On the concourse, Durant walked slowly past the docking bays for the Adrianople squadron; some of them were closed and dark—the Eurydice and the Aragon in particular. Everywhere else, he saw small Imperial flags flying near the status board . . . upside down; a small symbol of resistance that might or might not have escaped the attention of the Second Drone and the occupying force.
Opposite the docking bay for the starship Trebizond, Durant walked into a public restroom. A few moments later he was joined by the ship's captain, Richard Abramowicz.
As they stood side by side, using the facilities, Durant said, without looking, "It'll have to be soon. We're expecting a VIP."
"I'm due to take us out on patrol in two watches. We'll wait for you to come aboard."
"No," Durant said. "I'm staying here."
"They'll kill you."
"Likely so. But I don't want to alarm our friends."
"But—"
"Just carry out your mission, Rich. That's an order."
Abramowicz finished his business. As the unit loudly evacuated its contents, the captain of the Trebizond said something impolite and highly unmilitary, followed by the words " . . . yes sir."
If Durant heard what Abramowicz had said, he showed no sign.
seLi'e'Yan
Standing Within
the Circle
part two
Chapter 12
The High Lord, dreaming, cried out.
Dan McReynolds and Georg Maartens jumped to their feet. A half-dozen zor were there ahead of them, attending to the now-awoken High Lord. She seemed to be shivering all over and her wings went through a hundred different positions, as if they had their own agenda. The two humans were ignored; they looked at each other nervously, wondering if they were supposed to have witnessed any of it.
They had been in the High Lord's garden for almost two hours. Sa'a had been less cryptic and more forthcoming than any zor either of them had ever met. She, in turn, had wanted to know all about Jackie; the two men had been as informative as they could, while both wondered if they'd ever see Jackie Laperriere again.
After a time there had been nothing else to say. The High Lord had bid them stay and take further refreshment while she contemplated and sought answers in dreams the waking world could not provide. They had stayed and waited patiently: and now the High Lord had suddenly awoken.
She seemed to shake loose from sleep and descended from her perch, moving quickly toward a deeper part of the garden. She exchanged a glance with Maartens, and he and McReynolds quickly followed.
"What's—?" McReynolds began, but Maartens held up a hand. The hurried procession made its way to a wide spot where huge, sunflower-like plants quivered in the artificial breeze. The High Lord spread out her arms and her wings; everyone behind her stopped moving.
From the opposite side of the clearing, T'te'e HeYen— High Chamberlain of the People—emerged, flying low to the ground. He stopped and hovered as if he had been summoned.
In the center of the clearing, the air began to distort as if it were being twisted by some unseen hand. Rays of different-colored light and a viscid darkness emerged from it. Both light and dark were too bright to look at directly.
Just as suddenly, Jackie Laperriere, holding an ornate sword in both hands, stepped out from the distortion. Almost as soon as her feet touched the flagstones in the courtyard, she stumbled and fell forward.
"Holy Christ," Dan McReynolds whispered to himself. The zor in attendance were murmuring among themselves. Dan figured their reaction was pretty much the same as his own. The colors and the blackness were already fading to invisibility as Maartens and two of the zor jumped forward to catch Jackie before she hit the ground.
Jackie let go of the sword with one hand and caught hold of Maartens' sleeve.
"Georg?" she said, her eyes wide. She looked from him to the two nearby zor, to the High Lord just beyond, to Dan McReynolds, who had taken a step toward where she half knelt. "Dan?"
"Reporting for duty," Georg answered, smiling. "Both of us."
"Permission to come aboard," Jackie said, and tried unsuccessfully to push herself to her feet. She collapsed into a seated position, not letting go of the sword with her other hand.
"This isn't Pappenheim," Maartens said, looking around. "Not by a long shot. Do you know where you are?"
"I have no idea."
"What happened? Where the hell have you been?" Georg Maartens asked.
"'Happened'?" She laughed, but it was abruptly cut short as she caught sight of T'te'e, whose wings were held in a posture of sorrow.
"Eight thousand pardons," the High Chamberlain interrupted, moving toward the scene. Other zor stepped away from his path. "se Jackie, hi Sa'a," he said, addressing each of them. "I have come from the chambers of the Gyaryu'har. He has transcended the Outer Peace, less than a sixty-fourth of a sun ago."
"Then, that means . . ." She looked up at Georg and then at T'te'e—then at the sword which she still gripped tightly. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. Too many things have happened in the last few days. I don't know what's real, what's a dream. It seems I've inherited a responsibility." Her eyes didn't leave the sword now. "I met . . . Qu'u."
T'te'e, the High Lord and the other zor shifted their wing- positions to postures of great respect.
"Welcome aboard," Maartens said.
After several hours' dreamless sleep, a long shower and a chance to put on some clean clothing, Jackie met the High Lord formally, along with the High Chamberlain and the High Nest's envoy to the Solar Emperor. They received her in a wide, high-ceilinged chamber not far from the High Lord's esTle'e. There were entrances at various heights above where they sat, and empty perches in alcoves above ground-level; but they were the only four people in the room.
The universe had changed. It wasn't clear to Jackie whether it was the universe the High Nest had expected when it sent her on her quest. The news of events at Thon's Well came as quite a shock—but even that had an analog in the sacrifice and suicide of Ge'el, Lord of e'Yen, during the Unification. hi'i Ke'erl wasn't quite mad after all, except in the overall scheme of things—in which every part of the pattern the High Nest had woven was completely mad. The new High Lord, Sa'a, had come to her office without the ritual of Te'esLi'ir, but seemed to be handling the transition reasonably well.
Now Jackie was part of it; there was no one on Zor'a or elsewhere who would challenge her right to carry the gyaryu, which had not been more than five meters from her person since she took it up.
"se Jackie," the High Chamberlain said, as she took her seat, which changed to accommodate her dimensions. "I am pleased to see you in good health." His wings reinforced the statement but showed that he was nervous about her reaction.
"Thank you," she answered. "ha T'te'e—" T'te'e's wings moved slightly in embarrassment; Jackie realized it must be the prenomen that bothered him. "Excuse me—se T'te'e. Since we are to work together, let me reassure you that I don't hold any grudges. After all that's happened, I've got a very clear idea of who my friends and enemies are."
"If there is anything I have done to offend—"
"se T'te'e." She laid her hands, palms down, on the table. "Humans and zor have done an uncountable number of things to offend each other since our races first met. You and I are no exception. You handled the situation—handled my intrusion into the weave of the High Nest—remarkably well, and I'm surprised I didn't do anything to permanently offend you then.
"When I left Cicero I was full of anger. I was angry with the Imperial Navy for its narrow-mindedness, angry at the High Nest for manipulating me, angry at fate for placing me into this mess. For months I've been running through the storm, and now I'm finally under a dry roof and I have a chance to think."
His wings indicated that he hadn't quite followed her metaphor.
She hurried on: "We can't afford to concern ourselves with offense. The gyaryu'e have chosen me, and you and I will have to learn to work together."
"I would n
ot consider contravening esLi's will," the High Chamberlain answered. "The question was one of honor, not personal satisfaction." His wings rose to the position of Warrior's Respect to esLi.
"se T'te'e, I—" Jackie began.
The envoy cleared his throat. "se Gyaryu'har, if I may?" Randall Boyd said. "se T'te'e. I believe that both of you understand the gravity of the situation and the necessity for patience and understanding. Perhaps we can proceed with that point as given."
Jackie smiled, with a respectful nod to the envoy. "I certainly concur."
"Of course," the High Chamberlain said.
The High Lord arranged her wings in the Posture of Polite Approach. "se Jackie, would you fly the path of your experiences for us?"
"By all means," Jackie said. "I . . . guess I'd begin with Crossover."
"You were aboard Captain McReynolds' ship?" the envoy asked, and Jackie nodded.
"Fair Damsel had been contacted by se S'reth to transport myself and si Ch'k'te—" She felt a pang of regret but continued: "—to transport us beyond the border of the Empire. Dan McReynolds had claimed to have seen Negri Sembilan, one of the missing ships, calling there; it was the only clue we had.
"By this time se S'reth, as well as si Ch'k'te and—as far as I can tell—just about everyone else, had become convinced that I was the avatar of Qu'u. In a very real sense I followed Qu'u's path to the Plain of Despite, particularly because I didn't know what the hell I was doing or where I was going." This comment caused the High Chamberlain's wings to elevate, but Jackie plowed forward. "At Crossover, with Th'an'ya's and Ch'k'te's help, I was able to reach the Ur'ta leHssa and the base of the Perilous Stair."
She felt a shiver, remembering the experience. "There, the Guardian—who had the appearance of the captain of the Negri Sembilan—told me I'd be traveling alone to the Fortress of Despite, and that taking the sword was a one-way trip."
"Sensitives dream in constructs that make the most sense to them," Boyd interjected. "You were looking for Negri Sembilan, so the image of its captain made the most sense for you when you reached the Perilous Stair."
"I don't think it was that simple," Jackie replied. "I met the real Damien Abbas on Center. He appeared at the perfect time to provide information and to transport me directly to where the sword was held . . . I'm getting to that.
"When we emerged from the mental link, Ch'k'te and I began looking for some real-world analog to the base of the Perilous Stair. When I tried to inquire about Negri, I was given a message to 'go to the Center.'"
"Do you recall the contents of the message?" Boyd asked, making notes with his stylus.
"The exact words?" she asked. He nodded. Instinctively, without thinking much about why, she placed her hand on the already familiar hilt of the gyaryu, and closed her eyes.
Almost at once she felt Sergei's presence from within the sword. Let us help, he said. Try to frame the scene in your mind and we should be able to recover the message.
She concentrated and felt the words come to her mind. "'You have come to ascend the Perilous Stair to the Fortress of Despite,'" she recited. "'You believe that you have come far, but all of your journeying thus far is but a fraction of the task compared to what lies ahead.
"'Go to the Center, Mighty Hero. The Icewall awaits.'"
She opened her eyes and detected surprise from the two zor. Nice trick, she said to Sergei within. Thanks.
"'Go to the Center,'" Boyd repeated, his expression curious. "What does that mean?"
"In the context of the moment it was a message telling me where to go next. It was a trap: One of the vuhls—the aliens— was waiting for us in the administrative offices of the station. Crossover's shaped like a wheel." She held her hands in front of her, touching index fingers and thumbs, forming a circle. "The hub is called Center.
"We went there and fought an esGa'uYe. He—it—killed Ch'k'te." She folded her hands in front of her. "Ch'k'te killed it, as well. He broke his chya in the alien's body. The alien thought that Ch'k'te was Qu'u—seemed to know the whole legend, almost as if it thought it was manipulating the entire event for its own purposes. Naturally, since it was a legend of the People, the alien apparently assumed that a warrior of the People was the avatar of Qu'u. It was a reasonable assumption—it was just wrong.
"When it suddenly realized that I was supposed to be Qu'u, Ch'k'te had an opening. He was still upset about being Dominated on Cicero and—I expect—was feeling betrayed by Th'an'ya, who had transferred her hsi to me somehow.
"It was very easy for him to die."
"He served esLi," the High Chamberlain said.
"He killed himself, damn it. He transcended the Outer Peace. He had such guilt that he was still alive, that he found the best available opportunity to end his life—"
"You do not understand, se Jackie—" the High Chamberlain began, but Jackie turned to face him and his wings rose in alarm.
"No, se T'te'e, I do understand. Before the D'sen'yen'ch'a I did not, and before my journey to the Fortress of Despite I did not. But I do now.
"I must tell you, as well, that if Ch'k'te died in order to save my life, it was tragic but acceptable; but if he died because of a societal imperative that he justify his own life, then it was pointless and unacceptable. If Ch'k'te were alive today he would be worth more to this council, and more helpful and useful to our struggle than he ever would be as another quantum of hsi added to esLi's Golden Light."
"esLi has His own purposes," the High Lord said after a moment. "It is not our place to question whether Ch'k'te's time to hold the Outer Peace was too short."
"I concede that we cannot understand esLi's purposes, hi Sa'a. I would not think to question that: I simply mean that if what Ch'k'te lived his life by, and what he used to justify it, drove him to die needlessly, then that philosophy is wrong.
"Ch'k'te was Dominated by a superior Sensitive mind: an alien and hostile one against which he had insufficient defenses. He won't be the last to suffer such a fate. We can't afford to have every Sensitive who experiences Domination hurl themselves into the abyss just because of it.
"I was Dominated by an alien. Does that make me unworthy to carry the gyaryu?"
She looked around the table from face to face. She could sense their consternation; she could even feel a tinge of anger from the High Chamberlain. None of them spoke.
"A century ago the People thought that my race was the esGa'uYal," Jackie went on. "Now the People believe the vuhls are the esGa'uYal. Based on my present knowledge, I believe even that assumption is flawed—or even wrong. The alien invaders are certainly esHara'y, doing the Deceiver's work and perhaps even his bidding, but the enemy is different and more insidious and certainly more dangerous.
"After the alien at Crossover was killed, I was able to escape in his ship and take it to his next destination: a conquered world called Center."
"'Go to the Center,'" the High Chamberlain repeated.
"Right. And it was there I encountered Damien Abbas again—the real one, not the creature who guarded the Perilous Stair in my dream. He'd been left on Center after the Negri Sembilan was captured, along with other officers and crew from his ship, and the ones that Tolliver took out from Cicero."
The High Lord and High Chamberlain exchanged glances. Jackie waited for one of them to say something, but neither ventured a comment.
After a moment, she continued: "Damien was able to contact me and provide me with transportation to the place where the gyaryu was kept. But before I was able to learn very much, his hsi was taken from him. His mind was rendered inert. I've seen it done before: once on Cicero and once on Crossover. The aliens killed Lieutenant John Maisel on Cicero Down, and then Ch'k'te that same way, when his chya was being driven into an alien's chest.
"So, without further information, I was left to confront the person guarding the gyaryu. Th'an'ya was . . . out of reach. All nicely arranged: no spirit-guide, no companions. I didn't fight for the sword—it was handed to me."
"Hande
d to you?" T'te'e asked. His wings formed the Posture of Polite Questioning.
"That's right. The gyaryu was given to me by a person—a human—who called himself Stone. He said . . . he had been advising the Great Queen, the leader of the vuhls. He told me his 'employers' had decided it was best that the gyaryu be placed in my hands. I asked him if they believed in The Legend of Qu'u, and he said they had written it."
Sa'a's wings formed the Stance of Dishonored Affront. "I would have torn his heart from his body with my talons."
"I didn't have that option."
"Did he hand you the sword?" T'te'e asked levelly.
"He didn't touch it. I took hold of it myself, and saw—"
T'te'e held up his taloned hands. "It is between you and the gyaryu. You obtained a satisfactory understanding of the sword and its purpose?"
"'The Dark Understanding.'" She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Yes. I made the decision to accept the burden of carrying it, se T'te'e. By the decision of the gyaryu I am both Gyaryu'har and Qu'uYar, the Recoverer and the Piercer of the Icewall. I have also released both Th'an'ya and Ch'k'te to esLi's Golden Light."
This seemed to have an effect on both the High Lord and the High Chamberlain. They assumed calmer stances, while Boyd looked from Jackie to the High Lord and back again.
"How did you get back here to Zor'a?" he asked.
"Stone did that, too. He created some sort of pathway and told me to step onto it and it would bring me to . . . bring me here. He left Center by the same means. I'm not sure, but I think that I wasn't even the first person they'd helped that way."
The zor were looking at each other again.
"You have something to add here?" Jackie asked.
"Please continue, se Jackie," the High Lord said.
"After I left Stone, I walked the path. It was like a tunnel with nothing around it. No, it was worse than nothing—it was anGa'e'ren. Like jump." She thought for a moment. "It might have been jump, or something like it: I think I walked for less than an hour, and it took me a few hundred parsecs."
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