Jo Clayton: Blue Magic

“Gotcha, Bramble, just a sec.”

Yaril shifted form and flowed into the body, flowed out a moment later. She didn’t bother talking, she leaned againstBrann’s side, transferred images to her that

Brann used as she bent over Maksim, planted her hands on his chest and worked to repair the extensive damage inside and out, heart, arteries, brain, every weakness, every lesion, tumor, sign of disease, everything Yaril had seen and passed on to her.

Dan watched her for a while until he grew bored with the tableau whose only change was the slow shifting of Brann’s eyes. He strolled around behind the wreck of the dais, brought the table back, parked it close to Brann’s feet, looked around for something else to kill some time. Jaril was pacing lazily about, sniffing at things, a huge brindle mastiff. Yaril was glued to Brann and didn’t seem likely to move from her. The clouds must have begun breaking up outside because a ray of light came through the jagged hole in the dome and stabbed down at the floor, the edge of it catching the pendant, waking a few glitters in it. He walked across to it and stood looking down at it. The thing made him nervous. That was what the Chained God sent him to fetch, good dog that he was. He didn’t want to touch it, but the compulsion rose in him until he was choking. Furious and helpless, he bent down, took hold of the chain and stood with the pendant dangling at arm’s length. He looked at it, ran the tip of his tongue over dry lips, remembering all too clearly the hole burned in Malcsim’s chest.

There was a subdued humming, the air seemed to harden about him, the chamber got suddenly dark. “OHHHH…

… SHIIIT!” He stumbled, went to his knees before the control panel in the starship, caught his balance and bounded to his feet. His arm jerked out and up, the talisman was snatched away, the chain nearly breaking two of his fingers. BinYAHtii hung a moment in midair, then it vanished, taken somewhere inside the god. And I hope it gives you what it gave Maksim, he muttered under his breath. “Send me back,” he said aloud. “You don’t need me any more.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” The multiple echoing voice was bland and guileless as a cat with cream on its whiskers. “No, indeed.”

Dan opened his mouth to yell a protest, a demand, something, was snapped to the room where he had lived with Brans and the others. He was conscious just long enough to realize where he was, then the god dumped him on the bed and put him to sleep.

Bran sat on her heels, sighed with weariness. “Done,” she said, “He’ll be under for a while longer.” She rubbed at her back, looked around. “Where’s Dan?”

hut came trotting over, shifted. “He picked up BinYAHtii and something snatched him. If I guessed, I’d say the Chained God got him. The god really wanted that thing.”

“Looks like it didn’t want us.”

“Luck maybe. Old Tungjii wiggling his thumbs in our favor for once. Say the god couldn’t grab us all, we were too scattered.”

“Hmm. If it’s luck, let’s not push it.” She got to her feet. “What about the table? Will it fly again?”

“Sure. Where do you want it to go?”

“Give me your hand.” She closed her fingers around his, said silently, *Myk’tat Tukery. Jal Virri. Not much can get at us there.* Aloud, she said, “Help me load Maksim on the sled.”

“That’s like bedding down with an angry viper, Bramble. Leave him here, let him deal with the mess he made for himself. It’s not your mess. When he wakes, he’s going to be mad enough to eat nails. Eat you.”

“So we keep him sleeping until we go to ground and have some maneuvering room. I mean to do this, Jay.”

“Ayy, you’re stubborn, Bramble. All right all right, Yaro, give us a hand here.” He scowled at the table. “Hadn’t we better pick up ,those quilts and pillows we dumped outside? The sky’s clearing, but it’ll be chilly when you hit the higher air.”

Brann smiled at him. “Good thought, Jay. There are people living here, a few anyway, that gardener for one. See if you can find some food, I’m starved and I’ll need supplies for the trip; going by how long it took us to reach here from the farm, it’ll be eight to ten days before we get umm home.”

The changers darted about the island collecting food, wine and water skins, whatever else they thought Brann might need, then they helped her muscle the deeply sleeping sorceror onto the table. They settled him with his head on a pillow, a comforter wrapped about him, tucked the provisions around him and stood back looking at their work.

Brann shivered. “I’ve got an iceknot in my stomach that says it’s time to be somewhere else.” She swung round a table leg, settled herself in a nest of comforters and pillows; tongue caught between her teeth, she ran the sequence that activated the lift field, gave a little grunt of relief and satisfaction when the sled rose off the floor, moving easily, showing no sign of strain (she’d been a bit worried about the weight of the load). When it was about a yard off the floor, she stopped the rise and started the sled moving forward. She eased it through the arch, wound with some care through the great pillars beyond, starting nervously whenever she heard the stone complain.

Outside, the gray was gone from the sky, the bay water was choppy and showing whitecaps, glittering like broken sapphire in the brilliant sunlight. She took the sled high and sent it racing toward the southeast where the thousand islands of the Myk’tat Tukery lay. Behind her, the massive temple groaned, shuddered, collapsed into rubble with a thunderous reverberant rattle; part of it fell off the island into the sea. Brann shivered, sighed. She stretched over, touched the face of the man beside her, wishing she could wake him and talk to him. She didn’t dare. She sighed again. It was going to be a long dull trip.

18. Knotting Off

Kori.

The School at Sinn.

Kori glared at the flame on the floating wick, trying to narrow her focus until she saw it and only it, until she heard nothing, felt nothing, knew nothing but that erratically flickering flame. The small room was dark and quiet, no sounds from outside to distract her, but she felt the stone through the flimsy robe Shahntien Shere had given her, she heard every scrape her feet made when she had to move or suffer torments of itching, she felt the chill draft that curled round her body and shivered the flame. It seemed to her she was getting worse not better as she struggled to learn the focus her teachers demanded. Talent! He was dreaming, that man. She had no talent, nothing. She scratched an itch on a buttock and began running through the disciplines for the millionth time…

Something watching her. The small hairs stirred along her spine, her mouth went dry. She fought to keep her eyes on the flame but couldn’t, she jumped to her feet, turning with the movement so she faced the open arch.

Shahntien Shere stood there, eyes narrowed, fury rolling off her like steam. “Maksim’s dead or destroyed,” she said softly. “Your doing.” She smiled. “He set a geas on me to teach you, it doesn’t stop me making you one sorry little bitch. Contemplate that a while, then do me a favor and try leaving.” A last glare, then she whipped around and stalked off.

Drinker of Souls, Kori thought, she did it. She sighed.

Nothing had turned out the way she planned. Ten years, she thought, I’m safe for ten years, but after that I’d better be a long, long, way from here. She dropped to her knees and began going through the disciplines again, contemplating the flame with grim determination; she had to learn everything and be better at it than anyone else before her. Maksim said she had talent, talent didn’t count if you couldn’t use it. Ten years…