Skeen's Leap (28 page)

She went deep into the woodland that night, waking no one, not waiting for dawn or telling anyone where she was going, running on the four feet of her cat form. She curled up in one of her secret nests and tried to think what she could do. Tell Carema, yes, that was the first thing; she shivered and whined in the thick darkness of the lair. No, not the first thing, the last, keep Carema free as long as possible from Telka's menace, tell her because she'd have to fight against rumor and scandal meant to strip respect from her. Telka would have a hard time with that, Carema was tied too deeply into too many lives, but that wouldn't stop her from trying. As long as I'm here, as long as Carema protects me. By dawn all her thinking and squirming was reduced to a single choice: either I stay and die and drag my friends down with me, or I take my chances with the Nemin.

Telka hated and feared Nemin with a fervor she had learned from their father; neither was likely to come after her. Timka thought briefly of trying to find their mother; she had her own fears of Nemin, but Tyamtok Twin-bearer had left the mountains long ago and from what Timka remembered of her she wouldn't welcome either daughter. No, it's Nemin for me.

She woke Carema just before dawn, told her about the attack and what she planned to do. Carema didn't try to talk her around, just dug into her chest and gave Timka a small bag of Pallah coins and a Pallah skirt and blouse, then shifted into horse shape and carried Timka down to the Pallah Plain.

And all that was a score of years ago. Timka looked around her at the noisy melange of types, even wild Funor shorthorns without their robes and cowls, making nuisances of themselves stamping up and down the streets in herds of four or five; a score of years to make her way to Dum Besar, huh. And following Skeen the Pass-Through, she'd made ten times that far in a pair of months. She laughed and felt free again for the first time since she left the mountains, free and wild as those crazy shorthorns.

High mother Demmirrmar was wading about a shallow pool, tending the lilies and reeds growing there. When her cousin's great grandniece brought the visitors, she settled herself on the sandy bottom of the pond and watched them approach, a pair of overblown lilies draped about her neck, muck trailing from the roots at the end of long limp stems, stains meandering through the amethysts and ivory set into her thorax. Her lambent lavender gaze passed mildy over all of them, then she took the packet young Wanasi was thrusting at her, broke it open, and read what Ramanarrahnet had written. When she had finished, she clicked her mouth parts impatiently, tore the paper into long strips, swished them through the water until the ink was blurred into illegibility, handed the strips back to Wanasi. “Put that in the compost heap.” She pulled one of the lilies from around her neck, looked at it with a hint of surprise in the set of her head and threw it onto the grass. “Migara Rahneese, Chulji Sipor, be welcome to Atsila Vana.” She snapped her grippers and a dozen neuters trotted up, sank flat to the grass in front of her. “These will take you to your quarters, show you how to get on. We have called in a lot of youths this month, you won't be lonely.”

Chulji dropped hastily in a submission crouch. “High Mother.”

She moved her mouth parts in astonishment, arched her neck. “Eh?”

“With your blessing, High Mother, I would like to continue on with Scholar Dih and the Seeker Skeen. They will allow this if you consent.”

The water rippled and splashed as Demmirrmar jiggled in a continuing astonishment. “What what, go on with these? You allow this, Scholar Dih?”

“With your blessing yes, High Mother, without it no. Chulji Sipor finds our quest something the poets will sing about, or so he has said to us, and he wishes to find the forms to conquer the Choriyn that shook him on the way here. For our part, we find him an amiable youth with talents that could be useful.”

“Hunting Ykx is not the safest of occupations.”

“So we said. And he said, outside the Nest what work is ever safe?”

“His family sent him to me. How can I say to them your child has died because I let him tie himself to some lika-brained nonsense like this?”

Chulji quivered impatiently, but had the sense to say nothing. The High Mother arched her neck again and eyed him skeptically. Pegwai waited in silence. Skeen crossed her arms over her breasts and watched the clouds float by. The Aggitj fidgeted nervously; when Chulji felt healthy enough to go on deck he'd proved a fine listener to their tales and a soul-mate in some pranks he thought up with them for the time after they got off the ship, but they'd been trained from birth to respect their elders and speak when spoken to and not otherwise. Timka watched them all, detached but inclined to sympathize with the young Min. He reminded her a lot of the boys she'd played games with in the woods what seemed such a very long time ago.

“Tsssst-tsssst,” the High Mother said. “Young idiot, more trouble than he's worth, but if you want him, he's yours. Bring him back whole if you can, no doubt his family will miss him.” She stretched over, tapped Chulji's hard exoskull. “Behave yourself and don't bring disgrace on the Nests. Now get out of here and let adults talk in peace.” She turned her eyes on the Aggitj. “This will bore you also, Aggitj; why don't you go with these nidlings and plot mischief to make your elders sorry they gave in and hauled you along.”

Hal turned to Skeen, she nodded, he grinned, made a graceful deep bow. “With pleasure, Oh Mightiness.” The small black neuters fussing about them, the six youths went bouncing out of the garden. As soon as they were hidden by trees and shrubbery, their voices came back with snatches of laughter. Skeen couldn't hear what they were saying, but she suspected they were taking the High Mother's instructions quite happily and planning something she emphatically wanted to know nothing about.

Demmirrmar pulled the second lily from about her neck and tossed it away. “It's hard to break the ties, but necessary.” The air whistled through her spiracles in the Skirrik version of a sigh. “Rama tells me you hope to find Ykx in the Coraish Gather; she tells me she warned you the Gather might might be empty. It is. Two tribes of the desert Chalarosh made an arashin-gey against them, a purification sweep, and managed to exterminate all the Ykx left there. They were dying out anyway, don't know why, so the place has been empty the past twenty some years. Looted. Picked over. Anything with a pretense of value has been carried off.”

Pegwai moved his feet impatiently. “It's not loot we want, but knowledge. That's even more important now. How long before all the Ykx are gone? What do we know about them? Nothing.” He glanced at Skeen, his face red with the passion in him on this subject. She moved close to him, put her hand on his shoulder, squeezed lightly. He calmed, took a deep breath. “I brought an imager with me; even ruins can give us a lot about the Ykx and my companion is learned in the interpretation of such things. Will you help us, High Mother?”

Demirrmar contemplated Timka. “The Min can't go with you. The Chalarosh will never permit that.”

Timka chuckled. “Nor am I all that interested in turning over stones in a ruin. I will quite happily remain behind.”

Skeen frowned. “Timmy.…”

Timka wrinkled her nose, but she'd given up long ago on Skeen's habit with nicknames. “What the Seeker means, High Mother, is that I have bitter enemies among the Mountain Min, particularly one, who would be delighted to catch me alone and undefended.”

“Mountain Min,” the High Mother said thoughtfully. “We have no commerce with them. Would they really follow you across the Tenga Bourhh?”

“Might. Might not. Depends.”

“On what?”

“On how desperate my enemy is. Time works for her if she can wait. We have to go back when the quest is done.”

“The Stranger's Gate.”

“Yes.”

“You won't be particularly comfortable, young Min, but you will be safe staying here. My Nest is yours.”

“I thank you, High Mother and accept with pleasure. Chulji and I might teach each other while we wait. He can find the dolphin and I can find the Skirrik.”

“Good idea. You can keep that imp out of my webs. On your head not mine, young Min.” She turned to Skeen and Pegwai. “Are you weary, must you rest? I would like to hear the tale of the Gate and the Pass-Through and the Ykx; there is no point trying to gain a hearing with the Cadda Kana today, or the Doferethapanad. It's one of their eternal feast days, something to do with a war or a miracle of a well going dry. I've heard explanations of all this todo a thousand times and I still don't understand a word. If it were some sort of carnival and a lot of loud fun, I could begin to understand but the Chalarosh take all of this nonsense so seriously; I hope you are not seriously religious, it gets so tiring trying to grasp, the ungraspable.” She hauled herself out of the water and stood dripping while a cadre of neuters bustled about her, washing, wiping, polishing. When they were done, she skritched orders at a handful who darted away while the rest scurried to their waiting places in the bushes. “I've sent for some cold ale; story-tellers from other Waves find it oils their tongues nicely. And there's a pleasant sittage just beyond where there are benches your kind seem to find comfortable.”

Coming before the Cadda Kana. Questions. Interminable and annoying. Keep your temper, Skeen, you know these type's, outwait them. Permission given to proceed into the interior. Scholar Pegwai Dih, Lumat Seeker Skeen. Provided Scholar and Seeker take along a guide and an inlal of klazits to protect them from the dangers of the countryside. To protect the countryside from us, Skeen thought. The Aggitj argument. The boys insisted on going along. Skeen was their patron, they said; they were oath-fasted to her, bound to protect her, to fetch and carry for her, to do whatever she wanted or needed. Muttering among the veiled men behind the long table on the dais. Permission given. Too easy, Skeen thought, an inlal of klazits (whatever those are) and a guide; are we cover for spies? She wasn't happy about the possibility. The nomads were nasty to intruders. No, she wasn't happy at all. This could get them all killed; she had no faith in the understanding or abilities of those fuckin' gits planning to use them, yes, she was sure of it.

Timka the Min they wanted to put in preventive detention, but agreed to leave her with the High Mother Demmirrmar provided she was available for inspection every second day.

Chulji Sipor started to argue he was part of the team now, but was instantly suppressed by the High Mother. The Kana didn't know he was Min and she wanted to keep their ignorance intact. You've got studies, she told him. Put your energies into them.

Petitioners dismissed. Hand on Skeen's arm, holding her back, escort separating her from the others. There are questions, her detainer said (eyes cold above the veil, voice calm and unthreatening), as a courtesy to the Cadda Kana, stay and answer them.

Shortly after dawn on the sixth day after Skeen arrived in Atsila Vana (third day of her interrogation) she was escorted to join Pegwai and the Aggitj and rode with them out the Gamta Telet (the Lake Gate), sitting in a large and remarkably uncomfortable wagon. Pegwai swallowed his questions and dozed beside her, the Aggitj chattered theirs but desisted when they got no answers and occupied themselves with a noisy game of stones and tiles. Two veiled klazits rode on each side of the wagon, a fifth rode ahead of the praks pulling the wagon. Stolid beasts, curlicued horns bent upward in a graceful lyre shape, big brown eyes, massive shoulders, ears that twitched incessantly. It was a splendid day, a little nippy because this was below the equator and the end of winter instead of the end of summer.

An hour later they were herded onto the boat that the Cadda Kana had authorized (though Pegwai had to pay the hire out of Skeen's gold hoard). The guide spoke Trade-Min but not the sailors or the klazits. Chosen for that reason, Skeen thought, so we can't ask dangerous questions or tamper with their loyalties. Wonder if Pegwai speaks Chala, he hasn't shown signs of it so far … just as well. Eh, old woman, stop fussing. He's done this before, he knows the pits set for his feet. You're not the only devious bitch around. The Aggitj tucked away their game and looked about with considerable interest, switching from Agga to Trade-Min so they could pester the guide with innumerable questions about the boat and its day to day operation. They had grown up along the coast of the Boot and were on the water before they could walk; they were delighted to be back in a working boat, disregarded the guide's scowls, got his name out of him (Lakin Machimim), and prodded him into translating their questions and the monosyllabic answers they pestered out of the ship's master and his men. Impervious within their calm good nature, caring nothing for opinion outside the Boot, they ignored the hostility of the Chalarosh and by the time the crossing was completed were on easy terms with the boatmen. Even the sullen suspicious guards relaxed a little whenever Machimim took his eyes off them.

They landed near a small village. The men and boys were out fishing while the women, girls, and youngest children tended water wheels and worked in fields and gardens. “Stay here,” Machimim said, “talk to no one. He strode off the shaky dock and went into conference with a self-important type who looked annoyed at first, then obsequious as an oil machine once he got a look at the metal plaque Machimim thrust under his nose.

The ship left, the master glad to rid himself of foreign taint. The Aggitj went back to their game. Skeen and Pegwai strolled to the end of the dock, glanced over their shoulders. The klazits were some distance away, gathered about the Aggitj, watching the play. “All this cooperation,” Skeen said, “stinks.”

“Worse than a week-old fish.” He touched her arm. “I was beginning to worry.”

“Oh they were marvelous hosts—very tasty food and plenty of it, gave me privacy, talked soft, but talked all the time. Wanted to know what the hell I was, then when I came through. Lost interest a bit when I told them the Gate was shut. Asked about the other side. I lied a lot.” She grinned. “Enjoyed myself, feeding those prickheads that drivel. Wanted to know what the Lumat was doing. Figured I'd better stick with the truth there. Sort of. Said the Lumat was afraid there weren't any more Ykx about and wanted to collect as much data as possible before it was lost. That was so logical they had a hard time believing it. Still, I think they did in the end. Hard to say with those damn veils.”