Jo Clayton - Wild Magic

Neatly as Cheoshim cadets on show parade, the pages and acolytes divided at the Approach and marched to their places, Adjoa to the left, Anaxoa to the right, anvils tank tick tink.

The bearer kassos hauled the Anvil onto the Bridge and eased it down on the hump at the center, set the Brazier beside it.

The Primes walked onto the Bridge, gold wire glittering in the punishing sunlight.

The kasso choir filed onto the Bridge, Adjoa to the left, Anaxoa to the right.

The torch bearers lit the coals in the Brazier and with their iron bound bellows blew the Fire alive.

They drew back, five Adjoa kassos to the left, five Anaxoa kassos to the right, holding their torches before them while the Adjoa Prime took up one great iron hammer and moved to the left, the Anaxoa Prime took up the second hammer and moved to the right. In unison they began the Great Beat on the Anvil DONNNG DONNNG DONNNG then DONNNG DONG DONNNG DONG repeated over and over. CHU ma VAY yal CHU ma VAY yal.

On the roof of a warehouse beside the Iron Bridge, seated in a massive chair that conscripted Naostam porters had hauled up three flights of stairs, protected from the sun by a slatted awning, surrounded by his guard hosts, with the Mannaso Prime Fuaz Yoyote sweating anxiously beside him, Famtoche Banddah sipped at a glass of iced vinyol and watched with annoyed impatience the slow unfolding of ceremony below him.

Sivvy and Houen stood by the low parapet, leashes on their necks, their hands bound behind them.

“What’s taking so long? You, Worm.” A wave of his hand brought Fuaz Yoyote to his side. “Diyo, Worm, I’m talking to you. Why don’t they just get on with it?”

“Heshim Amrap.” The thin man with the coppery skin of a Biashar and the spiky stubble of a Cheoshim rounded his shoulders and bobbed his narrow head in bows that seemed to have no end to them. “The Calling must be done without flaw or the all-powerful all-knowing Great One will not answer.”

“And?”

“The High Kasso is doing what is required and more,”-Yoyote said grudgingly; the sweat on his lined face was not from the sun but from fear. His fate and Juvalgrim’s were knotted for the moment and he could do nothing but support the man he loathed.

“I judge by the results, Worm, not the elegance of the attempt. Now get away from me. You stink.”

The kassoa choir repeated the godname over and over in their deepest voices, melding together in a solid sound that shook the bones and made breathing harder.

Juvalgrim’s rich baritone rang out, filling the space between earth and heaven.

Come O Lord of the Morning Giver of Plenty

Come to us O Father of Iron Joy of the Faithful

Bliss of the Lawkeeper…

On the warehouse roof the Amrapake moved impatiently in his chair, then coughed and settled back to watch the rite progress.

Fuaz Yoyote wiped the fear, sweat from his face, tucked his hands back in his velvet-lined sleeves.

The choir chanted:

CHU MA VAY YAL CHU MA VAY YAL Juvalgrim chanted:

Iron Father, come and bless us

Giver of Strength and Might

Come O Lawgiver, make this wrong right.The choir chanted:

CHU MA VAY YAL CHU MA VAY YAL The drums rattled tank tank t t t tank tank…

The small bronze hammers beat against small bronze anvils, the tink-t-tinks sinking into the chant and emerging from it, sinking again.

Adjoa Prime and Anaxoa Prime were slick with sweat, their ropy arms starting to tremble as they brought the Great Hammers down on the Sacred Anvil DONNNG DONG DONNNG DONG DONNNG

A Red Mist rose from the Forge and spread along the Iron Bridge, turning the struts crimson as it flowed over them; when it reached the Southbank Approach it oozed along the River on both sides and seethed against the Barrier; like acid burning holes in leather it ate into the Invisibility that barred them from the Low City.

On the roof of the warehouse, the Amrapake sat up, stretched his mouth in a smile with satisfaction but no humor in it. “Chavash! The yatz is actually getting somewhere.”

“K’lann!” Reyna leapt away from the parapet and ran for the stairs.

Thammir caught his arm, jerked him around. “Rey, don’t be an idiot. You can’t do anything.”

Reyna swore, wrenched himself loose and slammed into Thammir who wrapped his long arms about him and yelled in his ear, “Rey! It’s nonsense. Goandee, Furrah, help me hold him.”

Reyna relaxed, seemed to listen as Thammir went on. “The Barrier. You can’t get through that, and even if you could, there’s the army. You know what they’d do to any Salagaum they got their hands on.”

Their hands loosened as Reyna sighed, let his head fall forward. With a sudden burst of effort he broke free and was running down the stairs before they could regroup.

– Honey Mother seized Faan.

Her eyes blurred, vanished behind a facetted darkness.

She opened her mouth wide, a deep pulsating HUM poured out of her.

She danced.

Stamp. Sway. Whirl.

She danced to the music of the earth, boom ba boom ba boom, the heart rhythm. Waves of dark and light pulsed from her, rings of honey light, rings of hot dark.

She danced along the ways and wynds of the Low City and as she danced, girls came from the houses and the groves, from the rooftops and the gardens. Mouths wide, eyes dark, staring into dream, the Honey Dancers followed her.

Black clouds swirled above the Barrier, laced with wire lightning, crooked yellow streaks that jagged from lobe to lobe. A few drops of rain fell. Pause… A few more. Then again a few more.

A SOUND rose within the city.

People appeared on their roofs, handtalk drums beating a counter rhythm to the Anvil and the drumming pages.

Honeychild and Honey Dancers wove along the South Gatt Road, mouths stretching in the Abey HAUMMM.

Honey Light gushed over the Low City, yellow light that thickened and darkened, boiled and seethed. It drove back the Red Mist, filled in the Eaten Places. It grew higher and thicker and stronger, magic amber swallowing the houses and the people.

. The Red Mist faltered.

On the Iron Bridge, the Primes beat faster and harder, grunts torn out of them with every stroke. The kassos’ Chant grew louder, hoarser, then began to tear apart as the strain took its toll of individuals within the choir, old and young driven beyond their strength, collapsing to the iron tiles of the Bridge floor.

The High Kasso’s voice soared strong and serene, singing on and on without a break. Somehow. As if breathing were not necessary. On and on…

Until the Red Mist came rushing back, and whirled in a funnel round and round the Primes and the High Kasso, then it sank into the Anvil on the Sacred Forge.

The Hammers fell to the tiles; the Primes collapsed.

Juvalgrim’s voice soared a moment longer then cut off as he fell in a heap on the iron tiles.

The choir’s chant shattered into discord, broke off. The pages fell, their drumsticks clattering on the pavement of the North Gatt Road.

Reyna ran between the warehouses. If he could reach the water, there was still a chance…

He heard a scrape behind him, tried to throw himself aside, but something crashed into his head, he saw blackness filled with jagged lines and dots of white light, then nothing…