Skeen's Return

by Clayton, Jo;

  “Nasty,” Timka said. “And this?” She dug a fingernail into the resin in the pot.

  “Little secret of mine.” Usoq set the brazier on the stone inside the box, piled charcoal in it and used a firepot and pitchy splinters to start the charcoal burning. He set the cauldron on the grill and stepped back, dusting his hands and giving the bird Min overhead a feral grin. “A half-hour thereabouts, those fuckers better think twice and then some before trying on anything with me. They burn fiercer ’n pitch once you get the fire going.” He looked a little startled as he remembered suddenly he was talking to a Min, but didn’t bother with disclaimers, being intelligent enough to refrain from making bad worse.

  Rannah made a soft, disgusted sound and walked off, thin shoulders rounded, her not-hair flattened to her skull.

  A half hour later Skeen came yawning up, Pegwai stumbling behind her. She sniffed, wrinkled her nose. “What’s that stink?”

  Timka turned round. “Usoq’s secret weapon. For the Min up there, if they decide to atttack us. Fire arrows. That goo in the pot is supposed to make the fire hot enough to kindle Min flesh.” She shivered, sounded gloomier than she liked. Though these were her enemies, they were also kin of sorts. Burning was a hellish death for a Min. Even thinking about it made her sick to her stomach.

  Pegwai moved back to stand beside Usoq who was stirring his mess so it wouldn’t burn, Skeen joined Timka in the bow.

  She glanced up, “More of them this morning, if I can still count,” hitched a hip on the rail. “Usoq say anything about when we see this island where Petro’s supposed to be waiting?”

  “No, he’s been fiddling with the glop, that’s all. And Vohdi never talks, you know that.”

  “Where’s Rannah?”

  “You didn’t see her? She was upset. Usoq said something about Min burning like pitch pine and she didn’t much like it, so she went below.”

  “Poor kid, I doubt she’s seen a hand raised in anger before this trip. She’s getting a good dose of horrors, isn’t she.” Skeen rubbed the tip of her forefinger along the blade of her long nose. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should leave the boat, you and me and Petro when we pick her up. That’d take the pressure off Peg and her and even old worm back there. There’s enough cover out there, your friends might have trouble picking us up again. No, Peg and I didn’t see her, but we were in the galley for a time before we came up here. Getting something to eat. And if we managed to get over the Mountains into the Backlands, we might be able to sneak around the backside of Telka’s army and slide through the Gate before she knew what was happening.”

  Timka stared at her. “You’re forgetting something, aren’t you?”

  “You’ve said it yourself I don’t know how many times, your outreach is a lot longer than most other Min. Maybe if we took them by surprise, went fast enough and were sneaky enough about it, we could lose them. With you on watch, able to spot where they’re going before they got close enough to pin us, we could stay loose. Remember, those boys looking for you that first time when we were in the Spitting Split, they couldn’t find you.”

  Timka gazed down at her hands. She knew well enough what was behind this. Skeen was restless, nervous, getting more nervous every day. She’d been patient for a long space now, ever since Sikuro. There was the fight with the Sea Min, but that was over three months ago. Nothing she could do but ride Goum Kiskar, then Pouliloulou, and try to exercise her jitters away. With that hand gone, she was useless about the ship, couldn’t help with the small repairs like Rannah and Pegwai did sometimes, not much interested in the countryside. No one to talk to, Usoq was as trustworthy as water-smoothed stone, the kind apt to turn underfoot at the most awkward moments. And getting closer and closer to discovering the answer to the question plaguing her, whether or not she’d been betrayed by ship and lover. If that proved to be wrong, if the man had a good and honorable reason, Timka got the feeling Skeen would be disconcerted and far more upset than she would be to find her suspicions were true. Timka didn’t understand that. It seemed terribly perverse to, well, need such punishment, as if it validated something about Skeen she couldn’t live without. She thought about Skeen’s scheme; it was remotely possible it could work, but she couldn’t see much point to it. Skeen couldn’t really think it was possible to creep up on Telka and surprise her. No, it was more likely that terrifying recklessness she’d shown more than once in these treks back and forth across Mistommerk. Plotting and scheming and wariness and high alertness until it got too much for her and she went flying off in a wild leap into nowhere … that, Timka had to admit, she always managed to pull off, mostly because of her earlier plotting and the help of her friends. She thought some more about the plan. It might work, except.… She gazed at the sky a moment, then squeezed her eyes shut and probed. Except that there was someone important up there. Not Telka, a male, almost as good as Telka though, Lifefire singe her S’yer. She sighed, opened her eyes. “It might have worked, Skeen, but there’s someone up there whose reach is near as long as mine. No, I don’t know him; I recognized the … well, call it the feel of his aura.”

  “One of the fighters no doubt. Shit. I suppose it’s just as well. Petro isn’t really built to ride a racehorse.” She looked up, shading her eyes with her remaining hand. “They going to track us the whole way? Or they going to try hitting us again?”

  Timka make an irritated sound. “How can I know? Ask yourself, unless we do something radically stupid, why should they? We’re coming to them. No Ever-Hunger to throw them off this time.”

  “Um … remind me to tell you something in a bit.”

  “Well, one last point, then I’m finished. I’m not about to turn saintly and offer to go away and lead them off. Letting Telka pull me to squealing bits a pinch at a time doesn’t appeal to me. Which brings up something that’s been bothering me. We turned back a double cell of gunja, but we had the Aggitj, the Boy, Chulji, Maggí and the rest on her ship. Eighty Min. According to the Poet, Telka has ten times that many fighters she can call on. Against three of us. Even with Petro’s excavator which I admit could probably take out a good percentage of those, still, the odds aren’t encouraging.”

  “You don’t look all that worried.”

  “I’ll start if you tell me you haven’t got a plan.”

  “Mmmh.” Skeen glanced up, then along the boat. “Yes.” The wind was a loud whine, the water piling past the bow threw up a steady murmur that blended pleasantly with the creaks, thrums and snaps from the rigging and sails. “Lipitero, the Sydo Remmyo and I worked out something … you aren’t going to like it.”

  “You terrify me. Go ahead.”

  “Um … we decided it was likely the attack would come close to the Gate.” She frowned. “We didn’t think about this tracking business.”

  “I couldn’t say for certain, but I think you can forget that. The closer we get to the Gate, the more our choices narrow, the easier it is for her to get set up to wait for us. Go on.”

  “If it starts to seem like we’ll be rolled over, Lipitero is going to release the Ever-Hunger.”

  Timka swallowed, appalled. She opened her mouth, closed it. “But … Skeen! It won’t stop with the Holavish. It’ll eat the Mountains clean. The other Min, they don’t deserve that, they don’t … they … ahhh!”

  “It’s not that bad.” Skeen hitched a hip onto the rail, wrapped her handless arm in the ropes. “Even Pegwai doesn’t know this. The day after we left the lake, a dozen Ykx started cross country, keeping away from settlements and flying mostly at night, heading for the place where the two Suurs are only five hundred or so stads apart, the north waters of the Okits Okeano, then across the Backlands. Petro thinks they’re settled in already, waiting for us to arrive.”

  “Do I have to ask? Yes, all right. Settled in where? Lifefire, Skeen, twelve Ykx perching on a mountain, the news would be back already half around the world.”

  Skeen scratched at her nose. “Seems there’s a set of Gather caves not far from
the Gate. The Ykx closed it up when they moved away. This was after the other Waves started coming as life got pretty confused around the Gate.”

  Timka shook her head. “All the stories the old ones told us, all of them, nothing about a Gather near the Gate. They said the Ykx came through the Gate and scattered; leaves before the wind, they said.”

  “It was a while back, remember. People forget. Especially what they want to forget. Those first Waves, a confused time, lots of things got lost.”

  “I wonder if it’ll be different this ti—” Her eyes snapped shut, she bent slightly at the waist, though she wasn’t much aware of that as she slipped into intense concentration. Dimly she heard Skeen calling her name, asking her … asking her.… “Trouble. I think.…” She straightened, stripped off the light robe she was wearing, shifted to the largest most predatory of her bird forms, the sea eagle, and went powering up toward the Min over them, spiraling up and up, ignoring them except to turn on any of the fliers that tried to come at her; her self-confidence grew with each pass; the months on the trek had taught her even more than she’d guessed. She couldn’t remember learning these moves, but they came as naturally as the sweep of her wings; maybe it was watching Skeen move, maybe it came from the memories she’d absorbed from Skeen, maybe it was a combination of a lot of things. She was astounded by how easy it seemed, felt her soul expanding to the point she felt momentarily like a god of the skies. Which was absurd. Of course it was. Tend to business, Ti-bird. She looked along the river ahead of the boat. Two bends, then the river widened, split about three small islands, two of them only dots of rock, the third like a smiling mouth, long and narrow and slightly curved with rocks and several uprooted trees piled together at the upstream end. A thick cloud of bird Min circled over that pile, diving at it, dropping things on it; she saw puffs of smoke and bits of flame that leaped and died from a lack of fuel. The objects were aimed at a dragged-together shelter, but bursts of a familiar gold glow deflected them. Lipitero. Under attack. She counted the Min ahead. Nearly a score of them. Too many. She hesitated a moment wondering if she could drop down and let the Ykx know she was on the point of rescue, but a bit of thought convinced her there was no way Petro could tell her from the other Min and she wasn’t likely to hold her fire just because some bird-squawked at her. Those other Min were keeping their distance; she must have done some fast effective damage to keep them that far away from her. Timka slipped round, losing a little height, tried to gauge how far the boat had to come before it reached the island. She moved her wings slightly, holding herself steady in the air and watched the gleaming sails with the dark splinter underneath creep along the wrinkled line of water. Quarter of an hour. Maybe a few minutes more. She flipped round again, climbed higher until she was over them all, her tags circling around at a cautious distance from her. With a scream of rage and defiance she drove herself at her top speed into and through the cloud of attackers, hitting them with body, claws, tearing beak, then swung about and went driving in a long breathless slant for the boat.

  As Skeen watched Timka climb (someone or something goosed her good, she thought, look at her, like she had a rocket in her tail), Usoq yelled. Cepo came scrambling from belowdecks, snatched up a crossbow and a bolt. She dipped the bolt in the bubbling resin, held it ready to the fires, waiting for the Captain’s word. “Pass-Through,” he squalled, “ehhh, what t’hell that about?”

  Skeen was watching Timka maneuver, clicking her tongue with approval as Ti-bird sent a Min rolling when he flew too close to her; the darter was out, set to spray, held in her left hand, no use as long as the Min stayed as high as they were, but if they came at the boat, they’d get a surprise. “Don’t know,” she yelled back. “She said something about trouble and took off.”

  “The Island’s just ahead, they going after the Ykx?”

  “Could be.”

  A fizzy snarling sound, a cat’s curse, and Usoq was poking bolts into the cauldron point first, pulling them out points and collars covered with the hot resin. He handed them to Cepo who leaned them in a neat sticky row against the side of the firebox. The boat swung away from the main knot of the Min, diping east again, cutting yet farther into the cultivated lands, then it rounded a rocky knoll and started west. One more bend, as far as Skeen could tell. She yipped with pleasure as Timka veered round and went rocketing through the mass of fliers, slashing at them, knocking them off the wind, scattering them. She swung round again and came plunging toward the ship.

  She shifted as soon as her talons touched the deck, scooped up the robe, tied it round her. More than a little breathlessly, she said, “They’ve cornered Lipitero. They’re attacking her. She’s holding them off for the moment. I don’t know if she’s hurt or how badly, but the quicker we get there the better. I don’t know.…” She looked round at the straining sails, relaxed enough to smile a little. “Though how you stop and ground-hitch a boat.…”

  The boat rounded the next bend and Timka saw the islands immediately ahead, two dots like droppings of a giant bird, the long mouth island beyond. The Min above it were swinging in tight circles, squawking with noisy jagged rage. They weren’t attacking Lipitero now. At least she’d managed that much, though she’d feel happier if she knew more about the kind of weapons they had, something more than stones, certainly more than stones, something that made fire. Usoq was going to fight fire with fire. No doubt he knew more than he was saying about how Min flew and fought. Should I ask—no—he’d throw words at me, I’m too tired for that. Words hard as stones. Lifefire, I wish … Telka, how many have to die? How many Min will you burn to reach me? Will you share the blame with me if the Ever-Hunger gets away from the Ykx and cleans the mountains of life?

  Usoq began shouting orders as the nose of the Pouliloulou reached the thready point of the long island. Vohdi brushed past her, began working frantically at ropes. As if the sails danced and bowed to the cadence of Usoq’s voice, they came folding down, heavily graceful. The boat reached the mid section of the island before it coasted to a stop and began to drift backward. A final shout; Vodhi in the bow, Cepo at the stern released anchors. They caught and the boat swayed between the two cables. The crewgirls dashed to the wheel area, snatched up two of the crossbows and stood, each of them holding bolts ready to light the resin the moment Usoq gave the order.

  As soon as the boat was stopped, Skeen looked at the rail, cursed and thrust the darter back in its holster. She didn’t snap it shut, the lanyard was clipped in place, and swung over the rail into the water. Half swimming, half striding she surged up onto the stony soil and ran toward the pile of boulders and twisted trees at the north end of the island. Timka hesitated a moment, the cat-weasel hated water, the eagle was vulnerable so close to land. With an impatient sound, she stripped off the robe once again, blurred into the cat-weasel and flowed like gray smoke over the rail.

  Skeen was almost at the crude shelter when she caught up. She leaped onto one of the taller boulders and perched there watching the Min, her mouth wide in a taunting grin—come on you shupping imbeciles, come on, like all the rest of you came, find what they found.

  The Min continued their angry circling beyond the reach of Skeen’s darter; apparently it was beyond the range of whatever weapons they carried because they hurled nothing down but wordless noisy curses.

  Skeen reached cautiously toward the shelter, pulled her hand back a lot faster than she put it out as the faint gold flicker bit at her. “Hai, Petro, ease off. It’s me. Skeen. Timka’s sitting on a rock here licking her chops and waiting for one of those clothheads to come close enough so she can get her teeth in him. You all right. That fuckin’ Usoq, he should have known. Eh?”

  “Took your time.” The voice was hoarse, painful. “Watch those [sound: wobblyhiss, some clicks, partially inaudible]”

  “Gotcha.” Skeen rolled onto her back, shaded her eyes with the stump of her forearm. She grinned. “I think they’re finally learning a little, Petro. They’re sure not about to get any closer
.”

  Rustles, a few rattles, some scrapings and the shriek of wood being pulled over rough rock. A mutter. Smell of burning wood. Lipitero pulled herself painfully from the shelter. One of her legs was crudely splinted with wood sliced from one of the smaller branches, tied on with strips of the robe she’d brought with her. Her fur was singed in several places, there was a suppurating burn on one shoulder; the pain must have been unendurable. Her eyes were sunken, dull; there was a gray film over the dark nubbly skin on her nose; even where it wasn’t burned off, her fur had lost most of its gloss and was twisted into peaks.

  Skeen rolled onto her feet, took a look at her and whistled. “You look like I feel after a three-day drunk.”

  “Damn your smart remarks, Skeen.” Lipitero levered herself onto an elbow and struggled to bring her legs around. She stopped, lay panting, her pointed ears pinned against her head. “Haven’t had a sip of water f’ two days.”

  “Ti, grow some hands and get over here.” Skeen unclipped the darter, set it on one of the boulders, dropped to her knees beside Lipitero. “Petro, this is going to hurt.…” She slid her handless arm under Lipitero’s legs, her other around the Ykx’s shoulders. With a grunt of effort, pushing off with her powerful leg muscles, she lifted the wounded woman onto her shoulder and started trotting toward the ship.

  Again Timka hesitated. It wasn’t the time to try something she’d been wondering about, but she couldn’t resist showing off for her kind wheeling above. She concentrated, tried to remember some of the desperation of the fight in the Aggitj’s room the night Domi was killed, then shifted. She looked at herself with satisfaction, laughed aloud and shook a clawed fist at them. She had the Pallah shape, but her fingers were stubbier with the cat-weasel’s retractable claws and she had the cat-weasel’s thick coat of gray and amber fur. She leaped from the boulder, scooped up the darter and ran after Skeen. This body was intoxicating; she had that superabundant energy and a lot of the cat’s musculature, her senses were so acute she was nearly leaping out of her skin at the least unexpected sound. She bounded past Skeen, hit the water with a growl of intense disgust, pulled herself over the rail, swung around in time to take hold of Lipitero and lift her on board. She gave the Ykx to Pegwai who came silently up behind her, turned to help Skeen on board but backed off as the Pass-Through snarled at her. With a shiver of relief she shifted to her standard Pallah form—and nearly collapsed from exhaustion. Apparently she was going to pay heavily when she used that shift. She could remember, though, with a terrifying vividness how she’d felt when she made that change. There were powerful tugs fighting whatever good sense she had, telling her to go back to it, to feel again that surge of power, that—well, say it, Ti—that was demonic if you looked at it one way, god-like if you saw it another. Even though she knew a little longer in that state might have depleted her to the point of death. With a weary sigh she pulled on her robe, tied the tie and looked around.