Robert Charrette: Find your own truth

The dry mulga branch was in a gully. The ants brought him the teeth of a marsupial mole. He apologized to the bandicoot he trapped and killed for its tail. The tail he bound to the slender end of the stick, then he spat on it and sealed the join with a word. Sitting down in a wash edged in red clay, he began his songs.

Two nights passed before the curved mulga branch began to writhe and put out new sprouts. The new growth stretched out into four spindly legs, while the old twigs elongated into ribs. The bulbous end of the branch grew, forming first a cranium, then a snout. He tossed the teeth into the air and they swirled into place along the edges of the forked snout, growing in size as they did. Throat dry and voice cracking, he rose and changed the song. He strode to the clay, the stick beast capering at his side. Thrusting his hands past the dry upper layers of earth, he scooped out handfuls of the moist clay beneath and molded it around the wooden skeleton. He packed the beast with his purpose and magic. Slowly, it took on the shape of a lean hunting hound. Holding the head with one hand he gazed at the rough-hewn shape, featureless save for the mouth of sharp teeth.

"Kulpunya, I give you eyes that you may see those you hunt," he said, thrusting two fingers deep into its skull.

"Kulpunya, I give you nostrils that you may smell your prey where they hide," he said, pressing two smaller holes into the end of its snout.

"Kulpunya, I give you ears to hear the despairing howls of those you hunt unerringly," he said, modeling long flaps at the back of the head. "With your ears, hear my command, kulpunya. Find the desecra-tors. Hunt them down for me."

The kulpunya howled, leapt from his grip, and raced away. Urdli watched its absurdly thin limbs churn, propelling it impossibly fast across the plain. It ran in silence, implacable and malevolent. Urdli smiled.

Hohiro Sato was not in a good mood. The morning meeting with Atreus Applications, Incorporated had not gone well. The myopic fools at AAI were still being difficult. Even his personal appearance at their headquarters in the Hong Kong Free Enterprise Enclave had failed to convince the stubborn board of directors. When he had told them that Renraku's interest in their company was utterly serious, they had seemed to think he was bluffing. They would learn, though. Sato wanted Atreus's assets for the foundering Special Directorate. And he would have them. When AAI refused his offer of a staged stock buyout, they had sealed their own fate. Sato would suck them dry as soon as he could arrange the necessary change in circumstances.

But that was a pleasure belonging to the future. He had left the meeting irritated, and then his irritation became tinged with resentment upon receiving word that Grandmother wanted to see him. Now she had the temerity to keep him waiting. He was no junior salar-yman to be summoned, however polite the phrasing of the order. Nor was he a lackey to be kept cooling his heels. His vexation kindled a smoldering anger.

Staring between the blank-faced guards, he watched the inner door with its teak veneer. Briefly fantasizing that his vision pierced the door's opacity, he pictured the scene beyond it. The garden was ablaze with rare flowers, a riot of colors tinted ever so slightly more exotic by the faint purple hue of the SunSub light panels. Insects serviced the plants, barely disturbed by the occasional visitor moving between one of the ring rooms and the central hub of the curved stairway that descended into darkness, into her sanctum.

He had long wanted to know what went on in her sanctum when he was not there, but never uncovered more than rumors. What he had learned was that she was well-protected. Even using the finest surveillance equipment, his agents had failed to penetrate the walls of the ring rooms. Even the magical skills of his tame mage, Masamba, could not pierce her barriers. Grandmother liked her secrets. Secrets were her business.

From her lair Grandmother ran an international network that traded in information, usually clandestine. She traded in other things, legal and illegal, as well. Despite her personal eccentricities she was a premier power broker.

Having been only a junior salaryman when he had first encountered her network, Sato had benefited from the association. At several key junctures in his career confidential material had been passed to him, allowing him to embarrass rivals or blackmail them out of his way. The stimulation to his career was undeniable, but it galled him that she held power over him. She. A woman. At least she was a Japanese.

Each time he had used her information, she had sunk her hooks in deeper. He had fed her information in return, all the while knowing that it only gave her a tighter hold over him. The opportunities just seemed too great to ignore and her demands inconsequential hi comparison. He had been younger then, hungrier… and stupider. Now he knew better, understood the nature of her hold over him. Someday she would demand something he was unwilling to give, then threaten him with ruin if he denied her. On that day, he wanted to be able to laugh in her face. He wanted to be too powerful for her to touch. So far, however, he had not succeeded in gleaning the information he needed to compromise her. Lacking that, he could make only vague plans. His best depended on a tool not yet ready. Until he knew more about her secrets, he was arming to fight wraiths.

One thing Sato knew for sure was that anger would gain him nothing. He forced it down, leashing it to his will. He would not be shamed into losing his temper before the woman. By the time her servant arrived to lead him into the garden, he was outwardly calm. Inside the fire coiled, a sullen dragon awaiting its time. As in all his previous visits, he was required to leave his bodyguards in the ring room. The servant accompanied him along the gravel path, then left him to descend the stairway alone. He followed his own shadow around the central pole and down the winding way. He stepped confidently, even when his shadow obscured the stairs. The hum of the garden insects faded into silence, but the quiet was soon broken by a rhythmic sound that grew louder as he descended. Click, clack. Over and over.

Damn! She was at her loom again. He hate^jt when she was weaving. The noise disturbed his concentration, and he did not like to be distracted when trying to deal with her. She was too sharp; he needed to be ready to pounce on the slightest clue to what might give him a hold on her.

He stopped briefly at the foot of the stairs, remaining in the shaft of light from above. There was deep darkness all around. She was out there in the dark that was part of her protection, but it offered little from him. His Zeiss eyes adjusted at his command, shifting to light amplification, and he saw her bent old shape seated before the loom. She looked no older than the day they had met, nearly two decades ago.

He didn't doubt she was aware of him, but she made no sign. He called attention to himself by clearing his throat. Her hands never stopped moving. The shuttle flew back and forth. A gnarled hand racked the hed-dles forward, snugging the latest line in the pattern firmly into place. Without taking her eyes or hands from her work, she greeted him in a wobbling, high-pitched voice.

"Ah, Sato-san, how nice of you to call." If she wished to pretend that she had not summoned him, he would humor her. Forcing politeness, he responded, "I was in Hong Kong. How could I not visit my Grandmother?"

She cackled. "Such filial devotion. I wonder, do you show so much to your real grandmother?"

His family was no business of hers, but he was sure she already knew the answer to her question, as she knew so much about him. Why could he learn so little about her? He refused to answer her question. Click, clack.