Jo Clayton - Fire in the Sky

Most of the day clouds hung thick and low over the Kushayt; the air was still and stickily humid. Sundown brought rain, a few flurries with huge drops splatting down, then a steady fall that pounded on the Kushayt’s roof, a ceaseless hammering that brought a deep melancholy to the Chave dining at the Ykkuval’s table. In his corner Beam played sprightly dance tunes (Hunnar’s orders), but put a subtle drag on the beat that he hoped would amplify that wet weather gloom and the pall that the failures and deaths in the experiments had cast over them.

One way or another, scratching at each other’s nerves. Hunnar digging at Genree, lifting his lip in a smile that had nothing to do with humor and everything to do with exposing his threat-teeth. Genree digging at Hunnar for wasting money on fool’s games, wasting lives and equipment. Digging at Tryben for laziness, letting a bunch of grubbers who hadn’t even gotten to electricity run rings around him and his guards. Digging at Muhaseb, questioning his competence.

It was an uncomfortable meal and Ilaцrn enjoyed it very much.

Hunnar dismissed him early for once, confirming what Ilaцrn had long suspected. The Ykkuval liked music about as much as he liked meditation. He had a Dushanne Garden and a tame musician as outward signs of his status, no more. It amused him to keep Ilaцrn about as long as the music didn’t interfere with what he was doing.

The rain was coming down hard when he ran from the main building to the garden shed, beating on his head and shoulders, soaking him. The harp was in her carry sack of c’hau cloth and dry when he took her out, but he wiped her down carefully with an oil rag, loosened the strings and wrapped her in a blanket, then stripped, rubbed himself dry and stretched out in the bed, his second blanket wrapped about him.

We’re hurting them. We’re really hurting them. We haven’t gotten them out yet, but I begin to think we will. He cut off that thought before it went further, began running children’s songs through his head, the simple repetitive rhythm thumping along with his heart. He matched his breathing to the beat, closed his eyes and concentrated on the song… caцpa caцpa where do you graze? Upland and downland wherever grass stays. Caцpa caцpa how do you run? Clippaclop clippaclop under the sun. Caцpa caцpa when do you play? Dawnlight and noon bright and all the long day…

A deep organ note broke through his disciplined reverie. He squeezed his eyes shut and huddled the blanket closer about him, then sighed and sat up.

When he stepped into the rain, the downpour had slackened a little, the beat of the drops against his head and shoulders not so painful. He shielded his eyes and looked up.

To his relief there were no light lines lacing the clouds. These dead-eared Chave must have thought it was only thunder.

A small dark blob fell from the clouds, slanting in its plunge as the wind caught it. He could see that it was weighted, otherwise the wind would have carried it away; even so, it was only the top branches of the kerre tree that stopped it from going over the wall. He swore and ran toward the tree, caught the packet as the swaying branches let it drop.

Back in the shed, he dried off again, lit a candle and sat crosslegged on the bed to open his prize.

Nested in a springy mass of thread lichen he found half a dozen smaller packets, neatly labeled and sealed with wax. At the bottom of the packet there was a brief letter. He held it close to the candle flame, scowled as he struggled to make out the writing.

Ard Ilaцrn, we greet you and bless you for the great service you have done the people of Bйluchad. We call upon you now for even more sacrifice and devotion. Place the packets of reka spores inside the air intake in the Ykkuval’s office; we believe this will carry them into the basement where the head machine lies. We hope the reka will take root in there and kill the machine. Since the attacks on the crawlers, the water taken into the fort passes through a series of filters in order to keep spores from entering the system. It is refiltered and reused several times, but the inner filters are less efficient and will let some things pass. Find a way of delivering the packet of powder marked ederedda into the drinking water. It won’t kill them, but they would prefer death over the way they feel for a few hours_ There are two ederedda packets. If possible, slip them into the system around five hours apart. In the packet marked dok you will find two airgun darts. The tips are coated with fresh minik so be very careful of them. If you have a chance, set those darts in the Ykkuval’s hide. We have tested minik on Chave. They die even faster than Bйluchar. This will be difficult because the Chav skin is too thick for the darts except in a few places. If the Ykkuval will let you get behind him, the area where his ears attach to the skull is vulnerable. Also the palms of his hands and the inside of his elbow. His eyes if you can get them before the inner lids come down; these look fragile, but they aren’t. The inside of his mouth. The inside of his ear. Unless you think you can get at one of these areas, it would be best not to try. The minik will stay potent for seven days. Do not try to use the darts after that much time has passed. In the packet marked tugh, you will find two wax covered pills. There is liquid amikta inside. One is for you, the other can be dropped into any drink at less than boiling temperature. If it is a cold drink, crush the pill between your fingers. You should know that it’s quite likely the amikta will kill you also if you touch it with your bare fingers. There is apparently no smell or taste, at least none the Chave can detect. This too we have tested on captives. Chel Dй bless you, Ard Ilaцrn, and give you peace.

The Council of Bйluchad in Peril

He rubbed the tip of his forefinger across the signature, sighed and shook his head; whatever happened the world he knew was gone forever. He twisted the note into a spill, put the end in the candle flame until it caught fire, then sat holding the paper and watching it burn.

The thought of actually doing the things they wanted him to do started his belly churning and his hand shaking so much the fire went out and he had to rekindle it from the candle. It wasn’t that they were difficult. He knew Hunnar’s office as well as he knew the strings of his harp.

What they were asking was suicide.

Even if he didn’t try to kill Hunnar, once the damage was discovered, it couldn’t be anybody but him that did it.

“I can’t.” He shivered. He started crying. “I can’t. I can’t. I. Can’t…”

16. Plots and Deeds

Banikoлh, Medon Pass, sun not fully up yet

The morning was cool with dew glittering in the long shadows that filled the pass. Shadith stood with Aslan outside the tower’s iron door, watching Maorgan lead the moss ponies down the switchback from the tower to the road. She rubbed at her eyes, yawned, her body still aching with sleep-need. “If you’ll take Danor, it’ll be easier on him riding in the flikit than trying to sit a pony.”

“You’re sure you won’t come along?”

“Can’t leave the ponies, Scholar. Besides, this is how we were told to come. I think it’s better we stick to the script.”

“Right. We’ll give you an hour’s start and stay low when we follow.”

Shadith grinned at her. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Aslan raised a brow, then grinned back. “Right.” She sighed. “This is a fascinating society. Isolated all these years, working out a way for disparate species to live together and like it. There’s the sioll bond. I want to know more about that. Other bonds. Something about the way the two species interact. Maybe part physical. Interesting to see if over time the Yaraka that stay here long enough will go the same way.