Prime- The Summons

by Maeve Sleibhin

  Joaquim nodded at Xai. “Go,” he said.

  “Why me?” Xai replied, infuriated.

  “Because I can’t afford to get too close to Ricardo. Now go,” he added, pushing her forward gently.

  Xai stalked angrily up to the dais, took a shard out of the pot, and stalked back to Joaquim, ignoring his small smile and the fact that Joaana Kumar and the Messinian were both watching her every step with untoward attention.

  “They appear to be rather interested in you,” Joaquim murmured.

  “I’m aware of that,” Xai said through gritted teeth.

  “Interesting,” Joaquim said pensively. “What could this man want?”

  “Nothing good,” Xai snarled.

  A T’lasian in a grey robe had gone to stand next to the woman in the blue robe. “Aaum,” the woman called. A stocky T’lasian carrying a bando stepped forward, holding up his shard. He was followed by a slight, nervous-looking teenage boy. The two followed the robed T’lasian toward the stables.

  “Bein,” the woman called. Another T’lasian, this one carrying a whip and accompanied by what seemed to be an Edoxian girl stepped forward, to follow a green robed T’lasian into the stables.

  The Henriques were obviously a Clan enamored of racing, because four of them were sponsors. One—an especially fat specimen—scowled darkly at the two teenagers who stepped forward at the calling of their lot. “Bad luck for him,” Joaquim murmured. “Young men are rarely good at fussa.”

  “Why does he accept them, then?” Xai asked.

  “It’s the rule of the game,” Joaquim explained. “The riding pairs are chosen this way.”

  “Why does it matter?” Xai asked.

  “Fussa is won by the riders. A fast fusset is important. But place is second to the number of pieces one gets.”

  “What do you mean, pieces?” Xai asked, alarmed, but Ricardo had stepped up beside the woman in blue, and Joaquim’s attention was drawn elsewhere.

  “Eula,” the woman called.

  Xai glanced around the circle. Her eyes came to rest on Joaana Kumar. Joaana had been keeping an eye on Xai since the proceedings had begun, but now her attention was entirely diverted. She stood with her hands on her hips, watching Ricardo, a small smile on her face, her eyes gleaming, gleeful.

  “Eula,” the woman repeated.

  Joaana lifted her arm with an impressively dramatic gesture. “Eula!” she cried. She strode forward, the shard held in her hand. The Messinian followed her, in Second, his expression startled and wary.

  The reaction of the other T’lasians in the hall was striking. Most of the riders began to cheer. Whistles and catcalls rang up to the roof. A tall man, laughing, jogged over to Joaana, slapped her on the shoulder, and called out something in T’lasian. The other T’lasians began to laugh—even some on the dais laughed. The only one who did not was Ricardo, who stood beside the woman in blue, his face almost the color of his robe, his eyes tight.

  “Interesting,” Joaquim murmured.

  “Why?” Xai asked.

  “They like her,” he explained. He smiled, the expression on his face almost proud.

  Joaana sauntered after Ricardo down into the stables. The Messinian followed her with a somewhat uncertain expression. The other T’lasians fell to speaking among themselves, obviously amused by the turn of events.

  “It must be genetic,” Xai murmured.

  “Gebo,” the woman in blue called. A very old woman wearing a yellow robe stood beside her, waiting.

  No one moved.

  “Gebo,” the woman repeated. Joaquim reached down and grasped the shard held in Xai’s hand.

  “Gebo!” he called.

  The old woman smiled, nodded them over, and began to walk in the direction of the stables. Xai mustered her courage and followed.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  THE OLD WOMAN leaned heavily on her stick as she hobbled down the hallway, her golden robe billowing beautifully behind her, a great swath of yellow, covered in small black markings. “I am Prama Harari,” she said as she marched steadfastly forward. “I’d have your names, if you would.” The gold of her robe brought out the dusky color of her skin and the bright blue of her eyes.

  Joaquim walked calmly beside her, his stride long and easy. “I am Julian Te, of Rydia,” he said, “and this is my assistant, Xai.”

  There was an explosive belching noise from the stall they were walking past. Xai leapt about a meter into the air and scuttled to the other side of Joaquim.

  The old woman cocked an eyebrow. “She doesn’t have much experience with fusset, I take it.”

  “None,” Joaquim replied. “But she will be in the defensive position.”

  “What sort of experience do you have?” Prama asked, darting him a keen look.

  Joaquim gave her an odd smile—shy, almost prim, belied by the quirk of his eyebrow and the gleam in his eye. “Enough,” he replied.

  “I have heard of no Julian Te in the Victor’s ranks,” Prama pointed out. Joaquim’s smile grew slightly.

  “Experience comes in many guises,” he told her. The old woman glanced up at him for a moment, her expression very alert. Joaquim met and held her eyes. Prama threw her head back and laughed, relaxing, amused.

  “You flirt like a T’lasian,” she said, “that’s for certain. If you ride like you flirt, I will have no complaints. Here,” she finished, coming to a halt before a stall. “Fusset Four. Beoa.” She hesitated for a moment. “She is our only fusset,” she said, her expression suddenly very serious. She stood in the doorway, barring the way into the stall, her bright eyes fixed on Joaquim, leaning heavily on her staff. “My granddaughter loves her. Victory—that is a question for the ancestors. But I would ask that you protect Beao.”

  Joaquim nodded seriously. “As if she were my only daughter,” he replied. Prama blinked, surprised, startled by the phrase.

  “That is a saying I have not heard in many years,” she said. “Are you an innocent man?”

  “On the head of all my ancestors,” Joaquim said seriously, “I swear it.”

  Prama stood there for a moment, her brow furrowed with uncertainty. Finally she shook her head. “I will take your word. But do not betray me,” she added, her tone almost menacing. “I may be an old woman, but I do have friends.” She looked intently at Joaquim, her eyes keen and very bright. Then, without another word, she led the way into the stall. Joaquim grinned reassuringly at Xai and followed the older woman through the sliding door. Xai sighed, grimaced, and followed them into the cramped quarters.

  The smell was overwhelming, sticky and thick, a deep musty scent that swamped Xai’s nostrils. She began breathing deeply though her nose, trying to acclimatize as quickly as possible.

  “Ah, fusset,” Joaquim said, inhaling with relish.

  The stall was small, taller and deeper than it was wide, reaching perhaps eight meters into the air and into the back, but only four across. The walls and ceiling were a deep green, and very slick. The floor, in contrast, was a textured yellow. It made for a very aggressive color combination and Xai winced at the sight of it.

  The fusset filled the stall, a great, muscular beast perhaps five meters long and three high. It was positioned on one of the walls, head facing downward. A little girl sat beneath it. She appeared to be reading it a book.

  “So Mariam took Melo to the first ring,” the little girl was telling the fusset.

  “That will be enough, Saras,” Prama said. “Our riders have been chosen.”

  The little girl put the book down so the fusset could still see it and got to her feet. She turned to face them—a leggy, plain little girl—her small, childish face pursed with a very adult skepticism.

  The fusset reached its tail down past its head and gently turned the page. This close, Xai could hear a persistent rumbling which she thought emanated from the fusset’s stomach. What, Xai thought suddenly, does a fusset eat?

  “Are you any good?” Saras asked Joaquim, standing before the fusset as if s
he was going to protect it from harm.

  Joaquim put his hands on his hips and looked down at her. “I am very good,” he replied, speaking as if he were speaking to an adult and not a child.

  Saras put her hands on her hips, imitating him. “What is your name?” she asked, her tone peremptory.

  Xai looked over at Prama. She had sat down in a chair next to the fusset, and seemed tired. As Xai looked on, the fusset put its tail on her leg, almost as if it was comforting her. Prama patted the tail absent-mindedly, and watched the little girl, a small smile on her face.

  “My name,” Joaquim said haughtily, a glimmer of amusement in his eye, “is Julian Te.”

  “You look like Joaana Kumar,” Saras said. “Are you related to her?”

  Joaquim almost flinched. Xai glanced nervously at Prama. Prama looked back at Xai, her expression impenetrable.

  “What if I am?” Joaquim asked.

  Saras shrugged. “Joaana is the best rider on the station. I’d say it’s good.”

  “Well then,” Joaquim replied, “let us say that I am.”

  Saras nodded, as if everything made perfect sense to her. “Who’s she?” she asked, pointing at Xai.

  “Her name is Xai.”

  Saras nodded again. “She’d better be defensive. I don’t think she’s ever seen a fusset before.”

  “Saras,” Prama said calmly, “why don’t you introduce the riders to Beao.”

  Saras examined Xai for a long moment. Xai tried not to quail under her critical gaze. Finally, the little girl nodded to herself. “You will do,” she said. “Beao,” she explained, “these are Julian Te and Xai. They’re going to ride you today.”

  Joaquim nudged Xai before him up to the animal. “Greetings, Beao,” he said. “It is an honor to ride with you today.”

  Xai looked at Joaquim. Joaquim nodded seriously.

  “Ah,” Xai said uncertainly. “Greetings.” This close, the rumbling of the animal’s stomach was even louder. Xai could see the huge muscles flexing beneath the fusset’s reptilian skin. Xai wondered, in passing, what it might feel like.

  The fusset made several odd, panting noises.

  “Beao says you may touch her,” Saras said.

  “How—?” Xai replied, startled.

  Joaquim grinned down at Xai. “That’s the way of fusset,” he told her. “They understand us, perhaps better than we understand ourselves.”

  Xai reached out slowly and carefully touched the skin. It was warm and pliant to the touch, a reddish gold, veined with green. The fusset turned its head, and Xai met its eyes.

  There were eight of them, mesmerizing orbs of green and yellow, swirling around what appeared to be silver pupils. Looked into, they seemed pure and unfathomably gentle. Xai glanced at Joaquim, awed and uncertain. He smiled slightly. Xai looked back at the fusset.

  Beao huffed again, and brought her tail around to touch Xai lightly on the right cheekbone. The tail ended in three digits—almost fingers. It was a long, muscular appendage with spikes on it, thick horns curing inward to make semi-circular rings that ran all the way up the spine to the flat area just above the head. There were two similar lines of curved horns on the sides of the animal. Xai realized the riders must use those to hold on to the animal as it hung upside down from the ceiling.

  “Beao says you are missing your tattoo,” Saras said curiously. “Strange. You do not look T’lasian.”

  “Many peoples have tattoos, Saras,” Prama said gently.

  Saras shook her head decidedly. “These are T’lasian,” she said authoritatively.

  Prama met Joaquim’s eyes. “You owe me several truths, it seems,” she told him.

  Joaquim nodded seriously. “Yes.”

  “First,” Saras interjected, “you must win a race.”

  Joaquim laughed. “Quite right. Beao,” he said politely, “if I might. Xai will be your defender. I will ride the heights. Do you approve?”

  Beao huffed gently, and clambered carefully half way off the wall onto the floor, her great webbed feet moving delicately across the ribbed surface. Once there, she filled the room almost to its entirety.

  “She’s not comfortable on the floor,” Saras said. “Hurry.”

  Joaquim had attached his bando to his back. Beao extended her tail toward Joaquim, and he took a hold of the fourth ring from the fingers. “Hep,” he said. She lifted him up into the air and onto her back. She seemed barely to feel the weight. Then she looked at Xai with those odd, luminescent eyes.

  “She likes you,” Prama murmured. “That is a rare thing. Fusset are T’lasian through and through.”

  Beao huffed softly and extended her hand to Xai.

  “Take the fourth ring,” Joaquim murmured from the back of the huge beast. Xai wrapped her hand around the rough texture of the ring. The fusset lifted her gently onto it broad back.

  Up here the thick scent of the beast seemed almost sweet. Xai crouched uncertainly on the beast’s great, warm back. She could feel it breathing, moving beneath her feet.

  Joaquim was grinning at her—a smile of recognition and understanding. “Here,” he said, pointing at a broad saddle with straps that was attached to the beast’s head, “this is where you will sit.”

  “What do I do?” Xai asked nervously, sitting down. She lay so that her back was against Beao’s head, right over the line of eyes. Joaquim began to fasten her in, lashing the straps to her chest, hips and legs.

  “You defend her head,” Joaquim told her.

  “What do you mean, defend her head?” Xai asked, startled, trying to sit up.

  Joaquim crouched over her. “Don’t worry. I won’t let them get at you.”

  “What do you mean, get at me?” Xai said anxiously.

  Saras passed up two shanks of stiff polymer. They were attached to molding gloves. Joaquim put one on each of her hands and strapped them into place. “Don’t worry,” he said gently.

  “What do you mean, get at me?” Xai repeated. Saras passed Joaquim a belt with several large clips attached to it. Joaquim swiftly strapped it on. Xai’s nose started to itch. She rubbed at it ineffectually with the large gloves.

  “Let’s go, Beao,” Joaquim said.

  Beao huffed, turned, and clambered up the wall.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  THE WORLD was a very different place, upside down. Beao’s tail was curved so that her fingers were close to Xai’s head. Joaquim sat comfortably in the curve of the tail, one leg swinging back and forth in the air, watching the world beneath them. Of course he seemed comfortable, Xai thought sourly. He wasn’t hanging upside down from a massive pseudo-reptile meandering along the ceiling.

  They were following the other fusset toward the racing area. Joaana Kumar was three fusset further along, sitting in the curve of the animal’s tail just as Joaquim was. The Messinian was strapped to the back of her fusset, like Xai.

  “Don’t worry,” Joaquim said. “They’ll only attack us at the end of the race, and by then I should have all of the orbs.”

  “How can you be so sure you’ll win?”

  Joaquim laughed, reached up, and patted Beao on her muscular back. “We’ll win, won’t we?” he asked. Beao huffed in something very close to agreement.

  When they lumbered out onto the raceway they moved into a wall of sound. Xai realized hundreds of thousands of people stood beneath them, heads craning back to watch their entrance. Many started to cheer as the line of eight fusset lumbered across the ceiling and maneuvered into special booths that faced them down the ceiling, aimed at the curve where the ceiling faded into the people standing excitedly in the distance.

  Beao was the fourth fusset, at the top of the curve, so that Xai was facing down, between a fusset ridden by two young T’lasians and one ridden by Andraxians. Xai breathed a quiet sign of relief. Hanging sideways might have been a bit more than she could handle.

  The T’lasian pair had a whip, the Andraxians held what looked like a set of boomerangs. “Hm,” Joaquim said interestedly. “
I’ve never seen those used before.”

  Seeing all those people watching them had suddenly forced the issue home, and Xai could feel her heart pounding in her chest. “What do I do?” she asked, raising her voice over the burble of the crowd.

  “Don’t worry,” Joaquim told her reassuringly, reaching up with one hand to check her straps. “If anyone tries to hurt Beao, block them with the shanks. Her only sensitive area is her head.”

  “What’s the likelihood of that happening?” Xai asked uncertainly. The Andraxian was grinning at her in a ferocious display of blackening teeth.

  “Low,” Joaquim replied, his tone encouraging.

  There was a loud beep. Joaquim reached up and slipped Beao’s tether into a hook. The other riders did the same. He unwrapped his bando and stood ready in the curve of the fusset’s tail, the bando in his left hand, his right hand tight around one of Beao’s dorsal horns. He seemed all anticipation. Xai snuck a glance at Joaana and saw her standing in the curve of her fusset with much the same mien. The young T’lasian in defensive on the fusset next to them slapped his mitts together nervously.

  The great hall fell to a suspenseful hush. Xai felt Beao’s muscles bunch beneath her back. A sea of expectant faces stared up at her.

  There was another loud beep. Almost before Xai could grasp that fact, all the fusset had shot with blinding speed away from the tethers and down the curve of the room, impelled forward by the roar of the crowd.

  For a moment all Xai could feel was the enormous power behind her back, the sheer strength of the beast pulling them along the ceiling, the swift drum of her feet on the ribbing and the swift and smooth motion of her muscles. She could have sworn the beast was enjoying itself, enjoying the challenge of the other fusset, feeding off the excitement of the riders.

  Xai looked down. The fusset were moving so fast all the faces were a blur. The Andraxian rider of the fusset next to hers gave a loud whoop, leaned out from his animal, and spun a boomerang before them, shooting it off into the distance. Almost all of the riders were shouting, and many of the defenders as well, drunk on the speed and the danger. Joaquim seemed to be laughing, standing firmly in the crook of the tail, bando in his hand.