Dave Smeds - The Sorcery Within

The uncooperativeness of the amath was the reason they were never harvested below a particular depth. Regardless of the riches that might be won, few divers would risk rapture of the deep or other pressure maladies. Nor was it advisable to attempt strenuous labor deep down, and the amount of time required to chisel loose an amath meant a long return ascent in order to avoid the bends. Taking into account the fact that only one amath in hundreds contained a pearl, it was not surprising most divers went after the easier ones.

But most divers did not wear a belt that increased their strength many times.

Keron anchored his feet, found a firm grip on the upper shell, and pulled. It felt like trying to rend stone. Perhaps he had miscalculated. Perhaps he had let the creature grow too large. Then he heard a groan. The mouth opened a crack. Keron yanked. The oyster's great muscle released. Keron kept pushing until he had bent the shell completely back and broken the joint. The delicate inner body was exposed.

The blood in his temples pounded fiercely. He fought to return his breathing to normal, doing nothing more strenuous than staring at his accomplishment. When he had recovered, he withdrew his knife and carefully slashed at the ugly mass of flesh. He peeled away the layers at a specific point.

And there it was. A perfect, tremendous pearl.

Keron had made sure it would be there. He had learned how to culture normal oysters as a boy. The trick was duplicating the feat with an amath. The king of pearls had never been cultured, except by sorcerers, simply because opening an amath was so difficult. If men did succeed in spreading the huge jaws, they usually inadvertently killed the bivalve in the process.

But Keron had his belt. A decade before, while he had held the oyster open, Brenck had quickly inserted the seed pearl – itself a quality amath – into the proper spot. They had returned a few months later to be sure the oyster had lived.

Keron held up his prize and began to laugh. And kept laughing.

It wasn't until he felt a strong tug on the line that he became aware of his peril. He rapidly secured the pearl in his pouch, and pressed the right-hand stud on his vest. It inflated just a bit, taking him gradually up five feet, then levelling off. He repeated the action. Everything seemed to be going in slow motion. His brain gave the command to his finger to press, and only many seconds later did it obey.

There was Enret – up toward the right. No, to the left. He blinked. He saw two distinct images of his lieutenant. He blinked again, and there was one.

He stopped. He had just enough composure to know that he had very little. He waited. Eventually, Enret tugged on the line. Keron knew better than to trust his own thinking. Enret's tugs would tell him when it was safe to ascend. It would be stupid to win so great a prize and cripple his body forever by rising too swiftly. He abandoned all power of decision to the rope, moving a single increment whenever he felt the signal. He clung to consciousness.

In this manner he reached Enret's position. Keron was feeling better by then. They continued up together, a lazy ascent that gave Keron plenty of time to exult. If he did nothing else in this life, he would always be known as the creator of this mighty pearl.

In the boat, Enret's eyes went wide. "By the gods! That is the largest amath I have ever seen."

"There is a larger one among the crown jewels, and others lost to Gloroc," Keron said modestly. Inside, he was laughing constantly, and this time it was not the effect of nitrogen narcosis.

"What now?" Enret asked.

"Back to Garthmorron – to the only lady fit for this jewel."

LONG BEFORE THEY REACHEDthe oasis where the main camp of the T'krt was situated, Alemar and Elenya could smell the rich odor of cooking meat. Pork, and lots of it. Though they were many leagues from the Ahloorm, someone must have done some travelling and staged a massive hunt, for it was only there that the boars could be found. It was not until they rode into sight that the twins could guess the reason.

A party of Po-no-pha chanting the T'lil song of life were marching toward them, veils undulating with their singing. The parade surrounded the initiates and lifted them from their saddles onto their own shoulders, carrying them in that fashion the remaining distance to the camp. The entire community had gathered. Jathmir and Toltac, impressive in their red robes, waited at the forefront of the throng. After the new men had been lowered to their feet and lined up, the two Bo-no-ken bowed deeply.

Hands reached forward and removed the veils from the initiates' faces. Jathmir turned to the crowd.

"Behold, the future of our tribe!"

Then the formality vanished. Relatives rushed forward, friends cried congratulations, and the pits containing the roasting meat were opened. The feast began.

Shigmur found the twins. "Well done. I see you made it through the recitations?"

Alemar sighed. "I never knew God could have so many laws, but we remembered them all." His Zyraii was fluid. Elenya was almost as proficient. However, there was no question that remembering and repeating the laws of the So-de'es had been the most difficult trial within the rite of passage.

"Good. Now when Urthey finds her tent, you can really enjoy being a family man," Shigmur said.

"I can?"

Shigmur cleared his throat. "You mean no one has told you?"

"Told us what?"

He pointed up at Urthey. The tiny moon was scarcely visible in the daylight. "Urthey finds her tent" referred to the wandering moon's arrival in the constellation the Zyraii called the Tent, which Alemar knew would occur in about ten days.

Shigmur paused. "Never mind," he said mischievously.

The twins couldn't coax anything more out of him. He invited them to the party that his family, in cooperation with Omi, Peyri, and their children, had prepared.

Elenya was stuffed. She lay on the ground behind her tent, staring at the blood of the darkening western sky. Alemar and other nearby revellers were out of sight. She was feeling good. The food and wine had been superb. Many of the tribe had complimented her on her completion of thepulstrall, and she could tell the comments had been sincere. Even the weather had been blessed. She felt warm and secure. One hand wandered to her crotch and smoothed the wrinkles in the cloth. She murmured, and continued to stroke lightly with the two middle fingers.

"Good evening."

She sat up abruptly. The shadow standing nearby held out a skin of wine.

"What do you want?" she asked sharply.

"I've been throughout the camp to congratulate each of the new men," Lonal said cordially. "I saved you for last."

"Thank you, war-leader."

"I would have thought you'd be too drunk now to have so much frost in your mouth," he said, the white of his smile brightening the dusk.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I was enjoying being alone."

"It looked that way."

"Blasphemer." Her cheeks were burning.

"Your grasp of our language has certainly improved." Lonal laughed. "How does one swear in yours? My tutors never taught me."

She pursed her lips, bound not to speak. He waited patiently. Eventually she relented.

"You can't swear in the High Speech. It was the formal language used in the schools and at the royal courts of the Calinin Empire. You'd have to use one of the vulgar forms, and those are unique to each region."

He nodded and sat down beside her, offering her the wineskin. She took a deep draft. "What would the greatest insult be in your country?"

"To call someone a northerner."

"Why?" He was sitting so close she could catch his scent, even over the feast odors on her lips.

"Cilendrodel is at the far north of civilization. Only savages live in the forests and wastelands beyond. I suppose we're sensitive about our provinciality. Barbarian is a big slur as well – anything that implies one is not part of cultured society."