Jo Clayton - Fire in the Sky

They met the escort an hour later. Shadith dropped back, let Maorgan do the talking.

“Buli Terthal. Buli Dengol.”

The Denchok Buli banged xe’s official staff on the dirt of the roadway as a prelude to speech, then glared at Maorgan with a down-browed annoyance. “Ard Maorgan. We summoned one mesuch and one only. Who are they?” Xe swiveled the staff up, pointed it at the flikit.

“They are the reason we’re alive and here,” Maorgan said. He extended his voice into song mode so it reached beyond the speaker to the Denchok and Fior who’d gathered to watch the show. “We were attacked at the Pass Tower by a score of choreks. The watchmen there are dead; we laid out their bodies on the lower floor. Unless you insist on keeping us out here when we’re tired and hungry, this can be explained to the Meruu.”

Melitoлh, the Kushayt, morning in the office

Ilaцrn knew he must look bad when even Hunnar noticed. “I am not a young man,” he said in a response to the Ykkuval’s abrupt inquiry. “And I did get wet last night.”

“Remind me to have a med tech look at you. Don’t want you getting sick on me. Keep the music light and easy, hm?”

“Of course, O Ykkuval.” Ilaцrn flexed stiff fingers, slid them across the strings without plucking sound from them. His body wanted to be as inert as his mind, but the time he’d spent in here had taught his a lesson all his years as Ard had not-that he could produce sounds he loathed and do it to a schedule, not when he felt like playing.

He closed his eyes, forced them open again. The heat in the room and a night without sleep were almost too much for him. Eyes on the blank screen that took up the whole of the wall opposite, he plucked a single note, added another, worked his way into a children’s song. The music brought its usual relief, easing away the bitter remnants of a night filled with unresolved questions. Distantly he heard Hunnar’s voice as the Chav talked with his guards and techs, the hum of the machines as he worked on things incomprehensible to Hewn.

A soft bong woke him from his haze. He knew that sound. It was Kurz calling from Banikoлh, a warning to Hunnar that shielded matter was coming.

A cell near the middle of the screen flashed to life, the face of the Spy assembling from broken bits of light and color.

The image steadied.

Hunnar leaned forward. “Well?”

“O Ykkuval, I could wish I had better news. The University group are either more competent at defense than we suspected or are gifted with large helpings of luck. Luck is impossible to fight, one must simply wait till it turns. Fortunately it always does.”

“What’s all that about?”

“O Ykkuval, my information is that there have been five separate attacks on the group, all of which have failed. Also, a number of cutters have fallen into the Scholar’s hands.”

Hunnar swore. “That is what comes of leaving things to incompetent dirt grubbers.”

Ilaцrn watched him master his anger and make a superior/inferior apology gesture at the screen. He found this interesting. Hunnar must be more desperate than he thought, more dependent on this spy.

“No, I’m not blaming you, my friend.” The Chav’s voice was as syrupy sweet as it’d been with the mesuch traitor. “It was my idea to make the grubbers my surrogate. Where are they now?”

“The manager is in the Yaraka Enclave. The other three are in a place called Chuta Meredel. My informants are not especially reliable, but I have no reason to doubt this. They are very bitter about the inhabitants of that place, rabid about the jellies, they want to burn them all. When I showed them what a cutter would do to a jelly, they went into rut like a bodj driven mad with must. They’re too stupid and too impatient to plan anything which is why they are where they are. Which is why I have to be careful how I approach them. Given half a chance they’d try knocking me on the head and getting off with everything I have, no matter that I am a source of more weapons and other useful commodities.”

Hunnar grunted. “You’ve dealt with worse material before this. You have a plan?”

“Yes, O Ykkuval. I spoke of the inadequacies of the locals not to complain but to make clear why it will take a while to implement my plan. I am organizing an attack on Chuta Meredel, trying to get the idea across that hitting the Vale of Medon at several points simultaneously with smaller forces will enhance their ability to kill and destroy. While attention is distracted by these attacks, I can slip into the Vale, hunt down the University group, and shut their mouths permanently.”

Banikoлh, Chuta Meredel, the Meeting Place, early afternoon

The seats in the first ring of the tiers were elaborately and individually carved from white marble, these were for the Denchok and Fior who belonged to the Meruu of the Earth. Between each of the seats was a tall slender marble column with grasping bronze bars on the capital. These were the holds of the Eolt who served the Meruu of the Air. Behind these were the tiers of plain seats, painted white, enough wear on them to let the dark dull brown of the wood show through here and there. Behind these were sets of columns ranged in arcs to form a broken circle about the arena. These were for the Eolt who were not part of the Meruu of the Air.

Shadith squatted beside her harp on a raised platform in the center of the arena, wiping sweat from the wood and from her brow, watching drifts of vapor from the hotsprings bubbling up all around the arena, wondering peripherally about quakes and other instabilities while she chewed over the things she’d planned to say. Full of a high-minded zeal, she’d meant to give a series of lectures on how they could live with outsiders and protect themselves from the worst aspects of exploitation. That zeal had dribbled away on the ride here.

Aslan had seen their truth before she had; Keteng and Fior had managed to merge two very disparate species into a generally peaceful and productive society; they didn’t need to be lectured or treated like children just because they’d been isolated for a very long time. And they wouldn’t listen to her if she tried it.

She glanced at the clouds. If they didn’t hurry up and get this thing started, they’d have to postpone it or shift it indoors. She checked the strings again, plucking individual notes to make sure the tuning held. This moisture wasn’t what her harp liked, but the composite strings would hold tune better than Maorgan’s, though she’d seen that strange wood swell under the stroking of his hands, change shape slightly to keep the tuning or shift to a new one.

Maorgan stood beside her, Aslan and Marrin a step behind. Too agitated and angry to rest, Danor was stumping along the rim of the oval dais, leaning on a cane, glowering at the Denchok and Fior who were swarming into the arena, arguing over seats, spreading out, getting pushed together as more people moved onto that tier. Overhead, Eolt were singing irritation at each other, pushing and shoving to get a tentacle hold on the outer columns. The noise from groundling and fliers seemed to pile up inside those columns and hammer at them. The swirl of emotions was almost as loud. Shadith’s head started to ache.

After a while, though, the chaos sorted itself out. The tiers were filled, all the Eolt that could crowd onto the bronze holdbars were in place. Danor stopped his nervous walking, stood leaning on his cane, waiting.

The Eolt SANG.

Shadith closed her eyes, breathed sound, soared on sound, was permeated by sound, was SOUND itself as if her body had changed into vibrations and no longer existed as flesh.

The SONG ended.

Eolt Melech sang a long drone. Maorgan’s harp melded with the sound, wove variations on it.