The Braided World (33 page)

His eyes narrowed. “No offense meant. You do what you like.” He looked around the chamber. “Whatever you like. Fazza will indulge you.”

As the man surveyed the group, he said, “Here you see a young girl who dares to go against the king. Though she won't sing for us”— he looked at Gilar, and bowed slightly— “she has already done more than ten generations of slaves have done.” He rested his hand on one of his knives, standing with an easy warrior's grace that Gilar had to admire. He was one who didn't cower.

Fazza went on, “You meet me here under the big tree, and I thank you. Someday, a meeting like this will happen in the sun. Hoda will gather in compounds of their own, and in palaces without shame. And with their tongues.” He turned to Gilar. “If you think you can sing
now
, a tongue
would make you even better.” He looked at the women, nodding to those who seemed to know him. “The Voi take no tongues, Gilar.”

Ah. He was a barbarian, then.

Fazza continued, “The Voi are friends to you who are born to bear. We have no slaves, no punishments. All we ask is for sisters in arms. Against the masters of the wire cage. Some of you have come to us, and some of you have killed the soldiers that serve the king, sending their bodies down the Sodesh as a message.” He paused, looking at the gathering. “Now is the time for the river to bear a stronger message.”

Eshi's hands flashed. No hoda ever come back to say if the Voi keep them as slaves or not.<

Some of the hoda smirked in agreement.

Fazza drew himself up. “Once a hoda comes among us, who would want to come back and be a slave?” After a pause he went on, “Only a few have dared to come. But if you leave in groups, you will have strength. Leave your mistresses of the wire cages helpless to care for themselves. Run to join us. Dare to be what Gilar is.” He pointed a hairy arm at Gilar.

Mim and Eshi looked at her, as they all did. In dismay, Gilar realized that she was supposed to say something, to judge Fazza. But why her? Was it true that no hoda in ten generations had ever publicly defied the king? She had never thought about history or how the hoda would view her. Only how the humans would view her.

There, in the cavern, the understanding came to her, stark and clean: Humans didn't view her at all. They never had, and they never would. To them, she was nothing.

Nuan looked up as a new hoda ducked through the opening to join them. It was Bahn.

She stared at Fazza, sniffing contemptuously. Then she turned to Gilar. We were sisters, once.<

Gilar nodded. I remember what we were.<

Bahn gestured at Fazza. Send this barbarian away,
Gilar. When the Voi come down the Sodesh, they will sweep our compounds away and destroy our fields, and us with them. All that we have will be gone. The peace of our lives will be gone.< She looked down at Gilar's hand. See how your peace is already destroyed. <

Gilar looked at the white claw of her hand. Then she regarded the women huddling under this great tree. She wasn't the only one who had been mutilated. They stood in front of her, scarred, hobbled, and mute. They were all part of the grand mutilation, the thing that made them sisters. She was no sister to Bailey, or to Anton Prados. So, if the hoda wanted her opinion, they'd have it.

Go away, Fazza,< she signed.

At his startled look, she continued, I think the Voi are no better than Dassa. Our rebellion, if it comes, will be against everyone who despises us. When we rule the Olagong, will you still be a friend? When we are strong, we will meet you again. Then we will see.<

Nuan's hands repeated the notion. When we are strong, we will see.<

Fazza shook his head. “You will never be strong without the Vol. You need our iron.” His hand was on the hilt of his knife.

Gilar frowned. He smelled of power and violence. No different than the uldia. Everyone thinks they know what we need. I don't think you care about what we need, but only about what the Voi need: the Olagong. <

Fazza saw that the women were listening to her. “Someday we will take the Olagong,” he said. “We would have spared the hoda; you would have been proper Dassa. Otherwise you are the king's spawn, and will eat our iron.”

She held his gaze, grown flat and hard. Go back, Fazza. I say we don't need you.<

An old hoda began to lead him away, directing him to the bright light of the door. He turned back to the group. “We are warriors. You are slaves, only slaves.”

That was enough. Gilar threw back at him: We rise up,
Fazza. We rise up—without you.< It was bold to say, and she wasn't sure it was true. But this Fazza was only another master, and a lying one, she thought.

Another hoda came to assist the first in ushering him out of the chamber. He raised his voice, saying, “I will remember you, Gilar. Look for me.”

When he was gone, Gilar was left facing off with Bahn. Bahn's face, once so eager and sweet, was pinched. She had once been Gilar's sister, but only on her terms. The terms of obedience.

But, in Gilar's early days at Aramee's compound, Bahn had been good to her, had taught her the song-speech. Gilar sang: Rise up someday, Bahn. My sister.

Rise up, a few hoda sang, passing the chant among themselves.

Hearing this, Bahn turned and left the woody cave, not looking back. But the gathering held firm.

Now, with Fazza's two hoda escorts returned, the circle of women looked again at Gilar. She knew she should have something clever to say. A plan. But she had nothing at that moment but a hope, small and unfamiliar.

It begins with a song, Gilar sang. When we sing, we rise. She didn't know how, but she thought song was a beginning.

Someone sang out, What if they punish us, take our fingers?

Gilar looked at the hoda who'd asked the question. She didn't blame her for being afraid. The forest rustled with the sound of wind blowing through leaves. It was a percussive music, a cleansing sound. It didn't matter what happened now, or later. Gilar's path was set. She could never be obedient.

Looking around the circle, she held her white claw over her head. Who is willing to sacrifice fingers?

Mim raised her hand. She looked like she couldn't knock down an uldia, much less a king's soldier. But she was smiling.
Then, one at a time, other hands went up. Eshi, and Nuan, and the other hoda leaders. The circle spiked with raised hands, making all the women look twice as tall as before.

Rise up, my sisters
, Gilar thought. Somehow, they would rise. And if they did, they wouldn't need the Voi—or the humans.

Still filthy from the long trek, Anton stood in the doorway to the sleeping hut and looked down at Nick Venning, lying asleep. He tossed in the hammock, grinding words out of his mouth, frantic and indistinct.

“We had to sedate him,” Bailey said. “Zhen and I were worried he would hurt himself.” She was wearing a Dassa tunic and pants, in a rich brocaded fabric.
From Shim
, Bailey had said. Anton had heard about her recital, but he'd had little time to think about how Vidori's new politics of song fit in with the king's ambitions. Such things would have to wait.

He saw clearly Nick's deterioration. His skin was pale, a stubble of a beard looking like a pox on his face. He'd lost weight.
The poison, Zhen
had said.
It attacked his digestive functions. He can hardly eat.

Meanwhile, Maypong was resting in the women's hut.

“What happened to her feet, anyway?” Bailey asked.

He gave the simple answer. “She lost her boots—for a while.”

“We think he's trying out Dassa medicines,” Bailey said, going back to the subject of Nick. “He disappeared yesterday for several hours.”

“He left the islet? Where did he go?”

“He ran into some trouble. Came back muttering about how ugly the Dassa were, and how we couldn't trust them.” Bailey shook her head. “You never know which ones are going to crack, do you? He's definitely fraying at the edges.

Best send him to the ship, since he's not much use down here anyway.”

From the hammock Nick muttered, “No use …”

After showering and checking on Maypong, Anton met with Zhen and Bailey. He quickly summarized his findings from the upland trip, and his escape from Nirimol—perhaps a rogue judipon, or else Homish's henchman.

Bailey was watching him with bright eyes. “You found something up there, didn't you?”

“Yes. I might have.”

Zhen frowned.
“Might have?”

He nodded. “I went looking for artifacts, repositories, technology. I didn't find any.” Then he smiled. “But I have a lead.”

Suddenly the two women were paying very close attention.

Anton removed the notepad from his pocket. “Unless I'm seeing things that aren't there.” Voicing it on, he brought up the image sent him by the
Restoration.
“This image is a scan from an overflight of the drone. Over the canyon lands.”

Bailey frowned. “I thought they didn't find anything on those surveys.”

“They didn't recognize what they found.” Anton handed the screen to Zhen. “But Maypong recognized it.”

Zhen pursed her lips and squinted. “Looks like eroded valleys. Am I missing the big Quadi encampment or something?” She handed the screen to Bailey, who peered at it.

Anton replied, “They left us an indicator, but it was too big to see.” He took the screen back from Bailey, turning it toward them so they could both view it at once. “It's in the shape of a langva plant. The canyons are modeled on that shape. But you need to be far enough above it to discern the pattern.”

Zhen snatched the view screen again. She peered closely
as understanding crept into her face. “Could beeeee,” she murmured. “Maybe.”

Bailey looked skeptical. “Why would the canyons take that form?
How
could they?”

Anton said, “Maybe the Quadi modified the canyons.”

Zhen shrugged. “Or the plant was engineered to fit that image.”

“Or this is a grand inkblot test,” Bailey said, “and we're seeing what we want to.”

Zhen said, “That's a lot of trouble to go to. Why didn't they leave us a nice diamond tablet with the directions in big print? Something, say, in the middle of the ocean, that the Dassa wouldn't be likely to find?”

Anton had been building some theories. “Maybe they thought they did. Maybe, to them, the whole thing was obvious. Given their goal, if it was a goal, not to leave artifacts.”

“Ah yes,” Zhen said, screwing her lips into her default expression: skepticism. “The theory of not messing with the Dassa culture. These Quadi were so scrupulous.”

Bailey murmured, “Why, I wonder?”

“Maybe bad things happened when they encountered other cultures. Cultural erosion or implosion.” Anton waved that aside. “But let's assume for a moment that this is a clue, a clue so large we couldn't even see it.”

Zhen said, “A clue about the langva.” She looked at Anton. “Well, I hate to admit this, but Venning has always thought the langva are important. That the plant holds chemical properties that accounted for Dassa immunological strengths.”

Bailey smoothed her brocaded tunic. “So,” she offered, “Nick ingested some of the local medicines to prove his point.”

“Yeah,” Zhen snickered. ‘And look what happened. Damn near killed himself.” She looked over at the sleeping hut, as though expecting Nick to come rushing in to justify himself. Then, keeping her voice low, she said, “I analyzed
the langva, testing it for immune-boosting properties. I think Nick's right, that it has them. But they're useless to us. Humans don't have the proper receptor sites.” She shrugged. “Venning strikes out again.”

Bailey said, “Maybe it's trying to tell us to look in the lands where the langva grow. They don't grow everywhere—that's why the Voi are always trying to crash in.”

Anton shook his head. “The Olagong is the place we've
been
looking. We hardly need a clue to go in that direction.”

Zhen stood up. “OK,” she said. She put up her hands, gesturing for silence. The great Zhen was thinking. Anton was more than willing to give her silence to do the thing they'd brought her here for: think.

“Ooookaay” she said, “it's not in the chemistry. But it's in the biology, maybe.”

Anton and Bailey waited, afraid to disturb her.

Then Zhen swore under her breath and glared at them—surrogates for herself, and for the foolish thing she had done. “I never sequenced the genome. I was looking at the chemistry.”

They sat silently for a time. Finally Bailey said, “Or maybe the langva is a fertility drug. If we all had more children, that would be useful.”

Zhen looked at her with incredulity. Bailey was off the subject. Anton gestured for the old woman to be quiet.

Looking over their heads, Zhen said, “It's in the DNA. It's coded into the DNA of the langva.”

Bailey blurted out, “But isn't the plant's DNA for the plant?”

“Not all of it. I need to look,” Zhen said, turning away to her plant samples and her computer nodes, already having forgotten the others.

A movement in the doorway “No, don't look.” Nick stood there, leaning against the post of the door. Standing up, he looked much worse than when he'd been asleep and covered with blankets.

He nodded at Anton, attempting a smile that came out as a feral grin. “Don't open the box, my friend.”

“Nick,” Anton said. “You shouldn't be up. You look…”

“Sick? Think I look sick?” Nick swaggered into the room. “Nah. Just a little sick to my stomach, is all. Maybe we should all be a little sick to our stomachs.” He pulled down the cuffs of his shirtsleeves and shuffled into the center of the room, eyeing the screen and its canyon pattern. “Clues, is it? Think the Dassa gave you clues?” His body shook with a laugh that was more like a coughing fit. “Here's the big clue for you: the hoda. That's what the Dassa think of humans. To them, we're only fit to be slaves. Didn't you figure it out yet, how they mean to use us?”

Anton exchanged looks with Bailey. She rose. “Nick, let's hold this conversation for later, when you're feeling better.”

“Later?”
Nick turned to face Bailey. As he stood next to the old woman, the comparison between them was remarkable. Nick looked older than Bailey, more frail, more unstable. “I'm not sure we've
got
a later.
I
don't, anyway.”