by Glen Cook
Now the crux. The stumbling stone. The last hope of those who wished her ill. The truly physical part, when they would stretch her on the altar and a healer sister would reach into the ghost realm and summon those-who-dwell, lead a ghost into her recumbent form, and destroy forever her ability to bear young.
Marika met Gradwohl’s eye and nodded. The most senior stepped around the smoking kettle, presented the wafer. Marika took it between her teeth.
And added her bit of style, her own fillip to the ceremony. She faced the assembly before biting down, chewing, swallowing. She felt the stir in the entwined touch, the slight, unwilling swell of admiration.
The wave of well-being came over her as concentrated chaphe spread through her flesh. The celebrants stepped around the kettle and allowed her to settle into their arms. They lifted her to the altar. The healer sister loomed over her.
That reluctant something tried to wriggle forth, tried to scream, tried to will her to move, break away, flee. She stifled it.
She felt the ghost move inside her. Felt her ovaries and tubes being destroyed. There was no pain, except of the heart. There would be little discomfort later, she had been promised.
She turned inward, felt for the ghost world, fled there for several moments.
It was all over when she returned. The observers were filing out. The celebrants and their assistants were cleaning up. Gradwohl stood over her, looking down. She seemed pleased. “That was not so bad, was it, Marika?”
Marika wanted to say the hurt was all in her mind, but she could not. The daram and chaphe held her. She reflected momentarily upon a pack still unMourned and wondered if their spirits would forgive her. Wondered if she could ever forgive Gradwohl for forcing her into this crime against herself.
It would fade. The heart’s pains all faded.
“You did very well, Marika. It was a most impressive Toghar. Even those who dislike you had to admit that you are extraordinary.”
She wanted to protest that they never had denied that, that that was the reason they feared her, but she could not.
Gradwhol patted her shoulder. “You are fourth chair now. Utiel officially announced her retirement the moment the ceremony was complete. Please use your power wisely. Your two voctors will be in to help you shortly. I will tell them to remind you that I want to see you after you have recovered.” Gradwohl touched her gently, almost lovingly, in a fashion her own dam never had managed. For a moment Marika suspected there might be more to her patronage than simple interest in the fate of the Reugge.
She forced that out of mind. It was not difficult with the chaphe in her blood.
“Be well,” Gradwohl murmured, and departed.
Grauel and Barlog appeared only several minutes after the last of the silth departed. Marika was vaguely amused as she watched them prowl the chamber, peering into every shadow. They, who believed silth could render themselves invisible with their witchcraft. Finally, they came to her, helped her down off the altar.
“How did it go?” Barlog asked. She seemed under a strain.
“Perfectly,” Marika croaked through a throat parched by drugs.
“Are you all right?”
“Physically, I’m fine. But in my soul I feel filthy.”
Again both huntresses scanned the shadows. “Can you speak business? Are you too disoriented?” Grauel asked.
“I can. Yes. But take me away from here first.”
“Storeth found those workers,” Grauel told Marika, after they had taken her to her quarters. “She reported while you were in that place. They were reluctant to talk, but she convinced them she came from you. They acknowledged their debt. They knew very little, but they did say there is a persistent rumor that the rogues have found themselves a powerful wehrlen. One who will be able to defeat silth at their witchcraft when he is ready. So the thing is not done. As you thought.”
In the questioning of all the rogues taken, there had been that thread of belief in something great about to befall the criminal movement. Marika had not been able to identify it clearly. In the end she had decided to seek out two Maksche workers who had served her in the Ponath years ago, workers who had vowed they would repay an imagined debt.
“Warlock,” she murmured. “And a great one, of course. Or he would not be able to inspire this mad hope.”
She had not mentioned anything of this to the most senior. Intuition told her this was a thing best kept to herself. For the present, at least.
“We must find him. And kill him, if he cannot be used.”
For once Grauel and Barlog concurred in a prospective savagery.
They remembered the wehrlen who first brought the nomads out of the Zhotak.
BOOK FOUR: TELLERAI
Chapter Twenty-three
I
Barlog relayed the message that had been left at the cloister gate. “A communication from Bagnel, Marika. And I wish you would do as the most senior suggests and move to quarters more suitable to one of your status. I am growing too old to be scampering up and down stairs like this.”
“Poo. You’re only as old as you think, Barlog. You’re still in your prime. You have a good many years ahead of you. What is it?”
“But are they all years of up stairs? I don’t know what it is. It’s sealed.”
“So it is.” Marika opened the envelope. It was a large one, but contained only a brief note.
“Well?”
“He wants a meeting. Not a visit. A meeting.” She pondered that. It implied something official. Which further implied that the tradermales were aware of her official elevation to fourth chair and her brief for dealing with rogue males. She had not wanted the news to get out of the cloister so quickly. But outside laborers would talk. “I guess a month of secrecy is enough to ask. Barlog. I want to talk to Braydic. In person. Here. Don’t let her give you any of the usual excuses.”
Ever since the confrontation in the main ceremonial hall, Braydic had bent every effort to avoid compromising herself further by avoiding Marika.
“Yes, mistress.”
Braydic’s evasions had done her no good. Marika had made her head of a communications-intercept team. Like it or not. And Braydic did not.
Marika did not quite understand the communications technician. From the first a large part of her friendship for the refugee pup had been based upon her belief that Marika would one day become powerful and then be in a position to do her return favors. But now she was afraid to harvest what she had sown.
Braydic was too conservative. She was not excited by new opportunities and new ideas. But she carried out her orders and did so well. In the nine days since she had gotten the intercept system working, she had stolen several interesting signals.
Marika paced while waiting. She was not sure where she was going now. There had been a time when she thought to displace Gradwohl and head the Reugge Community in her own direction. But Gradwohl seemed to be steering a course close to her own ideal, if sometimes a little cautiously and convolutedly, and not seizing control of the sisterhood meant not having to deal with the flood of minutiae which swamped the most senior.
She lamented having so few trustworthy allies. She could not do everything she wanted herself, yet there was no one she could count on to help move the sisterhood in directions she preferred.
Was she getting beyond herself? Looking too far down the path?
She went to a window, stared at the stars. “Soon,” she promised them. “Soon Marika will walk among you.”
She returned to her desk and dug out the file containing outlines of Braydic’s reports.
The critical notation to date was that Braydic had identified signals from more than one hundred orbital satellites. Though the spacefaring sisterhoods did not announce an orbiting, the available data suggested that they had helped boost no more than half that number into orbit. Which meant that the brethren had somehow put the rest up on their own, trespassing upon silth privilege by doing so. The space codicils to the conventions speci
fically excluded the brethren from the dark, except as contract employees of the sisterhoods.
Intriguing possibilities there.
Braydic entered tentatively. “You sent for me, mistress?”
“Yes. I want to know what you have intercepted recently. Especially today.”
“I sent a report not two hours ago, mistress.”
“I know, Braydic. A very long, thick, dull report that would take forever to get through. It will take less time if you just tell me if there was anything worth overhearing. Especially from our male friends at the enclave.”
“There has been heavy traffic all day, mistress. Much has been in cant or in the brethren cult language. We have not been able to decipher much of it, but we think they are expecting an important visitor.”
“That would make sense,” Marika murmured to herself. “That is all?”
“All we could determine without an interpreter. If you expect me to unravel the content of these messages, you are going to have to give me interpreters or scholars capable of discovering the meaning of the secret languages. Neither I nor any of my team are capable.”
“I will see what I can do about that, Braydic. It would please me, too, if we could understand everything being said. Thank you for taking time to come up here. And I want you to know I appreciate your efforts.”
“You are welcome, mistress. Oh. Mistress. The Serke network has also been carrying a heavy traffic load today.”
“There might be a chance of a connection? Yes? Good. Thank you again. This calls for reflection.” Marika seated herself, closed her eyes, allowed herself to sink into the All. She waited for intuition to fuel her thoughts.
She came out to find Barlog poised near the doorway, waiting, doing nothing to disturb her. “Barlog?”
“Is there to be an answer to the message, Marika? The messenger is waiting.”
“Indeed? Then tell him to tell Bagnel that I will be there an hour after midnight.” She consulted her calendar. “An hour and thirteen minutes after, to be precise.”
The major moons would attain their closest conjunction of the month at that time. The tides would rise high enough to halt the flow of the Hainlin. The hour would be one considered especially propitious to the silth. Bagnel would understand. She was sure he had been studying everything known about the silth with as much devotion as she studied everything known about flying and space. He might not be wholly aware of the part he was playing in this game, but he was as dedicated as she. A pity he could not become her prime opponent. He would make a good one. The tension of their friendship would add spice.
From Bagnel she shifted thought to the rumored wehrlen. Was that anything but wishful thinking by rogues? She could catch the odor of nothing even remotely concrete. Her resources were inadequate.
Ten minutes before she was due at the enclave, Marika assumed her position at the tip of the dagger of her darkship. She had elected to fly to avoid the chance of rogue ambush. She did not fear ambush, but it would be too much of a distraction.
Grauel and Barlog accompanied her, standing at the axis of the cross. Marika and they carried their weapons. She made the bath go armed. The moment they were airborne Grauel used a portable transceiver to contact the tradermale controller. She followed procedures identical to those Bagnel used on landing approaches.
Marika thought that amusing. Especially if the brethren were up to some wickedness.
She brought the darkship down near Bagnel’s headquarters. Barlog and Grauel dismounted quickly and took their places to either paw. One bath went ahead of Marika, two followed. The party bristled with weapons. Marika herself carried a revolver and automatic rifle taken from enemies in the Ponath. She hoped the tradermales would see the symbolism.
Bagnel handled her irregular arrival well. She wondered if she could surprise him anymore. He greeted her pleasantly. “Right on time. Come into the back.”
Marika was startled. Never before had he offered her entrance to his private quarters.
“Is all the hardware necessary?” Bagnel asked.
“That remains to be seen. We live in strange times. I don’t believe in taking needless chances.”
“I suppose.” He sounded as though he thought his honesty had been questioned.
“It’s not personal, Bagnel. I trust you. But not those who use you. I want to be able to shoot back if somebody shoots at me. More sporting than obliterating them with a blow from the touch. Don’t you think?”
“You’ve developed a bloodthirsty turn, Marika.”
She wanted to tell him it was calculated. But even with him there were truths best kept close to the heart. So she told him an incomplete truth. “It’s my upbringing. I spent so much time getting away from meth who wanted to eat me. What did you expect anyway? This can’t be social. You’ve never invited me over in the middle of the night. That would be an impropriety.”
Marika gestured. Grauel, who retained the sensitive nose of a Ponath huntress, stepped up and sniffed the fruit punch Bagnel had begun preparing. The tradermale eyed her with a look of consternation.
“I didn’t think you’d be fooled,” he said. “Knowing you, you have it half figured out.”
“You want me to meet someone who is going to try to bribe me or twist my arm. I trust that you were a good enough friend to warn them that their chances of success are slight.”
“Them?”
“I expect there will be more than one, and at least one will be female, of exalted rank, representing the Serke.”
A door opened. Marika glimpsed a sleeping room. Bagnel had spartan tastes in private as well as public. She credited him with a point to his account of positives. He worked to fulfill his tasks, not to acquire a more luxurious life.
Several meth came out of the sleeping room. None were armed and none were of low status. Their trappings reeked of power and wealth. Marika’s party seemed incongruous in their presence, all of them clad for the field, all armed, the bath and Grauel and Barlog nearly fight-alert against the walls.
Marika had hit near the mark. There were two silth and two males. The males were so old their fur had a ratty, patchy look. Both exuded a strong presence seldom seen even in females. She recognized neither, but there were few photographic records of those who were masters among the brethren.
One of the males stared at her in a fashion she found too bold. Too much like a butcher sizing up livestock.
“Marika,” Bagnel said, stirring the punch, “I want to be on record as having arranged this meeting under orders. I don’t know what it’s about, so don’t blame me personally if you don’t like the way it goes.”
“I know that, Bagnel. It would be unreasonable to expect thieves to give any consideration to friendship. Few of them are aware that it exists. I’ll bet the word does not occur in the Serke secret tongue, or even in your tradermale cant.” She turned. “Greynes. Natik. Korth. Guard the outside. One of you take the hall doorway. The other two patrol around outside. I doubt you will see anyone, as these bandits will not want it known what they are doing and orders will have been given keeping everyone away from here. But, just in case, shoot first and ask questions later.”
The moment the door closed behind the bath, she asked, “What are you going to offer?” She brought her gaze ripping across four sets of hard but mildly unsettled eyes.
The silth looked back blankly, careful students of their art. Marika judged them to be high in their order. Almost certainly from the Serke controlling council itself. They would want a close look at the Reugge youngster who had slain two of their number.
The tradermales remained blank, too.
None of the four spoke.
“But surely you have something to offer. Some way of getting me to betray my Community so you can work your wicked wills. Think of the prizes at stake. Our Reugge provinces are floating on oil. Those parts that are not sinking beneath the weight of rare heavy elements.” She revealed her teeth as she tilted her ears in a contrived expression of amuseme
nt. “But look at you, crinkling around the corners of your eyes and wondering what is this creature? It is just me. The troublesome savage Marika. The shin-kicker who forestalls the conspiracies of thieves. Trying to drive a wedge between you.”
Teeth began to show. But for some reason they had made it up to allow her all the initial talking. Perhaps a test?
“Yes. I am forthright. I tell you right out front that I am going to put you at one another’s throats. No proxies and no lies. Sisters, did your friends here ever tell you about the pitchblende in the western Ponath?”
One of the tradermales jerked upright, lip peeling back in an unconscious snarl. The silth did not miss that. Grauel and Barlog snapped their rifles down, aimed at his chest.
“Pitchblende is a source of radioactives, rare and dangerous heavy metals. They have very limited technological applications at the moment — primarily as power sources in satellites. But it takes no imagination to see that major surface installations could be built by an advanced technology. I suspect the brethren could have something operating within ten years. Sisters, do look up radium and uranium when you get back to Ruhaack, or wherever. While you are checking things, see if you can get an accurate count on the number of satellites orbiting our world. Compare that number with the number that the dark-faring Communities have lifted.”
Marika faced the tradermales. “I am perfectly transparent, am I not? It is your turn. You, of course, have been anticipating Serke treachery from the beginning. That is the way those witches are. You have been preparing for the scramble for the spoils. But suppose we could short-circuit the process? Lovely technical term, short-circuit. Suppose you did not have to deal with the Serke at all? Suppose I offered you a Reugge license allowing you access to all the pitchblende you want? Without your having to sneak through the wilds outside the law, hoping you can survive the malice of your accomplices.”
The males exchanged looks.
“There? You see? I have been perfectly obvious, and yet I have given you much on which to think. Why not get what you want the cheaper and safer way? I understand you better than you think. I know what moves you.” She shifted her gaze to the silth. “You, though, remain enigmas. I do not know if I will ever fathom your motives for committing such hideous crimes.”
