridden by all the mountain people, so Yarrel was of no help.

  They conferred at great length about finding me, discussing this possibility and that. Had I been taken for ransom? If so, by whom? Had I been taken for some other reason? If so, what? They engaged in recriminations of themselves that Dazzle had not been Read when she returned, but Himaggery had only thought to be rid of her, not where she had been in the interim.

  "My fault, " he said, not once but many times. "I should have realized that she would have been involved in any mischief or wickedness which she could find or create. Why did I not have the sense to examine her, to question Borold. He would not have had the wits to oppose me... "

  Yarrel, impatient at this long delay, simply demanded help in finding me. Himself a pawn, though that was not generally known, he summoned the courage to demand that Himaggery exert the utmost effort in finding, me and aiding me if that were needed. No, I have not put that right. Yarrel did not need to summon courage. He simply was courageous. I miss him greatly in these later days ,

  Then was the full power of the Bright Demesne assembled to the service of Himaggery. I have visualized it so many times. It happened in that great room, the audience hall, where we had first sat for our stories. Beneath the floor the hot waters of the springs flowed in channels, making the stones mist with steam, for they had been recently mopped for the occasion. The walls of that room are white, mighty blocks of stone polished to a high gloss set in curving bays, each bay lighted with tall windows, one above the other, each bay separated from its neighbor by a marble pillar on which vines are carved, and little beasts and birds, the whole inlaid with gems and gold and other precious materials so that it glitters in the light. Six or seven manheights above, the dome curves up in a sweep of polished white toward the Eye, a lens set in the center*of the dome. It is cut in a way to break the light, making small rainbows move across the floor and walls as the world tilts. At one side are a pair of shimmering doors, and at the other is

  Himaggery's seat, a simple stone chair pillowed with bright cushions and set-only high enough that he may be seen and heard by all. On this morning he had summoned all the Seers, Demons, and Pursuivants of his

  Demesne. and dependencies, and with them the

  Rancelmen and others whose Talent it is to seek and find. They came into that great room, a wide circle of them, with another circle inside that, and inside that a third, each Gamesman seated upon a cushion, his hands linked to those on either side, or her hands linked it may be, for many were women. In the center were a group of

  Elators. Silkhands, who had been keeping to her room until Dazzle was gone, Chance, and Yarrel were there a little behind Himaggery where they would not be in the way. Beside the seat was a bronze gong in a carved frame, and Himaggery took the striker between his hands as he spoke to the assembled Gamesmen.

  "These two, Yarrel and Silkhands, know Peter well.

  Chance has known him since he was a babe. You may take the pattern from them and then search wide. The boy was seen last some three days ago, in company with a pawner and Demon and some company of other

  Gamesmen, riding west down the Long Valley. Seek well, for this Demesne is honor bound to find him... "

  He struck the gong. Under the assembly the floors shuddered as workmen below shifted gates to allow the boiling water of the springs to surge beneath the stones.

  It grew hot, hotter, but only for the moment. In that moment the linked Gamesmen began to seek, each tied to another, each pulling the power of the springs below him, each sending mind into the vast forests of the

  Hidaman Mountains, west and north, west and south, seeking, seeking. But first...

  To Silkhands it felt as though she had been struck by some gigantic wing, monstrous yet soft. There was none of the normal Demon tickle in her head. Instead there was a feeling that her mind was taken from her and unfolded, laid out like a linen for the ironing, spread, smoothed, almost as though multiple hands stroked it to take out each wrinkle. Then it was folded up again, just as it had been, and put away,

  Yarrel and Chance did not describe it so. To them the search came as water, as though a stream ran into and away from them, bearing with it all manner of thought and memory so that they were stunned and silent when it was done, unable for many moments to think who they were or why they were in that place. This was

  "taking the pattern" as Himaggery had said, directing his searchers to go on the trail, like fustigars on the scent.

  They, with the scent of me in their nostrils, went out into the world to find me.

  Later no one remembered who found the first sign. It might have been a Rancelman, one used to seeking the lost, or more likely a Pursuivant who saw through

  Yarrel's mind the site of that canyon entrance. In the center of the audience hall sat the Elators. When a place could be sufficiently identified to guide her there, one would flisk out of sight, gone, directed by that linked

  Talent and her own to that distant place. There she searched, found the tracks which the Pursuivant said must be there, saw the direction they went, looked there for a landmark and returned. The landmark was passed through some Demon to another Elator who went as the first had gone, this time to the farther point.

  At one point a Seer called out as a sudden Vision interrupted the slower jump, jump, jump of Elators.

  "Further North, " he cried, "toward the White Peaks. "

  Thus the
search leaped forward until an Elator found the road once more. There were false landmarks as well as true ones. Sometimes the Elators overshot the mark and came out in places far from the road, sometimes the road branched and they guessed wrong. Sometimes the picture was dim and confused as it came from one into the minds of the others. The pace became slower. The room became hotter. There was no lack of power, but the bodies which used it were growing weary.

  Himaggery struck the gong once more, and the water-gates beneath the floor shuddered closed.

  "Eat, " ordered the Wizard. "Sleep. Walk in the gardens. We will meet once more in this room at dusk. "

  He invited Silkhands and Yarrel to join him with old

  Windlow in his own rooms for the meal. Silkhands was full of comment and chatter, as always.

  "I do not understand how this is done? What Game is this? I have not heard of this. "

  "No Game, Healer. We are not playing. We are seeking a reality, a truth. We have not done it often, not often enough to become truly practiced at it. We have done it only in secret, not when mischief makers were about. If you had not insisted in being always with

  Dazzle, you might have taken part before this time. "

  "But what is it? How is it done?"

  "To understand, you rnust first understand a

  Heresy... "

  "Oh, you two and your Heresies. I have yet to understand what either of you mean by Heresy. You have said nothing I have not learned or thought a thousand times... "

  "There are eleven Talents, " said Himaggery.

  "Nonsense, " she contradicted him. There are thousands. All in the Index, all of them. Each type of

  Gamesman has his own Talent. "

  "No, there are only eleven. "

  "But... "

  "You have asked, now be still and let me say. There are only eleven, Silkhands, twelve if you count the

  Immutables. "

  "The Immutables have no Talent!"

  "Indeed? They have the power to mute our Talents, to be themselves unchanged no matter what we attempt to do. Is that not a Talent?"

  "But, that's not what we mean when we say

  Talent... "

  "No. But it is what is true. It is in Windlow's book. "

  "The Index lists thousands. I have learned their names, their dress, their types, how they move, their

  Demesnes, all... "

  He turned from her to the mists and the fruit trees which mingled outside his windows. "Healer, your

  Talent is one of the eleven. You can name the others if you would. They are those which you have recently learned at Windlow's House. "

  "You mean what Windlow said about the First

  Eleven, from the religious books? What has that to do with... "

  He laughed. "Silkhands, you are such a child. Do you know that elsewhere in this world there is a group of very powerful Wizards who are known, collectively, as the Council? Did you know that they have taken upon themselves to assure that there are no heretics in our world? None who speak of arrangements not found in the Index? None who talk of the Immutables having

  Talent? You are so innocent. Here, we can talk of it.

  Here you are safe, in the Bright Demesne. But you will not thank me for it.

  "It was Windlow who saw it, long years ago, and taught it to me, quietly, so that it should not come to the

  . attention of the Guardians, those of the Council whose interest it is to maintain things always as they are. It was

  Windlow who saw that the books of religion are actually books of history, that what was said about the descent of our forebears was indeed true. '

  "We are told of Didir, a Demon. Imagine, Silkhands, imagine Yarrel, a world in which there were no Talents.

  It will be easy for you, Yarrel. Imagine a world all pawns. No power but the power of muscle and voice, persuasion and blows, nothing else. Perhaps some power of intelligence, too. Windlow and I argue about that. "

  "There would be intelligence, " said Yarrel. "There is power in intelligence. I know. I can imagine your world. "

  "Very well. Then, imagine that into this world is born one woman who can read the thoughts of others. Didir.

  Why is it that we call them Demons? Those who read thoughts? Hmmm? We speak of evil godlets as demons, wicked spirits are demons. Why, then, is a Reader a

  Demon?"

  "Because they would have considered her an evil spirit, an evil force, " said Yarrel. "They could not have helped but feel that way. It would have been terrible for them to have their thoughts wrenched out into the open, laid before others... "

  "Ah, yes. Even so. And the books of religion go on.

  They say that one was born named Tamor, an Armiger.

  The oldest books say Ayrman. Why is that do you suppose?"

  "Because he could fly, " said Silkhands. "Armigers can fly. "

  "And what would the world of pawns think of that?"

  "They would wonder at him, " said Yarrel. "And fear him, and perhaps hate him. I wonder that they did not kill him. "

  "Windlow says not, " Himaggery went on. Old

  Windlow nodded where he sat. "Windlow says that they, the pawns of that world took Tamor and Didir to some other place, away from the world of the pawn. "

  "What other place?" said Silkhands. "What place is there?"

  Himaggery shook his head. "Who knows? But

  Windlow believes this because he says it makes sense out of much he has read. He says that Didir and Tamor were sent away, and that thereafter they mated with one another, and either they or their offspring mated with some of the pawns who went with them. From their mating came Hafnor, an Elator. The Talent of an Elator is to transport himself, or herself, from place to, place.

  Generations later, from the family and lineage of Didir came the first Seer, Sorah. And so forth. And when you have listed them all, you have eleven. "

  "But there are more. There are Heralds, and

  Witches, and Rancelmen, and... "

  "The Witch has three of the eleven, " said Himaggery, patiently. "Firemaking, beguilement, and the power to store power, as Sorcerers do. A Witch has none of these in the strength that those who hold them singly do, but the witch has all three. "

  "And Heralds?"

  "Heralds have the power of flight, but only in small, and the power of Seeing, also in small, and a slight ability to move things with their minds, as Tragamors do. "

  "And Rancelmen?"

  "Seeing, Reading the thoughts of others, both in small, and a natural curiosity which seems to have little to do with Talent. "

  Yarrel said slowly, "Reading, Seeing, Flying,

  Transporting, Moving, Storing, Healing, Firemaking, thenwhat would you call it?"

  "Beguilement, the power of Kings and Princes. A power to make others believe in one, follow one.

  Sometimes the Talent is called 'follow-me. ' And this leaves two more: Shapeshifting and Necromancy. Those are the eleven. There are no others, except for the one held by the Immutables. "

  "Which the books of religion say was created purposefully by two Wizards, Barish and Vulpas. " Yarrel was very thoughtful. "I can imagine why they did it.

  They probably saw all the people without Talents being eaten up in the Game, and they felt it was wrong. So, they created a power which would protect the pawns from harm, and they gave it away. But only to some, " he concluded bitterly.

  "Perhaps there was not time to give it to all, "

  Silkhands said.

  "Perhaps they were prevented from doing so, " said

  Windlow. "When first I read of that act, I wondered why two Wizards would behave so. Then, at last, I knew. A Wizard would do such a thing when he learned the word Justice. It is a very old word. It is in my book.

  It means to do what is right, to correct what is wrong, to find the correct way. "

  "Correct?" asked Silkhands. "I do not understand correct. "

  "No, we do not know the word, " Himaggery agreed.

 
; "In the Game it is only the rules which matter. The rules are always broken, and there are few penalties for that, but it is still the rules which matter. Few care for what is honorable. None cares for what is right or just. They care only for the rules. Windlow says the rules were created to bring some order out of chaos, but over the centuries the rules became more important than anything else. They became the end rather than the means. Now,

  I have taught you heresy. There are those in the world who wish the Game to continue as it has been played for generation upon generation. There are those who do not care for the idea of justice-and well they might not.