by Glen Cook
The darkship did not pursue a direct course toward Akard. It roamed erratically, randomly, at times drifting far from the river, on the off chance contact would be made with nomads. The day was far advanced when Marika began to see landmarks she recognized. “There, Grauel. What is left of Critza.”
“The tradermales will not be restoring that. That explosion certainly took it apart.”
Bagnel had set off demolition charges in what the nomads had left of the packfast, to deny it value to any nomads who thought to use it later.
“Now. There it is. Straight ahead,” Barlog said as the darkship slipped around a bend in the river canyon.
Akard. Where Marika had spent four miserable years, and had discovered that she was that most dreaded of silth, a strong darkwalker.
The remains of the fortress were perched on a headland where the Hainlin split into the Husgen and an eastern watercourse which retained the Hainlin name. It was webbed in by scaffolding. Workers swarmed over it like colony insects. The darkship settled toward the headland.
It was a scant hundred feet off the ground when Marika felt a sudden, strong touch.
Hang on. We have a call for help.
That was the Mistress of the Ship with a warning so powerful even Grauel and Barlog caught its edges.
Marika barely had time to warn them verbally. The darkship shot forward, rose, gained speed rapidly. The robes of the Mistress and bath crackled in the rushing wind. Marika ducked down through to examine the altered relationship between the Mistress and bath. The Mistress was drawing heavily on the bath now.
The darkship climbed to three hundred feet and arced to the east, into the upper Ponath. A few minutes later it passed over the site of the Degnan packstead, where Marika had lived her first ten years. Only a few regular lines in the earth remained upon that hilltop clearing.
Marika read grief in the set of Grauel’s upper torso. Barlog refused to look and respond.
The darkship rushed on toward the oncoming night. Way, way to her left Marika spotted a dot coming down from the north, angling in, occasionally spilling a crimson flash as sunlight caught it. Another darkship. Then to the south, another still. All three rushed eastward on intersecting courses.
Marika’s ship arrived first, streaking over a forest where rifles hammered and heavier weapons filled the woods with flashes. A clearing appeared ahead. At its center stood an incomplete fortress of logs. It was afire. Huntresses enveloped in smoke sniped at the surrounding forest.
Something black and wicked roiled around Marika. The darkship dropped away beneath her, plunging groundward. The darkness cleared. The Mistress of the Ship resumed control of her craft, took it up. Chill wind nibbled at Marika’s face.
Screams came from the forest.
The second and third darkships made passes while Marika’s turned. Marika went down through her loophole, located a ghost not bearing the ship, and went riding. She located a band of wild silth and wehrlen. They were feeble but able to neutralize the three silth who commanded the besieged workers and huntresses.
A hum past her ear pulled Marika back. The Mistress was into her second pass. Rifles flashed ahead. Bullets whined past the darkship. One spanged against metal and howled away.
Marika dived through her loophole, found a steed, lashed it toward the wild silth. She allowed her anger full reign when she reached them.
She was astonished by her own strength. It had grown vastly during her brief stay at Maksche. A dozen nomads died horribly. The others scattered. In moments the nomad fighters followed.
The darkships began flying fast, low-level circles, spiraling outward from the stronghold, exterminating fugitives. Marika’s Mistress of the Ship did not break off till after three moons had risen.
III
Paustch was in charge of the reconstruction of Akard. She was no friend of that uppity pup Marika or her scandalously undisciplined savage cohorts, Grauel and Barlog. She tolerated their presence in her demesne only a few days.
During those days Marika wangled a couple of patrol flights with the Mistress on whose darkship she had come north. The Mistress was not being sociable or understanding of the whims of a pup. She respected Marika’s darker abilities and hoped they would help her survive her patrols.
No contact came during either flight.
On her return from the second venture, Marika found Dorteka packing. “What is happening, mistress? Have you been recalled?”
“No. We have been assigned the honor of establishing a blockhouse directly astride the main route from the Zhotak south into the upper Ponath, somewhere up near the Rift.” The look she gave Marika said much more. It said this was an exile, and that it was all Marika’s fault because she was who and what she was. It said that they were being sent out into the wilderness because Paustch wanted her both out of her fur and into a difficult position.
Marika shrugged. “I would rather be away from here anyway. Paustch and her cronies persist in aggravating me. I am long-suffering, but under the circumstances I might eventually lose my temper.”
Dorteka first tilted her ears in amusement, then came near losing her temper. “This hole is primitive enough. Out there there will be nothing.”
“The life is not as hard as you imagine, mistress. And you will have three experienced woodsmeth to show you how to cope.”
“And how many nomads?”
Marika broke away as soon as she could. She did not want to argue with Dorteka. She had plenty of firm enemies already among those who had power over her. Dorteka would never be a friend, but at present she could be counted upon for support as an agent of the most senior.
She was pleased to be assigned to a blockhouse garrison. It meant a respite from the grinding silth life, with all its ceremony and all the animosity directed her way. She did not enjoy that, though perforce she must live with it.
Next morning a school of darkships lifted Marika, Grauel, Barlog, Dorteka, and another eight huntresses and ten workers across the upper Ponath. The assigned site overlooked the way that had been both the trade route with and invasion route for the nomads of the Zhotak. Marika did not anticipate any real danger from nomads. She believed the savages all to have left the Zhotak long since. The vast majority should be looking for easy hunting far to the south of the upper Ponath.
“Dorteka. The nomads have lived hard lives ever since I have been aware of their existence. The Zhotak was a harsh land even before the winters worsened. Before they became organized, the raids they made were all acts of desperation. Now that they are fighting everywhere, all the time, they do not seem so desperate.”
“What are you driving at, pup?” They had just landed at the site, a clearing on a slope overlooking a broad, meadowed valley. There was a great deal of snow among the trees on the opposite slope yet.
“In the past they did not have time free from trying to get ready for the next winter to spend their summers attacking and plundering. Now they have that time. To me it would seem their problems getting food have lessened. But I do not see how that could be. They are hunters and gatherers, not farmers. The winters have wiped out most of the game animals. So where are they getting food? Besides from eating their dead?”
“From the Serke, I suppose. I do not know. And I do not care.” Dorteka surveyed the valley, which Marika thought excitingly beautiful. “I do not see why we bother fighting them for this wasteland. If they want it so badly, let them have it.”
She was in a mood. Marika moved away, joined Barlog and Grauel, who were helping the workers unload supplies and equipment.
“We will need some sort of barrier right away,” Grauel said. “I hear there are still a few kagbeasts in these parts. If so, they would be hungry enough to attack meth.”
“I saw some snarltooth vines just west of here as we were coming in,” Marika said. “Drive stakes and string some of those with some briars from the riverbank down there. That will do till we get a real palisade up.”
“Grauel and I will work out
a watch rotation. We will need big fires at night. Do we have permission to harvest live wood if there is not enough dead?”
“If necessary. But I think you will find plenty of deadwood. The winters are killing some of the less hardy trees already.”
The outpost had to be built from the ground up. The task took a month. That month passed without incident, though on a couple of occasions Marika sensed the presence of strange meth on the far side of the valley. When she grabbed a ghost and went to examine them, she found that they were nomad scouts. She did not bother them. Let them prime themselves for falling into a trap.
Marika was unconcerned for her own safety, so unconcerned she sometimes wandered off alone, to the distress of Grauel and Barlog, who tracked her down each time.
Marika often joined in the physical work, too. She found it a good way to work out the frustrations she had accumulated during her months in Maksche. And in labor she found temporary surcease from concerns of the past and future.
This close to the Degnan packstead she could not help thinking often of the Mourning she owed. But there were no nightmares. Could that be because of the work? That did not seem reasonable.
After a time most of the southern huntresses joined the work, too, for all of Dorteka’s disapproving scowls. There was nothing else to do but be bored.
The workers appreciated the help, but did not know what to make of it. Especially of a silth who actually dirtied her paws. Marika suspected they began to think well of her despite all the rumors they had heard. By summer’s end she had most of them talking to her. And by summer’s end she had begun consciously trying to cultivate their affection.
Dorteka refused to do anything but tutor Marika. That assignment she pursued doggedly, as if motivated mainly by an increasing desire to get the job over with. Their relationship deteriorated as the summer progressed, and Marika steadfastly refused to be molded into traditional silth shape.
Though the summer gave Marika a respite from her concerns and fears, she did spend a lot of time thinking about the future. She approached it with a pragmatic attitude suitable for the most cynical silth.
The only attack came soon after the blockhouse was complete. It was not a strong one, though the savages thought it strong enough. They cut through the snarltooth vine fencing and evaded the pit traps and booby traps. They used explosives to breach the palisade. Distressed, Dorteka reached out to Akard with the touch and asked for darkship support.
Marika obliterated the attackers long before the one ship sent arrived.
She deflected and destroyed the attackers almost casually, using a ghost drawn from high in the atmosphere. She had learned that the higher one could reach, the more monstrous a ghost one could find.
Afterward, Dorteka shied away from her the way she might from a dangerous animal, and never did get over being nervous when Marika was close.
Marika did not understand. She was even pained. She did not need Dorteka’s friendship, but she did not want her fear.
Was her talent for the dark side that terrible? Did she exceed the abilities of other silth by so much? She could not believe that.
Soon after the first snowflakes flew, a darkship arrived bearing winter stores and a replacement silth. Marika and Dorteka received orders to return to the Maksche cloister.
“I am not going,” Marika told Dorteka.
“Pup! I have had about all of your insubordination that I am going to stand. Get your coat on and get aboard that ship.” Dorteka was so angry she ignored Grauel and Barlog.
“This is the last darkship that will come here till spring, barring a need for major support if the blockhouse comes under attack. Not so?”
“Yes. So what? Do you love these All-forsaken woods so much that you want to stay here forever?”
“Not at all. I want to go home. And so do these workers.”
That caught Dorteka from the blind side. She could do nothing but look at Marika askance. Finally, she croaked, “What are you talking about? So what?”
“These meth were hired for the season. They were promised they would return home in time for the Festival of Kifkha. The festival comes up in four days. And no transportation has been provided them yet. You go ahead. You go south. You report to the most senior. And when she asks why I did not come back with you, you tell her why. Because once again the Reugge Community is failing to live up to a pledge to its dependents.”
Dorteka became so angry Marika feared she would have a stroke. But she stood there facing her teacher in a stance so adamant it was clear she would not be moved. Dorteka went inside herself and performed calming rituals till she was settled enough to touch someone at Akard.
The workers went out next morning. From all over the upper Ponath they went, with an alacrity that said that Gradwohl herself must have intervened. Before they left, two workers very quietly told Marika where they could be reached in Maksche if ever she needed them to repay the debt. Marika memorized that information carefully. She had Grauel and Barlog commit it to memory too, protecting it through redundance.
She meant to use those workers someday.
She had plans. During that summer she had begun to look forward in more than a simpleminded, pup-obsessed-with-flying sort of way. But she was careful to mask that from everyone. Even Grauel and Barlog remained outside.
“Will your holiness board her darkship now?” Dorteka demanded. “Is the order of the world arranged to your satisfaction?”
“Indeed. Thank you, Dorteka. I wish you understood. Those meth may be of no consequence to you. Nor are they to me, really. But a Community can only be as good as its honor. If our own dependents cannot trust our word, who else will?”
“Thank the All,” Dorteka muttered as Marika began strapping herself to the cold darkship frame.
“Such indifference may well be the reason the cloister is having so much trouble keeping order in Maksche. Paustch is determined not to do right and Zertan is too lazy or too timid.”
“You will seal your mouth, pup. You will not speak ill of your seniors again. I still have a great deal of control over how happy or miserable your life can be. Do I make myself understood?”
“Perfectly, mistress. Though your attitude does not alter the truth a bit.”
Dorteka was furious with her again.
Chapter Eighteen
I
I n most respects Marika had attained the knowledge levels expected of silth of her age. In many she had exceeded those. As she surpassed levels expected, she found herself with more and more free time. That she spent studying aircraft, aerodynamics, astronomy, and space, when she could obtain any information. The Reugge did not possess much. The brethren and dark-faring sisterhoods clung to their knowledge jealously.
Marika had a thousand questions, and suspected the only way to get the answers was to steal them.
How did the silth take their darkships across the void? The distances were incredible. And space was cold and airless. Yet darkships went out there and returned in a matter of weeks.
She ached because she would never know. Because she was stuck in a sisterhood unable to reach the stars, a sisterhood that might not survive much longer.
To dream dreams that could not be attained, that was a horror. Almost as bad as the dreams that came by night.
The nightmares resumed immediately upon her return to Maksche. They were more explicit now. Often her littermate Kublin appeared in them, reaching, face tormented, as if crying for help. She hurt. She and Kublin had been very close, for all he was male.
Most Senior Gradwohl had shifted from TelleRai to Maksche in fact as well as name while Marika was in the north. Four days after Marika’s return, the wise ones of Maksche, and many others from farflung cloisters of the Community, gathered in the ritual hall. Marika was there at Gradwohl’s command, though she had not as yet seen the most senior.
After a few rituals had been completed, Gradwohl herself took the floor. Meth who had accompanied her from TelleRai began setting up
something electrical, much to the distress of Zertan. They tried to argue that such should not be permitted within the holy place of Maksche.
Gradwohl silenced them with a scowl. It was well-known that the most senior was not pleased with them. Though she remained outside the mainstream of cloister life, Marika had heard many rumors. Most made the futures of the Maksche senior and her second sound bleak.
The device set up projected a map upon a white screen. Gradwohl said, “This is what the north looked like at its low ebb, last winter. The darker areas are those that were completely overrun by savages.
“Our counterattack seems to have caught them unprepared. I would account the summer’s efforts a complete success. We have placed a line of small but stout fortresses up the line of the Hainlin, running from here to Akard. A second line was gone in crosswise, here, roughly a hundred miles north of Maksche. It runs from our western boundary to the sea. Each fastness lies within easy touch of its neighbors. Any southward movement can be detected from these, and interdicted with support from here in Maksche.
“Akard is partially restored. It now forms the anchor for a network of fastnesses in the Ponath. They will allow us to maintain our claim there without dispute. A small fleet of darkships based there will thwart any effort to reduce the fastnesses. Work on Akard should be completed next summer.
“Next summer also, I hope to begin squeezing the savage packs from the north, south, and east, giving them no choice but to flee west into the territories of our beloved friends the Serke. Where they may do more evil than they have done. The Serke raised them up like demons. May they suffer as a witch whose demon breaks the ties that bind.”
Gradwohl scanned the assembly. Nearly a hundred of the most important members of the Reugge Community were present. No one seemed inclined to comment, though Marika sensed that many disapproved of Gradwohl and her plans.
“As strength goes,” Marika murmured. Gradwohl was getting her way only because she was the strongest of Reugge silth.
