Jo Clayton - Fire in the Sky

Aslan explained over and over what her purpose and intent was, what University was, the kind of things she was going to record, what would happen to the record, what was her exact relationship to the Yaraka, what did she know about the Chave, why did they act that way, who would be able to read what she recorded.

“Anyone?” The Metau’s heavy features drew together.

“Anyone who has the money to purchase a readout. As long as the data is not flagged for limited access, which this would probably not be.” Aslan thought a moment (Shadith moved her shoulders, grateful for the momentary pause; she considered asking for a glass of water, but her need wasn’t urgent and she didn’t want to break the flow). “The Yaraka might consider it proprietary information and therefore privileged, but our Meruu of Scholars have strong feelings about unrestricted access to information, as long as the seeker can pay for it. They would probably deny such a request.”

On and on.

The Alsekumers on the benches shifted position, whispered in hisses, went out, and others came in; Shadith could hear the faint rustles of their movements and envied them. She was getting stiff from sitting and her throat was beginning to burn.

A basso note of considerable power broke through a question; there was a sharp edge of impatience to the sound and a demand implicit in it. Shadith looked up.

An Eolt had moved out over the open center, holding position with a single tentacle. A long slit pursed open and snapped closed among the cilia in xe’s base and more sounds poured out of xe, a wordless music that was at the same time an announcement that the Eolt had something to say and was tired of waiting xe’s chance.

Ruaim and Chachil exchanged grimaces, then the Teseach sang, “Mer-Eolt Lebesair, be welcome to Alsekum Meet. Is there word you bring us from the Meruu of the Eolt?” He put frills on the words, made a fine production of the question.

(“What’s that about?” Aslan murmured.

“The Meruu is some kind of council, this Eolt is a rep from that council, here to look us over, I suppose.”

“Wish xe’d opened xe’s mouth earlier. Saved my ears and your throat. Have you picked up any idea what the relationship is between our floating friend up there and the walkers?”

“I’ve a few notions but they’re too vague to talk about right now. Ali! Xe’s warming up for a speech. I need to concentrate for this. When the floaters talk, it’s complicated.”)

Maorgan watched the two women as they answered the tedious and silly questions from that phrata pair preening on the dais. The Harper amazed him. After years of dealing with offworld traders and now these invading mesuch, he’d only acquired a few hard won words of tradespeech. To reach out and absorb a whole language well enough to make songs in it-that was a gift of gifts. He couldn’t tell how much she really understood of what she was saying, but she set word against word in a proper way.

It made him think.

For the first time he wondered about Bйluchad. Eolt drifted here and there, sioll-bonded Ard moved with them, back and forth from continent to continent. Sometimes places made new words and if they were good words, Eolt and Ard put them in their songs-like stirring soup so the flavors blended. There was one speech everywhere and no need to learn how to learn another.

The mesuch were different. The ones over here spoke their own langue, as well as tradespeak, and probably others. He had no doubt the mesuch on Melitoлh were much the same.

He stroked his hand along the harpcase, remembering the made-look of the woman’s harp. Someone had put knife and plane to that wood, hadn’t lived with the growing matrix and shaped it with song and caress into a companion and complement. Some of the strings were metal with a harsher tone than his sweet singer but also one that was more precise, steadier. He wanted to hear it again, to learn its song. He wanted to tell Teseach Ruaim and Metau Chachil to shut their yammering mouths and listen to the song he could make with her and Melech.

He didn’t, of course. The relationship between Ard and Dumel was a prickly one, oversweet reverence with a backtaste of resentment. If it weren’t for the sweet bouncy flesh of Fior girls, he’d stop at a Dumel only when he needed to shelter from a storm. He caught here and there furtive glances from ordu girls on the benches and some that boldly challenged him. An Ard baby brought honor to a family and there seemed several here who’d like to try for one.

He looked up as Lebesair lost patience and stabbed a call for attention into the babble below xe, then he waited for an announcement that would match the imperious demand for hearing.

Into the silence that followed Ruaim’s song, Mer-Eolt Lebesair launched a great mourning bellow that battered at the court. Concentrated sorrow. Keening for the dead.

FIRE leaping to the sun an Eolt dies

sport for mesuch killing with light

FIRE dropping like rain death DEATH

CURSE the killers SOULless MONSTERS

FIRE mourn for the dead Mourn MOURN!

After the echoes of the final word had died, the Eolt shifted mode to simple-speech.

“Every day on Melitoлh Eolt and Denchok die, hunted like beasts by the mesuch. Others are driven from their Dumels and their fields. Fior males are killed or made slaves, Fior women are killed in terrible ways or live as slaves. A Sleeping Ground was burned a week ago and news has come that mesuch have gone back and ripped the husks from the few Sleepers still in life. This I leave for you to think on. Remember the Shape Wars. Remember the sorrows a thousand and a thousand years ago.”

Maorgan shuddered. The old songs had been leached of their anger and pain by the passing of centuries, but if that time was coming again, there were horrors waiting that put a chill in his soul. He thought about what the Scholar said-you can do worse than the Yaraka. He didn’t like these mesuch thieves-what else were they but thieves, taking what didn’t belong to them-but the contrast between the reports from Melitoлh and the way the Yaraka had treated Glois and Utelel and the rest told him she was right.

“The Meruus of Eolt and Fior are called to a Special Meeting. Tomorrow is Chel Dй’s day. The Meruus cry out to you to make it a day of meditation and prayer. Especially pray for the success of this meeting.”

Aslan listened to Shadith’s translation with fascination, distress and anger. She tucked away the name Shape Wars as something to investigate and steamed as she thought of all the omissions in the Yaraka Rep’s report. She was also angry at the Goлs; though he did try to persuade her to live inside the Fence, he hadn’t given her any reasons or said word one about these killings. Sniping between two Companies was one thing, this other business could lead to… well, she didn’t want to think where it would lead. If Id known, she thought, would I even be here? Is this going to turn into another Styernna?

Waves of chill ran through her.

Shadith’s hand closed round hers, warm and reassuring.

Her breathing steadied. I need to think about this. It changes things.

The Chave were killing sentients for sport. If they didn’t know that now, they would soon enough-maybe as soon as she sent out her first reports since the Ykkuval probably had bought out one or more of the Goлs staff. Once University heard about this, they’d work to get Chandava Minerals blacklisted on Helvetia. The Ykkuval responsible would likely be called home and stripped of his standing and the minute he realized that, this side-glance war would go real. Have to talk to the Goлs as soon as I get loose. Do I call this off now? Have to talk to Shadow and Duncan, see what they say.