The Dark Path

by Walter H Hunt

  She was wrong, of course.

  ***

  As before, they were escorted along the balcony into S'reth's sitting-room, but the sage zor was not alone this time. Instead he was settled on his perch, his balding head bent down so that he could converse with his human guest. The man was settled in an armchair nearby with a tiny egeneh-cup held in one hand. Cle'eru's vermilion sunlight filtered in through a high window.

  It took several seconds for her to react, as she stood in the doorway where the alHyu had left her this time. S'reth's guest looked up from his conversation and stood up immediately, walking across the room to meet her.

  "Jay, I—"

  "Dan, what the hell are you doing here?" she asked, trying not to raise her voice above a whisper. "Are you involved in this . . . this—"

  "I'm here at S'reth's request," he answered evenly. "I'm being paid a tidy sum in cash to do him—and you—a favor."

  "A favor."

  "You want to go across the line." He turned his back and walked back into the room, not noticing Ch'k'te's claws a few centimeters out of their sheaths. Jackie noticed, though, and wasn't sure whether to feel alarmed or honored by Ch'k'te's concern.

  "What I want has ceased to have any meaning, se S'reth, I want an explanation." She stalked into the room after Dan and walked up to the old zor's perch. She must have seemed physically imposing to him, for he arranged his wings in the Posture of Approaching Danger and uncrossed his arms, making them ready for action.

  "Calm yourself, Mighty One," he said to her.

  "I'll be as angry as I please. Dredging up an old hurt is a low trick, and I don't like being manipulated that way. I have a court-martial waiting for me back in the Empire and I may be the only person who can run this Qu'u errand for you"—S'reth seemed to wince as she said "errand"—"but I'm ready to call the whole thing off."

  "Jay—" McReynolds began, but Jackie turned on him.

  "You keep the hell out of this." She returned her attention to S'reth. "Why didn't you tell me, se S'reth? You could've dropped it on me three days ago when I reached Cle'eru. I didn't need this deceit."

  "Qu'u did not know who would help or hinder him," S'reth replied softly. He changed his wings to the Posture of Honor to esLi. "I considered discussing this matter with you, but concluded that meeting him without my presence might trigger—"

  "Trigger what? Some affection? Not after all these years. Not now."

  "Why don't you drop the 'Iron Maiden' act, Jay? I'm not asking you to sleep with me. Besides, looks like you're already taken—Oof!" He couldn't complete his comment because Jackie made fist contact with his jaw. Falling to the floor, he up ended a delicate three-legged table, spilling a number of potted plants to either side.

  With surprising speed for someone so frail in appearance, S'reth was between them, his arms extended and his wings arranged in the Cloak of Circling Defense. "Stop!" he shouted, muttering something in the Highspeech. Ch'k'te grasped Jackie's shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

  "Don't worry, Honored One," she said, rubbing her clenched fist with her upper hand. "I won't hit him again. At least if he doesn't make any more stupid comments."

  "Looks like I'm a little out of practice," Dan McReynolds commented, rubbing his chin as he picked himself up off the floor. "Guess I should've stayed in the Navy."

  "Guess I didn't hit you hard enough to shut you up."

  "Guess not." He brushed soil off of his clothing. "Feelin' better now?"

  "Not even a little bit."

  "I think," S'reth said, turning to Jackie and leading her gently by the elbow to a comfortable chair, "that I have made a slight misjudgment in my perceptions of human nature." He gestured to an adjacent perch for Ch'k'te. He refused, taking up a guard position behind Jackie. Dan McReynolds found his way to another chair, still rubbing the spot where Jackie's fist had struck, the ghost of a wry smile still playing on his lips.

  When everyone was seated and S'reth had reassumed his perch, he took a cup of egeneh in his hand and looked at his guests over it. "In the Qu'u legend," he began, "a talented—but inexperienced—warrior is given the responsibility of carrying out a perilous and important quest. He is brought to understanding by a series of trials and revelations, through which he is able to do what is necessary to complete this quest.

  "esLi in His wisdom could well have apprised Qu'u of what lay ahead of him, but chose to present needed information gradually and slowly at a pace Qu'u was capable of accepting.

  "The best reason for the Lord esLi choosing to do this is simple. He perceived that if Qu'u knew what lay in front of him—the descent to the Plain of Despite, the confrontation with the esGa'uYal and the piercing of the Icewall—then he would be unwilling or perhaps incapable of carrying out the quest with which he was burdened."

  S'reth took a long sip from his egeneh and glanced quickly over his shoulder toward the esLi disk hanging on the wall be hind him.

  "My human friend, the doctrine of Dsen'sSur'ch'a—the Ordeal of Gradual Revelation—is not a matter of deceit. Omens and portents, intuition and insight, are the way in which the People approach the world. This is especially true for a hero, particularly in classical legend. If you were one of us"—he held up his hand and arranged his wings in the Stature of Formal Apology—"this discussion would not be needed.

  "One of the People, placed in the position of being the avatar of the mighty Qu'u, would understand that the Dsen'sSur'ch'a is necessary for no other reason than to provide triggers for Qu'u to come through." He folded his arms and brought his wings low so that they brushed the perch, in the Configuration of Honored Abasement.

  She felt Ch'k'te rustling nervously behind her. "Really, se S'reth, that isn't necessary."

  "What do you mean?" S'reth answered, remaining in that position.

  "I didn't mean to touch your honor: I certainly wouldn't expect you to offer . . ." Then she realized the import of his question. "I—You, well, I—"

  On the Plain of Despite, warriors travel with their gaze directed toward the ground, she heard the voice say. Only heroes can cast their eyes upward, and thus see the signs and portents of their quest.

  I can read his wings, she said to herself. What the hell is happening to me?

  "ha Qu'u." S'reth's voice seemed to be coming from a long distance away, the voice in her head carrying afterechoes, like eddies in a muddy pool.

  "I'm . . . not ready to answer to that name, se S'reth."

  He shifted his position at last to an intermediate posture; but in his eyes there was a different light.

  "Very well, se Jackie, the nature of your journey is just beginning to be revealed. Though you may dislike me for having done so, I have introduced an old acquaintance into this affair"—Jackie suppressed her smile, realizing that S'reth had not recognized the double entendre—"knowing that it might bring about a sSur'ch'a. It might produce a further revelation of the path the Lord esLi might wish for you to fly.

  "But Captain McReynolds' purpose is more pragmatic: he is, indeed, a ship-captain who has been to Crossover, or Sargasso as it is also called. His ship will take you there as the first step on your journey to recover the gyaryu."

  "I see."

  "His services are needed, se Jackie. It would be difficult for you to reach Crossover without someone reliable—"

  "I would hardly classify Dan as reliable."

  "Now hold it one goddamn minute," Dan said, breaking out of a long silence. "You've got a grudge against me, Jay, but you've got no right to call me unreliable, se S'reth and I made a deal to deliver you to—"

  "Stop talking about me like I was a rack of artha—"

  "Why? For the last ten minutes you've been talking to se S'reth like I wasn't even here. You just told me—and showed me"—he rubbed his chin almost as an affectation, though there was a nasty reddish mark where she'd hit him—"that there isn't anything between us. I'm supposed to get you to Crossover, and I'll get you there."

  "Why should I trust you?"

&n
bsp; "Why shouldn't you trust me?"

  "I trusted you before. Last time I did, you let me down in a big way. It's hard for me to forget that."

  "You might as well. It was a long time ago and it was business. It wasn't like we were bonded, or ever would be; you were married to the Service then. Looks like you still are."

  "Don't be so sure."

  "I don't have to be. It doesn't matter to me anymore." He stood up and bowed to S'reth, then walked across the room, staying near its edge. "You'll forgive me if I stay out of range of your fist.

  "I'll be in port for three or four more days, se S'reth; you'll let me know if I'm to be of service."

  He left the words hanging in the air as the sound of his departing footsteps echoed in the hallway.

  Jackie looked down at her hands folded in her lap. Ch'k'te's presence just behind her chair was comforting, but she could sense his palpable uneasiness; he knew what Dan had meant to her, and how it had ended. Still, she was unwilling to make some sort of decision on the spot, even though it might be dramatic or even inspiring to do so.

  Instead she stood up and walked slowly past S'reth's perch to stand in front of the stone disk of esLi, hanging in an antigrav field. Sunlight from outside cut a bright orange swath across it, dividing it into light and dark regions, and etching the hRni'i that covered it in dim fire.

  If I were one of the People, it would be an excellent time for me to have some blinding symbolic revelation, she thought. Come on, mysterious voice. Tell me where to go; place my feet on the right path. The shroud has been pulled aside, and I'm ready to cross onto the Plain of Despite.

  Do your worst, she added. My mind is open and ready.

  The room was strangely silent, as if S'reth or Ch'k'te, in violation of all Sensitive etiquette, were listening to her invitation. Several moments passed, while recent events whirled in her head.

  . . . And nothing happened. Even the sentient weight of the disk of esLi seemed distant and unreachable, as if it had with drawn from her questions and her anger. At last, calling on her own military discipline, she pulled herself to attention. She gave the disk and S'reth each a curt nod, then headed for the exit, Ch'k'te following.

  When she was at the door, she heard S'reth speak softly: "What are you going to do?"

  She stopped in her tracks. "Ultimately, I don't know." She didn't turn around, or even look aside to see Ch'k'te's expression. "For now, I suppose I'd better pack. My ride won't wait forever."

  "esLiHeYar, se Jackie."

  Chapter 19

  THE LEGEND OF QU'U (continued)

  HU'ASCHY'E, THE FEAR OF BEING TRAPPED UNDER-

  GROUND, WAS ACUTE AS THEY TRAVELED THROUGH THE

  LONG TUNNEL. [Approaching Danger]

  THE CEILING WAS TOO LOW AND THE

  WIDTH OF THE CORRIDOR TOO NARROW TO ALLOW FLIGHT:

  THEY WERE CONFINED TO THE TUNNEL

  FLOOR, TRUDGING ALONG IN SILENCE.

  AT FIRST THERE WAS NO SOUND BUT THAT MADE BY

  THEIR PASSAGE. NEITHER QU'U NOR HYOS FOUND

  ENERGY FOR SPEECH; THE [The Drawn chya]

  GLOOM THAT HAD SEEMED TO DESCEND ON THEM

  MADE IT DIFFICULT EVEN FOR EITHER OF THEM TO

  RAISE HIS HEAD TO SPEAK TO THE OTHER. SOON, HOW-

  EVER, SOUNDS BEGAN TO SEEP INTO THE HEAVY DARK

  QUIET; AT FIRST THEY WERE ALMOST INDISCERNIBLE,

  BUT GRADUALLY THEY [Warrior Against Despite]

  BECAME MORE

  AND MORE APPARENT. THERE WERE CRIES AND SHOUTS,

  LOW THRUMMING SOUNDS AND IRREGULAR CRASHES

  AND THUMPS. WHEN THE TWO COMPANIONS STOPPED

  FOR A REST AFTER WHAT SEEMED LIKE A SUN'S WORTH

  OF WALKING, THE ECHOES RESOLVED THEMSELVES INTO

  A PATTERN THAT QU'U RECOGNIZED.

  "THEY ARE FIGHTING A WAR," HE TOLD HYOS QUIETLY,

  AND THE WORD "WAR" ECHOED ABOUT THE CAVERN.

  AS THEY DESCENDED EVER FURTHER, THE TUNNEL

  NARROWED AND CONSTRICTED, HEIGHTENING

  HU'ASCHY'E. [Cloak of Defense]

  AT LAST THEY COULD NO LONGER TRAVEL SIDE BY SIDE

  BUT WERE FORCED TO GO SINGLE FILE; QU'U, HIS

  BLADE OUT BEFORE HIM, LED THE WAY. THE WALLS OF

  THE CAVERN LOST THEIR ROUGHNESS AND BECAME

  SMOOTH AND THEN SHINY, DISTORTEDLY REFLECTING

  THE TWO INTO CARNIVAL-CREATURES, THE IMAGES

  FURTHER WARPED WHERE THE WALL HAD BEEN BENT

  OR DENTED. TO THEIR HEIGHTENED SENSES, IT SEEMED

  ALMOST AS IF GROSSLY ALTERED FORMS HULKED

  ALONG ON ALL SIDES OF THEM, SHADOWING THEIR

  EVERY MOVE. [Winds of Despite]

  THE WAR, FAR OFF AND MUFFLED, GREW LOUDER TO

  THEIR EARS WITH EVERY STEP. [The Drawn chya]

  Anonymous and unheralded, the avatar of Qu'u and her companion rode up to the Cle'eru orbital station in a civilian shuttle. Jackie had had a fitful night's sleep. S'reth had arranged shuttle passage for them and had provided Jackie with the location of the Fair Damsel's berth. As she thought about Dan McReynolds and his ship, she conceived of a confrontation on the station deck, but she concluded that she didn't give a damn, really, how it came out . . .

  In the deepest part of the night, when she'd felt the most despairing, she dreamed of the vuhls and of the alien image of herself dissolving in the heat of pistol fire after poor John Maisel had been . . . turned off. It hadn't been that long ago: a matter of weeks, weeks full of lessons too significant ever to be unlearned.

  Now she was traveling incognito. She was neither the center of attention nor the object of deference, a curiosity merely be cause she was in the company of, and not merely among, zor.

  She was Jacqueline Kearny now, a navigator's mate from Dieron and late of the Imperial Navy. Ch'k'te was Ch'k'te HeU'ur, an engineer's mate. Documents and working papers proved it. The Fair Damsel was apparently short at least one crew member in each department, making their introduction into the ship's complement a reasonable cover for their trip across the line.

  During the hour the shuttle traveled from surface to orbit she tried to nap, or at least feign sleep, like a cat on patrol. Ch'k'te meditated quietly, perhaps conjuring an esLi disk in his mind within which he could perch. Whatever he was doing, he seemed to be a hell of a lot more relaxed. Just as the shuttle was making its final approach to the station, Ch'k'te emerged from his deep and immobile communion by opening his eyes, flexing his hitherto unmoved muscles, and carefully arranging his wings in the Posture of Approaching Danger.

  She hadn't yet gotten used to the idea of being able to read wings. She was seated opposite him in a remote nook of the shuttle's viewing lounge. Through the viewport, they could see the hulking station half in shadow, with the blue-green planet huge behind it.

  He rose in a single smooth motion. "We seem to be expected," he said without preamble.

  "I'd hope so."

  "A Sensitive is expecting us, se Jackie," he said, his wing-posture communicating a wariness. She resisted the impulse to ask further. Instead she followed Ch'k'te out of the lounge and into the corridor, where passengers were already queuing for disembarkation.

  ***

  Once out of the shuttle and out on the station deck, they were assailed by bright, harsh lights that seemed to shine from everywhere. She was wearing a cap; she pulled its brim down to help shield her eyes. Ch'k'te rummaged in his duffel bag while they walked and finally produced a pair of sunglasses and donned them. Even though they were built for a zor, the appearance was comical enough to make her smile, but she was able to hold back her laughter—for the sake of his dignity and perhaps their friendship. In any case, the huge torus of the station was bigger than any ship's deck—even a carrier's launch bay—and she felt small and insignificant. Cargo coasters rushed by, vaguely following lanes painted on the deck. For their own safety, they found their way to the outside wall, where there was a marked, slightly elevated pedestrian walkway.


  As they moved along and passed the berths of various commercial vehicles, Jackie watched their reflections in the curved, shiny outside wall. They were elongated like reflections in a trick mirror, distorted where the wall-section had been bent or dented. It was almost as if two grossly altered forms hulked along beside them, shadowing their every move. Ch'k'te seemed not to look at all; since Th'an'ya's emergence, he had been avoiding mirrors entirely.

  At last they approached the Fair Damsel's berth. It was less than a quarter of the way around the station from where they docked; they only had to pass through three main bulkheads which separated sixteenth-sections of the torus from each other and were designed to prevent a sudden depressurization in case of collision.

  The Damsel's airlock was open, giving direct entry into its rapidly filling cargo hold. Hands were driving canisters up to the entrance, where they were checked against a manifest by a burly, hostile-looking man. He had evidently seen Jackie and Ch'k'te coming from quite a distance; he stood with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face, waiting for them to come within earshot to deliver his first volley. Jackie almost smiled, knowing just the sort of attack that was coming; Ch'k'te's wings were in a defensive posture that the Fair Damsel's cargo master could not possibly read.

  The man actually waited until they were practically at the 'lock before he spoke. "You two the new mates?"

  "Kearny and HeU'ur," Jackie said, pointing first to herself and then to Ch'k'te. "Permission to come aboard, Chief." She hoped that was the correct title. Evidently it was; he looked at his comp, scowled a bit and then gave them a curt nod.

  "Permission granted. I'm Chief Sabah. Most of the hands call me 'the Sultan' though not on-duty. See Chief Steward Casian for'ard"—he gestured toward the far end of the cargo hold, toward the front of the vessel—"for your bunks and where to stow your gear; then the Old Man wants to see you."

  "Aye-aye," she said. "Do we have duty stations assigned yet?"