Rajen narrowed her eyes at him; a subtle and devastating warning. He knew he'd said more than she'd cared to reveal.
"But it doesn't matter," he said quickly. "We can plot and wish all we like, but without knowing where they took the child…"
Kug said, "White Eyes knows."
Talen frowned. "And only the dead know where that one makes his lair."
Hatul made a show of hauling himself to his feet. He pulled his tunic off to reveal a much nicer one beneath. "I have to take issue with a few of your claims, Talen." He twisted so they could all see the reinforced talonbone sword sheathed in a scabbard strapped between his shoulders. "Not seeing I'm armed, and my not having a weapon: different things."
"More proof you're a liar and not who you claim," Talen said. "We cannot trust him!"
"The other thing," Hatul said, "is that I'm not dead."
"What..?"
Rajen expelled an impatient breath.
"He's telling you he knows how to find the Plain One."
Dennick
Dennick knew he’d lose the benefit of his Hatul identity once he delivered the assassin to Kug. There was no reconciling the staggering drunk with a magn who could overpower even a disabled White Eyes mercenary, who wore a clean tunic beneath his torn and filthy outer garment, who carried a talonbone sword… and who had knowledge of the Aenikantag underworld beyond even street-savvy magn like the tavernkeeper or the sometimes-thief Talen.
Still, it seemed none of the others had any idea of his true identity, and that suited Dennick. He kept up a bit of Hatul's brash oafishness in the hope that might extend his anonymity longer still.
The seer, Rajen, was clearly on to him, though she did not press him more than a bit back at the Steadfast Capful. Whether she was simply naturally perceptive or truly gifted by the Science, Dennick wasn't sure.
It mattered, though. They were sure to encounter magickal resistance if they managed to track the kidnappers. It would help to have a little Science on their side, and that would give Dennick a chance to see what Rajen was capable of if he eventually had to face her himself.
He told himself the paths had not yet narrowed to that grim final one. All of the possibilities he could think of were horrible… but at least there were still possibilities.
Kug didn't seem to care who or what Hatul truly was. That magn was adrift in his own poisons; his mood made worse, if it needed to be, by the blow to the head he'd obviously taken.
Hatul's presence most obviously offended the sellsong, Talen. Dennick understood. The young magn appeared to be on some kind of honor quest, and Hatul kept showing up and spraying stickwater all over it.
Talen's attitude was easiest to play against, and Dennick kept at it as he led them through the waking streets of the Shadow District toward their destination.
"Talen," he said, "what song did you sing to earn that pretty sword?"
Kug surprised him by muttering with lazy sarcasm, "It's his mothersfather’s blade."
"That's right." Talen's tone was less reactive than expected.
Dennick's "Hm!" was respectful and impressed. "And so… what song did you sing to earn that pretty sword, Talen?" He grinned over his shoulder and laughed.
"The one called 'The Rest of My Family is Dead.'"
Talen was apparently past being baited.
The sellsong wasn't done. "Are you almost through with this tour of the worst neighborhoods of the Shadow District, Hatul? Or do we have time for more questions? Perhaps one or two for you?"
They were at the edge of the District, near the docks. Across the street, heaping piles of trash and debris, small hills of garbage, stone, and rotting reed and wood, were cradled by two crumbling brick walls, the remains of a long-since burned out building.
"The tour," Dennick said, "has concluded."
They picked their way carefully around and through the rubble until he stopped before a waist-high tangle of detritus.
Dennick bent, picked up three small adobe chips, and dropped them into the open end of a wrist-thick clay pipe protruding from the trash.
Kug squinted appraisingly. "A signal."
Dennick nodded. "Just so."
After a few bits, Talen shook his head and said to Rajen, "He's playing with us."
Rajen turned away from him. "No."
Talen and Kug followed her gaze.
Standing before one of the larger hillocks of garbage was a magn who had not been there bits before.
Kug lifted his ax. Dennick raised his arm for him to hold and said to the newcomer, "Deceiver's right."
The magn nodded and gestured them forward.
"Keep up," Dennick told the others. "Weapons sheathed," he added, "or, for you, Kug, down."
As they closed on the trash heap, it became clear that it concealed, by way of cleverly angled boards and clay slabs, a narrow passageway of garbage walls that led to steps dug into the ground.
At the base of the stairs, a heavy door swung open when their silent guide approached. She led them through, into a roughly hewn passageway about twice as wide as Dennick was tall, shored up with heavy timbers and well-lit by regularly spaced hanging glowglobes.
Kug was behind Dennick. "Have you been here?"
"Once."
Kug's grunt was skeptical.
Their guide led them past alcoves and side passages, each guarded by very serious magn with a variety of weapons no less formidable for their range in condition and age. Dennick noted the same could be said for the magn themselves.
Finally through another door, less impressive than the last, and into a cramped, unadorned room with another, opposite door, unfinished walls of soil and stone, and a single glowglobe netted to the low ceiling.
"Wait," the guide said, and left the way they came in.
A clatter told them the door was being locked from the other side. Talen leaped for the latch, but Dennick dropped an arm before him.
"Easy, sellsong."
"Don't tell me—"
The other door opened to allow a thin, sharp-featured magn into the room. He wore a light jacket over his tunic, and his trousers and boots were in better condition than what they'd thus far seen on others.
"I am Sadek." He smiled with the empty courtesy of a court district bureaucrat. "I speak for the master of this place." He looked at Dennick. "I don't know you. You claim deceiver's right?"
"As Hatul," Dennick said.
"Oh?" Sadek's eyebrows danced. "These are, indeed, interesting times."
"Indeed."
Sadek nodded to the rest. "You speak for these?"
"I do."
Sadek spread his arms. "Speak, then. What drives you to spend your claim?"
Dennick held out a hand to Kug. "Give me the thing."
Kug handed him the swatch torn from the assassin's robe. Dennick gave it to Sadek, saying, "His heartdaughter was slain last night by a magn wearing a robe with these colors. The pattern is known by some to represent acolytes of a magicker, Taghesh."
Sadek's eyes glittered. "Child-arm, they call him."
Dennick nodded. "Rightly, as I understand it."
"And so..?"
"The magn who wore this was no magicker. He had your master's mark."
Sadek's tone was blandly conciliatory. "A professional relationship, nothing more."
Protocol kept Dennick's attention on Sadek, but he could feel Kug shifting, restless with short-tethered rage. Dennick said, "We understand that. The one who wore those colors is beyond retribution," Sadek chuckled at that, "and we seek none from your master."
"Wise, one who speaks as Hatul."
Dennick dipped his head in acknowledgment. "We'd rather direct ourselves to the one who hired your master's arm."
Sadek tapped a finger on his lips. "That's an endeavor… rich… with potential, isn't it?"
Dennick let that go as rhetorical. "Can you tell us where to find Taghesh?"
Sadek regarded Dennick for a wink.
Finally, he dropped his finger and
said, "That would, you must understand, set an unprofitable precedent. I must decline."
Chapter Twenty Five
Kug
Sadek's dismissive refusal was like a gale blowing through the fog of Kug's despair to expose clean, clear fury.
An animal noise erupted from his throat as he lunged for the Plain One's emissary.
Even as Hatul struggled to restrain Kug, Sadek moved into his attack, a thin, polished glasstone blade in his hand.
The edge of that knife pressed into Kug's throat.
Hatul's hold was expert and effective, an unexpected and unwelcome revelation.
Sadek's face was less than half a hand from Kug’s own. He recognized a killing resolve in the other magn's eyes.
Hatul said tightly, "We can all step off this path. Kug. Sadek."
Kug kept his attention on Sadek. His control of the blade was masterful. Kug worked to keep his breathing shallow and regular. He resisted swallowing.
Hatul added, "If it's a matter of treasure, Sadek, we could share it with you. With White Eyes."
Kug heard others enter the room. Talen cursed, "Pissthorn…"
They were crowded by armed thugs. Bone, talon, and stone clattered and pressed.
Sadek's breath smelled of breezeleaf; fresh and crisp. The pores on his nose were peppered and large.
"You four have no more path to map. You'll—"
Those killing eyes shifted focus. He felt Hatul loosen his grip. Perhaps he decided to let Kug fight after all?
Sadek's control of the knife never faltered, even as he seemed to listen to something no one else could hear.
Kug stayed very still.
Sadek stepped back.
A wave of his hand, and his lackeys followed suit.
"Impressive." He lowered his knife. "Your paths wind on after all."
Hatul gave Kug's shoulder a cautionary squeeze as he released him. Kug lowered his ax.
Talen said, "What's happening?"
Sadek reached into a pocket of his jacket and brought out a black bag of heavy cloth. "The Plain One wants to see you,” he said to the seer. “Only you."
Kug gave Rajen credit. Only a quick flare of her nostrils betrayed surprise or anxiety. Her "Why?" was more suspicious than frightened.
Sadek’s smile was polite. "Put this over your head and accept the gratitude of your companions. You've saved their lives."
He sounded mildly disappointed.
Rajen
Blinded by the hood, Rajen tried to perceive probability streams as Sadek led her through passages and up and down stairs and ramps. Anxiety stymied her focus, and though that shortcoming helped transform fear into anger, it was not enough.
When Sadek removed the hood, Rajen found herself in a space more natural cavern than carved chamber. Small rocks littered the moist stone floor, and from what she could see in the dim light, the walls curved up from the floor.
Sadek withdrew into the shadows, leaving her waiting behind a magn in a simple, undyed, hooded cloak.
The magn turned to face her, removing their hood to reveal a bald head with a brown and golden-hued complexion much like her own, save that their skin was completely free of wrinkles, blemishes, or any imperfection.
As they stretched their lips in a poor imitation of a welcoming smile, the flesh around their mouth remained flawless, without fold or impression, as if it flowed rather than moved over muscle and bone.
Rajen met their blank, uniformly creamy eyes, and the Science exploded inside her.
Probability streams rushed in thick torrents from her and around her—no, not streams; such a gentle word carried no affinity with the currents buffeting her.
She had never been so immersed in her talent, or so at its mercy. The experience was unmooring; she could not feel the floor at her feet.
Or her feet.
Or hands.
Rajen had grown up on boats. She knew how to handle dangerous, swift currents. She applied that skill.
If possibility was all around, and in truth it always was, it was not something to resist. Choices were made according to the streams, even as choices carved channels in which the streams could flow.
So she released resistance: the most effective decision she could make.
It helped ground her in every way. She calmed enough to observe rather than react. There was knowledge here for her, if she could suppress the instinctive impulse to flee and hide from the irreconcilable reality all around.
Ahead—insomuch as so specific a vector could be perceived in this probability storm—she saw the currents sharply bend and recoil from a central void lodged like an immutable stone of resolute nothingness in churning potential.
A void in the shape of a magn.
This was similar to the experience she'd had during the ritual in her basement. Here was a place probability stopped.
Not a place.
An… entity.
It was repulsive in the visceral as well as magickal sense. Offensive.
It made her angrier still.
That helped ground her further.
She was certain she was in the presence of the Plain One, and they were worse than a mystery.
They were an insult to reality.
An abomination.
The rushing, swirling probability storm blinked out abruptly.
Rajen nearly fell on her face, but she kept her balance, scowling.
The Plain One's voice was as smooth as their skin, placid and nearly uninflected.
"What happens behind your forehead? Right now, is my meaning."
Rajen was ready to believe they could read her thoughts, but for the sake of claiming a degree of normalcy, she voiced her reply.
"I never quite allowed myself to believe in things from Outside," she said, "until now. How is it you wear the form of a magn?"
"I am among you," it said. "I am not Outside."
Riddles?
"Probability doesn't reach you. You're outside by definition."
They lifted and dropped their shoulders in a too-slow attempt to shrug. "I am… interested?" They tilted their head, reversed the gesture, and continued.
"Interested. In things from Outside. The thing Taghesh Child-Arm intends to bring over." They raised their hand and gestured, as if painting the words in the air: "Amang-huru."
"That sounds like Gundynal speech."
"Yes. Words Taghesh appropriated…" They aped a smile again and seemed subtly distracted. "I like that word, as we speak of words. 'Appropriated.'"
"I don't know it."
Like the edges of widening craters, the Plain One's brows and cheeks made way as their featureless, flat eyes widened. Their skin bulged and shifted, but never creased.
"Appropriated?"
Was the Plain One making a joke?
"Amang-huru," Rajen clarified.
"'Shimmering fire,'" the Plain One intoned. "Is that poetry?" They nodded tentatively, as if not sure the gesture was correct. "I am convinced."
"Is that why Taghesh needs the infant? A sacrifice?"
"I cannot say." The Plain One paused. "I cannot know." The slightest emphasis on the final word. "You say how magick works. You know."
"I don't know anything about Outsider magick."
She did understand the Science was almost always more accessible when there was some kind of focus for a ritual. Perhaps Ranith was simply a tool, something symbolically so audacious, his presence… his death, more likely… would enhance the effectiveness of Taghesh's concert.
The Plain One watched her think.
"Share."
Rajen realized she was in the grip of a kind of awe, or light shock, in the presence of this… thing… but not so much as to not feel some frustration at the oblique pace of their interaction.
"Is that why you let Ulthus hire your sellswords? So you would have access to Taghesh?" Even as she asked, Rajen reconsidered. If a fraction of the myths associated with the Plain One were true, they would need no intermediaries.
&n
bsp; And yet.
"Why did you spare us? Why am I here? What… what happened, just now, with the streams?"
The Plain One seemed to regard her, though with eyes that appeared composed entirely of sclera, it was not easy to be sure where their gaze was directed. The Plain One's stance, which they maintained, still as a statue, for several blinks, made her feel as though she was under inspection.
Those white eyes never blinked. Did the Plain One have eyelids?
Did it matter?
Finally, the Plain One shifted slightly on his feet and said, "I will show you how to find Taghesh Child-Arm. You will take what you will need to help you when you find him." A beat. "Across your living time, I will present to you three things you will take."
Across her living time..?
"You mean at some point in the future..?"
"Is not everything future for you?"
Meaning, that may not be the case for the Plain One. Fascinating.
How would a creature whose existence repelled probability streams experience time?
"Yes," she said.
"Then that is what I mean. In the future, I will present to you three things, and you will take them from me."
The Plain One was proposing—or declaring—a deal.
Despite a wave of almost giddy disbelief at the outlandish situation she found herself in, Rajen was automatically reluctant.
"I… I prefer to avoid obligation to any magn. Even one wearing the shape of a magn."
If she'd offended them, the Plain One's tone was level as ever.
"You want to believe you are free."
"I will be free."
"If Amang-huru comes in," the Plain One said, "all your choices cease."
That was clear enough.
"I will die."
"You all die." Rajen realized the Plain One referred to magn, in general, eventually. "If Taghesh brings the Outsider, you will die recently."
The Plain One meant "soon."
Rajen sighed.
"I agree."
The Plain One said, "Yes."
The transfer of information was immediate and comprehensive. Before the Plain One spoke that single word, she had no idea where to find Taghesh, Ulthus, and Ranith.
And then, she did.
Light of the Outsider Page 17