Jo Clayton - Fire in the Sky

“Did you get to Aslan?”

“She’s in the middle of an interview, but I set the flasher going so she’ll be coming through any minute now.”

Marrin swung into the jit, set the telltales on the shelf in front of the stick, then took a good look round to make sure Glois and Utelel weren’t anywhere near. He sighed. He liked that pair, they reminded him of himself and a cousin of his. Wonder how close we came to getting ourselves killed? he thought with a pleasing sense of nostalgia only possible because he had no intention of going near his homeworld again. And how many times. He started the jit, backed it from under the tree, and started around the outside of the Dumel. Now that he was out of the workroom, he could hear the voices, the snatches of music, could see the pennants being raised and now and then catch the wisps of aroma from the food and the mulled cider being heated in a vast pot outside the Meeting House.

As he turned into the road, he started the telltale and immediately punched the volume lower when the beeper went into hysterics as a laughing dancing chattering band of Keteng came round a grove of oilnut trees. They heard the beeping and milled about the jit for a while, clapping their hands and shouting Summer blessings at him. As they broke off and headed for the Dumel again, two meloach with bright blue flowers on their heads and shoulders grinned at him and tossed a handful each of sugared nuts into the jit.

Smiling and crunching on a nut he picked off the seat beside him, Marrin sent the jit humming along the road, his worries forgotten for the moment. He liked this world. No doubt it had its dark side, but he’d come up in a world that was mostly dark side with only small flashes of light and he felt very protective of places like this. Aslan wanted to preserve the brightness so later generations could retrieve it; he was more like Shadith, he wanted to stop the plundering now. He thought about Shadith and the things he’d heard about her, rumors and jealous bitching both. Thought about the restrictions of the Scholar’s life which were starting to bear down on him.

He wanted enough Voting Stock to have University as homebase even if he didn’t go for Scholar at the end of his training-which meant he had to restrain his actions and keep inside the rules for another decade or so while he played politics with his sponsors so he could get onto the projects that brought him the stock. Which also meant he’d better not revert to early training and go play commando raid with the Chave Enclave as target.

The handcom’s bell jolted him back to the present. He tapped it on. “Ola here.”

“Marrin, Duncan just told me about your young friends. We’ll decide what to do about that tonight, till then silence is best.”

“Right, Scholar. Will do. Out.”

His thoughts kicked along to the intermittent beeps from the telltale as the jit hummed past fields with large beasts in them and the occasional Keteng or Fior herder drowsing in the sunlight. The road itself was empty now, the Bйluchar coming to the celebration in Alsekum were mostly already there.

Half an hour from the village, the open fields grew smaller and smaller; there were groves of nut and fruit trees, also occasional woodlots filled with shadow and cut-glades where thickets of young trees were bright green patches between the darker trunks of the mature stock. Excellent ambush spots, his mind informed him and he started tensing again, though the telltale had gone quiet once there were no more herds to trigger it.

The woods grew denser as he neared the bridge over the Debuliah River, an arm of the Sea Marish reaching along its north bank. The road turned into a causeway above stagnant, weed-filled water, and the trees closed in around the road. Over the hum of the jit’s lifters he could hear angi-song and the occasional splash from a crogall or some other water monster too cold to register on the telltale. By the time he reached the approach to the bridge, he was so tense a sudden burp on the telltale sent him reaching for the stunner. A glance at the telltale gave him distance and direction. He stopped the jit, swept the beam at full stun through a 180 arc, dropped the stunner on the seat beside him, and jammed the accelerod as far to the right as it would go.

When he saw the glimmer of the Enclave forcefield, he slowed, tugged a k-rag from the doorpocket, and wiped at the sweat on his face. He loathed cutters and he’d had enough of assassins a long time ago. Muttering anathemas under his breath, he headed the jit toward the Enclave gate, wondering if he’d just put a stray caцpa to sleep or pinned a swampie or did anything more than dunk a few fliers in some murky water. At least it wouldn’t be anyone heading to the ‘Clave to trade. The paved ground was empty and there were no barges tied up at the landing today. Rest Day. Summer Day. Just as well.

Eolt Melech made a song of her name and woke her from the sudden heavy sleep that had descended on her after she tried feeding soup to her patient9, spilling more on the canvas than she got down them. Danor’s breathing was harsh and labored, but Maorgan was lying on his side, curled like a child, sleeping sweetly. She made a face at him, then crawled out of the tent.

The day had turned lovely, the sky was clear of all but a few wisps of cloud, the wind had died down to a whisper, and the caцpas were busily browsing on the tender new growth on the brush growing between the trees. She got her to feet, wiped her hands on her shirt, and moved to the middle of the glade.

Melech was drifting above the glade, holding xeself in place with a single anchor tentacle. Xe looked plumper and more contained after a morning of sun-grazing, delicately lovely again, the ragged edges smoothed flat. Xe unrolled xe’s speaking tentacle but didn’t try to touch her with it, waiting for her permission first.

She understood why. It was easier to convey xe’s thoughts through that link and besides, xe didn’t want to wake Maorgan. Tetchy as a mother with a sick child, she thought. Just as well, listening to that chord speech hurts my head. She reached out, let her hand brush against the tentacle as a way of granting the permission.

And gasped.

What poured through the Eolt’s flesh and into her was indescribable-more intense than the deepest physical joy she’d ever known, even when she was a Weaver on Shayalin.

She snatched her hand away at the same time xe recoiled from her, then stood looking up at xe, her fingers moving over and over the hawk etched into her cheek. “Shall we try that again?” she said finally and put out her hand again.

The shock wasn’t so great this time, though it was still there; it was like grabbing hold of a live wire and feeling electricity flowing into her.

They both carefully ignored this.

Eolt Melech mused for a moment, then spoke quickly, xe’s words coming at her like yesterday’s raindrops, hard and fast.*I have quartered the Forest ahead and I have seen no more chorek sign, although with the thickness of canopy so various it is hard to be sure. The Mer-Eolt Lebesair has gone ahead to watch the road for us…*

Even through the quick pelt of the words she felt a sense of things-not-said in that last bit, underlined by a powerful irritation that xe could not quite hide.

*Xe will sing to me of any dangers xe finds and I will pass these to my sioll. Maorgan is well?*

*He’s still asleep, though it’s been rather a long sleep, there is no fever, his pulse is strong.*

*I thought it must be so, but it is good to hear your confirmation. The other?*

*is not well at all. Could you do for him…?*

*No. It is not possible. The touch would kill, not heal. If you can manage to preserve him alive and get him another half a day’s ride along the road, about ten sikkoms that is, you will come to Dumel Minach. It is a miner’s settlement and there will be healers there who can deal with puncture wounds and broken bones. And the Inn at Minach is forted against forest choreks, so you will be safe there. Will you look at Maorgan again and bring me sight of how he is?*