Prince of Storms (14 page)

Lord Inweer stood over him. “We must go out.”

“I will report any communication you have with the solitaires, as is my duty.”

“Your reports are no doubt read with great interest.”

Breund deigned not to respond to this provocation. He must decide whether to open the door or not. The regent had not forbidden the lord contact with other Tarig, but Breund thought it an oversight. The solitaires were renegades; they had refused the peace; it would be best for Lord Inweer's rehabilitation if he associated with other sentients.

But no sentients would associate with a Tarig. It was improper and strange, like befriending a god.

He managed to pry his Jout bulk up from his chair and walk over to the correct wall for door formation. He tapped the shadow lines, bringing the door into form; it opened.

The lord brushed past him and jumped down without waiting for the ramp.

A profound steam of biotics and humidity flushed into the cabin. The sway smelled of rotting things and, underneath, the smell of cook fires.

Already in the wave of hot air he was starting to sweat. He removed his long coat and carried it into his private cabin, trying to decide whether to make a report now or follow Lord Inweer. Glancing at his altar, he silently prayed,
May the most propitious future come forth and may I open the door.
The lord,
upon hearing that prayer, had inquired,
Is prayer a comfort?
To which Breund had responded:
No: A discipline. I recommend it to you
. Lord Inweer was not at peace, raging against his condition. And now this imprudent landing.

Moving back to the egress door, Breund toed the threshold. It obligingly extruded a ramp, and he descended.

Past a small clearing he could see a good distance into the mass of trees. Lacking undergrowth except for a few downed trunks, the forest was like a black coverlet supported by pillars.

Lord Inweer had vanished. That must be set to rights.

Over there a low curl of fog. He walked toward it, catching a whiff of smoke. Not fog, then. A movement to one side startled him. Animals amid the tree trunks, short, upright…

With a crash one of them jumped on a fallen log within a stone's throw of Breund. A pale and fleshy creature, with two arms and two legs and a hideous broad face. It held a staff, ready to strike.

“Hold!” Breund shouted. “I come by the regent's order.”

The creature drew his arm back to bludgeon him.

Breund danced out of the path of the club, a blow delivered clumsily but with gusto. Drawing his long knife, Breund hit his assailant on its fleshy backside. It was not a normal backside. A tail-like abdomen jutted out behind, like the nether regions of an insect.

They faced off. Though the creature wore no clothing, it seemed to be sentient. How could this be, when it was neither Gond nor Chalin, Hirrin nor Ysli? Then Breund realized it was a Gond juvenile. Still legged and wingless. And prone to nastiness, he had heard told.

“Here now,” Breund said, holding his knife well forward. “Where is your sire? Run to tell him that we are here on Ascendancy business.”

Yes
business
, that was a word Gond could relate to. Also, trespass and mutilation. He might be the only non-Gond in ten thousand days to see a juvenile, for no one was welcome in the sway, and the juveniles never ventured out of the Radiant Arch Primacy.

Trying for calm authority instead of raw panic, he barked, “Off you go.” He waved his sword in the opposite direction.

The juvenile scrunched its face almost to a state of collapse. Then its
cheeks plumped up to conjure an ear-bleeding whistle. At this, a gang came out from hiding and rushed forward. Breund spun around to fend them off. The young miscreants—numbering fifty or more—tore across his path, collecting Breund's assailant as they went. Screaming wildly, they rushed into the woody depths.

Breund's arms were stuck to his sides with sweat. He mightily wished for the protection of the ship. But Lord Inweer was his charge, and Lord Inweer he would find.

Smoke crawled into the forest. A flash of yellow fire pierced the haze. He moved toward it. Within a hundred steps he saw a very tall form—surely Lord Inweer.

Stepping forward, Breund said, “My lord?”

Lord Inweer turned. “My warden.” He stood before a burning pole.

As Breund drew closer, he saw that the fire was a person burning. He staggered backward in shock.

“Too late,” Lord Inweer said.

“Is it a lord?” Breund whispered above the snapping of the flames.

“What remains.” Lord Inweer looked around him. Now Breund could see other piles of ashes, some still smoking.

“Oh,” Breund groaned. “Such evil.”

The lord's voice was a mere rumble. “They are children. Hardly evil.”

The juveniles had done this? Breund looked back into the forest. They said the whole primacy was one vast forest. In such a hidden, dark realm, anything could happen, anything might be true. Breund shivered in spite of the jungle heat and the flames. Disturbingly, the smell of burning flesh was faintly sweet.

When Breund had composed himself, he asked, “What shall we do, my lord?”

“Find the brightship which must be nearby.”

“That I do not allow.”

The lord turned a dark stare on him. “Hnn.”

Breund felt a flash of alarm. If something happened out here there would be no record. His body could just go into the fire. “You have a ship,” he suggested, but even to himself this sounded foolish.

“Is it a ship,” the lord said, “that can hunt down the gondlings?”

“Well, the gondlings won't—”

“Is it a ship that can make of them many small crackling fires? Is it a ship that can bring terror just by its shadow on the treetops? Is it a ship that keeps my privacy rather than sends images to the Paion? That lets me open my own door?”

Breund swallowed, hard. “No,” he whispered. “That it is not.”

Lord Inweer turned back to the burning figure, now unrecognizable as a sentient. Without turning around he asked, “What do you wish to do with the brightship, warden?”

“Leave it in the forest.”

Lord Inweer looked at him with what seemed like pity. Behind him, the burning lord collapsed, throwing sparks onto the clearing, onto Lord Inweer's boots. He continued to hold Breund's gaze, and Breund dared not break it, lest the lord stride into the forest and defy his parole, lest the lord give in to whatever impulses raged in him. It would only take a word, a breath.

Finally Lord Inweer said in a soft voice, “Lead the way, then.” He turned away from the pyre. “Lead the way, since you must open the door.”

And with that they retraced their path and entered the prison ship once more.

QUINN HAD FALLEN ASLEEP
that night with his hand in the small of Anzi's back, his fingers curled against her as though trying to grasp an invisible cord. When she rose in the middle of the night, he woke, too.

“I'll return,” she whispered, and he fell back asleep. He woke again sometime later, reaching for Anzi. Not there.

But someone was standing in his room, a short, dark form against the gray tent walls.

“Titus,” Zhiya's voice came to him.

His feet hit the floor. “What's wrong?”

“Many things.”

He pulled on his shirt and pants, thrusting his feet into boots. Lights were moving in the tent space beyond.

“Will you come into the binds?” she asked. “We have some things to show you.”

“What things? Where's Anzi?”

“Gone to the ship. She's waiting for you.”

This didn't make sense. Why would Anzi have gone without him, without telling him?

“Will you come?”

“By the bright, tell me what's going on. And tell me now.”

Zhiya turned to face him in the dark. “My mother has seen something in
the binds. It's best if you hear it from Jin Yi. If you ever trusted me, Titus, do so now.”

“Is it something to do with Ahnenhoon? The army?” He and Zhiya hadn't spoken for a day. He knew she was troubled.

But Zhiya only held the flap of the tent compartment open for him. He slapped it out of her hands.

“Why did Anzi leave secretly?”

“To make sure you'd go.”

He clamped down on his displeasure. As he lifted the tent flap and brushed past her, he noted the pavilion was still in semidarkness. Tai stood by with his jacket, handing it to Quinn as he went by.

“The fewer that know we've left, the better,” Zhiya said, and along with two guards, led him out and toward the pillars and the lift that would carry them down.

At the dock at the base of the pillar, a Chalin gate keeper sprang up astonished from his bench as the entourage streamed out of the lift.

As they headed toward one of the river vessels berthed at the far end of the dock, Quinn muttered to Zhiya, “Jin Yi isn't well enough to go into the binds.”

“She insists.”

Waiting for them on the starboard side of the vessel was the ship keeper, a burly Chalin, hair black with age.

The ship's funnel was cocked up, still dribbling river matter. In the down position, it fed the Nigh through its neck into an engine that burned not fuel, but space-time. He had long ago given up understanding how the navitar vessels actually traveled.

“It's Jin Yi's old ship,” Zhiya said. Sleek but battered, the vessel showed the strain of many voyages.

“Who is the navitar?” Quinn asked.

“Panard. A Laroo whom Mother knew in the old days.”

He looked down the pier, noting that among the ships docked was one he recognized. “That's Ghoris's ship.”

“She put into dock a few hours ago, and her ship keeper offered us passage, but Mother wants to go with Panard.”

“Does everyone know we're taking a ride?” His exasperation grew by the moment.

“Who knows how she knew? Navitars see things. Would you rather use Ghoris's ship? I'd have to transfer Mother over.”

He gave up. “All right, we'll take her ship.”

As they approached, Panard's ship keeper called out the customary, “Where bound?” and Zhiya answered, “Down. Into the binds, good fellow.”

The man bowed, and they boarded, accompanied by two guards. Zhiya instructed them to wait outside, and she and Quinn went into the main cabin. Inside, a pallet had been made up for Zhiya's mother. Next to the bed crouched Anzi. She rose as Quinn approached.

“You've come.” She took his hand. “I'm sorry to bring you here this way.”

He turned to Jin Yi, who reached out a misshapen arm toward him.

“The child, the child,” she said, barely able to speak from her deformed mouth. It was the fate of old navitars, to lose their shape; a terrible penalty of the service.

“Jin Yi,” he said. “What child?”

Zhiya leaned in. “She means the boy navitar. Now listen to her.”

“I've come to listen,” he snapped. “Why wouldn't I?”

He crouched next to the pallet. “Jin Yi, tell me what you have to say.”

“I saw him in the binds,” Jin Yi whispered, “and…you.” He held her hand, no more than a cup of flesh, her fingers having grown together. Her breath was sour and hot. “The boy navitar…goes…into the Nigh. And there…There he has you. He has you.”

“He tries, Jin Yi, but…”

“He
has
you.” She gripped his hand with surprising strength. “Woven,” she hissed.

That was wrong. Geng De did not weave him. Amid all of his troubles, this was his one comfort. “I'm the rogue strand. He admitted it.”

“No!” she spat, her eyes alarming in their molten glare. “He has grown. Now he takes your strand, and you do…what he…desires.”

“I don't believe you. I'm sorry, Jin Yi. I can't.”

Anzi turned to him. “She's right, Titus. He's reached out and touched you, turned your actions.” Her hand came to his arm. “This is the truth, my love.”

He whipped away from her. “No.”

Zhiya joined in. “When you banished the army, that was the worst. Perhaps when you freed Lord Inweer. But when you sent the army from Ahnenhoon, we knew.”

He sprang to his feet, angry. “You disagreed.”

Zhiya stepped between him and the door. “Yes. And then I went to Mother and asked her to go into the binds. It almost killed her, but she went. And she's willing to go again.”

“Hurry…” Jin Yi mewled.

Zhiya brought the guards into the cabin. Then she went to the galley and brought out the ship keeper, urging him up the companionway to the pilothouse. “We'll go,” Zhiya announced, and Quinn didn't contradict her. He met Anzi's gaze. She thought that Geng De compelled him. He had lost her confidence, and it cut him.

“Let's go, then.”

“Stay…awake as long as you can,” Jin Yi said.

The ship lurched; then the prow dipped downward.

Jin Yi closed her eyes. “Down, down…”

They were under way. Sight thickened and light grew heavy. Zhiya, Anzi, and he found places to sit around the pallet, holding on, determined to remain conscious.

It worked for a time, but soon a lethargy descended on them. Anzi's head kept falling forward as she fought off sleep. The river was softening their minds. Zhiya swayed but remained awake, and Jin Yi thrashed, moans issuing from the slit of her lips.

Zhiya had managed to prop herself between the bed and bulkhead, fighting to stay awake. Her long hair rose up around her, as though she floated in water. Quinn's lungs, full of sludge; his chest, a profound weight.

Outside the portholes lightning stabbed the binds. Jin Yi's hand cupped around Quinn's wrist. “He makes a terrible braid,” she whimpered. “Listen! The child navitar…He reaches for you. He changes what you do.”

“How can—”

Jin Yi interrupted with a gargled cry. “Look! Go to the porthole.”

He struggled to his feet, swaying. The porthole. Just over there. Must look. He staggered to the bulkhead, leaning on it, looking out.

They were deep in the river. It lay before him, layered with light and dark stripes, chaotically banded, but frozen still. Within each band crawled forms, some of them sentient, each imprisoned in a seam.

Jin Yi's warbled moans told him the effort she made to hold the vision. He knew he must look. And did.

He saw himself in those bands, walking in the Ascendancy. Two of him, three of him, different days, different future days. Then one of the Titus forms faded, and another. Looking below, he saw that in the band below the Titus forms stood a navitar in a red caftan, braiding the long filaments that fell from the feet of all the Titus Quinns. Some figures thinned to ghosts. One remained. That Titus looked up from his band, gazing directly at him. In those eyes, he saw a man trapped.

The Titus in the river pointed to one side. A Hirrin stood amid a pile of refuse, a wound over his left eye. Blood dripped down his face in red tears. Beside him was yet another Titus. They stood together, the Hirrin and the Titus, on a terrace, wind blowing. He recognized the place, but where?

Disoriented, Quinn lurched away from the porthole. As he focused on the state of the cabin, he saw Anzi slumped over the bed. Zhiya had fallen onto the floor. Both unconscious. On the pallet, Jin Yi lay, her back impossibly arched. Her spine bowed backward, shoving her head into the pillow, her feet into the mattress, making a great bow of her chest and stomach.

Quinn staggered over to her, kneeling by her to try to ease her out of that terrible bend. No use; it had hardened. He lay her on her side. Her eyes were open, her breathing labored.

A kick from behind—savage and swift—threw him forward onto the deck. He lay helpless. Standing above him the red-robed navitar. Panard was a heavily built Laroo, with a powerful upper body, obvious even in the navitar's robes. Covered with a tight fur, his face was catlike, but unmistakably malevolent.

The navitar stepped over Quinn to reach Jin Yi.

“So soon, Panard?” came Jin Yi's voice.

“Past time,” Panard crooned.

Quinn watched helplessly as Panard bent over and, shoving Anzi's sleeping form out of the way, lifted Jin Yi from bed, carrying her toward the door. Her head hung down, but her eyes were still open and aware.

The room brightened. He followed them, managing to crawl. It took an age to reach the door through which Panard and Jin Yi had disappeared.

With light filling the cabin, Quinn realized they had surfaced. Slowly, his limbs responded to him. He hauled himself up and reeled through the door. From the outside deck he could see the storm wall brooding darkly. The river lay silver and sweet.

Panard was bending steeply over the ship rail, Jin Yi in his outstretched arms.

“No!” Quinn shouted. “No!”

Panard laid Jin Yi on the water, saying, “It is how the navitars die.”

“Not this one!” Quinn knifed forward. He staggered toward the navitar, crashing uncoordinated into the bulkhead, going to his knees, then getting his feet beneath him again to lurch for the ship's rail.

The navitar casually turned away, walking toward the prow of the ship.

Quinn looked into the Nigh. All that remained of Jin Yi was her robe, moving down into a spiral. He drew the knife from his belt and advanced on Panard, who now stood at the prow. The navitar's attention was on something coming at him from the opposite side of the ship.

In another moment, Quinn saw that it was Anzi. She wound into a kick, sending Panard crashing back. But the Laroo was a head taller and far stronger. He righted himself and lunged for her. Avoiding his reach, Anzi jumped to the outside of the railing, but lost her grip, grabbing on to the edge of the ship's funnel. It was in the cocked position. As Quinn rushed forward, Anzi hauled herself up to the top, where she clung to the edge of the cone, out of Panard's reach.

As the navitar climbed the rail after her, Quinn lunged for him, getting only a fist full of caftan. Using the railing for leverage, Panard kicked Quinn full in the chest. At the impact, Quinn fell against the bulkhead, his head snapping hard against it.

Panard turned back to the funnel, grabbing the side and, hand over hand, climbing toward Anzi. Quinn scrambled to his feet as Panard grappled his way up the perimeter of the funnel, reaching for her.

The funnel came down. It swept down, splashing heavily, plunging Panard into the river.

Anzi leaped for the rail. Scrambling toward her, Quinn reached for her with his good arm, leaning over the rail. With his utmost strength, Quinn grabbed her in midair, latching on to her arm. She began to slip away, dangling above the river. He could not hold her, not for more than a second more, but then a guard was at his side, reaching over, pulling her up. With that help Quinn brought her safely to the deck.