Skeen's Return

by Clayton, Jo;

  “Timka!” Pegwai’s voice had an urgency that brought her quickly to his side. “Go after them,” he said, one word tumbling on top of the next, “They’re going for the Aggitj. They want to trade us for the Boy.”

  “I hear you.” She tugged at the ropes about his ankles. “Knife, I need.…” She jumped to her feet and ran out. The guard she’d defaced was still clinging to life and groping weakly. She wrenched the knife from his hand, slashed it across his throat, then ran back inside. She cut Pegwai’s hands free, dropped the knife beside him. “Take care of Skeen. When I get a minute, I’ll send transport for you.”

  In the short time she’d been on the ground the winds had strengthened and the clouds thickened; the threatening storm was no longer threatening but on them. She switched from owl to sea eagle and fought her way north after wasting several minutes trying to find a stratum of contrary flow; battered, tossed about like a rotted leaf, she struggled toward Sikuro, flying a lot faster than the vo, but far slower than she wanted. Unless she missed them when she passed through the fringes of a cloud, they were already in Sikuro. Though the gusts of wind and rain were dangerous, she dipped almost to roof level so she could find her way in the confusing maze of the Quarter.

  A too-familiar cart was tied up outside the tavern where the Aggitj were staying.

  Timka dived for the second-floor window of the Aggitj’s room. She clipped her wings tight, plummeted through, snapped them out and shrieked a warning as the door ghosted open and the Chalarosh came sweeping in.

  The Aggitj tumbled out of their quilts, caught up their weapons before they were fully awake and were immediately in a silent but vicious battle.

  Scuttling to get from under trampling feet, Timka managed to reach a free corner of the room where she shifted to cat-weasel. Before she could start peeling the attackers off the Aggitj, a Chalarosh landed on her back, got a sinewy arm about her neck and began squeezing; his other hand drove into her side, probing for her life organ. A flash of wonder, why not a knife? and she was struggling frantically. This was worse than the time Angelsin had her; the way he was positioned (by luck or planning) she couldn’t get at him; her limbs were too stiff, too awkwardly placed, the loose tough cloth of his sleeves baffled her claws; her brain was burning, her lungs were on fire, she could feel life slipping from her grasp. Grasp. Hands. Need hands. Need—need—need—in her desperation she did what she thought was impossible; the seed planted days before by Domi’s question ripened to fruition. Her paws swelled into broad strong hands, her neck shortened, thickened and resisted the pressure on it more effectively. Using a skill she’d never learned, a skill that came into her mind and body from Skeen’s memories, she drove her thumbs into the nerve plexus of his elbow. When the crushing hold loosened, she twisted around, got hold of his little finger and snapped it. As he screamed and sought harder to dig his hand into her body, she got her hind paws on the floor and pushed off, breaking free to switch ends and clap both hands hard over his ears; using another move that flashed across her mind’s eye, she drove a handspear into his throat.

  Leaving him crumpled on the floor, she leaped onto the back of a Chalarosh attacking Hal, jerked his chin up until his neck snapped, bounded away. Movement was a little awkward in this hybrid shape, but that wasn’t much of a problem. She didn’t have to run any races and the powerful hands combined with the skills transferred from Skeen were a deadly addition to her natural strengths.

  The fight was fierce, but short. Movement stopped. The noise died except for the scrape of harsh breathing. Hart spoke, the single word shocking as it broke the silence. “Light.” He went into the hallway outside the room, came back with a lamp. He took the chimney off and lit the lamps in the room. Timka shifted from hybrid to Pallah, sighed with pleasure as she resumed the more familiar form. She was astonished by what had happened but not ready yet to think about it.

  The floor was littered with Chalarosh bodies. Timka started counting them. One. Three. What? A slim white form among the robes. She dropped to her knees beside the Aggitj boy, lifted his head, turned it. Domi. Very gently she laid his head down and felt for his pulse. There was none; she didn’t expect to find any, not with the loose boneless way his neck moved. Hands trembling, she got to her feet. Hal came to stand at her side, clutching a ragged gouge in one arm.

  “Domi?” The word cracked in the middle. “Domiiii!” It was a wild shriek. Ders flung past her and threw himself down beside the body. He lifted its head, shook it, wailing in unrestrained grief. He wrestled the body around and lifted it into his lap like a mother holding a sleeping child, rocked back and forth, sobbing and babbling in Aggitchan. Looking grim, Hart reclaimed his knife, and began moving from Chalarosh to Chalarosh. Not all of them were dead; he dispatched them with a quick neat pass of the knife. One. Three. Five. The sixth was conscious enough to spit his corrosive poison at Hart who twisted aside and jerked up a fold of man’s robe to block the flight of the spittle; he jerked more of the robe up, wrapped it around his fist, shoved it in the Chalarosh’s face and drove his knife up under the man’s ribs. He wiped the knife on the robe, got to his feet and stood watching Hal trying to quiet Ders. He cleared his throat. “Ti, that all of them? Six.”

  She rubbed her arms. “No.” She shivered. “No, there were eight of them. Ahhh.…” She closed her eyes, did a rapid report of what she’d learned, why she’d coming winging in just in time to wake them. “Pegwai is waiting out there. I expect Skeen’s still under.” She looked over her shoulder at the window. “If you could get that cart and the vo.…” She permitted herself a small tight smile at the feral grin on his square face and gave him directions for reaching the hut. “It’s a bad night out there; I imagine they’ll head straight back, they think they’ve still got Skeen and Pegwai to bargain with, you were just insurance.” She crossed to the window, grimaced at the solid curtain of rain, that was going to be a misery flying through. She shifted and backed off so she could get a running start. Behind her Hart was bending over Ders, shaking him, talking to him in a low voice, a flow of Aggitchan that interrupted the boy’s sobs and brought him to his feet. Without & word he dashed out the door. Hal and Hart rushed after him. Timka looked around at the carnage, clicked her beak and shifted back to Pallah. She pulled the door shut, dropped the latch bar into its hooks. Better to keep the curious outside. From what Maggí had said the Families tolerated private feuds as long as they were kept private. You didn’t do it in the street and you got rid of the garbage. She shifted, took a run and wafted to the windowsill; she balanced there a moment, got herself ready, then launched herself into the turbulence of the storm. After some hard labor and treacherous dips, she climbed into the clouds above the rain and began racing for the hut.

  Skeen came awake in her bunk on the ship. She sat up, yawned. The ship was jerking about, resonant with groans, creaks and thumps. The storm plug was still down, but the parchment was drawn tight over the window, all the cords tied with double knots. Lightning flashed intermittently, the wind howled and hoomed and made a singing gourd out of the ship, heavy lines of rain beat with the steadiness of a stream in spate against parchment and shipside. Lipitero sat on the lower bunk opposite, working with delicate care on a small carving, timing her cuts to the movements of the ship.

  Skeen swung her legs off the edge of the bunk and sat up. “What happened? We leaving in the middle of that mess?”

  Lipitero dropped her hands to her thighs, the knife blade catching gleams from the swaying lamp. “What do you remember?”

  Skeen rubbed at her temples, ran a hand through her hair. “I need a bath,” she said absently. She plucked a fragment of dead grass from her hair, sat frowning down at the yellow-gray brittle strand. “What do I remember … um … I was coming back with Kut’im.” She blinked at Lipitero. “Kut’im?”

  “We found his body in your room, put it into the Gullet. We didn’t want the Families nosing in.”

  Skeen stroked absently at the film over her stump. “Too bad,
he didn’t deserve that.” She closed her eyes. “I unlocked the door, there was a bad smell …” she reached behind her head, probed through her hair, “ah, I can feel the knot. Don’t remember anything after I opened the door.” She grinned wryly at Lipitero, “That’s happened before when I was hit a good crack. Who?”

  “Chalarosh. Ravvayad Kalakal, we suspect, though it’s a little late to ask them. They collected Pegwai, then you, then they went after the Aggitj. They figgured Maggí being Aggitj, she’d be more willing to ransom other Aggitj than a gaggle of otherWavers, however friendly she was with them. Timka was still keeping watch over you. Yes, don’t blow up, I know what you said, but think a minute. She didn’t interfere, she was just there in case something came up you couldn’t handle. And a good thing too, she saw the Chalarosh lowering you out your window and followed them. They took you to a charcoal burner’s hut in the hills south of the city. Apparently some of them were locals, at least that’s what Maggí thinks, they knew how and when to move to avoid the city guards. They were being very careful, doing a little bit at a time, it seems, taking Pegwai first, getting him clear, going after you, getting you stowed.” Lipitero looked down at her hands, set the knife and the chunk of wood on the blanket beside her. “They went for the Aggitj next,” she said, her voice a whisper almost lost in the storm noise. “Timka got back in time to warn the boys, but.…”

  Skeen jerked forward. “What?”

  “There was a fight. Domi was killed.”

  “Ah.” Skeen folded over, clutching her stomach, breathing hard. After a minute she swung her feet up and lay back, staring at the slats of the upper bunk while she cursed in an aching whisper until she ran out of breath, tears slipping silently past her ears to soak her pillow. She sank into an unhappy silence for a while, hearing vaguely the ticking of the bits of wood Lipitero was chipping off and the dull storm noise outside. Finally she turned her head. “The Chalarosh?”

  “Timka killed the two guarding Pegwai and you and left them to the maggots. Six of them were killed in the fight or shortly after, there in the Aggitj’s room. Ders, Hal and Hart ran down the other two. They piled the Chalarosh corpses in the cart, Timka flew watch overhead, and they dumped them in the Gullet. Timka remembered you had company when you went back to the Tavern and figured they’d probably have to clean up there too. They found another place to put your friend into the water, thinking his bones would rest easier if they didn’t have to lie beside the Chalarosh leavings.” Lipitero cleared her throat. “That’s about it. Hal brought Ders onboard and Maggí gave him a draft that put him to sleep. Hart and Timka went to pick up Pegwai and you. I don’t know what the Chalarosh used on you, maybe it was something to do with their poison, but you were limp as a squid and no one could wake you. We were worried, we were going after Chalarosh if you didn’t wake come morning.” She smiled, her crystal eyes glowing in the shifting light. “I am delighted we weren’t forced to try that. I have a feeling we wouldn’t have learned much.”

  Skeen hesitated, licked her lips, rubbed her hand nervously across her stump. “Domi?”

  “They brought him onboard. Tomorrow Hal and Maggí are going to see the manager for permission to build a pyre for him. They’ve asked Timka to scatter his ashes in the mountains. Maggí’s anxious to leave once the wind is right, but she’s agreed to stay for that, as long as the Aggitj need.”

  Skeen laid her arm across her eyes. For several minutes she said nothing, wrestling with a guilt she couldn’t talk herself out of. If she hadn’t let the boys come along, because they were useful, because she liked them about, because … oh, a thousand reasons and most of them accusing her now, if she hadn’t neglected to take care of them like she should, Domi wouldn’t be dead now. Out whoring around, trying to forget they existed. Djabo’s pointy teeth, she knew there were desert Chalarosh here, she knew they’d never give up until the Boy was dead. Ah, now, Skeen, what’s the point of this? If you’re going to be guilty about anyone, try Kut’im. The Aggitj knew their danger and stayed, they didn’t have to stay; Kut’im was an innocent bystander if ever there was one, got the usual wages of the innocent. She tried to feel something for him but couldn’t dredge up more than a vague regret. She licked her lips again, wanting a gallon of ale to smother the ache in her. Domi, why did it have to be the best of them? Domi. Fuckin’ brain, doesn’t know what to forget. Images of Domi sharp as tryptich photos. Domi—face grave, eyes laughing. Domi gentling and calming Ders. Too many images. She tried to shut off the hurt, but she couldn’t. She rolled on her side, face to the wall, and wept for Domi, for Ders who needed his cousin so desperately, for herself, most of all for herself put of guilt and hurt and loss.

  LOSE A HAND, LOSE A FRIEND. OF THE TWO THE HAND IS EASIER TO DEAL WITH. ON EARLIER OCCASIONS DEPARTURES HAVE BEEN FILLED WITH EXCITEMENT AND HOPE. NOT THIS ONE. THEY LEAVE SIKURO LATE AT NIGHT, THE DARKNESS IS NEAR COMPLETE, THE MOON AND STARS ARE COVERED BY A THICK LAYER OF CLOUDS; THOUGH THE STORM THAT THREATENS HOLDS OFF UNTIL THEY ARE OUT FROM UNDER IT, THE WIND IS HOWLING MOURNFULLY BEHIND THEM, SHOVING THEM AWAY FROM THE CHARRED FRAGMENTS OF DOMI’S PYRE. THE AGGITJ HAD GATHERED THE BONE FRAGMENTS AND ASH AND GIVEN THEM TO TIMKA WHO FLEW THEM INTO THE HILLS AWAY FROM THE CITY, OUT WHERE THINGS WERE WILD AND FREE AND RELEASED WHAT WAS LEFT OF DOMI TO THE WINDS AND THE GREEN EARTH AND THE GRAY OF EARTHBONES. APPROPRIATE SEND-OFF, THE EARTH AND SHY AND SEA WEARING BLACK MOURNING GARB.

  THREE DAYS LATER, THEY EMERGE INTO THE HALIJARA SEA ON A BRILLIANT DAY, THE SKY SHIMMERING LIKE THE INSIDE OF A SAPPHIRE, THE WATER GLITTERING LIKE BROKEN GLASS. THE AGGITJ HAVE LOST THEIR CHEERFUL EBULLIENCE, BUT THEY DON’T FLAUNT THEIR GRIEF; THEY ARE SIMPLY MUCH QUIETER THAN THEY WERE BEFORE AND KEEP TO THEMSELVES MORE. IN A VERY REAL SENSE, THEY ADOPT THE BOY AS A KIND OF SURROGATE FOR DOMI. HE’S THE ONE WHO QUIETS DERS NOW WHEN THE AGGITJ BOY’S EMOTIONS THREATEN TO GET OUT OF HAND, AND HE’S THE ONE WHO PROVES TO HAVE MUCH THE SAME ACERBIC GOOD SENSE. HE BRINGS HART OUT OF HIS DOUR SILENCES AND PUNCTURES HAL’S HIGHFLIGHTS WHEN HE STARTS TAKING HIS RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE OTHER THREE TOO SERIOUSLY.

  AH, WELL, THESE THINGS HAPPEN EVEN IN THE MOST MAGICAL OF QUESTS. THE GOOD DIE, THEIR PURPOSES UNFULFILLED. LOSE A HAND, LOSE A FRIEND. OF THE TWO, THE HAND IS EASIER TO PART WITH.

  Supper in Maggí’s cabin. Skeen, Timka and Pegwai are there. Rannah, the Boy and Chulji are eating with that portion of the crew off-duty for the moment. The Aggitj are still in their mourning fast, taking only a little bread and a few mouthfuls of water.

  “It would be faster,” Skeen said stubbornly, “and we wouldn’t run into the traps and trouble bound to be waiting along our backtrail. If you’re worried about your profits, well, name your price. Peg’s maps say the ocean west of the Halijara is reasonably narrow a degree or so above the equator. We could come at the Gate through the Backlands. Chances are we’d miss Telka and her Holavish completely; they wouldn’t expect us to come that way.”

  Maggí sighed. “If it were only so simple. Everything you say is true and everything you say is impossible. Think about this, have you heard of anyone crossing Okits Okeano?”

  Skeen ran her fingers delicately along the stem of her glass; she thought about the stories she’d heard in the past few days. “No,” she said. “Doesn’t mean a whole lot, but no.”

  “I thought not. There are a lot of liars around but none who’d expect you to believe they crossed the Okits and lived to tell the story. Consider this, you came along the Spray with several Shipmasters. Did any of them leave the island shallows and cut across deep water?”

  “You’ve made your point. What’s out there?”

  “Sea Min and their pets. Stick the shadow of a mast in what they call their waters and they’ll take ship as well as shadow.”

  Skeen turned to Timka, raised her brows.

  Timka spread her hands. “Don’t ask me. I know there are Min who live their lives out there, but they don’t like Land Min all that much either. We meet maybe once a purple moon. And I only know that because
I’m one of the few who talked with the travelers stopping with my aunt Carema. Fifteen, twenty years ago that was.” She frowned at her hands as she searched dim memories. “Seems to me I heard there were factions growing in them too, one group wanting a limited trade with Nemin as long as the Nemin kept off their waters, another wanting to slaughter any Nemin who came within sniffing range; and the biggest lot of them wanting the other two lots to back off and leave them alone. I have to agree with Maggí, Skeen. Cross into their waters and they’ll forget their factions. Sorry. It was a good idea, but it just won’t work.”

  “Eh, Peg,” Skeen tapped his shoulder, waited till he turned round, “give me a hand, will you?” She chuckled at his groan. “Seriously, I need a sparring partner who’s good enough so that I don’t have to worry about him.”

  He hitched a hip on the rail and examined her. “You’re going to try switching your style left-handed?”

  “Try’s the word.” She held her hand out, wriggled the fingers. “I’ve got strength enough in this, that’s no problem, but it’s about as functional as one of Timka’s cat paws. Means knocks for me and my partner,” she gave him a half grin, “mostly me, I expect.”

  “Staff or hand first?”

  “Staff. My feet have got to learn a new balance. I can work on fine manipulations later.” She rubbed her stump down the front of her tunic, looked at it. “I can use this to help control the staff. I think.”

  “We’ll have to see, won’t we. You talked to Maggí about practice space?” He looked round the busy deck. “No room down here. You’d give lumps to half the crew and more of the passengers.”