Jo Clayton - Wild Magic

The Amrapake got to his feet, waved his guard back, and went to stand gazing down at the chaos below, his face impassive. “Worthless,” he said. “I stand by my word.” He turned his head, glanced at the boys, then at the men holding them. “Do it,” he said.

The guards cut Sivvy’s throat first, then Houen’s and threw them from the roof.

Fuaz Yoyote swallowed nervously, stared at the roof tiles as if not-seeing could keep the same from happening to him.

Famtoche snapped his fingers and the hosts moved back; when there was a clear space around him, he beckoned to Fuaz Yoyote. “Here, Worm.”

An ashy look to his skin, the tip of his tongue fluttering along dry lips, the Manasso Prime hastened to the Amrapake’s side, bobbing in a series of jerky bows. “Heshim Amrap.”

Famtoche pursed his lips, watching him from narrowed eyes. Then he smiled. “I don’t interfere in the internal affairs of the Camuctarr,” he murmured. Yoyote’s eyes flicked up then he went back to staring at the roof tiles. “Bat if you don’t mind a little practical advice, Manasso, this would be a good time to revise the… ah… authority structure. After this… ah… debacle, I expect you won’t have much difficulty dealing with the… ah… present High Kasso.”

Breathing raggedly, Yoyote bowed lower. “I hear, heshim Amrap. It will be done.”

Juvalgrim woke in darkness and pain.

There was an iron harness on his head that trapped his tongue and held his mouth immobile. He couldn’t speak; he could barely grunt.

His hands had been forced into iron gloves, his arms strapped to his body; he couldn’t move his fingers and the tiny shifts he could make with his arms were useless for anything but easing cramps. They know. They have to know. Reyna tried to warn me. K’lann! Why didn’t I listen? I thought I could ride this out till the Change. Wrong guess, Ju. Stupid, stupid, it the fire for me… fire!

Fire. It hit him suddenly and he panicked, struggling desperately against the unyielding iron and the broad leather straps that bound him immobile. He screamed. Tried to scream. All that came out were animal grunts. He rocked on the cot, banged against the wall, pulled at the gloves and surged against the straps, tearing open his arms and wrists, scraping skin and hair from his head; his sphincters let go and the stench of feces and urine filled the cell. He struggled on and on until he finally crashed off the cot and knocked himself out.

“Why us? Gahhh, that stinks. Why don’t they make those milk-lapping Quiambos do it? I mean, this’s slave work. Fit for those pollutes, not us.”

“Shut up, Chutso. 01’ Yoyay, he don’t trust ’em, thinks they’ll let this potzpile loose. You want that? Let him…” he slapped Juvalgrim on the flank, “get to talking and we’ll be doing worse. Witchman, they say. You wanna be a frog? Hunh! Yatz almost bled hisself dry.”

Juvalgrim groaned as they shifted him roughly about, but they ignored that, finished scrubbing him clean, wrapped strips of bandages about the skin breaks, threw a blanket over him and went out, taking with them the rags of his tunic and trousers.

He shivered, chilled by the cold water and the damp in the cell. Not many damp places this side of the River. I must be down by the cisterns. He sneezed. K’lann! Rey oh Rey, I should have listened to you. I should have gone with you, taken my chances out there. No, that’s not true, Id have sucked you in with me, that’s all. Blessings be, you’re out of this.

He swallowed, sank into a drifting lethargy, enduring the pain and discomfort. His panic was over. There was nothing he could do but prepare himself to endure what was coming with as much dignity as he could dredge

‘No days after the collapse of the attack at the Iron Bridge, Penhari pushed straggles of hair back from her face and scowled unhappily at the young messenger. “Again?”

The Naostam girl nodded. “They marchin’. Be at the Bridge ‘bout quarter ‘n hour.” She smoothed her hand down the gray-green tunic with its pale yellow piping, her glowing pride in the Kummo-Runner’s semi-uniform giving her thin plain face a fugitive charm. “Kumm Puruka say I’m her best Runner.” She grinned, showing small crooked teeth, her eyes shutting to furry slits. “She say you want me to Run for you, I sh’d do it.”

“Good. I need you.” Penhari moved to her desk, picked up one of the tokens threaded on a spike. “Tuck this in your pouch. Show it as you need to. I want two Runners from each Kummata, with an alternate to handle emergencies. Let me see… take note of what’s happening outside whenever you’re near the Barrier. I need to know what the army’s doing. Questions?”

“Nayo, heshal.” She jigged from foot to foot… T ier„

“Go, Runner.” Penhari smiled as the girl sketched a bow and went rushing out, all knees and elbows. The smile faded. “I don’t like this. I don’t trust him… if there’s a way, he’ll find it…” She frowned at the notes she’d been making, struggling to put together a coherent plan for managing Low City and codify the practices that were developing out of need and those that were already in place; sometimes she was terrified things would get away from her. She tightened her lips. It was like trying to close your hands on tadpoles; they wiggled away in every direction. No patterns, no order. I have to do something… no time to think about that now She moved her shoulders, shook her arms, and went briskly out the door.

When Penhari stepped into her private garden at the center of the rambling house, Desantro hit the grass in front of her, came curling up, and went at Panote who turned his shoulder into her and flipped her again.

“/ told you,” he said patiently. “Inside and low.” He saw Penhari, bowed. “Heshal.”

“Pan, it’s starting again. Tell Tai, will you? And see if you can find Faan. I need to know what’s happening with her.”

“Heshal,” he said, went trotting off down one of the gravel walks.

Desantro squatted on the lawn, pulled a blade of grass and stretched it between her thumbs. She blew a shriek, lowered her hands. “Trouble.”

Penhari shook her head, sighed. “Never trust a Mal. It seems I’m going to get you killed, Desa.”

Desantro managed a shrug without loosing her balance on her toes. “Knew you might. From the beginning a this. Doesn’t matter.” She got to her feet. “Been a long time afore now I haven’t much liked being alive. Least I’m not bored. What you want me to do?”

“You’ve made connections with the Wascram, get out to them and let them know they’d better be ready to fight.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Sting! Every step I make I get pushed back two. The people here keep expecting the Barrier to handle everything, they grumble every time I say get ready. I’ve yelled so much my throat’s raw. If they think Mals are fickle… Gods!”

“Y’ really think it’s goin’ to go down?”

“I think Abeyhamal has more on her mind than us and we’d better be prepared for that. You boot the Was-cram into getting busy and I’ll set the Kummate on the others.” She drew her hand across her face. “If I thought it’d to any good, Desa, I’d cross the Bridge this minute, but if I know my brother, he wants this place leveled even more than he wants me in his hands. Go, go, there’s no time. There’s just no time!”

On the roofs of the solid flat buildings, Ma’teesee helped the wife of her employer light a fire under a cauldron filled with fish oil; on other roofs other women and girls got their own cauldrons ready, filled also with fish oil and melted lard, with water if there was nothing else available. In the kitchens the men bound knives to staves to make crude lances. Farmworkers, shepherds and ex-slaves carried stones for their slings onto the roofs and piled them beside the cauldrons. Farmholders, Edgers, and Naostam porters accustomed to acting as night watchmen strung bows and laid out the arrows they’d been making in their spare time. Dossan and Miugi (who’d dumped the other girl and come back to her) and dozens like them fastened washlines across the wynds, neck high, ankle high, then carted rubble and furniture to make barricades across the wynds. Children old enough to throw stones piled them up through their neighborhoods, small unobtrusive cairns, ready to hand when the need appeared. Throughout the city men and women, youths and girls collected everything that could possibly serve as a weapon.