Ancient Light

by Mary Gentle

  ‘It’s a miracle there are settlements here at all.’ Doug surveyed the landscape. The neck of his coverall was unfastened and he picked at it with oblivious obsession. ‘We didn’t by any chance cross the mountains, get into the wasteland beyond? It’s hardly believable that there are cities here.’

  I said, ‘We ought to move.’

  ‘We’re not in any immediate danger.’

  ‘That’s what’s so misleading, Doug. We can talk to the orbiter – some of the time – but that’s a fragile link. Think of them trying to locate us without it. In the middle of all this. We’ve got food and water here, no problem; but look out there. How far away is the nearest settlement?’

  He rested his hand on my arm for a moment.

  ‘Douggie, it’s okay, I know what this is. Because of what happened, it – well –’

  ‘Makes one aware of how much depends on chance?’

  ‘Everything … Dave and Ishida, they don’t believe in luck. When you’ve lived long enough to know how much is … is dependent on … what happens, outside your control, in a few seconds.’

  ‘I’ll tell you this, Lynne.’ The level sun made him squint, even with eyeshields, as he stared out at the plain. ‘I’ll tell you. I’ve finished with weighing-up and judging and – the rest of it. From now on I’ll do whatever comes along, to get PanOceania off this world. And off any world in my circuit. But you know that already.’

  With the last words, he looked at me; that small, bright gaze serious. The implied invitation was plain, and I was within an ace of taking it up … And knew, as I felt that infinitesimal hesitation, that it meant I wouldn’t. ‘If I did that, I’d be useless here. You can’t stop a thing like this, not once it’s been put in motion, but the effect can be cushioned. The way things are, that’s what we have to settle for. Reachable goals.’

  Doug, unusually direct, said, ‘But when young Rachel tells you to go to the Coast and find a foothold for the Company, you do it.’

  Pramila Ishida called out. At the same moment that Ishida exclaimed, David pointed.

  ‘There – what is it?’

  The level plain was made sharp and clear by the westering sun, behind the shuttle. A flake of brighter gold moved, changing its shape. And by some sudden comprehension that changing shape became a wide triangle, not altering itself, but emerging from behind what must (the eye now saw) be a ridge in the plain. It rippled, taking the wind. A hundred yards distant? A mile? Still partly obscured by the ground –

  ‘It’s a sail,’ I said. ‘It must – a canal …’

  ‘I’m getting heat-sensor readings,’ Pramila Ishida called. ‘At last. Lynne, there’s life out there.’

  A figure moved at the base of the sail. All things to its scale: now I saw the craft was some two or three hundred yards distant, still partially concealed by a ridge of earth.

  ‘David, you come with me; Pramila, keep the shuttle secure.’ I didn’t give Douggie the option. I walked down the ramp, hesitated, drew the CAS-IV and then reholstered it. I don’t like to carry even stun-weapons.

  ‘They might have scouts,’ David Osaka said, catching me up. ‘The reports say the Desert Coast hiyeks are hostile to each other.’

  Hiyek translates literally as “bloodline”. It carries all the implications of family, lineage, inheritance.

  ‘From what I used to hear at Mercenaries Guildhouses, the Coast hiyeks are almost permanently involved in some petty war …’ Treat it as familiar and maybe the boy will forget the hair-trigger violence in Kel Harantish. The rest of the Coast is no safer.

  Our footsteps were loud on the shale, soft on the earth. The heat leached all strength, muscles ached; and I paused for a moment to look round. The shuttle was a white humpbacked shape behind me. The sail glided slowly north. Now we were climbing a long shallow slope, losing sight of all but that and the daystarred sky.

  ‘Hail them, David, will you?’

  The Pacifican broke into a trot. A few moments later, I reached the top of the ridge. So deceptive: it was no more than a fold in the landscape. A scant few feet below me, a stone wall marked the rim of a canal. The water was pale azure, reflecting sky and shoals of daystars, in a channel some thirty yards across, and travelling north in a curve so gradual it appeared straight.

  David shouted again.

  ‘They’ve seen us,’ I said. I watched the sail altering, sending the low flat barge in towards the bank near us, and realized, they’ve had time to prepare to stop. That means they do have scouts – and where are they, now?

  Deceptive land. Memory of Kel Harantish: the whiplash sound of winchbow bolts. I took a step towards the approaching barge. What do we have to protect us? Not weaponry: that’s just a sign for them to read, since we’re so few …

  Our difference. Earth’s name. Apart from that, only wit and words.

  ‘Kethrial-shamaz shan’tai,’ I called, as if there was nothing more to be thought of than courtesy. ‘Give you greeting.’

  10

  Upon Such Fragile Links

  Two young Ortheans leaped from the deck to the paved walkway, fending the barge with ropes and hooks. They were armed. Hooked knives hung from their belts, winchbows were slung across their backs. They went barefoot, in much-mended britches; pale manes braided into protective mats on head and spine. One of them kept her gaze on me, eyes permanently veiled against the glare.

  A young male Orthean stepped to the ship’s rail, looking down. ‘Are you what they call s’aranthi? Offworlders?’

  I stepped down on to the walkway, on to pale, dusty, hard-packed earth. At close hand I saw the barge wasn’t made of timber but of riveted metal plates. Sails hung from between metal hoops shaped like wishbones.

  ‘Yes, we’re offworlders. Is this near Maherwa?’

  The dialect of the south-east Coast is not so different from other Coast dialects, a little easier to follow, if anything. I was aware of David Osaka close behind me, with drawn CAS-IV handgun; of the mixture of languages in which comments were being made on deck. I hazarded a guess, before the young male could answer: ‘Are you mercenaries?’

  He nodded. ‘Under command of one from hiyek-Anzhadi.’

  ‘Then tell your commander I want to talk.’

  Another Orthean male, this one seemingly in his thirties, left the group and came down to the rail. Unlike the others, he had the bleached skin of the Desert Coast. Dust patterned in the creases of the meshabi-robe belted round his narrow hips; his mane – cropped at the front, braided down the spine – was yellow. As he turned to shout an order back at the crew, I saw the vee of his mane, the arched ribs and paired nipples. Then he moved with a loose-boned ease, vaulting the rail and dropping down to the walkway.

  ‘I heard there’d been s’aranthi on the Coast, but not here. What do you want?’

  ‘How far is the city?’

  He didn’t answer. He stood lightly, relaxed, as if capable of instant action. His white robe was torn, patched in several places, and belted with a length of chain, from which hung a hook-bladed knife. Seen close, he had a thin, almost gaunt face; wide-set eyes and a fox-jaw. And then the nictitating membrane slid back, disclosing eyes the colour of wet sand, and for one second he looked at me with a wickedly amused and conspiratorial grin.

  ‘More than a day’s journey, shan’tai, but that shouldn’t trouble you with the “ship” you have.’

  ‘What’s your name, shan’tai?’ I had to ask something to gain me time to think.

  ‘Sethri-safere of hiyek-Anzhadi.’

  In the hiyek nomenclature that translates as “firstborn of a triple birth, child of firstborn of twins”; which shows the priorities of the Coast, if nothing else.

  ‘I’m Lynne de Lisle Christie, this is David Osaka.’

  ‘Give you greeting. And the other offworlders with you, the female and the old male?’

  I looked at him for a while.

  He said quietly, ‘There is a war just finished, shan’tai, between hiyek-Anzhadi and hiyek-Rythana; and so
I do not travel without knowing what lies before me.’

  I said, ‘I want to talk to some of the Coast hiyeks, Sethri-safere. I’ll talk with yours, provided it’s understood that we come peacefully, and intend to have it stay that way.’

  ‘Talk of what?’

  ‘Trade?’

  Again that movement of the nictitating membrane; and he put his head a little to one side, gaze going beyond me to the Pacifican. He said absently, ‘So I address you as –?’

  ‘Christie.’

  ‘Shan’tai Christie.’ He returned the full force of that brilliant gaze to me. ‘To be truthful, Christie, the city is probably less than a few hours’ journey north. You could reach it tonight, but I doubt that you want the city just yet. There’s a siiran of hiyek-Anzhadi that we’ll reach very soon. Why don’t you come there, with us?’

  ‘What’s happening?’ David said in Sino-Anglic. ‘Lynne, I can’t follow half of what he’s saying.’

  Impolite, but it did at least inform me – if I read him rightly – that Sethri-safere had little understanding of Sino-Anglic.

  We couldn’t reach the city tonight, not with a temporarily grounded shuttle … A small part of me noted that the literal translation of siiran is “enclosed garden” or “shelter”. We need shelter on this hostile Coast. The orbiter can track us, but we don’t have supplies for a long wait.

  I briefly repeated the conversation to David Osaka.

  He said, ‘What will happen if we refuse?’

  Light caught the burnished hull of the canal ship, and I squinted up against the glare. The sails had metal slats, capable of being turned to catch or release the wind, and lithe figures swarmed to alter them. Faces lined the rail, watching us. Young, armed Ortheans; eyes veiled, cautious. I looked back at Sethri-safere.

  And he also is in hostile territory, the territory of a just-fought war. I wish I knew, are offworlders a liability or a prize on the Coast?

  ‘They’ll keep us under surveillance,’ David guessed. Involuntarily, he glanced back towards the shuttle. ‘If they wanted to take us for interrogation …’

  ‘On the other hand,’ I said, ‘an ally would be very useful in the city.’

  As David Osaka keyed a channel on his wristlink, I turned back to the yellow-maned Coast Orthean.

  ‘Shan’tai Sethri, it would be helpful if you could wait a few minutes. One other person will be joining us. And I must talk to my own people, through my ship.’ Which I don’t want to risk trying to move, but I’d as soon you didn’t know that.

  The yellow-maned Orthean smiled, with a look that said consider me warned, and I thought, It’s good to talk to someone who understands a precaution without having to have it explained.

  In the formal mode, I added, ‘We’re pleased to accept your invitation, shan’tai.’

  ‘And even more pleased not to spend the night in a wasteland full of wild mercenaries …’ Sethri grinned. His tone made it collusive, a joke shared only by the two of us, and I thought, Yes, you’re the one to watch – and don’t you know it.

  I turned to go back to the shuttle, and found David Osaka leaning on the low wall that rimmed the canal, absently digging at the stone-plaster surface.

  ‘Something interesting here,’ he said in a casual tone, putting the fair hair back from his eyes. Equally casually, I stopped beside him.

  Where he had chipped away the pale plaster, and where he had dug with his boot-heel in the packed earth of the walkway, there shone the unmistakable blue-grey opalescence of chiruzeth.

  It was not a long journey.

  The Coast is a different Orthe. Brazen sky, daystars hardly visible; air like the breath of a furnace. Chains ratcheted loudly as the barge’s sail collapsed. I saw David take the opportunity to speak into his wrist comlink, look both pleased and startled, and not in my direction. So Pramila Ishida’s still in range on the shuttle? That’s mildly reassuring, I thought, wonder how long it’ll last?

  Doug Clifford joined me at the barge’s rail. ‘Is this a way-station of some kind, do you think?’

  A cluster of low, flat-roofed buildings stood back from the canal. They were small huts, all but indistinguishable from the surrounding hillocks and ridges. As we came closer, I saw Ortheans. All carried blades, winchbows. Like the mercenaries, they were ill-dressed; the metal the only thing pristine. The place had the air of an armed camp.

  ‘Maybe we should have tried to make the city,’ I said.

  We docked, and the barge’s holds were opened; anonymous bundles were unloaded, with much shouting from the Guildhouse mercenaries. By the languages, most were from the northern continent: Melkathi and Rimon by my guess. Some wore that dress, and some the same metal-belted meshabi-robes as the Coast Ortheans. There were some languages I couldn’t quite place … the Rainbow Cities? The Storm Coast?

  I walked down the gangplank, the others behind me. Sethri reappeared on deck, hailed us cheerfully, and jumped down to join us on the dock. He looked around and then shouted, ‘Jadur, you idle sack of guts!’

  Another male ambled across the quay, taking a drink from a water-can, which he tucked back under his arm. He looked to be much of an age with Sethri, and had a tan skin and copper-coloured mane, what could be discerned of it under a layer of dust. Kekri-flies settled on his eyes. He blinked both membranes to dislodge them.

  ‘Everything’s under control –’ He saw David Osaka, and gaped, and then visibly realized that there were three of us. ‘Sunmother’s tits!’

  With some satisfaction, Sethri announced, ‘This is Jadur, he’s one of my raiku. The barge can handle itself; I’ll take you in. The rest of Ninth raiku should be here too.’

  Live contact is preferable to hologram records. I want to hear someone who lives in it define it, I thought, and queried, ‘“Raiku”?’

  ‘“Bonded group” –?’ Jadur-safere frowned, and tried for Old Anglo terms that must have come to the Coast with the first demographic teams: ‘“Wives”? “Husbands”? “Families”?’

  ‘In the north they would say “arykei”, bed-friend,’ Sethri added.

  In the data-net they say group-marriage. But that is what it is, not how it feels. We walked on. Jadur held out his flask to me: ‘Kethrial-shamaz, offworlder.’

  The phrase snapped into focus – ‘share our life’. As I walked, I looked at the arid rock, the canal’s water under the pitiless sky. Stepping outside the formal role, I said, ‘Shan’tai Jadur, can you afford to share it?’

  Jadur glanced over at me. The hot breeze lifted his coppery mane, and his dark eyes veiled whitely against the dust. With too-casual bravado, he said, ‘Share. It’s hiyek-Rythana’s water. My brother-in-raiku Sethri has made certain many of them have no use of it.’

  And then he grinned, piratical, and slapped the hook-knife where it hung at his chain-belt. ‘By next season we’ll be at war again, for water or siiran, but don’t let that concern you – what’s one mouth more amongst so many of us? You drink, shan’tai-s’aranthi.’

  The water tasted tepid, from having been in a metal flask in that sun. Not until I had drunk did I realize that I was also passionately hungry.

  The earth was trodden down here between the dock and the small buildings, and the heat of it struck up through the soles of my boots. A chain-line of mercenaries were passing the cargo towards the huts, they and the place looking about equally shabby. As we approached, I saw a middle-aged Orthean woman supervising: small, with beige skin and a gold mane, and wearing the hook-bladed knife of the Coast. She shouted at the mercenaries with an authority very like Sethri’s, hailed him without levity, and her expression went a degree or two further towards severity when she saw Jadur.

  ‘You’re here, are you?’

  Jadur caught one of her six-fingered hands and touched it to his forehead, a gesture I hadn’t seen among Ortheans before.

  ‘Hiyannek, beautiful one, when will you let me be one of your raiku?’ He stepped back as she swatted him.

  ‘When the Sunmother brings
harvest twice a year –!’

  Sethri pushed the copper-maned Jadur aside. ‘Feriksushar, here are offworlders come to talk with the hiyek.’

  The female’s gaze went from him to us, and back to him. There was almost contempt on those blunt features. ‘I’d sooner they’d met with those of the hiyek who are respectable, not one who commands mercenaries. Still, it can’t be helped.’

  Sethri avoided my eyes.

  ‘Sunmother be your friend,’ the woman said formally to me, and added in atrociously accented Sino-Anglic, ‘We are welcome you to us.’

  ‘I’m Company representative for a group of Earth traders,’ I simplified; giving our names.

  Feriksushar looked from me to David Osaka and Doug Clifford, and still in Sino-Anglic said, ‘And these are your … your husbands?’

  ‘Er – regretfully, no …’

  Doug grinned and put his arm round my shoulder. David Osaka looked rather more worried than I thought quite tactful. In fact, considering a brief but interesting episode on the ship out from Earth, less tactful than he had any right to be.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ the woman, Feriksushar, said politely. ‘I was kei-raiku myself for some while. Please, come inside.’

  As we walked up to the nearest hut, Sethri-safere recovered himself enough to ask her, ‘Which raiku are running trade this season?’

  ‘Twenty-Eighth, Third, Seventeenth, as well as Twenty-First.’ She glanced over at me. ‘Sethri is Ninth raiku. I’m Twenty-First. Arastari and the rest of my raiku are in Maherwa now.’

  The hut’s entrance was low and narrow. I added the number of Ortheans visible, the apparent housing-room, and concluded that, like Kel Harantish, there would be underground installations. Which accounts for why satellites have never told us much that’s useful about the Coast, I thought.

  ‘Do you want anyone to stay outside?’ David asked quietly. ‘I could ask to be shown the docks.’

  ‘Yes. That might keep us in comlink-range of the shuttle for longer. I’ll go down in. Doug, what about you?’ And when I caught Doug’s mandarin stare, added, ‘You’re not Company, I can’t give you orders.’