Ansky, Ragem staying at her side, cruised across the room like a battleship across an ocean. The guards backed away as she tenderly bent down and helped the creature straighten up. When its face caught the candlelight, there were gasps from around the room.
It had to be an Urgian, I thought in despair. Ansky-memory surfaced promptly, giving me its name (I'd need different vocal cords), far too many details about its sexual prowress, and even this poor being's fondness for fried sausage on toast. I hadn't paid attention during assimilation to where Ansky's been writing Urgian love poems. I'd assumed on Urgia, not in her basement.
The being clung to Ansky, its head barely up to her waist, its present morph state dimale-sisfemale from what little I could see within the blankets bundling it against the night's chill and the rough handling of the guards. Ansky's arm was firmly around it, likely the only thing keeping the delicate being standing.
"Why have these aliens come to our village, to your house? Because you encourage these demons to walk among us! Did you not keep this one hidden here, in full knowledge it does not have the Keeper's permission?" the hitherto speechless Seeker announced, pulling at the blankets so we could all see the creature had no petal necklace such as Ragem and I wore for safety. "You have given it comfort and shelter so it can continue to heresy against the One God."
"It can't understand you, Seeker, so don't shout at it," Ansky said sternly. "As for permission, the petals of the Keepers' sign gave it a rash. I have it stored in the blessed corner of my own room if you'd care to see. I deny there has been any heresy. Listen," she turned slowly to look at all those gathered in the room. Many ducked their heads to avoid her gaze. "You people know me. We harvested together this day. I am a true believer and I tell you there is no wrong in this gentle being. He is a guest, like any other here, and has obeyed all of the strictures of our God."
They won't support you, I said, but to myself. Can't you see that, Ansky?
The first Seeker laughed without humor. "All? Then explain this, good and God-fearing innkeeper." He gestured to one of the guards nearby, a big, roughhewn male. This Artican moved forward smoothly, obviously coached in what his leader would want done. He pulled the Urgian out of Ansky's grasp, ripping away its blanket.
"Careful," Ragem warned, his hands becoming fists. "It's not as strong as you are." His accent and the words were insulting, a choice I suspected was deliberate rather than a mistake. I wished, of course futilely, for him to be less brave and more sensible. The Urgian moaned to itself, now exposed to the draft whistling through the door. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the overheated room to the rest of us but I could see shivers coursing under its fine scales, as though an iridescent liquid poured over its body.
"We know its weakness," said the Seeker, peering down at Ragem as if disappointed to see still-fresh petals encircling the Human's neck, "And we know its life is a blasphemy against the One God. Show us!"
The guard took one of the Urgian's four slender arms and folded it almost in half. The being didn't appear to notice. The guard bent the arm the other way again, himself looking a tad green as he did so. Again the Urgian didn't react. I heard a retching noise from somewhere behind me. What did they expect from a species without a calcified skeleton? I wondered. Which was, of course, the problem.
"This being should not be punished for its nature," Ansky protested, picking up one of the blankets to wrap around the alien. Its one weepy eye regarded her gratefully before closing again in misery. "The God of Bones asks us to care for those living things without its blessing."
"The God of Bones rightly has us care for such beings until they are harvested for the benefit of God's Blessed. Are you suggesting we do so with this?"
Ansky's face tightened ever-so-slightly, its skin reddening—I thought she likely raised her temperature and controlled my own urge to cycle in the same way. But her voice remained polite and level, that famous calm of hers in full force. "What do you suggest, Seeker?"
"We wish this being removed from Artos," the other priest answered. He pointed at me with a burnished fingerbone, its surface carved in some script or other. Instructions on how to intimidate the masses, I thought, not ready to be as forgiving with these beings as my birth-mother appeared. "These other aliens have the Keeper's permission to travel among us. They can take this one to the spaceport."
"Of course, Seeker," I said quickly, relieved if astonished at this sign they could be reasonable. I stepped forward to take the Urgian in my own grasp, pulling it gently but firmly away from those in the doorway. The poor thing was icy to my fingers, and I tried to bundle it tighter in the blanket as we moved. The sooner it was out of the Articans' sight the better, I thought.
We'd taken only a few slow steps when the Urgian twisted sinuously in my hold, looking back to Ansky. It chirruped something frantic, impossible for me to understand in this form as the sound soared octaves above Ket hearing. I didn't need the content. The Urgian was far from the only being to love Ansky.
Ansky smiled and whistled, a reassurance that drooped the Urgian against me. The poor being must be close to phasing out from stress. Not now, I urged it silently. I needed it to stay stable at least long enough to reach the temporary safety of our room.
My preoccupation with it stopped me from being able to act when two guards marched forward in obedience to the Seeker's gesture and took Ansky by the arms. "What is this?" she said, not moving. As she out-massed the guards in total, I could see they were nonplussed what to do next.
"You must be judged, woman," the Seeker intoned. "You will come to the Shrine and face your God."
There was a sound at last from the crowd in the room, a shocking low growl reverberating upward to the flower-hung ceiling and trembling the candle flames. I hurried the Urgian to the doorway leading to the stairs, thrusting it through and pointing upward to the light coming from the rooms on the next floor. It seemed to understand, squirming toward what safety I could provide with admirable speed. I closed the door behind it, turning back to the main room.
The Articans were on their feet now, lips closed, but still making that bestial noise. Their faces were far less Human-similar. Human! Where was Ragem?
Oh no. He had stayed with Ansky, actually shoving away one of the guards from the look of it. Before I could do more than gasp, Ragem was grabbed by others and swept out the doors with Ansky, the crowd around me surging forward to follow. Ignored, I shuffled behind the last of them, Ansky-memory supplying horrifying samples of what might be about to occur. Ersh, this can't be happening, I found myself repeating inanely to myself. Ansky knows this culture better than I do. She knows what she's doing. Right? But Ersh wasn't there to reassure me.
* * *
40: Shrine Night
« ^ »
THE Shrine rose in the center of the village, splitting the main road in two to carry its traffic by on either side, the result being that you couldn't travel anywhere without passing the living eyes of the God of Bones—and paying a road tax to the owners of those eyes. As in the other shrines Ragem and I had seen from the air, this building had been altered over time to reflect the rapid evolution of the Artican religion. Its tallest spire had been removed, replaced by the black globe currently popular as a sign of worship. The former warm brick of its construction had been painted an assortment of grays, the effect meant to suggest the building was made of sacred bone, but succeeding only in making the solid structure look leprous and ready to collapse.
Our feet crunched over black gravel, sharp nasty stones my famed Ket tactile sense insisted on telegraphing to my brain as hot sparks shooting up both legs. I had a most un-Ketlike longing for shoes.
I could have used inspiration as well. The crowd was well-behaved, so far; all that had happened being an orderly march from the Sleepy Uncle to the village Shrine. Along the way, we collected what might be every other Artican in the place until more were behind me than in front. I hadn't been able yet to push all the way up to where the gua
rd escorted Ansky and Ragem, but with some adroit dodging I could now see them just ahead, illuminated by the streetlights on either side. They were no longer being held. On the other hand, where could they go?
This was not good, I decided, Ket hearts pounding, my sore feet persisting in distracting me as I made and then discarded plan after plan, considered form after form. Trust Ansky, I concluded, helplessly. Trust her to know what she's doing. It wasn't a plan, but it seemed the only thing I could safely do for now.
The priests, Ansky and Ragem, and several guards entered the Shrine. Not everyone was being allowed to follow. I took my turn before the guards stationed outside, prepared to be adamant—or at least truly obnoxious—but they took one look at the petals around my neck and stood aside to let me enter without question.
Inside, the building retained its original loveliness, there being not much you could do to alter the grace of wooden beams and arches without bringing down the roof. The airiness of its massive hall was welcome on my overheated form. The Shrine was almost filled to capacity already. Many villagers had gathered beforehand from the looks of it; the benches were packed and more stood along the sides. I made my way to an aisle seat, the Artican female closest to me moving as far away as flesh allowed. At this moment, I was beyond insult, too busy craning my neck to try and see what was happening at the front.
Both Ansky and Ragem were taller than most Articans. I could just see the backs of their heads, Ansky's crowned in its unlikely flurry of red-gold and Ragem's usually neat black locks tousled as if he'd struggled somewhere in the journey. A forest of slender gray staffs—bone, of course—marked where the village council priests must be standing to confront the two.
I stood and climbed up on the bench, using my sternest Ket glare to subdue the immediate objection of the Artican behind me. At last. Now I could see and hear what was going on.
I wished I couldn't.
Ansky, alone of all in the now-silent crowd, appeared at ease; I could see the side of her face and thought I caught a small smile on her lips, as though she had just invited those before her to relax and chat. She and Ragem were still gripped by guards, one holding the Human, two holding her.
From the somber black robes of those facing them, I knew we were about to witness a sentencing by the God of Bones' Chosen, not a trial or hearing. Nothing in my shared memories listed harboring a boneless individual as a taboo—Ansky would have to invent her own crime, I thought with disgust, trying to subdue my fear. What would she do?
It appeared the answer was to throw herself on their mercy. Not my first choice. I held my breath and listened. "Seeker Prador has informed me of my transgression," Ansky's voice rang out like a bell, the ideal blend of contrition and humility in every word. "Please believe it was unknowing. I ask your grace to perform my penance to our God."
Heads nodded. There was an approving murmur through the gathering: a vast improvement over growling, I reasoned. I hoped Ansky knew what she was doing; the priests would have the final say in what her penance would be and there were some deplorable options on their list of choices.
"Hear us, Blessed of our God," intoned the centermost priest. "Let us pray for guidance."
As those around me closed their eyes and began to loudly exhort their God for advice, I slipped off the bench and padded toward the front. I'd moved to within two rows when a low gong stopped the prayers as abruptly as they'd started. No choice but to step close to the next bench in line and hope to be unnoticed. My new neighbor frowned at me briefly, then decided the events up front were more interesting.
The cluster of priests stepped to one side, allowing Ansky and Ragem, and the rest of us, to see the altar. Aside from being four times the size, it resembled the one in the Spaceport Keeper's Shrine down to the relative number of thighbones used as uprights. But this altar was not made from animal bones alone and its surface glittered in the harsh lights streaming down from above it. Not the surface, I observed numbly, the blades lying on it.
"Your penance," intoned the priest, "is to be forever blessed to the service of the God of Bones."
There was a collective sigh from the audience, a sound like an orgasmic release of pleasure. It was all very well for them to anticipate a quick trip to Artican heaven as a result of having their bones removed and added to those decorating the Shrine. Ansky-memory did not hold that as one of her dreams.
Nor, of course, was it Ragem's. "What of my assistant, Your Worship?" I dared to call out, thoroughly shocking those around me. "He bears the Keeper's sign. I know he has meant no disrespect to your ways or God." Much as I'd like to show some, a notion I shunted deep inside.
"I don't know this alien, Seeker Prador," Ansky added in a quiet, respectful tone. "I believe he was only concerned for my well-being."
"Humans are the Cast Outs!" came a hoarse shout from the back.
"Kill them both!" came another, regrettably repeated several times and at increasing volume.
I'd need more mass to be anything useful, I realized, searching the room with my eyes, unwilling even in my fury at these fanatics to consider taking one of them as a donor.
"The Human will not be harmed," the priest shouted, making me sag with relief. "It is enough that he shall never know the Blessing and must leave our beautiful world forever."
However much I approved of this declaration, it didn't satisfy the blood lust quite thoroughly possessing the crowd in the Shrine. Articans began leaping up, pushing each other in their eagerness to get closer to the front. I let myself be carried along with them.
The priests stood fast for a moment, staffs raised in futile gestures of authority, then seized their prisoners and scurried to one side of the hall, disappearing from view. Cheated, the crowd began that bestial growl, this time loud enough to be perceived as a vibration through the floor under my feet. I took advantage of my long legs and flexible body to speed through the first disorganized ranks—barely restrained by the Shrine's guards who were thus too preoccupied to bother with me—and followed the priests who'd taken Ragem and Ansky.
There! I spotted the door just as it closed. Somehow I eluded the grasp of the one guard who noticed me, flinging myself right over a basket of fresh cut magitteri flowers, their famous perfume something this form couldn't appreciate, even if I'd been in the mood.
The door wasn't locked. It led outside, to a roofless corridor that paralleled the main building, walled by a latticework fence and at the moment more than half-filled with a jumble of empty baskets, staffs, and moaning or unconscious priests. I skidded to a halt, blinking in the near darkness, trying to figure out what could have happened.
"Es! This way!"
"Ragem?" I started picking my way through the confusion to the voice.
"Hurry up!" he urged. Judging by the sounds from behind me, there was good reason to be less careful where I put my feet, though I winced when I stepped on at least one set of fingers. Hopefully their owner hadn't noticed.
"Will you come?" This from Ansky. I could see them both at last, standing at the end of the little corridor, silhouetted by the streetlights beyond. I slipped as I forced my way through the last pile of baskets and found myself in Ansky's firm grasp. "Let's go," she said immediately, pulling me along with her.
"What did you—?"
Ragem's voice had a feather of laughter to it: equal parts triumph and panic, I decided. "Let's say I'd never start a brawl in the Sleepy Uncle—or in any establishment run by this sweet lady."
"I should hope not. You seem like a nice young man," Ansky said serenely. She was leading us down the main street, away from the Shrine, but also away from the inn and our borrowed aircar.
"The aircar?" I objected, attempting, in vain, to resist moving with them. I could hear Ersh now. As well try to stop an avalanche as Ansky at full throttle.
"That's where they expect us to go," Ragem said from behind me.
"That's where we need to go," I countered, still struggling to undo Anksy's grip on my poor arm.
Ansky's "Ah" turned out to mark a narrow footpath between two homes, one she urged us along. It was dark once we were a few strides past the range of the nearest streetlight, a plus given the rising clamor of voices behind us as the crowd spilled out and discovered their priests. The footing was again the soft turf, balm to my feet.
"I don't remember a taboo against attacking the clergy," I commented.
"I'm sure that will be rectified at the next meeting."
Ansky returned. "Sssh. They might have left someone at the drying shed to turn the flowers."
We had already passed between three tall rows of houses, all apparently empty of their inhabitants. One advantage to the mass meeting, I thought, keeping the hand that wasn't clenched around my hoobit outstretched in case I needed to feel my way around some unseen obstacle in the dark. It was instinctive, Ket night-sight being less trustworthy than touch.
The shed, a mammoth building much longer than it was wide, lay just beyond the hind yards of the last row of homes. Its darker bulk loomed against the rising mountainside, small lights from its high windows confirming Ansky's caution. Ragem stifled a sneeze. Even my Ket sense of smell was affected by the sheer volume of scent oozing from its walls. I heard Ansky draw in a deep breath beside me. "Marvelous crop this season," she whispered matter-of-factly as we passed the building. "The Shrine will offer exceptional blessings this festival." I won't ask, I decided, not having an Ansky-memory rise in explanation and quite sure I didn't want to know any more about the Articans—an ephemeral attitude sure to infuriate Ersh. I don't care, I told myself, then added the truth: much.
We reached the hedge surrounding the orchard, and all of my doubts about Ansky's chosen path came crashing back as I looked ahead. Skalet had considered my birth-mother the least able of us to defend herself. Here was proof. "You expect us to hide in there?" I demanded incredulously.
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