A Bait of Dreams (4 page)

Sipping at the cha, the quilt pulled in a triangle over her middle, she held the Eye up, enjoying the flow of the colors.

Then she was flitting again under the flower tops. She came out on the beach, farther on this time. Hovering over the white sand, she looked curiously around and saw distant buildings perched on slender poles, a line of graceful points and curves on the horizon. Then the butterfly man came sailing out of the sun, a black shimmer with gold edges dancing on the breeze, an ebullient joyfulness that made her quiver with delight and feel the swoop of laughter in her blood. She joined him, dancing, turning, twisting over the green-blue of the wrinkled sea. Cool wine air slipped along her body and her dance became more intense. Others came and they laughed a silent laughter, long slender feelers clicking in telegraphic wit.

The mug dropped, spilling a last few drops of cold cha on the bed as she drifted to sleep, fingers still curled tightly about the Eye. In her dreams the air dancers whispered: come come come come

join us come

In the morning she dragged herself out of bed and dressed with one hand, clutching the crystal in the other, ignoring the unmade bed and leaving her sleeping shift on the floor where she'd stepped out of it.

She listened distantly as Habbiba described the cafta to be embroidered, took the ruled paper and went to her table to draw the designs.

Her fingers slipped into her pocket and moved slowly over the warm sensuous surface of the crystal.

Habbiba came scolding when she saw nothing on the paper.

Gleia looked at her vaguely, listened until the wizened little woman was done with her tirade, then bent over the paper. She began sketching flower forms under a single sun and dancing soaring butterfly figures, working the whole into a rhythm of lightness and joy.

Habbiba watched for a minute then went quietly away, smiling with greedy satisfaction.

Gleia went back to dreaming.

In her room that night she stripped off the cafta, hung it on a hook and forgot it. Forgot to wash. Forgot to make her cha. She picked up the nightgown from the floor and slipped it over her head, ignoring its damp musty smell. She lay on the wrinkled sheet turning the crystal over and over in her hands.

They came swooping around her, taking her through the line of houses perched on slender peeled sticks that raised them high above the flower-dotted moss below. Through open arches pointed at the top—past arches filled with knotted hangings accented with polished seeds—past walls bare and pearly gray, with brilliant hangings as strips of color against that bareness. Over floors upholstered with padded carpets, different colors in different rooms—through room on room on room, separated from one another by cascades of multi-sized arches. Antennas clicking with laughter, the butterfly people darted about, showing off their homes.

come come (they whispered to her) leave your miseries behind and ride the wind with us

come come

In the morning she dragged herself out of bed, put on the crumpled cafta from yesterday. Dressed with one hand again, not aware that her movements were limited by the warm and throbbing crystal clutched in her right hand. She thrust it finally into her pocket and left the room without washing herself or doing anything about the mess she left behind.

At work she sat hunched over the layout paper, running her pencil idly over the sketch from the day before, dreaming as idly of the crystal's world.

Habbiba came by sometime later and looked over her shoulder. When she saw the whole morning had gone by with nothing done, she exploded with rage. “Hai worm!” she shrieked. Her small hand buried itself in Gleia's tangled hair and jerked her head up. “What're you sniffing, bonder?” She peered into Gleia's dull eyes. “By the Madar, I'll teach you to waste my money on that filth. Abbosine!”

The big tongueless watchman came from the small room where he spent his days. He took Gleia's hand, pulling her down the hall into the punish room. He pushed her against the wall and closed a set of cuffs about her wrists, her struggles as futile as fly tickles against his unthinking strength. He looked morosely at Habbiba. When she jerked her head at the door, he shambled out.

The furious little woman slammed her fist into Gleia's back, driving her against the wall. “You never learn,” she hissed. “You never learn, bonder. Maybe I can't make you work, fool, but you'll hurt for it.” She stepped back and swung a many-tongued whip. The sharkskin tails slashed down, slicing through the worn cloth of the cafta, cutting lines of fire into Gleia's back. She gasped.

Grunting in a fury that showed no sign of abating. Habbiba lashed at Gleia again and again, screaming her rage at Gleia for all the times the girl had successfully defied her. For all the lovely coins the girl had milked from her. Finally, shaking, eyes bloodshot, face flushed, Habbiba dropped the bloody whip and went away.

Gleia hung from her wrists, her legs too weak to support her weight, the crystal dream cleaned out of her system by the pain that turned her body to mush.

Slowly she began to feel stronger; though as the shock passed, the pain bit deeply into her. She pushed against the stone floor with stiff numb feet and took the punishing weight off her wrists. Standing face to the wall, she came to the humbling conclusion that she was a fool. To be trapped by a Ranga Eye when she knew better. To be trapped by dreams like any giggling girl. Dreams!

She felt the crystal press against her leg, sending warmth through the material of her cafta into her flesh. She jerked the leg back, disgusted at herself as she trembled with the memory of the beauty she'd seen in the Eye, longing intensely (at the same time shuddering with revulsion) for the freedom of soaring on the air with the butterfly people of the dream. Though she knew better in her waking time, she couldn't help feeling that they were real and not mere phantoms of a drugged mind. That their world was real. Somewhere. She couldn't comprehend how the crystal could serve as a gateway to that world, but as she shifted to reduce the pain in her legs she felt she could pass through the gate into a gentle world unlike the rough, unfeeling one she'd been born into.

“I'm not going to touch you again,” she muttered, resting her forehead against the cold damp stone. “I'll sell you. I will I'll find a way.” The crystal bumped hard against her thigh, sending a stab of pain through her already aching body. “We'll see who wins once I get out of this.”

Her feet were cramping. She couldn't put her heels flat and the strain of her arches was beginning to be more than she could endure. Her arms ached, stretched without respite over her head. Fatigue and the effort of fighting off the insidious invasion of the crystal brought her close to fainting, the thought that Habbiba intended to leave her there all night in a final attempt to break her spirit made a cold knot in her stomach. She knew that if the old bitch did, the crystal would have her.

She smashed her hip against the wall, letting out a scream of anger and pain when the crystal ground into her muscle, striking hard against nerves. Sweating and breathing raggedly, she hung in the wrist cuffs, tears of pain streaming down her face, struggling to regain a measure of control over her body.

When she could think again, she shook her head. “No good,” she muttered. She couldn't shatter it, maybe she could ease it out of her pocket. Pinning the material against the stone, she pressed herself to the wall, counting on the pain to keep the crystal from charming her. Wriggling, contorting her body until she was bathed in a film of sweat, she struggled to work the Eye out of her pocket.

It fought back. Whenever she managed to squeeze it an inch or so from the bottom of the pocket, it wriggled like a thing alive and eeled away from the pressure.

She kept trying until she was exhausted, shaking too hard to control her body any longer.

It was dark in the room when Abbosine shambled back. The huge mute unfastened the cuffs and watched with massive indifference as she crumpled to the floor. Stolidly he wound his thick fingers in her hair and dragged her through the building and out into the alley where he dropped her in a heap beside the workers' entrance.

Gleia pushed herself onto her feet and stood swaying, supporting herself with a hand pressed against the side of the building. Then the anger that simmered under the haze of fatigue gave her the strength to start walking toward the street.

She went to the wharf. Gritting her teeth against the pain she swung down onto the worn crossbar that was her only refuge at so many crises in her life. Clouds sailed with clumsy grace over the darkening sky, tinged with a last touch of crimson though Horli had slid behind the horizon some time ago. Here and there a star glimmered in the patches of indigo sky visible between the cloud puffs. On the water the fog blew in thickening strands, coming up to curl around her feet. The air had a nip that marked the decline of the summer. Winter coming, she thought. Three hundred days of winter. I've got to get away. Somehow. Get south.… Her back itched and stung. The bruise on her thigh was an agony whenever she moved her legs. But she was free from the Eye and tomorrow she would be free of Habbiba too. She leaned tentatively against the pile, closing tired eyes once she was settled. Tomorrow. After the House of Records. What?

The water splashed and Tetaki was perched on the bar beside her. She jumped then winced as her back protested.

“What's wrong?” His mouth opened, baring the tips of his shining teeth. His eyes searched her face, reading the pain there.

“I was stupid.”

“Turn.” His hand was cool on her arm. “Let me see.”

She pulled back, shook her head.

“Gleia.”

“If you must.” Holding onto the slanting brace, she swung around so he could see her back. With her face hidden, her head resting against the pile, she spoke too loudly. “I told you. I was stupid! I knew better than to provoke her. Especially when she'd just had to pay me a bonus.”

His hand touched the lacerated flesh with exquisite gentleness. It still hurt. She sank her teeth into her lip to keep from crying out.

“Come wit' me.”

“What?”

“To the ship. We got med'cine. Your skin's cut. Unless wounds are clean you have trouble wit' them.”

“I suppose so.” She eased herself around. “Help me up.”

He sat back on his heels, an odd look on his face. “Firs' time you ever ask for help.”

She hauled herself to her feet and risked a crooked smile. “Give me a boost, friend.”

On the ship, he nodded to the watch and took her below to his cabin. “Wait here. I get med'cine.”

She sat on the narrow bunk and looked around with appreciation of the neatness, comfort and convenience of the small cabin—a shelf of books running around the top of the wall, locked in place by an ingenious webbing; a desk folded away against the wall; a chair folded and latched flat; two long chests; a shell lantern hanging from the beam bisecting the ceiling. The light coming through the translucent shell touched the room with rosy gold warmth. The oil was perfumed with a pleasant fresh smell that made her think of green growing things.

When Tetaki came back his father Temokeuu came with him. The older seaborn pushed gently on her shoulder, bending her over so he could see her back, easing the cafta down off her body, moistening the places where dried blood glued the material to her skin. “This isn't the first time,” he murmured.

“I learn hard.”

“What lesson?”

“Submission.”

“Hmm.” He took the jar Tetaki was holding out. “This will hurt.”

The salve was living fire as he smoothed it on her cuts. She gasped, bit her lip till blood came, squeezed her eyes shut until tears came, then suddenly her back was cool and there was no more pain. She straightened and moved her shoulders. In spite of all of her experience in bearing pain and degradation she felt uneasy now, having had little practice with kindness. She reached out and caught hold of his wrist. “Thank you.” She stumbled over the words. “Thank you,” she repeated, then she eased the tattered cafta back over her shoulders and turned to face him.

Temokeuu touched the brand on her face. “Bonded?”

“Yes.” She hesitated, stared in embarrassment at her scuffed and scarred feet in the old ragged sandals. “I was caught stealing.”

“How long?”

“Since I was bonded? Six years standard. Two summers ago. A third of my life.”

“To go?”

“Until whenever. The term was left open. It always is. Until I buy myself free, that's the sentence.”

“Ah.” There was heavy contempt in that soft syllable. She looked up at him, startled. “How much is the bond?” he went on.

“Fifty oboli. But you've got to add on the bribes. At least as much more, say a hundred, hundred-twenty oboli.”

He looked disconcerted. “So much?” Then he stroked a finger beside his mouth, his eyes on her face. “Never mind. How does one buy a bond?”

She stared at him, astonished at what he offered. For a moment she thought of letting him do this for her, then felt a surging overpowering distaste for putting her life into someone else's hands. “Temokeuu, no. I can't accept that. I've already earned the money. I found I had a talent and the stubbornness to make it good.” She caught his hand and held it against her face. “You're very good, you and Tetaki.” She held out her other hand to the young seaborn. Then she laughed, the sound surprising her with its joyousness. “I've got the money to buy the bond and pay the bribes, though I wouldn't tell that to anyone else in this place.” She stood and shook her hair back over her shoulders, stretched and sighed, laughing again when one hand swung against the roof beam. “You're the only two people in the world I'd tell it to, my friends. It took the skin off my back to get that money but it was worth it. Tomorrow, Tetaki, Temokeuu. Tomorrow, during my halfday I go to buy my bond.”