Jo Clayton: Shadowplay

The sun went down and supper was served.

Shadith couldn't eat.

Kikun wouldn't eat, couldn't lift himself off the pallet.

Rohant raged at them. Teethtips bared, he shook Shadith out of her lethargy, shoved bread and meat in her mouth and held his hand over her face until she swallowed. When he was satisfied she was aroused enough to keep the juices flowing, he tore small pieces of bread and cheese and fed them to Kikun. He wasn't interested in Miowee and left her in her gloom until Kayataki pulled at his sleeve, crying because she couldn't get any reaction from her mother. He slapped the streetsinger into fury, got her energized enough to eat on her own, then went back to feeding Kikun.

The Shadowplay Goddance began in the early afternoon on the second day.

The Palaka Dancers stamped on the Drums, shook their clackers and their bells. The Longhorns hooted, low grumbling sounds that entered the body not so much through the ears as the pit of the stomach.

Rohant marched from the cage and climbed upon a broad and massive bench, the cats beside him, heiratic symbols out of history and dream; Sassa rode his arm, gold eyes glaring, head erect with fierce and deadly pride. The image of that ensemble was repeated over and over out across the crater, cold-eyed predators staring down on the pilgrims from hundreds of screens.

On his feet more by will than intrinsic strength, Kikun danced onto the low flat drum at the front of the stage; he wore no bells or clackers, only a loincloth and the black and white paint. His image crossed and recrossed Rohant's.

Grim beneath her whiteface paint, Shadith walked slowly from the cage. Miowee and Kayataki were already in place, chained to the floor with gilded paper links, loaded down with rustling chains until only their hands and arms were free, Kaya to play the finger cymbals, Miowee with her kitskew. Shadith sat upon the ivory banc and tuned the Paleka Kitskew until she was satisfied with the sound. Then she sang.

Kikun danced.

Rohant posed.

The cats leaped down from the bench and danced with Kikun, writhing and winding about him, black flows moving in time with the song.

A sigh passed across the throng of pilgrims, faces turned to the screens, she could feel them coming together as she'd felt them not together before…

The Gospah stood in front of Rohant, on the floor of the Bubble, his head barely past the Ciocan's knees. The Mime Ni-tawaikis stood beside the lefthand fire, still as a graven image. The Mime Tahnokipo Waposh and the Mime Shapostim Mayah stood beside the righthand fire, still as graven images.

Shadith brought the song to its end.

Kikun froze.

The Longhorn players puffed through their three meter pipes and the Palaka Dancers, swung into stamping circles; behind them the Kam priests chanted: Ma Ma Ma Ma llillo Kiskaiwin Ma Ma Ma…

The pilgrim wave began to break apart.

The Gospah blew on his little pipe; the shrill note broke through the, chant, brought it to an end. The Longhorns fell silent. Shadith sighed, moved into the second song of her program, Miowee and Kaya singing with her.

About halfway through, the pilgrims took up the song, the sound was a low hum at first that rose and spread and filled the whole of the crater, even unto the sky… ..and Shadith felt her power on her, without the hallucinogens of Avosing, nothing but the intensity of the belief before and behind her. And Kikun squeezing down that force and funneling it into her. Even the Gospah was in the circuit which would have surprised her if she'd had mind enough left for wonder; he burned with fervor. Nothing he was doing now was cynical, he believed in his righteousness and in the thing they were evoking, believed it with a force of will and spirit that had nothing to do with that part of him that maneuvered so skillfully and ruthlessly for power and influence, the part of him that could watch unmoved as his Na-priests tortured a rebel. The pilgrims elbow to elbow across the crater were perhaps less complex, less divided against themselves, but their belief was as strong, each individual reinforcing the reaction of the individuals around him, each family group, clan group, accepting and reflecting the fervor of the groups before, behind and to the sides…

…the feedback built and built until the air itself clanged like metal…

…she began to SHAPE…

…digging deep within herself…

…laying hold on the power offered her…

…crafting out of memory and instinct…

…out of the people's belief…

…she SHAPED the THREE and sent THEM dancing over the crowd…

…made them sing with the voice of the throng…

…made them strut and posture and gather to themselves every eye, every heart, every fragment of brain…

…the priests in the Bubble left their places and streamed down the ramps at the two sides of the Stage, melding with the crowd, chanting and rapt, their eyes fixed on the THREE…

…the Palaka Dancers lifted their arms and danced round and round where they were, moaning and turned so deeply inward, they were beyond noticing anything around them…

…the Longhorners blew in a trance, seeing nothing but the THREE, hearing nothing but the groan and thrum of their pipes…

…the Na-priests were on their knees, sobbing, their arms stretched toward the THREE…

Shadith looked over her shoulder, caught Rohant's eye, jerked her head at the front of the Bubble.

Still singing, almost blind with the effort, her voice picked up and transmitted to the speakers by the lug-ikes clipped between her breasts, she got to her feet and began moving step by slow step toward the ramp at the right curving down from the Bubble Stage to the crater floor…

Behind her Rohant launched Sassa into the air, then reached for the Gospah's neck, caressed his carotids until the man was out cold. He laid him on the bench and stepped down. Moving as quickly as he could-the air felt thick as chilled honey and his head was throbbing, his eyes tearing so badly he could barely see-Rohant crossed the few steps to Miowee's side; he tore away the paper chains and swept her up and• around so she could cling to his back, then he caught hold of Kaya's hand and led her after Shadith…

The cats writhing about him, Kikun danced his shimmer-dance, putting aside the stamps and turns beaten into him by the priests. Shiver and shimmer he moved slowly after Shadith and Rohant, holding the feed steady, maintaining the flow from the pilgrim trance into Shadith so she could keep that trance going, keep the illusion there to pin the eyes of everyone and let them walk away…

Using the hallucinated THREE to open a way for them… Nikamo-Oskinin twenty stories tall, bending to sweepher illusory, fingers through the pilgrims… Shadith struggled across the floor of the crater… exhausted, running on the dregs of her strength, emptying herself to keep the trance in place, the IMAGES whole and present… she won one meter, two, three, ten, twenty… the Firedeath at her back… pulling endurance out of a consuming terror, she drove herself on and on… playing the kitskew till her fingers bled… singing the same song over and over…

Ginbiryol Seyirshi watched the Invocation begin, then switched his attention to the prisoners. All that chanting and hopping around, it was boring, the kind of thing one might expect from that woman the girl was going to meet, that xenoethnologist, boring, boring, boring. Most of it he would have to throw out, maybe keep a little for the color-and of course one could always sweeten the scenes by mixing in the pulsing terror from the girl. Ahhh, she was afraid, ah yesss, she was sick with horror. He touched the test-sensors on the pathecorder and smiled as he felt a lump of horror/terror/fury grow inside him; he savored the sour flavor of her nausea. Yes. Fire and death. Ahhh, that would be splendid. Firedeath. He ran his tongue over his lips, tasting the burning in anticipation, smelling the meat…