The shuttle of the Gyaryu'har touched down on the landing-field. The High Chamberlain looked away from the Master of Sanctuary and let his hands drop to his sides. His wings slumped in a position of regret.
"With the High Lord in his present condition and the Gyaryu'har unarmed and indisposed, I am the ranking warrior of the People. Are you telling me that another climbs the Perilous Stair to confront the Deceiver and regain the gyaryu while I toil in the Valley of Lost Souls?"
"The will of esLi is His own business, as you well know."
"She is not even a warrior of the People," T'te'e hissed. "Even though I helped set her on this flight, I never thought we would rest the fate of the People on her alone."
"You are being disingenuous. You know the legend: You, of all people, must know the tale—and the outcome. What is more, the esGa'uYal are expecting—and looking for—one of the People, se Jackie may not be one of the People, but she is most decidedly a warrior."
T'te'e looked away from Byar and moved toward the edge of the platform. A cordon of guard-warriors formed around him. "It is time for the Ceremony of Welcoming," he said, not exactly an acknowledgment of Byar's last comment. Without a further glance or gesture, T'te'e launched himself into the upper flying-lane of the terminal.
So much dust gathers on his wings, Byar thought to himself, arranging his own wings in a posture of respect to esLi. He must pierce the Icewall or we truly are lost.
The cameras recorded the Ceremony of Welcoming from a distance. While eight zor in the livery of the High Nest stood with their chya'i drawn and their wings held in the position of Glaive of the Hero, eight others performed an aerial exercise that had remained essentially unchanged since it was performed for the first Gyaryu'har, the hero Qu'u, when he had returned from the Plain of Despite with the sword of state. To the hundreds of billions of the People and tens of quadrillions of humans that saw it—or would see it—the elaborate and intricate dance held great artistic merit . . . but only the People understood its symbolic meaning, also unchanged since the time of Qu'u.
The Gyaryu'har is home.
The gyaryu has returned.
EsLi forgive me, T'te'e told himself, as the grav-bed descended from the shuttle airlock to ground level. He had his own chya placed in the salute position, and his wings arranged in the Posture of Deference to esLi; but his own Sensitive talent and the soft whine and snarl of his blade made him realize that the Lord Over All had no forgiveness for his duplicity in welcoming back a Gyaryu'har who was essentially absent and unarmed. The notion of idju—dishonor to the point of death—no longer seemed to mean anything. It appalled T'te'e how quickly his most cherished values seemed to have gone from paramount to inconsequential.
The Gyaryu'har's bed coasted to a stop almost directly under the whirling pattern of airborne warriors. At a subtle gesture from T'te'e they changed their motion to a slowly coasting circle. The High Chamberlain stepped forward to the foot of the bed where se Sergei lay, arranged his wings in the position of the Cloak of Worship, and extended his chya out in front of him.
"'And the Lord esLi spoke to High Lord A'alu, and commanded her, "Recite this in My Name.
"' "Tell all of the generations of My People, alive and yet to come, that I have commanded this: That among the People there shall be one Lord, one High Nest and one High Lord.
"' "Say to them: 'The Lord esLi has looked upon the works of His People, and has chosen in His grace to send them a sign whereby His will should be done—that a hero should be found. This hero should be of great and noble heart, and though young and not well-tried, he shall go forth to the Plain of Despite, and recover that which was lost, and which, with my assistance, he shall have regained.'"'
The awkward mixing of tenses had always made the passage difficult to follow, but ritual required T'te'e to articulate it just as it had been written in The Legend of Qu'u five-twelves of turns ago.
"'"Tell them the hero has returned to them, and that he bears a sword I have reforged for him.
"'"Tell them that by this sword shall My People become one People, and the Nest of the hero shall become the High Nest. This shall be the sword of the Nest, the sword of the hero that pierced the Icewall, who will stand within the Circle when the armies of the Deceiver come to the gates."'
"With these words the Lord Over All addressed the High Lord upon the return of the hero Qu'u, the first Gyaryu'har of the People. With these words we ceremonially greet the Gyaryu'har Sergei Torrijos, friend and Nest-brother, on his return—"
"Deception!" a voice shrieked in the Highspeech, cutting across T'te'e's address.
T'te'e's wings rose in a posture of defense, and he turned, with chya still drawn, to face the speaker just landing nearby.
Then, in an instant of reflex, T'te'e lowered his blade and bowed low, his wings pulled around him. "hi Ke'erl . . . I did not expect to see you here, High Lord."
Cameras recording the whole scene continued to run, following Ke'erl HeYen as he half walked, half flew, past his High Chamberlain to stand beside the bier of the comatose Gyaryu'har.
"Deception," Ke'erl HeYen whispered. "The Army of Despite advances as we speak—as we recite, se T'te'e!—and you seek to welcome back this shell, this—this container . . ."
"The Gyaryu'har, hi Ke'erl—"
"Is not here!" Ke'erl HeYen spread his wings in a posture that communicated madness, desperation and a sort of deep intensity that T'te'e could not even properly perceive. "The Gyaryu'har is not here, T'te'e."
The High Chamberlain winced as the High Lord spoke his name, excluding even the least-honorific prenomen, but remained silent.
"His hsi is far away, in Ur'ta leHssa."
The High Lord bent over his human sword-bearer: the old, old man who had served his grandfather and his father before him. More gently than a human observer might have believed, Ke'erl ran a clawed finger along Sergei's face, from his brow along his cheekbone to his exposed neck.
The High Chamberlain, for his part, looked on at this display of emotion, unable to act for a moment. Then it occurred to him that it was being broadcast across many worlds of the People and, in less than a sun, recordings of it would be available across inhabited space.
A gesture ended that: High Nest warriors moved to shut down the comm crews. The eight circling dancers from the Ceremony of Welcoming descended to land nearby, though they kept a respectful distance. Ke'erl continued looking down at Sergei, his wings held in a pose of sorrow.
T'te'e sheathed his chya. "hi Ke'erl."
The High Lord's arms dropped to his sides. He straightened and looked up at T'te'e. "Why do you disturb my contemplations?"
"It is not my intention to disturb you. I merely wish to prevent you from completely embarrassing yourself."
"I do not know to what you are referring." Ke'erl's eyes glittered with something T'te'e couldn't quite read: madness, lack of sleep, perhaps some kind of drug that could deaden the effects of the prescient dreams that were destroying the High Lord's sanity.
"Let me tell you to what I refer, hi Cousin," T'te'e whispered quietly. "I am referring to this foolish display you have just put on for esLi-knows-how-many of the People. se Sergei is far away, and both of us know why and how that came about. We could see the flight leading to this place from many turns in the past. Most of our people know only that se Sergei is sick. There was no reason to tell them otherwise."
"Why? Shall we wait until the esGa'uYal seize their hsi, too? They will not be listening then."
"That is not my intent."
"Just what is your intent, Cousin?" The High Lord's hand ventured close to the hi'chya, and T'te'e felt a thrill of fear: Engaging in blade combat with the High Lord would be a sure way to earn idju status, like it or not.
"My intent," T'te'e answered carefully, after a moment, "is to manage the High Nest according to your directions—or, rather, the directions you gave when you took an interest in the High Nest."
T'te'e looked around and noticed that the g
uards had moved the comnet crews well out of range. "That is my primary concern," he continued, his voice lower. "Attempting to guide the Nest from day to day. I am merely your servant, High Lord Ke'erl." His wings assumed the Configuration of Righteous Honor—not sure but that it would infuriate the High Lord, and not sure whether he cared anymore.
"Merely my servant," Ke'erl repeated. The High Lord's shoulders slumped, and his wings settled into an uneven pattern of disarray. "You serve emptiness, se T'te'e. The abyss stretches before you, and you bow to it." He waved his arms above his head, following their motions with his eyes for several moments. "You perform the Ceremony of Welcoming over it. Shrnu'u HeGa'u sits in the High Seat, se T'te'e, and commands that his servants attend."
Without a further word and without giving T'te'e a chance to reply, the High Lord took to the air and began flying sunsetward. The High Chamberlain gestured to four guards nearby, and they launched themselves after Ke'erl HeYen.
Emptiness, thought T'te'e, turning back to look at se Sergei. You know about all of this, old friend. The abyss that yawns before the High Lord's mind's eye certainly exists, but we can hold it at bay with the gyaryu. I pray to esLi, the Lord Over All, that it can return to us.
He watched Ke'erl HeYen receding in the distance, flying away from the shipping lanes with four High Nest guards escorting him. The orange sun of Zor'a dappled the High Lord's wings so that they appeared afire; he flew on, not noticing. It seemed fitting to T'te'e: a metaphor for the whole situation.
Hours later, when the scene had been replayed eights of times on the comnet and had begun to make its way outsystem, T'te'e was taking a moment of reflection at the entrance to hi Ke'erl's esTle'e. He had not ventured down the arbored path to see what the High Lord might be doing; hi Ke'erl might be asleep, or hurling himself against the roof-dome of the place—it depended on the state of his madness this sun.
As the High Chamberlain stood quietly, watching the People of the High Nest move to and fro on their errands, he saw S'reth approaching. The ancient one walked with only a slight assist from his near-translucent wings, which were held in a posture that mixed amusement and genuine concern.
"se S'reth," T'te'e said. "I thought you had returned home. How may I assist you?"
"May we speak privately for a moment?"
T'te'e gestured to the arbor. They took several steps within, out of sight of the main concourse. T'te'e activated the privacy cylinder at his belt and the soft hum dulled the sounds around them.
"I am disturbed by the behavior of the High Lord this sun," S'reth said. T'te'e dipped his wings in assent. "I would be less disturbed, Younger Brother, if I had not heard something in his remarks: 'Shrnu'u HeGa'u sits in the High Seat, and commands that his servants attend.'"
"You ascribe meaning to that phrase. What do you think hi Ke'erl meant to say?"
"He perceives that something has happened. So do I."
"Where?"
"Adrianople."
T'te'e's wings moved into the Cloak of Guard. "Why do you think something has happened there? It is heavily guarded by an Imperial Fleet—"
"No, Younger Brother. It is not. It is due to be reinforced by one. But if the base has already fallen to the esGa'uYal, then that fleet will be flying into a trap."
T'te'e did not reply.
"I believe that hi Ke'erl sensed this, and my own contemplations tend to confirm it."
"I would be more inclined to give credence to this, se S'reth, if the humans would confirm it."
"They do not know yet. Indeed, they scarcely see the threat."
"What do you propose?"
"Allow me to travel to Adrianople," S'reth answered. His wings, rarely expressive, had taken on a position of respect. Normally T'te'e would have ascribed this to wry humor on the part of the old sage; but he perceived that S'reth really meant it—he considered it vitally important that T'te'e go to Adrianople.
"I would not willingly send you into Ur'ta leHssa, old friend."
"I do not intend to remain there, Younger Brother. But I do not wish a powerful force such as the one headed there to be trapped in the Valley. Send me and a few eights of Sensitives with strong hsi. This sun. This fraction." S'reth grabbed T'te'e's forearms with a surprisingly strong grip; there was emotion in his eyes. "I ask this favor of the High Nest that I have served so long."
His old wings moved to the Stance of Respect to the High Nest, and remained there for long moments. In the end, T'te'e could hardly choose other than to accede.
Chapter 3
DESPITE HAS MORE ENEMIES THAN IT CAN COUNT. THE TRUE WARRIOR KNOWS BUT ONE.
—The Legend of Qu'u
The food preparer beeped and cycled into inactivity. Jackie opened the door and pulled out her dinner, moving it from the warming tray to the small table opposite. She pulled down a cold drink and opened it and settled down to her meal.
Eat, she told herself, after dawdling for a while. Never know when you might get another meal. She forced herself to work her way through the food, chewing but not really tasting what she'd prepared. It was comforting to realize that she was still thinking like a soldier, but it didn't do much for her appetite.
Four days out from Crossover, and her mind was still back there: with Noyes, with Ch'k'te . . . It was almost as if that place was a crossing-over of sorts, like the ferryboat across the River Styx.
You are too melodramatic, she thought to herself, toying with the food in front of her. Too many zor legends.
"Too much talking to myself," she said aloud, testing it, trying to see what her voice sounded like. It sounded despairing, desperate, alone. No faithful friend to advise her.
On the other hand, she thought, I still have my spirit-guide.
She'd felt uncomfortable trying to talk with Th'an'ya since leaving Crossover almost four days ago: The way it had all come about, as if it were planned . . . It almost placed Th'an'ya in the same category as whoever/whatever had manipulated Jackie into this quest. She didn't know whether it was true, but she did realize that she'd become damned lonely in this little ship hurtling through jump.
"Th'an'ya," she said out loud, and concentrated on the image of the zor female who cohabited her mind. She closed her eyes; when she opened them, an image of Th'an'ya had appeared across from her.
"I am here, se Jackie."
"I need to understand some things. I—I don't even know where to start, really . . ." She let the sentence drift off, not knowing what to say.
Th'an'ya spoke: "When I was a teacher at Sanctuary," Th'an'ya began, "when I still held the Outer Peace—I conducted a training course for Sensitives. We used a technique to analyze a situation by reviewing the events that had led up to that situation, called 'flying the path.' Perhaps you should consider this method, to try and see how we have reached this point; and it may help you to understand what you must know next."
"May I make a suggestion?"
Th'an'ya's wings adjusted themselves slightly to indicate faint amusement. "Of course."
"You should 'fly the path.' Review for me how you—how we—reached this sun. I think I might find that useful."
"As you wish." She resettled her wings, assuming a more deferential posture. "It is appropriate to locate the event most distant from the present which bears directly on the current situation. That event, I think, would be a dream I had, nearly twelve turns ago."
"Twelve turns?"
"I was living on A'aen at the time." Th'an'ya laid her clawed hands on the table and looked down at them. "You know that I had gone to Sanctuary when my Sensitive powers began to manifest themselves. Once I gained full control, the Master of Sanctuary, se Byar HeShri, offered me a position as a guide and instructor there. For nearly two eights of turns I worked either at Sanctuary or on loan to one or another Nest, but at last I decided that I needed a change of scenery. With Byar's permission, I went to A'aen as a gardener."
"A gardener?"
"A very relaxing job, excellent for strengthening the hsi. Not that
I sought that; I simply wanted to be away from Sanctuary, on a different flight. Yet I was followed even there. I had a dream: Somewhere out in the void, the esGa'uYal had stolen the gyaryu, and the great hero Qu'u had gone out to find it.
"With regard to prescient dreams, it takes a skilled Sensitive to distinguish between imagination and a true precognitive impression. The best test is repetition—if the dream recurs, and is consistent, it is usually prescient.
"The dream recurred several times; each one more detailed and more disturbing than its predecessor. I finally had to return to Sanctuary. Within a few days of my return, several eminent guests arrived, including the High Chamberlain ha T'te'e HeYen, and—at last—the Gyaryu'har."
"You've met se Sergei in person?"
"Yes. They had come to Sanctuary to contemplate a most unpleasant flight: The High Chamberlain and others had attempted to make contact with the aliens out there." At Jackie's involuntary shiver—which was almost amusingly reflected in Th'an'ya's image—the zor female crossed her hands in front of herself. "I know what you are remembering, se Jackie. There were eleven Sensitives that tried to contact the aliens, and eight of them transcended the Outer Peace in the process.
"As you no doubt have been told, the High Lord is the most prescient Sensitive of the People. He had begun to sense the esGa'uYal even before the eleven tried to contact them, and he also had had a precognitive indication that the High Nest should pursue The Legend of Qu'u. It was the will of esLi that I go to Sanctuary, and at that point I became included in their plans."
"And what were their plans?"
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